Chapter 5

Zanhoden frowned. For the last hour he was contemplating where his dear Abu was really going. He and his men didn’t buy the “looking for another resting place” nonsense Sarim had hissed out during the meeting. However, Zanhoden would not speak on it publicly. If he did, it would look like pettiness on his part and it wouldn’t be taken seriously. It was a well-known fact that he and Sarim despised one another. Zanhoden’s tribe, the Imvura, had enough to deal with. He didn’t need to add to it by questioning the truthfulness of the Abu’s upcoming whereabouts.

Leaning his back against the balcony wall, he smiled. He would soon find out exactly where Sarim was heading. He had an inside source.

***

Leaning his lithe, six-foot-two frame against the wall of the dark entrance chamber of their resting lair, Khafil allowed his guard to drop. The entire resting area lay underground, right beneath their headquarters. The underground area equaled the size of two football fields, side-by-side, large enough to house all the Taalib Dumas who chose to rest peacefully in its confines. A fact most Taalib Dumas appreciated, considering humans had an uncanny ability to “accidentally” discover Taalib Dumas’ resting places. The unfortunate creatures were never able to tell their world what they’d discovered. Any human who inadvertently discovered a resting area of a Taalib Duma had to be killed.

Rubbing his face, he drew a long deep breath. He had just had the unfortunate experience of witnessing one of his Abu’s spur-of-the-moment hunts.

Khafil shuddered as he remembered the screams of terrified humans as their necks were being ripped apart. Thankfully he didn’t have to partake in the barbaric feeding ritual. He’d found the procedure disgusting and had voiced the thought to Sarim. Of course, his highness hadn’t appreciated being told his feeding ritual was revolting, and as usual, Sarim had told him to speak only when spoken to and know his place.

Sarim, Khafil mused, had no idea how ironic his words were. If Sarim knew who his loyal, faithful protector really was, he would be on knees begging Khafil’s forgiveness for every insulting word he’d ever muttered at him. Cursing himself, Khafil swiftly switched his thoughts back to matters at hand. During the migrata, the first state of rest, Sarim could still read his thoughts, if he desired to.

Tracing a finger along his chin, he thought about the upcoming journey with Sarim. Finding the missing heir was his objective. His purpose for tolerating Sarim’s arrogance was to ensure the missing descendant was found.

The role had been developed for him. Only he knew what the heir looked like. He had formed a connection with her. He could “sense” the heir, something he’d been doing for years. Sarim had no idea his faithful protector withheld such vital information about his heir.

Khafil was positioned as Sarim’s ass-kissing protector-the ideal position to allow him complete access to Sarim’s whereabouts and adequate knowledge of Sarim’s thoughts. At times he wanted to slap that arrogant look off Sarim’s face, but duty prevailed. Such whims would be put off until a later time.

Khafil cursed himself again. He had to be more careful. He quickly connected his mind with Sarim’s, then breathed a sigh of relief. Sarim was past the migrata and had heard nothing. But he could not afford any mistakes. He would not bring shame to his father’s lineage. So, for now, he would heed his father’s wishes. After he reunited with the heir, Khafil had his own agenda-one which did not need his father’s stamp of approval.