I’ve run out of things to say without making myself look weak and that’s the last thing I want. Well, almost the last. Sex before an audience… I’ll die of shame before we finish. Then his warriors will see I’m not right for him.
The weak human.
The inferior human.
Atox lifts me from the gorja and sets me on the ground beside him. The camp has been cleared of children, with only a few women tending to the late-night fires. They glance my way then head into the mountain.
Everyone knows.
This is why he sent Verig ahead.
Five huge orcs remain in the center of the camp.
Warriors.
Witnesses.
Their stares fall on me. All strangers to me except for Verig. Somehow, this would be easier if I didn’t know any of them.
The warriors part, revealing a stone platform that wasn’t there earlier. It’s table-high, and smooth, with ropes piled on top. My mind goes places it shouldn’t. The shaking overtakes me and my knees buckle, but Atox catches me.
“There is no other way,” he whispers, his breath warming my ear, calming me as he picks me up and slings me over his shoulder.
ATOX IM GRAK
My female wishes toavoid the ceremony. I wonder if this is a difference in our cultures or if she’s reconsidering her choice of males. Does she not understand the importance of this night? Of how this will give her status and protection?
No male will dare touch a grak’s mate. To do so means death. But for a grak to take a mate, he must prove he can master her body, that she will submit to him.
His touch. His wisdom. His rule.
And yet I find myself wanting to submit to her.
The way she trembles worries me. This is not typical of a female entering the risha ceremony. Once again, I have to remind myself that humans hold different customs.
My warriors scrutinize me and my female. From the start, Brix and Parlok objected to my plan to mate a human. Kes remained silent. Still to this day, I don’t know if he favors having females from other species mix with our people. And Tulax… the male still mourns the loss of his female and younglings. I won’t press him to take a mate, though he’s earned that right.
Verig stands to the side, as if he plans to leave instead of bearing witness. I do not know his thoughts either, and that is dangerous. A grak should fully trust and know what his second is thinking at all times.
As he should with his mate.
The moment I swing her over my shoulder, I know something is wrong. She doesn’t fight me or pound her small fists against my back. When I reach the risha platform, I set her on her feet. Paloma’s eyes turn down. She doesn’t meet the eyes of my warriors as a female in risha should. This is her claiming as much as it is mine.
My men circle us but give us room. They will not touch or disrespect her, because if they do, I’ll kill them. And they know it.
I lift my female onto the table until my face is even with hers. With one finger beneath her chin, I tilt her head up. She has no trouble looking at me.
“I won’t cry,” she says, her words strained.
The statement startles me. In that moment, I understand, if we are to bring humans into our lives, then they are not the only ones who must adapt. We must change, too.
“You will look at me, and only me, Paloma,” I say as my fingertips slide over her cheek. So soft, and beautiful, like all of her, especially the female within.
She nods but utters no more words as she waits for me to guide her.
I push the front of her hair out of her eyes. Her brows furrow, but her attention remains on me as I undress. My weapons fall to the ground with a soft thud. My loin cloth falls next. Her eyes widen at that.
I pick up the risha knife atop the platform. It is longer than a throwing knife, but not by much. Paloma shows no fear as I hold the knife against her throat. I wasn’t sure how she would react, but I’m pleased she trusts me.
