‘This will hurt.’ A healer jabbed a scary, three pronged device into the Commander’s ragged flesh.
It clamped down over the wound and emitted a mechanic chime.
Swarthy face drained to a pasty shade, Éorik’s eyes popped, star pupils contracting then rolling in his sockets.
He collapsed, out cold, and Beowyn eased him down onto the gurney.
I glared at the healer. She shrugged. ‘There was no avoiding the pain. It is better this way. The next rotation will be painful. He must rest and gather his strength for what is to come.’
The gurney floated across the floor.
I hung back to bump against my husband, needing to feel his power wash over me. I couldn’t hold on to both of them like I wanted, and it made me feel weak all over. ‘Thank you for coming back to me.’ My words were thin and whispery. ‘I can’t imagine what you went through.’ I gestured feebly towards the unconscious male we loved. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’
Releasing a shuddering sigh, Beowyn wrapped his arms around me. ‘Very well.’ He pressed his face to the back of my head. ‘Our cub?’
I pressed my hand to his forearm. ‘She’s okay. Shaken and confused, but safe with Lumen and Bravest.’
‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am Fergus was harmed.’
‘I don’t know what kind of person it makes me, but I was willing to sacrifice anything to get you back.’ I swallowed. ‘Anything and everything.’
He grew still then squeezed me tighter. ‘My One.’ He sounded rough.
‘Great One.’ Wulfyn minced closer to our clinch. ‘Apologies. You have arrived only to be besieged, but do you have word of Sjörn? I received a message from Wyrhild. She is injured but alive and recovering in safety. I respectfully relinquish the honour of Paladin Guardian as bestowed to me by the Great Lady.’ He flashed me a smile I was relieved to see. My behaviour hadn’t lost me a friend. ‘It would be excellent to have news of FeverBright.’
Beowyn stared. He rolled his shoulders. ‘I have news of him.’
Wulfyn whitened.
Shock and grief flooded my system. ‘Sjörn?’ A Verak who had been so kind and who meant a great deal to my husband and countless others. ‘He’s gone? Oh, God. Oh, Owyn, I’m sorry.’
Pain a twist in his features, Beowyn gripped my chin. He just shook his head. ‘There is much to do.’ His gaze drifted in the direction the medical team had taken our injured lover.
‘Go.’ I squeezed his wrist, thumb sliding over the battered leather of his bracer. ‘I’ll take care of him.’
Pulling free, Beowyn turned to leave.
He spun back, hauled me into his powerful arms then slanted his mouth over mine. His beard abraded my skin. Musk, aniseed and blood swamped my senses. He tongued me deep and licked hard then tore away to stalk across the room, taking his radiance with him.
Fingers pressed to my swollen lips, I watched him go. My heart soared. I raced after the healers.
Chapter 38
Dawning light from Fyn cast long shadows. Red-orange rays blanketed the misty morning with a suffused glow and turned Éorik’s white mane into shafts of gold-limned silver. He shuffled into his apartments and closed the door, slumping against it. The back of his head knocked against the wood, and he exhaled on a groan. He ached to the bone. His muscles were tight and cramping. Even swallowing against the dryness in his throat hurt.
Dirt and dust clogged his pores and day old sweat stiffened his fur.
He unbuckled his cloak and shrugged it to the floor. He bent with the sounds of an old male and unhooked the clasps on his boots.
He listed like a drunkard to the side.
Realising he teetered on the edge of blacking out, he straightened and hobbled over to the sleeping platform.
The furs and sheets were tossed and rumpled from his last nap in the early spans of the rotation previous to the current one. He sat on the edge and eased off his boots. He flexed his toes then frowned when the left only twitched. ‘Dah.’ He’d worked his replacement foot too hard. It would take time for the nerves to regrow, but it was important the movement remain consistent. If the regrown flesh began to die, the whole thing would be removed and the process restarted. It would cost him more time in recovery. He was needed out in the streets of Vayhalun supervising when Beowyn could not. There was no time for him to be flat on his back in medical with surgeons poking and prodding as they trialled their newest procedures and inventions.
The rebuilding effort on Grand Atoll had begun in earnest now the survivors began to function through the haze of grief. It was his duty to oversee, comfort and support with body, mind and soul.
Consequently, he’d given all of himself to the thousands that needed it and left himself stretched too thin.
He was not the only minor alpha nearing total exhaustion.
With Sjörn dead a whole territory had fallen into disarray and had stalled in their revitalisation efforts, devolving into the feral madness the alpha structure was in place to subvert.
Beowyn himself came close to stepping in to halt the riots, looting, and roaming bands of miscreants, fearing for the weak, injured and innocents being preyed upon amidst the chaos.
At Éorik’s command, the Great Houses convened to conclude the matter. He’d known had the Great Alpha needed to subjugate the area himself, it would pain him as he grieved the loss of his mentor.
Beowyn already bore the brunt of his people’s devastation.
Éorik determined he would be spared the task and set the fear of the gods into the Lesser Houses to correct and adjust without the Great One’s interference on pain of his utmost displeasure.
The fight for dominance between Wyrhild and Wulfyn had been brutal. In skill and physicality they were equals. Both were fierce warriors, experienced and powerful in their individual ways. It came down to whomever retained their mental strength under the burden of the last rotations to surpass the other.
Succumbing to her grief over the Sentinel’s passing, Wyrhild lost, and Wulfyn’d gripped the reigns of the old male’s territory in strong claws before they lost more life to senseless infighting.
Patrick had been relentless in helping him contain the area. The human had then taken advantage of the upheaval and challenged DarkEye, declaring a new House of Vayhalun and claiming victory, placing them as third Great House. Éorik had expected this to create unforeseen tension between the upper Houses, but they’d settled into an immediate calm. It filtered down into the Lesser Houses and then into the populace, shifting them from survival mode into a sense of normalcy.
Beowyn had not publicly commented on the outcome, choosing instead to allow his lack of action to speak for itself. Éorik could tell from the way he’d embraced his human-kin during their rushed breakfast he was relieved Sjörn’s lands and people now rested in the male’s pale, clawless hands.
Sìne had been vocal in her condemnation, fear for her cousin causing her to yell and lash out when he refused to rest after being torn, bitten and pounded during the bout. She’d only been silenced once Éorik had taken her aside. ‘Patrick cannot rest. Now is not the time.’ He’d cupped her face to still her frightened judders. They had begun once she’d seen the male return from the outskirts sticky with gore and delirious from blood loss. ‘He has responsibilities. He is needed by his people, who as we speak, suffer.’
‘He’s hurt.’ She clutched at his rough hands with her cold ones. They huddled against the far wall of an alcove. ‘He needs to be stitched up. Medicated and fed soup, not running around playing solider.’ She’d looked miserable once she’d said it.
‘It was his choice to fight for a place here. He has earned the admiration of the Great One’s legions and filled the place of a beloved fallen leader.’ He kissed her brow when she paled at the memory of Sjörn. ‘Respect that. Honour him with your trust.’
It had cost her to bite back her frustration. She’d managed a tight smile when a cleansed, grim-faced Patrick clad in a freshly made battlesuit left to
see to the rebuilding of his domain. The human’s dedication had increased the Verak’s love of their human residents. Sìne had won a place in their hearts by her care of the orphans, and now she was no longer called by her formal title of Queen, but Great Lady, the honorific bestowed on the female who had stood strong while her mate saw to his duty.
Much of the early revival efforts had been focused on rescuing those trapped in the rural dens, and seeing to the dead unwillingly entombed in sarcophagi of stone. Their remains were incinerated and sent to their waiting kin for burial rites. Workers had been drafted in from the quadrants that could spare them to begin clearing the mounds of rubble and Paladin’s had already restored order to the rife lawlessness that had overcome the shadier parts of the planet. The People’s Guard grieved the loss of Sjörn but behaved admirably by following his human successor’s dictates without too much backlash, allowing the male leeway to learn the codes of conduct and inner political workings.
The Rä spaceship had left but Lumen and her family had stayed. Beowyn had openly wept when Venomous attached himself to his side and assisted him in clearing the People’s House so they might retrieve Sjörn’s remains. Cobra went out into the brush with the hunt master to find fresh meat under Aled’s guidance to ensure the people remained well fed, and Fiercely became Lumen’s shadow, helping her and Sìne find placements for the orphans and assist those who’d lost their homes or near all their kin to the storms.
While the unfortunate tourists had been escorted off planet, and previously approved travellers had their access to Vayhalun revoked for the foreseeable future, Éorik did grant approval for one landing when Glindi sought him out.
Hel Bihter’s people headed their way. After learning he was alive, and the strange circumstances of his rescue, the First seemed to have abandoned his futile endeavour on Zoi Quay.
Éorik supposed he should be alarmed the most powerful warriors in the universe were about to darken his precious Vayhalun in their wicked shadow, but he was tired and needed rest so badly his eyes burned.
His stomach was sick with it.
He flopped onto the padded mattress and pressed his knuckles into his itching eyes. The pressure didn’t help but the solid darkness they caused behind his eyelids did. Who knew you could grow to hate the light?
A masculine throat cleared. ‘Are you well?’
Éorik lurched up onto his elbows to see over the sprawled length of his body.
Beowyn stood at the threshold.
He leant against the door, arms and ankles crossed. His shadowy mane had been brushed free of taming braids and his expression was as cryptic as the sibylline gaze boring into his own.
Rejecting the first thing that came to mind, a plea to be forgiven, Éorik nodded then sank back down. He feigned nonchalance. He let his muscles relax one by one until he felt a touch on his shin, a caress to the hypersensitive skin above his replacement.
He exhaled in a burst, despising the way he stiffened.
Focusing on the ceiling, he silently chanted a self affirming mantra and waited for the humiliation to be over.
‘It looks good.’ Beowyn knelt, eyes cast down. His hold was gentle. ‘There are no signs of rejection?’
‘None.’ Éorik levered up and jerked himself free. ‘I must cleanse. I smell like the back end of a goodbeast.’
Beowyn pushed onto his feet. ‘I may join you.’
Éorik’s stride towards the freedom of the cleansing room hitched. ‘Very well.’ He stripped. He felt eyes on his naked body as he used the waste bowl, shaking his leg as he dripped to a finish and thought he heard Beowyn mutter under his breath as he stepped into the glass cubicle and tipped his head back to walk face first into the foamy spray.
His mind flashed to before the storm, back to his enclosure on the Rä spacecraft. The best morning of his life had been waking up with Sìne and hefting her into his arms to carry her into the cleansing pod for a steamy soak.
Cleansing units on Vayhalun were similar if not more luxurious and the water temperatures cooler.
Rä avoided the cold and cooler things. It slowed them. Much like heat bothered the Aztekans to the point they grew distracted. He tucked the errant thought away as something to be looked into further when he had time.
He pressed both hands to the wall in front of him and let the spuming water wet his head and mane.
The froth turned to clear liquid on contact with skin, nanoscopic soap agents dissolving the dirt and grime from his weary body. It melted shedding flesh and soothed irritations.
Barely a tenth of a span passed before a furnace of heat crowded against his back. A rough hand pressed against his spine. It smoothed over the uneven skin until it reached the swell of his rump. Éorik released a dark chuckle. ‘You are speaking to me now?’ He tried to sound flippant then tried not to care when he so blatantly failed.
The hand clenched into a fist. ‘I should not have ignored you this last cycle.’ Malty breath gusted over his ear when Beowyn hooked his chin over Éorik’s shoulder. ‘I could not sleep without seeing the male’s face. He was scared.’ His fist loosened, hand travelling around Éorik’s waist to rest on his lower stomach, sword-roughened palm flattening against quivering muscles.
Éorik heard agonised cries if he wasn’t mindful of his thoughts, caught glimpses of phantom blood on his clean hands. ‘I would do it again.’
‘His cub suffered before her end. He was scared. You trampled over him to break the hope he had left.’ Beowyn rubbed Éorik’s stomach in a slow circle. ‘Then you killed him.’
Tension knotted Éorik’s frame. He stared blindly ahead. ‘What do you expect me to say?’ It was all true. His cruelty had been a deliberate calculation to achieve his ends. ‘If you came looking for an explanation, I have none.’
‘You must think I do not appreciate the things you do for me.’ The hand on his stomach glided lower. The breath on his neck quickened. ‘The sacrifices you make so I need not.’
‘I am your Defender. You owe me nothing.’
Fingers warm and slick with water cupped him, a powerful hand gripping his staff. ‘I want to make you feel good.’
If only his heart did not feel like ice in his chest. If only the touch did not seem like pity for a friend instead of passion for a lover. ‘I am tired, Owyn.’
‘Then I will take you to the furs.’
‘To sleep.’ His voice was coarse, his sac heavy with need. He bit the inside of his cheek to lessen the urge to buck his hips. ‘I have a few spans rest at most before I must return to my territories.’
Beowyn did not speak. His hand firmed its grip to move in slow, twisting pulls that made his staff dribble fluid.
Éorik choked back a groan.
The longer he suffered the onslaught of pleasure the flimsier his resolve.
Since Carnival he had craved this attention. It was better than remembered and imagined. The heavy drag along his sensitive length, the tugs on his sac and the panting breath in his ear were too seductive to escape.
He squeezed shut his eyes.
He pretended to himself if he was at full strength he’d have the self-respect to pull away or to demand Beowyn leave.
Knees weakening, his elbows bent until the flat muscles of his chest hit the wall. He had another flash of Sìne licking the lightly furred swells and commenting on his lack of nipples.
Her puzzled statement had pulled a bark of laughter from him. Imagine the freakishness of it. A male with nipples. For what purpose? To wean a cub?
Sensing his mind wandered, Beowyn bit down on his shoulder.
Éorik jerked and gasped. His horn knocked against the wet tile and made him shiver. Vibrations tripped down its length, gathering around his skull and joining with the sensations spreading from his loins. Rumbling soothingly, Beowyn followed, his husky body flush against Éorik’s leaner one, staff hard and nudging against his behind.
Éorik spread his thighs enough for it to slip between them and rub against his sac. The added pre
ssure made his toes curl and his mouth spit a curse.
‘Still tired?’ Beowyn’s lips curved against his nape.
‘Let me turn.’
‘Quiet. Give me this.’
Cheek pressed to the wall, Éorik spread his legs further and rocked back to thrust into the fist stroking him into a frenzy. A thumb pad teased between his buttocks. His head grew light as his blood rushed down then exploded back up to send him soaring.
Seed jetted against the tile and flooded the unit with the scent of sex.
‘Thorik.’ The name tripped from his lips before he could censor himself. He swore at his own weakness. There was no point keeping anything back now. ‘Thorik of House DeepWater. His squad has been punished for leaving him behind. They were not to solely to blame, he made his own choices, but they were not guiltless either.’ Éorik pressed his forehead to his fist, racing heart slowing. ‘He came from a lesser Dyna known for its fondness of the birds that migrate to their atoll once a season.’ Though silent and still, Éorik felt emotion radiating from Beowyn. ‘I visited his mother and told of his bravery. I explained why there was no ashes to provide. His cousin was distraught.’ Éorik remembered how the gruff male had collapsed to the floor and wept, begging to be told Thorik had not suffered. Thinking of a half crushed, burnt corpse, a young face lined in agony and fear, Éorik had given what little peace he could–and lied. ‘He was much loved. Perhaps he will not be lost to his House as you feared. His spirit would have followed me home.’ Thorik would be an ancestor the descendants of DeepWater would aspire to. ‘His life giver will be cared for. I will see to it.’
‘It was kind–.’
‘Do not praise me for simple decency. I have a heart, and I am as loyal as you to the people of Vayhalun.’
Beowyn held up his palm. The water washed away trails of creamy spend. ‘Lean on me.’ The hands that had brought him to joy now moved along his temples, seeking out the warrior braids, wrapping them around his fist until he reached their end. He removed them with tender care, taking time to massage Éorik’s scalp until he was boneless. A kiss was dropped to the side of his throat. ‘Out.’ Spoken with the implicit expectation of being obeyed. ‘Sleep, and we will finish this later.’
ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2) Page 47
