Taken: Warriors of Hir, Book 2

by Danes, Willow

  “What?” Hope exclaimed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your hair . . .”

  “What about it?” Hope sent a questioning look at Ha’kin. The clanbrothers who had escorted her here had stared at her, sure, being human and female and all but they hadn’t made a big deal about her hair in particular.

  “It is . . . fire,” one of the warriors who stood behind Lihr murmured.

  “Oh,” Hope said, her hand going to her curls, trying to tame them against the blowing wind. “Yes, it is.”

  Si’hala’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Oh, yes, it is’?” She looked pointedly at Hope’s red hair and shook her head in wonderment. “Hair like that and she says . . .”

  Suddenly Si’hala sent a quick darting glance at the warriors around them, at how the men were breaking lines, pressing forward to get a better look, and quickly clasped Hope’s upper arm.

  “But I must not keep you here shivering in the cold!” she said a little too loudly, already urging Hope through the staring crowd and toward the largest building in the courtyard. “Come indoors where it is warm.”

  Si’hala hurried her along inside and Hope drew in her breath, taking in the soaring entry hall with wide eyes. The place was huge; a wide staircase that wound upwards to floors above and rooms lined either side of this center area. Tiles of blue shimmered beneath her feet and the whole space had an ancient organic feel and an astonishing majestic grandeur.

  “This is a clan hall?” she managed. “It looks like a palace!”

  It gave her a funny feeling to be in the place where R’har been a carefree child before the Scourge, then a grieving boy and an orphan in its wake. To stand here, on the stones he’d walked across as a young man, proud to have earned the title of “warrior” among his people, sent an shock of awareness through her.

  She wet her lips and glanced about but R’har didn’t await her inside the hall either.

  So where the hell is he?

  She’d made a mistake by having the doctor tell him for her. She should have broken it off in person. Since then she caught herself rehearsing in her mind what she’d say to him, just how she’d really let him have it for all the bullshit he pulled.

  But now, knowing she’d see him any moment, all those angry words and clever cuts vanished from her mind. She had not a single idea what she’d say to him.

  This was his home and he’d never spoken of his enclosure without pride. He was here somewhere and sooner or later she’d have to deal with him.

  She just hoped when they did meet up she held it together.

  “I forgot that you have never been inside one,” Si’hala said.

  “No, I haven’t,” Hope murmured. “I mean, I only got to Hir this morning.”

  The rest of the clan, warriors mostly, although Hope did spy a handful of women among them, had followed them inside and were filling the hall.

  All those bright, glowing eyes still on her.

  Here and there she could see the warriors jostling each other to get nearer, to get even a half step closer to her. Ha’kin and her original honor guard had quietly imposed themselves between her and them.

  Si’hala indicated a large archway and the room beyond furnished long tables, the space beribboned with colorful streamers. “Your welcome banquet has been prepared.”

  “Banquet?” Hope stopped short, her darting glance now seeking some route of escape. The last thing she wanted to do was eat with so many people watching her. “Oh, no, I don’t think—”

  “Of course you will want to refresh your appearance before we go in.” Si’hala addressed her mate as she urged Hope toward the stairs. “Lihr, we will join you and the others shortly but do not feel you need wait to begin the feast.” She sent a warm smile at Hope. “We are all family, after all.”

  “Of course.” He turned with good humor toward his clanbrothers. “Come, we must feast well for we have much to thank the All Mother for.” Lihr clapped one warrior on the shoulder. “And I for one am famished.”

  Hope followed Si’hala up the stairs to the third level but she couldn’t miss how some of the men lingered below to watch her till the very last second.

  “Are you all right?” Si’hala asked quietly. “Your face shows much distress.”

  “Just a bit shaken up,” Hope admitted. “God, I thought they were going to start fighting down there.”

  “We were fortunate they did not,” Si’hala said, with a glance back the way they had come. “The whole clan is gathered here to welcome you. We will have our hands full keeping the peace among them as they compete for your favor.”

  “It’s a problem, isn’t it?” Hope asked worriedly. “Me being here.”

  Si’hala blinked and her pretty, feminine fangs flashed as she burst out laughing. “A problem? You are the best thing to come to the Yir enclosure since . . .” She gave a smirk. “Since me.”

  The g’hir woman opened one of a set of double doors and shut it behind Hope as soon as they were both inside.

  The ceilings of these apartment were high, white, and domed, the walls a soft cream, the green tile floor covered in places by bright luxurious rugs. The furniture here, larger and meant to accommodate g’hir bodies, seemed fussier than what she’d seen before, almost rococo in style. She hadn’t spent much time with Si’hala but the place, with its spacious five bedrooms and large-scale artwork, seemed to suit her girly style perfectly.

  I wonder how Lihr stands it.

  Si’hala grandly led her to the largest of the bedrooms. The huge carved bed was piled high with pillows and dark blue velvety fabric bedclothes.

  “What do you think?” Si’hala asked with a gesture at the bed. “Is it not fit for a clanmother?”

  All it’s missing is a couple cupids on the bedposts and it would be fit for Marie Antoinette.

  “It’s great,” Hope said aloud. “I’ve . . . never even imagined having a bed like that.”

  Si’hala gave a pleased nod and threw the doors open to an adjoining room. “Here is where the clothes and jewels are kept.” Si’hala urged her into the sumptuous dressing room. “These are for the current season,” she continued, bounding ahead to indicate the clothes hanging nearest to them. “Those are for winter . . . formal things for the gathering . . . garb suitable for riding . . .”

  Hope nodded at the right times as Si’hala went on extolling the virtues of the various accessories and footwear.

  Guess she doesn’t have any girlfriends to show it off to.

  Finally Si’hala seemed to wind down and turned to regard her, her glowing eyes expectant.

  “This is lovely,” Hope said truthfully, fingering the skirt of one of the closest dresses. It was a gorgeous icy blue, heavy and a lot like silk duchesse. The dressing room was filled clothes of similar quality; she’d been in wedding boutiques that didn’t have fabric this luscious. “I mean, well, jeez, these are all just beautiful.”

  Si’hala flashed a fanged smile. “I spent months choosing designs and the last few days supervising their construction. I wanted everything to be perfect.”

  Months? What, does she do this every year or something?

  “Well, your hard work certainly shows,” Hope assured. “You did a great job.”

  “Here!” Si’hala cried, catching Hope’s hand to pull her deeper into the dressing room. “Let me show you the jewels!”

  Hope sighed inwardly as the g’hir woman threw open the center cabinet, pulling one drawer after another to reveal sparkling collections of earrings, bracelets, rings.

  “I have grouped them by color and stone. I thought to divide them by season too but,” she laughed lightly, “do gems truly have a season?”

  “How could they?” Hope murmured. There was something about all this that was a little sad. Sure, Si’hala’s closet looked like a boutique where they only stocked one of anything and every neatly handwritten price tag had four digits, but Hope couldn’t imagine the warriors cared much for this stuff. Si’hala must be incredibly lonely.r />
  “Well, you did a great job,” Hope said again. “Everything is gorgeous and really, uh . . .” Her gaze ran along the well-stocked shelves. “. . . well organized.”

  “What would you like to wear for the feast?” Si’hala asked, indicating the closet’s contents. “Choose whatever you please!”

  “Oh,” Hope demurred. “I’m fine. I mean, I’ve only been wearing this”—she indicated the dress, more elaborate than the wedding gown she had hanging in the closet at home—“for a couple hours.”

  “Everything will fit you,” Si’hala assured. “I had them send me your measurements from the warship.”

  Hope blinked. “The warship? How did the people on the warship get my measurements?”

  “The medical scans,” Si’hala said with a shrug. “They made a record of your height, weight, body mass—”

  “Wait, so the medical scans recorded my measurements and you got them from the warship?”

  “Of course.”

  Hope stared. “Why the hell would—I mean, isn’t that private information? My private information?”

  “The Yir are your clan now and in any case”—Si’hala gave a careless wave—“there is nothing I cannot get if I have set my mind to have it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Hope murmured, shifting her weight. “Well, anyway, thanks but I think I’ll just stick with what I’m wearing.”

  Si’hala looked utterly crestfallen, then brightened. “But you will need to get dressed tomorrow! I will come back in the morning as soon as you are awake to help you.”

  “Come back? Wait, isn’t this your place?”

  “No, Mata, these are your quarters.” The g’hir woman indicated the dressing room around them. “These are your clothes.”

  For a moment all Hope could do was stare at Si’hala. “You’re kidding.”

  “You do not care for these quarters? There are others in the clanhall that you may find—”

  “There are five bedrooms!” Hope burst out. “I don’t need this much room, not for just me.”

  “The other rooms are for the offspring you will bear.”

  Hope shook her head a little, not even wanting to touch that one. “Look, and all these clothes—!”

  Si’hala’s lip trembled a little. “You do not like them?”

  “Well, of course I like them! I mean, holy cow, they’re gorgeous! But I don’t need—You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for me!”

  “But you are my clansister!” Si’hala caught Hope’s hands in hers. “The only other female of my age here. It was my joy to make your quarters pleasant, Mata, and welcome my new friend home!”

  There are moments in life when someone has given so much more than you could possibly expect; called you beautiful when that’s the last thing you’re feeling, gone further than needed simply from the goodness of their heart, when the gift is too big or expensive but so lovingly and sincerely given that anything less than genuine gratitude is just plain wrong.

  And this was one of them.

  “Thank you, Si’hala,” Hope said. “What you did—everything you’ve done—to make me feel welcome is amazing.” She smiled a little. “And no matter how long I live, I promise you this—I’ll never ever forget it.”

  Si’hala beamed. “I am so glad. We wish for you to be happy here, Mata.” The g’hir woman ducked her head a bit. “And I wish for us to be friends.”

  “We are friends, Si’hala,” she assured, thinking that it would never occur to Keri—never mind Megan—to do anything so thoughtful. “So you should probably stop calling me ‘Mata.’ Just ‘Hope’ is fine.”

  “Hope.” Si’hala smiled and gave a g’hir nod. “It is a perfect namesound for you.”

  Hope abruptly turned away.

  “I have said something wrong?” Si’hala asked worriedly, following Hope out to the balcony.

  “No,” she said thickly. “It’s just—that’s what R’har said.”

  Hope looked out over the valley, deep in autumn now the leaves were golden, orange and pink.

  It’s funny. I didn’t stop to think about stuff like the leaves changing.

  It made her wonder what it was like in the spring.

  Hope swallowed hard. Not that I’ll be here to find out.

  “You said the whole clan is gathered here. Is . . . is he here?”

  “R’har is on our lands but he will not cross your sight,” Si’hala assured quickly. “He is forbidden to enter the clanhall again.”

  “Wait—” Hope turned back, wide-eyed. “You mean R’har can’t come home because I’m here? What about—” She wasn’t planning to be here that long, not at all but—“What about the Gathering? You won’t let him come to that either? It’s so important to him.”

  He was the same as all the others, the same lying, cheating jerk she always wound up with. But she didn’t mean to cost him his home.

  “He is one warrior among hundreds,” Si’hala said with a careless wave. “You are the only unmated female in ten thousand hectares.”

  God, she had to leave. She had to go back to Earth as soon as she could so he could come home.

  “Now, we must go down to the welcoming feast.” Si’hala hooked her arm in Hope’s to lead her along. “Choose any Yir clanbrother you please to be your new mate. There are dozens in the hall below who long to make a mating roar to you tonight.”

  Hope’s eyes shut briefly remembering how R’har’s roar had left her ears ringing. “Not all at once, though, right?”

  Twenty-four

  R’har tried to calm his breath. The clanhall was visible from his place here in the orchard, an imposing structure that bespoke of the enclosure’s influence and abundance.

  The recent arrival of a new Mata seemed to have transformed these lands from the tragic echo of the Scourge to a glow of happy optimism. The promise of a rich and bright future filled with new hope for the g’hir of this lucky clan . . .

  R’har closed his eyes briefly in prayer to the All Mother. He had made an offering of his blood to the Goddess before venturing to these lands, humbly beseeching Her to grant him Her blessing in his mission.

  He had been forbidden the clanhall of the Yir enclosure. He would be allowed to live on Yir land but he was directed never again to cause her to set her eyes upon him.

  The loss of his home was nothing compared to the loss of his lifemate. Her absence was like a wound, a dull pain that had settled in his chest and never left him, even in the deepest sleep.

  He dreamed of her every night—his little one, his Hope—reaching for her only to have her recede from his grasp. He would awaken, gasping, his heart thudding in his chest. He would leave the shelter and run the land of the Yir then slow to silently edge forward when the clanhall came into view. R’har would wait there, in the darkness, looking toward the rooms where she slept, lingering until the last moments when dawn forced his retreat.

  He was lifemated to her and he could not be with her.

  But he would never be without her . . .

  Now there was only one living being who could help him, one whom he must somehow convince to intervene on his behalf—

  Footfalls along the path, coming in his direction, made R’har hurriedly finish his plea to the Goddess.

  “R’har,” Jenna called out in warm greeting as she and her mate, Ra’kur, headed his way. Her rounded belly was not yet slowing her steps and she smiled widely at him, her delicate human face aglow with the beauty of motherhood. “I’m real glad to see you!”

  He gave a nod, momentarily robbed of words by the fear that he should blurt out his desperate plea and destroy this one last chance.

  “R’har of the Yir clan,” Ra’kur began formally but his smile was warm. “Welcome to the Erah enclosure.”

  He was no orator, like Council Member Mirak, no poet or bard, and his words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Mata, I need your help!”

  Jenna’s brow knitted, her human features making her almost supernaturally lovely but nothing li
ke—

  “Okay,” she said, exchanging a look with her mate. “What’s the matter?” Her frown deepened. “Did something go wrong on Earth?”

  “Did you not find a lifemate, my friend?” Ra’kur asked, looking grieved.

  “Yes, I found a lifemate. Hope.” Just to say it brought joy . . . and pain. “Her namesound is Hope.”

  “Okay,” Jenna said again. “So, what’s wrong?”

  R’har closed his eyes briefly. “I have lost her.”

  “Lost her?” Jenna exclaimed. “What do you mean you ‘lost her’?”

  “She has abjured me.”

  Ra’kur made a sound of shock and sympathy but Jenna shook her head.

  “I thought—you just said you were lifemated—”

  “She has forsworn me,” R’har said, lowering his gaze. “She has formally rejected my claim to her.”

  Jenna’s face fell. “Oh, R’har! I’m so sorry.”

  He could not make tears as she did but his throat closed against the keening of g’hir grief. He swallowed hard.

  “Look,” Jenna began gently. “If there is something I can do—”

  “She has publicly declared . . .” R’har lowered his gaze. “She will not see me again.”

  “Oh, boy,” Jenna murmured. “I can see where this is headed.”

  “Please . . .” He raised his eyes. “Please, I beg of you, Mata, will you speak to her on my behalf?”

  Jenna shifted her weight. “You know, in my experience, it’s always better if you deal with these things yourself. You’re the one who needs to talk to her, R’har.”

  “I have been forbidden the clanhouse. By clan directive I must not offend her sight.”

  Ra’kur’s eyes widened and Jenna’s lovely face was deeply troubled.

  “What about a letter?” she asked. “Couldn’t you write to your—uh, Hope?”

  “No.” He wet his lips. “And none of the Yir enclosure will speak on my behalf. There is no one to help me now but—”

  “Me,” Jenna finished.

  She searched his face, looking thoughtful, and R’har held his breath. He had heard Si’hala once say that the human woman considered her eyes plain, a simple brown color, but to g’hir her eyes were a glorious russet with flecks of gold and green throughout.