by Dixon, Ruby
"You won't look at me?"
"Because you are not feeling well," I explain. "And I have been told humans do not like their teats stared at."
"Right, right," she mumbles, half-asleep already. "No titty staring."
"None," I agree. I help her strip her leathers off, then carefully tuck the furs around her once more. It strains all of my instincts not to look at her glorious golden flesh, especially when my khui is humming so loudly at her nearness, but I manage to help her without seeing anything. "Better?"
C'lie turns her face into the furs, snuggling down, and then yawns. "Hair’s hot."
"What?"
She flops a hand, gesturing at her mane.
Ah. It must be bothering her sensitive skin. "I will fix it for you," I tell her. "Sleep. I will take care of everything."
"'kay."
I kneel next to her head and carefully plait her thick mane into a long tail, mindful to get every tendril off of her skin and to be gentle so she does not awaken. Once done, I look at my sleeping mate and rub my chest, feeling a strange mixture of protectiveness and regret. I am overjoyed she is here…but I do not like how badly she feels.
I hope S'bren is doing better with P'nee.
* * *
I wake up in the middle of the night to a low moan.
I sit up from my spot against the cave wall, glancing at the front entrance. The wind howls outside, the storm dumping even more snow on the ground. I add another hunk of the burning dung to the fire and wash my hands, then move to C’lie’s side. She looks as if she is sleeping, and I cannot resist tracing my finger down her soft, rounded cheek.
My khui’s song immediately becomes urgent. Frantic. I groan, fighting back the need that threatens to overwhelm me, and close my eyes. I have ignored this aching, terrible hunger for many hands of days now. I can ignore it tonight. I can.
C’lie moans again and grabs my hand, dragging it to her teats. “M’tok.”
A broken gasp escapes my throat.
“Everything aches,” she tells me. “Everything hurts.”
I touch her brow, concerned, but she shakes her head and drags my hand lower once more, leading it between her thighs.
“I ache here.” Her pupils are still huge as her eyes meet mine. “Make me feel better?”
I fight the groan of need rising in me. This is everything I have ever wanted from her…and yet, all wrong. She is still under the visshek. This is not C’lie asking this, but a confused female who just woke from sleep to find her body aching. I cannot take advantage of such a thing.
Carefully, achingly, I take her hands in mine and meet her gaze. “I cannot touch you like this.”
“I need relief,” she tells me again, a hint of a pout in her voice. When I shake my head, C’lie tries to drag my hands down between her thighs again.
“Not like this.” I pull my hands from her grip.
“Bullshit,” she says, and then slithers forward in a seductive way, letting the blankets fall down her body. It exposes her glorious skin and her entire body and I immediately turn away. Turning away is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I know C’lie. I know if she was herself she would not be like this.
So I cannot touch her.
“You’ve wanted me for so long,” she whispers in my ear, then presses her teats against my arm even as I try to gently push her away. “So go ahead and take me. Make me stop hurting.”
“Not like this,” I say pointedly again. “Not when you are not yourself. Go back to sleep. If you still want me when you wake up and the visshek is out of your system, then we will talk.”
C’lie makes a frustrated sound in her throat, but when I do not open my eyes and keep my face averted, she retreats. I hear the sound of the furs rustling and then all is quiet. Cautious, I open one eye and look around.
She is under the blankets, fast asleep once more…and I am aching. My khui sings loudly. Angrily.
I run a hand down my face, sigh, and turn back toward the fire.
9
CALLIE
Is it possible to have a hangover even you didn’t drink anything? I rub my aching brow as I lie in bed, reluctant to open my eyes and start the day. I know I didn’t drink any of the fermented sah-sah that Taushen and Vaza were passing around. My head aches like I took far too many tequila shots, though, and I press my palm to my brow, trying to recall what it was I drank.
Oh that’s right. Tea.
Tea that S’bren gave to me. The one that tasted sweet even though Lauren said hers didn’t. I think of Penny.
Immediately my body tenses as I remember a flurry of things from last night. I remember how the tea made me feel dizzy and slow. How I stumbled back to the women’s cave and fell into my blankets. I remember with a strange amount of clarity how M’tok stroked my hair, the tender, caring look on his face.
And then he confessed to drugging me.
Flashes of waking dreams move through my mind. Of waking up curled against his chest as M’tok walked through a blizzard. Of listening to his heart and his cootie as he held me close. It had felt so good to be cuddled and touched by another person. I’d felt protected and safe even though he’d taken me outside somewhere. I have vague memories of him helping me undress, his eyes averted, and then him braiding my hair because it bothered my skin.
I also remember waking up and demanding that he pleasure me.
I have to give the man grudging respect that he absolutely refused even though I practically flung myself at him and tried to push his hands between my thighs repeatedly. He wouldn’t even look at me, as if that was somehow betraying me.
Okay, for that, he can live.
But for drugging me and carrying me off? I’m still gonna castrate him.
I listen intently, but I don’t hear anyone. Carefully, I open my eyes and glance around. I’m in a strange cave, the ceiling dappled with stalactites, and the floor beneath me is slightly uneven. Across the cave, leaning against a large woven basket stuffed full of rolled hides, is M’tok, his head slumped over his chest. He fell asleep sitting straight up. He’s about ten, maybe fifteen feet away from me, the firepit a short distance away from both of us, and beyond it, a screened entrance to the cavern that lets in a tiny bit of snow and some watery grey sunlight. Whatever blizzard started last night, it’s still going.
My head is clear, though, which means it’s time to get into action.
Strangely enough, I’m not even mad that M’tok kidnapped me. I’m mad about the drugging—oh fuck, I am SUPER mad about that—but the kidnapping doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I knew he was up to something. He’s had a shifty look in his Slytherin eyes for the last few days, and he didn’t seem quite so mad when I gave him my usual rejections. Of course he wasn’t mad—he was planning on snatching me anyhow. Figures.
That’s all right. It’s time he learned I’m not the type of girl to take this sort of thing lying down.
I move quietly, careful to keep my movements silent. I peel the blankets back and notice that I’m naked. I vaguely remember that, too. That M’tok undressed me for bed like a child, all the while not staring at my naked body. I hate that his actions while I was drugged give me a grudging respect for him. He could have taken such an awful advantage of the situation and instead treated me like a princess, caring for me and tucking the blankets around my body. I pull my braid forward and notice it’s a nice braid, too. Damn him.
My tunic has been folded beside my bedding, and I pick it up and carefully tug it over my head, settling the thick material as quietly as possible. His pack is next to my clothing, and I open it to see what’s inside.
The first thing I find is a leather-wrapped blade. A knife.
It’s almost like fate wants M’tok’s balls to be lopped off.
I take the knife and carefully creep over to M’tok’s side. He sleeps on, but his khui begins to sing, and I realize I’m going to have to act fast if I plan on winning this. Before I can think about the consequences of my actions, I give
his sleeping form a shove, knocking him to the floor of the cave, and pounce on top of him with the knife. He jerks awake, just in time for me to put the knife under his chin.
“Surprise, motherfucker,” I say, and grin down at him.
He rubs his eyes, obviously not concerned that I’m threatening his life. “I see you are feeling better this morning, C’lie.”
“Take me home.” I push the knife against his skin, making sure he feels the edge of the blade.
“In a snowstorm?” He gestures at the entrance to the cave, all the while not taking his eyes off of me. “Safest to stay here.”
“I don’t want to be here with you. I don’t want to be anywhere with you.”
“I know this. You say such things to me all the time.” He gazes up at me through slitted eyes, and even though his expression is blank, I know he’s turned on. His cootie’s humming up a storm, the vibrations evident as they shiver through my thighs.
It occurs to me that I’m straddling him, dressed only in an unfastened tunic. I’m vulnerable like this, barefoot and half-naked and not nearly as strong as the alien underneath me. I’m also getting turned on, which I hate. My own cootie fires up, its song as loud as any other, and I can’t avoid seeing the triumphant look on M’tok’s face.
Frustrated, I push the knife just a bit more, digging the tip into his skin. That brings a smile to his lips, as if my violent actions are somehow cute to him. “Why did you steal me away?” I snarl.
He shrugs, his big shoulders moving underneath me. “Because we are resonating. Many of the sa-khui have stolen their mates away. It is their tradition.”
It is? I sit up, surprised to hear that, but sitting up also presses my wide-open pussy down against his chest and I have to fight back a gasp of pleasure at the sudden contact. My mind floods with mental images of sliding up and down his chest, rubbing and grinding down against him until I come…and I’m pretty sure he’d let me.
Fucking hell, I hate that I want that so badly.
“Why did you drug me?” I grit out, trying to focus. “Is that part of some shitty tradition too?”
“No,” M’tok admits baldly. “I knew you would not come quietly, so I put visshek in your tea.”
“Is this supposed to endear me to you? I hate you now more than ever.” Totally not going to grind down on his chest. Nope. Not going to do it. I have a feeling if I start, I’ll never stop.
I hate being this needy. Needy, and utterly helpless to grind one out. Not that masturbating helps this hollow ache deep between my thighs. Nothing does. Nothing will.
Well, one thing will but fuck all that. I am not going to thank M’tok for drugging me and stealing me with what he’s wanted all along. Screw that. I’m just going to have to be miserable.
“Are you going to do something with that knife?” he challenges, watching me with narrowed eyes.
I tilt my head as if considering this. I should. I should lop his damned balls off or worse. I might be angry, though, but I’m not violent. Just frustrated. I can’t kill him any more than I can hunt sweet baby animals and turn them into our dinner. I’m not that girl. There’s far too much Gryffindor in me. Disgusted at my own inability to follow through with my threat, I toss the knife aside and get to my feet. “You suck.”
“I knew you would not be pleased when you awoke,” M’tok admits, sitting up on his elbows and gazing up at me. “You are not pleased by anything I do.”
“Because everything you do is a dick move!” My head throbs and I press my hand to my brow again. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You are my mate,” he says simply. He gets to his feet and begins to add more fuel to the fire. “Sit. Relax. I will make some tea to help your head.”
“Why would I drink anything you offered me?”
“I do not need to drug you again, C’lie.”
“No? I can leave anytime I want?”
He looks up and gestures at the entrance of the cave, where snow leaks in from the edges. “Do you even know where to go?”
I freeze, because he’s right. I have no clue where the beach village is. Wide-eyed with horror, I turn to stare at him. “How far did you take me away?”
M’tok shrugs.
That fucker. “How do you know someone’s not going to come after us?”
“Oh, they will come after,” he agrees, and stirs the coals, unconcerned.
“I really, really do hate you.”
“I know,” M’tok says, unconcerned. “But you will not always hate me. Eventually, I will win you over.”
“Well, you’re off to a banging start, cabron,” I say, and crawl back into the furs, angry.
* * *
A day alone in a small cave with no one to talk to but M'tok is like slow torture. His khui hums. Mine sings. We glare at each other.
It's utterly silent.
This goes on for hours as the snow continues to blow and bluster outside. I get up a few times to check on the weather and it looks just as bad as ever, the skies a dingy gray. It shows no sign of stopping, which just makes me want to scream with frustration. I don't think I'll be able to last spending days on end with no one but M'tok around. I'll go crazy first.
He doesn't talk to me. In a way, it's good, because I don't want to hear anything he says. But if he talked to me and said some of the asshole stuff he normally does, maybe it'd make me less conflicted. Because he doesn't say anything, but he makes fresh tea, heats food and offers it to me, and when he passes by my spot in the furs, he reaches out and tucks an additional fur around my shoulders, as if he wants to make sure that I'm cozy and warm.
If it was anyone but M'tok, I'd feel like I'm being babied. Since it's M'tok, though…I don't know what to think.
He sits across from me in the cave, watching the fire carefully, and as time passes, he works on nets and fish-hooks, lures and the like. He carves a nasty-looking hook out of a bit of bone, concentrating, a skin spread across his lap to catch the dust and fragments that fall to the ground.
I get so bored of watching him that I grab a basket of what look like leather scraps and odds and ends and pour them onto the cave floor, sorting through them. Maybe I can make something out of them. My mama was a custom dress designer, so I know how to sew. I've just never felt a particular urge to do it. She'd be in her element here, I decide, picturing wild fur-trimmed costumes that Mama would make with her flair for the dramatic. I pick up a small scrap the size of my hand. Maybe I could make gloves with fingers instead of the big mitts we constantly use. It'd be nice to be able to grip something tightly.
With that in mind, I get to work, using a bit of sinew and a bone awl to stitch together some of the pieces of leather. Some of them are too large, so I grab one of M'tok's knives and cut it down. I know he's watching me as I work—his body goes ever so slightly stiff when I reach for the knife, but he says nothing.
I work on patching the gloves together, discarding bits of sinew as I work, and setting aside other pieces. It's silent in the cave as both of us work, and I get up at one point to use the bathroom in a private alcove at the back of the cave. When I return, I notice my area has been straightened up, the bits of thread burning in the fire and the scraps put back into the pouch I pulled them from. Weird. I deliberately sit across from the furs nearer to the fire as I work on the sewing, and watch M'tok out of the corner of my eye.
Sure enough, he waits a few minutes, and then gets up, moving to the furs. He doesn't get into them, though—he straightens them and rolls up the extras, tidying the cave. My boots are discarded off to one side and he picks them up and lines them up against the wall.
Well, well, well. Someone's a neat freak.
I deliberately bite a thread and toss it down onto the ground, waiting to see how long it'll take for M'tok to get it. Humming to myself, I pretend to study my glove. The thread here is made of sinew and boring in color, but I've seen more colorful stitching on other tunics—both Liz and Harlow have bright red stitches along the edges of th
eir tunics. I examine another short bit of thread and toss it down, deciding it's too short. I wonder if I can dye some thread and add some raised embroidery to a few things? I imagine flowers and colorful, dancing patterns like my mother used to embroider on some of the dresses she made and—
M'tok gets up from his seat across from me, picks up the thread bits I've tossed aside and scoops them back into the scrap bag.
It takes everything I have not to laugh out loud.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
10
CALLIE
For the next few hours, I work on gloves. I measure the leather against my own hand and with a few careful stitches here and there and tucking of fabric, I'm able to get a reasonably tight fit along the fingers. I use one of M'tok's knives to cut the remnants out of the inside of the gloves, trimming away extra bits and tossing them down on the floor. Each time I do, M'tok's tail thumps against the stone with a noticeable flick, but he says nothing. I embroider a tiny flower pattern along the wrist of one glove, and watch M'tok as I work. He's meticulous. Every movement of his carving knife is methodical, and he makes sure that not a single bone shaving lands on the floor. I look around at the tidiness of the cave and suspect that it wasn’t nearly this pristine when we got here. Heck, even the pelts in the corner are stacked from darker colored at the bottom to lightest at the top.
He’s given me so much ammo to harass him with.
I make a mess for most of the afternoon, leaving my things out in the open to curl up and take a brief nap. When I wake up, to my amusement, he’s tidied everything I left out and a fresh soup of some kind is bubbling in the tripod atop the firepit. I have to admit, it smells pretty good.
M’tok watches me carefully as I sit up, and then gets out a bowl. “I made the evening meal.”
“You want a prize?”
He looks confused at my bitchy comment.