486: Worlds Collide - Part 2

Worlds Collide - Part 2

~ HARTH ~2

She was stunned. Who was here? One of her brothers or sisters who had also fled Thana and the humans? Or someone else?

Were there people here after all?

Were they human?

Harth's entire body flinched at the thought. The wind was in her face but bottled by the rise of the land, sweeping over her head so she couldn't catch the scent of whoever was there.

There was a moment when Harth considered running back to the camp and calling for help, but everything within her clenched at the thought.

She had to see. She had to know. She had to see this for herself.

Harth crept forward as silently as she knew how, slowly crawling up the rise in the land—as if the Creator himself had stomped a foot into the mud of this land centuries earlier, the land was pressed up hard and steep, clear of almost everything green, and shoving for the sky. But it had hardened in this shape and become like rock. On bare feet and hands she could climb it easily, keeping herself low until she reached the top, where she lay on her belly, lifting her head slowly, so slowly, until she could see over its sharp top.

Her eyes widened and she froze again.

On the other side of the sharp points of the land where she lay plastered to its side, the earth fell away again—in a wide, sweeping bowl shape. Harth was even more certain the Creator had played in the mud of this land because the bowl was open only at the opposite end where, for twenty feet or so, the land slid away, giving access to anyone who wanted to walk the wide, grassy slope, a mile from the forest. But close to the bowl the land went gray and brown, no growth, and within it…

Within it, a male stood at its center. Tall, broad, skin as bronze as the spear he wielded, his body carved from marble. He had a strange, patterned tattoo on both upper arms that seemed significant, but Harth didn't recognize. His hair was tied back at the nape of his strong neck with a leather thong. Thick, leather cuffs adorned both wrists, and he wore a brace with a leather strap that slung over one shoulder and crossed his body.

His very naked body, glistening in the warm sun because he'd been working and sweat sheened very curve and line.

His hair was a sandy brown, almost the same tone as his skin. But oddly, Harth couldn't see his eyes because he had a scarf tied over them. And he was twisting and thrusting his body through a series of motions that Harth didn't understand.

Was he human? Had the Gateway trapped them?

Her heart began to skip and thud strangely and she didn't know why. With the blindfold on the male couldn't see her, so Harth pushed up onto her elbows to herself a better view of the male, to catch the winds blowing up and out of the bowl, to smell him.

Unaware of her presence, he had a spear in both hands, and continued through his motions. First holding his spear high, he stomped on a heavy foot, as if he crushed the neck of an enemy—the crunch that Harth had heard. Then, dropping to a half-crouch, he whirled, leading with the width of the spear, as if he would clear a circle of attackers. Then he spun the spear in his hands lifting it over his head as, with a grunt, he leaped feet into the air, only to land with the spear stabbed downwards, as if into an enemy's prone body.

He paused, straightened, muttered something with his head bowed, then began the movements again.

And again.

Harth watched, curious and slightly afraid. The male was clearly strong and an accomplished fighter. But why was he out here alone, and naked? And blindfolded?

Without thinking, she raised herself higher to get a better view—and finally met the wind blowing from within the bowl and rushing up its side.

His scent hit the back of her throat—oak and earth, and something uniquely him—and Harth's heart somersaulted.

She sucked in a breath as her body came alive suddenly—as if the scent of him was sugar in her veins, hot and liquid, fueling her even as it seduced.

What the actual fuck—

Jaw on the ground, Harth found herself standing on the rise, gaping at this male, her entire body quivering, urging her forward—the drive she'd had to leave the camp, to move, to be far away… it centered on this male.

Her mate.

And she was so shocked, so overwhelmed, she just stood there, frozen as he reached the end of his movements and stood, chest expanding and contracting with his elevated breath, and dropped the spear so it clattered to the hard-packed dirt under his feet.

For a moment, he didn't move, just stood there, facing her, his eyes still covered by the scarf.

Then he used one hand to grasp it and push it up and off his face.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

His Adam's apple bobbed once, but when he spoke, his voice was deep and rich, edged in a husk because he still recovered from his exertion. But his eyes were sharp and fixed on her.

"I knew you'd come," he said, his deep voice awed. "I… I don't know how, but I knew."

He started towards her, chin low, his body poised and intent. Instinctively, Harth stumbled over the sharp top of the rise, then down its other side, the shale and dry dirt and rocks giving way under her feet so that she slid. But she stayed upright, scrambling towards him, the draw within her becoming a physical pull the closer he got. 

They stopped just feet from each other, both of their eyes wide. His hands twitched as if he wanted to reach for her, and Harth found herself aching with disappointment when he didn't. This was the bond? This was her mate?

What the ever-loving—

"What's your name?" he rasped.

She swallowed hard. "Harth. What's yours?"

"Harth…" he whispered her name like a prayer and her heart leaped in her chest. "Harth, I'm Tarkyn. I'm the Captain of the Queen's Guard, and…" he trailed off, blinking, his eyes drifting from hers for the first time, as if the thoughts in his head couldn't be true and he had to analyze them.

But Harth knew. She took one step forward. "You're my mate."

His eyes snapped back to hers, even wider than before. "Yes," he breathed. "Thank the Creator, yes."

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