by R. Lee Smith
She climbed him, palms braced on his shoulders, weight balanced on her toes to spare herself the cruel reality of her knees on this cold stone cave floor, and slowly sheathed him. He was hot inside her, hot as fire, and hotter still when she began to move.
She wasn’t good at it. Graceful, sensual, flexible—no, none of that. This was as new to her as it was to him, which, if nothing else, meant he couldn’t tell if she was doing it wrong. So she moved, not expertly, but with a single-minded drive to learn just how to make this work.
She found the angle. She found the rhythm. And as soon as she lost awareness of her weight and stopping wondering what she looked like and just gave in, she found ecstasy.
Caught in the grip of her climax, he groaned, arching his neck and back…his whole body. When Nona put her hand over his bared throat, he shivered hard and bent in the opposite direction, almost sitting fully upright and sinking his claws into her hips. It hurt a little. She might even be bleeding, but he didn’t notice and she didn’t care. He gazed into her eyes and held her like he was the only thing keeping her in the world.
She put her arms around his shaggy neck and pulled him closer, chest to chest, still rocking in the cradle of his thighs, chasing the receding promise of an even greater pleasure. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath harsh in her ear and hot in her hair, pitching against her movements until he found the rhythm and fell into it, and suddenly, they were one. One body, one heartbeat, one endless song.
‘This is the first day of your new life,’ she thought, again and again, rising and falling with him through waves of overlapping emotion and sensation. ‘This is how you begin. This is how you go on.’
With him.
“Cum in me,” she whispered and burst into tears. She buried her face in his fur, hiding her sobs in moans of pleasure. “Cum in me, cum in me, it’s okay now, cum in me.”
He growled, panted, then lifted her off him and half-dropped, half-threw her back onto the mat. He fell beside her, feet kicking at the floor, hands digging at the furs, and uttered a choked yelp right before she felt the hot spray of his semen in a few short spurts on her leg. He dropped facedown immediately after, curling in on himself and massaging at his cock as it resheathed.
Nona stayed where she was, staring dully at the ceiling as her nerves tingled back to a state of normalcy. ‘Don’t say it,’ she told herself. ‘It’s over. It’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Don’t say it and start something over nothing. Just don’t.”
“I said you could,” she said.
He made a sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a growl. “I know. I could have lasted longer if you hadn’t.” Pushing himself onto his side, he looked at her, then touched a claw to her cheek and scraped away some moisture to show her.
“That’s nothing,” she mumbled, brushing hastily at her face. “I meant what I said.”
“Then tell me again.” Nakaroth pulled her to him and held her until her stiff back slumped, then brought her in even closer, to that special space where only she fit. “Tell me when the snow is gone and we have no need of these warm furs. Tell me when we have feasted on the meat of your hand, my huntress. Tell me when it is a cry of victory and not surrender, and I will give you cubs. But I will give you nothing now that you will regret in the restless springtime.”
Nona nodded without enthusiasm and let him pet her.
“Listen,” said Nakaroth, aiming his ears at the mouth of the cave.
Outside, dawn had broken. She couldn’t see it—the sun had to be angled just right late in the afternoon to hit the slope where the lycan’s dens were set, and even then, she wasn’t sure it could get past that curved entryway—but she could hear it. Winter birds began the first inquisitive calls, warming up for the morning riots. Less distinct, but close by, she heard low growls and gruff barks as lycan emerged from their dens, exchanging greetings and forming hunting parties. It was a new day, the first day of the rest of her life, and they both had things to do.
Nona pushed herself reluctantly out of his arms and reached for her sweater.
Nakaroth got there before her and scooped it up with the rest of her clothes.
“I need those,” she said, but without heat. They were as good as gone already.
“You need warm coverings,” he corrected.
“Yeah, but I still need to wear something, at least long enough to get new ones. What, do you expect me go out there naked?”
Nakaroth looked down at himself, naked but for his trophies, and up at her again, smiling.
He was teasing, but she wasn’t ready to laugh.
“And if I was covered in fur, I wouldn’t care either,” she snapped, “but I’m not, so I do, so give me my damn clothes! Please.”
He wadded them up around her tattered shoes and tucked them into the crook of his arm, saying, “I will send Mika in to you.”
“Oh for…I don’t want her to do it for me!”
“I know.” He took the belt off, along with her new knife. She didn’t take them right away, but he just kept holding them out until she did. Then it was his empty hand before her, immoveable, waiting.
Nona pulled one of the larger furs up around her shoulders and wrapped herself in it, away from him. She stared at the wall.
Nakaroth waited. His arm did not lower. Outside, the rumble of voices grew louder as more lycan gathered. Now she heard footsteps crunching over a fresh fall of snow as lycan descended from the only cave higher on the slope than Nakaroth’s—Kruin, Sangar and Madira. Morning had come and now it was passing them by, and still Nakaroth waited.
Nona broke and offered up her own hand, letting it lie limp in his as his strong fingers enfolded it. He didn’t try to pull her to her feet. He didn’t try to pull her anywhere. He merely held her, squeezing lightly to let her know he was there, and then he let her go and left her.
Nona slumped over into her blanketing furs and gave in to a short storm of perfectly stupid tears. It was a mistake, and not just because she was acting like a damn child over nothing, nothing, but also because Mika came too soon and caught her. That was bad enough, but the way Mika reacted was worse—all her annoyance slapped away in an instant, leaving her to clutch at the bundle of leathers in her arms with the whites showing all around in her eyes, open-mouthed and speechless.
Nona was mortified just long enough to realize the obvious implication of a crying naked woman sprawled over a bed that smelled of fresh sex. “It’s not what you think,” she said, hurriedly wiping at her face. “He…He took my clothes.”
Mika's ears relaxed, then her shoulders, and then she huffed out an irritated sound and came the rest of the way inside. “You should have been rid of those useless things long ago.”
“They're all I have from Earth.” It was an excuse and when she first dredged it up from nowhere special, it meant nothing. Hearing it said, in her own voice, she understood all at once that it was true. She had nothing else, no wristwatch or spare change from her pocket, no earrings or other ornaments, not even a tattoo. Heather was her only keepsake…and Burgash kept her now.
“I don’t have anything left,” she realized. After a moment, she flinched and looked around, as if wondering where the tears were. She should be crying. She’d just been bawling like a damn baby over nothing, and now she was…she was alone. Orphaned, not just from a parent (the one she didn’t know and the one she didn’t care about), but from an entire planet. Orphaned from her apartment, from all apartments, from her favorite foods and songs, from Seattle rain and Sacramento sun and all the cities she’d lived in along the way and every city she’d never lived in and would never see. Orphaned from Earth.
And she still wasn’t crying. She felt it, but wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was. Like the trees that grew around High Rock, it was huge and solid, but alien, unnameable.
“Do you want to be alone?” Mika asked, plainly uncomfortable.
‘I am,’ thought Nona, then shook that off and pushed it down as far as it would go. “No. I wa
nt to get out of here. And for that—” She gestured at the loose fur blankets covering her. “—I need your help. Sorry. I’d do it myself, but I…can’t.”
Mika stood in the middle of the cave for a few seconds before placing the leathers on Nakaroth's stone table and unrolling them to reveal a small assortment of tools. “Wait here,” she ordered, already walking away.
As soon as she was gone, Nona pushed back the furs and got up. She found the gourd where Nakaroth kept a little drinking water and cleaned herself up as best she could, then lit a few more candles and arranged them around Mika’s work-space. While she was still doing that, Mika returned with Nona’s old clothes.
“Oh God, don’t—” Nona began, embarrassed heat crawling up her face and sinking into her stomach.
“I have never made human coverings before,” Mika told her, shaking out her jeans and holding it up for a critical assessment of its worn seams. “The stitching is very fine…but it doesn’t seem too complicated. Come here.”
Nona headed over, fighting the urge to cover herself. “Sorry about this.”
“Mm?” Mika slung the jeans over her own arm and held the sweater up against Nona’s chest, intently eying the way the sleeve attached to the shoulder. “About what?”
“This. Me.” Nona shrugged (Mika gripped her shoulder and pushed it back into position). “Him.”
“Mm.” Although Mika did not take her eyes from the sweater, her ears lowered, as expressive as any glance. “He made his choice. So did you.”
“I just…I never meant…”
“You are mate to the second of High Pack,” Mika interrupted briskly. “You have killed many enemies. You are a chief of your people. I am a tribute bitch, unmated and unblooded. I do not make requests of you. You are higher. You understand?” She said a few more things about that, but only with her ears, then put down the sweater and picked up the first piece of leather. “I do not make requests of you, but I say now, to myself alone, I would like it very much if we did not speak.”
“So would I,” said Nona gratefully.
“So then. Hold still. This won’t take long.”
But either Mika was profoundly mistaken about the difficulty of making clothes or lycan just didn't have the same grasp of time, because it took all morning. And no, Nona didn't know how long it normally took to tailor leather clothes, and yes, she knew 'long' was relative, but she also knew the sun was nearly straight overhead when she finally emerged. The hunters were gone, all but Gef and Madira, who had already come back. She'd missed the morning hunt.
“Thank you,” Nona said sourly and shoved her slingshot into the holster Mika had helpfully attached to the thigh of her new pants.
“You say ‘thank you’ the same way you say ‘sorry,’” Mika groused, striding away with her tools and scraps of useable leather, and yes, Nona’s old clothes. “I say, to myself alone, it would be better to say nothing than to say what you do not mean.”
Nona felt that blush again. “I do mean it!” she insisted. “Thank you very much!”
“I need no words. I serve the pack, as we all do. Shall we all thank each other? Ha! Humans.” And off she went into the den she shared with Samatan and Laal.
Several of the lycan resting here at High Rock watched her go—the males more intently than the females—and then went back to whatever they were doing, which was mostly nothing. Madira smiled distractedly as she passed by, but she was busy helping Sangar grind roots or seeds or whatever Sangar was grinding today and spared her no more attention than that. The rest of them ignored her. Even Gef, who had always been friendly enough on their morning hunts, only tipped her chin up in a submissive lycan nod. The few Fringe-wolves skulking around the edge of the clearing pretended not to even see her, but to such a drastic degree that it was actually more unnerving than their relentless stares had been. Only Burgash, keeping watch over the pack from the raised rock, spoke to her, and then it was only to say, “She should not speak that way to our second’s mate.”
“No, she’s right,” Nona said, taking a seat beside Heather and Ararro at the firepit.
“Right or not, you speak as our second’s mate,” Burgash told her. “It is not for her to mind your words.”
“No offense, but is it for you?” And before he could respond to that, because she knew there was no good response, she shrugged expansively and said, “You’re telling me because you’re a friend, right? You know I don’t know this stuff. You’re trying to help.”
He frowned, glanced at Ararro, and cautiously said, “I am. And I do know my place. I am loyal to my chief and to his second, yet I would be a friend to you, who has been a friend to my mate.”
“Well, she’s doing the same thing. We’re not friends,” she admitted. “But it’s a weird situation and she’s dealing with it. Better than I am, to be honest. And I don’t know how to talk to people. I never did, not even back on Earth, and saying things just to be polite doesn’t make a whole lot of sense here. She’s not being mean, she’s just letting me know…that I don’t have to try so hard.”
“Do you believe this?” Burgash asked after a long silence. “Or are you speaking only to spare Mika shame?”
“She shouldn’t be ashamed of anything she said to me. That’s what I believe.”
Burgash stared at her a little longer, glanced again at Ararro, then offered a glimpse of throat and a crooked sort of smile. “You know how to speak well enough when you see the need, so I will say that even if Mika means well, you would do better to learn our ways from one who can teach them while honoring them, and I will say no more on the matter.”
Nona nodded, more than willing to let this go, and looked pointlessly around the clearing until Burgash had resumed his watch. So she just happened to be aiming her eyes up the slope when Mika emerged with a heavy pelt and a few tools. Samatan was talking even before Mika was all the way out of the cave’s mouth. Even from where she sat, way over here by the firepit, Nona could see Mika’s ears snap up and her hackles bristle. She threw the hide down, glared at Nona, dropped into a surly crouch, then turned her head and loudly sneezed (careful not to aim it at anything but the ground) before picking up a cutting stone and attacking the hide.
“Oh good,” said Heather brightly. “Looks like she’s making something. Maybe I should help?”
“No,” said Ararro and Burgash together.
Heather blushed, shifting Basharo onto her shoulder and patting at him in an embarrassed way. “I just thought…if it’s for me…and I know it might not be,” she said quickly, “but if it is, it’s not right to…to just expect…”
Burgash raised his head and called, “My mate requires coverings.”
Mika jerked her chin up in angry obedience. “I will attend her as soon as I am done here.”
Burgash resettled his chin atop his folded arms. “She will attend you,” he emphasized, watching the Fringes sleep. “You do not attend her.”
Ararro made a soft throat-clearing sound, her eyes averted.
Burgash looked at her, then at Heather, whose anxious attempts to soothe Basharo had taken on a somewhat frantic energy. His ears lowered. He sat up. “Heather,” he said quietly and wagged his tail when she peeked at him. “I see your good intent, my mate, but Mika needs no help to do her work. You are needed to do the work you do now. Yes?”
Heather nodded and patted Basharo some more.
Basharo began to whine.
“He doesn’t want me,” Heather said, holding him out with a damp-eyed smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. He just doesn’t like me.”
“He’s hungry,” Ararro said consolingly, stroking her cub’s face but not taking him. “Give suck.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” Red-faced, Heather moved Basharo onto her thigh and tugged the loose neck of her shirt down (Nona heard it rip) just enough to expose one small breast. She tried to bring Basharo to her, but his efforts to kick himself out of her hands and crawl back to his mother only grew stronger. “Um…how do I get him
to—oh,” she said as Ararro took her son by the scruff of his neck in one hand and Heather’s boob in the other and briskly put muzzle on nipple. “Okay. That…worked.”
“Probably not the way he was expecting,” Nona remarked, tugging absent-mindedly at the leg of her pants. Basharo’s noisy efforts to feed already held a strong note of frustration. His little hands made fists, tiny claws dimpling at Heather’s skin. “Poor little guy. No free lunch today. You okay?”
Heather nodded, wincing. “Teeth,” she explained. “He’s not biting, exactly, he’s just…it’s new. Thank you,” she said suddenly. “For being there last night. That must have been…”
“Yeah. It was. But if it worked out for you, then…”
“It did,” said Heather, too brightly. She looked at Basharo, then over at Burgash, watching them with his chin resting on his forearms. Her smile fell away, only to come creeping back, like the promise of sunlight through the heavy winter clouds. “It will,” she said softly. “I’m pretty sure it will.”
Ararro put her arm around her and licked Heather’s cheek. Heather squirmed, but giggled, and even leaned over and licked her back, sputtering and picking fur off her tongue afterwards. And even though Nona did not move, she felt something shift between the three of them; it was no longer Heather and Nona sitting together with Ararro, but Heather and Ararro together with Nona.
This was not a new thing. She’d always been on the outside, looking in. It was where she was comfortable, what she preferred.
Why did it hurt?
“Be right back,” said Nona, getting up.
Heather nodded and Ararro flicked an ear, but their attention was on Basharo, who was growing increasingly frustrated with his breakfast’s uncharacteristic stinginess. No one said anything to her as she walked up the slope back to Nakaroth’s den. Again, it wasn’t a hostile silence (maybe a little around Mika), but it left her feeling invisible and for the first time in her life, that wasn’t a good feeling.
She felt her away along the cave wall until she found the bed, but—shockingly—sitting alone in the dark in a bed that smelled of Nakaroth and sex did nothing but give the gloom inside her room to grow and fill with empty weight.