by Eve Langlais
“I thought you said there was no divorce.”
“There isn’t. The couples who fail simply aren’t sykyrah anymore.”
“Meaning what, instant annulment?”
“Call it as you wish. It’s rare and considered quite shameful.”
“How is it shameful? It’s practically an arranged marriage. Surely not every single couple is happy. That’s impossible,” she sputtered.
“The whole point of a sykyrah bond is the perfect meshing. Why would anyone be unhappy?”
“But how do you measure happiness?” she asked.
“You can see it. Feel it. The mating bond brings a feeling of wholeness.”
“I really hope you don’t think everything you’re saying is going to convince me to drop my pants, open my arms, and say, ‘Make me yours.’”
Her method of speaking took a bit of effort to understand as she implied things using different combinations of words. “It wasn’t meant to do anything but to provide replies to some of your queries.”
“I’m going to tell you right now that you and I”—she circled a finger to encompass them—“will be one of those that fail.”
“What makes you believe that?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
Not entirely true. He could read her scent, lacking any fear but hinting of intrigue. See it in her body language, as she was relaxed and even slightly provocative with her hip tilt and shoulders back. “Who said you had to like me? We are sykyrah.”
She gaped at him. “That doesn’t sound very romantic.”
The word filled his head with a meaning he didn’t entirely grasp. It defined it as intimate gestures toward a mate or person of interest meant to soften their emotions and even entice into copulation.
It was an entirely foreign concept in some respects, mostly because the expectations behind it were just something that occurred naturally between mated couples. Part of the magic of finding a mate.
“The bond is more than romance or love. It is about balance and complementing.”
“You want someone to tell you how wonderful you are?” she drawled sarcastically.
He shook his head. “You are mistaken. I don’t mean to give praise. A truly mated pair are like two distinct pieces that interlock together to form something better.”
“You’ve just described soulmates.”
“Yes.” This was a term he understood.
“Is that why you are so keen on finding yours?” She eyed him, and her lips pursed. “You know, if I ignore the tail and eyes, you’re a good-looking guy.”
“Your praise overwhelms,” was his dry reply.
“Just meaning you should be able to find a chick that isn’t me.”
“There will be no other females. You are the one for me.” It might have emerged a tad more ominous than expected.
Belle sure reacted as if it were a threat. She wagged a finger. “I am not the other piece to your puzzle, dude. You and I are like oil and water.”
An expression he understood. “Even oil and water can be frothed to make something light and new.” His tail weaved and drew her gaze.
She stiffened. “This has been interesting, but I need to go.” She turned to walk away.
“Wait.”
“Done talking.”
He could tell she meant it, her back ramrod straight as she marched. He couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. Not until she felt it, too, the madness within that wanted him to touch her and be with her.
“I would strike a bargain with you.”
She kept walking, not even deigning to reply.
In the silence, he knew she couldn’t miss hearing his next claim. “I know where there is a human settlement.”
It caught her attention, and she whirled. “Where?”
“I will tell you where but only if you give me a chance to prove we are mates.”
“You want sexual favors in exchange for a coordinate?” Her nose wrinkled. “No thanks.”
“No coitus required. What I want from you are eight days spent in my company.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting to know each other.”
“Don’t you mean convincing me I should ride the lizard and promise to be your wifey poo?”
His lips quirked. “I have no idea what you just said; however, I am going to assume it was rude and counter with, what are you afraid of?”
“I fear nothing, especially not you. But I want to know what happens at the end of those eight days. What if I still hate you?”
“If you still want to leave, then I will give you the coordinates to the human settlement.”
“You’d let me leave?” The query emerged dubious.
“I won’t force you.” He trusted in fate even if Karma could be obtuse about it.
“How do I know you’re not shitting me about knowing where a colony is?”
He surmised what she meant. “I have no reason to lie when I can prove my claim. I began searching for more of your kind the moment we parted.” He held out his palm, and a light shone from it, coalescing into a hologram. The colors went from fuzzy to crisp.
It caught her attention, and she stared at the video footage of a town.
Her lips parted. “It looks so much like Earth, except the coloring is wrong. Orange instead of green grass. And those look like rocks but made of some kind of smoky glass.” She appeared fascinated as she studied the mishmash of materials and styles of the buildings, but her true interest sharpened when she noticed the inhabitants.
“Are those humans?” She reached out to touch, only to disperse the image.
“Yes, and by all indications, they are from your planet Earth. Most are second and third generation with little recollection of your world other than stories passed down by the first wave of settlers.”
“Tell me where it is.”
“Eight days,” he repeated.
The glare in her gaze would have incinerated him if she were from the Draegz world. “You won’t get me to love you in eight days.”
“Maybe not, but I predict we will be intimate.”
Her laughter proved bright and shining. “I am not going to screw you.”
This time he understood her slang. “You will. And enjoy it.”
Her good humor faded. “Rape me and die.”
“I won’t force you to do anything. I will wait for you to seduce me.”
Her expression clearly expressed her belief that she’d never be the one to initiate. He understood that feeling. Given her intense repulsion of him, he’d be stubborn if pressed to seduce, too.
There was fate and then his situation. Perhaps she was right and they would be in that small percentage that failed. Somehow, he doubted that Karma would allow that to happen.
“Well, look at that, the planet isn’t a lifeless waste of time after all.” Ishtara’s voice sounded entirely too bright.
Immediately suspicious, Clarabelle glanced at her friend. “You knew he’d be here.”
“Suspected, yes. Our notes on this galaxy did mention a race of beings with bronze-colored skin, Serpion origin in nature.”
“It is said the serpent God and our goddess Karma lay together and birthed a race that combined their best traits,” he declared, reciting one of the many theories of their evolution.
“I should have known you were a snake the first time I met you.” Belle scowled.
Did she not know how attractive she was despite it? It surprised him to find her paleness not as shocking as before. To him at least. When he presented her to his tribe, though, there would be much complaint. Marriage outside their species didn’t happen often. It wasn’t banned as such, more just they tended to be a solitary race. They had no interest in the affairs of others.
“Do we have a bargain?” he asked.
“A deal to do what?” Ishtara quickly asked.
“He knows where I can find a human settlement, but he won’t give me the coordinates until I spend eight days with him.”
Ishtara nodded. “Eight days should be enough time for him to plant a warrior babe in your belly.”
He had to bite his inner cheek lest he laugh at Clarabelle’s expression.
“We are not screwing!”
“I should hope not. Spinning around is likely to confuse his already less intelligent sperm. With your kind, it’s best if you maintain a single position,” Ishtara replied with sage advice and a nod. “On your back seems most productive, with your legs held in the air above your head after for maximum effect, allowing the seed to travel more easily to implant your womb.”
“We are not talking about this.” And then Belle did the oddest thing. She stuck her fingers into her ears and hummed loudly.
“What is she doing?” he asked the Zonian.
“Ignoring me. So let us discuss my accommodations, given we’ll be here for at least eight days.”
Clarabelle chose to hear that. “You can’t tell me you’re agreeing to this ridiculous deal.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
“It’s blackmail.”
“It’s a business transaction,” Ishtara corrected. “He gets something, you get something. I fail to see the issue.”
He knew just the thing to goad her. “It’s because she is already fighting her attraction for me and fears I am right when I tell her we are meant to be mates.”
“Why would she fear mating with you?”
“I am well endowed,” he declared in all seriousness.
Ishtara nodded. “My research says her kind like them large. And lubricated. I have creams if needed.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” he choked out.
Clarabelle ground her teeth. “I hate you both.” She stomped in the direction of her ship.
“Is she leaving?” he asked.
“Having a tantrum. She’ll come around. According to the other orphans, the redheaded humans are known for their fiery tempers.”
Was it the wrong time to wonder if that would extend to passion as well?
Seven
Clarabelle paced inside the ship. She didn’t want to stay on this planet, but at the same time, she did need to prove a point to him and nothing more.
Soulmates indeed. The guy had a freaking tail. And glowing eyes. And broad shoulders. Did he have wings, too? She’d not yet seen his back. The lack of lumps under his cloak seemed to indicate a flat surface, but the same cloak had also hidden the tail.
As if she’d ever hook up with a guy sporting extra body parts. She knew some of the orphans were okay with it, but she found herself averse with no clear reason why.
Perhaps she should try and look past her prejudice to see the man and not the tail. Would the appendage between his legs be as expected or shocking? He claimed it was big. How big? He’d probably show her if she asked.
She shook her head to dispel the thought.
“Are you done sulking?” Ishtara’s voice broke through her mental pacing.
“No, as a matter of fact, I’m not. How could you?” she said, whirling to face Ishtara.
“Not tell you possibility the planet was inhabited by non-humans?” Ishtara shrugged. “You would have said no.”
That actually wasn’t what she’d been about to ask. “Is that why you took his side instead of mine?”
“I do not understand your irritation. Our quest was to find compatible companions for you and the other orphans.”
“Human ones!”
“Which, as you’ve discovered, is harder than you thought.”
“They exist,” she said, her lower lip jutting.
“Yes, and he is the one with their location. Meaning you need to stop whining about the deal you’ve struck and make the most of it.”
“I am not whining. I don’t like being forced.”
“Then we leave. I will prep the ship.” Ishtara moved from the doorway.
It took her a moment to yell, “Don’t.”
Her friend hadn’t gone far. Ish peered around the jamb. “Yessss?”
The petulance shone in Clarabelle’s reply as she said, “I’ll give him his eight bloody days.”
“Was that so difficult?” Ishtara asked.
“It’s—" The ship jolted. Clarabelle’s eyes widened. “What’s happening?”
“The Spa’Rtk’un don’t allow surface vehicles to sit for long. They’re parking us in one of their underground hangars.”
Trapping them.
Since Ishtara didn’t seem worried, Clarabelle feigned nonchalance as well.
“Do you know where we’ll be staying?” she asked.
“I’ll be remaining aboard the ship, monitoring the repairs Thyos has offered to have made.”
“You make it sound as if I won’t be.”
“Your bargain is to spend your time with him.”
“Alone?”
Clarabelle probably deserved the snorted, “Is that fear I smell?”
She threw back her shoulders. “If he thinks I’m going to spread my legs for him…” She had a knife that would solve that problem.
She packed a rucksack of clothes, a few weapons, and a scanner to check all food and drink for narcotics. Last thing she needed was to be roofied and wake up with morning-after regret. As for booze, she’d steer clear of it.
The ship jolted a few more times before it stilled. When it appeared to be done moving, she took a deep breath and made her way to the exit chamber. There was hissing as air pressurized and then clanking as the door unsealed, opening to reveal the inside of a building. The ramp slid down, and as she exited the ship, she found herself in a more modern space than expected.
When Ishtara said underground, she’d assumed it would be a cave with rock and dirt walls. Instead, much like the Zonians’ advanced caverns, it looked as if she were in some kind of concrete bunker with crisp lines and smooth floors, all of it a pale, clean gray. The vast space acted as a hangar for ships. There were two aside from their vessel, each several times their size. But no little orange guys fixing them.
How advanced were Thyos and his people? Unlike the primitive forest outside, this space appeared quite up to date and high tech.
There appeared to be no one around, and she craned with curiosity, counting doorways and noticing a lack of windows. Would she be given a cell without a view for her stay? Would he insist they share a room? A bed…
Her fingers fisted around the hilt of a dagger.
“Ready to kill me already?” His voice startled her.
The knife went flying hilt over tip. He casually leaned to the side, and it sailed harmlessly past.
He arched a brow. “Nervous?”
Yes, damn him. “Just checking your reflexes.”
“Is this my warning that you plan to test me? Very well but expect to be tested in return.”
Meaning what? Would he throw knives at her, too?
She took note of his attire, having paid it little heed before given her distraction with his tail. He wore a billowy shirt, open at the neck and tucked into a kilt that ended just past his knees. On his feet were sandals, not boots, the laces of them winding around his calves. His limbs, excluding the tail, appeared human if you ignored the fact they were a shiny bronze. Other than the tail, eyes, and skin color, was there anything else weird about him? She should have done a quick computer search to find out, especially since she knew his race.
Spa’Rtk’un. For some reason the word reminded her of Spartans back home. Dumb given they looked nothing alike, and yet the comparison stuck as they exited an elevator—where he appeared amused at her decision to remain silent—and emerged into a city of stone.
The people had her blinking in surprise. There were bronzed folks, gold and copper, too, their bared skin gleaming and visible given many chose to wear solid-looking breastplates, metal armguards, and short leather kilts. Men and women alike held shields and a variety of swords and appeared to be practicing battle moves. “You let girls fight?”
“There is no letting,” he retorted as he led her deeper
into a village that might appear primitive, and yet that was only a façade. She’d seen the technology they wielded. “Unlike other races, the Spa’Rtk’un, and indeed all the tribes descended from our goddess Karma, know men and women are equal on the field of battle.”
“You’re going to claim equality of the sexes when you’re Mr. Macho with me?” she queried.
“I don’t understand.”
She pursed her lips to think of a way to explain it. “You’re very aggressive in your pursuit of me.”
“Some would call it ardent.”
“You’re trying to tell me what to do.”
“But not forcing you to do anything.”
He had an answer for everything, but it was the feel of his hand on her arm, his warm, slightly calloused fingers on her skin, that flustered. She needed distraction. “Why all the weapons? Are you at war?”
“Just protecting ourselves.”
“Speaking of protecting…” She glanced overhead at the sky that was so blue it almost white in places. “How come we never saw this city when we scanned the planet?”
“Because we know how to cloak our presence. No need for our enemies to so easily discern our location.”
“Do you have a lot of enemies?”
“Not anymore.” He grinned, and her heart skipped a beat.
She glanced away. “Where are we going?”
“To tackle the most arduous task first.”
“Gonna have to be more specific, big guy. You’ve suggested plenty of things that I’m not looking forward to and plan to avoid.”
He cast her an amused glance. “I can assure you anything you’ve thought of will be more pleasant than what comes next.”
“Planning to torture me?”
“Worse. You’re going to meet my mother.”
Eight
He should have known she’d laugh.
“Holy shit, you’re a mama’s boy.”
Thyos didn’t grasp the meaning but assumed it was an insult. “You might wish to curb your mirth and more inflammatory remarks. My mother isn’t going to be happy about your presence.” Especially since he’d not given her any warning he’d found his sykyrah. A human.