Chapter Nine
Night was falling when Mekay wrapped up his questions for Jeannie. Kren held on to the elder’s serene confidence, using it to bolster his own. His guardian was positive that Jeannie would pass the few remaining tests to determine her sentience and possession of Spirit.
Riding home in his dartwing, flying slowly so that the wind wouldn’t chill her unprotected body, Jeannie seemed at ease as she sat jammed between his legs in the cramped cockpit. She had acted delighted to be able to talk to them all. No doubt learning more about the strange world she’d found herself on helped her peace of mind immeasurably. Now that they headed to his dome, Kren wondered if she felt any of the hope and dread he did at the thought of what they’d say to each other once they were alone there.
He had so much to say and no idea how to say any of it.
For the millionth time, he wondered at his attraction to her. He inhaled her scent, leaning his face close to the back of her head so her clean sweetness took precedence over the aromas of the farmlands and woods they passed close to. His body throbbed where her body leaned against his, making him more aware of contact than he’d ever been before. A primal ache pulsed where his masculine drive lived.
He no longer struggled with his desire for the Earthling. It was there. It wasn’t going away. He would have to deal with it since he couldn’t talk himself out of feeling the attraction.
He could live with unrequited desire. Kren acknowledged Jeannie didn’t share his wish to explore their compatibility. He could appreciate that someone who had never come across other sentient beings might struggle with seeing him as a potential sexual partner.
Could she ever feel the desire for contact the way he did? Was there even any point of hoping she’d discover at least a sense of curiosity about him since the Assembly still had to make a decision on her survival?
Kren’s breath caught. The elders could not demand her destruction. He refused to consider the possibility. It was far more likely she would be deemed a real being and sent to live at the temple with the women of his race. Yet even the idea of that small separation made something inside him ache.
He had it bad for her, all right. Kren snorted at himself.
He couldn’t deny sleeping with Jeannie the night before had been a revelation. It had felt so right. So good. So natural to have her curled up against him, her body soft and warm against his. Kren’s chest went tight remembering it.
Her translator-aided voice drifted from his CPP, stored in a pouch on his belt. She wore his helmet, which he’d set up to transmit any conversation. “You’re so quiet. And here I thought that as soon as we were able to talk to each other, we might never shut up.”
She sounded amused, but Kren detected a note of concern as well. He smiled and put his CPP to his lips. “I am thinking too hard. I enjoy having you around. I will miss you when you are sent to live with the other women.”
She turned to look at him, her pretty face drawn in a frown. Did the prospect of separation displease her? Kren found himself hoping so.
They didn’t have the chance to discuss the matter right then. Kren’s dome, the top windows emitting light to navigate by, appeared in the distance. Moments later they set down in front of the building.
Kren assisted her as she squirmed to get out of the craft. He couldn’t help but keep one hand on her arm as she pulled off the helmet. He escorted her to the door, still touching her.
It was barely contact, not sexual in any way. And it wasn’t for lust’s sake that Kren maintained his careful grip below her elbow, guiding her though she didn’t need him to. Touching her made him feel complete, much the way sleeping with her had. He was grateful she didn’t pull away, even though her gaze flicked down to his hand on her arm. He took her slight smile to mean his touch was not unwelcome.
* * *
Why did it feel so good for Kren to guide her to his door?
Jeannie wasn’t sure. She was okay with good manners that said the first person to a door should hold it open for whoever followed, be they men or women. She found it quaintly old-fashioned when an elderly gentleman opened his wife’s car door for her or pulled her chair out at a restaurant. Those outmoded moments were not to be borne from men of her own age. She was sure such gestures were a sign of condescension, not chivalry.
Yet Kren’s hand on her arm, directing her though she was perfectly capable of finding her way down the lighted flagstones, made her feel secure rather than insulted. It felt like he cared. As if he was saying she could rely on him to help her on this strange world. It was welcome enough that she couldn’t bear to shake him off, though she should have. She was not dependent on any person, certainly not any man, but the comfort she took from his touch couldn’t be denied.
He released her once they entered the home. She felt bereft without the contact. Pretending it didn’t matter that much, she followed him into the kitchen. He put the meal Gurnal had prepared for them in the oven, or whatever the Risnarish called their food heating device. As he did so, he chattered without using what Jeannie thought of as his tablet, which would have translated his speech for her. She was about to pull hers out of the belted pouch Mekay had given her when his voice emitted from the air.
“There, that should get it. Do you understand me, Jeannie?”
She smiled. He’d put the translator through his home’s system. She answered, “Loud and clear.”
“This is great, isn’t it? Being able to understand each other, I mean. Let’s eat before I die from hunger.”
As soon as the oven buzzed, he pulled the trays out and carried them to the living room–type area where they’d eaten before. They sat down across from each other and dug into Gurnal’s excellent cooking.
Jeannie watched Kren eat. Damn, when had seeing a guy chew become porn? But the movement of his powerful jaw muscles entranced her, his lips wrapping around the length of moist meat he bit a chunk off of. When juices escaped and ran down his chin, Jeannie fought the urge to spring forward and lick them off.
He caught her staring as he wiped it off with the back of his hand. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, her face burning as she ducked her head. More like everything. Heaven help me, after waking up in your arms and thinking about it all day, I want to roll all over you in the worst way. Or would that be the best way?
Jeannie concentrated on her meal. She repeated in her head alien, alien, alien. Why did she have to keep reminding herself?
After the sharpest edge of hunger had been sated and she’d gotten her species-blind libido to settle down, Jeannie asked Kren, “You mentioned I could be sent to live with the Risnarish women. Why are they kept separate from the men?”
Kren seemed amused by the question, as if Jeannie had asked him something as obvious as why the sky went dark at night. “Women are too different from us. It is not good to have males and females mix all the time.”
Jeannie scowled. “You think of yourself as better than women?”
Kren gazed at her in horror. “Better? By the All-Spirit, how can you think that?”
“You put them in a separate place, away from you—”
“No, no, you have it wrong. Women keep themselves apart.”
It was Jeannie’s turn to be surprised. “It’s their choice?”
“Of course. Why would they want men around all the time, bothering them with our mundane needs?”
Was he kidding? Yet Kren looked at her as if she was the one talking gibberish. Maybe the translator wasn’t working correctly.
“Kren,” Jeannie said. “This is different than how we live on Earth. Why do the women and men stay separated on Risnar? Give me specifics.”
He took a moment to chew his food, but his expression was contemplative as he did so. She could tell he was ordering his thoughts before replying. That was fine. It gave her time to enjoy the view.
When he’d swallowed his mouthful, he told her, “It is known that our women are infused with more of the Spirit than we men. They remain in tune with it. As a result, women are our center, guardians of our natures.”
“Like religious leaders?”
He considered. “You could say that, though men can be spiritual advisors if they feel led in that direction. It’s just that it comes more naturally to women.”
Jeannie soaked that in. “All right, I think I’m following you so far. Go on.”
“We men are more primal. Our temperaments demand we struggle for the serenity that comes so easily to the females. We have not conquered the need to prove ourselves through physical effort. We hunger to overcome. We cannot be still as our women are.”
Jeannie tried to comprehend what he was saying, but the term primal wanted to distract her. She forced herself to pay attention to the conversation. “Do the women treat you as less?”
Kren struggled with that for a moment. In the end, he said, “We are different at our most basic level. They find us hard to understand sometimes, and we feel the same way about them. But we see the good in each other and trust in our opposing strengths.”
“Such as?”
“Risnarish women look to the heart and mind. They take care of us with their sciences, technology, and connection to the All-Spirit. We men tend to lean toward the physical, where strength is needed. We farm the land, maintain the laws, and guard against the Monsuda. We keep the women fed and safe.”
“Are you happy living that way? Apart, except in cases like Mekay and Gurnal?”
Kren started to speak and then paused. For a moment, he looked distressed. Then his expression smoothed and he said with confidence, “The women are too quiet for us. They live in their heads and hearts, where our interruptions are not welcome. On the other hand, the men are too boisterous for many of the women. We want to do, to make things happen. We want adventure and attention paid to our victories.”
Jeannie was starting to get a grip on the Risnarish culture. It seemed to her that they were all one species with two very different philosophies. It left an obvious concern.
“You must get together from time to time.”
Kren nodded. “Of course. We often work together in certain disciplines, such as medicine and research. We gather for discussions relating to our people’s welfare. The Elders Councils that govern the villages are made up of both men and women so that everyone’s needs are addressed. The planet-wide Assembly is the same.”
“And?” Jeannie prodded, giving him a significant stare.
Kren shrugged. His tone flat, he stated, “And to produce children.”
“You make it sound so impersonal.”
Kren chuckled. “Not at all. We men are vetted by the women for the right to procreate. We meet with those ready to bear children. We get to know each other because such a level of intimate sex demands trust.”
“Sex just for babies?” Jeannie ignored a throb of disappointment.
Kren avoided her gaze. “The women also take turns making themselves available to us for our sexual needs. They understand men must have regular release for optimum health. We try to do well by them, because they must need release too.”
For optimum health? The Risnarish idea of sexual relations wasn’t much fun at all. Not that she had sex all that often herself—her trust issues kept such liaisons rare. Yet when she had sex, she enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than for optimum health.
Kren broke into her thoughts. “Your people—the sexes cohabitate?”
He sounded envious. “Most of us pair off, usually a man and a woman. Sometimes men pair with men and women with women, though. Either way, we fall in love and try to stay together. When it works, it is a wonderful thing.”
And sometimes it was deadly. When not angry at her father for deserting his family through suicide, she realized it was love that had made him feel he had betrayed his family. When his business failed, making him unable to provide for a wife and three daughters as he felt he should, he had done the ultimate checkout.
Her mother had been dependent on him for so much more than his paycheck. Her love for him had shattered her, taking all that mattered with him. She’d self-destructed for want of the man she’d adored, diving into the bottle within which she’d drowned.
Love was a grade-A bitch.
Kren’s quiet voice recalled her. “You are not as serene as our women. You look as if you struggle with great fear and hurt.”
“Yeah, well I guess I’m not the blissful being you’ve come to expect,” she answered, tasting the bitterness of too much loss.
“The struggle makes you easy to relate to. Even before we could talk, I felt comfortable with you. I can’t say that about the Risnarish women I’ve known.”
Jeannie looked at him suspiciously. He gazed back, his expression open. Honest. And heartbreakingly wishful, as if he’d glimpsed a thing he’d always wanted but could never have.
It pulled at Jeannie, making her feel she lacked something her soul cried out for. That great need frightened her from asking what she really wanted to know.
Instead she asked, “What about the children? Is it just the women who raise them?”
The hungering expression on Kren’s face disappeared. “Of course not. You met Mekay, who was my guardian. Gurnal was too, but only because he is Mekay’s partner.”
“Oh yeah.” Duh, she thought.
Kren smiled at the way she shook her head at herself. “It’s a good question. As babies, we are with our mothers during the nurturing time. While we are small and require feedings from the breast, we live with them.”
“Once you were weaned, you were sent away from your mother?”
“When we are ready, applicants are screened to become our guardians. Boys are homed with the best possible men, who raise them until they are grown. Same for the girls, except they go to female guardians. But since the women all live at the temple, the girl children are raised by many.”
Jeannie stared at him. “The actual parents of the children—they have no say in this?”
Kren gave her another of the looks that told her she acted too alien. “The biological donors are too young to wisely rear children. Our window of fertility is short, and we are only just taking on adult responsibilities when it happens. When a child is made, the parents are not qualified to raise them.”
“You father these babies and never see them again? You take it for granted they are okay?”
Kren snorted as if he couldn’t believe she’d ask him such a thing. “We are introduced later, when they are around the age of twelve or thirteen. It is exciting to see how a child you’ve created has developed as a person.”
“Do you have children?”
Kren beamed with pride. “My daughter is beautiful and filled with much Spirit. She studies to become a priestess. My son is much like me. His guardian says he has always been curious and active, with a bit of mischievousness. He enjoys prospecting for lost Risnarish artifacts in long-abandoned settlements, much the way I do. We’ve spoken of him joining Arga and me on a trip to hunt treasure together.”
Jeannie didn’t know what to say to all that. After her father’s death and mother’s collapse, she’d decided against having children. No one should suffer for her failings as she’d suffered from others’.
Not only that, she hadn’t trusted anyone with her heart. She refused to fall in love. Kids were never a consideration. Yet it couldn’t be easy to give up a child for others to raise. She didn’t think she would be able to cope with such a thing.
She gave Kren a rueful smile. “Our societies’ values are quite different. Most people I know couldn’t stand not seeing their children until they were adolescents. Some people do give up their children because it’s best for everyone involved. For many, though, giving up their babies would be unthinkable.”
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br /> “Even when others will raise them better? I am grateful knowing that those experienced in the world and past the foolishness of youth have been the role models for my offspring. Their guardians had grown beyond the self-absorption that I and their mother were still plagued with.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t understand the logic of your way. I’m saying that it’s not easy to create a life and let it go. My people, the women in particular, invest a lot of their hearts in the children they carry.”
Her words gnawed at her gut. Her mother had not been so invested in her daughters, had she? The best part of her had run from them, abandoning them to the heartache and confusion when their father died.
Again Kren’s soft tone pulled her out of the dark past. “You look as if you are hurting again. Did you lose a child?”
“No. My father and mother. My father took his own life. My mother couldn’t handle it and decided to hide from reality. It tore my family apart. I lost everyone, and I haven’t felt safe enough to get close to anyone else.”
Jeannie hadn’t meant to share so much. She hated the raw feeling of exposure and couldn’t look at Kren. She didn’t want his pity. All pity did was make her feel more worthless and alone.
He got up and came to her side of the table to share the ottoman seat. When his arms went around her, Jeannie knew she must shove him away. She needed to stand up, put distance between them, show she was still strong and didn’t need anyone.
Instead she leaned against him. Her cheek nestled against his chest. His warmth comforted her. His outdoorsy smell was good, filling her senses with sunshine and growing things. His arms tightened, giving her the sweet illusion of security.
His voice rumbled twice over: once from his throat speaking his indecipherable language, then again from the translation program in familiar English. “I cannot imagine the pain of being without lifelong companions. I have my guardians. Then I met my parents and we get on so well that we remain in each other’s lives. I have my friends, particularly Arga, who I’ve known since we were young.”
Not of This World (Warriors of Risnar) Page 11