She sagged back against Asier, still breathing raggedly.
When her breath evened out, she realized that he wasn’t moving at all. Wasn’t speaking. He still cradled her in his arms. One big hand curled over her ribs, fingers splayed over her abdomen. His other arm hooked behind her knees, his hand clenched on her thigh.
Lyra drew in a shuddering breath that had nothing to do with having the wind knocked out of her. She braced one hand against his chest. Beneath her touch, that massive chest rose and fell in a haggard exhalation.
She leaned back, looked up into his golden eyes. Her gaze fell to those firm lips, pressed together in a thin, hard line.
She couldn’t stop herself. She clutched his jacket, hauling herself up to—
“No.” Asier turned his face away from her. His strong neck was taut with corded tendons. His pulse thumped rapidly below his jaw. “Don’t kiss me,” he said rigidly. “The toxin.”
She leaned in and pressed her lips to his pulse instead. He shuddered.
“Lyra—”
She dragged her lips down the column of his neck. She licked his throat.
A tortured groan wrenched from his chest. His hands slid down her back.
“Then don’t kiss me,” she whispered against his skin. It was as firm as leather laid over steel, but yielded to the pressure of her lips, her tongue. “I’ll kiss you.” She reached for the fastening of his jacket and drew it down. She nipped the hard skin over his collarbone, making him jolt. “I’ll kiss you everywhere except your mouth.”
She felt his erection rise against her hip as another groan rumbled in his broad chest. She shifted so that she sat astride him, trapping his stiff cock between the press of their bodies.
He grunted, his hips bucking against her, nearly throwing her off. She laughed, clinging to his jacket. She unzipped it entirely, exposing the broad plane of his muscled chest. Fine, silvery hair scattered across his chest, tapering down his abdomen, leading her fingers on a merry path to the waistband of his trousers.
He groaned again, hands sliding to clutch her waist, pulling her flush against him so that he could grind that big throbbing bulge against the hot core between her thighs.
Lyra slid her hands between them, working the fastenings of his trousers. His cock sprang free, big and hot and hard and urgent. He gasped as her hand circled him. He was so big, and like the rest of him, hard as iron. She couldn’t even hope to close her hand around his shaft. She couldn’t imagine fitting him inside of her—even though her body wept for exactly that.
She reached up to cling to the back of his neck, bracing herself. With her other hand, still grasping his cock, she slid her grip up his length. She teased her thumb gently over the slick tip. Asier’s spine stiffened, his hold on her waist grew crushing. She rolled her hips, teasing her hot core against the base of his shaft while her thumb drew lazy circles over his crown. She was so wet. She could feel herself soaking through her underwear.
Asier snarled something in his own language. His big body trembled beneath her. His cock was big enough, hard enough, that she could rock herself against him, even through her flight suit, and bring herself to come. She could give him the same, with her hand.
Still holding him by the back of the neck, still working her hand and and down his cock, still grinding her core against the base of his shaft, she leaned in and closed her mouth over one of his nipples.
He let out a hoarse bark, and his arms encircled her, crushing her against his body. His hips worked upwards, thrusting his cock between them. She clung to him and rolled her hips with his thrusts.
“I want you inside me,” she panted. Her fingernails curled into his skin.
He stilled against her. He moaned as her hips continued their slow sinuous roll against him.
“No,” he said hoarsely. His head fell back. “I can’t do that to you.”
“Please.” She pressed her tongue to his other nipple.
He thrust against her convulsively, spitting out a harsh word in his own language. “No,” he panted, reverting to the Creole. “It would be the same as kissing you. The toxin is in all of my bodily fluids.” He spoke through jagged breaths. His accent was stronger now, the words slurred into barely comprehensible growls. “And the scent of your sex… it would be a thousand times more difficult than it already is.”
Lyra took a deep breath. She was not weak. She was not foolish. She always did what needed to be done, regardless of her own desires. That’s how it had always been. That’s how she’d survived. That’s how she’d managed to make it so that her sister didn’t have to live that way.
“Let me go,” she said, without much conviction.
A second’s hesitation, and then he obeyed. His arms fell away, releasing her. She crawled off of him, putting good distance between them. Asier tugged the bandana back up of his nose and mouth. He tightened the knot behind his head.
Bereft of the heat of his body, the heat of their shared desire, Lyra felt frozen. All around them, the wind thrashed the trees. The chittering, crying, keening creatures of the forest had gone silent. And floating through the air? Was that—
“Snow,” Asier said, rising to stand. He fastened his trousers, zipped his jacket. His eyes were dilated to black moons. His erection still strained against the front of his trousers.
Lyra stood as well, tearing her eyes away from him. She looked up. Snow spit down through the leaves, an icy-wet sludge. A spatter of it hit her cheek, making her flinch. She swiped it away and looked down at her bared leg with dismay.
“Oh!” She remembered the scope, pulling it out of her pocket. Not daring to step nearer, she tossed it across the gulf between them. Asier caught it easily.
“The grassland is eerta-nal shrarrir,” she gave him the Crurian number, though she didn’t know how to read any of the other script. “Due polar north.”
He tucked the scope inside his jacket. “Then let’s go.”
The snow storm raged around them, but Lyra supposed it could’ve been worse. Within the cover of the forest, the wind’s power was mitigated, and the snowfall was not as heavy as it would be on an open plain.
She trudged after Asier, her bare leg freezing until the skin felt burnt. Heat still pooled low in her belly, still tingled beneath her skin. But the violent roar of the wind and the icy cold air kept her mind clear enough to ignore it.
Chapter Six
It was not an easy thing, staggering through a blizzard with your cock throbbing hard and your body still drunk on desire. Knowing that Lyra wanted him, even without the toxin—that she’d been lost in the touch and feel of him—had come as a shock. It had staggered him nearly as much as the beauty of her body, the feel of her soft curving flesh, the sweet female scent of her.
Scaevens weren’t known for their appealing physical appearance. They were harshly cast, coarsely formed, brutish creatures. They had none of the Ravanoth’s slender grace, nor the Ljark’s elegant austerity, nor the comfortable lushness of the Yiruba, nor any number of qualities that females desired in a mate.
Scaeven appeal lay entirely in the enticing aphrodisiac of their toxin. Females across the universe sought the transcendent bliss of intoxicated Scaeven sex. Usually just the once, for the fun of it. But those who stuck around, who became mated to their Scaeven bed partners and bore their young, eventually came to see past the brutish exterior, and bond with the soul contained within. Ideally.
But Lyra didn’t need the toxin to want him.
He’d almost given into the need. Her breathy pleas had nearly brought him to come right there in her hand. He’d been a hair’s breadth from losing his self control, tearing off her flight suit, and plunging his cock deep into the soft, slick, hot core of her. She was so little. She’d be so tight. She’d writhe and twist when he impaled her on his cock. She’d whimper and moan as he sank deeper and deeper into her soft little pussy.
For fuck’s sake. She wasn’t close enough to smell—wasn’t even within his sightline—and he was alread
y losing control of himself.
Colder, he pleaded the weather. Freeze me.
And then, very suddenly, the wind died.
Asier and Lyra both stopped. Overhead, through the still shimmying tree branches, they caught sight of a strangely yellow sky. Normally a blueish-lavender hue, the change was startling.
“Well, that’s probably not good,” Lyra observed with resigned calm.
Asier risked a glance at her. A hot flush still suffused her cheeks and her lips were still swollen from kissing his body. A shiver chased over his skin. He tore his gaze away from her.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said gruffly. “Keep an eye out for shelter, in case we need it.” He turned his back on her, and started walking.
They’d been walking for only a few minutes when he heard a strange sound in the distance. He stopped and looked back at Lyra. She heard it too—her head tilted to listen, a frown etched between her brows.
“What is that?” she asked.
It was a deep hum, almost subsonic.
He shook his head, glancing up at the golden-yellow sky. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”
They continued walking, following the edge of a ridge of black rock. Below them, a gravelly, scrub-covered ravine swept down to a wide pool of still, brown water that ran along the length of the cliff. Ideal spider territory. He kept a wary eye out.
The distant hum was getting louder—now more of a growl.
“Something about this is familiar,” Lyra said. Her voice came from closer behind him than he’d expected. “I just can’t place it…”
A mild wind kicked up, rustling the tree tops. The golden light deepened.
Uneasy, the two of them walked on. Lyra was close enough to smell again, but the lure of her scent was easier to resist when most of his mind was focused on the eerie mystery of the weather. Something was coming. He felt it like a pressure against his chest.
The wind picked up, and the distant growl was slowly becoming a roar.
Lyra’s hand closed on his jacket sleeve. She shouted over the wind—a word from her own language.
He frowned in confusion.
She gestured helplessly. “I don’t know the word for it in the Creole! It’s… a big wind! We have to get shelter, now! Somewhere low!”
Asier didn’t argue. He leapt down the ridge, and then turned and caught Lyra, slowing her descent. He set her on her feet, and they raced down the ravine.
“We can’t go too low!” Asier shouted over the rising wind. “The spiders!”
The wind had become a vicious gale, and was only growing stronger. The force of it shoved Lyra’s small form against the cliff face. Asier looped an arm around her, pulling her tight to his side. Together, the two of them staggered down the ridge. Soon the wind would be enough to slam them both around.
“Here!” Lyra screamed.
He barely heard her over the wind. But she pointed to a fissure in the cliff face. Asier wasn’t sure he’d fit, but they were running out of time, and they couldn’t get much closer to the water without guaranteeing a run-in with spiders. They were dangerously low as it was.
“Hurry!” Lyra screamed, shoving at him and pointing to the south.
Asier turned to see a black sky racing towards them. The clouds frothed and churned into a slowly revolving vortex. Before their eyes, the swirling clouds extended down from sky, spinning faster and faster as it raced to the ground. Where it touched earth, trees splintered to dust. Massive boulders were picked up flung like marbles.
Asier pulled his electron gun from his jacket and shot into the fissure. There wasn’t enough charge to even tickle one of the spiders, but it lit the space up enough to tell him that it was empty.
“Go!” he pushed Lyra towards it. She knelt and crawled in.
Asier crouched behind her. He wasn’t going to fit. It was just too small. There was no position that would allow his shoulders through the narrow opening. He slid his arc rifle into the small cave, and turned back around.
“Asier!” she screamed as he settled his back against the opening, sealing her in. He felt her small hands tugging at his jacket. “Asier, you have to get in! A—” that strange word in her language “—picks up entire houses and throws them like toys. You’ll die!”
He watched the dark funnel of wind chase closer and closer.
“Asier! Please!” She tugged more forcefully, pulling his jacket tight against his body.
The pressure of the wind flattened him against the rock. He didn’t fight it. He couldn’t. He could only watch that dark vortex race closer. In that swirling darkness, he recognized his end.
It wasn’t so bad, he told himself. He’d had a few victories. He’d pinned a mirroring tracker on the traffickers’ ship. He had an agent hidden among the traffickers, and the rest of his team had remote access to the tech. They’d be able to continue his mission and bring down the cartel.
Lyra’s hands slapped and punched at his back. The gusting wind had kicked up bracken and debris from the forest. Small rocks pelted his face and body.
Lyra knew where his ship was, he remembered with relief. So she could make it there on her own. She’d proven herself resourceful and tough and determined. She’d figure out how to fly it. She’d get to safety.
The sound of the wind drowned out everything else. He could no longer hear Lyra’s pleas. Her hands had closed into fists on his jacket, simply holding on—with greater strength than he would’ve expected. After a moment, he realized she probably had her feet braced against the inside of the cave, using the strength of her legs to pull on him. She was trying to keep him from being swept away.
A small smile curved his lips.
In front of him, the funnel of deadly wind left a scar of stripped soil in its wake. It was close now, flinging much bigger stones in his direction. They crashed against the cliffs around him, raining grit and gravel down.
Not much longer, then. He could feel it beginning. Instead of pressing him against the cliffs, the wind had shifted to buffeting sweeps that wanted to pull him into its deadly embrace. He braced his boots against the stone, pressing himself against the cliff. For as long as he could provide a barrier to Lyra, he would do so.
He’d tasted her. He’d been kissed by her. That was another good thing. She’d wanted him in return—even without the toxin. That was the best thing. It was a shame he’d never have the chance to know every part of her wonderful body. And an even greater shame that he’d never get to know her beyond their shared attempt at survival. He wondered about the things she did when she wasn’t running for her life. He wondered about her past, and how it’d resulted in the tenaciously competent woman who was trying to fight against the very heavens for possession of his body. He smiled broadly and imagined her cradling their son in her arms.
It was a crime to take a human mate, but there were loopholes. Asier was an Enforcer—he knew all of them.
But his time had come up. The black funnel charged towards the ravine, whipping satellite rings of rocks and trees and animals. The wind sucked at him. He dug his heels into the rock, gripped his fingers into pitted depressions, holding on for as long as he could—protecting Lyra for however much longer he could, with every last fiber of his strength.
He saw nothing but dark wind. It dragged him forward, pulling him closer to the ledge.
Lyra’s grip didn’t slacken on his jacket. She would be pulled along with him.
“Let go!” he bellowed, reaching back to pry her hands off of him.
She grabbed onto his wrist instead. The wind twisted him around, flipping him onto his stomach. It dragged at his ankles. He lay stretched on the rock, watching horrified, as his little human was dragged from the shelter.
“Let go, Lyra!” he raged, trying to shake her off.
She held on like the worm that had nearly killed her. She dug her heels into the surface of the rock, only to be dragged along on her ass, closer and closer to the deadly wind.
“Please!” he begg
ed, clenching his fist and trying to tug it from her grasp. He only succeeded in jerking Lyra further forward. He let out a choked exclamation—something halfway between a curse and a sob—and dug his free hand into the pitted surface of the rock. His grip slid over it uselessly. The wind dragged them ever onward. Lyra strained and pulled, accomplishing nothing. She would hold his hand as they marched up to death itself.
He admired her, and hated her, and loved her.
Chapter Seven
The deafening roar of the wind suddenly shifted to something like the sound of a shuttle taking off—rocketing away into silence. And like that, it released its hold on him.
Asier caught the edge of the cliff as his body swung down over the ravine.
Lyra let out one of her skull-shattering screams as he scrabbled to hold onto the cliff’s edge. She still had his wrist, pulling frantically on it, as if she had any hope of hauling his body up a vertical wall.
“Lyra,” he said hoarsely. “Please stop. You’re not helping.”
She let go immediately.
He pressed his toe against the cliff, and pulled himself up. He hooked one elbow over the edge, then the other. He pressed his toe against the cliff again, braced his weight on his forearms, and hauled himself up. He rolled onto his back, gasping. His hair swung into his face, torn free of its sturdy plait.
Lyra appeared beside him in an instant, staring down at him, wide-eyed and blanched. Worried for him. She touched his cheek. It was a gentle, platonic, caring touch. It nearly shattered him. He stared up at her, completely at a loss.
“I forgot tornadoes don’t cross open air. Or bodies of water,” she said.
“Tor-nay-doh,” he repeated the foreign word thickly.
“They happen on earth. They happen a lot in the region where I was born. When I was seven, I was sent to the Gaia colony, where the weather is controlled, so I forgot about them. But before that, when I was a little, I had to learn all the safety rules. If you get caught outside and there’s a tornado, you’re supposed to lay down in a ditch.”
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