CHAPTER SIX
Hot Season 5, Year 2095
Phuck's belly region did that oddly pleasurable jump as he watched the dark haired girl from a distance. She hung clothing on a drying line—Diem's clothes, Phuck noticed—which were still stained with the membranes of dragon eggs. It took several washings to remove the goop and lucky for Phuck, he had found this place where Diem's sister often came to hang delicate underclothes or other clothes that weren't meant to be seen. Phuck enjoyed these moments for several reasons, but more and more, he enjoyed seeing Karma. This day, her herringbone braid lay flat down the center of her back, as delicate as if her spinal column had floated up to the surface. He wanted to run one of his sensory extensions over it.
She was breathtaking, even just hanging wet clothes on a line between two Buntle trees, but Phuck groaned the moment he caught sight of her escort. It was the old woman, Breathe. Phuck had better chances approaching Karma if anyone else in the world was with her, besides Breathe. Even Diem. Even Diem with an entire hoarde of ravenous dragons.
Phuck had watched Breathe bludgeon a man, one of their very own guests, during a party sponsored by her own House. During a dance, the man had only tried to drift a finger over the flesh hills that lie beneath Karma's neck. Breathe had eradicated the offender from the dance floor with nothing but the heavy cook spoon that Phuck had given her only the day before. Phuck considered approaching anyhow, but then he noticed that same cook spoon protruding from the basket of clothing—never far enough from Breathe's reach to be of comfort to him.
The pleasurable jump in his belly region became an itch that he couldn't relieve. He hunched down among the Buntle trees, his entire countenance sagging, although the expression was mostly hidden by the dark blur in the center of his face. But whether his features could be seen or not, Phuck felt every twinge that raced across them. If it weren't for Breathe, he knew that one moment alone with Karma was all he needed to make her fall in love with him.
He was Plutian, after all.
But the pride in that thought faded as he watched the beautiful girl dip into the basket again. And he watched her shrewd escort scan the tree line as he pushed deeper into the shadows. His shoulders sank.
He was Plutian, after all.
As simple as it was to arouse the human body into a loving response toward him, he had no similar magic in convincing a sagacious old woman that he was suitable for a quick mating with her granddaughter.
He wasn't even sure if a quick mating would satisfy him anymore. The past several days, he had tried to block the reoccurring thoughts that brought him full circle on his desire for Karma. His lack of control over it confused him. His brain constantly flooded itself with thoughts of her and his human body responded to the thoughts without his consent. His urine straw rose with an entirely different urge whenever she was about. His brain hopped around like a useless little hampig whenever she smiled at him. The scent of her alone nearly killed him once; he'd stood near her and inhaled so deeply that he nearly popped both the air bags inside his chest.
He worried at the effects the human body was having on him at first, how its senses continually sought out the pleasures she brought him. Even more unsettling, his lack of control no longer seemed purely limited to only mating her. He was overcome, time and again, with a prickling, itching kind of anger whenever a human man looked at her. He had been ready more than once to wield his own heavy cook spoon, even against humans that were paramount to his business ventures. It was shameful to give a human priority over his operations, but he felt powerless to avoid it. Worse, even his shame wasn't enough to convince Phuck to shed his human skin and free himself of the peculiar feelings he had while inside it.
So, he lived with his craving for Karma, the desire so deep in him that his belly region flitted again with just the thought of her. Not that he would eat her. Of course not. Humans were quite narcissistic about their taste. Phuck often grew tired of having to assure them that Plutians had no palate for human flesh. Sometimes, he wanted to bite a chunk out of them and spit it out, just to prove his point.
Hiding in the dark of the Buntle trees, he promised himself that whatever was between men and women, he would find a way to create it between him and Karma too. He was similar enough to a man; he'd gotten the body parts right, even if he hadn't been able to master the human face.
The humans made sure to let him know too. He felt they were rather exaggerated with their responses about it. They didn't bother to notice how he made it nearly perfect at the outer edges. They were only concerned with the deep shadow upon it. He could not figure out how the smudge occurred, or how to remove it, but there was a thumbprint of darkness that deepened in shade toward the center of his face. He had the eyes and mouth mostly correct, he was sure of it, and although the nose was the most difficult to make out, mired in a dark pit at the epicenter of his masterpiece, if he squinted and strained a bit, it was definitely there.
He couldn't understand or appreciate the human's anxiety over such a small mistake. The body was perfect, but the face—they gaped, they shrieked, one had fainted. He felt it rather dramatic. The face was good enough, even if all its parts were not pristinely clear.
But Karma, she was different. The girl had barely even winced when she first saw him. He entertained the thought that she was impressed with how he'd gone to such lengths, unlike the overseers of the past, to conform to human shape. To blend. He found it fascinating and exciting and an interesting challenge, to be one of them. He thought it would make for better business dealings, since the humans would be more comfortable with one of their own. He was sure of it.
She grit her teeth a bit and reserved her full smile, but she offered him her hand.
"Oh no," he'd said, mimicking her smile to be more comforting. "We don't eat human."
"Oh!" She'd dropped her hand back to her side and stepped away. A sure sign of respect, he thought. Her eyes darted from him and his belly region had done that first flop, like a Ratfish jumping up from the depths of a pond or a hampig diving from the jaws of a dragon. He couldn't look away from her, even when she refused to look back. She'd seemed perfectly willing to let him eat her, if he so desired. How could he not admire her willingness to please him?
Karma's voice suddenly carried into the trees and Phuck responded by leaning into the wind, hoping it would bring her scent, along with her words.
"We say our dream is for children to have a beautiful life, but then we torture each other," she told the old woman. "We are those children, doesn't anyone see that? We criticize and complain about one another all the time, when what we should be doing is giving others what we can, our piece of their beautiful life. But we don't do that. Instead, we focus on what we don't understand about them. It's useless, Breathe. We judge one another on a complicated knot of misunderstandings and motives and slanted perspectives. Life is an entirety. To hope a child has a beautiful life should not mean we only hope that the beauty lasts their first few moments of innocence, in the beginning of their time."
"Oh," Breathe's chuckle was deep and forgiving. "You are a thinker, child. You work with your mind, instead of your hands. We should have named you Notion. You certainly are full of them. Beautiful, impossible notions."
Karma's hands fell to her skirt, hidden in the folds. Phuck thought she spoke the most beautiful nonsense.
He peered out at Karma, stealing a glimpse of her every-colored hair. The strands were prisms in the light, reflecting all the brilliance of so many shades of color, it would be impossible to identify them all.
It stirred his goal to have her in every way he could, as soon as possible. He wanted her to devote herself to his body, talking her beautiful nonsense to him and only him. If the old woman would just move out of his way, he could try to send a pleasure wave to Karma. He wasn't sure how the girl would respond, or if she'd even know what to do with it, but he found that exciting to think on too. He imagined her through her skirts, the soft core of her becoming as ready for
him as when a sheathen went into swol.
His hips quivered as he positioned himself to do what he had come to do. He aligned his body between the opening of the trees and summoned his excitement, gathering it into a sizzling ball of pleasure that burned in the engorged, twin weights that hung near his thighs. He dredged the energy upward with his mind alone, until it was crackling in his chest. On second thought, he decided to reduce the amount of it a bit, so as not to overwhelm the girl completely. He just wanted to give her some warmth. A tickle that would ease into her secret places and, when he revealed himself, turn her thoughts to ideas of him. He didn't want to knock her over and send her rolling across the ground with it. Not with her grandmother, and her grandmother's beating spoon, both present.
The energy pounded inside him, but he waited for the right moment. He waited until the girl bent down toward the basket, her bottom facing him squarely. He released the energy with a stifling throb. It surged out from the Buntle trees, like a blood-red heart or a cherry-colored orgasm, aimed right at Karma's behind. A ticklish smile crept across Phuck's partially-visible mouth as he watched the red-hot energy bound its way toward her.
But Karma's body suddenly jiggled, as she lost hold of whatever was in her hand. She laughed as her grandmother's heavy spoon slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. Karma moved aside to pick it up. Phuck watched in horror as his pulsing sexual sun continued across the field, true to path. He wanted to look away as Breathe stepped into its direct line and bent to scoop up her weapon of defense.
The energy plowed straight into the back of the old woman's skirt. She bolted upright with a quiverish gasp.
"Are you alright, Gra?" Karma reached out to steady the old woman. Breathe's hand shot to her forehead, the aftershock wedging the old woman's expression between her wrinkles and into the soft places that hadn't been visited in quite some time.
"Yes, fine," Breathe said. Still rattled, she smoothed her skirt to regain her senses. When she looked back at her granddaughter, the old woman's smile was still a bit loose.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" Karma asked.
"Not at all, my love, not at all," Breathe nearly sang. "Let's just hurry with the clothing. I just thought of something rather pressing that I need to speak of, with Journey."
"You are hurt. Tell me."
"I'm absolutely not hurt. I feel wonderful. Honestly," Breathe said.
Phuck, exhausted from the disappointment, as much as the loss of energy, slipped from the trees, unseen. He only turned back once to glance at the two women. Karma stood, still assessing her grandmother, as the old woman hurriedly hung the last shirt upside-down from lopsided laundry pins. The empty sleeves did handstands without bothering to touch the ground.
***
Diem escorted Wind back to Fly House, hurrying her along, since her interruption put him behind schedule. There was a great deal of work to be done yet, but it wasn't work that he could do with Wind looking over his shoulder. He was relieved when Fly House was finally in view.
Karma sat on the front porch bench with Eon sitting on the steps at her feet. He whittled something from a chunk of Spindling. The usual murmur of the first evening meal wave of House members carried out thickly from the common dining room at the back of the House, along with the clatter of cups and dishes. Every now and then there was a sharp laugh or a deep guffaw, a snap, a stutter, a lull in conversation. Diem could identify every voice in the blend, and was grateful they were all inside instead of out, as he and Wind approached. Eon paused his knife.
"Blessings," he greeted.
"Blessings," Diem returned, but he didn't miss his best friend's smirk.
"Out in the long weeds, this evening? I heard the snakes are biting."
Wind wound her arm around Diem's bicep. "Diem keeps me safe."
"Yes, but who keeps Diem safe?" Eon gave her a wink. He shaved a piece from the wood in his hand. "And I hear some snakes can't be tamed."
"Not your snake," Wind said, but Diem knocked her with his elbow.
"My sister doesn't need to hear all of this."
Karma sighed. "It's nothing I haven't heard before."
"Better that you hear it now, Karma," Wind said, moving out of Diem's easy reach, "than to have a man show you what it means."
"I said," Diem growled, "my sister doesn't need to hear it."
"Yes," Eon added, dropping his carving and wiping the shavings from his hands. "For once, in your life, Wind, shut your caw."
"You think you two can keep her innocent forever? Come on. We all know men have a way of finding women, no matter how hidden they are. Besides, I heard that Phuck is considering a mating with you, Karma," Wind sang. Both men's eyes flipped to Diem's sister in time to catch her trying to tame her repulsed shiver.
"Whoever is telling you that, let them know that it doesn't matter to me what Phuck is considering," Karma said. "I am not considering him."
Diem caught Wind's arm. "Where did you hear that?"
"From Phuck." She smiled. "He mentioned it."
"It's a lie!" Eon said. Karma rose from her seat and went into the House without a word, except the slam of the door behind her. Diem bristled, releasing Wind's arm.
"I'll be having a talk with the overseer to be sure he understands his boundaries."
Eon turned back to Wind. "I'd be interested in knowing where you were when he happened to mention that to you."
"He had come to speak to my father at Breed House," she said, turning up a lip at him. "What difference?"
"I didn't mean the geographical location. I meant, were you above or below him during this confession?"
"How dare you!" Then, in a quiet hiss, "He is Plutian!"
"No. How dare you," Eon sneered. "You need to stop farming drait, Wind. No one likes the stink."
She threw back her shoulders. "I am the daughter of a Rha. Don't you curse at me or try to lessen my name, Eon."
His lip puffed with a smothered laugh. "You curse all the time! Besides, I couldn't make your name any less than you already have." He flicked his chin toward the door Karma had shut. "But that girl is the sister of an honorable Rha, and a quality woman as well, so stop farming the drait on her name."
"Are you saying my father is not honorable?"
"Enough," Diem said. "Both of you."
"Phuck should have her, you know," Wind shot back. It was the absolute wrong thing to say, she should have noticed the way Diem's jaw hardened, the way he ground his teeth, but she only threw back her shoulders before continuing. "Phuck has enough parts that work like a man. His children would belong to Fly House. I'm sure that would increase your portions. Ahhh..." Wind stopped, bringing up one finger to tap her bottom lip thoughtfully. "That is how you are planning to gain the portions, isn't it? Linking your sister to the overseer. Clever!"
A group of Fly House children tumbled from around the side of the House, coming toward them. Diem gripped his hands in front of him. He squeezed his fingers together so he wouldn't be tempted to grab Wind by the throat and launch her across the yard in front of the Smallers. This woman had no sense at all, to be speaking to a man, let alone a Rha, in this way. Even as Span's daughter, there was a line she should not cross and still expect to be exempt from his fury. He would take whatever Span dished out if he had to, but he wouldn't have Wind speaking drait of his sister.
The children, some very small and some nearing the age of mating, drifted onto the porch, crowded at Diem's legs, giggled and laughed and started games. Some, however, listened as Wind carried on and Eon growled and stepped toward her.
"It'd be nice if I wasn't the only one in the Rha's family to bring generation to the Fly House."
Eon halted abruptly, his startled gaze switching to Diem.
"What is she talking about?" Eon said.
"Creating generation," Wind purred. She moved toward Diem, but she was smart enough not to touch him. "What do you think it means? Diem is going to go and speak intentions with my father."
Diem s
pun on Wind. To say these things aloud, to farm drait intentionally in front of the Smallers, was too much. He couldn't fathom how this woman could even think that he would consider speaking intentions after everything that had happened that afternoon.
For all of her chasing after him, for all her conniving plans, he realized he had tolerated too much from her and he was finished. He clasped her jaw in his massive palm, gripping it tight so she couldn't say another thing. He brought his face in close to hers, so she would hear the vicious growl beneath every word that he was about to say to her.
"I will never speak intentions for you, do you understand me?" His eyes burned into her, as though he'd tear out her throat if she looked away. She planted her hands on his chest instead, a futile attempt to bar herself from the rage she'd brought on. "You are a low woman and you've proven it here, on the ground of my House. You've disrespected my sister and me. I don't want you. I will never want you. You are not welcome here anymore, Wind. Leave and don't come back."
He released her face and Wind pushed herself away from him, stumbling, as he stood rooted. He saw the fear in her eyes and knew she'd seen the fury in his.
"Rha Span will make you eat your insults to me," Wind spat at him, as if a threat would endear him or her father's horrible reputation could cow him.
"Tell him to come," Diem said. He motioned to Eon and the man jumped to his side like a soldier. "Would you remove her from our House? I'd do it myself, but I'm sure I'd break something."
"Definitely," Eon said, and in one swift movement, he leapt forward, scooping Wind up and dumping her over his shoulder. The Smallers cheered as if it were a game.
"Let me down!" Wind shrieked, raining useless blows on Eon's back and chest.
"Not a chance." With a goofy grin at the Smallers, he slapped her rear sharply. They giggled and laughed at the spectacle. Eon walked off with the woman over his shoulder, into the Spindling trees and the Smallers knew better than to step even one foot into the woods to follow. The last thing any of them heard was Eon assuring Wind that if she continued to struggle, it wouldn't be his fault if he dropped her on her head.
The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) Page 7
