Free Bastial Explosion (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 3) by B.T. Narro

shedding my birth skin, Father?” Zeti yelled. “Where have you been when I needed you? I haven’t even seen you since we moved our encampment! And now you come in here ready for disappointment.” She spat at him. But Ruskir leaned out of the way so that it hit the cloth behind him.
    “You dare spit at me?” He took the blade from his belt and pointed it at her. “I’m—”
    “How do you even know where I live?” Zeti interrupted.
    “Grayol told me.” Ruskir’s voice calmed as he sheathed his weapon. He sighed. “The child is completely dependent on you. I’m surprised he’s not here already, now that you’re back.”
    Ruskir came forward. With her eyes avoiding him, Zeti could hear the dirt being displaced as her father found a spot just in front of her and squeezed the claws on his feet. He leaned down to match her eye level.
    “Zeti, they say that you and Paramar let the Slugari escape. Is it true?”
    What is this? She’d never seen her father change his mood from anger to anything else without storming off first. Could he actually feel guilty about leaving me to fend for myself during my shedding? He’s still never told me why.
    “Paramar and I were supposed to close off one of the two perimeters,” she explained. “But we were incapable of running past the hundreds of Slugari without eating them…as any Krepp would be.” She felt childish in that moment, especially with tears surfacing. “Doe made me kill him, Father. He made me kill Paramar.”
    Zeti was a grown woman. She knew this was no way to behave, even if it was in front of her father. But some side of her argued that it was justified and that Ruskir should help her feel better. That’s what he’s supposed to do, the voice said.
    There was a greater chance Ruskir would draw his weapon and cut her than offer words of encouragement. His teeth began to grind as anger tensed the muscles in his face.
    “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, turning to walk away from Zeti. He stopped near the opening to the hut. Spinning around, he said, “Are you serious or is this a joke?” It was a hopeful question, in which one answer would bring overwhelming relief while the other would devastate him.
    “It’s true. But it’s not my fault.”
    “Then whose fault is it!” Ruskir drew the blade again. From the way he was gripping it, Zeti wondered if he was going to throw it at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
    “It’s Doe’s fault for giving us an order that was impossible to follow,” Zeti said, her tone pessimistic, for she knew it was hopeless.
    “Zoke’s a traitor. And you’re a kushlat. ”
    Now Zeti was pointing her blade at Ruskir without even remembering drawing it.
    “I’m no kushlat !” How could he call her that? Zeti couldn’t decide if she was going to throw her dagger at her father or drive it into his stomach. She felt herself taking a step forward.
    Kushlats were female Krepps who were too stupid and proud to ever take a male Krepp as their seshar . They were regarded nearly the same as traitors, outcast and spat upon. The only difference was that they weren’t publicly killed like Zoke would be if he was captured. But many of them were found dead anyway, murdered without anyone claiming to know who did it…nor anyone caring.
    “You are!” Ruskir shouted. “You and Zoke have done nothing but cause me shame. Why don’t you leave like he did, kushlat? ”
    Zeti felt like she was filled with boiling water, steam clouding her vision. She’d never felt so enraged, like she couldn’t even see straight until Ruskir was lying on the dirt, bleeding. That image was all she could picture, her hands craving to make it happen.
    But a surprise interrupted her as she took another step forward. Grayol ran into the hut screaming. The little Krepp jumped at Ruskir so forcefully, he managed to take her father off his feet.
    “I’ll kill you for calling her that!” Grayol viciously clawed at Ruskir. It looked like