by Angel Lawson
Kai is nowhere to be seen, which leaves Dimka and I alone for the moment. I’m hyperaware of my clothing. A utilitarian gray tank made of fabric similar to their own, along with tight-fitting leggings.
“The storm suits are unwieldy,” Dimka says suddenly.
“What?”
“Just explaining our lack of clothing. The storm suits are heavy and uncomfortable.”
“I understand.” I tug at my shirt. It’s way more form-fitting than my medical scrubs. “Mine was full of sand.”
“I prepared a salve, if you’d like me to administer it. I think it will decrease the healing time.”
I lift up my clean but raw hands. “That would be great.”
He gestures to the table and we both sit. Again, I search the small room. “Where’s Kai? Surely, he didn’t go back into the storm?”
“No. There’s a small room over there.” He nods behind me. “There’s a data and tech monitoring device. He’s tracking the storm and notifying the Custo of our whereabouts.” He stirs the mixture and scoops up a small amount of paste, then gently applies it to the wounds on my knuckles and wrists. The medicine feels cool against my skin.
“I was covering my face,” I say in explanation. His eyes flick to the wound on my cheek. I touch it self-consciously. “Well, trying to at least.”
“We don’t have these storms where I’m from, but we do have something like your hurricanes or typhoons. With those we have catastrophic flooding, but this mixture of twister and hail is fierce.”
“How long will it last?”
“Kai will know better but often at least twenty-four hours.”
A day. I could be in here with these men for a day. I’m not sure my will-power is that strong. Not when I can see the hard muscles of their bodies and sitting in relative ease, with no one else watching or waiting.
I swallow and say lightly, “Wow, that’s a long time. I definitely wouldn’t have survived that long out there.”
“We wouldn’t have let you stay out there that long, you can be sure of that.” He gently rubs a bit of salve on my cheek, his thumb holding a moment too long.
It’s a declaration, I see it in his eyes. In the way he touches me. I don’t breathe, wondering for a moment if I’ve forgotten how. The tension is cut by the sound of a door opening and I turn, seeing Alex enter the room.
“Thank you,” I say to Dimka. “It feels better already. I need to get this recipe from you for my mid-wifery.” He lifts the bowl and carries it across the room. “How did you get so good at this?”
He turns to the small sink. “In the Pits I had to learn how to take care of myself and others. Injuries were a daily occurrence and there was no time for infection or pain.”
I have a million questions about that world—he’s told me some, but I didn’t want to ask specifics. I’ve tried not to stare at the scar on his neck but I wonder how he got it—what kind of awful device made such a ghastly wound, but I sense his hesitation. Dimka is a private, quiet man. I don’t want to scare him off. Alex must sense this too because he breaks in and says, “I think there’s some food in the pantry. I’ll get something together.”
“What do you need me to do?” I ask, standing from the table.
“Rest,” Dimka says. “You went through a harrowing experience. We’ll prepare dinner and Kai should have more information soon.”
I feel like I should argue but exhaustion travels my limbs. When Alex gestures to the couch I move to it, stretching out in a way that doesn’t put pressure on my wounds.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
“I know you’re used to helping everyone, but we’ve got this,” Alex says.
My body instantly relaxes when Alex stands over me holding a fuzzy blanket. I accept it and curl into the soft warmth, falling asleep to the comforting sound of the men in the kitchen, safe from the storm above.
16
Dimka
I ladle the stew into bowls, one for each of us. Mercy’s color is better now that she’s had some rest. Her hair lays matted against her temple. It’s a sweet look, but the feelings boiling beneath the surface of my skin are anything but pure.
I’d been struck when she stepped out of the bathroom, her body more exposed than I’d ever seen it. The soft swell of her breasts and curve of her hips were visible in the tight fit of her clothes.
It’d been a struggle to sit so close to her at the table and apply the salve and not reveal my true thoughts and intentions. And now that we’re all seated together, sharing a meal, the tension is thick—or maybe it’s just me?
Am I the only one that wonders what her lips taste like? How her flesh feels? What it feels like to hold her in my arms?
From the tight set of Alex’s jaw and the fidgeting of Kai’s feet, I’m thinking not. But the big question is what does Mercy want, if she wants anything at all?
I focus on my food while conversation builds around the table. Talk of the storm and personal stories. I stay away from those, no one wants to hear the sad tale of kidnapping and slavery. Kai knows this and keeps the discussion away from anything heavy.
“Mercy, when do you expect your transfer date to come through?” Kai says after swallowing a spoonful of stew.
“In a few weeks, probably.” She wipes her pink lips with a napkin. “I’m excited to get to work in the field, but I’m not sure I’m ready to go.”
“Why not?” Alex asks. It’d taken me a while to get used to this human male, but Kai vouched for him and slowly we’ve become a solid unit.
“I’m learning a lot from Dr. Kane and we now have several pregnant women at the facility—I’d love to see them through to their births. And…” her cheeks heat and that scent, the one that drives me wild, wafts over the meal. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you all better, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve made friends. Even before I got on the ship.”
My heart splits into two; one side swelling with pride knowing she considers me a friend. The other panicked, wondering if that’s all she views me as. It’s safer for her to just think fondly of me. She is leaving after all, and we have our orders—relationships aren’t part of that.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to walk away from you,” she glances around the table. “Any of you.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re not ready for you to leave either,” Kai says in a low tone. “It’s been a pleasure to protect and get to know you, Mercy, and not one of us is ready for you to go.”
17
Mercy
Kai’s statement rocks me, and maybe it’s the quiet of the bunker or the storm roaring overhead, but I no longer can hold back on all the questions I have, all the things I want—no, need—to know.
My eyes flit to Alex’s—seeking approval from the other human in the room. His eyebrows lift, encouragingly.
This may be my only chance to ask these questions, to find out the truth, and what was the point of taking this journey if I’m not willing to step out of my comfort zone with these three men that keep making it clear that I mean something to them.
So, I take a deep breath and then ask, “Why are you like this with me? So protective and kind? Why are you around all the time—especially when I need you?”
Dimka stares at his hands, his ears turning dark blue. Kai clears his throat. “We came here with the mission of protecting the pioneer women from Earth, making sure the transition went smoothly and that you were safe from any upset. Athion is a safe place but the Trads are desperate and deceitful. You are our greatest gift and we’ll protect you with all our might.” He leans forward. “But there is something about you, Mercy Ladd, that is different from the others. Not just for me, but for the three of us. We’ve spoken about it and have agreed that you are our highest priority, despite the fact it goes against the mission of the Custo.”
“Why would you risk going against your mission?” I ask, feeling my hands shake at his honesty.
“Because the call is too deep,” Dim
ka says quietly. “I never understood it until I saw your face—heard your voice. I never desired anything beyond my own survival.” He looks up at me with intense eyes. “Now I do.”
I glance at Alex, who has been sitting quietly. “And you?”
“I’m willing to adhere to the customs of the Athions, for you.” I know what he means—the plurality—something that’s untraditional back home. As crazy as it seems, I understand. I feel the tug too, the lure, but something holds me back and I say as much.
“I may leave soon, which is what I want—it’s why I came, but what happens then?”
Kai reaches across the table, taking my hands in his. I feel the weight of two more, one on each thigh. I swallow back a surge of desire. “That’s for you to decide. Laird gave us this moment of respite—together—where the world outside has stopped for us. No prying eyes, no curfew, no Custo…just a woman and the males that want her.”
My stomach twists and I meet each of their eyes, searching for the courage inside to give in to my needs.
18
Kai
“You’re in the lead here,” I explain to Mercy. She needs to understand the truth of this situation. We may be strong, capable warriors, but in her hands we’re nothing but clay.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” she says, standing and pacing around the small area. Her cheeks have been red for our entire discussion, her neck hot with nerves. “I mean, I’ve been with men, but not like this, not all at once.”
“It doesn’t have to be all at one time,” I say, taking a small step forward. She doesn’t withdraw. “Just let us show you how we feel.”
We stand close to one another and I reach for her, running my fingers down her neck. She shivers and moistens her lips. Despite my own lack of experience with women I let instinct take over, bending to meet her mouth with my own.
I’m surprised by her warmth, by her taste, I feel it not just on my lips but across my entire body. My heart pounds in my chest, my loins stir and ache. When she parts her lips and takes me in, I know exactly what to do, stroking her tongue with mine.
There’s not a sound from my brothers as we explore one another, and for a brief moment, I forget they’re in the room. There’s nothing but me and Mercy, the feel of our mouths connecting, our breath mingling. I sense her heart, racing just as fast as my own, and when I feel like I can’t stop, like I can’t get enough, I force myself back to take a deep, calming breath.
Mercy stumbles a little, losing her footing, I brace her by the elbows. “That was, uh, pretty wow.”
I can’t fight the smile I have from knowing I had that effect on her. I look over to the men but Alex is already in motion, slipping into the gap I left between us. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw. He runs his fingertips down her arms and I feel a deep arousal watching him give her such focused attention.
He whispers in her ear, something about wanting to do this every night for the last six months, she sinks into him, touching his chin, his chest, and they kiss, just as deeply as we had a moment before, and my heart swells.
I’m so engrossed, so hyperaware of my hardening cock, of the peaked points of Mercy’s nipples, that I barely notice Dimka leave, closing himself off in the small, adjacent room. It’s the click of the door that brings us out of the moment, pulling me out of my role of an observer and Mercy and Alex from the heated passion they’d shared. It was simple, chaste really, but blood-boiling all the same. I loved seeing her worshipped, aroused, excited.
I prayed to Laird this wouldn’t be my only chance, but if it was, I wouldn’t forget it.
“Is he okay?” she asks, eyes focused on the door Dimka went through.
“He’s a quiet, private soul,” I explain. Showing affection is hard for my fellow Custo. It makes him a great warrior, but letting down those shields isn’t easy.
“I should check on him, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Alex says, still holding her by the waist. “Go to him. Tell him how you feel.”
She nods and gives him another slow kiss, before walking over to me and doing the same, revving up my blood once again. It’s not until she knocks on the door and enters the small room that I exhale.
“That wasn’t a bad idea, was it?” Alex asks, rubbing his chin. “Starting something up with her? Caving to those desires when we know we can’t have her long term?”
I cross my arms and lean against the table. “It was either the smartest thing we’ve ever done or the stupidest. Time will tell us which one.”
19
Mercy
I knock but don’t wait before entering the small room. I see the computer monitors against the wall and a small desk. A radar is tracking the storm above and blobs of red and yellow take up most of the screen. The colors cast a flicker of light across the space and Dimka is pressed against a shelf like he’s trying to vanish.
“Hey,” I say, unwilling to let him disappear.
He stares at the ground. “You followed me.”
“I did. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” I glance over my shoulder toward the outer room. “You know, with everything that just went on out there.”
I could still feel them on my lips—taste them on my tongue. I wanted more but I wanted Dimka, too, and I had a strong sense that this was all or nothing with them.
I wait for a response, giving him time. We didn’t have forever but we had until the storm was over, and I was willing to give him that. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait long, finally speaking in a low voice. “I’m not accustomed to being around women. I grew up mostly around boys on the Southern Tip, and then later, when I was taken, it was all men in the Pits. It was violent and brutal. I survived by focusing on myself—on my next fight. I never expected to leave that place,” he looks up at me, “and I certainly never expected to meet someone like you.”
I take a tentative step forward. “I’m sorry you lived through that.”
“If you need protection, Mercy Ladd, I can do that for you. If you need someone to watch over you and keep you safe, I am the Athion you want, but other than that I don’t know if I can give you what the others can. I’m inexperienced and uncomfortable revealing vulnerabilities.”
By now I’ve moved only a few feet away and he’s allowed it. “I don’t want to pressure you, Dimka, but I also think you deserve affection, even if it’s quietly and privately.”
When he looks at me his eyes bore into mine, and there’s no doubt about the longing. He’s a male that’s repressed his needs for too long. I reach for his hand and lift it in mine, feeling the warmth of his skin. Kissing the back, his fingers, and wrist.
“You took care of me out there,” I say, “treating my wounds. Let me do the same for you.”
“I’m not injured,” he says, searching my face.
I touch his chest, hard with muscle. “I want to help you with the wounds we can’t see, Dimka, not the ones we can.”
I pull him down by his shirt and press my lips to his. At first, he doesn’t react and I panic, thinking I’ve crossed a line, but soon he responds, moving his lips against mine slowly, sweetly. It’s not the hard passion that came from Kai or the skilled moves that Alex brought from Earth, but it’s uniquely Dimka, gentleness masking something more volatile underneath.
I fear that energy out of reach but also crave it. I want to uncover it but only with time. Not today. Today I need him to trust me, see that I’m vulnerable, too.
I swallow my nerves and put myself out there.
“Have you ever seen a woman’s body?”
His fingers linger on my arm. “No.”
I reach for the hem of my tank and his eyes drop from my face, following my hands. I lift slowly, feeling exhilarated at his interest. I remove it, inch-by-inch, revealing my skin. I hear his breathing change—growing slightly increased and ragged—and my belly twists from excitement.
I pull the fabric over my head and stand before him, bare, skin pimple-ing from the cool air. I know my cheeks
are red, I feel the heat but I wanted him to see me like this, vulnerable, too.
His eyes are glued to my chest and my nipples harden as he watches. I fight the urge to cover myself, instead reaching for his hand and lifting it, offering permission.
“We’re soft creatures,” I tell him.
“It’s why we have to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection from you, Dimka—or Alex or Kai.” His thumb runs over my nipple, sending a flare of desire through my body.
Stiff-backed, he explores my body, touching me so softly I feel ready to break. The pads of his fingers are rough, sending shockwaves across my skin, but I hold the building moan in my throat, allowing him access. His touch grazes my belly and I’m crawling out of my skin, unable to stand still.
“Dimka,” I whisper, reaching for him. I cling to his shirt to remain upright and just when I think he’ll never make a move he does, lifting me into his arms and crushing my lips with his.
His passion is consuming, his heart hammering in his chest, pounding against mine. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting—needing—friction and he walks backwards until his calves hit the edge of the chair and he sits, bringing me with him.
I groan when I land in his lap, the hard, huge bulge between his legs pressing against the thin fabric of my leggings. His hands grip my hips, his mouth moves to my breasts. Whatever had been holding him back has crumbled.
I grind against him, having flashes of dry-humping my boyfriend junior year in high school. Unbelievably, this feels better and it’s not until his hands still my hips that I realize there’s a problem.
“I’m not like other men,” he says in that quiet voice. “Not down there.”
I remember what Rose told me and what Dr. Kane warned me about the men from the Southern Tip. No wonder he felt so good.
“You don’t have to show me—not now—but understand I’m not afraid of that or you.”
