by Dixon, Ruby
Bless her heart a thousand times, she actually thinks he can get up from his bed.
I stroke his hand, and for a moment, I think he can see me. I smile at him, trying to make it seem like all of this is totally okay. I hate that we’re talking around him, though. “He only knows a little of our language. No one gave him a translation chip.”
“Will he attack if I touch him? I want to help, but I have to put my hands on him to heal him.”
Faith healing. Yeah, okay. I’ve seen this in a few churches back home. Don’t rightly believe in it, but at this point, I’m willing for Veronica to do anything. I stroke Gren’s knuckles. “Gren, sugar. Veronica’s a friend. You trust me, right? Willa friend, Gren friend, Veronica friend.”
His eyes focus on me. “Friend.” His gaze flicks to Veronica, and then he snarls as if just now seeing her.
I lick my lips and don’t let go of his hand, because I need him to trust her. I crawl on my knees, moving to his other side so I can give her room to sit by him. “Ignore the snarling,” I say, my voice soothing as I caress his brow. I don’t know if I’m speaking more for him or for her, or if I’m just tired and babbling. "I had an old feral cat back home that would hiss at you even when she showed up for cuddles. I think he thinks it's normal, and no one's ever tried to show him otherwise. He really is a good guy, though. Very sweet. Very caring. He's protected me and kept me safe. He doesn't deserve to die like this."
The best guy. I love him. I watch as he closes his eyes, and I want to put his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles so he feels my touch…but I don’t want to interfere, either.
“He’s not going to,” Veronica tells me, all confidence. She reaches for the blankets and peels them back, and someone gags. "What happened?"
I find myself lying to her. The truth—me taking a stupid pee—seems too ridiculous to share. That’s private, for me and Gren to know. “Snowcats,” I say. “A lot of them. They were hungry and thought I was dinner. Gren saved me.” I feel like crying all over again, and I kiss Gren’s knuckles, thinking of how brave he was. “I was out hunting,” I lie, “Didn’t even realize I’d wandered into a den of them. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.” That part’s not a lie, and I give her a defiant look. “The others can call him any kind of monster they want, but he’s been wonderful to me.”
She doesn’t look up, just continues to study Gren. “Is that why he stole you? Because you two resonated?”
What? “Stole me? Everyone thinks he stole me?”
“He didn’t?”
I’m shocked they would think that. No wonder Hassen and Zolaya came after us with ropes. They think I’ve been abducted. "No! I freed him, and we left. Why would I want to stay with people that treat him so badly? He was scared and they tied him up like he was an animal. I wanted to help him and he didn't want to be alone. No one stole me."
"I see. We can tell the others about that. Maybe it'll change their minds. Did you two…have you…" She looks uncomfortable. “Are you guys resonating?"
I wish. I think of how many times I’ve rubbed my chest, wishing it would make some sort of peep towards Gren’s. “No. We're just friends. I think he could use someone that has his back. Does it have to be sexual?"
"I don't imagine it does, no. I was just curious. Seems like there have been a lot of misunderstandings. We'll do what we can to help and then we'll talk to the others, won't we, Ashtar?" She turns and smiles at the giant by the fire.
He crosses his arms and looks sour. "No one is taking us anywhere we do not want to go. I did not escape one master to have new ones."
For some reason, that makes me feel better. I’d forgotten that Ashtar was a slave, too. He’d understand how Gren feels. Maybe Veronica can do something for him after all. I watch as she offers him her hand.
Gren snarls at her, fever glazing his eyes.
“Gren.” I squeeze his hand and then touch his chest, careful of his wounds. “Veronica is a friend. Willa friend, Veronica friend, Gren friend.”
His eyes focus on me, and I hope I’m right. If they betray us…but I give him an encouraging smile, hoping he can see the love in my eyes.
He looks over at Veronica slowly, at her outstretched hand. "Friend," he says eventually, and then puts his hand in hers.
The moment they touch, Veronica goes utterly still. Her eyes snap shut, and then she stiffens. Gren does, too. Worried, I keep petting his hand. “It’s going to be all right,” I whisper to him.
But then his eyes close and he groans, slumping into unconsciousness.
I panic, looking at Veronica, but she hasn’t moved. She still sits, resting on her folded legs, her hand tightly clenching his, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes move under her eyelids, like she’s having a wild dream. Worried, I glance over at Ashtar.
“This is how she heals,” he says, his voice terse. He hasn’t moved, just watches Veronica from across the fire as if he’s torn between kissing the heck out of her and snatching her away. “This is normal.”
“Is it?” I glance down at Gren, who passed out. He’s unconscious, but his breathing does seem to be easier. “She’s really a healer then?”
“It is something with her khui,” he explains, tapping on his chest. “I have seen her do this to others. She healed my wing, too.”
I squint up at him. “Wing?” What on earth is he talking about? But he only watches Veronica, ignoring my question. I figure I heard him wrong and turn back to Gren. “Will this work?”
“If anyone can do it, she can.” There’s so much pride in his voice that it’s reassuring.
So I watch for a bit longer. Veronica doesn’t reach for him or touch his wounds. She just holds his hand and her cootie gives off this weird song that’s different from before. At first, I think she’s resonating to Gren—my Gren—but I realize Ashtar’s not worried, so this just must be a thing that goes with healing. “Thank you for coming,” I tell him. “I don’t know how you knew—”
“Zolaya told us. He insisted.”
Zolaya? I’m surprised. I thought he and Hassen were doing their best to get me away from Gren. Why heal him? I don’t have answers, but if I see Zolaya again, I’ll tell him I’m grateful. Even if he hates Gren, he’s saving him. I think of Gren and watch his beloved face. His snout twitches ever so slightly, but he doesn’t rouse. His eyes are doing the weird dancing thing behind the eyelid like Veronica’s are, and for a moment, I’m terribly, terribly jealous of the bond they’re sharing. Why couldn’t I be the one to save him? Instead, I’m the one that’s caused him to nearly be killed.
Over a pee break, of all things. I’m glad I didn’t tell Veronica the truth.
“Does…this take long?” I ask Ashtar as the seconds seem to slide past like hours.
“Far too long,” he agrees, and again he sounds annoyed, as if he’s not entirely pleased that Veronica’s doing this.
“Ah.”
“You can sleep,” he tells me. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.” He doesn’t move from his spot near the fire—close to Veronica, but just far enough away to give her space.
“No, I’m good,” I say and continue to hold Gren’s hand. I’m not letting him go. Ever.
So I just hold his hand and watch.
And wait.
* * *
Time passes. I don’t know how much or how long, just that Veronica remains utterly still (except for the flutter of her closed eyes) and so no one else moves, either. Ashtar keeps his vigil by the fire, his gaze glued to her, and I don’t let go of Gren, even though my hand is sweaty in his. At some point I nod off, waking up to see Ashtar leaning over the fire and breathing on it to bring the flames to life again. I scrub at my eyes, not entirely convinced I’m not dreaming, and then drift back off to sleep.
I wake up again a short time later and neither Veronica nor Gren has moved. I touch Gren’s brow carefully, not wanting to disturb the healing that Veronica is concentrating so hard on. He’s cool. His hair is damp with sweat, but no fever burns an
y longer. I suck in a breath, shocked and pleased. Hesitantly, I push aside a tuft of fur over one of the worst of the bite wounds and it looks better. Much better. The skin is dimpled and reddened, but no longer broken and scabbed. It’s definitely no longer infected.
“How the heck did she do that?” I whisper, full of wonder.
“She is special,” Ashtar says, his voice full of pride. He watches his mate closely. After a moment, he moves forward, to her side. Just as he does, Veronica gives a little sigh, and the ramrod-straight pose she’s been keeping slips away. She slumps over, and Ashtar catches her before she can hit the ground.
“Is she okay?”
“She will sleep,” he says. “For a long, long time.” And he carries her quietly to the far end of the cave, into the shadows. I hear him rustling about in the furs, no doubt setting up a bed for his mate, and then it gets quiet. It’s just me and Gren by the crackling fire.
I turn back to him, stroking his knuckles thoughtfully. “Did she heal you?” I whisper to my sleeping beast. “Are you going to come back to me?”
To my delight, Gren’s lips part. He opens his eyes and gazes at me sleepily, and then bares his teeth in that grimace of a smile that I’ve come to love.
“Blessurhart,” he tells me, and pats my cheek sleepily.
And I cry-laugh and kiss his knuckles with happiness.
15
GREN
I smell others in our cave. Along with the old scents of mesakkah natives who have been here in the past, there is the vague scent of more recent visitors, and the smell of a mated male and female. The male is not of a species I recognize by scent, but the female is human. I filter through my blurry memories of my sickness, and vaguely recall a golden male and a faceless female with soft, cool hands and a gentle voice.
And then there is my Willa.
Even now, she leans over me, carefully bathing my skin with a wet bit of fur. I am exhausted, weak as a Praxiian kitten newly from the womb, but my mind is clear and my body is whole. The bites no longer ache, and even though I am tired, I feel surprisingly well. As Willa tends to me, I realize that while I feel better by the moment…she looks terrible. The curls of her mane are matted and full of debris, her face is dirty, and there are hollows under her lovely eyes. She is thin, too, and I wonder if the others have been feeding her. Are we all slaves once more? Did our masters return? For some reason, that does not fill me with aching dread as it did before. They have left Willa at my side, and if I am indeed to be a slave once more, at least I will have someone to fight for.
But there is no collar on my neck, and my hands are not bound. Perhaps not. I reach up to touch Willa's beautiful, strange face and she smiles at me, pressing her mouth against my hand as I do. "Gren," she says softly, nuzzling my hand.
I am tired…but my cock still responds to her touch. It always will, I think. I am too fatigued to do anything about it except to note that it yet stirs. She finishes bathing my face and then pushes a cup to my face. "Tea," she says, and a syrupy smell fills the air.
I remember this scent. I sip it, grimacing at the taste. She insists that I take several swallows, and I manage as much as I can, and then take a few bites of the natives' hard rations that she has softened with water and feeds me with a spoon. My stomach growls with hunger and I eat several big bites, which makes her face crease with delight.
When I am fed, she sets the bowl down and starts to get up, probably for something else to tend to me. I reach for her hand and pull her back down and she gives me a curious look.
"You stayed at my side all this time, did you not?" It is not a question, not really. In all of my fevered dreams, Willa has been right there. She has not abandoned me. I have never known such kindness in my life. "I do not know what I have done to deserve one such as you, my Willa."
She caresses my hand, her brow furrowing as she tries to figure out my growling words. "Friends," she tells me, and gestures at the far end of the large cave.
She thinks I mention the others? I glance back at them, but I do not need to see them to know they are there; the scents tell me plenty. The male watches us from afar, his female cradled in his arms. He gazes at Willa and myself for a moment, and then turns his back to us, his chest humming with an unfamiliar sound.
It is something to do with the parasite they gave us, I think, but I do not know what. I need more words to ask Willa.
My Willa. She watches me carefully, waiting to see my reaction. Does she think I will attack them for being in our cave? The female healed me. She brought me back to my Willa. I will be forever grateful. So I clasp Willa's hand in mine. "Fraaands," I agree.
Willa just smiles and offers me more tea, and I grudgingly comply.
* * *
I sleep. The tea is a sedative, I think. My dreams are full of the blue-skinned mesakkah natives of this world, grabbing Willa and prying her from my side despite her screams of protest. I wake up, hissing and angry, only to find that Willa is asleep next to me. She is still dirty and smells of sweat and smoke, but I do not care. I pull her against my body and tuck the furs around us—at some point I have been given fresh furs—and go back to sleep.
I drowse through the day, and most of the time when I wake up, Willa is there to feed me and give me sips of water or tea. She helps me stagger to a basket in the corner of the cave that she has set aside for voiding her bladder, and then helps me back to bed. The others in the cave—the golden-skinned male and his mate—are very quiet in their corner, sleeping.
Willa sleeps very little. She attends to me and every time I stir, she leaps to her feet to see to my needs. When I am stronger, I will make sure she takes care of herself. I do not like the thought of her exhausting her fragile human body just to take care of me. She also seems uneasy that others are nearby. She watches the golden one and his sleeping mate with a slight frown on her face, as if she does not trust them.
If she does not trust, I do not, either. I hate that I am so helpless.
Soon enough, though, I will be recovered and then it will not matter. We will go far away from these others, find ourselves a cave to make our home, and then it will just be myself and Willa.
I like that thought.
By the time the next morning arrives, I am feeling much stronger. I sit up in bed, even though Willa makes protesting noises, and I feed myself when she tries to do it. I push away the tea she makes and drink plain water. I am tired of sleeping through the day. I flex one arm, and there is no response of pain. That is a welcome relief. Oddly enough, there are no muscle aches, either. My joints do not throb as they sometimes do after recovery from a difficult fight, and there are no random pains in my body that remind me that I am feeling the lack of stims from my old masters.
I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Strange.
“Gren, ubettrsuugr?” Willa crouches next to me and pushes a cup of water into my hands. Her worried gaze moves over my face and she absently brushes a lock of mane off my forehead. Just that small touch makes my body stir, and I do my best not to notice how close she is, or how appealingly mouthwatering her female scent is. She is tired and has worn herself out caring for me. The last thing she needs is me pawing at her.
I think about it, though. I watch as her teats jiggle when she gets up and moves to the fire, then touches a finger to the contents of the pouch warming there. Not tea this time, but a fresh, clean scent of something else.
“Timfrbath,” she tells me. “Uenmeebof.” She bends over the fire, and then I am gazing right at the rounded curves of her rump.
My cock stirs.
Already my body is impatient for her touch. Irritated, I swipe at it and look around the cave. The male with the golden skin lurks in the far corner, attending to his sleeping mate. He glances in our direction once, and then promptly ignores us once more.
“Libak,” Willa tells me, turning back to me. She has a wet towel in her hand. “Lmmetakcarofu.”
She puts her hand on my chest, her touch light and gentle.
Again, my cock stirs, and I watch Willa’s face, wondering if she will notice…and what she will think.
“Libak,” she insists again, and I recline on my back once more. Willa moves over me, and then she begins to bathe me with gentle, sweeping motions. She lightly brushes the towel over my face, smiling down at me, and then moves lower, to my chest.
The water is warm and her touches are caressing, and I bite back a groan, reaching up to caress her face. “Willa.” I do not want a bath—I want to touch her.
She chuckles and gives me a teasing look. “Urstl recovrn.”
And then she deliberately goes lower, smoothing the wet towel down my chest and toward my groin.
“Jstabath,” she tells me, her tone light and airy. Her touch is teasing, and she looks into my eyes as she dips the cloth and then bathes me lower, brushing over my cock. There is promise in her gaze and this time I cannot bite back my groan.
“Suun,” she tells me. “Gbetterfurst.”
I know what she says, even if we do not share the words. Not yet. Not until my body is healed. It is a good response, even if I am impatient to touch her. I force myself to remain still as she finishes gently bathing me. I could do so myself, I think. I am regaining strength quickly…but it is a pleasure to feel her wet hands on my fur.
I’m panting by the time she smooths the towel down my legs and finishes my bath. She picks up the cloth and puts it in the water pouch, and then caresses my cheek before brushing her lips over mine. “Suun,” she says again.
I relax on the blankets, reaching for her hand. She gives it to me, and I marvel at how free she is with her touches. No one has ever touched me so easily or so readily as her. In her eyes, I am not a slave, or a beast, or a gladiator.
I am just Gren, and for once, that is a good thing to be.
