Bride of Glass

by Jeanette Lynn

  At the sight of the oddly bluish haired topped beast, my soon to be beast mate grunted out what I guessed was a warm enough greeting. But as the large male spotted me in the midst of what I assumed was his friend, standing impatiently in front of his little beast house, Tokre growled, tensing.

  Eyes widening, my gaze darted between them and I gulped. At the look on Tokre’s face, the Zoob... Zob... Zurb... Zarsbery? No, that wasn’t right. Erm… The other beast guy cleared his throat and backed up a step.

  “Tokre’s mate, friend. Zhuii help. No mate steals from Zhuii.”

  Tokre looked from me to the orange-eyed beast again and frowned, dropping a tall pole and a round basket with a flap on it to march over. Shoving between us, he stood in front of me, shifting his large frame until his massive form just about blocked out everything else. Snarling low in his throat, he jerked his chin and flung his arms out, shooing the other beast away.

  “Zhuii bring Rosie-linda to Tokre.” Zhoobeans looked almost offended—somewhat affronted—wounded in the feels, for sure. “No take Tokre’s mate.”

  Ohhhh! Zhuii—that was his name! Yeah, I’m sure he’s said it a million times or two already, but I’d never get that one right.

  Zhuii’s hands shot up and he lifted them in surrender.

  Fur bristling, Tokre snarled louder.

  With a shrug and an apologetic look my way over Tokre’s shoulder, Zhuii turned, gave a huffing chuff, hesitant but still moving, and then he was gone.

  Turning to me, Tokre stared down at me, a question in his dark, fathomless eyes. That was okay, I had some questions of my own. Staring down at me while I blinked up at him, my mouth in a half gape of its own volition, I couldn’t help but note every little thing that set him apart from the other beasts, every tiny detail, anything that I could use to convince myself this was no different than the world’s harshest first blind date gone ape shit, followed by a crazy drive thru wedding.

  Ah, yes, Rosie, just go with that, honey. ‘Cause won’t that just make it all better, my sarcastic ass chimed in unhelpfully.

  Tokre let off a short huff, as if sensing he’d lost me, bringing me back to the present. His eyes roved over my face freely, as if to put it to memory. The beast had a funny tuft of hair going along the middle of his scalp, I observed, a fluffy down of puff that would almost be comical—a puff of a mohawk, a faux hawk, so to speak—if he didn’t look so freaking scary.

  He can wear his hair however he likes, I thought, eyeing the strange bit of wispy fluff amongst the thicker fur lining his face and most of his body, the rest of it matting as it curled into tiny white ringlets, trailing down the rest of him, barely stopping at his toe nails, so long as he keeps me.

  Those long white eyelashes of his were definitely worthy of noting, something I could see a vainer sort being envious of, ah, if one were to envy anything of the beast.

  Besides his cock, my hidden, dirty side just had to add.

  My eyes widened and I swallowed hard, just simply thinking of even trying to take that monster on. “I can’t believe I just went there,” I breathed, voicing my thoughts aloud.

  Mine. The sometimes friendly giant mouthed the words, searching my face intently as he bent his tall frame to snuffle my face.

  Jerking back at the surprise tickle, I shocked us both when I snorted a giggle, my fingers drifting towards my lips to cover my mouth, and laughed.

  Tokre made a loud noise in his throat, a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated his chest as my lips pulled back into a wide, teeth baring smile. He did it again, hoping to elicit the same result. When it worked, the sound I made in reaction short lived but loud enough to appease him, he stopped.

  “Hhhhhhnnnnnn. Gggggrrrrruuuuuhhhh.” Lips barely moving, his words more grrr than anything, I assumed it was a guess at English. My lips moved along with his, trying to form the words with my own mouth, hoping to figure it out.

  “Hhhhnnn Grrrruuuuh,” I mimed to myself out loud, then blinked and glanced up at him. “Inner glow? Hinner grow? In we, uh, go?”

  Tokre’s eyes lit in understanding and he gave a jerky nod.

  I just stood there, frowning uncomprehendingly. “You want me to go?”

  “Grrrruuuuuuuhhhh.” And again he mouthed, Mine. Gripping the back of my shirt, along with the furry pelt bundled over me, I had no worries about the rough yet gentle treatment until he gave me a none-too-gentle push, slapping the door open with his free hand, and roughly ushered me into his hut.

  “Oh- I- Ah!” Arms flailing, I tripped right in, stumbling about. I am not a ragdoll, I thought churlishly, but yet again refrained from commenting.

  Gripping a wall for support before I could go crashing into it, I clung to it, my heart pounding ninety to nothing.

  Giving in to my natural curiosity, I got a good look at my new home for the indefinite future, some of the tension in me ebbing as Tokre shuffled deeper inside without me.

  I’d have to make this work, or look like it would, if I wanted to be around for very long, and I very much wanted to be around, I reasoned with myself, taking in my new pseudo home.

  The inside was sparsely lit or furnished, a wide bed with thick furs, a long and a short table, each with a single chair. Two more chairs sat in the far corner, stacked and abandoned. There was a counter with a bowl, a jug of some kind, and what looked like eating utensils, lumpy sacks made of woven material, filled, the tops twisted and folded neatly to contain whatever each held, off to the side. Clay made cooking pots and bowls hung along a wall with a counter, and that was about it for beastly homey touches.

  A fat stone fireplace dominated a good portion of one wall, a hook for a cook pot hanging down the middle, a small shelf beside it filled with various things—things of which I had no clue as to their purpose.

  There was a cook pot off to the side of the fat, slab stones, and it appeared to have something bubbling away hotly inside. A stew, perhaps? The beginning of one, I guessed, but didn’t venture closer to investigate.

  Walking back and slamming the door shut behind him hard enough to rattle his single window, I jumped, gulping as I heard the snick of a lock. Gah, he was so quiet when he wanted to be! I hadn’t heard him move!

  Tokre made funny noises in his throat as he tromped right past me, his retrieved fishing pole dropped off by the door on his way.

  Footsteps light despite his size, he headed over to the long counter the unused cook pots were strung up near, that oddly colored woven basket he’d had with him in hand. Lifting the flap, tipping the basket, he dumped the contents of his basket into a water filled clay basin.

  Fish flopped about, as if trying to escape their new confines, glittering orange, sparkling cerulean blue, and bright, crisp yellow. Curious, I moved closer, trying to get a better look. With multiple, fanning sort of spiky fins, large spines along the ridges, fat jelly bean-shaped bodies, and silly black googly eyes popping up randomly at odd angles atop the sides of their heads, they were the strangest things I’d yet to see.

  Tokre worked methodically at the long, thick wood slab counter, scooping up a googly fish easily to lay it out. The fish wriggled and squirmed, gawping its thick fishy lips open and shut as it sucked uselessly at the open air, but Tokre held it firmly with practiced ease.

  Reaching along his waist, he pulled a short, fat knife from a belt the same color and texture of his fur and beheaded the poor little pudgy guppy with a swift, mechanical motion. The fish’s lips still smacked uselessly as Tokre set if off to the side and went to work on the rest of it.

  Feeling a little fish-bellied and pale at that little demonstration, I cringed and stepped back. Tokre didn’t seem to take notice or care, intent on his work. Would that be me at some point? Gutted and beheaded like that fish at his hands, still wriggling around after the fact as I bled out everywhere?

  You need him to want to keep you around or he won’t have any use for you. He was already proving to be the distracted, busy sort—I wasn’t quite sure if that would work for or against me. F
or now, as of this moment? Against me. Definitely against me.

  “Right. Right,” I muttered under my breath, trying to coach myself.

  This was going to be a lot harder than it had all sounded in my head earlier, as the early stages of my plan had begun to take shape. I was proving to be a bit of a pantster on this, but it wasn’t like there was a manual lying around to walk me through these kinds of things.

  Kidnapped by beast? Check.

  Secured a place with him so he doesn’t crave your flesh in a man eating fashion? Cringing inside and out, my hand came up and I slapped myself on the forehead. Stalling at step two, and step one wasn’t even optional. Where’s the reset button when ya needed it?

  “Get your head in the game, Juarez,” I growled out under my breath. Ugh. Completely freaking out right now. No matter how hard I tried not to.

  Like a fighter readying to spar, my fingers danced at my sides and I rolled my shoulders, stretching to my tip toes, one by one, taking turns shaking out each leg. No jelly arms, no jelly arms. “God! What am I saying?” Oh, panic, you trusty friend, you.

  At my little outburst, I accidently knocked over a chair. Squeaking out a hasty apology, I was moving before I could push the words past my lips. Rushing to pick it up, I flushed when I noticed Tokre watching me. His head tilted as he paused for a moment, staring at me over his shoulder. Then, grunting, he grumbled something I didn’t understand, shrugged me off and went back to work.

  About three shades past a tomato, I simply stood there, wringing my hands nervously, not really knowing what else to do. Monster man seductress, I certainly was not. So, like a dork, I stood there.

  Numb and growing tingly in a now I can’t feel my face I’m freaking out so hard kind of a thing, I studied him working. Or maybe that was just the sensation of me finally getting feeling back in my frozen face and limbs… couldn’t be too sure.

  Once all his beautiful fish were fileted and boneless, Tokre scooped them up, walked over to the stone hearth, and dropped them into that liquid filled pot. Picking it up by its thick, black, metallic handle, he immediately set it over the fire, dangling from the hook built within.

  It hissed and spit, bubbling mightily, that spotted, dark pot, the smell wafting from it enough to make my mouth water. Stew. Definitely stew.

  Rummaging through small jars he pulled from a sloppily woven basket off to the side of the hearth, he started sprinkling in what appeared to be dried herbs and spices. Using a thick handled wooden spoon he kept in a clay jar next to the spices to stir the mixture, he stopped to taste his stew every so often before he added more.

  Now, Rosalinda. Now would be as good a time as any.

  “So... I’ve been thinking,” I started, making small swirling patterns along the wood grain of the long table in the middle of the room, “and I’d like to make it out of this alive.”

  My skin was itching from my damp clothes and I’d had about enough. This was all part of my half-cocked cockamamie plan anyway, right? So what the heck, I thought.

  Shucking my thick fur blanket cape with a flourish, I draped it over the back of the kitchen chair.

  Tokre, his back to me, dusted his hands off and strode back to his counter, mumbling to himself quietly as he began to unearth random items from one of the many bags lining the counter—fat topped pink and orange root vegetables of some sort—and proceeded to chop them up.

  He didn’t react as I spoke—I didn’t even know if he cared to notice. Was he ignoring me on purpose?

  The beastie was going to make me work for this, wasn’t he? Who the hell kidnapped whom here, I had to ask. And yet still I went on, step two of plan Let’s Keep Our Ass Alive well underway.

  “I get the feeling you’re not going to let me go. Alright, I know you’re not going to let me go. The writing was kind of on the wall with that one—I’m not stupid. But neither are you.” And since I wasn’t going to be getting out of this, any of it, regardless, I’d like to stay in it—in one piece—as much of my sanity intact as possible, thank you very much.

  Some might say how stupid of me, I knew, reflecting on all of this shit about to go down. And me without some semblance of any real kind of fight—to just go with this so easily—but those people weren’t actually living this, were they? Fighting to live, by any means, was still a fight, nonetheless.

  “I say we seal this deal,” I blurted callously, thinking he might appreciate a more direct approach. Blunt as fuck, here I come. “Like... fuck. Mate? Bump uglies? Do the nasty? Make,” eep, “uh... practice, erm, baby making?”

  Still no reaction. Huh. Okay...

  No, it’s okay, I told myself, this could buy me some time.

  “I, uh, I’ve decided I’m going to be your mate. You know... yup-yup, fill me with that alien love juice.” Gah.

  My face pinched tight, pushing the words past puckered lips. I was trying and failing to smother that grimace. Holy polka dotted cow testes, I suck at this. But it didn’t even matter, I noted, since I was basically talking to thin air.

  Fine. I’ll crank this up a notch. At the rate things were going, by the time he noticed me I’d be a dried out husk and it wouldn’t matter anymore.

  Letting out a long breath, I kicked out of my soggy sneakers, bending down to peel off my socks. Those were going right by the fire to dry. I’d eat my stinky, itchy shirt if those weren’t stiff as a board by morning.

  Ugh. My nose crinkled in disgust as I caught a whiff of that mess. They smell horrible. Phooey.

  Next came the shirt. Loosening my long sleeved flannel one button at a time, I tried to distract myself from what I was about to do. Erm, about to try to do. This would be a time for firsts, I thought with a healthy dose of dread, that was for sure.

  “I’m beginning to think you don’t speak English. Is that what they meant when they said you were broken? Or are you a problematic beast or something? A rebel beast without a cause?” Chortling nervously, I laughed at my own joke.

  I was the only one.

  Okay... “I see you’re eating fish, not roast...” My hand waved dismissively. “I’d like to think you only consume, uh, people who are, heh-heh, assholes?” My eyes widened when I realized how that could have been misinterpreted, language barriers forgotten. “Oh! Not that you run around eating people’s anuses! Like literally eat assholes! I- I just… I-I- What I meant was- I mean- That is to say- Oh, good lord, ignore me.” Face on fire, I hid it in my hands, peeking up only when the worst of it was over.

  Nothing. No reaction from Tokre whatsoever, not even a grunt. This was good for me and my runaway mouth, but I was beginning to think my assumption was correct—definitely some kind of language barrier.

  My pants were next, and those were going to be the real struggle. The zipper and button were the easy part—shimmying the majority of my bubble butt out of them was a whole other story. Wet like this, they were practically painted on. Grunting with the effort, I toppled to my side with an oomph, wriggling around like a well-fed worm.

  Wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-yeah, this was not. More like grunt-squeak-squeal-god-damn-it-my-legs-are-stuck! “Curse you... cheesecake...”

  Peering over at Tokre, he’d paused in his work, placing a hand to the long table top as he stilled for a moment, as if he sensed some kind of disturbance in the force—a painted on pants disturbance, perhaps?—but then he went right back to it.

  Groaning and grumbling about misspent nights, how tempting sprinkles truly made anything, and long ago eaten coffee cakes as quietly as possible, I snorted, rolling my eyes, glaring down at my jeans and thick thighs balefully. I wanted him to notice me, but definitely not right this second, not like this!

  So much for a tiger seductress. I’m a caterpillar having second thoughts, trying to squeeze her rump out of a soggy denim chrysalis. Curse those delicious, orange cream filled, Lady Udderly’s Moo-Moo Delights! You delicious... creamy... marshmallow tainted, crispy cookie bottomed, sweet little bastards!

  Tokre’s complete lack of interest
was starting to worry me, and the worrying was making me a little desperate. Has he listened to a single word I’ve said? Does the beast care at all? Does he not hear the fuck me now in all of this? Come. On.

  And on the cusp of those thoughts, I wondered if that stew wasn’t some kind of special sauce they did up. A—gulp—marinade to cook anything else in…?

  Step up your game, woman! NOW!

  “I had sex with Rek and Hector the snowman...” Smooth, honey, smooth. “Oh shut up inner voice,” I spat out on a hiss.

  Aaannnnd absolutely nothing from Chef Preps-a-lot. Staring a hole through the back of his fluffy white head and that cockeyed, floppy, puff of a cowlick bisecting his fat cranium, I huffed, snorting at myself as the bottom half of my ass popped free of their damp denim prison.

  Thank you, cotton thigh highs.

  “At the same time,” I added, waiting, thinking, fuck it, and continuing on with my Hector-Rek sexcapades. “It was... uh, magical.”

  Not even a baby growl. No irritated chuff. Nothing.

  What gives? Where’s Mr. She’s-my-captive-mine? This annoyed me more than it should.

  Scowling, I rolled to my side, kicking my legs like a beached mermaid. Stupid pants. Stupid fumbling seduction. Stupid, stupid beast! “They were hung like horses—oomph—and I squealed like a stuck pig as they- Uh...hah! Stupid jeans are really glued on- Gave it to me, erp-ph-ugh, good.”

  Peering at Tokre over my shoulder, I had to laugh. He really had no clue what I was saying. Hmmm.

  “I like to make helmets out of watermelons and wear them around town while I talk to myself, for hours. Miss Fipps two down dances with her flamingos in a negligee out front late at night when she’s drunk on wine coolers and thinks no one’s looking. I aspire to be her in my dotage. My cousin Joanie calls my breasts tangelos because they’re too small to be a grapefruit or a melon and yet too big to be an orange.” Cupping my small but lovelies as if in explanation, I gave them a jiggle. “But I personally think they’re fun-sized, so I say screw her.” Call it hysteria, call it a mental break down—maybe I’ve kind of cracked—but I flopped back laughing, a stupid, silly grin on my face.