“They are extracting our DNA and marrow from our ridges.” Her voice is flat, but I can smell the anger rising from her skin.“I followed them to their facilities. I watched them process what they took from our people.”
“What are they doing with it?”
“I cannot see inside their laboratories.” Zaki’s ridge begins to rise, the fur stiffening into points. “But I can smell it. The thickness of our blood, the bone marrow. It hangs in the air around their buildings, too strong to be from just a few specimens.” She looks at me directly. “This is not the end, Alemayehu. They will keep hunting our people.”
“What do you suggest, sister?”
“I will meet with this Jackie for proper garments.” She stands firm. “I will guide our queen into her proper position while I am here.”
“And?”
Zaki gives me a stern look, her eyes hardening. “Then I will go find our people, what is left of them, and bring them here where you and our queen will be prepared and waiting for them.”
“You should not go alone,” I say, though I already know her answer.
“I will not be alone.” She straightens her shoulders. “I will have my Bouda and our Matriarch in spirit. They will be my guides. And let us not forget Mother Fate. She has blessed us with this second chance. The Bouda will not perish.”
Zaki walks around the table and approaches me. She draws closer, the spikes along her back lowering — respect, in Bouda terms. “Do you feel the pull toward your mate?” she asks.
Like a man who has forgotten water,my Bouda says.You stare at her like she is the only solid thing left.I growl softly at it. Zaki smiles at that, reading the answer without needing words.
“When I return,” she says, “I expect to see a cub growing in our queen.”
I frown at her, and my Bouda shifts inside me.What is the problem?My Bouda asks.Your sister is commanding you to progress our bloodline. To produce a cub for our new clan. This is our duty.
“My mate is not a breeding vessel,” I say.
Zaki rolls her eyes. “You want to court her? Fine. But remember your duty to the clan. Just because we are on Wintermoon does not mean we abandon our traditions.”
“My mate said she does not want a servant. She wants a partner.”
A smirk crosses Zaki’s face. She begins to circle me, her ridge climbing with each step. “Give it a week, brother,” she says. “Kendra will fall into her role quickly. She is independent now because she has to be. This world she lives in does not favor community. We will offer her that.” She stops in front of me. “Kendra does not understand that she should be worshipped, not worked like a dog. We will show her that.”
I start to speak, but my Bouda interrupts.Yes, we will elevate our queen to her rightful place. We will build a proper clan home worthy of...
We both freeze at the sound of movement upstairs. Kendra is awake. Zaki and I look toward the ceiling, both inhaling deeply. Kendra is moving around the bedroom, her scent shifting as she searches through the shopping bags. She smells confused, uncertain.
“I will go assist her,” I say, already moving toward the stairs.
Zaki grabs my arm. “No. Let our queen have her autonomy. We must not rush or push her. We must ease her into the comfort of our culture.”
I nod, but I cannot help walking to the edge of the stairs. Zaki snatches the cloth from my hand with a sigh. I listen to the sounds from above, cataloging them: Kendra brushing her teeth,water running, fabric rustling as she finds clothes and changes into them. Then footsteps approaching the stairs.
When she appears at the top of the staircase, my breath catches. Her hair is no longer pulled back but fluffed out around her face, the tight coils framing her features perfectly. The natural curls form a crown of sorts, dense and textured. She wears a fitted shirt and pants that press against her curves, simple but striking on her.
She is magnificent,my Bouda says.A queen in truth.I know.
She stops at the bottom of the stairs and smiles at me. She looks rested, radiant, her scent stronger now. She smells safe, like home.
“Good morning, my Bouda guard,” she says, and her voice carries no mockery, only a soft teasing that pulls my ridge flat. I bow my head. “Maj...”Remember,my Bouda cuts in.Use her name.“Kendra,” I say instead.
She rubs her belly absently, and my mind fills with unbidden images of her carrying my cub, her body swelling with new life. But that is not for now. That is for later, when she understands, when she chooses. With the Bouda, the female must always be the initiator. That is our way.
I step aside to let her pass, but follow closely behind her into the kitchen. My Bouda urges me to feed her, to provide, but I hold back, watching as she goes to the sink and washes her hands. She glances over her shoulder at me and giggles.
“Force of habit,” she says with a shrug.
She turns to Zaki, who is finishing with the table. “Good morning, Zaki.”