The Lost Tribe: Maliha the Wanderer (Book 1)

Warriors Heart

"Feka," roared Ujarak.

He gripped his hair ferociously, before snapping out of his self-depreciation and chasing after Maliha. He couldn't let her leave, not like this. Not after what he had said in anger and fear

Inquisitive eyes watched his abrupt exit from the tent, brows raising before heads dipped low in disapproval. He tried to scout through the land to spot Maliha, but she had disappeared into thin air. His heart thudded in his chest as he cursed at the earth in himself.

He had messed up. Ujarak was disturbed by how nasty he had been.

He had said all the wrongs things and now Maliha was out there somewhere hating him. She had spoken the truth and he had allowed her to feel the fool for it all because he had been scared. So damn scared.

He had been scared that he would read those scriptures and see that she wasn't his sujurrah but what did it matter now? Maliha was heartbroken and was furious with him.

She was gone, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He had been so hung up on the past that he had treated her disgustingly. He was the worst sort of human and he needed Maliha to hear that. Even if she never forgave him, he needed her to believe that the fault wasn't with her. It was on him.

She had every right to stay here and though he stood by what he said about her returning home, he had been wrong to assume that because of that she did not belong. She did.

His heart sunk the further into his tribe lands he traversed without sighting Maliha.

Blood trickled down his face onto shoulder and his cheek throbbed from where she had gorged her nails into his skin. From the pain alone, Ujarak knew that his cheek would likely be scarred for a good while, if not for life.

It was fitting.

He had scarred Maliha's heart and she had reacted in kind by clawing his face. The scar would be a constant mark to his face just like his words would always mar her heart.

"Call a council meeting now," Ujarak demanded, shooting the order to an unsuspecting Kamir.

"But Uja we just-"

"Now," Ujarak snapped, slamming aggressively inside the empty halls that had been his childhood home.

His feet smacked on the floors as he headed into the council room and sunk onto the bench. His head rested in his hands in defeat.

He had said things he didn't mean. He had allowed Maliha to believe things that weren't a true reflection of his feelings.

Of course, he cared. Of course, he wanted her to be his Sujurrah, but his reality was never so black and white, his family's history had proven that.

He wanted to shout that it didn't matter who her family was, but it did. The Daharrasol had to return to them, but he couldn't just hand it back to them without explaining how they had gotten it. Maliha would have to return with it and when she was there, who knew what would happen.

She had to leave but she belonged here. He hated himself for spitting that falsehood when he knew how she had spent most of her childhood feeling as if she had no place or people to call her own.

He was despicable.

His blood dribbled onto the wooden table, as he drummed his fingers irritably.

The heavy doors clapped open, swinging into the wall. His head snapped up as one by one the council members glided into the room.

"What was so urgent to call this-"

Yaniza's haughty words ground to a halt as her eyes widened at the horrific sight of his bloody face.