Pairing with the Protector: A Kindred Tales Novel (Brides of the Kindred)

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Why won’t it go?” she asked, looking out at Rafe who was considering her with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “At a guess, I’d say the increased gravity here makes it heavy,” he remarked. “Luckily the mother alien—‘Mama Tusker’ as Dood calls her—didn’t try to remove our gravity regulators—maybe because she didn’t notice them.”

  He nodded down at the thin but tough strap around his right wrist, which had blended itself to match his skin color. Whitney’s had done the same.

  “But I thought these helped us get used to the planet’s higher gravity,” she remarked.

  He nodded. “Yes, but they still don’t make us as strong as those who are used to living in the higher gravity. Here—let me help.”

  He got into the wheel with her and leaning forward, gave it a push. At last the wheel started rolling and with the two of them pushing, it began to go quite fast.

  “This…is…fun,” Whitney panted, grinning at him. “It’s more…cardio…than I’ve had…in a month!”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Should I go faster?” Rafe wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Whitney shook her head, her long black braids flying.

  “Thanks but…I’m good,” she panted. Actually, she was thinking it would be good to stop soon. The wheel was already moving almost faster than she could keep up with and though it was clear the big Kindred could keep up this pace indefinitely, she most certainly could not.

  “You sound out of breath.” He frowned. “Perhaps we should stop now.”

  “Only if…if you want to.” Whitney tried to sound casual—as much as she could while panting for breath, anyway. She did try to go to the gym on a regular basis but she preferred Yoga or Pilates over jogging.

  She couldn’t help feeling relieved when Rafe first slowed and then stopped the huge wooden exercise wheel. He hopped down and offered her a hand, which she was glad to take. She was still feeling a bit winded from their short but intense jog—though she tried not to show it.

  “Let’s do something a little less stressful,” she suggested.

  Rafe frowned. “Like what?”

  “Like this.” Walking over to the big green ball with slits cut into its sides, Whitney picked it up and tossed it to him. “Here—catch!”

  The ball, being hollow and made of some light-weight plastic material, wasn’t very heavy, even in the increased gravity. Rafe caught it with ease and his frown deepened as he sniffed the strange fragrance coming from it.

  “What is that scent? I find it most unpleasant and yet…” He sniffed more deeply. “And yet, I want to smell more of it. Which doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I think it’s what our friend Dood calls ‘happy tweedle weed.’” Whitney told him, grinning. She held out her hands. “Here—throw it back.”

  Rafe did as she requested and she tossed it back again until they were playing a regular game of catch and filling the air with the strangely sweet stink of the tweedle weed as they did so.

  “So did you ever think you’d be captured and put into a cage and kept as an exotic pet?” Whitney asked as she threw the ball with both hands.

  Rafe shook his head as he caught the ball and threw it back. “It never occurred to me that something like this could happen. It is…very strange.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Whitney nodded as she caught the tweedle weed ball. “I feel like a Lilipution in Gulliver’s Travels.”

  He shook his head, uncomprehending.

  “A lilly-what in what?”

  “It’s a book about this guy who goes on a sea voyage and winds up in all these strange and distant lands,” Whitney explained. “In one of them, he’s a giant because all the people there are so small—they call themselves Lilliputions.”

  She caught the ball again and took a big sniff. She was beginning to feel rather light-headed but in a good way, so she kept going.

  “Anyway, the Lilliputions capture Gulliver and tie him down with lots of tiny ropes. They make him their prisoner but then he proves he’s a good guy and they let him go.”

  “He does?” Rafe asked. “How does he prove himself to these tiny people? These…Lila…lily…”

  “Lilliputions,” Whitney finished for him. “Well, actually, what happens is they have a fire in their town and the castle is burning down. So he helps to put it out.”

  “By scooping up water and throwing it on the fire? Or by stamping it out?” Rafe guessed.

  “No, he…” Whitney started to giggle. Maybe it was the effects of the tweedle weed, but the next part of the story tickled her funny bone. It had always made her laugh when she was a kid, even though it was extremely juvenile. Or maybe because it was extremely juvenile.

  “He what? What does he do?” Rafe demanded, frowning. “How else could he put out the tiny people’s fire?”

  “He doesn’t have any water handy and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone by stomping on them by accident so he…he…” Whitney started giggling again. “He pees on them—on the castle, I mean—and puts the fire out that way.”

  “So he urinates all over the tiny people’s most important structure?” Rafe demanded. “And this makes them believe he is friendly towards them?”

  “I know it sounds…sounds ridiculous. But I didn’t write it!” Whitney was laughing so hard now she could barely breathe. Cognitively she knew it wasn’t that funny but the tweedle weed had almost the same effect on her that regular weed did—not that she’d smoked any since her undergrad days. But it just seemed to make everything funny and she found that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop laughing.

  Across from her, Rafe’s face was doing something very strange. First the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and then a full-fledged smile emerged. After that, a surprised-sounding chuckle came from his deep chest. Soon, he was laughing right along with her—which only had the effect of making Whitney laugh even more.

  “Oh!” she gasped, holding her sides. “Oh, we have to stop! My stomach hurts!”

  “Mine too!” His laughter was deep, coming from the bottom of his chest, and it sounded a little rusty as though he hadn’t laughed in years. But it was a very pleasant sound just the same and Whitney found herself enjoying it.

  “Oh, I can’t stop!” Still laughing, she sat down in the purple-green grass with a thump, clutching her belly. “Oh my God, that tweedle weed is crazy!’

  “Is that why we’re laughing?” Rafe came over to try and help her up but when she grabbed his arm, he slipped on one of the many slick grass blades and wound up coming down with a thump, flat on his butt beside her. This only made Whitney laugh even harder until she was afraid she might damage something internally. But even that thought seemed funny and made her laugh even harder.

  “Hey, you two better take it easy with the tweedle weed,” a familiar voice called from the next cage. “It’s no joke if you breathe too much of it—I laughed until I passed out once.”

  Looking up, Whitney saw Dood’s face pressed between the bars of his own cage as he peered into theirs.

  “Hey, Dood,” she said and started laughing all over again. The idea of a guy named “Dood” warning them about overdosing on tweedle weed seemed like the funniest thing ever.

  “This is…is serious,” Rafe gasped, between bouts of laughter. He looked at Dood. “How can we…stop?”

  Dood shrugged. “Cold water helps. “Splash some in your face, man. And give your lady a splash too.”

  “I will.” Dragging himself up from the ground, still laughing helplessly, Rafe made his way to the enormous water bottle. Reaching up, he pumped the nozzle which caused a spray of cold water to hit him right in the face.

  For some reason, this made Whitney think of the poor Lilliputions getting peed on by Gulliver and she found herself laughing harder than ever. Oh God, was she ever going to stop? Bright lights were dancing in front of her eyes now and her stomach was tied in knots. Laughing was becoming painful and yet she continued on and on because litera
lly everything she thought of was funny.

  No, it’s not! she told herself sternly. Or tried to, anyway. Think of sad things. Think of—

  But she was never going to find out if her remedy would have worked because just then Rafe came and picked her up and brought her over to the water bottle.

  “Hold still, mon’dalla,” he commanded and then a stream of cold water hit her full in the face and Whitney found herself spluttering instead of laughing.

  “Oh!” she gasped, wiping at her eyes. “Oh my God, thank you! That stuff is intense.”

  She wondered if cats who got catnip felt the way she just had—like they were on a trip they couldn’t come down from. It was certainly something to consider the next time before she gave Mr. Fluffypants any more nip.

  “I told you so,” Dood said dolefully from his own cage. “Like I said, you can pass out from it if you’re not careful. I know it gets damn boring hanging around in the cage all day but try to limit yourself to a few sniffs at a time, right?”

  “Ugh.” Whitney put a hand to her stomach gingerly. “My stomach muscles are so sore now! I haven’t laughed that much in ages.”

  “Nor have I,” Rafe admitted.

  Whitney frowned at him. “What are you talking about? You haven’t laughed that much in ever. You never laugh!”

  He frowned back. “There was a time when laughter was part of my life. That was many cycles ago.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry.” Whitney bit her lip, feeling like she’d offended him somehow. She wondered if his dour attitude most of the time had to do with the story she suspected he had in his past. “All the same,” she said, “You have a really nice laugh, Rafe. I enjoyed hearing it—and laughing with you.” She winced as she prodded her sore stomach muscles again. “But I think I’ll take a hard pass on the happy tweedle weed from now on.”

  “I will pass on it as well. Though…” He cleared his throat and looked down at her. “Though I have always enjoyed hearing your laugh too, mon’dalla. It is very beautiful—just like you are.”

  “You two should get a room,” Dood advised sourly. “In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t already after that show you put on for Mama Tusker back in the matching pen.”

  Whitney felt her cheeks get hot but she refused to let Dood upset her or make her ashamed.

  “So what if we did?” she demanded. “We were just trying to prove we were a matched pair, that’s all. Didn’t we do the right thing?”

  “You did—just not enough of it,” Dood remarked. “You know, sooner or later Mama Tusker is going to expect to see you breed, not just get all hot and heavy with each other.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Rafe said firmly, before Whitney could think of a suitable answer. “I am Whitney’s Protector—I am sworn not to molest her sexually.”

  Dood snorted. “Coulda fooled me! I thought for sure the two of you were going to go at it right there in the matching pen.”

  “We were not about to…to go at it,” Whitney said with as much dignity as she could muster. She became aware that Rafe was still holding her cradled to his broad chest and they were both buck naked. Though she was getting kind of used to being nude, she couldn’t help being nervous, held in the arms of the big Kindred as she was.

  Dood nodded. “Riiiiight,” of course you weren’t,” he said sarcastically.

  “Are you accusing Whitney of lying? I can make you very sorry for that,” Rafe growled, glowering at the other male. It was clear there was still no love lost between the two of them.

  “Rafe, put me down please?” she whispered to the big Kindred, feeling self-conscious.

  He set her down at once but kept a protective arm around her shoulder. Even though Dood was in the next cage, he still clearly didn’t trust the other male.

  But the tweedle was shaking his head.

  “Good luck with the whole—we’re not going to breed thing. After all the weed you two snorted—”

  “What does that have to do with it?” Whitney demanded. “And you heard Rafe—we’re not going to!” Although she really wouldn’t have minded “breeding” with the big Kindred, to be honest. Though she couldn’t let him know that, of course.

  “Well, I don’t know how you’re going to manage around here without breeding for Mama Tusker,” Dood said. “If she doesn’t think you’re trying to make babies, she’ll sell you off, quick as that.” He snapped once, to illustrate his point. “Likely as not, to two different buyers, too.”

  “Oh dear!” Whitney exclaimed. “That’s awful! What can we do?”

  Dood shrugged. “Well, I guess you can do what Yancy and Yorrow do—though she’s bound to suspect eventually.”

  “What who do? What do they do?” Whitney demanded.

  But Dood was already turning away and flipping his long auburn hair over one shoulder.

  “Sorry, I can’t stay up any later tonight. I need my beauty rest if Mama Tusker is going to pick me to go to the ‘Tweedle Beautiful’ show.”

  “What in the Seven Hells is that?” Rafe growled, but the other male was already halfway across his own cage and no matter how they called him, he refused to come back.

  Rafe shook his head.

  “Never mind him. We’ll try to get more answers in the morning. In the meantime, what we need is sleep. It has been a long and tiring day.”

  Suddenly Whitney felt more weary than she had ever felt in her life. Whether it was the after-effects of the happy tweedle weed, or simply the long, stressful day catching up with her, she didn’t know. Nor did she care—she just wanted to go to bed.

  “So…so tired,” she moaned, giving a long bone-cracking yawn in the middle of her sentence.

  “I am weary too. Come—let’s go to the hanging tent in the far corner to try and get some rest.” Halfway supporting her as she stumbled with weariness, Rafe helped her over to the far corner where the blue felt tent was hanging.

  With some help from the big Kindred, Whitney managed to climb the wooden ladder and collapse on the sagging fabric floor.

  “Are you comfortable?” Rafe asked, after she sighed happily and turned over on her side.

  “’s great.” She gave a contented sigh that turned into a yawn. “Come on in—the water’s fine.”

  “The water?” He frowned.

  “It’s just an expression. Means it feels good. Come on.” Whitney patted the sagging bottom of the tent beside her. It really would be more comfortable if the damn thing was supported in some way, or even if it was placed on the floor of the cage instead of hanging from the corner about three feet off the ground. But there was nothing they could do about that. “C’mon,” she said again and yawned once more.

  Rafe looked at the cramped space beside her doubtfully, but after a moment, his weariness appeared to win out because he climbed in and tried to arrange himself so that his bare back was to hers.

  Clearly he was trying to put some distance between them, but the saggy nature of the floor didn’t allow it. He rolled right into her.

  “Whoops!” Whitney giggled sleepily as he tried to arrange himself. “Look, you might as well give it up,” she added when he tried again with the same result. “There’s no helping it—you and I are going to be tossing and turning all night if you don’t settle down and let me do the same.”

  “But we are nude,” he grumbled. “It isn’t proper for a Protector to be so close to the one whom he is protecting when they are both unclothed.”

  “I thought that ship already sailed,” Whitney protested. “I mean, after what we did in the matching pen—”

  But that seemed to be the exact wrong thing to say.

  “Forgive me,” Rafe said stiffly. “I will give you the bed and I will take the ground.”

  “No, wait!” Whitney begged, suddenly a little more awake. “Please don’t go!”

  “I must,” he said dismissively. “This is not proper.”

  “No, but it’s warm,” Whitney pointed out. “Rafe….” She let her fingers drift aimlessly
up his arm. “Please don’t go,” she said softly. “I…I’m cold. And it’s spooky being all alone in this damn cage.”

  “Well…” She watched him struggle with himself. He seemed to feel torn as to what to do.

  “Please,” Whitney pleaded again. “I just want to go to sleep, but I never will if I’m shivering all night.”

  Rafe sighed heavily. “Very well. But we must sleep back to back—it is only proper.”

  “All right.” She shrugged. She’d been hoping to have him draped all over her like a warm fur coat but she would take what she could get.

  Rafe arranged himself at her back and she immediately felt warmer—his larger Kindred frame radiated heat like a furnace.

  “Good night, mon’dalla,” he rumbled in the darkness.

  Whitney opened her mouth to wish him good night as well, but a yawn came out instead. And before she could say anything else, she was drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Whitney woke to feel something hard and hot poking her in the back of her thighs and a delicious warm masculine scent surrounding her.

  “Mmm…” There was a big muscular arm draped over her shoulders and she cuddled back into it, though this made whatever was poking the back of her thighs poke harder.

  To solve the problem, Whitney opened her legs and wiggled to get more comfortable. This caused the hard, hot thing to poke between her thighs instead of against them, which was much more comfy.

  In fact, it was more than comfy. Because it had settled right against her pussy lips, it was actually quite pleasurable.

  Still more than half-asleep, Whitney parted her legs a little more and wiggled until the hot, hard thing was pressing between her pussy lips, which for some reason, were already wet and swollen and ready.

  As though I’d been having a really hot dream, she thought sleepily. Which was probably what was happening now. Because why else would she feel so damn horny?

  “Mmmm,” she half-moaned, squeezing her thighs and shifting so that the hard thing rubbed against her aching clit. That felt so nice. And the warm, masculine scent invading her senses with every breath seemed to make it feel even nicer.