by Nya Rawlyns
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you want to call me. I’m yours, whatever name you use. I always will be.” Trey gently shoved her back onto grass and loomed over her, a frown creasing his brow. “I want to ask you something.”
Caitlin looked into his deep brown eyes, puzzled. “Ask what?”
Trey hesitated, debating if this was the time. His gut said yes, his brain cautioned wait. “Never mind. We need rest. I have no idea when moonrise occurs and I need to think how we’re going to deal with that. There’s not much in the way of shelter that I can see.”
“But you said, ‘Never sleep during the day, never.’”
“That’s why you’re going to sleep while I keep watch and come up with a plan.”
He tried not to let her see his concern. The oasis had been their salvation, though without food he didn’t know how much longer they could last. He’d found no fish on his underwater excursion, though with his confounded myopia a great white shark could have glided past and he’d never have seen the damn thing.
What was even more troubling was the complete absence of Portals. That had been unexpected. Normally, the dimensions sported several, often clustered. The scientists had no explanation for why that was so, but on many worlds the convergent energies invited settlements. On earth almost all of the Portals could be found in urban centers, a convenience his clan and Greyfalcon exploited freely.
He’d managed to evade capture for far longer than expected but now that they had finally latched onto their hideaway, he wasn’t certain what steps to take next. He couldn’t even be sure who pursued them. If it were Eirik, how had he gotten hold of the technology? Why had he lied about using it in other dimensions? Had Bryn been operating alone, or had his father sent him in to reconnoiter? What was the possibility that both factions had set aside their differences in order to secure a prize each considered a treasure beyond calculation?
Caitlin snored lightly next to him. Despite the heat, he gathered her in his arms. He didn’t know why he had hesitated to ask the question. Did he fear she would refuse? They would die here, that was all too clear to him now. The oasis was a deathtrap, surrounded on all sides by mirror-surfaced slopes, a last tease—a wicked, ugly ray of hope—before slamming them with moonrise and the predators that would tear them to pieces.
Caitlin shifted slightly and Trey wrapped her tightly to his chest. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he swore, “I’ll never leave you. I swear it, on my life.”
Caitlin whispered, “Why?”
“Because you are mine.”
Chapter Thirteen
Caitlin stretched and yawned, her body aching from lying in one position too long. She had no idea of the time but long shadows from the few straggly trees extended to the shoreline. The pond still reflected the intense silver-white light, leaving water and sky to meld seamlessly like a curtain that wavered with desultory grace across her line of sight. She could see to the far side of the bowl that nestled their oasis, the slab-sided mountain brilliant in hues of pale grays streaked with flat white and mottled with darker, indistinct shades—almost like the bark of a birch tree. It had a far less metallic look than the opposite face, the one they’d slalomed down so recklessly.
Caitlin listened to the munching behind her. The mule and horse had wandered in their search for grass, that bounty quickly disappearing as they greedily inhaled every morsel. She could see where they had stripped the dry leaves off the nearest bushes, though the stunted trees remained intact. They would eat the more desirable bits first. At least that’s what Trey had told her.
She gingerly felt her lips, still cracked and peeling but not quite as bad now that they’d had a chance to hydrate, if hydrate was the right word. Drinking the gelatinous fluid was like slurping weak, lukewarm oatmeal, tasteless but filled with bits of unknown substances that scraped the throat on the way down. She’d long forgotten what hunger felt like, the gnawing stabs of pain through the gut, the obsessive daydreams of tasty morsels in a ‘when we’ and ‘if only’ fantasy world. The sludge managed to trick her into feeling satisfied, though there was another element to that and she would need to think on it carefully.
She glanced over at the man sprawled on his back, snoring softly. He’d flung an arm over his eyes, sending his wire-framed glasses onto his cheek, the dark stubble prickly and uneven, outlining faint scars. Odd how that attracted her, the roughness, as if he couldn’t look dangerous enough with his perpetual scowl and square jaw and don’t fuck with me demeanour. Despite his cautions against sleeping during the day and his promise to guard her while she rested, he’d succumbed to his body’s demands. That made him vulnerable and, once more, oddly boyish.
Caitlin sat up and searched for her clothing. The shadows gave the illusion of coolness though sweat still trickled down her back and her upper lip beaded water that her tongue hungrily lapped. At least it gave the sensation of fluid, not some industrial waste sludge. The clothing lay to her right, piled neatly. Nothing the man did was careless. Everything seemed controlled, wound tight, yet she sensed looseness about him, underneath the façade, the shell he wore to protect himself ... but from what? Surely not her, he’d manipulated everything about her. Her attraction, then all-consuming desire, had finally crossed the line into hopeless attachment and acquiescence to his every nuanced movement and demand. Her fantasy had become her sole reason to exist. He’d played her. Yet it seemed not an idle exercise. It had purpose.
She grappled with the stray thoughts, seeking resolution, perhaps understanding. It bordered on a wasted moment, an unraveling of threads and she wasn’t wholly happy to lose that tight-knit web binding her to him. She slipped the peasant dress over her shoulders and smoothed the bodice but left the attached corset device untied with the loose lengths of leather dangling below her waist. She felt and looked flat chested without the tight device jacking her small breasts into a semblance of bulbous mounds with cleavage. She’d trade that vanity any day for a deep breath of clean, cool air. Her ribs still ached in that phantom way with injuries, her mind latching onto muscle memory. Why she should so focus on pain as if it were a pleasantry to be savoured like fine wine escaped her.
Pain. Aiden, now Trey, it was impossible to disentangle one from the other. She craved the one, the man. The pain was the bitter pill, the pathway to her heart’s desire. Without the pain, the other would vanish leaving her a wraith, the walking dead, formless and transparent.
“What are you thinking about?”
The question startled her. He’d ghosted behind her. She’d not sensed him and that was unusual, as she always seemed attuned to his every move, even his heartbeat synched with hers as he closed on her. That left a hole in her chest, a vacuum that wishing wouldn’t fill. He might as well have taken his knife and gutted her.
“You,” she husked, “how did you do that?”
Trey asked, the worry in his voice clear, “How did I do what?”
She wasn’t prepared to follow that line of thought directly so she asked instead, “Have you heard of the Stockholm Effect?”
Trey looked puzzled. It was obvious he didn’t know what she was talking about, but the seriousness of her tone alerted him to the importance of the question. When in doubt he always reverted to silence, so it was no surprise when he simply moved to stand against her, his hands gently stroking her bare arms.
She continued, “It’s something that happens with hostages. They begin to identify with their captor, get to thinking they’re friends, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The hostage will feel, oh I don’t know ... positive, drawn to the person, or they’ll think that if the captor doesn’t hurt them, then there’s a bond between them.”
“So?” Trey pressed his chest against her slim back as he skimmed her hips with his palms, the fabric bunched under his hands, floating frictionless across her bare thighs. She smiled. She hadn’t bothered with the diaper he’d fashioned so quickly. His wandering hands and thickening cock
convinced her that she had his undivided attention.
Caitlin hissed a breath as he continued stroking her flesh, using the cloth to cushion and sooth the bruises. The rush of anticipated pain flooded her senses, but weakened and disappeared in a wash of lust as he teased with approach, then retreat, each pass resulting in almost a physical pressure between her legs. An itch she longed to scratch ... or to have him ease her over the edge. Her thoughts fractured but she gathered them and restarted. She, he, had to understand what bound them together if they were to survive.
“That isn’t what happened with us.” She knew he needed further explanation but the whisper of his breath on her neck and the soft laving of his tongue along her collarbone distracted her from the point she was trying to make. “You,” she faltered but knew the words needed saying, no matter the consequences, “abused me. I should have hated you for that.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?” The question hung for an eternity between them.
Measuring time to the beats of his heart thudding in his chest, he fought the vertigo and a strange light-headed feeling. He’d stood alone so long, constructing barricades against his own feelings and following orders. A machine. Now all he could think was how much he needed her. She’d said the word he’d never thought to hear; she’d said us. Perhaps he had cause for hope, but caution intervened so he waited for her to continue. He would need to ask the question. Soon. He prayed for her assent and he feared what his body might do if she denied him.
He moved his hands to cradle her breasts through the thin fabric, using his thumbs to stroke and flick until the nipples formed small, hard nubs. He longed to touch his tongue to them but he needed a sign. Just one more and he would ask. Just one.
“I did hate you. Sometimes. Not when it hurt. Not then.” Caitlin’s voice had taken on a ragged quality as he probed until the sensation would overwhelm her need to explore the thing that puzzled and vexed her.
Trey could barely stand the throbbing in his cock. Her argument, statement—whatever it was—made no sense. He’d used pain to deflect her attraction, to drive her into despising him so that he could be free of the bond that shackled him to her. It was as much for his own protection as it was to safeguard his mate. There was a truth he struggled against, even as his body screamed for release. His hands no longer responded to any conscious control but wandered at will, seeking a response, anything that would give him the peace he sought.
He gasped, “I had to. I didn’t want to, but...”
Caitlin stared open-mouthed, the ‘but’ hanging between them, It was finally time for truth. Their realities blended into the shadows lengthening across the pond, taking light and air and safety away, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. He needed for her to understand.
“I liked it,” he rasped, “gods help me, I liked it.”
To his relief, Caitlin relaxed into his hands. Could she have known it, on some level, this naked ache, this thing he’d kept hidden from everyone? She arched against his chest and tilted her neck, exposing the pulsing artery—an invitation for his lips to explore.
She whispered, “I know and I did too.”
“I need... I-I,” he could barely form the next words as he buried his face into her neck, “have to ask you. It is required.”
He ran his tongue along her chin, shocked at the sensation of ice, so cool and refreshing—a counterpoint to the heat and pressure bludgeoning his cock as he rubbed against the rough cotton of her skirt. It was now or never and never was unacceptable.
“I want... I have to, please, let me fuck you. Please say yes.”
Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut tight and clapped a hand over her mouth. He hadn’t expected that reaction and it left him confused and fearful. He dropped his hands to his side, clenching and unclenching his fists, the urge to strike flooding his gut, the berserker rage just below the surface. He was to be denied. His worst fear, a nightmare he would relive every waking minute for the rest of his miserable existence. He refused the next steps, his warrior rights. He’d done too much damage. No more.
Caitlin took a deep breath. “You want to fuck me, is that right? And you are asking permission.” She closed her eyes and contemplated his words, their heartbeats measuring time. “And if I say no?”
Trey fumbled for the words. He wanted to explain. He needed for her to understand. “It’s tradition.” She raised her brows but kept silent so he blundered on. “I am a warrior in my, uh, culture. We, some of us ... but only a few, it’s not the norm, do you see?”
Caitlin clearly did not understand but she waved for him to continue. His words came out in a rush, “We bond. It’s unpredictable, a gift. Soul mates you might call it. I knew it even before I met you. I needed to find you and when I did, I almost lost myself.” He gently stroked Caitlin’s cheek and continued. “But at first, it’s too strong, the urge to couple. It would have got us killed there at Greyfalcon. I needed to break it. I hated it.”
She didn’t cringe or argue or move away. He dug deep in his soul, trying to explain to her, to himself, what had happened that night to set in motion everything that followed.
“I felt like something had ripped my soul out of my body. But I hit and hit and it felt so damned good and it made up for breaking the link.”
“The link?”
“It’s not just words, Caitlin. It’s real. Your aura, mine, and our energies, they’re one. I shut yours down so I could function. I had to hurt you to save us both.”
“And you brought us here.”
“I had no choice. The jump point, the Portal, wasn’t mapped. I’m the only one who knew about it.” Trey pulled at his hair with both hands, anchoring it behind his ears. “One way street. But I didn’t know that.”
“So this place is off the reservation?”
“Not anymore. They found us. We have to talk about that. But...”
“Um, yes, about that question. So, you say its tradition to ask. What else do I need to know about this tradition, and I’m guessing that the no answer is the more interesting.” He really didn’t like where this was going but he’d boxed himself in. He wasn’t surprised when she said, “If you want my answer, you have to tell me everything.”
Trey spoke in a monotone, hoping to lower the impact of his words. “If the mate refuses, then the warrior has the right to,” the words came out in a rush, “take the woman even if she fights him.”
“In other words, rape.”
Trey hung his head, overwhelmed with shame, and whispered, “Yes.”
“But he can decide not to do that?” He nodded. “So what happens...? Never mind, I think I can guess.” She took his right hand and examined it critically. “Then this becomes your sex life forever after, right?”
Trey jerked his hand away, too mortified to even respond.
Caitlin shrugged her shoulders and took his face in her hands, their bodies millimeters apart. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m going to say yes.”
Trey hitched a breath, his eyes glazed, jaw muscles working frantically. He’d gone past the point where he could service her, as he should, the berserker rage allowing for no tenderness or gentleness. He had to take her hard and fast. He would dominate and claim her body and she would know him forever as the warrior who owned her heart and soul. He would fill her with his seed and energies, using pain to open her so he could heal and make them whole, one.
He gasped, “Caitlin, I must hurt you.” Her face registered confusion then shock as he lifted her easily, hands almost encircling her waist. He impaled her on his cock, swollen so thick she cried out in pain as he buried himself to the hilt.
She cried, “Trey, stop,” but he was beyond hearing, as he rocked his hips in a mad frenzy, assaulting her until blood and semen mixed and she collapsed in a stupor against his chest. He knew he would spend the rest of his days trying to undo the broken trust.
****
“Caitlin, wake up. Please.”
Caitlin drifted through a fog, her mind resisting the passage back. It felt strange, as if she floated, her torso cool, her legs and belly surrounded in warmth that cushioned her skin. Trey hugged her to his chest, his legs to either side of her body. She was sitting in the pond. How did she get there? What was he doing?
“Caitlin, it’s all right. I’m cleaning you up. Oh gods, there was so much blood, I thought I’d lose you again.”
“Blood? Did you hurt me?”
He answered, the anger clear, but directed inward, “Yes, I had to. I knew you weren’t prepared but I had no choice. I could have done worse.” He muttered, “I have done worse.”
“Trey?”
“Yeah, I’m here. You’re almost healed.”
“Trey.” This time her voice had a note of desperation. “It’s getting dark.”
“Shush. It’s all right. We’re safe, for now.” He shot a final surge of energy into her belly, then lunged to his feet and helped her to stand. She was disoriented and staggered against him. He led her over to the stand of trees. Easing her down onto a patch of grass, he bade her stay while he worked on improvising a shelter.
“Can I help?”
“No, you rest. You lost a lot of blood.”
He pulled dead branches and uprooted whole bushes, leaving them in a pile as he scouted further afield for deadfall. He called back, “If you want to do something, try weaving the small stuff together. Make a mat. Know what I mean?”
“Okay. I think I know what you have in mind.”
Caitlin hummed to herself as she worked. He would build a lean-to that could shelter them from the flying predators. The beasts hunted during moonrise, in search of movement. If they stayed out of sight, out of the moonlight, they might survive the interminable night.
She chuckled that she still thought of him in the third person, still distancing herself, unwilling to admit her loss of independence, but not her identity. That she felt, stronger than ever. In fact, she’d never felt so powerful, so aware, so in tune with her body’s functioning. When the cramps hit she moaned and cursed her fate.
