“I hope,” he began when their laughter had faded, leaving both of them still smiling, “you will find that we are not all like Ar’ar.”
“I—Thanks,” she mumbled. “For helping me. I started to say it before . . . but I didn’t get a chance to finish. Thank you for helping me get home.”
“Do not thank me.” He turned to lead the multari again. “I am not sure that it will be enough. No matter what I do.”
Six
Summer was drooping in the saddle, their conversation having ebbed to silence as the night wore on. At their last stop to rest he’d given her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders against the chill and with one hand she held it closed over her chest. As she gripped the saddle’s horn with her other hand, Beya’s swaying walk, the late hour, and the dark and quiet left her struggling to keep her eyes open.
“Come.” The sound of Ke’lar’s growl at her side jarred her fully awake. “We will make camp here.”
“Here?” She looked around sleepily as he tied Beya off to a nearby tree limb. It didn’t look any different to her than any other stretch of land they’d covered that night. The moons were lower in the sky, the trees softly rustling with the cool, sweet breeze. “Why here?”
“The ground is higher and there is fresh water nearby.”
She frowned. “Have you been here before? How do you know there’s water nearby?”
“I can smell it,” he said, surprised.
“Right,” she murmured. “I forgot you g’hir are all half bloodhound.”
His large hands went to her waist, effortlessly helping her down from the multari, but her legs felt wobbly and her feet were asleep from so long in the saddle. She had to grab his shoulders just to keep herself upright.
“You are not accustomed to riding,” he growled, helping her keep her balance. “I should have stopped earlier.”
“I’m fine.” But a step away from him still had her legs struggling to work properly.
“Here,” he said, encircling her waist and drawing her arm around his shoulder, his body very warm against her side. “Walking a bit will help.”
She had to rely on him a lot for support as they started, he moving with careful slowness for a g’hir, she stiff and limping a bit.
“Man, I’m glad that painkiller hasn’t worn off yet.” Her feet were tingling as the blood started moving through them again and it was hardly a fun feeling. “I’m not looking forward to when it does.”
“I have more in the pack,” he assured. “I will try to make the journey as comfortable as possible for you. There will be a healer at the Erah clanhall who can better tend you. I regret greatly that I did not bring a comm unit. If I could call for assistance a ground transport would have you there within the hour.”
“Why don’t you have a comm unit anyway?” She frowned. “Isn’t it dangerous to be out in the wilderness without a way to call for help?”
“I would not be much of a warrior if I needed to call for help and I did not think to be concerned with any but myself.” He gave a huffing chuckle. “I certainly did not expect to share this foresting with a human female.”
His tone was friendly, respectful, not at all seductive, but Summer—suddenly aware of the heat of his body beside hers, the warm scent of him, male with a bit of cinnamon—felt her face go hot.
“I’m good, thanks,” she mumbled and stepped away. “The walking is helping so I should probably move around on my own a bit.”
Ke’lar gave a nod. “I will have the shelter in place shortly.”
Summer moved about and stretched, trying to work the kinks out, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before he had the geodesic dome set up and was carrying the packs in.
He opened the flap to the shelter to invite her in. He already had a heater set up that both lit and warmed the space and had arranged the pallet bed, thick with furs, along the side of the shelter.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, already setting out the water pouches, pulling foodstuffs out.
“Not yet.” They’d eaten some dried meat that reminded her a lot of beef jerky—except it couldn’t possibly be beef—as well as nuts and dried fruit before they set out and again when they’d stopped to rest earlier. But at his size he must need something like five times the calories she did. “And anyway I think I’m too tired to eat.”
“The bed is ready.” He indicated the pallet. “I must tend to Beya.”
“Right,” she murmured.
His brow creased. “What is the matter?”
“Well, to state the obvious . . . there’s only one bed.”
“I have no intention of trying to couple with you,” he growled, his gaze on the supplies he was unpacking and organizing. “I will sleep outside.”
“Okay,” she managed in a rush of embarrassment and annoyance. “No, that’s fine.”
He sought her gaze, confused. “Would you feel safer if I slept inside the shelter instead?”
“I don’t care where you . . . Look, it doesn’t matter. You can sleep in here if you want,” she said shortly. “You might as well share the pallet for all the difference it makes.”
His brow furrowed for an instant, and then he gave a short huff and stood.
“Beya needs to be watered and we need fresh water as well.” He grabbed a few pouches of food, obviously intending to munch as he worked, then lowered the heater’s light to minimum. “Go to sleep. I will be nearby if you have need of me.”
He did not want to sleep.
Sitting inside the shelter now, Ke’lar did not even think he could, though his body cried out for rest at this late hour.
He simply could not stop looking at her. She was asleep, resting easy on the pallet bed he had prepared for her, her arm thrown wide beside her face, her bright hair covering the pillow. Her delicate face was turned toward him, her skin smooth, her full mouth so rounded and pink.
He had seen only two other human women before and they were beautiful.
But she . . . she was exquisite.
Summer . . .
She was very like that season, soft and golden, sweet smelling.
And mate to the heir of an ancient enemy clan.
But one she is fleeing.
She must hate Ar’ar very much to risk her life to escape him. And be very brave to journey through the forests of an unfamiliar world, alone.
Ke’lar breathed her scent in. It was intoxicating; that had to be it. He had his faults, had often struggled with the rules, but he had never endangered his enclosure by his acts, never shown himself as anything other than an honorable man, as one worthy to be called a warrior.
His clan’s feud with the Betari had been a long and bloody one, the reasons for it buried in antiquity. Generations of animosity would unexpectedly blaze into conflict. Only the Scourge, the need for unification against a common enemy, had brought about their treaty.
Just to take and conceal her—the mate of the Betari heir—was justification enough to draw his enclosure into a war with the Betari that could see the destruction of both clans.
Nor could he count on the sanction of his own clan for what he had done. There were few crimes more abhorrent to his kind than to steal a female from her mate, from her clan, especially in the wake of the plague.
Ke’lar knew himself innocent of any crime. He had not stolen her but there were many—including his own father—who were not likely to see things that way. Just concealing her from her clan might earn him banishment from his own.
But . . .
She had taken food and drink from his hand yesterday when he had first hidden her in his shelter. Not as formally done as it should be, certainly, and at first he himself had not realized the significance of what he was doing.
But Summer was human. Would she even know the meaning behind the ritual; that a warrior could provide for his mate and that she would trust him to?
He wished he had asked Jenna more about their customs. When his brother’s mate had first arrived on Hir, h
e had been so eager to learn all he could of that distant planet that he had pestered her often.
But the news from the selection committee that he would not even be permitted to compete, that he would never journey to that world and had no hope of hunting a mate there, had discouraged him so that he ceased his badgering.
Was he a fool to hope that it was not a g’hir mate but Ar’ar himself that Summer found undesirable?
She did not seem afraid of him. She had asked his help, accepted his touch as he treated her injuries. She spoke easily with him, laughed with him.
Perhaps . . .
Ke’lar edged a little closer to her.
She said she did not mind if he slept here, if he shared the bed with her. Had she meant it as an invitation? He had so little experience with females, and less still with human ones, he did not wish to offend her or, worse, frighten her.
Ke’lar shifted the covers just enough to ease himself into the bed beside her.
She did not wake. She was cool against him—a human’s body temperature was naturally lower—and he trembled with desire to feel her curves, his penis already hard as he fitted his body to hers, lubricating in anticipation of mating. He bent his head to where her neck met her shoulder, breathing in her scent deeply. Instinctively a rumble-purr of desire sounded in his chest and she, still asleep, responded with a moan, turning toward him. He could scent her instant arousal.
Her bright hair was silky against his cheek, the blood thundering in his ears as she softened against him.
He groaned, wanting so much to stoke that heat in her, ease her to wakefulness and pleasure . . .
Her offer to let him sleep beside her may have been an invitation to mate . . . or not. He had to know she wanted this as much as he did.
That meant it could not be now; it could not be tonight.
As much as he wanted her . . .
He had seen her fear of Ar’ar, witnessed for himself the injuries and suffering she had endured to flee him.
I must wait. I must be sure.
He was trembling with the effort it took to hold back but a mate bonding could not be undone. With slow, deep breaths, he quieted the rumble-purr of his arousal and with it she quieted too. He would find the strength to be patient, to draw her to him slowly, to learn how she needed him to court her . . . how a human would court her.
It might cost him everything to win her.
He cradled her against him, contentment blossoming in his chest just to hold her.
You are worth that and more . . .
Seven
“Summer?”
Her name was soft thunder rumbling in her ear and she became aware of many things at once: the wonderful comfort of a bed in the morning, a large hand gentle on her shoulder, the light streaming into the shelter, the astonishing blue of his glowing eyes—
“Man . . .” Her lids felt heavy and she fought the urge to burrow beneath the covers. “I feel like I just laid down.”
“I am sorry to wake you,” Ke’lar said, his tone regretful, his hand tracing her shoulder as he pulled his hand away. “But the suns rose hours ago and we have much territory to cover to cross the Te River before nightfall. ”
“’Kay.” Summer passed her hand over her face, trying to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep, and sniffed appreciatively in the direction of the shelter’s open flap. “God, whatever that is cooking out there smells amazing.”
“I am glad you think so.” He leaned back on his heels. “For it is our morning meal. It is nearly ready but I thought you would wish to wash and dress before we ate.” He tilted his head. “I can allow you a few more minutes’ rest if you prefer to eat first.”
“Better not,” she sighed, pushing herself up to sitting. Who would have thought a pallet bed on the ground would be so damned comfortable? “If I close my eyes for a second I’m just going to fall asleep again.”
“Here.” He offered her a simple glazed cup, steam curling over it. “Jenna says this is much like what humans call cof.”
“Cof?” she wondered, taking the warm cup from him and peering at the dark liquid inside. “I think you mean ‘coffee’? Actually”—she gave it a sniff—“this isn’t . . .” She took a sip and raised her eyebrows “. . . bad at all.”
“Jenna vows she could not live on Hir without it.” Ke’lar gave a faint smile. “I have not acquired a taste for this beverage but she gifted me some when I left the clanhall.”
“I’m glad she did,” she said, sipping again. Okay, it wasn’t Kona coffee for heaven’s sake, more like what you’d get at Denny’s at three in the morning, and she preferred cream and sugar but it was welcome all the same. “Thanks, it really helps.” She threw the blankets off. “Just give me a minute and I’ll get dressed.”
“I will tend to our meal,” he said and ducked out.
Man, that got him outta here quick.
It didn’t look like he’d slept in here either. Frowning, she took another sip of the drink then set the cup down and eased her way up off the pallet. As expected she was sore all over, but a quick inventory showed their advanced g’hir medicine had worked magic; her bruises were faded to almost nothing, her scrapes and blisters gone.
She’d slept in the shirt but it wasn’t as rumpled as she thought it would be. Granny Jones, a Southern belle if there ever was one, always said that a lady never set out of the house no matter what the day or time without her hair neat and a least a little lipstick. Summer’s mouth curved into a wry smile. Granny would probably have paused during the escape to touch up her face powder but Summer didn’t even have a brush or comb; sneaking those hadn’t been a priority. Neither was make-up. She didn’t even have lip balm with her.
She pulled on the trousers then ran her hands through her hair, not that it did much good against the many tangles.
Damn it, who cares how I look out here anyway?
She’d used Ke’lar’s too-big soft foot coverings last night when her feet hurt too much to don her own shoes but she’d been riding, not walking, then. They kept her feet warm enough but flopped comically whenever she walked and Ke’lar’s fangs flashed in a smile when he saw her emerge from the shelter.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed at being so clumsy. “I didn’t see my boots and I didn’t want to just go riffling through your stuff looking for them.”
“There is no need,” he said, bending to retrieve a bundle of shaped skins. “I have made you new ones.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I have made new boots for you.”
“Wait—you made boots for me?” He jerked his chin toward her—a g’hir’s nod—and her eyebrows rose. “When did you have time to do that? And why?”
“After this morning’s hunting. As to why—” He sent a glance at her feet. “You cannot wear the others without suffering pain and clearly my foot coverings will not suit.” He extended the boots toward her. “These are of simple design; they will be easy to adjust for your comfort but you must put them on for me to be sure they fit. If they do not, I can alter them.”
“Uh, okay,” she managed, taking the pair from him. They were beautifully made, a deep brown, created from skins that made them look a lot like the sheepskin boots she wore at home in the winter but made without a hard sole, like moccasins.
Balancing on one foot, she pulled on one then the other and using the leather straps secured them to the carved buttons. She took a few experimental steps. They were soft, warm, and extremely comfortable to walk in.
His glowing gaze met hers. “Do they fit?”
“They’re perfect,” she said honestly. “They’re amazing.” She gave a laugh. “I can’t believe you just made these for me! Where did you learn boot-making, Ke’lar?”
“It is one of the skills a warrior learns.”
“Like fighting? Like hunting?”
Her throat tightened. Like capturing women?
Ke’lar indicated the spit and the meat roasting there. “And cooking.”
&nbs
p; Her stomach chose that moment to growl and her face heated when he gave a huffing laugh.
“It will be ready shortly,” he promised.
“Well, then.” She brushed her hands on the sides of her trousers. “I best hurry and wash up. Which way to the water? I want to take my new boots for a test drive.”
“Come.” He swung a small pack over his shoulder and indicated a thicket of trees about a football field away. “It is not far.”
“I just needed you to point the way,” she said, turning in that direction. “I’ll be back a few.”
In an instant he was in front of her, blocking her way. She gasped at his speed.
I’ll never get used to how goddamn fast they are!
“You are my responsibility, Summer.” His glowing blue gaze was earnest, his growl caveman brash. “Mine to protect now.”
“What are you going to protect me from?” she asked, her face heating. “The fish?”
“I vowed to bring you safely to the Erah clanhall so that you may make your appeal to my father.” His nostrils flared a bit, his booted feet planted firmly. “I cannot honor my vow if I do not keep you safe.”
“Damn it, I don’t need you to—!” Summer threw her hands out in frustration. “You know what? Fine, whatever. I’m hungry.” She gave a flourishing mocking wave in the direction of the trees. “Lay on, MacDuff.”
He didn’t budge, his alien brow furrowed. “‘MacDuff’?”
“It’s a line from a human play called MacBeth.” The sweet morning breeze lifted her hair, blowing a few strands into her eyes, and impatiently she pushed her hair back. “It means ‘Let’s go already.’”
His glowing gaze was still puzzled but he jerked his chin toward her again then led the way, she behind him. He walked his clan’s land with the easy confidence of one well accustomed to life outdoors on Hir, his g’hir physiology giving him a smooth, catlike gait despite his size.
The stream Ke’lar led her to was heavily shaded, the water moving placidly between the rocky banks. The water wasn’t deep, maybe three or four feet at the center, the kind of creek that growing up back in Brittle Bridge she and her friends might have splashed in to escape the heat of July.
Stolen: Warriors of Hir, Book 3 Page 6
