He hums in question.
“I want to express my gratitude, a gift, for everything that you’ve done for me.”
“You are my gift,”
“Something for our wedding. Or bonding ritual,” I say, lifting my right arm. I open my palm, and grow the most beautiful blue rose I’ve seen. It has the most petals, and it glows more than the others. More than the roses in my mother’s garden, more than the roses around Father’s grave. Even more than those I grew myself inside and outside our home.
This rose is special.
Theron watches in fascination as the petals bloom. “I’ve never seen a rose quite like this.”
I smile and put the rose behind his ear. It suits him so much.
“Thank you, my golubenya rozia.”His lids grow heavy as his breath slows and his pupils grow to swallow his hazel gaze.
“What’sgolubenya rozia?” I ask.
“Blue rose.”
My heart pounds so frantically in my chest, it might shatter my rib cage. On impulse, I catch his tongue with my lips, and a low growl escapes him.
Theron moves fast, his paws gripping my thighs and cheeks, lifting me with ease to settle over his hard shaft. The moment he brushes against my aching core, I wince.
“Goddesses...” My sensitivity is unbearable, and it only makes me want him more. Leaning back in his arms, I look up at him, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “We shouldn’t.” The words slip out even as I hate myself for saying them. The sun will soon rise above Ávera, and Theron will have to go.
“We have time.” His voice, deep and low, sends shivers racing across my skin as his claws trace light patterns over me.
“We don’t,” I murmur, though a smile I can’t hold back softens my quiet protest. “Did you choose your bratya yet? It’s Zephyr, Aeson, and Kaël, isn’t it?”
Theron hums, his mouth quirking slightly at the question.
Yesterday, after we questioned Gregor, we met with the three of them. Theron had informed them of their upcoming missions, and now, today will be their last day in Ávera.
We’re truly sending the vólkins to scatter across the land, to search for the other five and prepare for what’s coming.
We’re truly going to war.
Aeson will go with two warriors of his choosing, as will Kaël and Zephyr. I know they’d prefer to go together—close friends bound by loyalty—but something in my gut tells me they need to go separately.
Theron, Elder Aïna, and I discussed this in detail, considering everything we know about their origins and strengths. Aeson, with his fur as bright as freshly fallen snow, is best suited for the cold north. Kaël’s brown fur, tinged with golden undertones, fits the southern territories’ sun-drenched lands. And Zephyr, his fur dark and rich like the forest floor, belongs to the west, where the woods stretch endlessly. It’s the best strategy, but knowing that doesn’t make it easier.
“We already discussed that we’d all be each other’s bratya,” Theron says.
Elder Aïna told me that when mates perform a bonding ritual, the vólkin must choose a few of his closest brothers to stand by his side, even if they aren’t related by blood. These bratya help the groom prepare for the ritual, providing guidance and support.
The bride, on the other hand, must choose a maminka, literally meaning “mother.” Traditionally, the bride’s ownmother would take on this role, guiding her through the preparations and overseeing the systritsy, the bride’s chosen sisters. These sisters could be blood related or not, depending on the bride’s circumstances. But I have neither.
Elder Aïna, with her wisdom and warmth, will be my maminka. Naïa, Mina, and Essin will stand beside me as my systritsy.
“Do you think Gregor believed our act yesterday?” I ask. The information he gave us is crucial, if it’s true. But doubt lingers in the back of my mind.
“Of course,” Theron answers with a grin. “We executed everything as planned. I was the bad ‘officer,’ and you played the good one perfectly.” He pauses, his grin shifting into something darker. “I had to remind myself it was all an act. Otherwise, I’d have killed him on the spot.”
Before I can respond, Theron moves with the speed and grace of a predator, flipping me over in seconds. His body cages me as his weight presses me into the bed-nest.
“Having you choose another over me was painful, my little dove,” he growls, his voice rough and his eyes boring into mine.
The door swings open.
