Deus puts his hand to his head.
“It has been a long time since I was in rut,” he says. “The last time was for my Dylia.” His voice stutters.
“Maybe you’re feeling something else,” I say, as her name spears into my heart. “Perhaps a reaction to something.”
Dylia. That was her name.
My stomach feels like it’s been gouged out. When his lost mate was nameless, it seemed like she didn’t exist. But she has a name, and he had a life with her.
And Sarkarnii don’t rut twice. They don’t get a second chance. It’s the reason Deus lost it, his mind, his sector, his leadership. It’s the reason we’re here in the first place.
“I don’t…” Deus gazes down at me. “I don’t know. But I feel it.” He bunches up his fist. “In here.” He presses it to his stomach. “And here.” He touches his neck. “The mix, the mating mix.”
But there was Dylia.
I am not Dylia.
I can never be Dylia. The mate he lost everything for. The mate he would do anything for, even turn on his brother.
“Maybe we should just wait a while,” I say quietly. “It’s been quite a few days.”
“Is there another male?” Deus growls.
“What?” I’m surprised out of myself by his demand. “No. No! Never.”
And now I’m surprised at the force by which I let my feelings show.
“I don’t want that,” I add quietly. “It never served me well.”
I find myself lifted from my position as Deus drops to my eye level. His long hair hangs round his face, a little like the first time we met, only this time his scent is even stronger, smoke and musk.
“Who hurt you?” he rumbles, deep and low, his eyes dangerous.
“No one on Vorostor,” I snap. “And it was a long time ago. My business.” I get to my feet and clamber out of the sleeping pit. “My business,” I fire over my shoulder. “Not yours.”
I go to the food dispenser and, stabbing at the console, manage to order the hot drink the Sarkarnii pretend not to like. I might have warmed up a little, but my core is still cold.
Standing, I take the drink and sip at it, staring ahead at the dispenser, its dark, shiny cover reflecting an image of myself. I look like I’ve been dragged to hell and back.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Deus appears next to me, his face confused in the reflection.
“Is that fee?” he asks.
“Yes. I don’t drink the ale-wine.”
“Very sensible,” Deus says. “It is not good for you.” He smacks his lips.
“You want some?” I ask, unable to help myself. I am supposed to be mad at him.
Mirror Deus nods.
I turn around, hand him my cup before I request another for myself.
Deus stands close to me, sipping at his fee in a more delicate fashion than you’d expect from such a huge beast.
“Did Dylia like fee?”
