“The entrance is hidden and guarded to prevent metlaks and other predators from entering. Do not worry. We will be safe and warm there.” He pats my arm. “No one would dare harm you.”
Am I tense? I must be tense for him to throw out a comment like that. It’s just that for so long, it’s only been Vektal to have to worry about. Now I’m about to be dropped in to meet thirty-odd others. My arms tighten around his neck. What if they all hate me? What if they all think I’m gross looking? What if—
“Ho,” a deep, sonorous voice calls out.
Vektal raises a hand high into the air in response. I cling to his back, worry thudding through my body as another big body appears in the distance.
“That is Raahosh,” Vektal tells me in a low voice. “He must be back from his hunting treks.”
The other male jogs through the snow toward us, churning a path through the drifts. The pink, flimsy trees wave overhead, and the entire scene looks ludicrous. I try not to stare at Raahosh as he approaches, but, well . . . I’m staring. Where Vektal’s horns are big and thick but sleek, Raahosh’s horn-crown is a busted mess. He has one that juts out and then arches back, jutting high above his head. The second is broken off, a mere jagged stump. As he gets closer I see scars covering one side of Raahosh’s broad face. His skin, er, pelt, er, whatever is a deeper gray than Vektal’s…like dark smoke. And if I thought Vektal was fearsome looking, Raahosh takes things to a new level.
He grins and raises a hand as he jogs out to meet us, and then his steps slow as he sees me. “I thought you were burdened with the hunt, brother. I was about to come and relieve you.”
“I have much to tell,” Vektal says, and I can hear the pride in his voice as he gently lowers me to the ground. His chest starts to vibrate with a loud, incessant purr.
Raahosh’s eyes go wide, and he looks at Vektal then at me. “Her?” He gazes at me up and down. “What . . . what is she?”
“She is Georgie, a human and my mate.” Vektal’s arm goes around my shoulders, and he tugs me against him. I can feel the purr moving through his body, so strong that he’s practically vibrating. Resonating, as he calls it.
Raahosh stares at me for so long that I feel uncomfortable. He considers my face, my hair—no doubt looking for horns—and then the rest of my smaller, shivering form. I’m wearing someone else’s jumper, and I haven’t had a comb in weeks, and I probably look like hell. This is the first time I’ve felt it, though. Vektal always makes me feel . . . pretty. Like I’m the sexiest thing to ever grace his presence and he can barely keep his hands off me. I’ve been taking for granted how wonderful it feels to be special to someone.
My hand goes to Vektal’s waist, and I slide it down his back until I encounter the bump of his tail base. I circle it and caress it absently.
At my side, Vektal stiffens and the thrumming takes on an even more urgent beat. He reaches back and gently removes my hand, then nuzzles my ear. “Wait until we are in private, my sweet resonance. I know you are not comfortable with public displays.”
Oops. Did I just give him the sa-khui equivalent of a public handy? A hot flush covers my cheeks, and I nod. I don’t look at Raahosh, though, because then I will be completely and utterly embarrassed.
“Hu-man?” Raahosh says after a moment, the word swallowed and thick in his throat. “Her eyes—”
“She has no khui,” Vektal says. His hand goes to my hair, and he combs through it with his big, thick fingers. I feel pretty once more. He still can’t stand to take his hands off me, and, okay, I kinda adore that. “We will fix that problem soon.”
I nudge Vektal with my elbow. “We’ll talk about it.”
“We will talk about it,” he amends.
I sneak a glance at Raahosh, and he’s still staring at me. But it’s not a look of disinterest or revulsion. Rather, I see a yearning as he looks at me. Not in a sexual way. Instead, it’s as if his best buddy just showed up with the Christmas present he’d been wishing on for years.
“You are lucky,” he says finally, his voice thick, “to have found your resonance.”
“The luckiest,” Vektal agrees, and his fingers stroke my neck. “But my mate needs the healer.”
I want to protest about the mate thing since I haven’t said yes yet, but my wrist gives a pathetic throb, and I realize how much it still hurts. “Healer sounds good,” I say faintly. “Food, too?”