by Ruby Dixon
Tiffany’s also really good at leaving an impression, it seems, because Taushen still views her as his perfect woman. Dark skin. Dark hair.
Damn it all, why do I care?
I shouldn’t. I should feel sorry for him that he’s in love with a happily mated woman. Instead, I just want to cheerfully choke someone at the thought of her smiling at him.
I told myself I didn’t care. That we were just friends. But as I toss and turn in my bunk that night, I think it’s pretty clear to me that we aren’t—and can’t be—just friends. Because I keep thinking about how sweetly he touched my hair and stroked my cheek as I lay under him. I think about the tender way he called me his mate. I think raunchier thoughts, too, like when he pulled my hair while he was deep inside me and I freaking loved it, and when his spur pushed against my back door and I loved that, too.
Really regretting my whole freakout and the “can we just be friends?” thing. This is new to me. It’s not just that we’re friends and I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone. It’s the added complication of him wanting more and me pushing him away and demanding nothing more than companionship. It was my choice, and he’s given me what I wanted.
For all intents and purposes, he’s moved on.
Me? I’m stuck. I keep thinking about that night and wondering if it was incredible because of the drugs or incredible because of the man. I won’t know unless we have sex again. Because mind-blowing sex with my best friend? It might be the best thing ever. It might be…perfect. I might be in love.
But do I ruin what we’ve got by trying to push things in the direction of lovers once more? Or will he think I’m blowing hot and cold and get mad at me? If only he’d give me a signal of some kind, I could know which way to turn.
Of course, him telling me that Tiffany is his perfect woman is a signal. But I’m going to choose not to think of it that way. He liked me before. Maybe it was just his dick talking post-sex, but it’s a shot. I can turn him from Tiffany, I think. She’s mated and off the market, and I’m right here.
All I need to do is show him what he’s missing out on. I think.
I hope.
19
TAUSHEN
“Where do you want to go next?” I ask Brooke the following morning. She is unusually quiet, purple smudges underneath her eyes that speak of a sleepless night. Does she worry over something? I want to make it better for her, and I itch to pull her against my chest and stroke her mane to comfort her. I want to protect her from the world, but I know that will only make her snarl at me and declare that she is fine and she does not need protecting. So I try a different tactic. “The great salt lake? Or somewhere else?”
“I suppose we should head in that direction soon,” she muses, yawning and running a hand through her tangled mane. “Someplace with a bath. My hair feels grimy.”
I chuckle. She is obsessed with her mane, my Brooke. And mine, too, come to think of it. There is not a day that passes that she does not take the opportunity to plait new designs in her mane and in mine. Today my mane has been dragged into two thick tails that twist into several smaller ones. It matters not to me, but she is pleased with the look. “If all you wish is a bath, there is a hot stream nearby.”
She perks up. “Really?”
I nod. “We can go there after we eat, if you like.”
“I’d love to. And then I guess we can head toward the ocean.” She looks thoughtful. “How far away do you think we are?”
I shrug, because I can make the journey last as long as it needs to. “If we run the entire time, four days?”
Brooke stares at me. “How about if we take our time and sightsee and avoid running at all costs?”
I cannot help but grin at that. “Because you hate sweating?” It is another thing I have learned about Brooke. She makes unhappy noises when her body musk grows stronger and makes a big deal of washing her underarms every night and rubbing sweet-scented herbs on them. I think she smells lovely, but she does not wish to hear such things.
“Bitch, please. You try and run in snowshoes.” She gives an adorably indignant snort. “Then we can talk about who’s sweating and who’s not.”
“This bitch will be happy to take you for a bath, then.”
A startled giggle bursts out of her, and my sac tightens in response. I am filled with longing for her. “Oh my god, that’s so cute. You called yourself bitch.”
“Should I not? You called me bitch.” I move to the front of the cave to grab a bowlful of snow to toss onto the fire.
“Bitch is insulting, but lovingly so.” Brooke chuckles.
“Humans have strange language.” I ignore the way my heart hammers at her description. Lovingly so. “Drink your tea fast, then, bitch.”
“Oh boy. No, you can’t use it like that.”
“But—”
“Trust me. You can’t call me bitch unless you’re a girl…or you like cock. I guess it’s all right then, too.”
I scowl as I dump the snow onto the fire. “What does liking cock have to do with ‘bitch’? I like my cock just fine. It is a very nice one.”
“Oh, my sweet, innocent Taushen.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “There are so many ways to answer that.”
As we pack our things to leave the hunter cave, we continue talking. I tell her of my parents and their rare three-mating. I had two fathers, though only one resonated to my mother, and all three shared the furs together up until the khui sickness took them all from me. She is fascinated by how I had three parents and asks all kinds of questions, and it feels good to speak of them again, to share their memory with another. She tells me of her own childhood and how it was less happy. How her father was not mated to her mother and how her mother opened something called a “cray-deet card” in her name when she was a child and ruined her “cray-deet” before she was an adult. I do not understand what she means, but it is clear that she is unhappy about it. She tells me how she had no one to help her and yet she learned her trade of playing with manes and could make a living at it. There is pride in her voice as she speaks, and even though I do not understand the things she tells me about, I know it meant a lot to her.
I am about to tell her what a strong, brave female she is when she exclaims and puts a hand to her brow, peering ahead. “Is that the stream?”
“Likely.” Though I want nothing more than to watch her expressive face, I turn my focus ahead, my spear in hand. I must ensure that the area is safe. Because there are fresh, running waters, that means there will be predators watching for a nearby dvisti herd or perhaps snowcats who approach to pluck the waiting fish curled against the bank, basking in the heat. Or worse, metlak, though we have not seen many on our journey. “Stay behind me,” I caution her. “Keep a weapon at the ready just in case.”
“Gotcha.” She does not ask questions, just pulls out her small bone knife, a fierce expression on her face.
I move ahead, my spear in hand, ready to grab my belt-knife if I must. The snow here is fresh and untouched, though, not a single track other than the ones we make. I scan the area, but there is nothing, and no nearby overhanging cliffs where a snowcat can drop onto us. It seems to be safe enough. I cautiously approach the waters, seeing a few scattered fang-fish that have their feelers arching up from the water’s surface.
“Clear,” I tell her. “Let me ready the water for you.” I take a handful of soapberries from my pouch and crush them in my hand, then scatter the sludge through the stream. After a moment, the fang-fish rouse from the banks and swim downstream, away from my location. It is something I have done time after time, but there is still a certain amount of satisfaction in watching them flee. I watch them go, and then turn to Brooke. “You can…”
Words die in my throat. I watch, mute, as Brooke strips her leathers off with slow, sensuous motions. She does not look at me, her eager gaze on the water.
“I’m so ready to bathe, you have no idea,” she tells me, even as she flings aside her tunic into the snow, revealing
I blink at her. For days on end, we have been careful around each other to ensure that we remain friendly. We dress under our furs, we give each other privacy when it is time to handle the body’s needs, and we do not mention anything that would make the other uncomfortable.
So this is…unexpected.
It should not matter. My people are free with their bodies, and I have seen many—if not all—of the tribe in various states of undress. When you have a communal bathing pool, you see people, young and old, in nothing but their skin. But this is Brooke. Brooke, who makes sure her teats are covered at all times. Brooke, who smiles at me softly from the other side of the fire and asks me what my ideal mate looks like. Brooke, who told me I talked filthy even as she demanded I drive my cock into her.
Brooke, who holds my heart in her small, five-fingered hands and does not even realize it.
She reaches for the laces at the front of her teat-band and then pauses, tilting her head at me. “Are you going to wash up, too?”
It is strangely difficult to swallow. “Yes,” I manage after a moment. But I need to wait until she turns away so she does not see how hard my cock is. Somehow I do not think she will see that as just friendship.
She turns her back to me with a little smile on her lips and undoes the band. Down it goes to the ground, and then she shimmies out of her long leather skirt, giving me a long look at her rounded, pink bottom. It is just as bouncy as her teats, and I am fascinated by the bareness of it and the way her hips swing as she saunters into the waters.
“So warm,” she moans, and raises her arms above her head to her hair. I catch a glimpse of the side of one rounded teat as she does so, and then she sinks deeper into the waters.
I am sweating.
We are friends, I remind myself. Nothing more.
“Aren’t you coming in? It feels so good.”
“Soon.” As soon as my cock goes down. Unfortunately, if she keeps using that sultry voice, it will not be happening speedily.
She turns her back to me, and I take the opportunity to rip my leathers off, practically tripping over my own two feet in my haste to get into the water. I manage to tumble in with a splash, but luckily my leathers do not follow me in. I hear Brooke’s laughter as I push my sodden mane out of my eyes. “In a hurry?”
“Tripped,” I tell her, lying.
Brooke puts her hand out, her teats barely hidden by the lapping water. “Soap?”
Ah. Yes.
I straighten and wade over to the bank, where I have more soapberries in my pouch. Even as I do, I feel a hand grab ahold of my tail, and I nearly explode, on the verge of losing all control. “You going to clean this dirty thing?” Brooke teases. “Or you want me to do it for you?”
I close my eyes, because the thought of Brooke rubbing her hands up and down my tail is too much for this hunter to bear. “Fine. I am fine,” I tell her thickly. “I can clean myself.”
“Oh, fine,” she says, a playful pout in her voice. “You’re no fun.”
“I am not,” I agree. Not today. Not while I am thinking about things that a friend should not.
Brooke gives a sigh and takes a few soapberries from my outstretched hand, ignoring the pouch I offer her. She crushes them between her fingers and then raises her hands to her mane once more, and this time, I can almost see the pink tips of her teats as they rise out of the water.
It does not seem possible, but I am still sweating.
She is oblivious to reaction, though, her focus on her mane and then sweeping the suds up and down her arms. I have learned a lot about Brooke over the past turn of the moon. That her smiles do not always mean she wants something. Sometimes she is just playful. That she does her best to put me at ease, and that even when she is angry, her anger is fleeting and can be easily swayed with a small gift. She is full of love and happiness, my Brooke, and I crave her so much that it makes my spirit ache.
Now, I tell my khui. Look at how lovely she is. How her teats would be perfect to nurse a kit. How her smiles bring such joy. Does she not deserve a mate? Am I not the best one for her?
My khui does not agree, though, because it remains silent. Despair threatens to overwhelm me again. Why, of all the hunters, did I have to get the khui that wishes nothing more than to slumber in my breast? Why will it not claim a mate?
More importantly, why will it not claim Brooke? She is everything I have ever wanted and she holds my heart in her grasp. I need her. She should be mine.
“Wow, you’re having some deep thoughts for a bath,” Brooke’s light, bubbling voice breaks into my thoughts. “You’re frowning hard at those soapberries.” She gives me another playful look, her mane nothing but spiky foam atop her head. “You should spend less time scowling and more time washing.”
I nod and grab a few berries from the pouch, then toss the rest on the shore. With a squeeze, I crush the berries and then rub them up and down my arms furiously, then scrub at my face and horns, determined to forget about her. Forget about the need for a mate. I cannot dwell on what I cannot have, or I will go mad.
But then Brooke grabs at my tail again. “You’re not washing.” Her fingers trail up my tail and land at the small of my back, and I remain completely still in the hopes that she will put her hands in less…polite places. “You sure you’re okay?”
What to say? That her touches make me crazed? That every morning, I contemplate flinging her down onto the furs and putting my mouth on her cunt until she grabs my horns and begs for more? That if she touches my tail again, I might not be able to control myself?
Then I will lose our friendship. I will have nothing of Brooke, not even her sweet smiles. She will hate me once more, and that I cannot bear.
“I am thinking about the great salt lake,” I tell her instead. “And what Vektal will do to me when he finds I have stolen you away. He has had many, many nights to think about it.”
“Oh stop,” she tells me, and her hands slide up my back.
I stiffen, waiting. Waiting for her to touch me as a lover touches another. Waiting for her to give me a signal that yes, she wants to be more than friends.
But she only swipes at a fluffy pile of suds on my shoulder and begins to spread them across my skin, washing me. My Brooke, my mate in my heart, is washing my body.
It is the best thing I have ever felt and makes me hungry for so much more at the same time.
“Want me to do your front?” she asks, whispering in my ear.
If she does, I will not be able to control myself. “No,” I choke out. “I do not.”
She pauses, and then I hear her swim away. “All righty,” she says, voice as cheery as ever.
I scrub at my skin hard, wondering if any male has ever been so tortured.
20
BROOKE
Was ever a man so clueless?
All afternoon, I’ve been testing the waters—so to speak—to see how Taushen would react if I flirted with him. To see if there’s interest at all. And after an afternoon of tossing my hair, using my sultriest laugh, swinging my hips, and generally working him with my magic…
I have no freaking clue.
The man hasn’t given me a single hint that he’s attracted to me. He ignores my attempts to be sexy. He answers my teasing questions with brief, practically surly answers. And he completely shut me down in the stream earlier when I tried to make bathing sexy. Hell, I practically shoved my naked, wet tits in his face and all he did was scrub himself and look at the horizon like he was the most put-upon guy ever.
Gotta admit, it didn’t do much for my ego.
It’s weird because…I really thought he liked me. I have to admit it hurts my feelings that I can’t get him to notice me. I’ve never had that problem in the past. I don’t have a great face, but I do have large boobs and I know how to use ’em. In the past, I could get any guy to notice me. This one? I might as well be a nun.
It’s all the more confusing because of our past together. I remember Taushen holding me close and declaring that I was his mate. I remember how he touched me. Has he…already moved on?
Jesus, the thought’s a depressing one.
I’m not the kind of girl that gives up, though. That evening, when we set up a fire in a hunter cave, I watch his tail flick against the ground, over and over, like an annoyed cat. Hmm. I study him, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he annoyed at how things went in the stream earlier? Trying to be polite in the face of my cat-in-heat mentality? Wondering how to let me down gently?
Somehow that thought annoys me most of all, so I decide to try another tactic.
Sexy feeding.
It works in the movies, after all. I’ve never tried it before, but it’ll allow me to watch his face this time, because scrubbing his back and guessing his expression didn’t exactly get me places. Of course, what we’re eating makes the “sexy” part a little more difficult. I watch, wincing as Taushen cuts a slit into the belly of the quill-beast and then begins to carefully peel back the skin from the flesh, using his thumbs. Eeesh. Every time I see an animal skinned, it doesn’t get any easier to put it in my mouth. It makes it doubly hard considering that the sa-khui like their meat raw.
Playing it safe never gets a girl anywhere, though. I tell myself that, even as he finishes skinning it and removes the organs so he can make a broth from them later. I wait for him to wash his hands and wipe them clean, and then he begins to cut our dinner into bite-sized chunks for cooking. Before he can skewer them, I put my hand on his. “Wait.”
Taushen gives me a curious look. “What is it?”
“You’ve waited on me all day. I think it’s time I return the favor.”
“Eh?” He glances down at the food he’s preparing and then back at me. “You wish to cook my food for me?”
“No, silly.” I take the chunk of raw meat he’s just cut and hold it up to his lips. “I’ll feed you, though. You can just relax and enjoy.” I make my voice drop to a sexy note and give him a winning smile, even as I press my arms against my sides so my tits plump out. “Sound good?”
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