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And as Bakog lifts me to carry me away, I stare at her over his shoulder, never once breaking eye contact.
Terror clutches ice tendrils around my heart when I realize what she meant by bringing up her Blackheart friend. She knows. She’s aware of what the marks on the bridge of my nose mean. She knows they’re mating marks. My mother knows I’m mated, and she knows it’s to one of the Blackheart males they keep in cages.
I can’t have him find out. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” I whisper urgently into Bakog’s ear.
Is it my imagination or does he tense up? “If you wish.”
“Mayhap one more day,” I decide. To at least see if the moonlight meditation was successful. At the very least, to see her one more time. The mother. To ask her not to reveal anything about me—my styles, my customs. But no longer than that. I can’t run the risk of Bakog finding out about the match.
“Thank you for being available,” I whisper into his thick neck. He smells wonderful, a little smoky like he’s been sitting downwind from a fire.
“Always here for you, wench. That will never change. You’re mine, no matter what you look like, no matter what name you go by, no matter where we live.”
He’s amazing. There are no other words for it.
I want to tell him that I love him. But how can I, when I’m mated to another? But one thing’s for certain. Tomorrow, I’m getting rid of my mourning clothes. I want to be the person they saw tonight. Not the one who will slaughter their king.
Chapter Fifteen
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AFTER FRANTICALLY MAKING love, Bakog’s face is relaxed in sleep. God’s fire, he’s so beautiful he makes my insides ache. I watch him until I fall asleep too.
Until daylight fills the tent.
“Bak,” I whisper, poking him.
He snores.
“Bakog. Wake. I have news.”
He grumbles and rolls over, burying his head in my throat.
“Wake up, lazy male,” I snort. “’Tis late, and a rare warm day before the season’s turn.”
“Mayhap we should have shared one important thing with you, m’kirn,” he teases and his breath is warm where it tunnels down my cleavage.
