Ar’ar shook his head. “No, she is not. We never mated. She did not surrender to it because she longed to return home, although I did not know why then, and I did not—” His throat worked for a moment. “Because I long for another.”
“Another?” Summer echoed, pulling free of Ra’kur’s hold. “You mean . . . you don’t want me?”
“I . . . desired you,” Ar’ar rumbled, his cheeks flushing, as she came to stand before him in the courtyard, and Summer suddenly realized it wasn’t her he was embarrassed to admit that in front of. “Very much. Your human beauty is astonishing but you are not . . .” His eyes were drawn to the clanhall steps, to the young black-haired Erah woman standing there who now blushed becomingly.
Ar’ar swallowed. “H’lara and I met at the wedding ceremony at the Yir enclosure during the last gathering. I have thought of little else since. . .”
The g’hir woman, H’lara, stepped forward, pushing past her astonished clanbrothers.
“And I have made my choice!” she called out in trembling defiance to the shocked crowd, to the wide-eyed Erah clanfather. “I will have no other than Ar’ar as my mate!”
Ar’ar’s face fairly glowed with joy. “H’lara . . .”
As if suddenly remembering why he was standing here shirtless, that Ke’lar still waited to tear him to pieces, Ar’ar quickly inclined his head to his opponent. “I cede all claim to this female, Summer,” he said formally. “She is yours.”
Ke’lar blinked and then he straightened, his fangs flashing in a wide grin.
“Wait—” Summer looked around at Ke’lar. “Did I just get ditched g’hir-style?”
He spread his hands, his glowing blue eyes crinkling with humor. “I was ready to fight for you.”
“I can’t believe . . . all this time you were in love with her?” Summer asked, indicating H’lara.
A look of consternation came over Ar’ar’s face. “You are a worthy female. I had hoped to be a good mate to you.” Ar’ar’s rippled brow creased. “If I had met you before H’lara—”
Summer held her hand up. “No, just stop right there. Believe me,” she assured with a glance at Ke’lar, “I’m really okay with this but . . . Okay, why did you capture me if you really loved her? Why go to Earth at all?”
Ar’ar hesitated. “It is a great honor to be chosen to hunt a mate on your world.”
Summer glanced at Mirak. “And you didn’t want to disappoint your father?”
“Ar’ar . . .” Mirak frowned at his son. “Why did you not tell me?”
“She is of the Erah clan, Father,” Ar’ar said tightly. “Our enemies, as you have said time and again. You taught me hatred of them before my milk teeth had come in.” His gaze went to H’lara, the longing in his eyes so evident it was painful. “And with so many suitors, I did not dare to hope that . . . But when we were last here, when Summer sought sanctuary, we spoke again and . . .”
“My son—” Rotin prompted.
Ke’lar glanced at his father then cleared his throat. “Of course. Ar’ar, I accept your . . .” He paused, looking as if searching for the right word. “. . . decision.”
“You concur that the matter is settled?” Rotin asked Mirak.
“It is settled,” Mirak agreed. “And,” he added with a look at his son, “we are honored to welcome your clansister, H’lara, as the Betari’s next clanmother.”
“Thank you, Father,” Ar’ar breathed. “And thank you, Summer,” he rumbled. “For reminding me that there are some things we must never let anyone, even the Zerar, take from us.”
I did?
“Oh . . . sure.” She gave a nod. “You’re welcome.”
His brow creased. “Are you offended that I lack the fire to fight for you? I would not have you and I be enemies.”
“No!” Summer said instantly. “I’m happy for you! And . . . her. And me. And that Ke’lar doesn’t have to fight you. And nobody has to die. In fact—go.” She pushed him toward H’lara. “Go be happy.”
He threw her a grateful look and lost no time crossing to where the g’hir woman eagerly awaited him.
“I suppose . . .” Mirak met Summer’s eyes hesitantly, discomfiture so out of character for the Betari’s forceful clanfather. “I was wrong to try to force a match between you and my son.”
“You suppose?” Summer echoed.
“I . . . apologize,” Mirak said as if choking on the words a bit. “I regret any pain I caused you, Summer of the Erah.”
“Pain?” she wondered. “Oh! You mean threatening to keep me captive, married against my will?” She gave an airy wave. “I can’t believe you’d even mention such a little thing!”
“Think of me what you will,” he growled, serious in the face of her sarcasm. “But to live out a life alone, for a g’hir warrior, is a pain you cannot imagine. To save our son—her son”—his amber eyes had a pained look remembering one he lost long ago to the Scourge—“from that solitary existence—to give him the hope and joy he deserves—I would do what I did again . . . and more.”
“And since our clans are going to be pals,” she said with a pointed look at Ar’ar and his soon-to-be mate, “you want my forgiveness?”