by Webster, K
The toxica hits her blood stream, and her grip on my cheeks slips. I pull out, my cock still leaking at the tip, and take hold of her wrists. I kiss the insides of her palms. One and then the other. Then, I pin her arms down as I rain kisses down on her perfect face. She lets out a content sigh. Her eyes aren’t wild or confused. She’s sated and happy.
I did this.
I pleased my mate.
Kiss after kiss, I reassure her she’s mine, and I’ll always take care of her. Eventually, I grow tired again and settle beside her. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is her fingertips gently brushing along my scars as she regained her movement after the toxica.
“Rest my mate,” she whispers.
* * *
Away from the refuge of the crevasse hidden in the mountain, my mind begins to clear some. The taboo feeling of what I did with Molly doesn’t seem to fade. If anything, I feel worse by the second. If Breccan and the others find out I bit my mate…
Images of the reform cell below the facility make me shudder.
I won’t go back.
Molly wouldn’t allow it.
That thought soothes me. She’s a fighter, my mate. Brave and resilient and beautiful. She is the sun, she is the sky, she is my everything.
And she tastes so rekking good.
I look over my shoulder and give her a wave. She grins through her mask and waves back. The winds are calmer this solar, but still brutal. Once reassured she’s still behind me, I keep trekking forward. I can’t help but think about the moment her blood hit my tongue. Sweet. So sweet. When we woke later, I’d felt shamed by the blood-crusted holes in her neck. All four of them. She’d simply gingerly touched them, her cheeks turning pink, telling me I was a kinky bastard. Whatever the rekk a kinky bastard is.
Alas, it is true.
I am this kinky bastard.
Because the scene keeps replaying in my mind over and over. It makes my cock hard in my minnasuit beneath my zu-gear. Images of holding her down and biting her in other less conspicuous places has me groaning with need. Again, I look over my shoulder to make sure she’s safe. When our eyes meet, she’s no longer smiling.
Fear.
Pure, unfiltered fear.
She points past me, her hand shaking against the wind.
It’s her scream that does me in.
“DRAVEN!”
I’ve unsheathed my magknife and have already whipped around in time to see a sabrevipe tearing along the channel toward us. He’s large—fat even—and I wonder what he’s been feeding on to keep him so plump. His size is to my advantage, though.
“Stay along the wall,” I roar to Molly as I cut through our link. I’ll need to be free to take down this massive beast.
“Draven!” she cries out as her body hits the dirt.
Now that we’re no longer tethered together, I prowl toward the sabrevipe that has stopped just ahead of me. It claws at the dirt and snarls at me. My eyes flicker up the side of the mountain wall.
One. Two. Three.
I count the handholds at my disposal. I’ll have to be quick. I cannot fail because if I do, it’ll get past me to my mate.
Over my rekking dead body.
I charge forward, my eyes on the beast while keeping the wall in my periphery. As soon as I’m close to the first handhold, I grab at it. I hoist myself up, my feet digging into the side of the mountain, then I hop to the next one that’s a little higher. Beneath me, the sabrevipe growls in confusion. I’ve just grabbed the third handhold when it darts its head back toward my cowering mate.
No.
Not happening, fat rekk.
I drop from the handhold, so I land on the beast. It’s pink, hairless skin gets pierced with my magknife as my other arm wraps around its neck. It bucks, trying to shake me off, but I’m already pulling my magknife out again to stab it. Over and over in between its ribs. When it weakens and stumbles, I use my weight to force it down into submission. I land a fatal blow of my magknife into its ear.
As soon as I’m certain it’s dead, I rise from its unmoving body and stalk after my mate. With a growl, I pick up the end of the rope in the dirt and roughly pull her to me. She stumbles but then rushes forward to keep up with my pulling. Once she lands hard against my chest, I let out a sigh of relief.
“You’re safe now,” I rumble, squeezing her tight.
“Draven, you scared the shit out of me,” she whimpers. “I thought you were going to die.”
“We all go to The Eternals eventually, my mate. But not this rekking solar.”
She pulls away slightly, and I tie us back together. The end is in sight, and after not too much longer, I pull her out of the mouth of the Gunteer Channel.
The winds are gone now that we’re out of the crevasse that seems to suck air. What lies beyond confuses me.
A valley.
A green valley.
I blink several times as I try to process the herds of rogcow munching on mosshay. It grows plentiful here. Even some trees I’ve never seen before grow within the valley, some ripe with fruit.
Did the sabrevipe eat me?
Have I gone to The Eternals?
This is certainly unlike The Graveyard or any place I’ve ever seen on Mortuus.
“It’s beautiful,” Molly whispers. “And the cows are here. Sokko will have his milk.” She lets out a tearful sob of relief as she unties the rope and walks forward to the nearest herd. Typically, the rogcows scatter when they see us morts coming, but not these. These beasts seem oblivious to the predator before them. They feed on the mosshay without care. Several ronk nearby.
“These are…different,” she utters, a small chuckle escaping her. “Never seen white cows with red eyes before.”
One in particular looks right at her and ronks.
“Your rogcows don’t look like this?”
She shakes her head. “For one, our cows have four legs, not eight.” Her hand tentatively reaches out, and she pats the rear of one of the beasts. “And they don’t have two tails.” It lifts its head and nudges her with its snout. “Or, weird, one eye.”
Her rogcows must look strange as these look how they always do. Fatter, though. My mouth waters just thinking of sinking my teeth into a meaty thigh and—
“Stop growling or you’ll scare Eye-lean away.”
She enunciates each part of the name. I cock my nog in confusion.
“Eye-lean.”
The rogcow in question ronks loudly at me.
“Look, one eye,” Molly says, “and she leans in when you pet her. Cute, huh?”
Cute is not the word I prefer.
Delicious, perhaps.
“I can slaughter Eye-lean and check her R-Levels. By sundown, we can feast on this—”
Ronnnnnk!
“Draven, no,” she growls. My mate is fierce in this moment.
I arch a brow. “Why not?”
“Because she’s our pet now! You don’t eat pets, babe.” She pats the beast’s head. “Stop looking at her like she’s food. It hurts her feelings. Eye-lean is a part of our family now.”
I suppress a groan, but I do what my mate wills. With a resigned sigh, I slowly approach the animal. I’m surprised that it doesn’t run from me. Instead, it leans into my touch, too. I roam my palm along her fattened sides.
“She is pregnant,” I tell her.
“Awww,” she coos. “Then we have to keep her. She’ll provide us with the milk she needs, and in favor, we can protect her from those scary cat things. I will take care of the calf. I know how to deliver calves. Did it back home when I was a teenager.” Her bright, hopeful brown eyes meet mine. “Please, handsome. Can we keep her?”
“If that is your wish, my mate.”
Perhaps we can eat one of Eye-lean’s ronking friends instead.
13
Molly
Roooooooonk.
The rogcow ambles between the two of us, securely latched to the tether, but I follow a couple steps behind like a worried mother. I
missed having animals to take care of, to tend to. Maybe it’s my mothering instinct in overdrive.
The red-orange dust seems to be easier to deal with now that we’re going with the flow rather than against it. It allows at least a modicum of visibility which allows me to notice every time Draven looks back, his fangs practically dripping with drool.
“Stop looking at Eileen like you want to take a bite out of her. The milk she’ll provide to everyone is more than enough reason to keep her alive. Not to mention the benefits for Sokko. Plus, if we go back for a male rogcow, we can keep breeding them for a herd. Maybe that Oz guy can make a pen for them. I was good at taking care of cows back home when I was younger. Eventually, we may not even have to hunt for them. We can raise some for breeding and milk and some for meat.”
“You mean to keep the animals in cages?” Draven asks.
“Well, no. I mean sort of. What you do is build a large pen, so they can walk around and eat. Hmm. There isn’t much green space like there was on the other side of the crevasse. We’ll have to talk to the others about the best way to do it. Maybe we can build the pen in that grassy area and go back and forth.”
Roooooooonk, Eileen bellows as though she agrees with me.
“Plus, if we do that, it’ll give us another opportunity to stay in the caves by the lake. Maybe I’ll even convince you to let me go swimming.”
I don’t have to see his face to know he’s frowning. For being badass vampire aliens, these morts sure are afraid of anything they don’t know or understand. I guess losing everyone you love will make you hesitant of new experiences. I can certainly relate to that.
“We’ll do no such thing until it’s been thoroughly tested,” Draven says.
I roll my eyes at his back. He’d said the same thing the second night we stayed in the cavern with Eileen on our way back through the crevasse. As we tromp through the dusty, windy path, I wish I had convinced him to let me take a little dip. A swim in the gorgeous, clear turquoise water sounds heavenly at this point.
If we weren’t on such a time squeeze getting Eileen here back to Sokko, I would have convinced Draven to stay another day or two to explore. As it is, we’re moving at nearly double the speed, the fastest Eileen will allow, down the tunnel toward the facility. Thankfully, it’s much easier to travel with the forceful wind at our backs. Even with Eileen, we make good time.
By early afternoon, we emerge from Gunteer Channel at the base of the Phyxer Mountains. The last time we’d traveled, it had taken the better part of a day, but I know we’re quickly running out of time. If we hurry, we should make it by full dark. The vast desert stretches out in front of us, seemingly endless, but we have a life to save, and though I couldn’t protect my own child, I will protect Sokko. It’s with the thought of my sweet Willow cradled in my mind that I tug Eileen’s chain and follow Draven out of the mountains and across the desert.
We travel for many hours. Soon, I forget what it’s like to not be moving forward. Eileen ambles alongside me as though she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her loud bellows are lost in the rumbles from the ever-present geostorm clouds and constant thunder.
Thunder that seems to grow louder with each step.
Great. The last thing we need is to be caught in the middle of a storm.
“Are we going to get caught in that?” I ask Draven over the rumble.
“No, my mate. We will be safe inside the facility before any storms hit as long as we keep going.”
The thunder roars.
“Draven? Are you sure?”
A loud mechanical shriek roars over his answer.
“Draven?”
The thunder sounds closer. Like it’s right on top of us. Eileen roooooonks loudly, and instinct has me whirling around.
A large vehicle is almost right on top of us. I shriek and throw myself on top of Eileen who bellows in protest. Draven whirls around at the last second and, spotting the vehicle, lunges to the side to avoid being run over.
The vehicle rocks to a stop. Draven crab-crawls across the stony earth to my side. Eileen tugs at the lead, but I keep my hand tight around the rope.
“Draven? Who is that? Is it one of the other morts?”
But Draven doesn’t answer. He’s already on his feet with his zonnoblaster at the ready, pointed at the driver’s side door. “Open up, and show yourself.”
The door creaks open, and something flies out in our direction. A second later, it explodes. A grenade or a bomb? Oh my God!
“Arrrrrrrghhhhh!” Draven screams, slumping to the ground.
“No!” I shout.
With Eileen bawling madly, I scramble on the ground to where Draven fell, finding him in a silent heap a few feet away. “Please please please please.”
Draven coughs and sits up. “Get behind me,” he orders before bringing his gun up again. To the person—or whatever it is—behind the door, he says, “Come out! Slowly.”
“Is that you, Phalix? I’ve been looking for you.”
Phalix?
Draven shoots to his feet so fast it’s as though one second he’s sitting and the next, he’s standing. A man steps down from the vehicle, one who looks like a mort, like Draven when he’s in the throes of madness, but worse. So, so much worse.
No outer gear. No mask. Just walking about freely, breathing the air like it’s not going to kill him at any second.
“Phalix?” Draven says, the tip of the gun dipping. Then realization dawns. “Lox? You crazy mortarekker. What the rekk do you think you’re doing? How have you survived since you left Sector 1779? And without your zu-gear or rebreather?”
Sector 1779. Where Emery and Calix had encountered that mad mort who’d killed Calix’s father. The mad mort who was now holding a gun at the both of us. When Draven told me about what happened with them, I’d been horrified.
“Never mind that,” Lox says. “The two of you will take me to the facility.”
“You’re not going anywhere near the facility,” Draven growls. “Calix told us what you did. That you tried to kill him and his mate. Stay where you are. If you come any closer, I’ll blast your rekking nog off without another thought. But if you come quietly, I will speak with Breccan to figure out what we can do with you, so no one has to get hurt.”
“You think I care about Breccan? He’s just as bad as Phalix, leaving me on this planet to rot. You don’t give me orders, you do what I say. Or like I did with Calix, I’ll take your pretty little alien mate and leave you for the sabrevipes.” He motions toward us with his gun. “Now you’ll give me the female. She can ride with me while you and the rogcow lead the way to the facility.”
I see the internal struggle on Draven’s face. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll go with him.”
“The rekk you will,” Draven growls. Crack crack crack. The sub-bones in his neck begin to straighten, and his ears squash against his head.
“We have to get back to the mortling,” I insist, passing Draven Eileen’s lead. I take a step closer to Lox and the vehicle. The only way we’ll get out of this is for me to take myself out of the equation. Draven and the rogcow are the most important things. “I can take care of myself.”
“Enough,” Lox shouts. He snatches me by the arm, and I let him pull me to his side. “She’s coming with me whether you like it or not.”
“No,” comes a new voice, “she’s not.”
Then all hell breaks loose.
Lox grips my arms and positions me in front of him. Two figures emerge from the shadows, and my bones turn to jelly when I recognize Calix and Emery from the other’s descriptions. Emery’s about the size of Eileen, not that I’d tell her that. What the hell was Calix thinking, dragging her out here?
“Calix,” Lox says as though greeting an old friend. “I thought I left you for dead.”
“You wish, old mort,” Calix replies. “Let her go, or we’ll make you let her go. You tried this once already, and you failed. You’ll fail again because our mates are our family, and no one,
not even you, will harm them.”
“I was your family!” Lox shouts. “And you left me for dead.”
“We would have rescued you, but you’ve spent too much time on your own. You’ve lost what little sense you had, if any. Let’s work this out, so no one has to get hurt. There are morts counting on us.” Draven takes tentative steps closer.
Lox raises his gun threateningly. “No. You think I care about you when you’ve shown me such disregard?”
Then Eileen is running, but not away from us. She charges toward Lox, who is still shouting, not realizing the rogcow is aiming straight for him. She headbutts him directly in the stomach, causing him to fall in the ground. Her powerful hooves—all freaking eight of them—trample over his emaciated body. I close my eyes at the sound of bones snapping.
When it’s over, I crack my eyelids and find Eileen at the rear of the vehicle, inching her way back toward me, her one red eye blinking solemnly. I lift a hand and say, “Shh, girl. It’s okay. Come here, sweet, brave girl, I’ve got you.”
Calix and Draven crouch over Lox’s still body. Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth, his eyes still wide-open, looking at the sky.
“He’s dead,” Calix announces, his eyes on his very pregnant wife, who visibly relaxes at the news. “We’ll take his body back and give him a proper burial. He may have been mad, but he was a mort.”
They cover him with a blanket from Draven’s pack and load him in the back of Lox’s vehicle. It’s not big enough to transport Eileen, so they tie her to the back. I guess we’ll drive as slow as she can walk. Emery and Calix load up in the vehicle they had repaired from Sector 1779 and drive ahead of us.
“Emery is leaking colostrum. We hope that combined with the rogcow milk, it will satisfy little Sokko. We’ll ride ahead and update the others.”
