2. Nevarn

Chapter 2

Nevarn

O n my way toward what I expected would be a contentious visit with my birth clan, the Dastalons, the one that banished me for something I didn't do, I was struck from behind.

Who would've thought that after three years of living with only the protection of my fellow clansmales who accepted banishment with me, that I'd lower my guard enough to allow another person to sneak up behind me?

After my banishment, my clansmales and I had slept out in the open for three weeks before finding shelter, and I'd made it through that without a single scratch. I'd hunted and defended my new clan during that time, taking on the role of traedor which I didn't deserve, though they insisted. I'd done my best to be a good leader. I'd stood in front of them to fight off both wild hepadon herds and feral abadeer attacks at least eight times during those weeks.

And now I was going to die because another Zuldruxian wanted my pack holding only a few days' food, my spare blades, and a tinder stick to light a fire.

Whoever jumped me roared and stabbed me in the back. They dragged me down to the ground and kicked me. Hunkering forward, they gouged me a few more times, delivering the worse wound to my belly.

Only after they'd stabbed me again had they stolen my pack, my spears, and even the blade I'd pulled from the sheath at my waist to defend myself. They left me defenseless and bleeding on the forest floor.

If only I'd seen their face to identify them, but they wore a mask. All I knew was that they were as Zuldruxian as me, with blue skin, silver hair, and a build similar to mine. Possibly male, though many of our females were as large as me.

Now, two days later, I stumbled through the woods, barely remaining on my feet. If I fell, I'd die, so I kept walking. I'd applied a poultice to my wounds but the one in my belly would not stop bleeding. Even worse, it now seeped pus. Since I couldn't find the trail that would take me back to my clan, I was going to die in this wretched, unknown part of my planet.

I would not find vindication for the crime I didn't commit.

I would not have a happy future with a mate and younglings by my side.

Whoever stabbed me appeared to be stalking me. I'd hear a subtle sound and turn, only to find nothing there. But my skin kept prickling with unease, and in my heart, I knew.

The person who'd killed my mate, Weela, had come after me to make sure I didn't expose their identity. They followed to make sure I died. I could almost picture them standing over me as I sucked in my final breath. Would I finally see who'd killed her?

Clutching my hand over my belly wound, I continued through the forest on a snaking thin trail that could be leading me closer to my clan or in the opposite direction. I refused to give up and let this person win.

My head swam, and my vision kept blurring. Heat raged through me, though the air held the nip of fall. Feverish, I alternated between shivering and aching to rip off all my clothing to cool my body. My feet kept tripping on roots and rocks, but I made myself remain standing. Moving.

When I fell, it would be over.

That's when I caught the scent of fire and roasting fish in the air. Had the gods sent me a glorious dream before they finally claimed my life? Odd that they'd send me a dream of cooked fish, but who could understand the gods?

Drawn to the scent, I lifted my head and kept going. If I could make it to whoever was cooking the fish, there was a chance I'd survive.

I reached the edge of the woods and stumbled out across a small open meadow with a river flowing along the left side. My pace increasing, I aimed for the crackling fire ahead.

The Zuldruxian following me paused inside the woods—this, I only sensed.

I almost turned right and headed in a different direction, because I didn't want to lead them to whoever was camping here.

But I'd die if I didn't get help.

A small person—a youngling? —stood behind the fire, and the light had to be playing tricks with my eyes, because they looked human like Vanessa, the mate to a neighboring clan traedor.

They called out, and the strength and challenge in the female's voice, threaded through with a trace of fear, echoed around me.

I sensed my follower slinking farther into the woods. Would they leave or would they watch? I had to warn her.

It was all I could do to take one step after another. If I stopped, I'd fall.

Yet I somehow knew this one person could save me.

It was only when I'd nearly reached her that I came to a halt. Despite my raging fever and the pain clawing through my belly, I could only gape at her beauty. Golden hair? I'd never seen anything like it. She'd secured it in a long weave trailing partway down her back, though a few curls teased the sides of her face.

I might be dying, but I was still a warrior in his prime, which meant I ached to touch her pale skin, to stroke my fingertips across her lean frame.

Her two breasts, unlike the four of my people, jutted out from her chest.

I locked my eyes on hers as blue as the sky at a clear, perfect dawn.

She was human, and she held a weapon pointed right at me.

A wooden spear plunged from the sky, impaling the ground between us, making us both jump.

She gazed around wildly. "Where did that come from?"

It couldn't be from the person trying to kill me. They'd retreated too far inside the woods.

That meant the spear had come from . . .

"The gods," I exclaimed, my words jumbling together, barely making sense.

Tipping her head back, the woman studied the canopy with a sharp eye.

Warmth seared across the skin on my wrist, and I lifted my hand, flipping it over. A symbol blazed on my skin. This female was my gods' given mate, the only one I'd ever love and crave. The only one who could complete me.

To my utter mortification, I fell forward, landing hard on my chest. Pain blasted through me, and I barely clung to consciousness.

"You must . . ." I croaked, desperate to tell her about the person trying to kill me. "Watch out. Murderer ."

"What?" Her fingers tightened on her weapon, and she peered around, her intent gaze scanning the woods for threats. "Who's a murderer?"

Not me. Never me.

"Followed. Stabbed." I could barely get the words past my swollen tongue. When did I last have water?

Days. It had been days.

"I'll watch out," she barked.

Good. Very good.

Mate . . .

The world rushed through me and . . .