by Ruby Dixon
It’s a female.
I think.
Her camouflage is a strange golden color that matches none of her surroundings, and she smacks her lips and rubs her head, shaking out her mane. Her sleepy gaze lands on the beach, and then on R’jaal. Then me.
She pales and her eyes roll back in their sockets. Her body slumps and she disappears back inside the stone-egg.
“What…” R’jaal looks at me, shocked.
I straighten, putting away my knives. I let my camouflage fade to my natural blue and stride forward. “Was that a female?”
He puts a hand to his chest, over his heart. His jaw clenches and he glances over at me. “Mine. She is mine.”
“Do you resonate to her, then?” I wonder why I do not feel possessive for the female. If it truly is one, she is the only female left on this island after the Great Smoking Mountain destroyed our clans and with the death of I’chai. I should claim her for my clan. But I do not feel anything for her.
Surely if she were meant to be mine, I would feel something, would I not?
“No,” he says swiftly. “All the same, she is mine.” R’jaal moves forward, leaning over the edge of the egg to gaze inside at the fallen female. Then, he looks at me and laughs. “There are two!”
Two? My heart thuds heavily in my chest. Two females? Why? Why do they come to us in an egg? Is it…a sign from the ancestors who came to this world in an egg?
I move forward and lean in, scarcely daring to believe R’jaal.
There, nestled inside the egg, lie two females. Both of them are colored all wrong for camouflage. I hold my breath, because they are unmistakably female. They are smaller than sakh females, and far more delicate, and their teats are bloated, but I cannot deny that they are female. Neither one has horns.
They cannot be of the Tall Horn clan, then. I clench two of my fists, counting arms. Only four for both females. Two for each. Not clan Strong Arm then, either. R’jaal reaches out and touches one female’s arm—the dark-maned one that collapsed. Her forearm is smooth and unfurred. Not clan Shadowed Cat, then, either.
I do not care about that female, though.
It is the other one that holds my attention. She is paler than the other, her skin more a strange whitish-pink than the warm gold of the other. Even their camouflage does not match properly. Her mane hangs about her delicate face, and the color of it is pale as well, a rosy reddish-brown instead of the dark black it should be. Her lashes are long and shadow her cheeks and she has the most charming little nub of a nose and a soft pink mouth.
This one is mine.
I feel it surge through me, the intense knowing and covetous feeling of finding something that truly belongs to me. It does not matter how this female got here.
She is leaving with me.
I reach in and gather her in my arms, careful not to harm her. Her head lolls and I put a hand under it to support her, then carefully lift her out, cradling her body against my chest. For a scant moment, I worry she is not breathing, and I hold my own breath until I see her teats rise and fall.
Alive.
Thank the ancestors.
“Wait,” R’jaal says as he lifts the other female out. “They should both go with me. You know the clan rules. Four arms goes to clan Strong Arm. Both of these females have two.”
I bare my teeth at him. He dares to quote the ancestors’ rules at me? “You have that female. This one is mine.” I stroke her hair off her brow, already fascinated by her. It does not matter to me that she is weak and only has two arms. I will protect her and care for her as if she is as whole as any other female.
“There are others in my clan that need mates.”
Rage seethes inside me. He thinks to take what is mine? “I see no horns on your female, friend,” I sneer back at him. “Neither should go with you, either.”
He narrows his eyes at me and cradles his female to his chest. “You cannot have her.”
I do not want her…but I will kill him if he tries to take this one from me. “You have yours. I have mine. I do not care about clan rules.” Clan rules would say that no distinguishing features would go to the Outcast clan, but they are long gone. Just the thought of having to give up my female makes me mad with rage, and I hold her tighter. Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
The word throbs through my mind, as fierce as any heartbeat. I can feel it, pumping through me like blood. Mine. Mine. Mine. This female is mine. That is why I did not care about the other—my heart knew this one was coming to me.
I am not entirely surprised when my khui begins to sing, its tempo matching the beat in my head.
R’jaal’s eyes widen in surprise, and then he nods slowly. “Yours, then.”
“Mine,” I say with fierce pleasure. I resonate to her. No one will ever take her from me.
She is mine and mine alone.
6
K’THAR
Neither myself nor R’jaal are interested in the egg any longer. We part from the beach without another word, each of us carrying off our burdens as quickly as we can. He cannot take my female from me—not with my resonance song thrumming in my breast—but I know he feels vulnerable since he has not resonated to his.
I just want to be alone with my female. I want to look at her, explore her, learn about her.
Awaken her. See her look at me.
I want to hear her khui resonate to mine.
That it has not yet is not troubling to me. She is unconscious and in a deep sleep. Once she wakes up, it will draw her to me as mine is drawn to hers. Resonance is never one-sided. All I have to do is wait.
I carry her as quickly—and as carefully—as I can, moving swiftly down the shore and heading toward the distant treeline. When we are out of the open, I set her gently down in the shade of a large fern underneath one of the tallest trees. Here, she will be sheltered from any patrolling skyclaw or wandering kaari. I kneel down beside her and touch my fingers to her chin, tilting her head toward me.
She yet sleeps. Is she sick? My worried gaze flicks over her. She breathes shallowly, but she breathes. Her skin is unnaturally pale and when the fern fronds ripple their shadows over her, she does not change colors to adapt. I do not understand. Even the youngest of kits knows from the day it leaves its mother’s body that it must camouflage to survive. I worry that something deep inside her is broken, that I have found my mate only to lose her.
“No,” I murmur, and take her small hand in my own. “You are mine. Now that I have found you, you will wake up and you will join me. We will make many kits together and work to bring our clan back to greatness.” I press her palm to my mouth, breathing in the scent of her skin. She smells like the salty waters of the sea and something else, something sweet and wholly her. I notice as I press my face against her skin that she does not react to my nearness either.
I also notice…she has an extra finger.
Odd. I examine her other hand and she has one there, too. A birth anomaly? Like our clans with the identifying features? It’s been said that sometimes a member of the Tall Horn clan would be born with four arms, or the furred skin of the Shadowed Cat clan, and the kit would be taken from his family and given to the correct clan. I have never heard of someone being born with extra fingers, however.
Nor have I heard of anyone camouflaging to such a strange color and staying there.
Again, I wonder if she is ill. I touch her face gently, caressing her cheek and brow. I press my ear to her chest, but I can hear nothing through the strange things she has covered her body with. Perhaps these are the problem? Maybe they are why her camouflage does not seem to be working.
I need to take them off of her. Then I can better gauge what is ailing her.
I run my hands along her arms, looking for a way to pull these strange skins off of her. They smell like hide, and I worry they are connected to her somehow and that removing them will harm her. When I tug at them, though, it does not seem to pain her. I move my hands u
nderneath the hides, searching for an attachment to her skin of some kind, but all I feel is softness underneath.
Just touching her makes my cock ache in a way I have never felt before. It becomes too much to bear and I pull my hands back, closing my eyes and breathing hard as I strive to contain myself.
A resonance mate is the greatest gift. I have been told that over and over again. I thought I would never experience it, not after the death of the Great Smoking Mountain and the decimation of the clans. I thought it was something lost to the past, like family and a life of ease and the great competitions. I thought all hope had been lost with the deaths of so many.
Now, for the first time…I feel hope once more. Perhaps the sakh are not doomed to die with the remnants of our clans. Perhaps there is more to look forward to than merely existing.
I touch her cheek again, already fascinated by her. I have not felt this strongly for anyone or anything since the mountain’s death. I crave touching her. Is this how other resonance mates have felt? Or do I only feel this way because she is the first mateable female I have seen in so many turns of the seasons? I saw the other female at the same time R’jaal did, though, and felt nothing for her.
It is this one that holds that special spark. There is something about her that my body, my khui, instinctively recognize as mine.
Satisfied that these skins are merely decoration, I take one of my knives and cut them off of her limbs, revealing more pinkish-pale skin. Her arms are thin and strangely unmuscled, as if she has never climbed a vine or a cliff in her life. Where did she come from, I wonder, that such things are not needed? Unless she has been sick for a very long time. I squeeze her upper arm again, checking. She is strangely flabby here but the muscles do not feel tight, just soft.
Perhaps whoever she lived with before did not allow her to leave their cave. Perhaps even now, she is escaping them.
But how did she get into the egg? Why is she covered in such strange things?
Why is she pink?
I continue cutting the layers off of her body. There is another strange band of leather across her teats. She cannot be nursing. I would not resonate to a female that is already taken. Another sign of illness? I cut the band off and her teats spring free, full and bouncy.
Shocked, I sit back on my haunches, studying her form.
I…have not seen this before.
My cock, already stiff, grows harder yet. I give it a quick swipe before pushing it back under the leafy loincloth I wear. This is no time to be thinking about mating. My mate is sick, clearly.
Certain parts of her are…swollen.
Is this why she bound them? To reduce the swelling? I touch one hesitantly, squeezing the flesh. It does not feel hot with fever. The tips are a darker shade of pink than the rest of her skin, but they do not feel flushed either.
When I touch her there, though, she moans and the little tips tighten.
I snatch my hand back. Clearly they are tender. I see no other signs of infection, though. No cuts, no bruises, no markings or red angry lines that suggest her flesh is full of sickness. I touch behind her ears, and the nodes there are not swollen, either. If this is an infection, it is a very odd one.
I think of I’chai. Her teats swelled when her kit was born, but never as large as this, or as full. I did not think twice about her body, yet I find I cannot stop staring at the pink tips of this female’s chest and the way her teats jiggle ever so slightly with her breathing.
I do not know what to make of this…or my own reaction. I should be thinking of nothing but her health and instead, I keep thinking of mating. Of what it would feel like to pull her up on her haunches underneath me and sink into her body…
With a hiss, I jerk to my feet and close my eyes, storming away a few steps to gather my thoughts. It is because this is all very new to me. I was nothing but a stripling when the mountain died. I entertained thoughts of flirting with females at the next gathering, perhaps taking one to my furs to learn pleasures…but those days never came.
Now my cock wants to make up for lost time.
I am never going to be able to help her if I cannot concentrate. Perhaps I need to relieve my body so I can focus on my mate entirely.
It is a good idea, I think. I place one hand upon the nearest tree to steady myself and push aside my leafy loincloth, freeing my cock. With the image of her in mind, I begin to stroke myself with precise, slow strokes, imagining her body under mine.
It feels shameful to spend myself at the thought of infected, swollen teats and pink flesh…and yet I have never come so hard in my life, nor has it felt so good. With a low groan, I spill my seed onto the leaves of a nearby fern. My seed is strangely thick and milky, unlike the usual clear spend. Odd.
My cock still aches even after I shudder with my release. Once more, then, and then I will be able to concentrate.
LAUREN
My eyes flutter open to the sight of tall, leafy green trees overhead and shadows dancing over my skin.
Am I…home? In a park?
Am I on drugs? Because I don’t understand how I went from a winter planet to a tropical paradise, but here I am. Leaves rustle in the warm breeze and I can hear the distant sound of the ocean. The surreal feeling continues, but when I press a hand to my forehead, I feel…well, I feel like me. I ache all over and I swear I’m going to have saltwater in my nasal cavity for weeks, but this doesn’t feel like a dream. I feel too sore and smell too sweaty for it to be a dream.
I rub my face and that’s when I notice that I have no sleeves. Or any shirt at all…. I’m topless, my long, fur-lined tunic given to me by Liz is gone, only my leggings and boots remaining. I vaguely remember stripping off my outer furs when Marisol pulled me from the water. Did I take the rest off in my sleep, then? But how did I get here? I squint up at the trees, wondering if my eyes deceive me.
They really do look like trees. Jungle trees.
A groan from nearby makes me glance over. I do, and then I suck in a breath, startled.
There’s a man standing nearby, his back to me. He’s completely naked, his tail flicking back and forth across light blue, very tight buns. He’s got the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen, and the broadest back, with muscles that go on for days. As I watch, his arm pumps in a way that can only mean one thing.
He’s…jerking off.
What the fuck.
Is he why I’m topless? Was I being molested while I slept? Horrified, I search the ground and see my tunic nearby. I snatch it, only to realize that it’s been cut to ribbons. I gasp, my gaze flicking back to the man.
He stiffens, and in that moment, he…disappears.
I blink my eyes repeatedly, not entirely sure of what I’m seeing. It’s like he faded away right before my eyes. I close my eyes and press on the lids, wondering if the seawater I inhaled—or the horrid headache I have—is causing my eyes to play tricks on me. They’ve been getting better day by day, but people just don’t disappear.
I rub them hard and then open them again.
The man is there again, the pale blue color of his skin standing out against the leafy trees that surround us. Okay, my eyes are being weird. That must be it. I give my head a little shake to clear it and it throbs in response. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replies. It’s clear that he’s one of the blue people—the sa-khui, though his horns seem to be smaller than everyone else’s, and his color a little lighter. I guess that shouldn’t be surprising, since I’ve seen that the others come in a billion different shades of blue, just like Earth people come in all kinds of shades of white and gold and brown. Still, there’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s got a bit of a five o’clock shadow, like his face has a hint of scruff to it. Maybe it’s that his teeth aren’t sharp like the other sa-khui. Or maybe it’s because I caught the freak jerking off while I was sleeping.
I focus on the trees instead. It’s green here, leafy and verdant and completely unlike anything I’ve ev
er seen before. I feel a little betrayed at the sight of it, actually. For the last week or so, the entire tribe’s been filling our head with tales of how cold it is on the ice planet, how bitter the snows are and how it just gets worse, not better. This place? This is paradise. It’s like finding Hawaii in the middle of the Arctic.
And it makes no sense, just like finding a stranger jerking off makes no sense.
I hold the destroyed remnants of my tunic to my chest protectively. “Where am I?”
“Whry’m’yyy,” the man replies, voice thickly accented. He squats down next to me and I can’t help but notice that he’s naked. Really, really naked. Well, no, I take it back. He’s not completely naked—he’s got a knife-belt slung over one shoulder. That’s it. And um, he’s not exactly built like human guys. Wow, this is awkward. I want to stare at everything he’s got dangling between his thighs, but that seems rude. I freeze my gaze upward…
And I realize when he reaches out to touch my face that he’s got a lot of hands.
Like, a lot of them.
It takes me a moment before I realize he has four arms.
“Um.” I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again, wondering if I’m seeing double. When the four arms remain, I glance up at his face, studying it for any other doubles. Wouldn’t he have two noses if I was seeing double? But there’s only one. His broad face is handsome in an alien sort of way, but he’s definitely only got the one nose. “I don’t remember anyone having four arms…” I wonder if it’s even polite to bring it up. I change tactics. “Are you with the rest of the tribe? That’s back in the village?” Vektal and the other blue guys talked about their families back in a stone village on the far side of the mountains.
I’m pretty sure no one mentioned four arms, though.
Or trees.
“B’c veeh l’sshh?” he echoes, garbling my words. His brow furrows as he watches me, as if trying to understand what I’m saying, and I realize he doesn’t speak English.