Page 37 of Hunger in His Blood (Brides of the Kylorr #3)

CHAPTER 37

ERINA

T he week that followed was a blur of activity, and it passed by more quickly than I realized.

Ekor came to visit me a couple more times at Kaldur’s insistence, the Bartutian a quiet male with sharpish features and an imposing bulk. He rarely said anything, but when he spoke, I really listened, mesmerized by his soft voice. He had a patience about him that put me at ease.

Kaldur was always standing nearby during those visits, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Ekor and me closely. On his second visit of the week, when Ekor had lifted my top to reveal my growing belly, Kaldur had seemed struck for a moment. I’d caught him studying where our child was growing inside me, a peculiar expression on his face. One that I thought might be awed or frightened or determined—I couldn’t be certain.

I was growing at an alarming rate. My joints ached though the nausea was finally beginning to wane, especially if I took my tea preemptively every morning as I got dressed. Maudoric showed up with a tray and a steaming cup every morning at my door.

Ekor assured Kaldur and me that the growth rate was to be expected for a hybrid pregnancy. And it relieved both of us to know that the child was strong and healthy with no complications. Yet.

The morning after our night in the kitchens, a guard had been assigned to me. A Kylorr female, whose name was Braanelle, a soldier at the very top of the ranks within Vyaan’s army, or so I’d been told upon introduction. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased with her new position as my personal guard or not. Her expression was always the same: neutral but stern.

Her black hair was always pulled back in a tight braid, making her ears appear even sharper, her horns ramrod straight from her head, like twin daggers.

I’d commented on her horns during a stroll in the garden once, telling her I’d never quite seen horns like hers, that they were beautifully unique.

Her response?

“Makes it easier to kill,” she’d replied, running a hand over one in what I thought was appreciation.

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not…but that was the last I’d mentioned her horns.

But Braanelle took her job very seriously, her eyes constantly sweeping the areas I’d walked into, whether it was the quiet gardens or the village square. Her hand was perpetually resting on the hilt of a blade, tucked into the sheath at her hip.

As for Kaldur, he seemed utterly overjoyed with his choice of a guard, even though I had my reservations, considering I didn’t know what harm could fall on me in the gardens, which was where I spent most of my time. But for her part, Braanelle gave me my privacy, keeping a far enough distance away. As the week dragged on, I started to forget she was there.

So, I was healthy and protected, just as Kaldur had wanted. But even though I took my notebook and my pencils with me everywhere I went—more of a habit now than anything—I still hadn’t worked on my stories or drawings once. Not for over a month now, and the lull was beginning to worry me.

When I wasn’t in the garden, I was usually in the village, though I made sure to wear my bulkiest dress and apron, overlaid with a sturdy coat. It wouldn’t be much longer until I wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy, but for now, I did what I could. Kaldur hadn’t said anything about announcing it yet, and I didn’t want to be the subject of whispers and gossip.

For the most part, I only caught a few interested stares—from nobles—who had perhaps recognized me from the party that Kaldur had thrown.

Those days, I would bring spiced tea and steam cakes to Syndras and spend the afternoons in her sitting room, as Braanelle stood stock-still by the door, even declining the comforts of a steam cake.

Syndras, for her part, looked delightfully put out by the entirety of her new staff. The sitting room, I noticed, looked much changed since that night Kaldur had found me here. All the dust was gone, the air felt cleaner, and everything gleamed. I knew that if I explored the rest of her ancestral House, I would find much of the same thing. During our visits, one of the keepers often came into the sitting room with a tray laden with food for us. All of Syndras’s favorites, I noticed, like marinated laak eggs and pillowy sandwiches spread with riverberry jam.

Syndras grumbled about it because of her pride. She’d accused me of giving into the Kyzaire for her sake, and I had to assure her that it hadn’t been the case…mostly. We barely spoke about Kaldur during these visits. I thought she sensed that I didn’t know what to say regardless, how to explain everything that had transpired between us or even the strange relationship that had sprung up lately.

The truth was that Kaldur and I were friendly. If he came to my balcony at night or found me in the gardens in the afternoon or came looking for me in the keep, we were always civil .

I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed with our newfound relationship. It was easy to keep my walls up when we were just friendly. There wasn’t a threat of anything more. But after that night in the kitchens, after everything he’d confessed to me and after he’d held me as I’d sobbed my heart out…it had felt different even though I’d done my best to ignore it.

Sometimes during our friendly moments, I would catch him studying me. Staring. Really looking at me as if it was the first time he was seeing me.

His leisurely studies always struck me as patient, as if he had all the time in the world to admire me. And he wouldn’t seem to be in a huge rush to fill the silence that followed, except I felt every half second like a throb of my heart. I always grew shy, tucking my hair behind my ear, asking why he was looking at me like that.

He always said, I’m just looking.

But it felt like something more. It felt like he was committing me to memory, every strand of my hair, every pore on my face. To be studied so closely, it was a delightfully uncomfortable thing.

I’ll stop, he would declare when he saw me shift. His eyes would gleam in amusement, his full lips twitching, and then he’d switch topics so expertly that it left me feeling a little dazed.

But as the week dragged on, I noticed more changes in Kaldur. His movements seemed slower, his face growing more shadowed, his cheekbones standing sharper.

I knew it was because he hadn’t been feeding. He’d eaten, of course. He demanded that we have our morning meal together, and I watched him eat enough for a small army with my own two eyes.

But I hadn’t realized how much a Kylorr needed blood. Some Kylorr, I knew, abstained from it completely. But that was easier if you were a hybrid or hadn’t fed on a lot of blood throughout your life, like Luc .

For Kaldur? I imagined he felt the lack of feeding quite acutely, and I could actually see the physical toll it was taking on him.

He hadn’t fed from me since that night he’d brought me to his bath, and even then it had only been briefly—a mere drop in comparison to what he usually took from me—to take the edge off his rage.

He had some strength from that feeding, but I’d watched it wane again. And I wondered…how had he gone nearly a month without my blood?

No wonder he’d nearly gone into a rage that night, I couldn’t help but think.

That evening, I was sitting on a bench in the garden, the air growing chillier by the moment. But I’d returned from Syndras’s an hour ago and hadn’t wanted to return to the keep quite yet. I wanted to watch the sunset, and I took up post at one of the higher elevations, surrounded by beautiful blooms that smelled lightly floral but spicy. It was one scent, I found, that didn’t turn my stomach, oddly.

When I felt a familiar flutter inside me, I pressed my hand to my lower belly.

“You’ve been quite active today, little darling,” I said softly, a smile crossing my face just as I heard heavy footsteps approaching me on the path to my right.

“So have you,” came Kaldur’s voice.

I glanced over at him, not surprised to see him here. If I was in the garden past sundown, he usually came out to retrieve me before it got too cold. Him fussing over me…I couldn’t lie and say I was indifferent to it. It felt nice to be fussed over.

Kaldur looked over at Braanelle, hidden partially behind a shrub. He nodded at her, and she inclined her head, dismissed from her duties for the evening.

“Good night, Braanelle,” I called out.

“Rest well,” she called back. I smiled at how it sounded like a threat. Everything she said sounded like a threat, truthfully, but I’d learned that it was just how she talked.

Kaldur stepped more fully into my view, standing before the bench to peer down at me.

“How are you?” he asked with the utmost seriousness. He dropped down, crouching until he was eye level. His hands reached for me. Well, not quite for me but rather for the baby.

His hands smoothed over the rounding bump, and I ignored the little quiver inside me. Kaldur, I’d discovered, was a lover of touching. He’d often brush his fingers across my cheek or tuck back strands of my hair or place his palm on the small of my back or loosely at my hip when we were walking together.

And with the baby…he was even more so.

It had taken me a few days, but now I was used to it. Before, when I’d been merely his blood giver, I’d had the impression he’d done everything he could to not touch me, to keep himself apart.

I couldn’t help but wonder how often he’d been in his head whenever we’d been together. All the time, I’d finally decided. He’d gone against his natural instinct to be close to me.

Now? There was no reason to, except when it came to my own comfort.

His hand skimmed over my belly. “I wish I could feel what you do.”

“Soon I think you’ll be able to feel her,” I said.

Kaldur stilled. He looked up at me, those mirrored eyes watchful. “Her?”

I felt my cheeks heat a little at his sudden scrutiny. “Just a feeling.”

His grin started slow, those eyes never leaving mine. I always felt like I was holding my breath when he looked at me like that.

“How…how would you feel about that?” I wanted to know.

In many ways, females were more valuable to the Kylorr than males. There weren’t as many of them within the population, their births rarer. Compared to Kaldur’s four other brothers, he only had one sister.

Kaldur finally said, “Kalia was born last, and so by then, she had all of us to protect her. We were a bit of a terror, truthfully. Overprotective. It drove her mad.”

A small smirk from memory came. Then his expression went serious.

“It scares me…for a daughter to come first.” Seeing my frown, he quickly said, “Don’t misunderstand me. A daughter is a great blessing, one not many Kylorr get to experience. Would I prefer at least one or two males to come before her, so that they could watch over her as we did with Kalia? Yes.”

Oh . I understood now.

He continued, his palm skimming higher on my belly, “But if a daughter comes first, then I will be more protective until her brothers come later.”

I nearly gasped at what went unspoken. With those eyes burning into me, he was implying that…that…

I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after the birth. What our relationship would be like.

But Kaldur obviously had.

He was presumptuous and charmingly determined—I would give him that. One side effect of being pregnant, I’d learned, was that I was distractingly and annoyingly aroused at nearly every opportunity. Kaldur being in such close proximity and always around was becoming an issue.

So I would be lying if I said the thought of bearing him sons didn’t send a tantalizing zing of want through me.

I’d always wanted a large family. A home filled with children and a husband, who I loved dearly.

Once, it had been easy to imagine with Kaldur. I’d had daydreams of children running through these gardens as Kaldur chased them overhead, his laugh echoing across the sky.

But that was what it’d been…a daydream. And I was trying no t to have as many of those because I’d learned that they could be more hurtful than helpful.

Then again, it was perhaps why I hadn’t been inspired about anything . I felt like I’d closed off a vital part of myself…or it had been lost somewhere.

“You do know that I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” Kaldur asked. He frowned. “I know I didn’t before…but you never have to worry again. Or worry for our daughter.”

I knew he meant it. My heartbeat was going too fast. He was getting too close, making me feel like I used to. I couldn’t afford that.

Panic rose. I said, “Guess I did choose the right male to get me with child.”

But the moment it left my lips, I regretted it. Especially when I saw him flinch, his jaw tightening, a flash of guilt stab into his eyes.

I supposed I did still harbor resentment. A lot of it.

“Erina—”

I was ashamed enough to blurt out, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

“No,” he rasped, his gaze dropping to the shadowed notch of my throat, gaze unfocused, as if he was remembering his ugly words, as if they echoed in his head on a loop. “I deserved that.”

I’d thought it would make me feel better…to see his guilt and regret.

But it didn’t.

My shoulders sagged, tears welling up in my eyes. His hands left my stomach, and I felt a rush of cold air flood in to replace them. I felt the loss. I felt him pull back, pull away, and I cursed that small part of me that had wanted to hurt him.

“You’re healing,” he said finally. “It’s only natural that these wounds rise to the surface. Truthfully, I deserve a lot more of your anger and you’ve been more gracious than anyone I know.”

It spliced my heart in two to realize he was willing to take any malice that I could give him, as if that was part of his punishment, his penance. That he expected it.

But he was wrong. It didn’t fill me with any satisfaction. Just the opposite in fact.

This can’t happen again, I thought. No, I decided .

Why continue to punish him, to make little digs to try to hurt him as much as he hurt me, when it was my choice that I was here?

After all, my future was still mine to decide. I would share our child, of course, but just because I was pregnant didn’t mean I had to share my life with Kaldur.

Once, I would’ve given anything for that reality to come true.

Now? I didn’t know what I wanted.

But just knowing that I was in control made me feel more at peace.

“It won’t happen again,” I told him firmly. “I’m sorry.”

The resentment would eat away at me. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Kaldur’s blew out a sharp breath. He shook his head, looking at me like I was a stranger he was trying to understand, to piece together. “You really are a pure soul, aren’t you? I don’t understand it sometimes. Then again, I’m a worse person than you.”

“I don’t want…” I trailed off when my throat tightened. “Growing up, I lived in a place where all I saw was resentment. And bitterness. I understood it too, because what child would choose to be parentless? What child wouldn’t be angry at sharing a room with dozens of other children, who all had stories and secrets and tragedies of their own? And when children are hurt, they like to hurt others. Because it feels good to make others suffer like you, so you’re not alone anymore. And at Wrezaan’s, we all felt alone.

“And I…I was lucky because I had Luc, who wasn’t like any of the others there. He helped me understand that I could choose to be like the others or I could a different life. A better one. And I chose differently. I’ve seen what resentment can do to people. A lot of those children just turned out to be miserable beings. Some didn’t, but a lot did.”

Kaldur’s gaze was knowing. “That’s why seeing Luc in Laras hurt you.”

“Yes,” I said, my shoulders lowering. “Because he’d turned out just like many others had. And it broke my heart. A part of me wondered if there was any point, if I should give up like him too.”

Panic flared through Kaldur’s gaze, his wings lifting.

“But I didn’t,” I said. And I was proud of that. “I still want to be who I’d chosen to be, all those years ago.”

Kaldur’s expression nearly broke my heart all over again. It was an intense thing, one that made me hold my breath, the world sliding to a stop around us.

And it became clear to me that I still cared about him, deeply. That wasn’t a terrible thing, to care for someone.

But it still made me feel a little heartbroken. My heart felt like a jagged thing, trying to stitch itself back up.

“How did your stories play into this?” he wanted to know.

That dragged a soft smile from me, despite my other musings. “I thought that maybe I could help give the children something nice, a distraction, an escape. We were taught how to read and write, but I was one of the only ones who enjoyed the lessons,” I said. “So I started practicing by writing down stories. Luc helped me come up with them too when I was stuck. Together, we created Kavelyn’s adventures, and I read a portion of what I’d worked on every night to the others. Well, the ones who wanted to hear. Those were nice moments.”

“It made the children happy?”

“Some of them,” I said. “As for the drawings…Wrezaan had this landscape painting on the wall of our room. And I loved that painting. I would stare at it all night, and it was the first thing I’d see in the morning. My bed was right across from it.”

“What was it of? ”

“A meadow,” I told him. “The sky was so big and pink. The hills were rolling with wildflowers. I wanted to create places like that in my mind. So I copied that painting… hundreds of times. Then I practiced and practiced more. I began to draw Kavelyn, of alien places she would go to in the stories. Of people she met. The children loved the drawings more than the stories sometimes.”

“I haven’t seen you with your notebook in a while,” Kaldur commented.

I tried not to let my worry show when I said, “I’ve, um, been feeling a little lost lately. I don’t feel like creating anymore. Or, at least, not right now.”

I saw the brief flit of dismay over his face.

Then…

Kaldur leaned forward, his hand cupping my cheek. It happened quickly yet slowly. The soft press of his lips against mine.

It wasn’t meant to be sexual. It felt more like an embrace, a comfort, and I sighed into his lips. He kissed me again, brushing his bottom lip against my top one, and then again, this time across my cheek. His next kiss was on my nose, the next on my forehead, and then he was embracing me.

“I know you’ll find it again,” he told me, soft determination in his voice.

I allowed myself to sink into it, to enjoy his warmth even as my heart fluttered wildly. I didn’t have it in me to fight, and I remembered what I’d realized. Everything was my choice, whatever I chose to give to him.

And right then? He gave me his comfort, and I gave him mine right back.

There was another comfort I could give him too.

“I’m worried about you,” I confessed softly, feeling his steady heart thump against my breast.

“Me? Why?” he rasped .

“You need to feed,” I said. “I can see what it’s doing to you.”

Kaldur pulled back. His eyes flitted back and forth between mine. “This moment isn’t about that.”

“So you don’t deny it?” I asked. “You’ve been growing weaker because you won’t come to me to feed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I didn’t think you wanted it,” he said.

I held up my wrist between us. “I think you need to. It’s been too long.”

Kaldur’s gaze went down my wrist, his expression exploding with want and hunger. He breathed in deeply.

“Please,” I whispered.

“Do you pity me, dallia ?” he asked, his voice guttural. He forced his eyes away from my wrist, and I saw his eyes were darker—a deep gray that was almost black. He shook his head, a brief smile flitting across his features. “No, I’m not to be pitied. And that’s what this would be.”

“It’s not—” I started to argue, frowning, but then he stood.

He turned from me briefly, and I stared at his back. When he faced me again, the hunger had faded from his expression, though the lines around his mouth seemed tight.

“Let’s return to the keep,” he suggested. “It’s getting cold.”

He helped me stand, as if I was a day away from giving birth. But our interaction still bothered me, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

A pity feeding? That had nothing to do with this.

“You said you won’t feed from anyone else. That leaves just me, Kaldur. I don’t pity you. I just don’t want you to suffer needlessly. You’re hungry —I can see it. Despite what happened between us…it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” I told him.

“Care?” he repeated gently, tipping my chin up, his thumb brushing underneath my jaw. Then he leaned forward, pressing his lips there in another small kiss, as if to say he wasn’t stung by the interaction. That it was okay. “I think I had your entire heart once, didn’t I?”

That same heart thudded in my chest as my lips parted. I felt those whispered words against my skin and nearly closed my eyes as the answer flitted through my mind.

Yes, I thought. You did.

“And I was clumsy with it,” he concluded. “Careless. I had it once, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

“You had the heart of a girl who didn’t know better,” I told him, keeping my voice light when he pulled back to look at me. “It was an innocent love. It didn’t mean much.”

“And still, I want it back,” Kaldur replied simply, his eyes gleaming. “Because then I could nurture it. Care for it and grow that love as I should have.”

I didn’t know what to say. My tongue felt like heavy drava metal in my mouth.

Kaldur’s smile was knowing, a little sad, even.

“Thank you for offering your blood, my dallia ,” he said. “But I think feeding right now would mean something different to me than it would to you. You’re not ready—you might never be. I understand. But this is my choice.”

My shoulders sagged. Too many words were jamming up into my throat that they were getting stuck. I didn’t know how to explain what I felt to him.

“Let’s go back. You need to eat,” he said.

So do you, I thought.

But I followed him regardless.