Dralan [On Hold]

Thirty-Four

Byhron

Finally.

The minute the order came from the messenger, Byhron had practically geared up and sharpened all his blades. He had been the first one ready to march out when the Lathra in charge, during Callath's absence, had pulled him aside and told him the three words that turned his gut to stone.

"You can't go."

Byhron glared in cold fury at the male. "What?"

"You heard me," Luhkas barked, eyeing him up and down. "You're injured and you haven't fed. Call one of the Kischmirs and sustain yourself, Byhron. What you're doing isn't healthy."

As the male turned on his foot to leave him there, Byhron grabbed his arm and clenched it, jerking him back. The male curled his upper lip back in a warning manner, but the threat skidded right off Byhron's skin. "Don't you dare lecture me, Luhkas. You know damn better than anyone that I'm fit for this; I'm going."

"You're not," Luhkas growled, ripping his arm free of Byhron's grip. "You're thickheaded and stubborn and you continuously disregard the feeding protocols. You must've fed twelve hours prior to heading out," He reminded him, staring him down with a hard look. "I know you haven't fed in days."

Byhron ground his molars. How easy it would be to just thrash the male and head out with the other Lathras. He was fine, he had fought battles on lightheadedness worse than what he was feeling now, and this was but a hunt. Walking. Talking. Occasional beating. A high profile female was missing and Luhkas wanted him to waste twelve hours resting, simply because he hadn't fed. Ridiculous.

"Don't bench me on this," He gritted out through his gnashed teeth, meeting the male's eyes with a firm hold. "I promise I'll feed the next time, just don't sit me out on this one." He ground his teeth one more time. "Please."

Luhkas shook his head and then squared his shoulders. "My word is final. Until you've fed and taken the proper time to heal, you're out, Byhron. Just rest," He said, now clasping his hand on his shoulder and giving him a more pointed stare. "Eat, drink, feed - fuck a female. When you're ready, gear up. I'll even have you march first line if you want to, but not before you're fit."

This time, the male gave Byhron one last hard stare before he turned on his heel and marched on, leaving Byhron shaking with rage in the barracks. The Lathras were waiting outside, all of them ready to march out into the villages and cities of Drala, to find the missing Lady Kahtrina.

All except him and a few other weak, injured Lathras who had been wounded prior to the announcement and were still regaining strength. The difference between them and him, however, was that Byhron could walk and talk, even if the occasional dizzy-spell rendered him a few seconds unsteady on his feet. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle. It was normal to him. Years and years he had done this. Only now in the moment it all counted, they decided to call him out on it.

Ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.

Growling, Byhron turned on his feet and begun undressing himself from his layers of armor again, the leather slipping off his body and the metal wrist cuffs clattering to the floor. His chestplate he shoved onto the hangers on the wall again, before undoing his codpiece, throwing it away.

Ridiculous.

Roaring, Byhron punched his fist against the wall and then leaned up against it, breathing heavily. The world shifted for three seconds, his head begun spinning. For a moment, the rage disappeared and all he felt was the dizziness and the raw sensation scratching his throat, burning throughout his body.