by Lexi Ander
“No, you cannot touch him right now,” Akirá cautioned. “And when he’s finished, he’ll need Sūnder.”
Though reluctant, Ronan let Akirá draw him away, giving Gabe and Sūnder space. His chest constricted with the realization that Gabe didn’t need him anymore. He’d been protecting his best friend for so long, he hadn’t realized how hard it would be to watch someone else take his place. Perhaps Sūnder would allow him to continue, but for both of them together. Ronan was a sentinel; he didn’t know what else to be. Slorèx certainly didn’t need human-trained nurses.
Standing next to Akirá, Ronan gave witness as Gabe finally finished throwing up. Sūnder pulled Gabe possessively into his arms. When the doctor proclaimed Gabe would be all right with liquids and rest, Ronan retreated, knowing he wasn’t needed. Strangely, Akirá fell into step beside him. Not wanting to be alone, Ronan didn’t ask why.
“Come in for a drink?” Ronan asked when they stopped outside his assigned cabin. It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that he realized how cliché the question was, but it wasn’t as if he had anything else to offer Akirá.
“I would love one.”
He was a little surprised by the acceptance, especially with how Ronan had acted the last time they’d been alone, in Gabe’s loft. As he asked Akirá what he wanted to drink, Ronan pressed his hand against the scanner, and once his identification was processed the door swished open. The cabin was nice for a warship, the air clean instead of stale from disuse. The furniture was draped in warm tones—and made with a Panthrÿn’s size in mind, so the pair of chairs were large for him, as was the bed fitted to the far corner.
The carpet gave deliciously under his feet as he moved to the very small kitchen, which held only a cooler unit that dispensed drinks, and some counter space he imagined would store some of his favorite treats before they left Earth. Once there, Ronan busied himself ordering up a couple of drinks from the beverage machine for him and Akirá, too afraid to look at the male he’d been lusting after for the last few weeks. The same male he’d recently attacked without provocation.
Stirring a healthy dose of cream into the tea Akirá had requested, Ronan said, “I need to apologize for attacking you and accusing you of… what I did. It was unprofessional of me to make assumptions without gathering all the facts. I lost my temper, which doesn’t excuse my actions.”
The heat at his back told Ronan that Akirá had crossed the room, the quietness of his steps unsurprising in a warrior of Akirá’s skill, and his body came alive. Ronan almost leaned back into that warmth, but quickly aborted the thought. He didn’t know where he stood with Akirá yet. After what he’d pulled at Gabe’s loft, he wouldn’t be surprised if Akirá had lost all trust in him.
“Your first thought was to protect the faeborn. After what you saw, I cannot blame you for believing the worst of me. Considering we spent less than a dozen galas dancing around each other and our attraction, you had to have felt betrayed. I wish I had known who you were before then. Perhaps it would have changed things… Although I don’t know that I would have involved you in the duplicity of my mission with Tālia; my assignment was supposed to be covert. But we cannot go back and undo what happened.” Akirá let out a soft, rueful sigh, his breath tickling the back of Ronan’s neck.
A shiver worked its way up Ronan’s spine. How would the last week have played out if he’d known the male he searched out at the galas was the same one he’d been negotiating with? Would he have allowed himself to indulge in the attraction he felt, or would he have pushed it behind him and put his duty first?
“Tell me, Ronan, am I mistaken, or was your arousal at the River Walk for me?” Ronan’s eyes closed when Akirá pressed his nose into the side of Ronan’s nape and inhaled deeply. He desperately wanted Akirá to keep touching him. Was it his imagination that Akirá was just as hungry for him? “Is what I scent now for me?”
He relaxed back into Akirá’s hard chest. Aroused. Afraid. “Yes,” he confessed, shuddering when Akirá rested his hands on Ronan’s hips. He tilted his head to the side, giving Akirá better access, groaning softly at the gentle nuzzle he received in response.
Many people, even Gabe, thought he was a bit of a playboy when it came to dating because he didn’t keep any one person around for long. He refused to date someone within the secret neighborhood the elders lorded over; they might keep everyone safe, but Ronan didn’t want the elders meddling in his business any more than they already did. Despite feeling awkward and out of place every time he dated a human, Ronan had still tried. But secrets ruined trust, and his life bred them. Perhaps he was too picky; his family often accused him of being purposely difficult. He wasn’t, not really. He just sensed there was more out there for him, perhaps even someone who understood him. Which was what he’d told himself when he’d needed an excuse to investigate the Festival. Although initially frustrated by the polite competition for the attention of the Chándariān attendees, he wouldn’t have spoken to Akirá otherwise. The male was as intimidating as he was magnificent. With each passing gala, Ronan’s admiration and friendly banter had been returned.
Together, he and Akirá had watched from the sidelines as the galas unfolded, sharing ideas on how to make the meet-and-greet better without sacrificing the comfortable, casual air. After several meetings with Akirá, Ronan began dressing to impress him, no one else. But he could sense his chances with Akirá slipping away, and this was the reason for his boldness before everything became muddled between them.
“What you said at the River Walk Gala, about you being where you wanted to be,” Akirá’s words were hushed, as if he were afraid to spook Ronan, “do you still mean that? Are you where you want to be right now?”
Ronan covered Akirá’s hands with his own, moving them from his hips to wrap around his waist. Dear God, that silky robe Akirá wore hid nothing. He swallowed hard. “I kept telling myself to leave you alone, that I was working, but I couldn’t help myself. I loved talking to you. Listening to you laugh made me forget my problems for a while. When I finally acknowledged that I wanted to see more of you, I didn’t know if I could. Whether you’d be willing to wait, or to help.”
“Working for your people, getting them safely to Slorèx, and then finding ways to protect them once there: those were, no, are your priority.” Akirá already knew Ronan too well.
Akirá was the first potential lover to know what Ronan was. The novelty of being able to share himself, all of himself, was heady. He didn’t have to hide or lie. And here, Akirá not only knew but more importantly, he understood and supported Ronan. Akirá’s acceptance seemed too easy.
“Yes. The conflict with the L’fÿns was turning out to be a much larger obstacle than I’d thought it would be, and I hesitated at drawing you into the middle of a conflict. Besides, I didn’t know how to make us work and still do my duty. Even now, you’re not just a paladin. Damn, Akirá, you’re the Holy Paladin. How can that not come between us?” Akirá’s responsibilities would keep him in the Shattered Lands, and Ronan’s would restrict him to the Jade Forest. They might as well live on separate planets. Even if Akirá stayed with Ronan for a while, Ronan imagined Akirá’s near celebrity status would often take him away.
Ronan allowed Akirá to turn him around, his grasp on Ronan still gentle. He forgot his hesitancy when he looked Akirá in the eyes. He’d never stood this close, where he could see the yellow-gold flecks in Akirá’s green orbs. The fur on his face was short and looked like it would feel like velvet. Akirá’s lips weren’t made for kissing, which Ronan didn’t mind because he didn’t care for it anyway—many of his lovers had accused him of keeping his distance, his refusal or reluctance to kiss putting a wall between them—but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to taste or explore a lover. He absolutely loved prolonged skin-to-skin contact.
“The title only has bearing to a very few,” Akirá said, his gaze intent on Ronan. “I gave up any other status I held when I stepped into the inner sanctum.”
; “To serve your people?”
Akirá nodded.
“But they still know who you are by sight alone.” Ronan reached up and stroked Akirá’s left horn. He ran his fingertips lightly along the thick, spiraling horn, noting the curved ridges every couple of finger lengths, until he reached the sharp tip at the end. “Your clan is the oldest, and the only ones to bear the noble spikes. I doubt your people have forgotten your lineage. Bringing justice to those who’ve been wronged is an honorable endeavor.”
“And a lonely one,” Akirá replied. “I get tired of coming home to a quiet house, of crawling into a cold bed. I’ve recently come to realize that I want more. Need—” Akirá’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into Ronan’s caress of his horns. When he opened them again, Ronan met Akirá’s determined gaze. “What about you? What sacrifices have you made in the name of duty? Who welcomes you home at the end of the day? Family? Friends?”
“I have Gabe.”
“He isn’t home for you.” Akirá leaned down and pressed the tip of his black, triangular nose against Ronan’s temple, the flesh cool and dry to the touch. The curve of his fang grazed Ronan’s cheek, and yes, Akirá’s facial pelt felt like velvet.
Unable to resist, Ronan did some nuzzling of his own, nudging Akirá’s chin with his nose, where the mane was longer and white but just as soft. Goose bumps traveled up his spine when Akirá’s claws scraped over the nape of his neck before Akirá cupped the back of his head.
“What are you doing, Ronan?” Akirá’s low, husky voice lit a fire in Ronan’s belly.
“What I’ve wanted to do for a very long time now. Do you wish me to stop?”
The hand that still rested on Ronan’s hip gripped him more tightly, as if Akirá thought Ronan would pull away, even as Akirá shook his head. Ronan pulled back slightly to get a better look at Akirá. Longing shone in the luminous depths of Akirá’s green eyes. Ronan couldn’t resist cupping Akirá’s jaw and running his thumb over the soft speckles on Akirá’s cheek.
The pelt from the bridge of Akirá’s nose up along his brow and forehead was tawny. Akirá’s heated gaze made Ronan bold, and he gave in to his desire to run his fingers through the striking partial mane between Akirá’s horns down to the pelt under his nose to his lower jaw, where a human male’s beard would grow. It was a brilliant, snowy white and silky to the touch. Although the white pelt began thinning out halfway down Akirá’s long, graceful neck, the underlying skin, a tan the color of a lion’s mane, wasn’t revealed until the base of his neck. There, on that first patch of bare skin, Ronan placed his first kiss before licking at it attentively.
“Ronan,” Akirá gasped. He loved how Akirá sounded, how the need in his voice spoke of an ache Ronan made Akirá feel.
Wanting, needing to continue his examination of Akirá’s body, Ronan ran his fingers up along the top edge of the silky red robe draped over one shoulder. When he reached the apex where it nestled in the curve of Akirá’s neck, Ronan moved the material aside, sweeping it along the top of the shoulder until it fell, baring Akirá’s torso. Akirá stood perfectly still for him and Ronan explored, at first tentative, afraid to do something to make Akirá shy away, and then more boldly as he became confident that Akirá wanted his touch and was not just enduring it.
Emboldened, Ronan nipped the tawny skin on the underside of Akirá’s arms, tasting it with his tongue as he mapped the contours of Akirá’s chest with his hands, the skin warm and smelling of heady pheromones that Ronan wanted to roll in. Along the outer edges of the rib cage, Akirá’s pelt thickened again, the velvety texture luxurious under his palms. Ronan marveled at how Akirá shivered under his touch—his touch—but no matter how much he enjoyed the exploration, he wanted to see more of Akirá. Annoyingly, the robe hadn’t fallen to the floor, instead it rested at the crook of Akirá’s elbow, hiding his lower abdomen. Sliding out from between Akirá and the bar, Ronan walked backwards toward the platform-like bed. Akirá tracked him with his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching as if he barely restrained himself from grabbing Ronan as he moved away. The furniture was designed for Panthrÿns, and they were huge bastards, but Ronan thought he and Akirá would fit on the bed just fine—as long as they didn’t get too rambunctious.
Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he slid it off and tossed it onto the nearby chair along with his T-shirt. His stomach tightened as Akirá’s expression turned predatory, his lip raising to expose every dangerously sharp tooth as his gaze swept over Ronan. Ronan knew what he’d looked like. His hard body wasn’t so muscular that he would be confused for a body builder, and for the most part, his dark skin was unblemished, with the exception of a couple of keloids on his back where he’d scarred after injuries. To other humans, he wasn’t hard on the eye, but did Akirá find him attractive?
Ronan’s confidence dipped a little at the thought, but he didn’t stop removing his clothes until he stood completely naked. If Akirá didn’t like what he saw, now would be the time to discover the truth and keep their relationship strictly friends. Ronan fervently hoped he did like it.
“You are smooth everywhere except your legs and the pelt around your cock.” Worry flickered across Akirá’s expression and he held up his hands, the dark claws held toward Ronan. The tips were rounded, not keen—probably so they wouldn’t snag on things—but they were still dangerous, even deadly in battle. “I do not wish to blemish your skin.”
The thought of Akirá raking those nails against him gave Ronan a jolt of excitement, his dick bobbing as if it had a mind of its own.
Akirá’s sniffed the air and then hummed, his brow raising as if surprised. “But you are not worried, are you?”
“Why don’t you finish undressing, come put your hands on me, and find out?” Ronan said instead of answering Akirá’s question, sure his scent already gave voice to what he wanted. At Akirá’s slight nod, Ronan crawled to the head of the bed. He leaned back against the wall with his knees bent and legs spread, putting himself on display even as he readied to watch the reveal.
Akirá’s steady gaze burned. Had Akirá always looked at him as if he wanted to eat Ronan up? After unbuckling the sword belt, Akirá leaned the scabbard against the chair. The robe, one long bolt of cloth that had been folded and belted, fluttered to the floor. Ronan’s arousal spiked at Akirá’s proud stance, only a tiny gold wrap barely covering his upper thighs. With a single tug on the drawstring, they too slid to the floor, leaving Akirá bare to Ronan’s hungry gaze. Gods, he is magnificent.
Akirá’s pelt was thicker on his haunches, a rusty red with horizontal black stripes. Longer sweeps of pristine white hair tufted out at the back of his legs, over his rear-facing—knee? ankle?—joint. Ronan took in every detail. There were so many differences between them, with Akirá having three leg parts instead of two, yet some things were the same, including a pair of balls tucked close to Akirá’s body and a phallic shaped penis, although that slid from a sheath at the apex of Akirá’s legs.
“Come here.” Ronan beckoned.
With two knees on each leg, Akirá’s body wasn’t designed to crawl easily. So when Akirá moved toward the bed, Ronan slid to meet him. Perhaps it would be better with Akirá on the bottom. Then Ronan realized Akirá’s horns were long enough that he couldn’t comfortably lie on his back. Before Ronan could come up with something that would be comfortable for Akirá, he was pushed back into the middle of the bed.
Realizing it was better to let Akirá guide them, as he’d know the best positions for his Faelÿneän-jointed body, Ronan propped himself up on his elbows and watched curiously to see what Akirá had in mind. Akirá dropped on all fours, prowling forward until he hovered over Ronan, his tail arching over his back, the white tuft at the tip vibrating. Ronan breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart, unsure if he should remain still or if he was allowed to touch. Akirá settled carefully over Ronan; all he wanted to do was drag Akirá down until they were skin to skin. He made an encouraging noise, hoping Akirá could read his need. When
Akirá’s heat finally pressed against him, Ronan groaned, rubbing against Akirá’s decadent pelt.
“My turn,” Akirá rumbled, nudging the side of Ronan’s neck. He tilted his head, giving Akirá more access. As Akirá sniffed and licked, Ronan squirmed under his exploration, first at the tentative touches that were more ticklish than arousing, then when Akirá’s caresses became more confident, building a heat in Ronan’s gut. When Akirá accidentally discovered Ronan loved the feel of claws lightly raking over his skin, he was merciless, and the fledgling warmth in Ronan’s core burst into a bonfire. Ronan arched and moaned, and when he tried to touch back, Akirá made it clear Ronan was to endure whatever Akirá dished out. Not that he was complaining. But remaining passive was harder than Ronan had anticipated.
Something in the way Akirá touched him was more erotic than any of the sex he’d had in the past. He and Akirá were different enough that Ronan was unsure what to expect in their coupling, but the uncertainty somehow made it better. Although Ronan wasn’t allowed to touch, it didn’t mean he was inactive. He freely loosed the moans Akirá wrenched from him, arching into Akirá as he whispered words of encouragement. The light rasp of Akirá’s tongue was achingly sensual, and when Ronan couldn’t take anymore, his body so overly sensitive that he thought he’d come apart, he begged Akirá for release. Akirá wrapped his fingers around Ronan’s shaft and gave a rough tug that had Ronan’s toes curling. Gasping, muscles taut, his vision whited out around the edges as he came hard.
Barely recovered, he looked down his chest to see Akirá lapping up his spend, hooded eyes staring at Ronan.
“Come, show me how to relieve you.” Ronan pulled at Akirá’s arm to indicate he wanted Akirá to shift up.
Moving back over him, Akirá looked down at Ronan, a tentative edge to his tone when he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Ronan held his breath, hoping Akirá would trust him and allow Ronan to give him release. He couldn’t think of anything better than watching Akirá lose himself to pleasure.