“Vo’ak,” he greeted, his voice such a low, grating timbre that it was almost inaudible. The tip of his spear crossed his body as he placed a fist to his heart and dipped his head in a gesture that I had become familiar with. It was a salute to their king. And to me, as his mate. “Raawk-nick,” Vo’ak acknowledged, voice impassive and formal. For a second, I wondered if there was beef that I didn’t know about, but then their faces split into twin, beaming grins and their massive bodies crashed together in an aggressive bear hug. No beef there then.
