by Susan Hayes
He tangled his hands in the glorious mane of her hair, wrapping the silken strands around his fingers. It was an intimacy he’d never allowed himself before. Most females he’d spent time with weren’t interested in any kind of emotional connection. It was the physical act they wanted and sometimes just the thrill of breaking society’s unspoken rules. He was what he’d heard the cyborgs refer to as forbidden fruit, which served as an apt description.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth to dance with his, their bodies rocking together. She let one hand slide down his bare chest and across his ribs. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He rarely did when working near the forge, and it hadn’t occurred to him to don one before she returned.
Now he was glad he hadn’t. He liked it when she touched him. Skin to skin. Her fingers moved along his spine in a slow caress that filled his loins with heat like molten metal. When she reached his wings, he tensed, but she kissed him harder and kept moving until her hand was between them, stroking over skin so sensitive that every touch made his cock twitch.
No female had ever done that for him. His wings were testament to his differences, and none of them had wanted to touch them. No one but her.
He growled deep in his throat, a wordless sound of need she seemed to understand. She stroked him again, firmer this time.
He scooped her off the ground a heartbeat later, carrying her into the house as she laughed and kissed him by turns.
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just turn off the forge and bring in our meal,” Tra’var muttered.
Damos managed to make an obscene gesture with one hand without dropping Anya, and then he was inside with an armload of willing female who didn’t fear him at all.
“You’re really going to leave him out there alone?” she asked.
He fought past the lust fogging his brain. He needed one question answered. “He’ll manage. I wanted a second alone with you.” He held her cradled against his chest, not wanting to be separated from her yet.
“Okay.” Her smile faded a little as doubt crept into her expression. “What is it?”
“If you’re not afraid of me, what are you afraid of?”
“Oh. That. It’s me. I don’t bring much to this relationship besides a smart mouth and a healthy sex drive. I have no nanotech. I’m a simple, ordinary human with a lousy track record when it comes to relationships. Not to mention I’m too old to have kids. Most likely, anyway. Even with the differences between our species, I have to be older than you two. I can’t give you the family you deserve.”
After a long pause, she added. “I should probably add the fact that I babble under pressure to my list of faults.”
“I don’t perceive anything you just said to be a fault. Honesty is welcome. It’s how Tra’v and I managed to work through our differences.” He kissed her forehead. “And I don’t care how old you are. When you’re ready, you’ll have our nanotech to ensure that you live a long, healthy life. I like your smart mouth, and I’m happy to hear you’re interested in having sex with us often because, if I’m being honest, I want that, too.”
“But I can’t have kids.”
“You don’t think you can. If it’s important to you, we can find a way. There are many ways to bring children into our lives.”
“And if I said that’s not something I’m likely to want?”
Being honest was a relief. “Then that will make it easier for me. I’ve never intended to have offspring.”
“Ah.” Anya said softly. “Because you don’t want a child to have to face the same bias you did?”
He nodded.
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“You should. Others will.” That’s when it struck him. Part of his concern in all this wasn’t for himself but for her.
“Pfft,” she made an odd sound with her lips. “One advantage to being older? I’ve learned not to care about what others think. I am who I am. You’re just you. And Tra’var is who he is… unshakeable faith in the divine plan and all. Frankly, I think he might be the weird one in this relationship—or whatever we’re calling this.”
The idea that Tra’var was the odd one was so strange he didn’t know what to say in response. His anrik was genetically perfect. He was not. “You think so?”
“Oh, definitely. I mean, I hit him with all of this earlier and he just shrugged it off and said it was the will of the ancestors. That is not normal. At least not by human standards.”
“Are you saying I’m more human than he is?” He didn’t know whether to be amused, insulted, or flattered.
“Sort of? In the best possible way of course. I mean. You’re definitely not human. You have wings, scales, fangs, and claws—all of which I like, by the way. But I feel more comfortable with you.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Tra’v I said that.”
“I won’t.” He set her back on her feet and then cupped her face in his hands. “I hate to say this, but I think Tra’var is right. Our ancestors really did know what they were doing when they brought us together.”
She placed her hands over his, and her smile turned bittersweet. “I hope so because this might be what you and Tra’var were waiting for, but I never imagined this could happen to me.”
“Being mated?”
“Being trapped.”
Her words hit him like a hammer blow, but he understood, too. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but he wasn’t sure she was. So instead, he kissed her gently and then said. “What can we do to make that feeling fade?”
“I don’t know. But if I think of something, I’ll let you know.”
“Do that.” He wished he could fix things for her, but this wasn’t as easy as reshaping a tool or putting a new edge on a blade. The only thing he could do was give her time and try to make Tra’var understand why he needed to do the same. The ancestors might know what they were doing, but the three of them were in uncharted territory. It would be best if they explored it slowly.
Malfunctioning verbal filters were why Anya had turned down Phaedra’s suggestion that she take a seat on the council that ran the colony. It had doomed more than one romantic relationship, yet neither Tra’var nor Damos had reacted badly to her unfiltered outbursts.
Fortunately their meal went smoothly. The males set out the food while she freshened up in the sanitation room, and once she returned, everything had felt normal. It was almost like an ordinary first date, only there were three of them in the conversation and she’d already had sex with one of them. The only one who seemed bothered by that was her, though. Her human sensibilities were going to take a while to adjust to her new normal.
The food was delicious. She’d tried some of the dishes before, but subtle differences in the preparation and seasoning intrigued her. They ate upstairs, which gave her a chance to see their private quarters while they dined.
There was a small flight of stairs between the two floors, and another led to the roof above. Most Vardarian buildings had roofs that were at least partially flat to allow for takeoffs and landings. Small gardens were common, too. Supplementing each family’s food supply with fresh greens and herbs. Next year she planned on adding one to the roof above the Bar None.
Their home was built on the slightly larger scale of most Vardarian places with wide halls and doorways to allow them to move with their wings open, high ceilings, and furniture bigger than what was standard for humans.
After the meal, she helped them clean up, putting the scraps into the recycler and setting the dishes in the cleaning unit. As the three of them worked in companionable silence, she felt oddly at home in their kitchen—and with them.
Part of her was happy to spend the rest of the day with them, but she knew they had work to do, and so did she. If she went to work for a few hours before it got busy, she’d feel more comfortable taking the night off. It was only mid-afternoon, and sharhal or not, she had a business to run. The three of them were all self-employed, and that meant they’d have to find a way to juggle their careers and their relation
ship.
Relationship. It wasn’t a word she was accustomed to using, at least not pertaining to herself. It was something other beings had, like families… and children. That last word snuck into her thoughts uninvited. She didn’t need kids to be happy. As far as she was concerned, that ship had left orbit years ago. And she was fine with that. Better than fine. Her life was her own. She could sleep in every morning, be her own boss, and live life on her terms. At least, that’s what she told everyone, including herself.
There’d been a time when she’d thought differently, but times changed, and some things weren’t meant to be.
Old memories and regrets came out of the shadows of her past and she slammed a mental door on them. She did not want to think about that right now. Her miscarriage had been so early the doctors weren’t even sure she’d been pregnant, but she’d known she was. She’d felt it in her soul.
All her idiot boyfriend had felt was terror. The moment she’d told the father, he’d bolted so fast he hit light speed without a jump engine. Coward.
She was still coming to terms with what her pregnancy would mean when the universe changed its mind. A few days of pain and her life was her own again. No more baby. No boyfriend. She’d moved on the way she always did, doing her best to convince herself that it was for the best.
“I think I should head back to my place for a little while. Check in on the bar, get some work done, and change into something less ventilated.”
Tra’var laughed while Damos looked confused. “You didn’t tell me your clothing got torn. Are you cold?”
“I’m fine. And it didn’t get torn. It got sliced by a certain Vardarian with a sharp knife and no patience.”
Damos shot his anrik a look somewhere between amusement and outrage. “You sliced up her clothes?”
“I was promised replacements. Vardarian, apparently. Something to do with easy access?” Anya said.
Damos snorted and Tra’var’s skin turned a gleaming silver across his cheeks.
“Tra’v, did you just blush?”
“My species does not blush.”
“We don’t.” Damos pointed to his partner. “We do that instead. An involuntary tightening of the fine scales on our cheeks. Usually happens when we are feeling foolish.”
“Uh huh. That’s a blush, Tra’var Caij. Whatever word you want to use to describe it.”
“Damos. You are my anrik. My blood-brother.” Tra’var clutched his chest in mock betrayal. “Why would you do this to me?”
“Because you cut the pants off our mahaya during a snowstorm.” Damos looked at her, amber eyes bright and grinning so broadly his fangs showed. “We will buy you new ones, Anya. And not just for ease of access.”
Veth. He was sexy when he did the dark and broody thing, but when he smiled, he was truly breathtaking.
“In that case, I’m partial to dark green, silver, gold, and red… and black of course. It’s still the most slimming shade.”
Both males looked confused. “Why would you need that?”
She opened her mouth to explain about flattering her middle-aged woman-living-in-heavy-gravity body type and then closed it again. They were right. And if she wasn’t embarrassed by her curves when she’d been naked with Tra’var not two hours ago, why the fraxx should she be when she was dressed?
“Forget I said that. But I still like black.”
“Noted,” Damos said and then fixed Tra’var with a look so fierce it made her want to giggle. “Isn’t it, my impatient friend?”
Tra’v threw up his hands. “Yes, yes. I’ll see to that this afternoon. Time away from Anya will be sufficient punishment.”
“We’re all going to have to suffer without each other’s company for a bit. I need to get back to work, and so do you. Discovering your soul mates doesn’t mean reality stops for any of us.”
“I am done working for the day, which means I can at least escort you home,” Damos declared.
His tone was firm, and she got the feeling he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. That was fine with her. She wanted to spend time with him. This made it easy. “I’d like that.”
“And we will collect you this evening.” Tra’var gave her a wicked little smirk. “You may wish to pack for a few days away. Once we have you in our bed, I don’t plan on letting you leave again until the sharhal passes.”
“But work!” she protested automatically, though the thought of spending a few blissful hours or days with her mahoyen was a powerful temptation.
“Work can be left to others during this time. That is how this works with our species. This is a time for celebration.” Tra’var folded his arms over his chest as if everything was now decided.
She mirrored his stance, drawing herself to her full height, arms crossed, shoulders straight. “I am celebrating. I’m also still reeling from the fact we are now a forever thing, not to mention I own a business that doesn’t allow for much free time.”
Damos looked from her to his anrik and back again. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter that only got louder when both she and Tra’var fixed him with irritated looks.
“What’s so funny?” she asked when his laughter had faded to soft chuckles.
“The two of you are like two blades forged from a single block of metal. Different yet at the core, you are the same. I don’t know whether to be grateful or worried that the ancestors have provided me with a mate as strong and determined as my anrik.”
She eyed the two of them for a long moment and then grinned. “Worried. You should definitely be worried.”
9
The walk back to Anya’s place revealed something Damos hadn’t considered until now. Anya couldn’t fly, which meant they would be walking more often than most of his kind. That was normal for him already, but he’d always felt self-conscious about it. Going forward, that would change. He could walk at his mahaya’s side without anyone looking at him with pity or unease. Some would even be envious. Females of his species were rarer than the males, and many of the male colonists had come to Haven in hopes of finding a mate among the humans.
His species had no reservations about manipulating their children’s genetics, but there were laws against changing an unborn child’s gender. To make them strong and healthy was one thing, but the choice to alter their gender belonged to each individual and no one else. Despite the problems it caused their society, this had always been a line they wouldn’t cross.
Hand in hand, they walked through the quiet streets of the colony. The snowy weather had dampened the population’s desire to leave their homes or businesses, though he was certain every child in Haven was outside right now. They laughed and chased each other through the snow, hurling handfuls of the stuff at each other in both air and ground attacks.
A group of older children flew overhead, carrying a sheet laden with snow between them. They were struggling to stay airborne with it, and he turned to watch as they fought to stay up long enough to dump their arsenal on another group building a snow fort.
“Did you ever do this?” she asked suddenly and then gestured around them. “Play in the snow, I mean. It’s hard to imagine you ever being so young and small as they are.”
“I did, and I was.” Though he’d always been large for his age, another manifestation of his unusual genetics. At least his size had been a deterrent to bullies. They flung their barbs and insults from a distance. “Though we didn’t get snow often where I lived. The weather was more temperate than it is here.” He glanced down at her. “Did you play with other children like this?”
“Me?” She shook her head. “No. I grew up flying around the galaxy with my mother. Back then she was the first officer on a larger ship—one that had a full crew to share the work and make sure I didn’t get into too much unsupervised trouble. I had a lot of honorary aunts and uncles, but no other kids my own age. We almost never went planetside. The ship was too big for atmospheric entry, so the closest I got to experiencing weather was in a sim-pod. I didn�
�t set foot on a planet until I was thirteen, and I barely left the ship that first time. The sky was too big, and my brain refused to trust that the air wouldn’t suddenly vanish because there was no containment system.”
“Ah. I heard some of the cyborgs had the same problem when they first arrived here. They’d been created and lived their entire lives on that research station.”
“Exactly. I suggested they do the same thing my mother did for me. Use sim-pods to help them adjust without feeling like they were in danger. It helped most of them.”
“But not all.” He knew some of the cyborgs still didn’t feel overly comfortable outside yet, and one of their number had been so distressed by life under an open sky she’d snuck away despite the fact none of them were legally permitted to leave the planet.
“No, not all. They’re adjusting, though.” Anya slapped her thigh. “We’ve all had things to overcome. When I first got here, the higher gravity was exhausting. It took several rounds of treatments and an unpleasant amount of time exercising to get strong enough to deal with it.”
“Nanotech would have made that easier.”
She shot him an amused look. “Oh, I know. Phaedra pointed it out to me several times, but accepting the tech meant staying here for the rest of my life, or however long it took the powers that be to realize that this genie is not going back in the bottle.”
His translator struggled to piece together her meaning, but he eventually got the gist. “Would it be so bad to live here forever?” he asked.
“It’s not that I don’t love Haven. This is paradise. I just hate the idea of having my freedom curtailed. I want to be able to leave if I choose. Like I said before, it’s about choice. Once I get that upgrade, that’s it. I’m here forever.”
“Would that be so bad?” Her words stung, even though he’d heard them before. He understood her feelings, but he still resented her resistance. It wasn’t like any of them had a choice in this.
“Yes. No. Maybe?” She uttered a frustrated sigh and raised her free hand in a vague gesture he couldn’t interpret. “I’m not saying this very well. I’m sorry. I need a little more time.”
