To Rule the Alpha's Heart

27. The First Dream

CALLA VORONÍN

With Cyril's reassurance, Calla hurried back into camp. The twilight made it difficult to see, but she scoured the clearing for Einarr's familiar broad shoulders and the long dark braid that fell down his back. Even in the darkness, she'd recognize him by the gentle tug in her chest. If the Nortend legends were correct, that relentless little tug was her soul, yearning to unite with its mate...

A small frown pulled on her lips as she wove throughout camp, sidestepping fire pits and tents to no avail. Growing discouraged, Calla turned to the first shifter that she recognized– Arkan, one of Einarr's Sanguin.

The dark-skinned male sat with several other pack members around a fire, the flames casting an assortment of shadows against his muscled torso. Einarr had introduced Calla to all three members of his Sanguin several days prior, but she hadn't spoken to them since. At the time, Arkan seemed like the kindest of the trio.

She took a deep breath, held her chin high, and walked toward the flames.

The eyes of every shifter seated around the fire snapped up when she arrived, but she kept her gaze on Arkan. The shifter's warm brown eyes swept up the length of her body. He did not greet her. He did not say anything. He simply waited.

Having had no real conversation with Arkan before, she didn't know the extent of his knowledge of the common tongue. Fortunately, she'd spent several of her evenings thus far with Cyril, learning snippets of important phrases and words in the Nortend language. In truth, she hadn't made much progress, but she swallowed her doubt, nonetheless.

"Mar behassa, Arkan," she began, the words slightly thick and awkward on her tongue. Cyril had taught her that mar behassa translated to 'moon's blessings,' a respectful greeting among the shifters.

Out of the corner of her eye, Calla noticed a few passerby stopping to listen. The Onyx Craven Pack hadn't heard their Luna speak the native Nortend tongue before. Even Arkan sat up a bit straighter at her efforts to communicate.

"Mar behassa, Luna," he answered, civil.

She dared a small smile, grateful that he hadn't ridiculed her attempt. Arkan lifted two dark brows, silently prompting her to continue.

Calla wetted her lips, praying to the Seven gods or the Moon Goddess or whatever deity might've been able to help her remember her lessons with Cyril.

"Locve... et Einarr?" she managed, unable to stop herself from wincing at the uncertainty in her own words. She'd meant to ask the warrior: Where is Einarr?

Arkan leaned forward, one corner of his lips twitching. "Locva et Einarr. Loc-va," he clarified, although there was not a hint of malice in his words. Before Calla could repeat the correct pronunciation back to cement it in her memory, Arkan continued. "Einarr kan Idoneah hrones rak."

Arkan spoke so quickly that Calla scarcely had time to absorb his words. She recognized Einarr's name, of course. Idoneah's name was also, unfortunately, familiar. She'd never heard hrones before, but she recalled hearing Gudrun say the word rak when the elders began cleaning the elk meat before dinners... Rak must have meant elk.

After several long moments, Calla nodded her tentative understanding. "Einarr and Idoneah are... hunting elk?"

Idoneah almost always led the pack's hunt. Einarr must have decided to join the female warrior because it took longer than he'd anticipated to cross the barren tundra.

The smile on Arkan's lips grew as he nodded. "Very good, Luna."

Pride swelled in Calla's chest, and her cheeks warmed at the warrior's praise. For the first time since arriving in Nortend, she'd spoken in their native tongue without Cyril's assistance. It was also the first time that the Onyx Craven pack members looked upon her with something other than hesitation and disdain in their eyes.