“By scooping up water and throwing it on the fire? Or by stamping it out?” Rafe guessed.
“No, he…” Whitney started to giggle. Maybe it was the effects of the tweedle weed, but the next part of the story tickled her funny bone. It had always made her laugh when she was a kid, even though it was extremely juvenile. Or maybe because it was extremely juvenile.
“He what? What does he do?” Rafe demanded, frowning. “How else could he put out the tiny people’s fire?”
“He doesn’t have any water handy and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone by stomping on them by accident so he…he…” Whitney started giggling again. “He pees on them—on the castle, I mean—and puts the fire out that way.”
“So he urinates all over the tiny people’s most important structure?” Rafe demanded. “And this makes them believe he is friendly towards them?”
“I know it sounds…sounds ridiculous. But I didn’t write it!” Whitney was laughing so hard now she could barely breathe. Cognitively she knew it wasn’t that funny but the tweedle weed had almost the same effect on her that regular weed did—not that she’d smoked any since her undergrad days. But it just seemed to make everything funny and she found that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop laughing.
Across from her, Rafe’s face was doing something very strange. First the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and then a full-fledged smile emerged. After that, a surprised-sounding chuckle came from his deep chest. Soon, he was laughing right along with her—which only had the effect of making Whitney laugh even more.
“Oh!” she gasped, holding her sides. “Oh, we have to stop! My stomach hurts!”
“Mine too!” His laughter was deep, coming from the bottom of his chest, and it sounded a little rusty as though he hadn’t laughed in years. But it was a very pleasant sound just the same and Whitney found herself enjoying it.
“Oh, I can’t stop!” Still laughing, she sat down in the purple-green grass with a thump, clutching her belly. “Oh my God, that tweedle weed is crazy!’
“Is that why we’re laughing?” Rafe came over to try and help her up but when she grabbed his arm, he slipped on one of the many slick grass blades and wound up coming down with a thump, flat on his butt beside her. This only made Whitney laugh even harder until she was afraid she might damage something internally. But even that thought seemed funny and made her laugh even harder.
“Hey, you two better take it easy with the tweedle weed,” a familiar voice called from the next cage. “It’s no joke if you breathe too much of it—I laughed until I passed out once.”
Looking up, Whitney saw Dood’s face pressed between the bars of his own cage as he peered into theirs.
“Hey, Dood,” she said and started laughing all over again. The idea of a guy named “Dood” warning them about overdosing on tweedle weed seemed like the funniest thing ever.
“This is…is serious,” Rafe gasped, between bouts of laughter. He looked at Dood. “How can we…stop?”
Dood shrugged. “Cold water helps. “Splash some in your face, man. And give your lady a splash too.”
“I will.” Dragging himself up from the ground, still laughing helplessly, Rafe made his way to the enormous water bottle. Reaching up, he pumped the nozzle which caused a spray of cold water to hit him right in the face.
For some reason, this made Whitney think of the poor Lilliputions getting peed on by Gulliver and she found herself laughing harder than ever. Oh God, was she ever going to stop? Bright lights were dancing in front of her eyes now and her stomach was tied in knots. Laughing was becoming painful and yet she continued on and on because literally everything she thought of was funny.
No, it’s not! she told herself sternly. Or tried to, anyway. Think of sad things. Think of—
But she was never going to find out if her remedy would have worked because just then Rafe came and picked her up and brought her over to the water bottle.
“Hold still, mon’dalla,” he commanded and then a stream of cold water hit her full in the face and Whitney found herself spluttering instead of laughing.
“Oh!” she gasped, wiping at her eyes. “Oh my God, thank you! That stuff is intense.”
She wondered if cats who got catnip felt the way she just had—like they were on a trip they couldn’t come down from. It was certainly something to consider the next time before she gave Mr. Fluffypants any more nip.
“I told you so,” Dood said dolefully from his own cage. “Like I said, you can pass out from it if you’re not careful. I know it gets damn boring hanging around in the cage all day but try to limit yourself to a few sniffs at a time, right?”
“Ugh.” Whitney put a hand to her stomach gingerly. “My stomach muscles are so sore now! I haven’t laughed that much in ages.”
“Nor have I,” Rafe admitted.
Whitney frowned at him. “What are you talking about? You haven’t laughed that much in ever. You never laugh!”
He frowned back. “There was a time when laughter was part of my life. That was many cycles ago.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.” Whitney bit her lip, feeling like she’d offended him somehow. She wondered if his dour attitude most of the time had to do with the story she suspected he had in his past. “All the same,” she said, “You have a really nice laugh, Rafe. I enjoyed hearing it—and laughing with you.” She winced as she prodded her sore stomach muscles again. “But I think I’ll take a hard pass on the happy tweedle weed from now on.”
“I will pass on it as well. Though…” He cleared his throat and looked down at her. “Though I have always enjoyed hearing your laugh too, mon’dalla. It is very beautiful—just like you are.”
“You two should get a room,” Dood advised sourly. “In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already after that show you put on for Mama Tusker back in the matching pen.”
Whitney felt her cheeks get hot but she refused to let Dood upset her or make her ashamed.
“So what if we did?” she demanded. “We were just trying to prove we were a matched pair, that’s all. Didn’t we do the right thing?”
“You did—just not enough of it,” Dood remarked. “You know, sooner or later Mama Tusker is going to expect to see you breed, not just get all hot and heavy with each other.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rafe said firmly, before Whitney could think of a suitable answer. “I am Whitney’s Protector—I am sworn not to molest her sexually.”
Dood snorted. “Coulda fooled me! I thought for sure the two of you were going to go at it right there in the matching pen.”
“We were not about to…to go at it,” Whitney said with as much dignity as she could muster. She became aware that Rafe was still holding her cradled to his broad chest and they were both buck naked. Though she was getting kind of used to being nude, she couldn’t help being nervous, held in the arms of the big Kindred as she was.
Dood nodded. “Riiiiight,” of course you weren’t,” he said sarcastically.
“Are you accusing Whitney of lying? I can make you very sorry for that,” Rafe growled, glowering at the other male. It was clear there was still no love lost between the two of them.
“Rafe, put me down please?” she whispered to the big Kindred, feeling self-conscious.
He set her down at once but kept a protective arm around her shoulder. Even though Dood was in the next cage, he still clearly didn’t trust the other male.
But the tweedle was shaking his head.
“Good luck with the whole—we’re not going to breed thing. After all the weed you two snorted—”
“What does that have to do with it?” Whitney demanded. “And you heard Rafe—we’re not going to!” Although she really wouldn’t have minded “breeding” with the big Kindred, to be honest. Though she couldn’t let him know that, of course.
“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to manage around here without breeding for Mama Tusker,” Dood said. “If she doesn’t think you’re trying to make babies, she
’ll sell you off, quick as that.” He snapped once, to illustrate his point. “Likely as not, to two different buyers, too.”
“Oh dear!” Whitney exclaimed. “That’s awful! What can we do?”
Dood shrugged. “Well, I guess you can do what Yancy and Yorrow do—though she’s bound to suspect eventually.”
“What who do? What do they do?” Whitney demanded.
But Dood was already turning away and flipping his long auburn hair over one shoulder.
“Sorry, I can’t stay up any later tonight. I need my beauty rest if Mama Tusker is going to pick me to go to the ‘Tweedle Beautiful’ show.”
“What in the Seven Hells is that?” Rafe growled, but the other male was already halfway across his own cage and no matter how they called him, he refused to come back.
Rafe shook his head.
“Never mind him. We’ll try to get more answers in the morning. In the meantime, what we need is sleep. It has been a long and tiring day.”
Suddenly Whitney felt more weary than she had ever felt in her life. Whether it was the after-effects of the happy tweedle weed, or simply the long, stressful day catching up with her, she didn’t know. Nor did she care—she just wanted to go to bed.
“So…so tired,” she moaned, giving a long bone-cracking yawn in the middle of her sentence.
“I am weary too. Come—let’s go to the hanging tent in the far corner to try and get some rest.” Halfway supporting her as she stumbled with weariness, Rafe helped her over to the far corner where the blue felt tent was hanging.
With some help from the big Kindred, Whitney managed to climb the wooden ladder and collapse on the sagging fabric floor.
“Are you comfortable?” Rafe asked, after she sighed happily and turned over on her side.
“’s great.” She gave a contented sigh that turned into a yawn. “Come on in—the water’s fine.”
“The water?” He frowned.
“It’s just an expression. Means it feels good. Come on.” Whitney patted the sagging bottom of the tent beside her. It really would be more comfortable if the damn thing was supported in some way, or even if it was placed on the floor of the cage instead of hanging from the corner about three feet off the ground. But there was nothing they could do about that. “C’mon,” she said again and yawned once more.
Rafe looked at the cramped space beside her doubtfully, but after a moment, his weariness appeared to win out because he climbed in and tried to arrange himself so that his bare back was to hers.
Clearly he was trying to put some distance between them, but the saggy nature of the floor didn’t allow it. He rolled right into her.
“Whoops!” Whitney giggled sleepily as he tried to arrange himself. “Look, you might as well give it up,” she added when he tried again with the same result. “There’s no helping it—you and I are going to be tossing and turning all night if you don’t settle down and let me do the same.”
“But we are nude,” he grumbled. “It isn’t proper for a Protector to be so close to the one whom he is protecting when they are both unclothed.”
“I thought that ship already sailed,” Whitney protested. “I mean, after what we did in the matching pen—”
But that seemed to be the exact wrong thing to say.
“Forgive me,” Rafe said stiffly. “I will give you the bed and I will take the ground.”
“No, wait!” Whitney begged, suddenly a little more awake. “Please don’t go!”
“I must,” he said dismissively. “This is not proper.”
“No, but it’s warm,” Whitney pointed out. “Rafe….” She let her fingers drift aimlessly up his arm. “Please don’t go,” she said softly. “I…I’m cold. And it’s spooky being all alone in this damn cage.”
“Well…” She watched him struggle with himself. He seemed to feel torn as to what to do.
“Please,” Whitney pleaded again. “I just want to go to sleep, but I never will if I’m shivering all night.”
Rafe sighed heavily. “Very well. But we must sleep back to back—it is only proper.”
“All right.” She shrugged. She’d been hoping to have him draped all over her like a warm fur coat but she would take what she could get.
Rafe arranged himself at her back and she immediately felt warmer—his larger Kindred frame radiated heat like a furnace.
“Good night, mon’dalla,” he rumbled in the darkness.
Whitney opened her mouth to wish him good night as well, but a yawn came out instead. And before she could say anything else, she was drifting off to sleep.
Eighteen
Whitney woke to feel something hard and hot poking her in the back of her thighs and a delicious warm masculine scent surrounding her.
“Mmm…” There was a big muscular arm draped over her shoulders and she cuddled back into it, though this made whatever was poking the back of her thighs poke harder.
To solve the problem, Whitney opened her legs and wiggled to get more comfortable. This caused the hard, hot thing to poke between her thighs instead of against them, which was much more comfy.
In fact, it was more than comfy. Because it had settled right against her pussy lips, it was actually quite pleasurable.
Still more than half-asleep, Whitney parted her legs a little more and wiggled until the hot, hard thing was pressing between her pussy lips, which for some reason, were already wet and swollen and ready.
As though I’d been having a really hot dream, she thought sleepily. Which was probably what was happening now. Because why else would she feel so damn horny?
“Mmmm,” she half-moaned, squeezing her thighs and shifting so that the hard thing rubbed against her aching clit. That felt so nice. And the warm, masculine scent invading her senses with every breath seemed to make it feel even nicer.
As she worked herself against the hardness, she felt someone shifting behind her. Whoever it was made a low rumbling sound of sleepy desire in the back of his throat and then the hard thing was rubbing against her of its own accord, sliding against her slippery inner petals and her throbbing button until Whitney gasped and tilted her pelvis back, wanting even more of the pleasurable sensation.
“Mmmm, mon’dalla,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Gods, so soft and wet…”
I am wet, aren’t I? Whitney thought. Wow, this is such a realistic dream!
A big warm hand cupped her breast from behind and began to tug at her nipple as the hard thing rubbed even deeper into her wet pussy.
Whitney moaned loudly and arched like a cat, tilting her hips back and seeking more pleasure, wanting it to never end…
But her noisy sounds of pleasure seemed to burst the deliciously erotic dream she was having.
“Whitney? Gods! What are we doing?” The voice behind her sounded shocked and the hard thing between her thighs was suddenly yanked back and away at the same time the hand cupping her breast let go.
“What…who…?” Whitney turned hastily to see Rafe trying to put space between them. But because of the saggy, hammock-like bottom of the hanging tent, the two of them kept rolling back together.
At last he managed to get out of the sleeping tent entirely and climbed hastily down the ladder. He stood there in the greenish-purple grass, hands on his hips, breathing hard and looking like a man who had done something he was deeply ashamed of.
“Hey, are you all right out there?” Whitney poked her head out and looked at him. She noticed that the truly enormous shaft she’d seen the day before was completely erect and the tip of it was shiny and wet.
Understanding filtered through her foggy brain and she bit her lip.
“Uh-oh. Um, did we…” She made a gesture with one hand.
Rafe looked up at her. “Almost. Forgive me—I don’t know quite how it happened.”
“It was my fault,” Whitney admitted, not wanting him to blame himself. “I thought I was just having this amazingly erotic dream. I never thought it was true. I mean that we were actually…” She mad
e another one-handed gesture, indicating the whole embarrassing situation.
“Damn it—why do I keep breaking my vow with you?” Rafe looked angry, but more at himself than her. “Why can I not control myself?”
“It’s the weed.” The soft voice startled them both and Whitney turned to see a new face peering through the bars of the cage, but on the other side this time. She recognized the black-haired girl she had seen snuggled up with the black-haired male on her journey to get to Rafe the night before. Where was her mate? For whatever reason, the girl stood there alone, though she modestly tried to hide her naked body behind one of the bars of her cage.
“Hello.” Feeling awkward, and wishing she had something to cover herself with, Whitney climbed down from the sleeping tent and approached the bars. “I’m Whitney and this is Rafe,” she said, nodding at the big Kindred. “Who are you?”
“I’m Yancy,” the girl said, nodding at her. “It’s pleasant to meet you.”
Whitney had a vague recollection of Dood saying something about someone with that name, but her head felt fuzzy and she couldn’t quite remember what he’d said.
“Hello, Yancy,” she said, nodding back.
“What were you saying about the weed?” Rafe asked, turning to face her at last. Whitney had the sneaking suspicion that he’d been waiting for his erection to go down before he faced the new girl and sure enough, when she snuck a peak between his legs, she saw that he was mostly un-aroused now.
“I was saying that the weed can cause…side effects.” The girl spoke hesitantly, as though she was broaching a delicate subject.
“Besides laughing like a spotted hyena, you mean?” Whitney asked, frowning.
Yancy frowned. “I do not know what a ‘spotted hyena’ is but yes, besides the hysterical laughing.”
“What side effects?” Rafe demanded. “What in the Seven Hells did it do to us?”
“The weed…” The girl coughed delicately. “It, well…it promotes breeding. Which is why Mama Tusker makes certain to put some of it in each of the cages, I suspect.”
“Oh, no wonder I was so hor— uh…” Whitney stopped herself and cleared her throat. “No wonder I was feeling so amorous when I woke up,” she finished a bit lamely.
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