by H. E. Trent
Would they touch him like she did? Would they trust him like she did? Would they talk back like she?
Would they know when to leave him to his thoughts like she did?
They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t be like her.
“Hmm,” Dorro said loftily. “I wonder if she’ll scar less with threaded sutures rather than glued.”
“You could always correct the scar later, can’t you?” Amy asked. She sounded cheery, likely for Ais’s sake, but was noticeably green around the gills.
“Done?” Ais asked with surprise. She raised her hand as if to touch her neck, but Owen threaded his fingers through hers.
“Your skin is numb. You won’t be able to feel anything. Don’t touch until after he’s put the bandage on.”
“Indeed.” Dorro fetched a suture kit from his bag. “In the home stretch now, as my son-in-law might say.” He got to work sewing.
Amy looked away, but not before making a “Bleh” sound.
Owen needed a bit of distraction, too. Perhaps Ais wasn’t feeling pain, but he could imagine what she was feeling well enough. He’d once had to have Erin stitch him up after a particularly bruising round of shenanigans with Luke and Marco. The incident had occurred about three years before Court left for Jekh, and before Owen had moved to Montana. People liked to talk a lot of shit to McGarrys. In the end, though, the other guys had looked far worse than Owen, Luke, and Marco, and they probably didn’t have a paramedic in the family to patch them up for free.
“Allan’s not actually your son-in-law, is he?” Owen asked. “I know there are no Jekhan words for what the constituents in trios are called, but there’s gotta be some verbiage you can adopt to describe all the family connections.”
“Hmm. Well, Allan and Welk were married by the chaplain from Allan’s unit. Is the marriage legal?” Dorro shrugged. “That depends on who you ask. For Jekhan purposes, simply moving in with a partner is enough to signify a connection, but Allan wanted more than that.”
“Why?” Ais asked.
“I suppose Allan’s a bit more traditional than he seems at first glance. Welk was satisfied with cohabitation, but Allan wanted a promise that she wouldn’t get bored and quit the union on a whim. I suppose he thought the ceremony would make a difference. I must say, she did put a great deal of thought and meditation into her decision.”
“How did he get her to promise not to leave?” Amy asked. “We always assume in our culture that eventually, the woman will leave.”
“Their marriage was different from the start. When the deserters arrived in Little Gitano, the locals sheltered them, so we were already living in close quarters. I think Welk’s understanding in advance of how Terran relationships are different from Jekhan ones acclimated her to the concept of permanence. I daresay that most of the unions that have happened in the area since the Terrans arrived have been more like your Earth ones than Tynealean ones. Everyone seems to be getting on just fine.”
Dorro peeled off the bandage from around Ais’s right eye and held down the lid with his fingertip. “Could you hand me a sterile wipe, please?”
Amy rooted through the supplies on the table, and said “Ah” when she’d produced the container. She opened the lid and let Dorro lift one.
He cleaned around Ais’s crusted eye, slowly withdrew his fingertip, and then took a step back.
Ais’s eyelid fluttered open. She blinked rapidly for a few moments, her body rigid and anxious against Owen’s.
“Take it easy,” he whispered.
“I’ll put a drop in her eye in a moment to decrease that gritty feeling she’s certainly experiencing,” Dorro said. “I’d like for her tear ducts to lubricate as much as they can first and get the gunk out. Ais, your pupil is simply trying to get acclimated to the light. You’ll see better soon.”
She kept blinking, and rubbing the tears from her eye as soon as they landed on her cheek. As soon as they slowed, Dorro squeezed in a couple of drops.
More blinking, and some muttered oaths. “Sting!” she said.
Dorro winced. “I am sorry, dear. You have a slight scar on the surface of your eye. It’ll mend in a couple of days. The cornea regenerates quite well on its own. Don’t be too put off if you have some blurriness around the slit.”
“Oh.” Slowly, she turned on her lap toward Owen, and blinked once more.
She was so very still, mouth slightly parted, body tense and taut, hands no longer fluttering.
She just looked at him, and his heart crashed.
He wasn’t like Luke. He didn’t get attention from women just by walking into a room and smiling, and he was usually fine with that. Most of the time, he preferred to fly under the radar, but he worried what one woman thought. He worried about what her lack of enthusiasm meant.
Not what she expected, maybe.
Ais lifted her hand slowly, and pressed it to his beard, his lips, his hair, his nose. “Owen,” she said softly.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Handsome.”
His laugh of relief came out choked and dry. “Doc, I think you broke her eye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
With his flyer on autopilot and doing circles over the Sisten Desert, Reg rooted out the last few noodles of his rehydrated soup and gave his chirping wrist COM a double-tap. “Identify caller.”
“Lenny Perry,” the feminine robo-voice returned.
“Len? Well, shit, put that through.” Reg dropped his booted feet from the dashboard in a hurry and set the soup in a niche in the door.
“I got a lead for you, Devin,” Len said. “I heard you were looking.”
“Yeah? Well I’ve been looking to get the hell off this planet, but nothing’s panned out. Nobody wants to give me a ship or even provide me with transport because the goddamned Tyneali are breathing down my neck and I guess they all think the Tyneali will blow them out of the sky. You found me passage?”
“Uh. No.”
Reg sighed and put his feet back up. “Then what do you want? I’m busy.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. You were always real good at finding yourself some new opportunity to get into.”
Reg laughed. “You regretting leaving the organization?”
The bastard Len had skipped out on Reg the moment things had started heating up in Buinet. He’d made good money in Reg’s employ. Comparatively speaking, anyway. Sometimes Reg skimmed a little more or a little less. His take was dependent on how frustrated he was on a given day. Lenny had been one of the best at finding Reg warm, wet holes with which he could screw away some of those frustrations. He understood that Reg paid more when he was satisfied.
“Or did you find me a warm, wet hole, Len?”
Len grunted noncommittally. “Maybe the second thing.”
Reg clucked his tongue. “Yeah? Tempting, but I’m kinda on a job right now.”
“I think you’ll be interested in hearing about this particular lady. She’s one you had before.”
“As if I could tell any of them apart.”
“Dark hair. Red eyes. Pale skin.” He laughed. “And sharp teeth.”
Reg jammed his boot sole against the console and sat up straight again. “Fuck. That bitch? I’m looking for her now. I’ve got Hauge on my ass.”
“Yeah, I heard you were on the hunt. Sorry to hear she got away the way she did. First one who’s ever gotten out, right?”
Reg growled and thumped his fist against the armrest. “She didn’t get out. My ship got stolen. Have you gotten word about that, too? Because, to be quite honest, I’d rather have the ship than the lab rat.”
“Nah, I don’t know anything about the ship—only the chick. I was doing some scouting last week and happened upon a farm that had some ladies. You know how it is around here. You see ladies, especially the red ones, you kinda stand up and take notice. Old habits die hard.”
“You saw Hauge’s little bitch?”
“Pretty sure I did. I mean, I was up close and personal with her enough times to
be able to recognize her from a distance. I was shocked to see her way up here, though.”
Yet again, Reg put his feet down. With his hand hovering over the directional controls, he said, “Where is here?”
“Little Gitano. You know the place?”
“Never heard of it.” Reg brought the place up on the map and drummed his fingers while the slow processor sharpened the screen resolution. The vehicle needed to be junked rather than in the air. “Almost like Hauge wants me to die,” he muttered.
The town finally popped up on the map, and Reg scoffed loudly. “That’s days from here! Could be more than a week in a flyer like this, especially if I can’t get fuel. I can’t get much more than a mile off the ground.”
“But now you have info, right?”
“Damn.” Reg pounded the panel and reprogrammed the autopilot. “You gonna be there in a week?”
“Yep. I’ll be here. I’ll show you exactly where she is. How much are you gonna pay me?”
Reg sucked some air in through his teeth.
Paying was going to be a problem.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Although Ais’s eyesight was growing stronger by the day, after two weeks spent cooped up on the backside of a house where there were few windows and diversions in general, Ais was going a bit stir-crazy. So, she followed the sound of voices.
Habit made her cling to the wall as she walked through the hallway, though she could certainly see the corners well enough. She was still getting used to being able to see shapes clearly, but old habits died hard.
Most of the inhabitants of the household were crowded into the kitchen, all talking at once. Even with Edgar’s patient tutoring, and her improving English language skills, she was having a difficult time plucking out information.
What’s happening?
They all seemed so animated, and not necessarily in happily enthusiastic ways.
Spotting Amy near the pantry, she turned toward her, but before she could take another step, an arm wrapped around her waist pulled her against a hard body. Ais turned and Owen looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. She cleared her throat and willed the heat in her cheeks to abate. Looking at him had been easier when she hadn’t been able to see him. Colors were still hard for her to make out, but the shapes of him were very appealing. His very appealing lips were stretched thin and his forehead was creased.
“I can’t…stay in one room,” she said to his chest. He smelled nice—sweetly spicy and male. Not cologne, just Owen. She sighed.
“Do you remember why you’re in one room?” he whispered, but before she could lob a response at him, an outburst from Marco pulled his attention away.
“Teams,” Marco had said. They were dividing into teams for some reason.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Owen took her hand and, gently, pulled her back to the bedroom.
She sighed yet again.
He closed the door and engaged the lock.
She realized then that almost every time she’d been in a room with Owen that Luke had been there as well. Luke seemed to fear being left out. He was so lonely, and Ais felt his pain. She knew how crippling loneliness could be, and actively fought against hers. That was why she’d followed the voices.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Owen leaned against the door. “I thought you were practicing your sewing.”
“I was.” Her sewing and her English, with the help of the tablet. As long as she was speaking to a very patient listener, she could take her time and get more words in a sentence and in the right order. “I cut…pattern pieces.” She pointed to the tidy pile of calico dress parts. The dress was for Kerry. The child would be more forgiving of the occasional crooked seam and wouldn’t mind Ais practicing on her.
Speechless, Owen drummed his fingers on the sides of his arms.
“You were loud,” she said, pointing to the desk. “And I’m in here.”
“I know you don’t want to be secluded anymore, but until we’re certain no one’s going to try to take you, we have to take precautions. The risk of you going out isn’t worth the rewards.”
“I want to see things.”
He nodded. “I know you do. Looking outside toward the horizon every now and then would probably be the best thing for your eyes, but I absolutely don’t want you anywhere near a window or a door.” He pushed away from the doorframe and let his arms fall to his sides. “Court said I should let the decision be yours if you want to take the risk, but even as she said that, Murk was giving her that look.”
Ais furrowed her brow. “Which look?”
“The are you crazy, woman? look.”
Ais hadn’t seen that one yet, but she could imagine what it must have looked like. Murki was a very expressive gentleman where his lovers were concerned. She turned her hands over in a conciliatory gesture. “Well, he is Jekhan.”
Owen crossed the room, nodding. “Yes. He’s Jekhan and he has very particular ways of doing things, as do Trigrian and Esteben and Headron. Had Court or Erin been the distressed damsels in question, I doubt they would behave any differently than I am right now. In fact, they’d probably be even more careful.”
“Only because they’re pregnant.” Given Ais’s relative dearth of other things to do while being cooped up, Ais was learning more and more about the native culture. Jekhan males seemed inordinately concerned with their legacies. They all wanted passels of children. Ais could certainly see the appeal. She liked the idea of having a brood of her own to fret over, although she doubted she’d ever see her wish come true.
“Not just because they’re pregnant.” Owen settled onto the edge of the bed and pulled her toward him.
She complied, naturally, because she was the one who so often initiated touch and she craved reciprocation. She wanted him to stop being afraid of her, and didn’t really understand why he was afraid in the first place. “Fearsome” wasn’t a word that described her, and was likely never going to be. “Are you going to undress me?” she asked.
He made lazy circles around her hipbones with his thumbs and rolled his pale gaze up to her.
When he looked at her so openly and earnestly, he resembled his grandfather. She’d seen Mr. McGarry in one of his transmissions, and Owen would probably look just like the older man when he reached his seventh decade. The genetic lottery had been most kind to the McGarrys. The Carmichaels, too. She’d sneaked peeks at all their grandparents when Owen spoke with them over COM. She was becoming something of a face addict. She’d gone so many years without being able to see people clearly that she craved seeing new ones.
“Are you asking to be undressed?” he asked. “I figured we were just talking. You wanted to know things, so I was telling you things. You don’t need to be naked for that, but I certainly wouldn’t mind looking at you if you were.”
His rare smiles were often nearly indiscernible. His mouth hardly moved, but she saw one—the bare twitch at the corner of his lips that she wouldn’t have been able to see weeks ago.
She liked to reward him for his smiles. She loosened the dress ties at the back of her neck and, just that quickly, his hands were on her shoulders, nudging down her collar and sleeves. The dress had barely fallen to her waist before he had her pulled against the juncture of his thighs and his hot mouth over her breast.
Her head lolled back reflexively at the pleasurable stimulation. He’d never done that before, but admittedly, Luke had always gotten there first. She’d started to wonder if Owen realized she even had breasts. They were small, but…existent.
Each suckle seemed to stimulate every sexual circuit she had. Even without being touched, her other nipple perked and blood filled the tissues, making her feel full and feral.
Then his rough palms skimmed down her back along either side of her spine, adding a sensual thrill she craved more of. Reg’s hands had been rough, too, but he never tried to be gentle. He’d only been concerned with his own pleasure. Her reactions hadn’t mattered, except the screaming.
He liked the screaming.
She pulled in a cleansing breath and imagined a little broom sweeping away the thoughts of him.
Stop thinking about him.
Reg didn’t matter. Reg had been a trial for her to endure, and she had. She was moving on to nicer things—things she wanted and that wanted her back.
Her dress pooled at her ankles and, wrapping his arms around her thighs, Owen pulled her back as he fell onto the bed. His mouth found hers, and she parted her lips for him. Her body melted against his much larger frame as his tongue teased her lips.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered against her mouth.
She guessed that was a good thing, because his hands were on her rear end, kneading and caressing, and his mouth consumed hers as if she were some food he craved.
He was erect, already, his thick length trapped beneath layers of fabric, but she felt his urgency against her thighs all the same. “You should let it out.” She ground against him, loving the friction of his clothes against her bare body, but she loved his naked skin even more.
“Oh?” His fingers were in her crease, tickling along the forbidden area, making her spread her legs wider for other things he could reach. She wanted to be filled. She wanted to see what he liked, and always suspected that he held things back from her—held his passion back from her.
“I won’t…break,” she said against his cheek.
As she rode his hand and tried to back away from the orgasm that quickly encroached, he nibbled her jaw.
“Hmm?”
“Play with me,” she said.
“You’re just bored. I thought you just wanted to see what the commotion was.”
She rocked on his palm again and the bright pricks of pleasure-pain emanating from her clit made her bite down on her lip. “We’re making commotion.” But she did still want to know what all the fuss was about.
Sighing, she rolled off him, and then harrumphed.
He laughed and propped himself up on his right side. “Indecisive, are you?”
“You touched me. You started it.”