Captive Of The Horde King

by Zoey Draven

  Captive of the Horde King

  Horde Kings of Dakkar - Book One

  Zoey Draven

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Stock Art: Depositphotos

  Cover Design: Zoey Draven

  Copyright © 2019 Zoey Draven

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Bonus Epilogue

  Horde Kings of Dakkar #2

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  Prologue

  It all began with a burning field.

  Black plumes of thick smoke rose high above our village, cries of horror lifting with it. Higher and higher, black against the backdrop of the grey sky. A dreaded beacon. A mistake. Because no one in their right mind would ever willingly signal the Dakkari, to bring their wrath on us all.

  Bile filled my throat and I dropped my basket and ran to the fields, as others did. Because somehow I knew. I knew who was responsible.

  When I reached the fields, a group had formed. Water was rushed out in steel buckets to suffocate the blaze that had spread wildly. It was hot. So hot, but it didn’t stop me from running towards it, from forming into the line as water passed from villager to villager.

  I watched my younger brother at the end of the line, watched him desperately throw the much-needed resource onto the flames. A waste, but a necessary one. In between bucket passes, I saw the way his face was drawn tight. And I knew.

  Fury and fear filled me.

  It squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands trembled as I passed more buckets down the line.

  When the fire had finally been extinguished, silence filled the air, thick and heavy, like smoke that still lingered. There were at least twenty villagers in the line, with at least twenty more watching in horror from the edge of the dead, now burned, field. The intelligent ones were probably already preparing to hide because they knew what would happen next.

  They’d all heard the stories, the rumors. It was only a matter of time, only a matter of which Dakkari horde was closest to them.

  I broke the silence with that fury and I rounded on my younger brother, stalking towards him.

  “You fool!” I hissed, useless tears filling my eyes before I blinked them away. I was five years older than Kivan, but he still towered over me. I pushed at his broad shoulders. His cheeks were blackened with ash, from his latest ‘experiment.’ “What have you done?”

  “I—I,” he stuttered, his gaze darting from me, to the villagers watching, to the blackened field, a field which hadn’t produced crops in at least five moon cycles. “I was just trying to…to…”

  He was always just trying to.

  My gaze flashed to the sky, seeing the smoke. It could probably be seen from the Dakkari capital. I looked at the field, at the darkened, destroyed earth, my throat tightening.

  “They’ll kill you for this,” I whispered to him, to myself, filled with fear so potent it made saliva pool in my mouth, made nausea churn in my belly. I had heard they’d killed humans for less.

  Because they would come.

  The Dakkari would come…

  They would demand retribution.

  Chapter One

  I’d seen the Dakkari twice before in my lifetime.

  The first time, I’d been a child, no older than six or seven. Our mother had still been alive then.

  A horde had passed directly next to our village, but didn’t step foot inside. The memory of them, though I’d been young, was forever imprinted on my mind. From afar, the Dakkari horde had seemed like a black cloud passing over the land. As they’d grown closer, I’d discovered that they were similar to men, to us, though so very dissimilar at the same time.

  I remembered the black-scaled beasts they rode, gold paint glittering in the sunlight across their flanks, beasts that sometimes traveled on two legs, or sometimes utilized all four. Beasts that looked like monsters to my young self, that gave me nightmares until I woke screaming.

  My mother had dragged me away from my spying place before I could take a closer look at the Dakkari males riding those beasts. We’d hidden in a corner, wrapped in fur blankets—my nervous mother, a crying Kivan, and I—until the horde passed without incident.

  However, my curiosity about the Dakkari’s appearance would be assuaged years later when they came to our village for another purpose.

  I’d been fourteen at the time. Part of the horde had broken off and walked through, leaving their black-scaled beasts at the single entrance to our walled village, while the rest waited on the peak of a nearby hill. They’d come upon us so suddenly that for most, there had been no time to hide.

  It was then I’d gotten my first real look at a Dakkari.

  Up close, they were massive beings. When one passed me, I’d only come up to the center of his bared waist. They wore hides and furs to cover their bottom halves, some in pants that encased their legs, others in small pieces of cloth that revealed the expansive muscles of their thick thighs. My mother had told me the Dakkari hordes were nomadic warriors serving their king…and they looked like warriors. Primitive warriors so strong and big that no one dared to breathe in their presence as they walked through our village.

  Unlike the other alien species that were spread out on the surface of Dakkar, the Dakkari—the native species, the species whose will they all had to obey—had a similar skin color to humans. Like darkened honey, tanned from the sun from their nomadic lifestyle. Golden tattoos across their flesh flashed as they walked, their long, black, coarse hair swaying around their waists as they inspected the village. Behind them, a long, flexible tail flicked as they walked, slightly curled so it wouldn’t drag on the ground.

  Their eyes were like black pools, their circular irises a golden yellow that contracted and widened with light. They had no whites in their eyes like us. It was eerie, spine-tingling to look into them. But a strange part of me had been fascinated. A strange part of me had thought them beautiful.

  That day, a day that had started out like any other, had taken a shocking turn when one of the Dakkari males saw Mithelda—a young, timid blonde, eight years older than me at the time, who’d always been kind—and, promptly, taken her.

  He’d captured her, tore her away from her aging parents and young sister, and the Dakkari had left as quickly as they’d come.

  No one spoke of it. No one in our vi
llage saw Mithelda again, though news from another human settlement, four days travel away, had seen her with a horde as they’d passed, riding one of the black-scaled beasts, in the lap of a Dakkari male. The human settlement had reported she’d looked beaten, abused. Yet, no one dared to interfere.

  From that day on, if the lookouts saw evidence of a horde approaching, all women in the village donned cloaks and hoods, to conceal our faces. Just in case.

  Which was why, on that evening after the burning field, after a lookout had come running into the village with news of a horde approaching fast, I put on my thick cloak, tied back my brown hair, and pulled up the hood.

  Kivan watched me, his fingers fumbling nervously.

  “Luna,” he said, his voice trembling. “I—I just want you to know that I—”

  “Shhh, Kivan,” I said, going to him. He was seated at our modest table, rocking the broken chair back and forth on its three legs. Crouching in front of him, so that we were eye-level, I squeezed his shaking hands and said, “I will always protect you. Mother made me promise, remember? You have nothing to fear.”

  “I was only trying to bring life back to our crops,” he explained, as he had a thousand times since that afternoon. “I heard that on Laperan, they burn crops to—”

  “We are not on Laperan,” I replied gently, squeezing his hands, meeting his eyes. “We are on their planet. We must respect their ways. And today, we did not.”

  Tears filled his eyes, which shocked me. I’d never seen him cry since Mother died. Not once.

  “I didn’t mean for it to burn so much,” he rasped. “You’re right, Luna, I am a fool.”

  “Stop,” I whispered, guilt eating at my chest, wanting to comfort him. It may very well be the last time I saw him, no matter what happened that night. “You were only trying to help us. It was an accident. I will speak with them. I will make them understand. Yes?”

  Kivan shook his head, unable to meet my eyes, as his tears slowly dried up. But I stayed crouched at his feet, listening to the silence of our home, the silence of the village outside our doors.

  “I love you, brother,” I said, lifting his face. “It will be alright.”

  “They will give us up,” he said. He meant the villagers, our friends and neighbors, in an effort to spare themselves from the Dakkaris’ wrath.

  Truthfully, I couldn’t even blame them for it.

  “I will make them understand,” I repeated, my tone hardening. Because I had to.

  It wasn’t much longer before we heard the horde approaching on their black-scaled beasts. It was like rumbling thunder, which sometimes boomed across the planet during violent storms.

  Closer and closer, they came.

  Until the thunder stopped all at once and I heard the sounds of heavy bodies dismounting outside the walls of the village, of deep, gruff voices that easily penetrated our flimsy door.

  I looked at Kivan and then slowly stood from my crouched position.

  “Stay in here,” I told him.

  “Luna—”

  I walked out of our home before he could say another word and closed the rickety door behind me. The village street was empty and eerily quiet. Some villagers had even left earlier that evening, to hide out in the mountains until the horde passed on. But most remained, though their homes were dark and silent.

  Through the one small, dirty window of our home, I could see Kivan watching me from the table, his eyes wide. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked to the center of the single dirt road that connected the entire village together. It was there I waited with a pounding heart.

  The creaking of the village gates met my ears as they were forced open, like a shrill cry cutting through the darkness. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of Polin’s voice, perhaps the only person in the village brave enough to meet the Dakkari willingly. He was our leader, however, the head of our small village council. Polin saw it as his duty to meet with the Dakkari, but I had no doubts that he would direct them to our door, to wash his hands of Kivan once and for all.

  But I would not give up my brother. Ever.

  There were only two possible outcomes I would accept. One being I would exchange my life for Kivan’s. It was simple enough. I promised our mother that I would protect him and I always kept my promises.

  The second option…well, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mithelda. Or that the Dakkari male had taken her for an obvious purpose.

  It was rumored that the Dakkari sometimes took prizes. War prizes. Females—not necessarily humans—from other villages or settlements spread across Dakkar that had wronged them.

  Perhaps they would take me instead of taking my brother. It was a trade I was willing to offer.

  The moon was full and bright enough that I didn’t need a lantern to see the Dakkari approaching.

  I’d forgotten just how big they were. Readjusting my hood, I blew out a long breath through pursed lips, pressing my suddenly trembling hands flat against my cloak.

  As I peered at the small group of Dakkari approaching, I saw that there were seven in total. All were bare-chested, exposing cords and planes of tanned muscle, of gold ink embedded into their skin in intricate, yet bold lines. No one knew what those markings meant. I saw their tails flicking behind them, obviously agitated, restless.

  My eyes caught and held on the Dakkari leading the pack, my lips parting unseen within the shadowy confines of the hood. His own gaze was fixed on my cloaked figure, though his alien features were expressionless, those black eyes reflecting nothing in the moonlight.

  But he moved swiftly, those long legs eating up the distance between us. Polin was nowhere in sight.

  Seven Dakkari suddenly surrounded me in a circle, drawing their blades from the sheaths that crisscrossed their backs with a smooth swish. All except for him and the male next to him.

  And I knew right then that he was one of the horde kings, one of the six that led the hordes across Dakkar, keeping order, patrolling their lands, and punishing those that threatened the Dakkari way.

  He stood, stance widened, bulging arms at his sides, his long fingers—six on each hand—tipped with deadly claws. His thick, black hair was half-braided down his back, keeping it out of his face, exposing sharp, shadowed cheekbones, a flat nose with slitted nostrils, and wide-set eyes with yellow irises. His hair was decorated with a few gold beads and wrapped metal. On his large wrists—which were the size of my upper arms—were gold cuffs.

  I could hear my swallow echo within the small circle, bouncing off their massive bodies as they towered over me.

  The Dakkari male next to the horde king addressed me in the universal tongue, the only tongue I could speak, with, “Were you the one who burned our land, who disrespected and defiled our goddess, Kakkari?”

  The messenger’s voice was nothing more than a growl, a deep growl that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  The Dakkari revered their land above all else. To destroy their land, especially with fire, was to disrespect them all, including their deities.

  I thought of Kivan, sitting just a few feet away at the table in our home. He would be able to hear through the door and I prayed to all the gods and goddesses in the universe that he stayed inside.

  “It was an accident,” I said softly, resisting the urge to look down at their feet. But I kept my eyes level, on the smooth column of the horde king’s throat, though I knew they would not be able to see my face unless I tilted it towards the moon.

  “Is that a confession, nekkar?” the messenger growled again, next to the horde king.

  My breath whistled out from my nostrils. “Please listen to what I have to say. Our village is hungry. Our crops have withered. We were only trying—”

  The messenger slashed his arm through the air to silence me.

  “We?” he repeated. “You did not act alone in this crime? Name your partner and I will ensure that both of your blood spills over the scorched land, to replenish Kakkari in full. You take from her? Then you must give in
return.”

  My stomach lurched. For some strange reason, I looked up from his throat, though he had not spoken yet, directly into the horde king’s eyes…because I knew that it was him I spoke to. Not the messenger. It was him I needed to appeal to. His eyes were still on me, as if his gaze could penetrate the shielding shadows of my cloak, freezing me into place.

  The door of our home burst open and I cried out in alarm as Kivan flung himself into the circle of armed Dakkari, moving to stand before me, blocking my view with his broad shoulders.

  “Kivan!” I hissed, moving to step in front of him again.

  “It was me,” Kivan exclaimed. “I started the fire, not my sister. She is only trying to protect me.”

  The Dakkari messenger finally unsheathed his blade then and I saw Kivan’s shoulders tense tight when the sharpened edge glinted in the light. The gold was so reflective that I saw my hooded figure in it, saw Kivan’s drawn, frightened face.

  To draw attention away from him, I shoved him behind me, putting me within arm’s reach of the horde king, and said, “Our village will starve if we cannot replenish the crops. You do not let us hunt game. We are surviving on Uranian Federation rations. So, I’m sorry that we burned your land, but know that it was only in a desperate attempt to feed ourselves before the cold season comes and the ground freezes over.”

  “It is not our concern how the nekkar feed themselves,” the messenger growled out.

  Before I could reply, a rumbling, deep voice thundered within the group, making all of the Dakkari straighten, even the messenger.