I was trembling head-to-toe and I wanted to bolt. I wanted to run.
But it was too late.
We were entering the avenue of the warriors.
I knew this because the onlookers had disappeared. The only thing left were two lines on either side of us, shoulder to shoulder, of men wearing nothing but hide pants, their glistening, brown-skinned bodies painted. Some had painted white streaks in addition to black, not many, a few. More had red. About the same amount had a deep blue. Some had a combination of all of these colors. But there were some only painted in black even though those painted solely in black was nowhere near the majority.
And it was scary. They were scary. This was because they were huge. Not big, not tall, huge. They were all lean and muscled, not a little bit, a lot. Some had scars. Some had seriously nasty scars. All of them had black hair, all of it long and pulled back from their painted faces. All of them were wearing what looked like a long looped chain that was wound around their waists. All had massive swords in scabbards at slants on their backs and all had two knives in sheathes at either side of their waists.
They looked like warriors and they looked like savages.
The place was lit with tons of torches and some big fires. The drums were still beating, louder now, the sound pummeling my skin. I walked in front of the warriors and I became glad the Korwahk women wanted these men. I was glad because they also knew I would draw attention because I was blonde and they wanted that attention. Warrior eyes came to me but the minute they did, a Korwahk woman moved to get in front of me, catch their eyes. They leaned in to show their faces, leaned back to show their bodies, pressed their arms together to push out their breasts.
Thank God.
“Circe, close to me, duck your head without looking like you’re doing it. We approach the Dax,” Narinda warned under her breath but over the drums and I moved even closer to her and tried to duck my head without looking like I was ducking my head.
And come to the Dax we did. The drums were so loud they were all I could hear. Each beat felt like it was hammered against my body. And the Korwahk women around us became frenzied. They flooded the area to our left side and did everything to put themselves on display.
I leaned forward and peered through the undulating bodies trying to see but all I caught were scraps. Nevertheless, those scraps were not good.
A vast, wide dais, some ten steps up. On it what looked like a huge throne made almost entirely out of colossal, black, curling horns that shot up and rounded in an array at the back, the same for the armrests and seat. The feet, though, looked like elephant feet.
Um… not nice.
Behind the dais there was what looked like a stream of fire that danced the length, illuminating it. To either side of the throne, massive fire pits then huge drums that were at least the height of two grown men and the men banging the drums had to run toward it and hurl their mallet with the flying weight of their whole body, drop to their feet, run away and then run back again. They were glistening with sweat for their efforts.
That was all I caught. No man was sitting on the throne. There was no one there.
No one.
Until I saw him.
Standing at one side and up toward the edge of the dais looking down was a giant of a man. A beast of a man. Taller than any of the extremely tall warriors on the sides of the parade, broader, more muscled, more savage.
He was looking down the dais not at the parade but at a man in robes who was gesturing up to him. His strapping arms were crossed on his brawny chest, his chest and face painted in streaks of black, one going clean across his eyes. He wore no other colors.
And he appeared bored.
That was all I saw before frenzied Korwahk girls, calling out in their strange language, closed in front of me, jumping up and down like they were at their favorite boy band concert.
“He doesn’t intend to take a wife this Hunt, thank the Gods,” Narinda breathed at my side and her relief was so great, it communicated itself to me. I relaxed and she moved us forward hurriedly but I could tell she was trying to make it not look hurried.
Then I did something stupid. I don’t know why I did, but I did.
When we were passed the dais and the girls started to circle me again to deflect the attention the warriors were giving me, I looked back at the savage Korwahk king.
And when I did, I looked right into his dark, painted eyes.
Oh fuck!
I twisted back around swiftly and sucked in breath.
“Circe?” Narinda called, hearing my breath even over the drums.
“He saw me,” I whispered.
“What?” she asked.
“He saw me!” I cried. “The Dax!”
Her eyes got big and she cried in return, “Oh no!”
I shut my eyes tight.
“All right, all right, my lovely, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he –” she tried, clutching my arm.
“He did,” I whispered as we moved beyond the avenue of warriors into another sea of onlookers.
She gripped my arm. “Maybe he didn’t.”
I nodded. “Maybe he didn’t,” I said softly.
But he did.
Chapter Two
The Claiming
One warrior slashed out with his enormous sword cutting open the warrior who had chained himself to my necklace, the warm spurt of blood splashed across my front, I screamed and jumped away as the warrior attached to me dropped, lifeless, to the ground.
Narinda had not told me about the Hunt. She had not told me that the warriors would fight each other for their brides. You could hear the grunts of men everywhere, the clash of steel, the howls of pain, the roars of victory.
You could also hear the cries of women, most were in surprise, some fear, some distress, some were in ecstasy mingled with the groans of men finding sexual release.
All of it coming at me from all directions in the dark night.
It was a nightmare. It was a nightmare’s nightmare.
This was the third time I’d been caught, tackled to the hard ground by a warrior who threw himself off a horse to do it. He then took the end of the chain around his waist and hooked it to my necklace and then he started wrestling me, fights I knew I’d lose because all of them were inhumanly strong and stinking men, I might add, so already stronger than me. Then they’d be challenged by another warrior (once two). Then they’d battle, sword against sword, knife against knife, fists against flesh and the only thing I had to be thankful for was that the chain was long and every warrior who hooked it to me shoved me well out of the fray.
The others had given up, though, by batting the victorious warrior on the head seeming not all that bothered then they unchained my chain, remounted their steed and took off into the night.
This warrior had killed the man chained to me.
I backed up, trying to drag the massive, inert warrior I was attached to with me as the new warrior stalked toward me, his eyes intense, his body scarred more than most, his face, even only lit by the moonlight and the faraway torchlight of the Daxshee, ferocious and mean. I knew instantly, as I panted and yanked at my chain, dragging the motionless warrior with me as the new one prowled toward me, that although I didn’t want any of them, this one I really didn’t want.
