“Stay here, Yuri,” was all he said before he was gone.
Yuri sat back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest as an entirely new coldness filled her. Thargen was gone, and he’d taken every bit of warmth with him. She was frustrated, confused, and most of all, hurt.
What was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t he just…fuck her? She knew he was attracted to her. She’d seen how he looked at her, how his body reacted to her. But he was holding himself back. Why?
Shivering, Yuri rubbed her arms and moved toward the backpacks. Her sex was slick, aching with arousal, and she couldn’t forget how he’d felt poised there, so close to entering her fully, so close to filling her.
Not helping, Yuri.
With a growl, she opened one of the bags and tugged out some dry clothing. She pulled on the too long pants and overly large shirt, wrapped a second shirt around her shoulders like a blanket, and sat down to wait for Thargen’s return.
The rain’s heavy droning continued outside, louder and more invasive now that she was alone. Flashes of lightning occasionally lit up the interior of the shelter, always followed by ground-rumbling peals of thunder—but the time between the flashes and the booms seemed to be increasing, if only little.
“Damn that hard-headed, cock-blocking, stubborn orc,” she grumbled. “You better come back to me.”
Just like that, worry overpowered all the other emotions roiling within Yuri.
“Please, come back,” she whispered, hugging her legs to her chest.
The forest outside dimmed gradually, and the rain did not relent. It wasn’t long before Yuri’s eyelids were drooping. She struggled to keep them open, to keep waiting, refusing to give in to her body’s need until she knew Thargen was safe, but her fight was short lived. Without meaning to, she lay down and curled up with her arm folded beneath her head.
Sleep claimed her.
Thirteen
Stupid. This is stupid.
Those words had been repeating in the back of Thargen’s mind since he’d left the shelter, but he was only hearing them now—the din in his head had been too great before, his thoughts too chaotic and wild. Not that he could consider much of what had been roaring in his head thoughts; they were instincts, urges, desires, all with little conscious thought involved.
He was standing in front of a tree now, rain pelting his bare skin but doing little to soothe his inner heat. The trunk before him was battered, its bark cracked and broken to reveal the dark, soft wood beneath. Viscous, purple sap oozed from the cracks and ran in slow rivulets along the bark.
When he’d swept Yuri into his arms and run from the river, he’d been concerned about the most immediate dangers—lightning strikes and flooding. He’d seen the destruction wrought by those forces firsthand, and those memories had been just intact enough to motivate him. His only goal had been to get her to shelter. That concern hadn’t extended to his own wellbeing.
He shook his head and shoulders with a growl, spraying water in all directions. Fresh raindrops filled in the cleared space instantly. Tension thrummed in his muscles, and though his heartbeat had slowed from earlier, it was still fast and hard. A dull ache pulsed in his knuckles, which sported a few new cuts, and his balls were tight and uncomfortably full despite having taken himself in hand and pumped his shaft until he hit a jolting, unsatisfying climax. He still felt like he was brimming with enough seed to fill a bucket, and he knew exactly how his mind and body truly wanted to find their release.
Inside his little terran’s sweet, hot, pussy.
Even now, he had to resist the temptation to drop a hand to his groin and fuck his own fist again. But that wasn’t what he wanted, and it wouldn’t help anymore.
He’d punched tree trunks and rocks, had broken branches, and even torn up a few sizeable stones from the ground and heaved them down the slope with all his might. For all its bluster, the storm hadn’t been able to fully mute the snapping wood and thumping rocks. Those acts of violence and aggression—of which even his masturbation could be counted—had dulled his Rage, if only a little. They’d been the equivalent of opening a valve to let off some pressure, a means of delaying the inevitable overload.
Fucking Yuri would’ve been far more complete a release. But he couldn’t let her pay the price for him. He wouldn’t let himself harm her, especially not because Rage—or anything else—demanded he take her.
A burst of lightning lit up the dark clouds and turned the forest into a harsh contrast of stark light and deep shadow for an instant. The thunder that followed several seconds later rumbled right through Thargen’s bones.
How long had he been gone? Even teetering on the edge, in danger of falling into his Rage, he’d not wandered more than twenty or thirty meters from their shelter, but the sky was darker than it had been when he left, and both the air and the rain were noticeably colder. Had it been an hour? Two? Four? He wasn’t accustomed to this planet’s solar cycles, and Rage often made time seem erratic on top of that, turning seconds into lifetimes and hours into minutes.
He shifted his attention back to the battered tree in front of him. The sap, which crept along a millimeter at a time, had continued its slow trek toward the ground. The bark was still broken, wood still cracked and crushed where it had taken the brunt of his fury. Thargen couldn’t quite recall hitting this particular tree, but he had no doubt that he’d done so.
Hruk was a hell of a thing.
Turning away from the tree, he scanned his surroundings. The rain hadn’t let up, pairing with the deepening evening gloom to reduce visibility even further than before. One of the smugglers—or a skeks—could’ve walked by only fifteen or twenty meters away, and Thargen might never have known it. At this rate, it would be too dark after nightfall for even a skeks to see, much less Thargen.
And he’d left Yuri alone this whole time.
He’d left her so he could throw rocks, punch trees, and yank on his cock in the middle of a lightning storm, with smugglers and skeks only a day or two’s walk away and Thargen himself bare-assed and unarmed.
Stupid, that voice insisted.
“Fuck you,” he said, lifting a hand to wipe water from his face and sweep back the strands of hair that had come loose from his braids.
This was stupid, he couldn’t argue that, but when the alternative was to risk seriously injuring the female he he’d come to care about so much, he’d choose stupid every time. There’d never be any hesitation—Thargen would always choose to protect Yuri no matter the danger it might place him in. Besides, he’d put himself in far worse situations for far dumber reasons—usually just to let his Rage peak and burn out.
He clenched his fists at his sides and walked toward the shelter.
Left her in there all alone and cold. Good work, shit-for-brains.
Better than splitting her in half on my dick in a Rage-fueled fuck fest.
Thargen snorted, smiling for the first time since he’d left the shelter. “Would be nice if I could stop arguing with myself.”
But conflict was nothing new; almost every memory he possessed involved some manner of it, usually the sort involving blasters and explosions.
Still, even if he was torn on what was best for Yuri, even if he was torn between his desires and the harsh reality he would face if he were to give in to them, he had no question of his feelings toward her.
Thargen adored his zoani, and that emotion was only growing as time passed.
The clouds strobed with more lightning, illuminating the dirt mound up ahead and making its opening seem impossibly dark compared to the dirt and roots around it. For a moment, the shelter reminded him of the burial mounds some of the vorgal tribes—including his own—had built in their ancient past. His imagination imbued this mound with that mystery, solemnity, and ominousness.
He sped his pace, nearly sprinting across the remaining distance. His Rage was already threatening to resurge, roused by the idea of this being a place of death—and Yuri having been left alone inside.
>
Thargen didn’t slow down when he reached the entrance; he grasped a root, bent forward, and pulled himself through.
The overwhelming darkness inside made his heart quicken—he couldn’t see her, couldn’t see their packs, couldn’t see anything. When his vision finally adjusted, his relief was so great that he nearly collapsed. Yuri was lying on the mossy floor in roughly the same place he’d left her, dressed in dry clothes with a second shirt wrapped around her shoulders.
He forced himself to take in a few steadying breaths. The emotions stirring in him at the sight of her were powerful and complex—far more complex than anything he was used to dealing with. Adoration was still the strongest, but it was mixed now with guilt, regret, desire, concern, and a hundred other things. He’d thought she provided him that simple sense of being alive he’d experienced in combat, but it was so much more than that—far more than he could put into words. Even before they were kidnapped, Thargen had felt a connection to Yuri as deep and powerful as the sort of bond typically born in battle, while waist-deep in mud and blood amidst a deluge of blaster fire, screams, and explosions.
Thargen had been in a lot of fights, had faced many challenges—most of which had put his life in very real danger—but nothing had been as hard as walking away from Yuri earlier. Nothing had been as hard as resisting this small, fragile looking terran.
I’m okay. I got some of it out. Enough of it out.
He filled his lungs with another deep breath and forced himself to hold it for several seconds as he willed away the tension in his muscles, opening and closing his hands, flexing and relaxing his jaw, and rolling his shoulders. He must’ve looked like a damned fool—naked in a hole, stooped over so he wouldn’t hit his head, dripping water all over the ground as he tried to find some shred of inner peace.
The humor in that image wasn’t lost on him; it eased him further, and he exhaled through his nose while chuckling silently.
He found the wet, discarded clothing on the floor nearby, and picked up the shirt to wipe away as much of the moisture from his skin as he could. It wasn’t particularly effective, but it was something, and in situations like this, something was often the best you could do. When he was done, he hung the wet clothes—and the cloth strips he’d wrapped around Yuri’s feet—from some of the exposed roots on the ceiling. Either they’d dry by morning or they wouldn’t; he couldn’t exactly leave them out in the sun right now.
Only then did he allow his attention to return to Yuri. She was still soundly asleep, though she’d curled up a little tighter than before. Was it because of the cold, or subconscious fear and loneliness?
Another pang of guilt struck him—not that pang adequately described something that hit like an industrial freight hauler. It was only made worse by the fact that just looking at her had his cock pulsing again despite everything that had happened. He glanced down at his erection, which was hit with just enough light to make his piercings gleam faintly.
“You’re not helping,” he whisper-growled.
Moving as quietly as he could, he stepped over to the backpacks, crouched, and reached into the open one. He kept his eyes on Yuri as he felt his way through the contents, wincing at every little sound he made. Though he couldn’t explain it, his instinctual drive was to leave her slumber undisturbed; he owed her at least that much.
Finally, after what felt like a breathless eternity, his fingertips brushed against the thick, rough fabric he’d sought—the same material as the pants he’d been wearing earlier. He grabbed hold of it and withdrew it slowly, gritting his teeth as it caught on the other items and offered resistance.
Once again, his mind turned to how ridiculous he must look—crouched in the dark, face set in concentration and alertness, as he tried to silently withdraw pants from a bag.
Would make more sense if I was trying to steal her underwear or something, wouldn’t it?
Heat flared in his chest—and his groin.
Fuck! Abort that line of thought, damn it!
He clenched his jaw harder. This wasn’t a fucking night raid on an enemy encampment, he was just trying to put on some pants before lying down with Yuri. Why was he making it so dire, so complicated? The answer came to him just as the pants finally pulled free.
Thargen froze, and his heartbeat was suddenly loud enough to overpower the drumming rain. He’d watched far too many of those Volturian dramas Razi liked for his own good; they’d started to change his way of thinking.
Because the answer that popped into his head, the reason he was making this such a big deal, the reason he was fighting his desires so hard to keep her safe, was right out of one of those sappy shows—he was falling in love with Yuri.
Maybe I’ve already fallen.
For once, there was no dissenting voice in his head, no argument. He lifted his free hand and pressed his fingers to his right temple, running them over the scars on the side of his head. His mind was silent, and he felt oddly numb. He’d never thought about love before. Even seeing Arcanthus and Drakkal find it with their terran mates, Thargen hadn’t once considered it for himself. It had seemed well outside the realm of possibility.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
He fumblingly pulled on the pants, having to ultimately drop his ass on the ground to force his feet through the openings and get the pants started up his legs. These felt even more snug than the last pair, but he barely noticed. When they were finally on—and his throbbing dick was securely tucked away—he moved to Yuri.
A swelling warmth was radiating out from the center of his chest, chasing away that numbness. Though it was related to the fire of his lust, it was not the same—this was even deeper and more mysterious.
He eased down behind Yuri, who was lying on her side, and scooted close to her. Keeping his movements slow and gentle, he slipped one arm under her head and settled the other over her middle.
She stirred, turning to face him, and curled into his body.
“Thargen?” Her voice was broken and husky with sleep, and so fucking sexy. She placed a hand on his chest and released a slow, deep breath. A second later, that hand fell, and she was asleep again.
The way she was tucked against him, like there was nowhere safer in the universe than in his arms, only intensified the sensation in Thargen’s chest.
This little terran really is going to be my undoing, and I’m not even angry about it.
He smirked. All those big, tough warriors he’d killed over the years probably would’ve been angry to know they’d been bested by a vorgal who himself had been handily defeated by Yuri—a tiny terran who’d probably never even held a real weapon before the crash. Of course, those warriors likely would’ve been more upset about being dead to begin with…
Thargen watched her as the light faded, keeping his eyes open even after darkness engulfed everything and shrouded her from his view. He’d have to add the dark to the list of things he needed to figure out how to effectively punch—just above hallucinatory rivers. It was so dark that his eyeballs itched, but the discomfort was more than a fair price to pay for the brief glimpses of her he was granted by the infrequent flashes of lightning.
Fuck, I want this terran. I want all of her.
He wanted to rut her until all either of them could do was lie there, moaning and panting, utterly spent, and then he would find the strength to take her again anyway. But that couldn’t happen.
Would Thargen have joined the Vanguard if he’d known it would lead to his Rage leaving him like a ravenous beast that was constantly tugging on the corroded chain that was its tether? Would he have followed that path if he’d understood that it would one day mean he couldn’t have the only thing he’d come to crave—no, need—more than anything else?
But that path led you to her in the first place, Thargen. And it’s the only reason the two of you are alive right now. The only reason she is alive.
He drew in a deep breath, taking in her fragrance, which had remained strong despite the many competing scents—
primarily dirt, roots, and rain. His cock was straining against his restrictive pants, but the onset of a sharp ache in his skull overpowered his yearning. Considering what could have been was an endeavor usually reserved for a time long after the gurosh had kicked in, and it was rarely fruitful, presenting tangled webs of potential causes and effects that were particularly troublesome for him to navigate—especially layered atop his already complex feelings for Yuri.
Thargen tilted his head down to settle his lips on her hair. Experience told him that the headache wouldn’t go away any time soon, especially now that it had crept behind his eyes, which already burned with exertion. But he didn’t have to waste time contemplating the complexities of his growing relationship with Yuri; it really was quite simple.
She was his. They’d figure out all the rest eventually. He just needed to tamp down his Rage enough so that he could please her without fear of losing control.
Right now, all that mattered was keeping his eyes open so he could enjoy those fleeting glimpses of Yuri in the purple-tinged glow of alien lightning. He’d lost so many memories from his life before the head wound. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let himself lose a single moment of his time with her—even if it meant he had to punch his own memory right in the face to illustrate the importance of holding onto every second he’d spent with her.
That list of inanimate objects and abstract concepts to punch was getting really damned long, really fast.
The storm continued outside, marking time by the sounds of pouring rain and rolling thunder, but Thargen wasn’t keeping track. He was content to continue existing beyond time and space with Yuri. There were no threats to confront, there was no Rage to resist, no future to worry over and no past to haunt him. He knew this serenity wouldn’t last long. For Thargen, it never did.
When the darkness pulsed with a faint red tint for a fraction of a second, Thargen furrowed his brow and released a confused huff.
Something was wrong.
Red was for blood, or fire, or Rage.
Savage Desire (The Infinite City Book 4) Page 21