by Poppy Rhys
Fin watched her pound and twist her fist into her palm.
“Grind?”
“Grind!” She brightened, and Fin thought it was funny how easily excited the female got. “Store for feevnu.”
From what she could gather, this time of year was when they collected food for the cold season. She was ready for that, because the heat and muggy atmosphere was really not meant for her.
Wait.
No, she wasn’t ready for that. She wouldn’t be here that long. She planned to be gone before then.
Back home. Dranza.
Fin just had to figure out how the hell she was going to accomplish that.
What could she offer Hunter that would convince him to take her back? What did he want?
Since the night of their joining ceremony, he’d been cold, distant, broodier than usual. Not to mention, he slept on the floor in the main room.
Fin really only had one thing that might entice Hunter, and at that point, she wasn’t ready to give up her body. Not yet. There had to be another way.
Obviously he didn’t care that she told him she couldn’t have younglings, else she could’ve been on her way home a long time ago.
She idly picked at the blisters that formed on her hands from pulling the reeds half the afternoon.
Ugh.
Her fingernails, once nicely trimmed, were now jagged and torn, with a black line of mud underneath them.
She followed Brinn back to the stream, trying her best to clean her hands and get rid of the mud under the nails, and on the rest of her body.
On the edge of the village, they gathered the drying laundry. She followed suit as her alien guide showed her how to gently rough up the ru’mi’s and hide clothing so it wasn’t so stiff. Afterward, it was soft, and smelled clean, natural.
Apparently the Yarian’s did wear coverings, but only during the cold season.
Just then, her gaze caught the muscular back of Hunter as he carried a rope full of dangling, dead critters. She watched as he approached an older Yarian female with graying hair and handed her the catch.
The old one grinned happily, pulling Hunter into a hug, and then rubbing his cheek fondly.
“He hunt for widow.” Brinn said beside her, following her line of sight. “Do this for many elders too.”
So that’s what he does all day.
Her chest tightened, a prickling sensation floating over her shoulders and warming them. Fin felt her face relax at his kindness, nearly forgetting his temper nights back.
“Brinn?”
“Hmm?”
Fin turned to continue folding the garments, and then asked, “What was Hunter like before he left all those years ago?”
The alien female, who was quickly becoming her friend, looked troubled. “Kind. Love life. Honorable.” Brinn’s eyes drifted back to Hunter again before she went about folding her own clothing. “Now, still honorable, kind, but…”
She struggled for a word, passing her hand over her face, like a shadow.
“Different. Haunt.”
“Haunted?”
Brinn nodded.
A chill skittered down Fin’s spine. So his time on Vishik had changed him. And then there was the issue that she was his mate.
A human.
Clearly she wasn’t his first choice, which she’d gathered through his comments about her weak body, and his preference for calling her ‘human’ instead of her actual name.
His lack of respect for her wishes, her wants and desires, let her know he didn’t view her as his equal. It became more apparent as she watched other Yarian couples and saw how they interacted. It wasn’t a woman vs. man thing; it was a Hunter vs. Finley issue.
She finished folding, setting the clothes in the reed basket before hauling it up into the trees as she took the bridges to her home.
Hunter’s home, she corrected.
Fin sighed. It seemed a small part of her brain wasn’t getting with the program. Home was Dor Nye, not Yari. That was more apparent now than ever.
A knock rapped at the door just as she finished setting the basket in the bedroom.
It was Brinn.
“This night, I cook for you.” She smiled, handing Fin a wooden tray with two covered clay bowls. “Tomorrow, I teach you how cook.”
“Oh, Brinn, you didn’t have to do this-”
“Take.” She urged. “Did good pulling kuse. Much for feevnu. Take.”
Fin lifted the tray, a pang in her chest at the woman’s kindness. She honestly hadn’t even thought about third meal, or how the hell she’d even accomplish it. There were no stoves, no portable solar elements, nothing except the fires down on the ground and the small fireplace in the lodge.
The past few days, she’d eaten leftovers from the ceremony. Mainly jerky and fruit, since that seemed to last the longest.
“Thank you, Brinn.” She gave a small smile. “You’re very kind.”
“Happy help.” The female’s expression took on a mischievous slant. “Less tired now, better for mate. Maybe youngling in future.”
Fin’s eyes bugged.
Brinn twittered with laughter, waving and leaving her stunned there in the doorway.
Hunter appeared seconds later like a dark cloud. He regarded her, eyes narrowing as he observed her standing there at the door with a tray of food.
His tone was snide when he said, “This is a nice way to welcome me home.”
“Stuff it.”
“Maybe not…” He entered, closing the door behind him once she turned away and set the food on the table. “Did you make this?”
“No.” She grumbled, taking the coverings off the clay bowls. Her stomach growled. She was still pissed he hadn’t apologized for his tantrum those few nights ago. “Brinn did. Said she’s gonna teach me how to cook tomorrow.”
Fin didn’t feel the need to tell him the rest, because that certainly wasn’t gonna happen.
Nope.
Then she felt it. The heat of his body emanating along her back as he stood directly behind her.
Fin breathed deeply when she felt his hand lay upon her bare hip.
When she didn’t move, his fingers brushed her hair aside, exposing the side of her neck. Slowly, she sensed him bending, and then his warm lips were kissing the raised scars there.
A shuddered breath quaked from her lungs.
Stand your ground, Fin!
Her knees shivered, her lids drooping, as his lips climbed to the lobe of her ear. His warm breath fanned over the sensitive skin, and she thought she might melt.
It was the most he’d done to her since that night. The first time he had touched her.
“No.” She stepped away from him and smoothed her hair back into place. “Don’t expect to come in here, touch me, and act like nothing happened.”
They stared at each other for a stretch of time, his gaze consuming, dark, wrathful.
“Food’s getting cold.”
They ate in silence.
Fin’s recovery from the incident was slow going. She couldn’t understand why her body didn’t want to listen. It was as if the facts were becoming of less and less importance.
Mainly, that she was a captive. And that he was a brute.
Maybe it was stress, or Stockholm syndrome. She’d heard of that before. Captives sympathizing with their captors, sometimes even falling in love with them.
Fin shivered. That would not be her.
She set the empty bowls in a basket, making a mental note to wash them in the stream tomorrow before giving them back to Brinn.
Her body was exhausted as she made her way to the round bed of furs. She noticed Hunter seemed to be preoccupied with something, so she kept silent, opting to blow out the candles nearest her and crawl under the hides.
The world turned black in just a few moments.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Days went by, three weeks by count, her time from morning to night filled with chores. The day started with hauling the previous night’s dishes down
to the stream where she washed them, and then bathed herself.
Brinn taught her how to cook, or tried to. The first night’s meal was pretty horrific, but to her amusement, Hunter ate everything she served him.
Burnt meat and all.
A large part of her found a morbid sense of satisfaction from that. A little payback for dragging her away from modern civilization, and she entertained the idea of purposefully burning all his food, every day.
Fin just wasn’t the cook in her family. Her dad, Elex, was. He and his staff would oversee the weekly menu, and keep the cold bins stocked. And then there were market vendors, and so many restaurants in the cities, there’d never been a need to learn the domestic task, nor the desire.
She preferred dressing up kitchens, not cooking in them.
Each day, Brinn showed her how to gather different vegetation, and their locations within the jungle surrounding the village. They never went alone, but with other females. Safety in numbers, Brinn explained, and that made sense to her.
Finley had only just arrived to Yari, they’d been living on the planet their entire lives. They knew the dangers lurking in its depths much better than she did.
It wasn’t as awful as she imagined it would be, and it seemed to get better as time passed. The gathering process made her feel closer to the other women, even if she couldn’t understand everything they said.
Each day she learned another Yarian word while out in the jungle, and brought more stuff home to be cooked, or preserved in some manner for the upcoming cold season.
She wondered what Yari looked like during that time.
Did the leaves change color? Did they die and fall off, leaving the lush jungle bare?
Fin thought about snow, and how she loved the fluffy stuff. Dranza got snowfall during the cold months on occasion, but mostly just iced rain, and sleet, making everything a hazard to walk on.
The pantry was beginning to look stocked, and she felt a sense of pride every time she added to it.
I did that, she would tell herself while organizing the baskets, pouches, and drying herbs.
It was becoming an obsession.
Each time she walked in there, she would find a better way to arrange the items and create more space.
One evening, she walked in there to find new shelving had been installed by Hunter, allowing her to utilize more space, and she was hard pressed to admit the small gesture made her happy.
Brinn kept her busy, teaching her new things every day. She chattered excitedly about showing Fin how to sew clothing, and repair it, and making pottery for cooking, storage, and to eat upon, even though she had plenty from the joining ceremony gifts.
She was tired just listening to Brinn talk about all that.
Every time she thought about it, she felt like crawling under the covers and never coming back out.
Was this her life now? Waking only to work like a slave just to survive?
Where was the comfort? The indulgence and entertainment?
Her hands weren’t fairing very well either, and it seemed every blister eventually turned into a hard callous. Long gone were her nicely trimmed nails, and soft skin. Her feet were getting tougher, too, as she often removed her slippers so she didn’t get them unrecognizably dirty.
Each night, it was hard to stay up much past dark, her body spent from trying to keep up with the Yarian women and their backbreaking work. She noticed Hunter would often stay up late, puttering around at the table, which was fine with her.
He still slept on a reed mat in the main room. She was too tired to feel guilty though, and besides, it was his choice.
Each morning, he was up before her, grabbing something from the pantry so she wouldn’t have to make him first meal.
Fin was grateful for that gesture, even though she tried to ignore it.
She was inadvertently seeing different sides of him that made him more human in her eyes.
He did small things for her, like the shelves, but little tokens too.
A bracelet made of beautiful turquoise colored beads, hide pouches sewn by his capable hands, tasty fruit that grew high up in trees far away from the village.
One day he brought her a long, golden feather meant for her hair. Brinn had helped her tie it to a thin braid, telling her it was from a rare bird. A special gift.
At another time, she caught him, Roki, and Nik playing with a group of younglings. They climbed the three males like trees, swinging from their limbs and shrieking with laughter at their playful roars.
Fin distinctly remembered turning away when she saw the look of longing on Hunter’s face after the younglings ran off. She’d felt the lowest of the low about her half truth right then.
In the evenings, he started to touch her somehow. A squeeze of her shoulder, rubbing a hand over her black mane, kissing her temple quickly before she could pull away.
Every time, her stomach would flutter, her fingers would tremor, and she would lose her concentration, though she did her best to act like it was no big deal.
Her resolve was weakening.
Physically, she wanted him to touch her again, do more, linger a little longer when he put his lips upon her skin.
Fin would never admit it, though.
That afternoon, once the sun was sinking, she found herself hiding out in the lodge, her mood dipping for the worse as her family plagued her mind.
A fourth week had gone by, and with all the physical work in the muggy heat, she figured she could take one afternoon to just veg.
After a handful of minutes staring at the wall, she couldn’t stand it any longer.
Fin got up and busied herself with reorganizing the new additions to the pantry from the day before, thinking about the meticulous pantry her father kept up back in Dranza.
She figured she inherited his knack for organization, because her other two parents seemed to have none.
Soon, she was lighting a stick from the burning torches outside and then igniting the stacked wood upon the hearth in the main room as darkness fell. Fin lit a couple candles in the storage room too.
She remembered then that she had prepared nothing for third meal, and subsequently wondered why Hunter hadn’t arrived. It quickly moved to the back of her mind as she continued puttering around.
So caught up in the task, Finley didn’t notice she was being watched until she turned, seeing Hunter leaning up against the doorway, an amused slant to his lips.
“Sunuva-” She gasped, her hand fisting, like she might punch the intruder.
He smirked, sweeping his wild hair over the right side of his head with one hand. His jagged, frill-like ear and that primitive bone piercing in full view.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that again.” Fin clenched her teeth. She took a deep breath, and shoved a pouch none too gently into a basket on the shelf.
“You’re jumpy tonight.”
His gaze landed upon her bared chest, lingering longer than Fin felt comfortable with.
She turned her back, focusing on a different item.
“Are you hungry?” She finally asked, rummaging for the jerky she’d stored earlier.
“Yes.” His voice rumbled from close behind. She could feel his breath tickle the hairs at the top of her head before she turned, slowly looking up at him.
Her eyes landed on his squared shoulders, the steady, strong pulse in his neck, lifting to his stubborn jaw, his full lips, and finally, his ravenous gaze.
A virile, striking male.
Hunter’s fingertips softly grazed the side of her breast, and Finley’s lips parted, a tremble working its way from the arches of her feet to the delicate curve of her chin. She briefly closed her eyelids at the frustration she felt coursing through her veins.
She wanted this, she wanted Hunter, but she didn’t.
Finley teetered on indecision.
The war she’d been fighting lately. If she crossed that line she so clearly drew, there would be no turning back.
She was afraid sh
e would never return home. Either she wouldn’t want to, or Hunter would refuse to let her go. She couldn’t agree to never seeing Dor Nye again, to give him young like some breeding animal.
Her breath caught in her throat, eyes flying open, when his fingers brushed her tightened, tan hued nipple.
The thirst in his stare was consuming.
She felt herself being sucked into this moment he was weaving. The lust she tried to keep contained, hidden, began rising to the surface where it didn’t belong.
When his exploration landed on her parted lips, she gulped. He was so close now, too close, she could feel every wave of heat his body was hurling in her direction.
One foot slid backward and she became aware of the arousal leaking from between her legs. A small breath escaped her lungs, and then Hunter was moving closer, erasing that small amount of space between them.
All she could smell was him; the distinctive scent of wood smoke and his personal clean musk. It was too much.
“Sto-”
He kissed her.
At first it was just his lips upon hers, the pressure light, tentative. His fingers wrapped around the nape of her neck, supporting the back of her head and tangling into her hair.
A hot chill zipped over her skin, every fine hair standing on end as if she’d touched an electric socket.
“Ffffinley.” He breathed against her mouth, and her limbs trembled once more as desire flooded her body.
He said my name.
Her jaw slackened at the rich sound, a new wave of pleasure rolling through her being.
Weeks her sleep had been riddle with scorching dreams of his body against hers. And now it was.
The physical response she was having was so strong it almost embarrassed her.
Stop, she meant to say aloud.
She needed to think.
This was wrong. It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to go home.
Home.
Her fingers lightly touched the shelf beside her, tips dragging along the surface until she felt something.
A vase.
They formed around the smooth base of it, the object filled with water and the fresh flowers she’d just picked earlier in the day.
Finley broke the kiss, her arm swinging upward and slamming the clay vase into the side of his head.
