Claimed by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar Book 2) by Zoey Draven

Author:Zoey Draven [Draven, Zoey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

That night, I went to the training grounds. I was too upset to return to my tent. The idea of sitting inside, with Seerin’s words ringing through my mind endlessly, left me restless.

The training grounds were empty, as I suspected they’d be. The whole encampment was quiet. Only a crazy person would be out in the dead of night during the cold season, but the numbness I felt enveloping my body felt good.

I walked to the weapons rack and plucked off the bow and the quiver of arrows. As I walked, I inspected the Dakkari arrow of steel, memorizing the lines, the expert way the fletching tilted up, and wondered if I’d ever be able to make something so intricate. Would I be in the encampment long enough to learn how?

I frowned, feeling my chest pinch slightly at the thought. I thought of Seerin. I felt like my hand was still warm from his cock and I drew in a ragged breath, trying to ignore the hurt that burned in my belly.

One, I thought quietly, in desperate need of a distraction, the frostbitten mountains.

Two, the glow of the barrel fire.

Three, the blackened hide roof of the weapons rack.

I picked a different target since the post at the far corner reminded me too much of Seerin and his kisses and the bargains we’d made in the dark.

Instead, I leveled the bow at the opposite end of the enclosure, at a tall pole with a flag posted at the top. It was the image of a shield and a sword.

Holding my breath, I nocked the arrow. I adjusted my grip, though my fingers were beginning to tighten and freeze.

Exhaling, I released and the satisfying sound of the string snapping met my ears, followed by the satisfying thud as the arrow bit into my target.

Success.

I nocked another. It hit.

Another…it hit.

I emptied the quiver into the pole, stacking the arrows up high until I wasn’t certain I’d be able to pull them down.

A voice came to my right.

“You are an archer?”

I cried out, startled, and whipped around…only to find a familiar warrior standing within the shadows of the weapons master’s tent.

I relaxed when I recognized him. The brother of my lirilla. The warrior who’d tried to get me warm after the fence had collapsed.

My heart was racing from the sudden disruption and my exertion from the bow. I watched as he stepped closer to the fence of the training grounds until he was just on the other side.

“An archer?” I asked softly. “No, I’m not.”

He frowned, looking back towards the pole, at the ten arrows lodged into it. “Yet you have the skill of one.”

“I was a hunter,” I explained.

Hesitant understanding dawned in his face. He was young and handsome, I noticed, his features strong. His hair was black, trailing to his waist. His eyes were ringed in red. He looked like how I’d imagined his grandfather, the weapons master, would’ve looked in his youth.

“That was why the Vorakkar whipped you?”

“You know about that?” I asked quietly.

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