Alawahea

by Sara L Daigle

  “So what do Azellians wear under their robes?” Tamara asked, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes. “And the rest of the question … what does a newly Awakened half-Azellian wear under her shirt dress?”

  The smile was slow, curling up one side of his mouth. “I don’t know what’s under a shirt dress, but an Azellian robe includes very little, unless we need the support.” He cocked his head and looked down at her. The expression on his face made her breath catch. “I could imagine what’s under the shirt dress, though.”

  It was Merran’s turn to have his breath catch. Her coy, shy smile just about undid him. Despite his desire to keep it slow. And despite her father’s warning. He straightened and controlled his reaction with an effort. “That would be interesting,” she said, her voice taking on a husky tone, daring him to reply while Greg and Alarin were sitting not far away.

  His eyes took on a mischievous glint. He leaned over so his mouth was not far from her ear. Tamara froze when he spoke in her ear—his breath puffing against her neck as he told her in somewhat graphic terms just what he imagined was beneath her shirt dress. Her heart pounded, her cheeks burned, and she jumped back. “All right, all right. You win.” She glanced over at Alarin and Greg, who seemed oblivious to the whole thing.

  “They aren’t, you realize.” Merran crossed his arms, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “They aren’t what?”

  “Oblivious. They are ignoring us, yes, but they are very much aware of what’s going on over here.”

  Tamara glared at him. “Did you read me just then?”

  He grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

  She made a face at him. “That’s not fair.”

  He laughed. “You started it, akila.”

  “What does that mean?” Tamara asked, grumpy that he was right.

  “Find out,” Merran invited. She could sense, somewhat fuzzily, that he was open, inviting her to reach out to him.

  “How?” Her anger faded as she focused on him. Her head pounded a little, but she discovered she could do it. She imagined reaching out to touch another pair of hands. As the two hands came into contact, she could read his intention behind the word, although the word was not translated. It was an affectionate pet name and carried almost childhood connotations with it. She pulled her mental hands back quickly. “Whoa. How did you do that?”

  “I didn’t. You did. It’s one of the secrets of psi. With that technique, you will be able to pick up the meanings of the words I use without translation and without having to know what I’m saying.”

  Tamara extended her hands again. “Say something in Azellian.”

  A good portion of Azellian is psionic, Merran sent mentally and continued out loud in Azellian, “It is the way we have worked for years. Maybe the only reason we use spoken language anymore is to communicate with children. They need the physical speech. And for communication with other cultures, of course.”

  Tamara found she could follow what he said clearly and easily. It was not precisely that she understood the words themselves, but the intent behind them. Before he even finished talking, his intention was already clear to her. She opened her mouth to speak Azellian back. “But—” the words didn’t come any easier than they ever had. “I still am not speaking very well.”

  “That takes practice,” Merran replied in English. “Practice and time. Psi helps with understanding, but not speaking, because this particular talent is simply that you are hearing my intentions and giving form to the words after you already know what I’m going to say. There are ways to enhance the speaking ability, but they are far more intense and require a form of teaching that involves sharing knowledge and minds.” He grinned at her. “They’re cheating, really.”

  “Is that how you learned English?”

  “No. I learned it the hard way.”

  “Which is probably why he won’t use the other way,” Alarin interjected from his position on the couch. “He doesn’t know how.”

  Merran raised both eyebrows. “Speak for yourself, syyada.” The word didn’t translate.

  “Hey,” Tamara protested. “It didn’t work that time.”

  “That’s because we don’t want to start teaching you bad language before you’ve even had a chance to learn the right stuff,” Greg commented.

  “I know better than you do, kiitir,” Alarin shot back, using another word that didn’t translate.

  “Oh, is that how you learned English?” Merran retorted.

  Alarin grinned and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I learned a lot of things that way.”

  Merran snorted. “Syyada.”

  “Look who’s talking, kiitir.” Alarin blew air through his lips. “Do you two lovebirds want to join us for the movie?”

  “What did you finally agree to watch?” Merran walked into the living room.

  “Red Sun,” Alarin replied. “It sounds pretty funny.”

  “It’s supposed to be about Azelle, actually,” Tamara followed him into the living room. “I’ve heard it’s okay. Not really great but somewhat entertaining. One of the reviews said it’s supposed to be titillatingly spooky.”

  “Titillatingly spooky. How does that translate?” Merran looked over at her and grinned.

  Tamara spread her hands. “I’m not entirely sure the reviewer even knew.”

  “Sit.” Alarin tapped the couch. Merran stepped over the back of the couch and settled down beside him. Tamara elected to go around. Alarin made room for her between himself and Merran. “Let’s watch our titillatingly spooky movie, shall we?”

  The movie turned out to be primarily about humans’ fears of Azellians. The three Azellians found it rather funny and kept up a running commentary throughout most of it. They paused the movie when one or the other had to go to the bathroom and when Mellis showed up with clothes and dinner. So she could join them, they ran over each other to describe what had happened up to that point and then started the movie again.

  “I don’t know, Alari. Do you ever run around trying to kill someone because you’re dangerously low on some mysterious vitamin complex that humans have never heard of?” Merran asked after the movie was over, eyeing Alarin like he thought it might happen in the next three minutes. “Has anyone you’ve ever known run dangerously low on anything?”

  “It could happen,” Greg said, his eyes twinkling brightly.”You never know. Any one of us could snap.”

  “I might.” Alarin eyed Merran, Tamara, Greg, and Mellis. “I would command the lightning bolts to fry you as you sit.” He gave an evil laugh.

  Mellis got to her feet. “And I would dance around in my underwear chanting spells.” She obliged, swinging her hips and kicking up her feet.

  Tamara could barely stop giggling. “How did they consider that titillatingly spooky in any way? Stupendously stupid is more like it.”

  Merran rolled his eyes and put his hand against his forehead. “But it’s about those titillatingly spooky Azellians, you know.” He lifted his head and glared, managing to look more dead than spooky, showing nothing but the whites of his eyes. Tamara grabbed her stomach, bending in half and gasping for air. “And we can command the heavens to do as we please.” He lifted a hand and pointed. “Kneel, mortal!”

  Tamara fell over, leaning against him. “Enough!”

  “Where do they come up with some of those ideas?” Mellis wondered, picking up her plate. “That movie was the strangest mix of fear and rumor I’ve ever seen. It’s like someone took their idea of evil gods and stuck them into a movie, then had to cut them down to size.”

  Tamara caught her breath and straightened out. “That’s probably what they did. The writer of that movie certainly has never met any actual Azellians.”

  “Although he has certainly heard enough about our openness to portray us all as oversexed orgy fanatics. How many orgies have you participated in?” Greg asked. “Do you know how long it’s been since I slept with anyone at all, much less participated in
an orgy?”

  “Speak for yourself.” Alarin sniffed and held his hand up. “I’m an orgy connoisseur.”

  “Really?” Mellis sidled over to him. “Can you invite me to one sometime? I don’t seem to be on anyone’s list.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an orgy quite the way they tried to portray one,” Merran commented thoughtfully. “Did you want to try?” He gave a wide, clenched tooth smile.

  “Complete with the lightning bolts?” Greg asked. “Can’t do it without those lightning bolts.”

  “Or the ZX-20 in those delicious bananas,” Alarin added. “It might become dangerous without those bananas. Why does a mysterious vitamin complex appear in bananas anyway? How did we ever survive without humans and their bananas?”

  “And the sinister music playing. Maybe we didn’t exist before humans discovered us. And provided us with bananas,” Mellis commented as she made a face. “We’re just aarya who became uman.” She heaved herself off the couch and turned to Tamara. “Congratulations, Tamara. I’m so glad you’re really one of us now.” Tamara could feel a light brush against her mind, the sensation traveling through her entire body, as if Mellis had given her a big hug. It felt warm and wonderfully welcoming.

  “Me, too,” Tamara replied and got to her feet, giving Mellis a physical hug, since she didn’t think she could manage a mental one with her psi so hamstrung. Mellis planted a kiss on her cheek and tightened her arms around Tamara, the physical embrace echoing her mental embrace beautifully.

  After a few moments, Mellis stepped away from the hug and turned to the others. “Well, guys, it’s been fun, but I have to get back. You all are lazy bums for a week, but I have class tomorrow.” She blew Alarin, Merran, and Greg a kiss as she walked over to the elevator. “Any of you decide to have an orgy, please invite me.”

  “We promise, although I don’t think we’ll be up for it until we’ve healed a little more.” Alarin crossed his fingers over his chest. “Those lightning bolts take energy, you know.” Mellis laughed and got on the elevator.

  Merran got up, too. “You and Greg can fight over who gets the couch and who gets the air mattress on the floor in the office.” Tamara’s stomach clenched when the hilarity disappeared with Mellis’s departure, at least for her. Alarin and Greg certainly seemed to be in high spirits as Merran dragged an air mattress, extra pillows, and blankets into the room.

  Should I just follow Merran into the bedroom? she asked herself. He hadn’t asked her, and though she’d spent last night and a couple of nights ago in his bed, this was completely different. Their relationship had changed, for one thing, and this wasn’t a suddenly-they-found-themselves-in-bed situation. For another, Greg and Alarin were going to be sleeping in the very next room, and that thought made her oddly nervous.

  Merran dropped the last of the pillows on the couch. He looked over at Tamara. “I’m going to bed. Would you care to join me?”

  Tamara blushed furiously and didn’t know what to say.

  Alarin and Greg grinned. “Don’t demur on our account,” Greg told her. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Alarin added. He winked at her. “Sleep well.”

  Merran was standing at the door of the room when Tamara gathered enough of her courage to follow him. She entered and he closed the door behind her.

  She stood with her back against the door as he walked into the bathroom, did what he had to, and came back out.

  “I’m not going to bite,” Merran told her, seeing her still standing against the door. “You can come in.”

  Tamara ducked her head, her hair falling toward her face, suddenly feeling very shy.

  A wash of an emotion he didn’t immediately recognize spread through him. He walked over to her and reached out to cup her chin. He lifted it, brushing the hair away from her face with his other hand. Merran bent his head and kissed her, offering a gentle, exploratory kiss.

  It took her a few moments to lose her tension, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and responded. The kiss deepened, and he lifted her, carrying her to the bed, his hands exploring and caressing.

  Merran knew what he was doing—places he touched made her gasp and writhe. His focus was entirely on her—it was unnerving to be the focus of that much attention. She tried to touch him too, but he stopped her. “Not yet,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “First you.” As he built the tension in her body and mind to a feverish pitch, she lost every sense of anything else but the overwhelming feeling starting to peak. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered she had to be quiet, so she held her breath and made noises under her breath. Her hands touched skin—when had he taken off his clothes? His skin was so hot; she could feel him press against her. She moved, welcoming him. His body moved above her as she wrapped her legs around him and moved with him.

  As she moved, Merran lost his detachment, his desire to give her pleasure beyond himself taking over. He could feel her slipping in under his shields—what thin ones he could maintain, as injured as he was. The sensation was not what he was used to—it made him spasm. He felt her reach her peak and it sent him spiraling after her, his mind wrapped around hers in an incredibly intimate way he had never experienced before. It was a tight spiral, the orgasm spreading out, then back in, through the two of them and … into someone else. Merran became aware there was a shadow, almost like another being was wrapped with them, a mind entwined through Tamara’s. It had a familiar flavor to it. Merran tried to chase down that thin presence, but his injured psi defeated him and he had to let it go.

  Tamara felt Merran tense, then relax, still breathing hard. He dropped down onto her, his weight pressing into her body. Their breathing slowed together. “Is that what it’s always like?” She was a bit sore again but not nearly as bad as she had been earlier.

  Merran rolled off her, still holding her close. “No. I wasn’t intending for it to end that … quickly. You rather tipped me over the edge.”

  “Sorry.”

  He chuckled and she felt it rumble through his chest. “That’s quite all right.” He kissed her hair. “I certainly enjoyed it.”

  She lay relaxed against him. Her mind told him she was drifting off slowly. Far from relaxed himself, Merran looked down at her. An ache stretched the back of his throat and he closed his eyes in pain. Her father’s warning echoed in his head. What are my intentions? How can I balance a job that demands all of my time with someone who needs to have my time, too? To say nothing about the complications of her history and my own family? Lying there, his mind whirled for a long time after Tamara fell into the deeper patterns of sleep.

  The next morning, Merran woke much earlier than Tamara. His clock told him it was early—almost five. Tamara lay sprawled across the bed, the glow trailing from the bathroom nightlight revealed her face relaxed in sleep. Even asleep, she moved him. Why is she so attractive to me? She is a distraction, after all, one I can’t afford right now, not with Justern’s trial looming close and Azellian fates on Earth hanging in the balance. What if I am recalled? Given who her father is, and how picky the Council is about allowing people to go to the planet, getting her to Azelle is going to be a fight I’m really not sure I can win, although a stint on Azelle is probably essential for her development. She works with me … we really shouldn’t be doing this. Unless I cut her out of my life completely, though, I’m not going to be able to stay away from her. He scowled at the canopy above and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to get up. Tamara stirred and he froze in place, waiting until she drifted back into sleep again.

  In deference to Greg and Alarin, he got a robe out and pulled it on, although they probably wouldn’t care. She’s already changing me, he thought to himself, belting the robe loosely around his waist and opening and closing the door stealthily.

  The lights of Denver kept the living room from being shrouded in complete darkness. Merran could sense—and hear—Greg snoring softly on the couch. Alarin was a dark figure on the air mattress in his office. Merran could
n’t make out his features in the dark but sensed he was asleep as well.

  There wasn’t much he could do without waking up at least Alarin, but Merran made his way to the kitchen and turned on the light over the stove. He pulled out a teapot and set water to boiling.

  “Can’t sleep?” Alarin’s voice, speaking in Azellian, made him jump and turn around. He sat on the edge of the air mattress, green eyes far more alert than Merran expected.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You could say that,” he answered in the same language.

  “Restless night for all of us.” Alarin sighed and slipped onto one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. “This week is one of those periods in life that are turning points. There are momentous changes going on.”

  Merran reached up, pulling out two cups. “Momentous is right.” He sighed and put the cups on the counter. He leaned over the counter and rested his arms, his head hanging down below his shoulder blades. He looked up after a moment. “How do we control the flow of our lives? To prevent what should not be?”

  “And accept what should?” Alarin finished. “Alawahea, Merran. What is, was, and will be.”

  Merran poured tea for both of them. “Alawahea is for those who lack the strength to fight. I will not be overwhelmed by anyone. I’ve spent too much of my life fighting for what I have.” He handed Alarin the cup.

  Alarin accepted the cup and was silent for a while. “It’s not a sacrifice when made for someone we care about.”

  “It’s still a sacrifice. Maybe one we willingly accept, but it is still a sacrifice when there is no room for it.”

  “It’s worth it. What are the chances of finding it again? We aren’t talking about an abstraction here. We’re talking about a living, breathing person who is adrift and completely alone. An alien among her people because we appeared in her life. We have a duty to her.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Merran knew his tone bordered on belligerent, but he did nothing to soften it. Under his belligerence, though, he sensed something—something Alarin did not say.