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She slammed her fist into his stomach.
Her knuckles cracked against the hard slab of muscle, but she welcomed the
pain. This was a good pain. It told her she was alive. She hadn’t frozen solid
yet.

Dharman didn’t even grunt. Raising her
throbbing fist in his hand, he kissed her knuckles. Now, he made a low rumbling
sound, whether pleasure or sympathy, she didn’t want to know.

“A few more blows like that and your
hand will be broken and swollen. It won’t hurt you so much if you use my face.”
Like a horse, he nuzzled his cheek against her fist and wrist. “Or use the heel
of your hand to spare your knuckles. Otherwise, you’ll finish much too soon.”

“We don’t want that,” Sal drawled,
shaking his red hair forward to hang in his eyes. “I want a turn.”

She didn’t think; she slapped him so
hard the noise exploded in the tent. Shaken, she stared at him, her mouth
falling open with horror. Her palm burned. Lady, what had she done?

“Don’t give it all to him just because
you know he likes pain.” Dharman growled, drawing her attention to him. “I like
pain, too, when it comes from your hand.”

“I like anything you do.” Sal tipped his
head back, shaking his hair away from his face so her handprint blazed clearly
on his cheek. “Give us more. Hands, teeth, whatever you need.”

Dharman shifted his weight forward, his
eyes flashing in the tent. “Vulkar, especially your teeth. I want that most of
all.”

She hesitated, still struck dumb by what
she’d done. How could she physically hurt them? Why did it have to feel so good
compared to the frozen, empty wasteland inside her?

“Use me,
na’lanna
. Use me!”

With a low, vicious cry, she slapped him
too, putting all her weight behind it so she nearly knocked him off his knees.
She flew at him, pounding his chest and arms with her fists. He made no effort
to shield himself or to stop her; in fact, he deliberately made himself
vulnerable. He leaned into her blows, rocking back on his knees, only to rise
up and offer his face and body again.

Sal crept closer and closer, his eyes
dark, shining with his need, and she hit him too. She slammed her fist into
that adorable dimple. She tore at his auburn hair that tempted her so.

With a ragged groan, he used his body to
push at her, bumping and gliding against her until she seized his shoulders and
dug her nails into him as a warning. Which was a futile attempt for one such as
him. Holding her gaze, he deliberate pulled out of her grasp, raking bloody
grooves down his arms.

Blood only served to inflame a different
need in her. The thick spicy scent made her mouth water. Her teeth ached in her
mouth. She reached for him, but Dharman dragged her into his arms. His lip
bled, swollen and cut from getting smashed against his teeth. Now she smashed
his lips with hers. She gripped his flesh with her teeth and tugged, too hard,
she knew, but he tasted so good, and his pain and enjoyment both seared some of
the ice away through their bond.

Sick and trembling, she tried to stop,
but he gripped the back of her head and refused to let her go.

His blood acted as a tonic, a warm,
thick syrup that oozed across the frozen lake in her heart and began to melt
it. Stained red, ice turned to slush. Blowing snows and punishing winds
softened to rain, and she cried. She licked his mouth and chin, sucked on his
lip, and gave him her tongue and her tears until she sagged in his arms.

He shifted her around in his lap to Sal,
keeping his arms around her, so she could try to kiss away some of the hurt
she’d given him. The scratches on his shoulders weren’t deep, and the way he
moaned deep in his throat and shifted against her told him he’d more than
enjoyed it. He leaned into her and Dharman, curling around her, warm and heavy
as Dharman lowered her to the floor.

Quiet. The storm had blown out. She was
stiff and utterly exhausted, but the Silver Lake pooled in her heart once more,
shimmering red with their blood. The moon was hidden, but deep down, she knew
it was still there. It would shine again someday, as Gregar’s
rahke
would shine.

With Sal cuddled against her back, she
stared into Dharman’s eyes and waited for him to finish it. Part of her ached
to feel him inside her. She knew his heat and strength would help drive the
frigid ice away entirely. Pressed between them, she knew how badly they wanted
her.

Rhaekhar and Gregar were both gone.
Nothing remained to keep her Blood from their heart’s desire, and she was too
tired and lost to deny them.

“Let us guard your sleep. Let us hold
you.” Dharman tucked her head up beneath his chin. “Until your tears are dry
and you look upon us and see
na’lanna
as well as Blood, then this is all we ask.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

SHANNARI
HAD BEEN RIGHT. The new Khul was declared before sunset the day after
Rhaekhar’s death.

She couldn’t fault either Drendon or
Alea, though—they’d done everything in their power to make it as painless for
her as possible. What they didn’t know was there was no need. Every bit of
sympathy and pity they showed only froze the Silver Lake over with another
sheet of ice.

“Khul, Khul’lanna, thank you for meeting
with me so quickly.”

Alea shook her head, tears shimmering in
her eyes. “You of all people should know that you don’t have to show us such
formality.”

Shannari smiled, but she knew it didn’t
reach her eyes. “You hated me when I first came to the Plains with Rhaekhar but
you always gave me the respect of my position as his mate. For my dear friends,
I can do no less.”

“We didn’t hate you.” Alea swiped the
tears off her cheeks, but managed a small laugh. “That’s rather strong. Perhaps
dislike, but only in the beginning.”

Drendon’s normally boisterous cheer was
cloaked in sorrow. “I never wanted this day to come.”

Looking at him, Shannari couldn’t decide
if he’d be a good Khul or not. In many ways, he was too transparent. Rhaekhar
had known when to be himself, a warrior’s warrior that everyone admired, and
when to be Khul, the grim implacable warrior who commanded all. Drendon would
never have that calm, steady core of command.

“I certainly don’t want you to feel as
though you must leave us in a hurry.”

“I must,” Shannari said, forcing her
voice to remain light, although she couldn’t keep the numbing coldness from
spreading through her veins. “Vulkar killed him to force me to return to
Shanhasson, and if I don’t leave at first light,
Kae’Shaman
assures me the snows will be too deep in the north. I’ll
never make it to Dalden Bay.”

“Whatever you need,” Drendon said
gruffly, squeezing his mate’s hand so hard Alea actually winced. “Anything,
Shannari. We’ll always be your home away from that…that…”

He hesitated, unable to find a word to
describe her homeland without insulting her. She tried to smile, but her face
was too stiff.

“You’re still the Dark Mare’s daughter.
You still carry Rhaekhar’s honor, and he carried more
kae’valda
than any warrior who ever walked the Plains.”

She couldn’t help the bitterness that
sliced through her as viciously as a
rahke
.
Because of his great, impressive honor, he hadn’t thought once to fight and
protect himself. His honor had almost dragged her into the depths of Shadow.
She hadn’t been able to hold back the laughter—great racking, painful sounds of
pained irony—when
Kae’Shaman
had
given her a large blue bead to add to the pile of trinkets from her dead
warrior’s hair.

Death by a
sangral na’kindre
was the largest bead of all. It certainly negated
the long string of white beads from their claiming.

“If you need us in your fight against
the Endless Night, send a messenger,” Drendon continued. “The Nine Camps shall
always be at your disposal.”

Some of her concern chipped off and slid
into the icy waters swirling inside her. She managed a grateful nod. “Thank
you, Khul, sincerely. I’ll have command of the Shanhasson Guard, and Allandor
at my back, but if things get as bad as we suspect, I won’t have nearly enough
troops to command. And, well, they’re outlanders, not warriors.”

He flashed a warrior smile and puffed up
his chest. “Indeed, our warriors will gallop for your Shining Walls at your
Call. We’ll continue to keep the network of messengers between us. Nothing has
truly changed, Shannari.”

Oh, but it had indeed. Her whole world
had fallen apart, and it would only get harder. She forced herself to take a
deep breath before continuing, but the words froze in her throat. She made a
choked sound. Blindly, she reached for Dharman’s bond.

Immediately, he enfolded her, his chest
hot against her back, his arms strong and steady. She breathed hard, loudly,
but she didn’t care. With these people, she trusted them to see her
vulnerability without stabbing her in the back.

“Vulkar may have taken Rhaekhar from
you,” Alea said softly, reaching over to take her hand. “But your Lady gave you
Blood to keep you safe and warm.”

Shannari nodded jerkily, unable to meet
the other woman’s gaze. “Dharman and Sal planned to challenge Rhaekhar as
co-mates as soon as we arrived. They’d already discussed it. I feel…”

She hesitated, unwilling to hurt the
boys who loved her so much.

:Be
honest,
na’lanna Qwen
,:
Dharman whispered in her head.
:Your
heart never hurt us.:

“In many ways, I feel guilty, as though
I caused his death.”

Alea leaned forward and hugged her too.
“Why would you ever say such a thing?”

“Because…I…wanted them,” she whispered.
“Vulkar never took Rhaekhar until I really wanted them.”

“Vulkar Called his name,”
Kae’Shaman
said, his voice echoing oddly
in the tent. “His time had come.”

They all looked at him with concern.
Shrunken and so very frail, he stepped closer, leaned down, and cupped
Shannari’s chin in his hand.

“Don’t flail yourself with guilt, child.
Sorrow has caused you pain enough without you tormenting yourself needlessly.
Your Lady never gave you love to make you feel guilty. Love them, as She meant
you to love them. They are your comfort and your protection in the darkest
Endless Night.”

Easier said than done, but she nodded
and burrowed deeper into Dharman’s arms. Not to be ignored, Sal pressed against
her side, touching her hand that clutched Dharman’s arm so fiercely. She
clamped onto his hand, shivering as his hair slipped down the length of her
arm. Breathing deeply of their warm, sweet scents, she finally found the
courage to continue.

“I have a great favor to ask.”

“Ask, Shannari,” Drendon replied
formally. “It’s our great honor to assist you in any way that we can.”

“I must return to Shanhasson.” She
swallowed, gripping both of her Blood harder, trying not to shatter. “I can’t
take the twins. They won’t be safe. Someone already tried to poison them.
Rhaekhar brought them home to protect them, and I can’t take them back to such
danger, no matter…” Her voice cracked, but the tears couldn’t fall; they were
frozen in her broken, wounded heart. So unfair, to take her love and her
children in one fell blow. “No matter how much I’ll miss them.”

Alea wept openly, leaning against her
mate. Even Drendon looked teary eyed. “Of course they can stay with us. We’ll
protect them as our own.”

“I have a suggestion,”
Kae’Shaman
said. “My time on the Plains
is over, but I still have a home in the Tenth Camp.”

Reverence softened Drendon’s face, his
eyes glowing. “You can take them there?”

How Shannari hated that look in his
eyes. Rhaekhar must have looked much the same way upon the holy horse that came
to kill him. “No,” she said sharply. They all looked at her as though she’d
spat on Vulkar’s name, and perhaps she had. “I won’t let them grow up mindless
pawns the Gods shuffle around on a chess board. Although they’re Daughters of
Leesha, they’re also
mine
, and they
have a right to lives of their own.”

Kae’Shaman
patted her on the shoulder. “They could see their fathers in the Tenth Camp.”

Alea and Drendon both made more sounds
of awe. Few knew all the secrets of the legendary valley hidden somewhere on
Vulkar’s Mountain. Unless a Death Rider or
shaman
,
few ever even tried to find it. The punishing obsidian slopes made it
impossible to find the Tenth Camp unless one was willing to make a sacrifice of
blood so great that death may very well be the only option. Gregar had always
said he was half-dead already after his climb up the punishing slopes.

Shannari had been there many times in
Dreams. Positioned half on the Plains and half in Vulkar’s Clouds, the dead
could walk again, especially her Shadowed Blood. But she hadn’t been back since
she’d flown there as the White Dragon and torn him apart. Even knowing Rhaekhar
might be there with Gregar, she couldn’t bring herself to try and find it. Not
yet, while the pain was too fresh.