by Kyle, Celia
“Dok-tohrs?” The warrior grimaced as his mouth formed the unfamiliar English word.
“Healers? Medical professionals?” She gestured to one of the injured women and hoped the TransComm got some of the words right. “These people are hurt. Injured? They need help.”
The Ateran looked over the injured women and then gave her a sharp nod. “Warlord Traze’s warriors brought Healing Sands for trade. I will speak with Warlord Drazan.”
“Healing Sands?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly, but she was down to her last fuck to give. If it was some kind of medicine, she’d accept what they gave. “All right.” She waved the warrior away. “Go get him.”
A short time later, Drazan strode into the tent, his presence seeming to take up the entire space. His eyes flew to her as soon as he entered and she met his gaze while he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Seeing him, being so close to him, made her stomach flutter, her heartrate skip, and gut clench with anticipation. The way he stared at her, the intensity… No one had ever looked like that at her—human or otherwise.
“Drazan,” she cleared her throat and forced one foot in front of the other. “We’re running low on medical supplies.” She gestured at the line of injured women resting on the piled rugs. “We need a healer. Do you have a healer? Or someone…”
Drazan ran his red-hued gaze along the line of injured women. “I can secure treatment for the females, but the situation is…complicated.”
“Understatement,” she mumbled and then pointed in the direction of the private tents outside. “What’s going on here, Drazan? We need healers and your warriors are taking some of the women away…”
“Your companions will not be harmed. My warriors wish to…” The redness in his scales flushed a deeper hue. “Come to know them better.”
“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms and stared up at the massive alien, eyes narrowed. “If your warriors try to violate one of those women…”
Drazan tilted his head to the side, his stare making her think he was somehow confused by what she said. Had the TransComm failed? “They will not be harmed. The warriors are ordered to return the females if they wish.”
“So, they can come back if they want, but we can’t leave?” She quirked a brow.
Drazan frowned. “Kode, you must understand it is for your own safety. There are many males. It would not… be wise to announce your group’s presence. Eana has gifted the Red Sands with your presence. You are my responsibility. I will keep you safe.”
Sheri opened her mouth to protest and… came up empty. While she sorted through her thoughts, a few of the women returned from the private tents, only sparing her a brief glance. They rejoined the others, huddling together in small groups with their voices low. From what she overhead, it sounded like they were captivated by what they learned about the aliens. They certainly didn’t look or sound like they’d been harmed.
“Okay,” she nodded and gradually returned her attention to Drazan. “We’ll stay here, but we need your healer.”
Drazan bowed his head. “I shall return.”
Sheri moved toward the tent flaps, pausing to watch Drazan go to a tall, blue-scaled Ateran not far away. The two spoke for a few moments, their postures tense, backs straight and shoulders squared as their dark gaze clashed. Arguing? Or did Aterans always look like they were two breaths from breaking into a fight. Finally, the blue alien called out to a handful of others and Drazan and the others strode toward the larger tent.
When the group entered, the blue alien bowed to Sheri. “I am Warlord Traze of the Living Sands. It is an honor to speak with the kode of the warlord of the Red Sands.”
There was that word again—kode. Drazan shifted his weight on the sands, balance faltering as he squirmed. Sheri frowned and crossed her arms, ignoring the way his gaze dropped to her chest. “What does ‘kode’ mean? You keep using that word.”
Drazan and Traze exchanged a look—yet another she didn’t know how to read, but she saw how quick Drazan was to look away, unable to meet Traze’s eyes.
Traze chuckled. At least she thought it was a laugh. He sort of shook but it sounded like an odd wheeze and— “She does not know.” Traze looked up and down Drazan’s body. “This one stirred your blood and she does not even realize it? Drazan, these gifts from Eana are quite exotic, indeed.”
She didn’t follow everything Traze said, but the implication of his words made her face heat. She had stirred his blood? She could guess what that meant but she really, really didn’t want to.
Right?
She waved her hands dismissively. She’d worry about the implications later. “Drazan said you’re a healer? We have injured here…”
Traze turned to his warriors, a barking hiss escaping his thin lips too quickly for her TransComm to interpret, but she could guess. The other warriors moved as a group to the injured women, their touches light as they unwrapped injuries and peeked beneath the dressings. Traze himself knelt next to one of the closest and pulled a small, clay jar from a pouch on his belt. He removed its stopper and reached inside, dipping his fingers into a blue-green mixture of what she thought might be sand.
“What is that stuff?” She stepped closer to Traze.
“Healing Sands.” Traze dabbed the substance on the woman’s wounds. “It will not harm her.”
“Uh-huh. It might not hurt your people, but we don’t know what it’ll do to mine.” She moved closer still. “How do we know it’s not poisonous?”
Traze paused and tipped his head, blue eyes focused on her. “It is the will of Eana.”
Sheri rolled his eyes. She didn’t have an ounce of faith in this goddess of the Aterans, but it didn’t look like there was much of a choice in the matter. She was forced to wait and see. She asked for help and got… something.
Traze and the others continued with Traze in particular spending a great deal of time with one woman—a redhead who had been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since the crash. His eyes were locked on her face, and after he finished tending her wounds, he gently caressed her cheek with a single clawed finger.
“Fascinating,” Traze whispered.
Yeah, she wasn’t liking the way Traze stared at the unconscious woman, but Traze hadn’t touched her in any inappropriate way so she kept her mouth shut.
“Come, Sheri of Earth,” Drazan touched Sheri’s arm. “Let us move to my tent. Your friends will be well cared for.”
Well cared for. Right. They were well cared for if still technically prisoners. She had heard random whispers of escape, but most of them seemed content to stay where they were. As scary as the situation happened to be, as long as they stayed in place they had food, shelter, medical care, and protection from the dangers of the desert. Most of them wanted to stay and she couldn’t blame them. She sure as hell didn’t want to consider leaving the safety of the camp and venturing into the harsh, alien desert.
“All right.” She nodded to Drazan but held up a finger. “No funny business.”
“Funn-ee business?” He grimaced as he formed the unfamiliar phrase.
She couldn’t help but giggle and patted Drazan’s arm. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”
Drazan’s gaze went to his hands and nodded. “As you wish.”
He led her out of the tent and into one of the others, this one larger than the others. Apparently being warlord had its benefits. This tent was filled with comfortable rugs and pillows along with baskets of a strange, reddish fruit and dried meat.
“Sit.” Drazan gestured to a padded mat. “Rest. Let us enjoy this time together.”
Yeah, she wasn’t sure about the alien food, but after only a day, the limited food they’d brought from the ship was already nearly gone. They could hold out a little by rationing the human food, but sooner or later they’d have to suck it up and give it a try.
Sheri sat while Drazan did the same. He snatched a piece of fruit and tore off a small strip, but instead of handing it to her, he held it to her lips. He br
ushed the soft bit of food along her lower lip. Her eyes widened with the intimate gesture. No man had ever tried to feed her before and yet… she liked the way Drazan needed to care for her. Like he was subservient to her needs. No one had ever thought of her before themselves.
“Is this what kode means?” She took a bite of the fruit, savoring the tart, juicy nibble. After the dried ship’s rations, it was the best food she’d eaten in what seemed like forever.
“One small part.” Drazan ripped off another piece and held it out.
Sheri leaned back and allowed a smile to touch her lips. “Tell me more.”
Chapter Eleven
Drazan continued feeding his mate, careful of his claws as he fed her delicacy after delicacy that the Heart Sands had to offer. One of the bounties during Ulmur was a great many foods brought to the Heart Sands by the Aterans from far and wide. Mating days were a time of celebration and intimacy. Fine foods and drink were a small sample of the ways in which newly stirred Aterans celebrated.
Sheri hesitated at first and he slowed, worked to tempt her into following the ritual until she finally gave in and appeared to enjoy the experience if his sight and tongue were to be trusted. The flavor of her calm teased him, and he could not help but love the emotion. She lounged against the bundles of hides and closed her eyes, taking each bite he offered. For a few moments, Drazan believed she had forgotten her crashed ship and strange circumstances.
“All I need now,” Sheri took another bite of fruit from the Living Sands, “is some half-naked men fanning me with giant palm fronds.”
Drazan paused and sorted through her words—a mixture of her own language and his. “It would be dishonorable for another male to intrude, my kode.”
Sheri flashed him a smile, her body trembling while she released soft, rhythmic sounds. “I don’t mean it literally.” She frowned a moment. “It’s an old Earth joke. You…” She sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Ah, I see.” Drazan was reminded once more that his kode had come from another world—a far-off place that was different from anything he had ever experienced. He ached to make Sheri a part of his life, but he would need to adapt to her customs as well. The most pressing need was information related to their mating practices. Sheri stirred his blood but how were they to complete the bond? He needed to understand what was expected of him to be an adequate mate by her off-world standards.
“Tell me of the males of your world. What are they like?”
Sheri met his stare, brows slightly furrowed. He flicked out his tongue to gather her scent and determine her emotions. “Why are you interested in human males?”
Drazan fed her another piece of plump fruit while he sought a reason that did not involve mating rituals. “I am curious to know of the place you originate from. My people are very different from yours. I wish to know how.”
“No so different in some ways.” Her expression darkened and her gaze traveled to the weapons strapped to his back and hips.”
“Your males are warriors?”
“No… not necessarily.” She looked away. “Some are. Others are just violent. They fight for stupid reasons or they hurt people because they can.”
“It is dishonorable to injure a being outside of formal combat.” He shook his head. “The place for violence is the field of battle or a challenge.”
Sheri drew in a quick breath, an odd sound coming from her nose. “Not for human men. Sometimes they’ll beat someone because they’re drunk. Or angry. Or because they get off on it.” Each word made her expression darken and she grew quiet.
“They do not treat their females well?”
Sheri lifted her shoulders and he wished he understood what each move of her body meant. “Some do, but not any of the ones I’ve ever met.”
“Your people are strange.” With his words, her expression changed once more. Almost as if he had upset her, though he was not sure how or why. He had not spoken an untruth. He also had not learned how human males mated or acted toward their mates. From Sheri’s description they were inconsistent creatures.
Drazan struggled to find a way to turn the conversation to other topics, but his kode interrupted him before he made a sound.
“What are you going to do with us? You haven’t given us any straight answers—no one has. Your men—”
“Warriors. They are the greatest warriors of the dry lands of Atera. They are not mere males.”
“Your warriors have taken a lot of interest in the women. What are we? Slaves? Sexual objects?”
Drazan sliced his hand through the air between them. “Your human males would disrespect their females, but we do not. I have spoken. You will not be harmed.”
“But you won’t tell me what’s going to happen to us.” The words were a jumbled rush, but he did not miss the taste and sound of her anger. “Why are we here? What is Ulmur? Where are we going next?”
One of those questions had a simple answer. “Once the Ulmur has ended we will return to the Red Sands—my home.”
“Do we have a choice?”
Drazan studied his kode. “Is there somewhere else you wish to travel?”
Sheri opened her mouth and then snapped it closed. “I… I guess not. Unless you have a spaceport or communications center we can use to send a distress signal.”
“We have communications,” he shook his head, “but none that could contact your Earth.”
He was unsure if he spoke the truth. He knew little of the technology their scientists had developed. He had heard of devices used to listen beyond the stars, but he did not know if they could transmit a message to Sheri’s home world. If it was his choice, they would never discover the answer to that riddle. He did not intend to allow Sheri to return to her former home. Her place was here—at his side.
Sheri curled into a small ball. “We’re really stuck here. Aren’t we?”
“Do you not wish to remain? It is the will of the goddess. Is that bad?” Drazan ran a claw through her long, flowing fur. Fur on a sentient female was such a strange and exotic thing. He wished to spend sun after sun stroking the strands, though he worried his claws would harm her delicate pink flesh.
“I don’t know. This is just so much. Too much has happened and I… I just need time to think.”
Drazan’s blood heated. It distressed him to see his kode unhappy. He had done all he could, followed every step of the ritual to relax her for mating, but he had failed. A warlord of the dry sands did not fail—at anything.
He growled and hissed, sending the bowl of fruit through the air to collide with the tent wall and juices splattering everywhere.
Sheri yelped and shot to her feet, darting across the small space. It took that one movement to rein in his temper. To remind him he did not speak with a female of his kind.
Shame enveloped him. “My kode.” Drazan lifted his hands. “I am sorry. I did not mean—”
“Leave me alone!” She grabbed a bowl of dried ceaq and chucked the full contents at him. She cringed when he tensed, staring at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. As if he would do violence against her. As a warlord, a rough temper was part of him, but he had never had another react to him in such a way. Seeing his kode in fear hurt him enough, but to know he was the source… He had lost all honor.
He stood, struggling to discover a way to soothe her, but they were interrupted before he could ease the situation. The interruption only worked to stoke Drazan’s rage. He whirled, unsheathing his blade in a single, fluid movement to decapitate the foolish Ateran who dared intrude. With this quick death all would be made aware that the warlord of the Red Sands should never be interrupted when with his kode.
He stopped just short of his blade connecting with blue scales—connecting with the warlord of the Living Sands. Traze stood tall, not flinching with his deadly position. “I am taking the injured females to the Living Sands.”
Chapter Twelve
A chill ran down Sheri’s spine and her stomach churned with bile. It’d been fo
olish of her to trust Drazan. She never should have let her guard down—not around him, not around any man.
“Are you kidding me?” She clenched her fists, struggling against the urge to take a swing at the alien male while she delivered the fiercest glare she could manage. “I can’t believe you. You said we’d have our freedom,” she pointed at Traze, “and now you’re selling us to him?”
Traze, for his part, appeared amused at her outburst, his lips tipped up at the corners. “Your kode is quite passionate, Drazan. If only it had been my blood she stirred.”
“You.” Sheri faced off against Traze. “What right do you have to just take those women? They’re not your property. They don’t belong to you.”
Traze’s smile faded, slipping to become a grimace. He stared down at Sheri, his unblinking gaze not straying. “Drazan, please calm your female. I do not wish to lay a claw on her, but I will.”
“Oh, I’ll lay something on you, ass—”
Drazan’s thick arm wrapped around her waist and he hauled her back. A yelp escaped her mouth, cutting off her furious retort. Drazan placed himself between her and Traze, her vision taken up by red scales. He stared Traze down, standing at his full height with fists clenched at his sides. “Traze, you dishonor me and violate tradition by intruding on my time with my kode during the days of Ulmur. And to come to me with a demand! What claim do you have on the gifts from Eana? None.”
“We’re not gifts.” Sheri snarled though both males ignored her.
“They are injured,” Traze’s voice was utterly calm despite Drazan’s threatening stance. “Some badly and worse, I think, than you were aware. Broken bones, infections, internal bleeding. The Healing Sands I brought are not enough to repair them fully. They will need to be submerged in the Living Baths. It is the only way.”
“Living Baths?” She peered around Traze. “What the hell are those? Someone better explain. Now.”
Traze’s blue eyes met hers for a brief moment before he returned his focus to Drazan, as if seeking permission to speak with her. The other warlord didn’t utter a word until Drazan nodded.