The Taming

by Imogen Keeper

  He didn’t bother knocking. No one knocked at Jasto’s house. The kids were too loud, the adults too busy. No one ever answered.

  He twisted the all-too-familiar knob.

  If he’d been asked to choose a specific place to call home in the ten years since he’d left Vesta, it would be here.

  The same old smells assaulted his nose as soon as the door slid inward. Painnea and spiced-butter hen from the kitchen.

  Syena or one of her sisters must be cooking dinner. Something sweet, cake maybe, flavored the air. Someone shouted somewhere, and there was a thud overhead, followed by mad giggling.

  Jasto’s family was unusual in their ability to have so many offspring. Mostly, only the Primes and the felanas could procreate, though about thirty to forty percent of humani might have one child in their lifetime. Syena and her sisters were strangely fertile for humani women.

  Through the family room with its sagging couch and colorful pillows, the handmade rug in blue and green, the kitchen gleamed like it housed its own personal sun.

  Syena turned, a toddler on her hip, and saw him.

  Her pretty, plump face split into a massive grin, her big eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Tor!”

  He swallowed thickly. This was going to be worse than he’d imagined.

  Doubt flickered on her face, a little quirk of the brow, a slight dimming of the smile. She glanced beyond him. He imagined her looking for Jasto, waiting for his laugh. If he’d been here, he’d have hopped out with a shout and started throwing presents around the room. Nothing was quiet when Jasto was around.

  It was quiet today.

  Tor couldn’t speak.

  Klym stepped through the door behind him.

  “Tor?” Syena asked, more quietly now. The smile disappeared. She looked past Klym. Her chin wobbled. “No. Tor? No.”

  The toddler stuck his hand in his mouth, drool rolling down his chin.

  Syena shook her head. “Jasto?” Her voice broke.

  Tor didn’t know what to say. He just stared back at her with a stupid look on his face.

  “No.” She said it insistently. Like if she said it hard enough, it would make it not true. “Please, no.”

  The toddler babbled, and another woman appeared from a hallway. “Syena? Tor! Is Jasto home?” It was Jasto’s sister, Neena, her dark hair pulled back sharply from a thin, pale face. She looked from where Syena stood in the galley, the toddler clutching at her legs, staring numbly, to where Tor and Klym stood.

  Syena swayed on her feet. Neena said something about someone being pregnant, and someone started wailing upstairs.

  14

  I see you now, and I like what I see.

  STANDING IN THE HOME OF STRANGERS, bearing witness to their grief, was terribly awkward. Especially since she’d contributed to it.

  Shame burned, hot and thick in her heart for the mangling of Jasto’s body.

  Tor left to take the brothers into town to retrieve the body. In his absence, she tried to make them as comfortable as she could. It was all she could do.

  As the sky darkened, she moved through the house, turning on lights, seeing to children who were confused and scared, handing out toasted painnea to Jasto’s family. They moved like androids, stiff and shocked and wooden. Even in grief, though, their love was felt. This was a family.

  Their sorrow cast a different light on her own predicament.

  She might be lost and alone in the universe at the moment, but she had Tor, at least for now.

  Until tomorrow, when he’d take her to Pax-Ahora and leave her there.

  Confusing Tor. Laughing Tor. Angry Tor. Tor of the hard hands and the angry dimples, the intoxicating scent, and the hot eyes that gleamed as if she were something special and rare. Tor who smelled like trees and night time, and who had traced his thumb along her ankle and made her heart stutter. Tor who slept behind her in the night.

  Being parted from him felt wrong after all the days in his company, all the nights by his side. The forced intimacy had woven strange magic between them, born of sleepy murmurs and covers stirring in the night.

  Tacit understanding had bloomed between them, bright and shiny as a bubble, warm and gossamer thin.

  He’d felt it too. She’d seen it on his face at the strangest times.

  She’d woken once to find him pressed against her, his hand cupping her breast. No, not cupping. More than that, his hand had palmed her breast like it belonged there. The broad, hard muscles of his chest had fit against her back like a missing piece of a puzzle, while he pressed hard and thick against her bottom.

  She’d felt dizzy. And scared. But also, safe. She’d laid there in his bed, wrapped up in his arms, and felt something that she’d never felt before. Not just safe and protected, but somehow connected. His heart had thudded against her, his breaths drifting over her shoulder, and something had come to life within her.

  Something she was afraid to poke too hard. Tomorrow they’d say goodbye forever, and where would she be?

  Headed home to Argentus to live whatever life her father forced upon her. Somehow the thought made her even sadder than Agammo’s betrothal to Malina had. Without Tor, she felt off balance, uncomfortable, naked. The thought hurt like an old bruise, so she pushed it aside.

  But still, she watched the door all evening, waiting for him to come, flinching at every sound, and fixated on meaningless tasks, like now. Organizing the toys on the children’s shelves for lack of anything better to do.

  She dropped another block into a bin.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  The sound of heavy boots on the stairs outside had her turning toward the door, heart in her throat.

  She froze, hand extended, holding a block toward a shelf.

  The door opened with a click, and Jasto’s brothers entered. One after another. The roaring in her ears drowned out all sound. Their dark eyes were drawn tight. Heavy boots and haunted frowns.

  And then Tor walked in.

  Her stomach kicked and fluttered as he scanned the room, gaze drifting over the sofas and their myriad inhabitants, most of whom sat unmoving, still lost in the shock of Jasto’s death. His brow wrinkled at the empty kitchen, the windows overlooking the darkened garden.

  When his eyes landed on her, she surged to her feet.

  His jaw flexed, and he crossed the room in long-legged strides.

  She clenched her hands. “You came back.”

  “You thought I wouldn’t?”

  Her mouth went dry as she let her gaze drift over his face, memorizing the unforgiving planes. “Not really, but I almost missed you.”

  A dimple flashed. “Almost?”

  “Almost.” She traced her toe along a swirl of amber on the carpet. “Not really.”

  He’d stepped closer at some point. She hadn’t noticed, but somehow, he’d invaded her personal space, and on the carpet, his black boot was beside her stained slipper. A warm hand settled on her waist, drawing her against him until her breasts pressed against his chest.

  And that noise was back, roaring in her ears like a tidal wave.

  She rested her palm on his chest for balance.

  Maybe he’d kiss her. She wanted him to, but he hadn’t made a move to do so since that first day on his ship when he’d kissed her against the wall. Maybe if he did it again, this time it wouldn’t be angry.

  The thought slipped away when he touched her temple, his fingers sliding through her hair, down behind her ear, along her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, to take her hand in his. Broad and dry, rough, callused fingers threaded through hers.

  “D-did you book passage to Pax-Ahora?”

  Something moved behind his eyes, something she hadn’t quite seen before. But before she could even try to understand what it was, it was gone. He grunted out his version of a yes.

  “That’s good news. When does it leave?”

  He made a face. “Tomorrow.”

  She tried not to think about how odd it would be to say goodbye to him. “M
y father will repay you.”

  “No need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She drifted in his wake to where Neena, Jasto’s sister, sat at her husband’s side. Syena had long since gone upstairs.

  “We’ll leave you now,” Tor said, in his deep, gravelly voice.

  Neena rose to her feet, her eyes dropping briefly to their joined hands. “Stay the night if you like. Klymeni has been so kind.”

  Tor shook his head. “We’ve intruded long enough.”

  Neena surprised Klym. She reached out and drew her into a tight hug. Klym hadn’t hugged many people in her life. A few of the girls at the Institute, but never an older woman, never like this.

  Tears burned in her eyes.

  Neena’s slender arms were surprisingly strong. “He’s a good Prime.”

  Klym glanced at Tor’s emotionless face.

  The hug ended all too quickly. A Prime? A Prime? Memories stirred of whispers across the bunk, of Vesta and the virility of men called Primes. A girl at school had a book filled with wicked tales of a woman in heat, tamed and claimed by something called a Vestigi Prime. She’d read it long ago and thought it a myth, like vampires and werebears.

  Neena turned to pull Tor into a tight hug. “You’ve seen the news, right? Syena’s been watching it upstairs.”

  “Some.”

  “You’re famous,” she said.

  “How?”

  She grabbed a digi from the table and read aloud, “The soon-to-be Regio of Tamminia, Prime Torum TaKarian has abducted the daughter of notorious Argenti War Chief…

  That wasn’t much of a surprise, really. Agammo had said as much.

  “Everyone is asking what would happen if a Vestige Prime claimed an Argenti woman,” said Neena, and her brothers laughed on the sofa.

  Tor grunted.

  “What’s a regio?” Klym asked.

  Neena cocked her head.

  Tor lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Neena poked his stomach, making him step back, glaring. “It does. You call them ‘lords’ in Argentus.”

  “You’re a lord?” Klym tried to reconcile the coarse, shouting man she knew with the dignified lords back home.

  “Lords are from Argentus. Pussies with soft hands.” Tor slapped his thumb against his chest. “I’m a Vestige Prime.”

  One of Jasto’s brothers spoke from the sofa. “It’s more like being the king.”

  “King?” Klym said faintly.

  Tor’s dimple did that flickering thing it did when he was annoyed, that told her he was gritting his teeth, and he said something back too fast for her to gather. Neena responded at rapid fire. Klym only caught snippets of words. Prime again. And selissa. And felana.

  Finally, they said goodbye again, and Tor stomped across the room, grabbed her shawl off a chair by the door, and ignominiously shoved her outside.

  King? Tor was a king? “You’re a king?” she hissed on the steps outside.

  “Shut up, Klym.”

  Regio. Prime. Selissa. Felana. She repeated the words in her head so she wouldn’t forget them as he dropped the shawl around her shoulders. Tor was a king. Tor was a Prime? Like in the story?

  She glanced at him and wondered what that entailed.

  The air outside pressed in close, thick with the damp and chill of the night. Darkness enveloped them, and the silence stretched.

  “If you’re a king, why are you so rude?”

  “Have you known a lot of kings?”

  “No.”

  “Neither have I. But I’ve known one regio. My father, and he was the rudest bastard you’d ever hope to meet.”

  Klym thought about that for a while. It made sense. If a king was rude, who would tell him not to be rude anymore? Maybe his wife. “Are you like him, then? Your father?”

  “I try every day to be nothing like him. I wasn’t supposed to have to be regio. My brother died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. You’d have liked him. He wasn’t rude.”

  A damp breeze tugged at her hair, the kind that sliced right through to the bones, and she shivered. He wrapped a thick arm around her waist and tugged her closer.

  “So that’s why you’re going back? Even though you don’t want to.”

  The dimple flickered, and his mouth hardened.

  “You’re a good man. Even if you’re rude. You make a good ki—”

  “Klym, shut up. I’m not a king.” His grip hardened. “And I’m not a good man either.”

  They turned out of the neighborhood and onto the main street that led into town. She couldn’t control herself anymore—the curiosity was killing her. “If you don’t want to talk about being a king, then let’s talk about Primes.”

  His fingers tightened at her waist. “Not really an appropriate conversation for someone who claims not to know what pussy means.”

  “Why? Don’t tell me it means beans too?”

  “No.” His voice carried the faint weight of amusement.

  “Then what?”

  The light from the windows of a house revealed him smiling wryly.

  “Is it something... lewd?” She held her breath. Maybe it was true, about the book and the Prime.

  “Lewd?” The hazy light caressed the wicked curve of his lips. “No. Not lewd. But it involves mating rituals and reproduction on Vesta.”

  “Reproduction?” She gulped. “You mean... she was talking about sex? With reproductive... organs?” She whispered the last word, fiercely grateful for the cover of darkness.

  His eyes did that thing they did when he was amused, got all warm and crinkly in the corners. “Yes, Klym. Sex. I know, it’s all too shocking.” He said the last part in a mocking falsetto.

  “Wh-what about them?”

  White teeth flashed. “All this talk about my organ, Klym. If you’re so interested in it, say the word.”

  The noise that came out of her throat was somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. She bit down on the inside of her cheek.

  They continued in silence over the bridge with the faint tinkle of running water, and past the spot where they’d seen the man playing the flute earlier.

  “On Argentus, you form Bonds, right?”

  This new topic didn’t do a thing to remove the awkwardness of the conversation. Argenti Bondings were lengthy rituals, commonly referred to as the red haze, days upon days of nothing but mating. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

  “It’s a ritual for you.” Tor’s voice was quiet. “And you end up mutually dependent.” The way he said it, it almost sounded as if he were testing her.

  “I am familiar with the details of Bonding rituals on my own planet, thank you.”

  “Wasn’t sure they taught that in fancy Argenti schools.”

  “I’m not entirely ignorant, you know.” A light drizzle fell from the sky. He tugged her back against the warmth of his body, a broad hand on her waist. His thumb was just below her breast, and his pinkie settled on the rise of her hipbone.

  “That Bonding developed to protect offspring,” he continued. “The entire population. It was an adaptation. On Vesta, our evolution had a different solution to combat population drops from the plagues.”

  She’d never thought about the Bonding as a matter of evolution. At the Institute, they’d all sighed and whispered, giggling at the thought of going through the ritual with their future mates. She’d always imagined it as somewhat blurry and warm. That she and Agammo would become a family. That was all she’d ever wanted.

  The way Tor spoke of it, though, there was a darker edge to it. An imperative of nature, designed to protect the future of their race against the crippling plagues that had killed off so much of their female population.

  “Our population evolved into segments, with a majority of the population becoming nearly infertile, both male and female. They are our fighters. With no young of their own to protect, they are free to leave the planet, wage war, do whatever they must.
Then there are Primes. It’s their job to propagate.”

  “And you are a Prime.”

  He nodded. His fingers stroked along her hip bone.

  She had to ask. She couldn’t bear not knowing. “Do you have a woman? And children? Back home?” She winced as she said it, knowing he’d make a snide remark to humiliate her. She held her breath.

  Why do you care?

  The unspoken question hovered in the air around them. She squeezed her eyes shut. If only words were like confetti, she’d snatch them back.

  “Not yet.” His voice was soft, a bare ripple on the air.

  She opened her mouth and blurted the words before she could change her mind. “And a felana?”

  He sent her an amused glance. “Women who breed.”

  That was something she could relate to. “Like me.”

  “Yeah,” he said, voice rough in the thick night.

  She stepped over a puddle, hands shaking.

  Her breath was coming too fast. She was positively light-headed. “And if a Prime and an Argenti woman were together?” Her voice came out barely more than a whisper.

  A dark smile curled across his cheek. “I have no idea. I don’t even know if it’s been done before.”

  Her whole body felt heavy, hot. A second pulse pounded between her thighs. She rubbed them together.

  He was watching her closely, his eyes burning with something that smacked of victory, and his thumb stroked a lazy path up and down her torso. Up nearly to her breast, and down to below her hipbone, so close to the rise of her pelvic bone that her breath hitched and her nipples chafed against her bra.

  The streets grew crowded, and raucous laughter spilled through windows and doors with the ruddy light.

  It was practically a mob. The streets teemed with dark-haired, pale-skinned people she’d always considered her enemy. They swarmed around them, loud and boisterous. The buildings were full of them. She’d never been so close to so many people before. She pressed against him.

  “Are you scared?” He didn’t say it like a dare. No malice lurked in the words, and, for once, she got the impression he wouldn’t laugh at her.

  “Not with you.” She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to remember this exact moment for the rest of her days. A moment of total freedom, no rules or proprieties, no obligations, no fear. Just the safety of Tor’s warm body and the fresh night air.