The Horde King of Shadow (Hordes of the Elthika #1)

Chapter 40

SARKIN

“Where is she?” I growled to Feranos, stalking toward the cliff’s edge, the horde parting for me until I reached my wing commander.

“She’s at the pass,” he said quietly. “Sarkin…Lygath is there too.”

Fear spread like ice in my veins. I’d known something was wrong the moment I’d woken to find Klara gone.

“And Zaridan?” I asked, wrapping my hand around my bare wrist. I didn’t remember the last time I’d been without my cuff.

“She’s down there,” Feranos told me, pointing to the lower pass. We couldn’t see her from this angle, but I knew that my Elthika would be watching Klara. “The illa’rosh is over. What is she doing ?”

My teeth snapped together. “Claiming her Elthika.”

Feranos’s expression looked grim when he met my gaze.

“Call Vorna,” I ordered him, watching his fingers immediately flash to his cuff. “I need him. I need to get to her and?—”

“Lygath! He’s there!” I heard the cry from a horde member. My head whipped to the Tharken cliffs, and I saw his shimmering scales in the morning sun. In the far distance, I watched him glide through the pass.

“Where is she exactly?” I asked Feranos when he stepped up beside me.

He pointed his finger toward the top of one of the cliffs, very close to where she’d been situated during the illa’rosh . “There.”

Klara’s form was just discernible from this distance.

And Lygath would reach her in mere moments.

“I’ll never make it to her in time,” I rasped, my heart thudding in my chest in realization. The only thing that wasn’t making me lose my mind with fear and worry was that Zari was down in the pass. She would catch her if Klara fell. But what if something went wrong? What if Lygath attacked her this time instead of allowing her a death fall?

The only thing predictable about Lygath was his unpredictability.

“Fuck,” I breathed, watching Lygath reach Klara’s ledge. I felt helpless—as helpless as I’d felt watching Haden fall off the very Elthika that my wife was hell-bent to claim.

Kyavor appeared, coming up on the other side of me, clasping his hand onto my shoulder. “Breathe, Sarkin,” he murmured quietly, though his eyes were rapt on his pupil along the cliffside. “She wouldn’t do this recklessly.”

She needs to do this, came the realization. A realization I hated. I hated everything about this. But I couldn’t control her. I couldn’t cage her to make sure she was safe. The purpose of my training her had always been to prepare her. That was how I could protect her best.

That was how I could love her best.

A collective rippling gasp among the horde made time seem to slow. The world quieted. Even the wind. Everyone was there. Every Sarrothian soul at Tharken had come to see their queen. Even Klara’s peers. Vyaria. Kan. All watching with bated breath.

Lygath flew close to the cliffside.

I watched the small speck of her back up on the ledge, and then she sprinted. My nostrils flared wide, my heart beating at its bony cage so hard I thought it might burst free. I watched the heart that was outside of my own body, the heart of vulnerability that was flayed wide open, leap off the cliff, silhouetted against the gray stone of Tharken.

She landed on Lygath’s back cleanly, just as she’d done a couple nights prior.

“Come on, aralye ,” I whispered, watching for the flash of the tether. There .

“She latched it—it’s on!” Kyavor exclaimed, straightening as his gaze tracked her every movement. “Now to see if he’ll…”

There was a rippling of energy going through my horde behind me. No longer was it trepidation. It had now turned to hope . Scarce, unbelievable hope.

“He’s not fighting her,” I said softly, with dawning realization, watching Lygath soar through the pass with Klara on his back. He wasn’t fighting her.

Klara took the primary riding position—bent low over Lygath with a straightened back and locked thighs. She had a good grip on the tethers…and Lygath wasn’t fighting her .

“She’s claimed him,” I said, throat tight.

“On Muron, she has!” Kyavor said, a broad grin—the biggest I’d ever seen on the aging male—appearing.

Raising his voice, Feranos cried out to the horde, “The Sorrina has claimed Lygath!”

The cheers erupted. So loudly that it nearly shook the entire mountain.

Another Vyrin for the horde. Another descendent of Muron. Zaridan’s own blood. Sarroth would speak of this day for the rest of our history as we watched the Sorrina take her first flight with her bonded Elthika.

Klara Dirak’zar of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka. Rider of Lygath. Queen of the Sarrothian horde.

Pride burned so brightly it nearly stole my breath.

Yet it was mingled with hot anger, bubbling relief, with pricking love and sharp desire. My emotions were such an overwhelming mess that I didn’t trust myself to move. I didn’t trust myself to speak or react as I listened to the loud celebration that erupted around me. And so I stayed as still as a statue, though my eyes were only on Klara as Lygath ascended above the Tharken cliffs.

Something dark shot from the shadows beneath the pass. Zaridan .

The horde quieted, a hush of awe descending as Zaridan hurtled straight after Lygath, her wings close to her body. Lygath roared. Zaridan’s response was a call of her own, beautiful and chortling. They spun around one another as they ascended together, and then the rising dawn blotted them from view.

The two Vyrin siblings, descendents of Muron, reunited once more.

Another Vyrin for the horde of Sarroth, claimed by a Dakkari princess, who everyone had underestimated. Even me.

Sarroth would never underestimate her again.

She’d ensured that, hadn’t she?

Long moments later, they appeared again. And they were flying straight for the horde. The Sarrothian began to race for the landing field to the right of the encampment.

Feranos and I moved with them, and the horde parted for us as I walked to the front.

“ Sorrina, Sorrina, Sorrina, ” came the chanting cries, the closer she drew. I could see her now. Her cheeks flushed, hair windswept, eyes glassy with her success and relief.

The horde erupted into cheers when Lygath landed before us, gusting his wings. He kept as far away from the Sarrothian as he could without going over the cliff edge, Zaridan landing beside him. Still ever mistrustful.

And Klara straightened on his back, looking over the horde that she had just won over. She might always feel the sting of their prior rejection. Sometimes I still remembered it. But she would have to accept it, just as I had.

Never before in our history had a rider tried to claim the same Elthika twice.

But Klara had.

A Vyrin nonetheless.

The noise, the chanting, the cheers were thunderous. Klara sought me out among the crowd, and I stepped forward. Lygath huffed out a sharp breath, and I looked at the Elthika, a torrent of emotions at the sight of him channeling through me. I didn’t know how to feel. But now that he was my wife’s bonded—and Zaridan’s sibling—we would have to learn to get along. It would be hard. Especially since whenever I looked at him…I couldn’t help but remember Haden.

I passed to his side, and his golden eyes kept me pinned. Klara was looking down at me, swinging her leg over, her grip on the tethers loosening. She unclasped them, keeping them in her fist as I held out my arms for her. Lygath still needed to be trained on basic commands. He wouldn’t lower his wing for her yet.

She slid off the side, and I caught her in my arms. My heart still thundering, relief so potent spiraling through me that I went dizzy with it. But I was still trying to get a handle on my fear. My anger.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed into my neck. It was miraculous I heard her over the noise. “I’m sorry.”

I said nothing. Instead, I looked at Zaridan, my displeasure likely rolling off me in waves, and nodded at Lygath. “ Thryn’ar. ”

The flying command. Zaridan let out a sharp chortle in the back of her throat, which made Lygath’s ear twitch. Then she took off, her brother following shortly after.

Then I left the landing space. The horde was still celebrating, though their exuberance died down as I left with Klara still in my arms, heading toward the forest at the back of the encampment. I needed to be alone with her, but I thought the walls of the tent would feel too suffocating.

Once we were far enough away from the horde, deep in the forest, when we could no longer hear them, I set her down on her feet.

She was biting her lip, looking sheepish and hesitant, when she met my eyes. “Sarkin…”

“I don’t know whether to yell, celebrate, kiss you, punish you, or fuck you,” I growled.

She sucked in a sharp inhale through her nostrils, those dull little teeth still buried into her full bottom pink lip.

“So you tell me, aralye , what you want me to do,” I finished.

“A kiss would be a good start,” she breathed. I saw something black dangling off her wrist. My rider’s cuff. She saw where my gaze had dipped, and her fingers brushed over the metal. “Though I understand if you want to start with the yelling part.”

I strode up to her, sliding my hand into her hair, tight , pulling her head back as she stared up at me in surprise.

My kiss was hard and angry. I poured my fear and frustration into her. My other hand came up to her cheek, and I fucking hated that it trembled as it did. A growl wound its way up my throat.

One thing had become apparent to me this morning—I was no longer an impenetrable force. She was my glaring vulnerability, the soft place that could so easily destroy me.

My aunt had succeeded in one thing.

She’d made me like my father. I knew I would do anything for my wife to protect her…and that made fear rise in me like nothing else had before.

I loved her. I loved my wife.

I broke the kiss with a rough gasp, feeling her pant against me as I leaned my forehead into hers. I glared at her.

“Next?” I asked.

I saw the desire bloom and heat. This moment felt like when I’d trained her at Tharken. That dizzying adrenaline was still pulsing in her blood, making her wild. She was still on a high of claiming Lygath.

I grinned, but it was sharp. “I know exactly what you want.”

Her chin lifted. “Do you?”

She dropped the tether to the forest floor, winding like a twisting serpent. Her hands drifted to the laces of her riding trews.

“You stole from me,” I rasped, watching her as my cock thickened, as blood pulsed and rushed and sharp, punishing desire rose with it. “Snuck away in the night like a common thief.”

She swallowed, but her fingers never stopped gently untying the laces. My cock pulsed with excitement, my abdomen dipping like I was free-falling.

“I may be your husband, Klara Dirak’zar, but I am also your Karath . Your king. Or have you forgotten that?” I asked softly, watching her.

Her tongue darted out. Slowly, she toed off her boots and her riding trews dropped. She stepped out of the material, and then her hands went to the dress she’d worn to our bed the night before, pulling the delicate fabric over her head until she was naked before me.

Naked, save for the riding cuff she’d stolen. It stood out against her skin, and the sight of it only made me more crazed. My gaze snapped to hers. Her hands were shaking when she brought her fingers up to her lips to rub at the reddened flesh. Her nipples were pebbled tight, her shoulders raising and lowering, the curves of her hips and breasts tantalizing.

“And what would my king ask of me?”

I nearly groaned at the sultry words. My anger was steadily being replaced by lust, but I would play . I would play with her. I would play along. Because she’d still have to deal with my ire when we were done, but at least we could work out some frustration with each other beforehand.

“Get on your knees,” I ordered her.

I heard her thick swallow, but she did as I asked, lowering herself to the soft forest floor. We’d never done this act before, but I had fantasized about it, imagining how her mouth would feel on me, the heated lash of her tongue.

She thought to distract me? To fuck away my ire?

It might work, I admitted as I stepped forward, tugging firmly at the waist of my trews. Klara pushed them down when I reached her, my cock springing forward.

I hissed when she wrapped her hand around me, bucking into her grip.

I saw her hesitation. She’d never done this before, but her enthusiasm and curiosity was evident. Her eyes flickered to the line of the forest, but then I saw the heated burn in her eyes. She liked this. The idea of getting caught aroused her, and my cock jumped with the realization, drawing her gaze.

She didn’t wait for me to give her another order, however.

She licked, almost demurely, at the tip of my cock, which made me surge in her tight fist. I blew out a shuddering breath, thinking of the hell she’d just put me through…and the sweet, sweet hell she would put me through in the next few moments.

“Suck me, wife,” I growled, my patience snapping, especially when she teased her thumb over what I knew she called my dakke , the sensitive bump above the root of my shaft. She pressed into it, and a rough groan spilled from me. My hand went to fist in her hair. “Enough teasing. I’m tempted to come on your tongue, to find my relief and not allow you yours. Maybe that will be how I punish you.”

Her head lowered, and the heat of her mouth made my eyes nearly roll to the back of my head. My eyelids closed, neck craning.

“Oh, fuck, aralye ,” I breathed. I licked my bottom lip, and then I sucked in a sharp breath when I felt her cheeks hollow around me, the pulling sensation nearly making my knees tremble. Her mouth was stuffed full of me—so much so that I felt the searing brand of her tongue on the underside of my cock with nowhere to go. It moved and quivered under my length, and I gasped, my hand tightening in her hair as I shuffled closer.

I cursed again when she retreated, dragging her lips over the sensitive tip, the hot lap of her tongue finding the trickle of pre-come at the seam.

“Where did you learn this?” I asked, my nostrils flaring, chest heaving.

Her eyes flashed up to me knowingly. “Books, Karath ,” she teased.

Books.

I nearly groaned. Books could only take her so far. This was instinct, and on Muron, she was made for it. Made for me .

I grunted when she stole my breath again, taking me deep, seemingly trying to learn how far she could fit me between her lips. Her thumb pressed to my dakke —teasing and stroking, emulating the hot lash of her tongue.

I’d meant for this act to balance our power over the other. She’d taken from me, and I would take from her. Selfishly, I’d ached for her to pleasure me, to give while I received. I wanted to be the one in control of this moment.

Only…I had the maddening feeling that it might be just the opposite. Especially when I saw her other hand move between her thighs, when I heard the wet slick of her arousal and her soft, desperate moan rumble down the length of my cock.

And I didn’t mind it one bit.

I’d thought the desire I’d felt for her in Lishara’s temple would be the worst I’d ever felt. That clawing, desperate need had been unimaginable. I’d thought that the severity of it—the overwhelming, pressing need to claim her as my own, to sink my body into hers until I lost myself completely—had been heartstone-magic induced.

But I’d only felt it rise, even stronger than before. This desire was all our own. Lishara had no part in this. It was only us, deep in this mountain forest.

I felt my sac tighten, and I rumbled out a rough groan. Selfishly, I continued to pump between her lips, catching her surprised sound. Once, twice I thrust into her before I pulled out suddenly, hearing her ragged breaths.

I joined her down on the forest floor, pushing her back as she spread her legs for me. I needed her right now. I wanted to feel the tight sheath of her sex around me. Only then could I feel grounded again, fucking sane again.

Her cry filled the air when I surged into her. She was so wet, so hot, she fluttered and squeezed around my cock. I leaned down, biting and nibbling before sucking on one nipple hard. My hands found hers, taking them in my own, intertwining our fingers and bringing them over her head. She felt exposed and vulnerable this way—like I could do whatever I wanted to her—lighting my blood on fire.

“Sarkin,” she gasped out. Raising my head, I met her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes glassy with her pleasure and need. She was tightening on me.

“Mmm, getting even wetter for me, my Sorrina ,” I purred, surging my hips into her harder, going as deep as I could until she felt my dakke pressed to her clit. She cried out, her back arching, her fingers squeezing my own.

It had been too long since we’d last made love. We hadn’t since we’d left the mountain village. Mere days of going without felt like months with her.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded. “Make me come.”

I lowered my head, giving her her kiss. She sighed contentedly into my mouth, which she knew drove me wild. Her taste was sublime, her tongue soft. The longer we kissed…the more gentle it became. The pace of my hips slowed, instead focusing on deep strokes that stole both of our breath, every retreat making me shiver.

Our fucking suddenly became less about power, about fear, about the high of adrenaline and the sharp vulnerability I’d felt watching her jump off that ledge without me close to be able to protect her. It became less about punishment and more about…reconnection.

These last few days, I’d missed her. I’d missed this. There was an unexpected eroticism in that connection, one that felt like a startling discovery.

When we both orgasmed, it was a breathless wave of steady pleasure—deeply, deeply satisfying. With it was a release of all the events that had happened during the illa’rosh . It allowed us to piece ourselves back together, reinforcing the rips and tears.

When it was over, I collapsed onto her, making sure to keep half my weight pressed to the ground. I buried my head into her neck, feeling her shudder and her sex pulse around my cock, drawing out the last of my orgasm. Our hearts were rapid with no sign of slowing. Her hands dislodged from my grip and came to the back of my head. Her fingers raked through my hair, and she cupped her palm over the back of my skull, holding me to her as if afraid I’d pull away.

It did work, I thought. All the anger had left my body with my release. I felt boneless, the panic of the morning making me tired.

My rider cuff, still on her wrist, brushed the back of my head. Against her neck, I murmured, “You’ve fucked the fight out of me, my love.”

Her hand in my hair stilled.

“So,” I murmured, groaning as I pulled away, propping my hands on either side of her head so I could look down at her, “I want you to tell me what you were thinking . I’m listening now.”