Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“At least now we can see something before we die,” Ridoc signs, then shrugs.
“We’re not going to die,” I sign back. My longing for Rhi and Sawyer to be here to see this equals my gratitude that they’re not in danger.
Tairn’s head hovers just above us, level with Aotrom’s. Clearly, he’s with Ridoc on this one.
Andarna swings to face us, her eyes dancing with palpable excitement. “See? They won’t hurt you.”
“I see.” I nod, not wanting to kill the moment for her.
“Oh my.” The female on the right gasps.
“What have you done to your tail?” The one on the left reels back.
Andarna cranes her neck to check her scorpiontail. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
My gaze jumps from irid to irid, my stomach sinking lower as I count from one to six.
They’re all feathertails.
“Tell us what they’ve done to you,” the male in front of us demands.
“Done to me? I chose my tail.” Andarna’s tone shifts defensively. “As is my right upon transition from juvenile to adolescent.”
The irids fall silent, and not in a good way.
The male in the center lies down and wraps his tail around his torso. “Tell us how you came to choose it.”
Andarna lifts her head to her full height as the irids lie down one by one.
“Is this really about to be story time?” Ridoc signs.
“You know as much as I do,” I sign back.
A corner of his mouth quirks as his hands fly. “First time for everything.”
Wood crunches as Tairn and Aotrom take the same position, leaving us standing between Tairn’s outstretched claws.
Andarna sits just ahead of us to the right, her tail swishing across the sand. “I blinked in and out of consciousness in my shell years—”
“We’re going to be here awhile,” Ridoc signs, then plops his ass down in the sand.
I slowly lower myself to do the same as she tells her story to a captive audience.
It’s only when she describes Presentation that the irids begin to throw questions at her.
“Why would you present yourself to a human?”
“No, they present themselves to us.” Andarna’s tail flicks. “So we can decide if we should allow them to continue on to Threshing or turn them into char marks.”
The irids all gasp, and Ridoc and I share a confused look. I’m guessing they don’t bond to humans.
“Seeing as I’m the eldest of my den in Navarre, there was no other to object to my Right of Benefaction,” she continues with excitement and more than a little pride, which makes me smile. “And so Threshing began.”
It’s fascinating to hear it from her point of view.
“Why would you participate in harvest?” the female on the left asks.
“It’s just what we call it when we select our humans for bonding,” Andarna explains. “So I went into the woods—”
“You bonded as a juvenile?” the male to the right shouts.
Tairn cranes his neck forward and growls. “You will not raise your voice to her.”
Andarna turns her head and narrows her eyes at Tairn. “Do not ruin this for me.”
Hurt stabs through the bond and Tairn recoils, his head drawing back to cover Ridoc and me.
Ouch. My chest tightens, but there’s nothing I can say to him and no way to say it without chancing the rest of them hearing me.
Andarna continues with our story. She tells them about Jack and Oren, about how I defended her, about Xaden and the rebellion.
“So naturally, I slowed time,” she tells them when recounting the attack in my bedchamber.
“You used your juvenile gift for a human?” the female on the left questions.
“I don’t like her,” Ridoc signs.
“Me either,” I respond in kind.
“For my human.” Andarna tilts her head. “She is part of me, as I am of her. You undervalue our connection.” That last bit reeks of adolescent snark.
“My apologies,” the female says.
“Damn, this breed apologizes,” Ridoc signs, lifting his brows. “Maybe we should have held out.”
I roll my eyes.
“Do you not bond humans?” Andarna asks, and I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.
“We do not live with humans,” she answers.
“Is it just the six of you?” Andarna’s head swivels to look at them.
“There are hundreds of us,” the male to the left replies, speaking for the first time. “Please continue.”
The swirl pattern in his horns reminds me of Andarna’s. Maybe they’re from the same den.
More than an hour passes as she conveys every detail, as if forgetting one facet might alter whatever is about to happen.
When she starts to tell them about War Games, then Resson, my muscles tense, and I fight my own memories from interceding, fight the inevitable wave of grief that rises when she speaks of Liam and Deigh.
“And so I flew into the battle!” She pounces up on all fours.
There’s more than one set of narrowed golden eyes.
“And Violet channeled my power—”
Two of them inhale sharply, and my stomach full-on knots.