by Dixon, Ruby
"No," Ashtar says quickly.
"No," Willa agrees.
"Right. Okay." Veronica sounds relieved. "I'm going to be completely quiet and just think real hard about eggs and sperm meeting and how badly your eggs want to be fertilized."
Willa nods, and her focus is on my face. She reaches up and caresses my cheek, her smile sweet. "I'm here," she murmurs to me. "It's just me and you, truly."
I growl low in my throat, wordless in my frustration. It is…and yet this is different. I press my mouth against her palm, breathing in her scent and trying to cover myself with it.
Realization flickers in my mate's eyes. "Ah," she murmurs, and then slips her hand between our bodies. I feel her fingers skate down my belly, and for a moment, I think she is going to grasp my cock and manipulate me until I am hard. The thought is enticing, but it is not something I want to share with Ashtar and his mate. "Willa—"
But my mate's fingers brush past my cock and she shifts. I realize she is touching herself, and my frown deepens. Is she going to climax first, and then hope that I do the same?
A moment later, her hand moves back up and then she presses it against my mouth. The scent of her cunt, juicy with arousal, floods my senses. My growl turns to one of arousal, and my cock grows impossibly hard in the space of a breath.
"It's me," she whispers. "It's only me." Her gaze holds mine, her eyes full of love and need. She hooks one leg around my hips and arches up against me, her cunt rubbing against my length.
I groan and put my hand to her hip, holding her as I seek out her welcoming heat. One thrust and then I am buried deep inside her, and our khuis resonate so loudly that our bodies feel as if they are coming apart. I pump into my mate, my gaze locked onto hers as I feel her clench and tighten around me. Like every mating for the last few days, it is quick and brutal, and within moments, my seed releases in a flood a moment after she shivers around me with her release, my name on her lips.
Then, panting, I lower my forehead to hers, breathing in her breath, filling my senses with Willa and Willa alone.
My mate smiles at me, and then her eyes close and she sighs heavily, going limp.
"That's right, sleepytime," Veronica murmurs. "You both need a nice, long sleep. I'll do the rest."
The healer brushes a hand over my shoulder, and then I fall into a dreamless slumber, tucking my mate close.
26
GREN
I wake up some time later, my body curled around my Willa. The air has grown colder and the tent darker. We are alone, the scents of both Ashtar and Veronica faded and stale. We have slept for some time, it seems. I touch my mate's cheek and she smacks her lips sleepily and then burrows back under the blankets.
"Rest," I tell her, tucking the furs close around her body.
I get to my feet, stretching. My muscles are stiff as if I had a long sleep, but for the first time in a long time, I feel…rested. The hard, hungry edge is gone and when I rub a hand against my chest, I do not feel the insistent vibration of resonance, but something sleepier and sated. The sound is soft and gentle, as if finally content. I study my Willa and notice that the pinched look is gone from her brow, the hollowness of her eyes fading. Pleased, I relax. Even though it was unpleasant to have the healer with us during that mating, I cannot regret it.
As I watch my beautiful mate sleep, doubt begins to creep in. Willa rests, and our resonance must be done. She has not awakened to tend to my body's call, as we have so many times in the last few weeks. What if this means that she does not want to be with me any longer? What if nothing binds her to my side now that resonance is fulfilled?
She smiles in her sleep, a little sigh escaping her throat. I reach out to caress her, tracing her cheek with one claw, aching with how much I need her—not physically, but in my heart and spirit.
"Gren," she murmurs, but does not waken. The smile returns to her sleeping face.
And I am strangely content. My panic is just foolishness. Willa has had many opportunities to leave my side—before and after resonance—and never has. Of course she loves me. Pleased, I rub a lock of her mane between my fingers, content to watch her sleep.
My stomach growls, and I am reminded of my body's other functions. I lift my head as a scent wafts in from nearby. Hot food, and fire. My ears pick up the low hum of voices, though I cannot make out what they are saying. I ponder staying in the tent, wondering if I will be attacked the moment I step foot outside.
But no, Hassen promised we are safe. I flex my arms, feeling stronger. If they wish to attack us, they will be dealing with a well-rested beast and not the edgy, exhausted creature I was a short time ago.
Also, Willa might wake soon. If so, she will be hungry. The need to take care of my mate propels me forward. I quietly dress in my loincloth and then emerge from the tent.
A wave of scents assaults my senses—not just fire and food, but people. People everywhere. I am immediately reminded of the largest arena battles, in which I would enter and be immediately assaulted by all the smells of my opponents. My body would go on instant alert, readying to attack. But then, someone laughs. A baby cries, and it jars my senses.
This is not the arena. I am not under attack.
Willa is here.
I can feel my shoulders loosen, the tension leaving my body. There is a fire with people sitting at it, and when an unfamiliar person waves me over, I hesitate, but only for a moment before joining them.
"Greetings, brother," says the male, and he leans forward to stir the fire. As he does, I notice he has four arms. This is one of Lauren's people, then. I am surprised (but pleased) to be called “brother.” It implies I am one of them.
"I…seek to feed my mate," I tell him, unsure of what I should say in response. Something polite? I have never done this before. After a moment's hesitation, I add, "And greetings, brother."
"I am called J'shel," he says, flicking a long braid over his shoulder. He gestures at the male sitting next to him, wrapped in a fur. "This is N'dek. L'ren and K'thar are seated by the main fire, and G'hail and V'za have Z'hren in their tent. He is fussy this evening." As if to lend credence to the male's words, the baby lets up a distant wail, only to be shushed again. "We are pleased you and your mate will be joining the Clan of the Strong Arm, even if only for a short time."
And he gestures at one of the stones gathered near their small fire, indicating I should sit.
I study him. He seems young for all of his strength. His body is nearly as thick with muscle in the torso as my own, and his four strong arms look as if they could crush heads. But his expression is open and honest, and the long braid over his shoulder tells me he has never experienced combat, not when he would give his enemies such an easy handhold. I look over at the other male. He stares at the fire, then nods at me. The one he calls N'dek seems to be of a slighter build, and when he shifts his weight and pulls the fur over his body, I see the stump of a leg, cut off at the knee. Ah. That explains much…and oddly enough, makes me feel easier.
This is no slave pit. A slave that cannot walk is a useless mouth. N'dek would not last a day with my last master.
The baby cries again, and I am reminded yet again of how different this place is. Willa worries so much, but my fears are easing with every moment. I know slavery and brutality, and the small, subtle signs of this encampment tell me that they are many things, but they are not to be feared as slavers.
So I sit. I rest my hands on my knees, uncertain.
"Are you of a Shadowed Cat clan?" asks N'dek. "They have their tents across the beach."
The translator spits their words back at me, and then I shake my head. "I am…" A thing? A male created to fight battles and nothing else? But they watch me with curiosity, not disgust, and it is clear they do not realize I am different from all, not just different from them. Eventually, I say, "I am a male without a clan."
"You and your mate are welcome to join ours," J'shel says, grinning as he pokes at the fire. "You may only have two arms, but they look
quite strong."
"I will let my mate know we are welcome," I tell him gravely, pleased at such an invitation. "I am not very skilled with hunting yet, though. The only things I have hunted are…other hunters."
N'dek makes a displeased sound. "Not all must hunt."
It takes great effort for me not to look at his leg. "I see."
J'shel elbows his friend. "You are hard on yourself. Are your arms not yet strong, brother? You belong here just as much as V'za and his mate. Strong Arm welcomes all."
"Mmm," is all N'dek says.
J'shel frowns at his friend, then scoops a bowl into the pouch hanging over the fire and offers it to me. "Eat. There is plenty of food in this land."
I take it from his hands, and my stomach growls. Even so, I hesitate. "Enough for my mate?"
"Of course."
I sit down and begin to eat. The food is hot, and I am ravenous. I scarcely taste it before I am finishing the bowl, and I lick my claws to get every drop of food. J'shel indicates I should take another serving, and I do. I eat this one slower, glancing at them. "Where are your mates?"
N'dek glowers into the fire.
J'shel straightens, an eager expression on his face. "We have no mates…yet. But there are many females in the hoo-man tribe. It will happen. We must be patient, that is all."
"Is that Gren I see?" a voice calls out, approaching the fire in a crunch of pebbled sand. "Ho to Strong Arm."
I stiffen, waiting. The voice is friendly, but the firelight blinds my night vision and I cannot make out the face until the male appears next to the fire, his long single horn stirring memories. This is the one that watched over me. This is the one that Willa attacked to free me. I wait to see if he attacks, but his expression is as friendly and open as J'shel's as he kneels by the fire and nods at me in greeting. "I am glad to see you and your mate have returned."
"I…do not recall your name, but I know your face," I admit to him. My head feels as if it is spinning at so much friendly conversation. So many people, all of them…nice.
To me. To Gren, the beast. The gladiator who has never had a word of kindness before Willa. Now I feel blanketed in it. I am made to feel welcome. I am given food at a stranger’s fire and no one has looked at me as if I am a monster.
As I eye the four-armed aliens, I wonder if perhaps I am no longer the strangest male they have ever seen. The “island” people seem to have opened their eyes to different kinds. As I watch, the blue mesakkah thumps down onto a seat next to J’shel, and the four-armed alien’s skin ripples with color, shifting to a shadowy gray and then back to pale blue.
Definitely not the strangest.
“I am called Pashov,” the blue one-horned alien says, smiling. “And I did not expect you to remember my name.”
“Because it is too long,” J’shel teases. “P’shov sounds better to my ears.”
N’dek just snorts, but it is clear from his expression he is amused.
I clutch my bowl, wanting to participate in this friendly conversation. To casually speak up the way they do and talk as if it is nothing. As if I have always made friends wherever I go. My mind is blank of words, though, and when they glance over at me, I say the first thing I think of. “I am glad your brains did not come out your ears.”
Pashov throws his head back and laughs. “I, as well. And how is your mate? The strong one?”
I smile at that, because my Willa is strong. “She rests. I am going to bring her food.”
Pashov leans over the stew-pouch and sniffs it. “Dvisti? Did you catch this one yourself?”
J’shel looks over at N’dek and then rubs his head, a little embarrassed. “No. I tried to catch one standing near camp, but it charged me and then bit me.” He rubs one hand. “I was so startled that I dropped my spear.”
“It is a good thing,” N’dek speaks up grudgingly. “It was F’rli’s tamed beast.”
“Chahm-pee?” Pashov slaps his knee and roars with laughter. I chuckle, thinking of the skinny-limbed beast in our cave, and J’shel flat on his back in astonishment. “That female has you turned around, does she not?”
“Female?” I ask.
J’shel moves a hand to his shoulder, as if to flick a braid that is already on his back. “I have resonated to a female, but she ignores me. I am being…patient.” He grimaces, as if in pain. “It is very distracting.”
“Very,” Pashov agrees, and glances over at me again. “Finish your meal, Gren, and I will show you around the camp so you know where all the supplies are if you need anything. It will be good for you to greet the others as well.”
I get to my feet, surprised at how much the idea pleases me. I am to be introduced to people as if I am as normal as any of the human females or the other males. As if I am Ashtar, golden and perfect, instead of Gren, hulking and ugly. “My mate,” I begin.
“We will guard her,” N’dek reassures me.
“I will come and find you if she awakens,” J’shel adds, staring into the fire morosely, his good mood gone. “The camp is not big. No trees to hide behind.”
I nod slowly, and Pashov gets to his feet, his expression friendly and open. If he was my arena opponent, he would hold his old injury against me. He would be thinking of ways to exact revenge, of ways to torment me for his pain. I hesitate for a moment longer, but…it feels good to be included. To be treated as any other.
And so I go.
Pashov leads me from campfire to campfire, introducing me to a blur of faces. There are aliens with face fur and aliens with large, arching horns. There are the deep blue mesakkah and more human females. There are even two a’ani, though they are busy playing a game with giggling human females called “Spinning bottles” even though there is no bottle, but a long smooth cylindrical bone instead. There are several females seated in a half circle with more of the island males. As I watch, one of the a’ani males reaches out and grabs the spinning bone, making it point past all the females in the circle and to a pregnant female sitting by a nearby fire.
“That’s not how this works,” one indignant female tells him.
“But she is the only one I wish to put my mouth on,” the a’ani says as we pass by, frowning. “Why else would I play this game?”
We continue on, and I see several females clustered together. One holds a baby, and the two pregnant ones have other young kits at their side. They are laughing together, and as I watch, a tall male with twisted horns moves and grabs one of the little female kits, swinging her into the air. The little one squeals with glee, and the female looks up and smiles. Another female—this one with a rounded body and a scowl on her face—nearly runs us down as one of the island males—this one with fur on his face—chases after her, grinning.
No one is being trained for combat. No one is wary and afraid. Even the scowling female looks as if she wants to touch the fur-faced male, though she frowns at him.
These are not people that are afraid or about to go into battle.
This…is a good place.
And Willa left it behind to stay with me. I am humbled at her choice once more, and grateful for my mate’s loyalty. But perhaps there is a way we can be part of this tribe, so Willa will not have to choose between her friends and her mate. Perhaps I will have a people, and friends, and others will smile with welcome greeting when I arrive. Perhaps I do not have to be an outcast forever, shunned by all.
A scream pierces the night.
“GREN!”
That is my mate. “Willa,” I bellow, racing through people to get to her. Nothing else matters but her. Not these people, not having a tribe, nothing.
If I lose Willa, I lose everything.
27
WILLA
He’s gone. They’ve taken him from me.
Betrayal and shock slam through me, followed by anger. How dare they treat him like this? How dare they?
He’s a fucking person!
I race from the tent, the only weapon I could find—a headless spear—in my hands. I stare, dazed, a
t the people gathering on the beach. Two aliens sit by the fire and one jumps to his feet as I stumble forward. Both seem to change colors, blending into darkness as I stare at them. Others move forward, called by my cry. I search familiar faces, looking for one in particular. “Where is he? Where did you take him?”
“Willa?” I hear Lauren’s curious voice a moment before I realize she’s peering out of her tent at me, curious and sleepy. “What’s going on?”
“Gren!” I bellow at her, charging forward at the fire. I’m ready to fight everyone on this beach to get my man back. “They took him away while I slept!”
“What?” Lauren sounds confused.
“WILLA!” my mate calls, somewhere off on the beach.
“I’m coming,” I shout back at him, stumbling forward through the pebbled sand and shoving past people that reach out to help me. I’m frantic, ignoring the blue—and otherwise—aliens that seem to be coming out of the woodwork to confront me. If they try to stop me from going to my mate, so help me, I’ll—
Gren appears a moment later, racing toward me in a spray of sand. A few steps behind him is Pashov, and both of them look concerned.
With a sob, I fling myself into Gren’s arms. “I won’t let them take you from me,” I tell him fiercely through my tears. “You’re mine.”
His hands move all over me, frantic. “Where are you hurt?”
What? “I’m not hurt.”
He lets out a long breath, his gaze locked on mine. I hear my cootie thrum with pleasure, but it’s a sated, sleepy sort of sound now. “Did something frighten you? Was something in the tent?”
“Side-walkers,” Pashov suggests, panting from his short run. He puts a hand on his side and shakes his head. “Found one in my tent the other day, hiding in my boot.”
What on earth are they talking about? “No, I just…” I blink, looking up at my mate. He looks worried, but for me. I touch his wrists, but there are no ropes there. Nearby, others are looking at us in a mixture of confusion and concern.
Gren touches my cheek. “Did you see something?”
