by Ruby Dixon
Yeah, I don't fit in anywhere. Even my buddy Callie, my other Latina chica, is sitting in M'tok's lap and chatting animatedly with Penny, who sits on S'bren's. She hasn't been in the Ravenclaw cave as much lately since she resonated. While I'm happy for her, it just makes me feel more isolated.
T'chai puts his hand on my knee, drawing my attention, and I fight the urge to kick it free. It sends a shiver through my body, an unpleasant one, as if my khui is rebelling against his touch. "Do you want more food, my mate? Shall I get you another helping?"
I shake my head, gesturing at my half-full bowl. "I don't think I'll be able to eat all of mine. Do you want it?"
He grins at me, so heartbreakingly cute that it's physically painful to see him smile. He takes my bowl and eats the rest of my share with gusto. There's more than enough food to go around, but T'chai has a weird relationship with it after struggling with starvation for so long, I suspect. He could eat three bowls of food at every sitting. He doesn't, though; he only eats the same portion I get unless someone presses more food on him. He'll never ask for more—but he eats it so swiftly and with such enthusiasm when he gets a second helping that I know he's still hungry.
He just won't eat more because there needs to be enough for the entire tribe. It breaks my heart at what a good guy he is. Why can't my khui appreciate that? Instead, it's wrongly trying to protect me from being touched, as if it thinks someone other than my mate is putting the moves on me…because it doesn't recognize T'chai as my mate.
I bite back a sigh and force myself to touch his arm. "I'm tired. I'm going to head back to the hut."
"I will come with you," he says immediately, getting to his feet.
"No, it's okay." I tug him back down into his seat. "Finish your conversation with R'jaal and eat your food. I need a few minutes to myself."
He gives me a blatant look of longing even as he shoves another spoonful of hopper stew into his mouth. I extricate myself from the group near the fire, stepping over limbs and dishes as I do. I pass by Gail, who's watching her mate feed Z'hren, and lean over toward her. "Can you make sure T'chai eats another bowl? I think he's still hungry, and you know he won't ask."
"You know I will." She gives me a warm smile. "No worries."
I thank her and make my way down to the beach huts, away from the friendly group. I love the get-togethers at night but sometimes it's nice to just be by myself for a while. I breathe in the chilly night air, gaze out at the dark ocean, and head toward the hut T'chai built for us. It's nestled along the cliffs near M'tok and S'bren's twin huts, and the entire Tall Horn clan pitched in to help him make it, because he was still weak at the time. It's a nice hut—small and cozy—and it feels like home, even if there are two beds inside. I stoke the fire to make the place warm up, and then sit down on my furs and pull out the bag of herbs.
Farli didn't say how many to eat, or how to take them. For a moment, I consider leaving the hut to go and get her, but I don't want to bring attention to what I'm doing. Reluctantly, I grab a few of the thin, needle-like leaves and shove them into my mouth, chewing. It's like eating a mouthful of salty grass, and I gag and cough my way through each bite. I manage two handfuls—about half the bag—before my stomach starts to protest, and I drink cup after cup of water to try and clean the taste out of my mouth. I don't feel any different, and I sit on the furs, waiting for my body to pay attention. Is this like Spanish fly, where it makes you all horny? Or does it make you drunk?
Maybe I should have gotten drunk.
The idea has merit, and I get to my feet. Surely I can find some fermented sah-sah in the storage tents, right? I pull my boots on, but before I can head out, T'chai appears in the doorway, ducking his head so his proud, upright horns don't snag on the entrance.
"You are leaving?" he asks, a hint of hurt in his voice.
"What? Me? No." I sputter my replies. "I was going to go and look for you."
His wary expression changes to a smile, and I ache that I have so much power over this man. I should love that, right? Tia adores making every single guy on the beach dance to her tune. But I feel responsible for T'chai's smiles. He's mine. I take every frown and every sad expression personally, as if I've failed him.
I pat the blankets next to me, indicating he should join me. He doesn't hesitate, immediately dropping down to my side, and his eagerness makes me ache all over again. He deserves a better hand than what we've been dealt. I do, too, but I can suck it up and deal with my own misery—it's his that tears me apart.
T'chai takes my foot in his hands and works on unlacing my boots. It's been months and he still struggles with the foot coverings, so we have a ritual of me helping him put his on in the morning and to make up for it, he helps me take mine off at night. It's a friendly ritual. Sweet. We care for each other in the simplest of ways, and that reminds me that a marriage (or a mating) isn't just about sex. It's about being there for each other. I was there for T'chai during his awful illness, when every single part of his body seemed determined to wither away from the inside, and I'm sure if I was sick, he'd be there for me. Watching as he works on my boots, a look of intense concentration on his face as he works on the knots, I can't help but smile.
At least, I do until the boot is off and he caresses my bare skin. Once, I would have killed for a foot rub. Now it just sends an unpleasant skitter along my spine.
This is your mate, I remind myself. Remember when you were willing to be an island ho because you couldn't keep your hands off of him? He's the same guy. He's even better looking now, and you know him inside out. You love him.
At least…I think I love him? It's hard to tell with the biology controlling all the signals. All I know is that I was obsessed with him back on the island, and just touching him made me absolutely crazy. Then he nearly died for me. After that were his months of recovery, and so many days that I thought he was going to die after all, and even if it's not hearts and flowers love, we're bonded on so many levels after what we've gone through. I can't imagine my life without T'chai in it, and I don't want to. He's mine…even if my khui doesn't agree.
It liked him once. Surely it can like him again.
So I smile widely in what's hopefully an encouraging way as he rubs my foot. I don't pull away, even though I kind of want to. It's not him. It's my khui that's malfunctioning.
He pulls my second boot off and then leans over to kiss me, his mouth seeking mine.
I can't help but compare the kisses in a way that makes my heart hurt. Back on the island, his kisses made me utterly giddy. I couldn't get enough of them, and his mouth felt like perfection against mine despite the fact that he was unpracticed. That didn't matter. All that mattered was tasting him, feeling the slick of his tongue against mine. Tonight, though, it just feels…vaguely off. I want to feel so much more, but the longer he kisses me, the more I just want it done.
I hate this. Not his kisses—I want to love those again—but feeling like this and knowing it's not the truth. I know I'd love T'chai's kisses if my cootie wasn't being such a dick.
He pulls back and for a moment, I worry he's sensing my lack of enthusiasm. But he only tilts his head and grins at me in that endearing way of his. "You taste strange."
Ay dios. I put my hand to my mouth, thinking of all those nasty herbs I ate earlier that I'm pretty sure didn't do a thing for me. I don't feel any different…except apparently I changed my taste. "Do I?" I cast around for a decent lie, because I don't want to confess and hurt his feelings. "My stomach was upset after dinner so I ate a few tea leaves to try and settle it."
Immediately, his look changes to one of concern. He pulls me into his lap and holds me close, stroking my back. "You feel unwell?"
It's moments like this—when he's so caring and achingly sweet—that I feel like the worst mate possible. "I'm fine," I whisper. "I promise. Don't worry about it."
He leans in and watches my face for a long moment, studying me, and then gives me the tiniest of kisses. Just a little nip on the lower li
p, and I have to admit, I like it. He gives me another, and another, as if testing to see if my stomach's going to revolt again, and all the while, his hands move up and down my spine.
This? I can do this. I ignore the twinges of dislike that I feel when the kiss deepens, or when his hand slides under my tunic and cups my breast. I do like this. I do. I want to feel so much more when he rubs his thumb over my nipple, but it doesn't respond. It doesn't tighten against his teasing touch, and I don't feel my body responding, either.
A quiet sense of despair begins to rise.
If T'chai's cootie is giving him the same WRONG WRONG WRONG vibes mine is, he doesn't show it. I can feel his erection, thick and prominent, pressing against my thigh. His mouth is eager, and his hand moves down into my leggings, pushing between my thighs.
And then he pauses.
T'chai pulls back. "You are not wet?"
I lick my lips, feeling like the worst woman ever. "I…"
He pulls his hand away, the flash of hurt and betrayal on his face wounding me. "My kisses do not make you wet anymore, Mari? Do I do something that you do not like?"
"It's not you," I manage, sliding off his lap and escaping. I get to my feet and begin to pace the floor, frustrated. "I want to be so into this. I do. Not even Farli's herbs did anything. It's like my body's not paying attention at all!"
"Herbs?" he asks quietly.
Shit. I didn't want to mention them. "You know my cootie doesn't seem to like yours anymore." I feel like a dumbass for stating the obvious, and gesture at him. "I wanted to try some herbs that some of the older women use when they can't get…lubricated any longer. Sometimes it happens when you get older—"
"But you are not older," he says stiffly. "The healer has robbed us of this."
I shake my head. "It's me. I robbed us of this. It was my decision."
He's silent for a long moment. "Am I a bad mate to you, my Mari? Is it because I have not hummed against your clit?"
Of all the things I expected to hear from him, that wasn't it. I sputter for a moment. "Hummed against my…what?"
"Your clit," he says patiently, as if I have never heard of it before. "I have not hummed against it and S'bren says that is a problem." His expression turns bitter. "Everyone has advice on what I am doing wrong, it seems."
And that's worse than anything. Because he thinks he's the problem. I drop down next to him again and take his hands in mine. "You know it's not you. Just like I know it's not me. It's our cooties. Somewhere in all of this, they got confused and now we just need to figure out how to get them to like each other once more…the way I like you." I give him a tiny smile and reach up to caress his jaw. "Farli says that Veronica will get stronger with her healing powers in time—"
He makes a dismissive sound. "I do not want the healer trying anything on me ever again. She has done enough."
"She saved your life," I remind him gently. "Whatever happens, I'm still grateful for that. Maybe just…can we cuddle tonight instead of having sex? We're still mates, even if my cootie hasn't gotten the memo yet." I try to give him a bright smile, but to my horror, I start to cry.
The look on his face is sheer devastation. "Do not cry, my mate." He pulls me close and then hesitates, as if he's not sure if he should touch me. I fling my arms around him, burrowing against his neck, because I want to be held, even if my cootie doesn't want it. "Please do not cry," he murmurs again. "It hurts me when you do."
It seems like all we do lately is hurt each other.
14
T'CHAI
The next day is a good one. The weather is mild, the winds are light, and the suns peek out from behind the clouds. For this cold shore, it is a warm day…and I am spending it listening to Shadow Cat squabble with Strong Arm over the first round of the games.
"This is clearly weighted in Strong Arm's favor," I'rec snaps, holding up the weapon called a “bola' in front of T'shen's unyielding face. "Anything with arms favors them. We should have racing games instead."
"So you can win?" J'shel calls back, tossing his long braid over his shoulder. "Everyone knows that Strong Arm is not built for sprinting. We are fierce warriors, not hoppers to race away at the first sign of danger."
O'jek bares his teeth at that, and then everyone is snarling all over again. I rub my brow, tired. It has been like this all morning. Who thought a competition for the knives was a good idea? So far all it has done is create fights amongst the clans…as if we needed another reason to dislike each other.
"It is a human weapon," T'shen explains. "And the next round will be a footrace. I promise that it will all be fair."
I'rec looks to R'jaal, who only shrugs. "He says it will be fair," R'jaal begins, and I'rec throws his hands up in disgust. Always so hot tempered, Shadow Cat clan. I'rec acts as if his clan is deliberately slighted, and bristles when R'jaal tries to talk to him. R'jaal gives up, walking away from the group.
The little human female T'ia immediately follows him, touching his arm and trying to get his attention. "Where are you going?" she asks, her voice giggly and light. It is obvious that it is an attempt to flirt and get his attention.
R'jaal is oblivious. He points at me. "I wish to talk to T'chai. I will be back."
"Don't be gone long." Sticks her lower lip out, pouting at him. "I thought we could sit together."
"We shall see," R'jaal says absently. He sidesteps when she tries to pull on his arm, pats her shoulder, and heads to my side. "Ho, brother. How are you this morning?"
"Alive and whole," I say, watching as Shadow Cat and Strong Arm clans squabble over the race markers. "So it is a good day." I gesture at T'ia, who dances back over to stand near Shadow Cat clan. "That one is giving you soft eyes."
R'jaal just grunts, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the rocks with me as we watch the messy group. "She gives all the unmated males soft eyes. We are not special to her. She just wants attention."
My clansmate is wise. I watch as the female touches O'jek's arm and giggles at him, tucking her fluffy mane behind her ear. What he said is not wrong. I know he was mildly interested in T'ia when she first flirted with him…until he realized she also flirted with I'rec, and O'jek, and U'dron and A'tam. She flirted with N'dek and S'bren and M'tok before they were mated, too. Now that male after male has been paired off, her group of hunters has grown smaller. Even U'dron enjoyed her flirting at first, but now he has eyes only for R'ven. And A'tam has been obsessed with B'shit ever since they mated. Perhaps that is why T'ia keeps coming back to R'jaal. She wants to bring him back to her side. "She is playing with fire, that little female."
"I'rec will be careful with her heart. He is being patient. He knows she is young."
"He might be careful with her, but I do not think she is as careful with him." I watch the female giggle and touch O'jek's arm again. I'rec notices but says nothing, turning back to T'shen to squabble with him.
R'jaal grunts and glances over at me. "Enough about them. How is your mate today?"
"Beautiful." I smile, thinking of her. I awoke to find her curled around me in her sleep, as if she did not wish to let me go for a moment. It made my heart happy, even if my khui did not react.
"And your khui? Has it recognized hers again?"
"No. It still hates my touch." I rub my jaw, thinking of last night and Mari's tears. Of the herbs she ate to try and make her body respond. I hate that things must be like this between us when before, they were so good. So right. The frustration is endless. "We tried to mate last night but it did not work. It never works." I shake my head, saddened. "It is driving us apart. We want to be together, but not being able to touch is maddening."
"She has your heart, yes?" R'jaal asks.
"She does." I smile at the thought. "She holds it fiercely in her small hand and has never let it go. But this is very, very hard."
"Bah. Harder than when you held your guts in your hands?"
I say nothing. He will not understand until he resonates. He will not know what
it is like to experience that intense, pure joy of connection with your mate…only to have it disappear and never return. To have the female whose touch made your cock rise now pull away from you when you reach for her. "I worry that if we cannot touch, I will lose her. I want to connect with her, to touch her and give her pleasure, but now that I am better, my touch causes her nothing but distress."
"So do not touch her," R'jaal says.
"Eh?"
He nudges me with his elbow. "Woo her with words. Tell her the things you want to do to her. Show her how much you care…just do not touch one another. It is not much, but it is something."
Dumbfounded, I blink at him. "That is an excellent idea. You are clever, R'jaal."
"I know," he says smugly. "You should listen to me more often."
I elbow him back, but my mind is racing. Woo my mate with words and not touches. Be intimate with her…without touching. I think of how she showed me before how to touch her, and how hard it made my cock when she ran her hands over her own body. Surely that will work, I think? Excitement races through me. Tonight, I will win my mate with spoken words. I cannot wait to see how she reacts.
"We are starting," T'shen calls out, his hands cupped to his mouth. "If you wish to participate, speak with my mate and she will put you on her list." He points and the female Buh-brukh gets to her feet, holding a skin in front of her and a charcoal-tipped bone. It looks as if she has scribbled all kinds of strange symbols on the skin. More of the “writing” that Mari has spoken of. Words not spoken, but placed on things to tell stories. It is hard for me to grasp. I do not understand why speaking must be placed on a skin, but Buh-brukh seems to know what she is doing.
"Go," I tell R'jaal. "Win a grand knife for Tall Horn. Show both Shadow Cat and Strong Arm which clan is the best."
He grins at me and then pushes off the rocks, jogging toward the others. He raises a hand to Buh-brukh, who nods and moves her charcoal-stick on the skin. I watch as R'jaal joins the others lining up, standing at the end.