by Lyn Forester
"No way, that takes away all the fun." Declan nudges his shoulder against his friend, and they fall back into the hallway.
Irritated, I follow them out. "Who says I want to entertain you?"
Halfway toward the exit, Felix catches up. He sneaks behind Declan to drape his arms over his friend's shoulders, slumping across his back to drag them both to a stop. "Carry me back to the dorms. My brain's fried, I can't remember how to walk."
"Yeah, okay." Declan chuckles as he crouches to hook his elbows around the other man's knees and lift him onto his back.
Felix rests his head on his friend's right shoulder, injured cheek angled out to avoid being jostled as Declan pushes back into motion. "You're the best, Dec."
Connor shakes his head at the pair. "You're spoiling him."
"Shut up, bro."
"He did good today." Declan hitches his passenger higher so his legs don't drag at the school bag on his hip. "He stayed awake for the entire class."
"Only because he got whacked so many times by that ruler at lunch." Connor peeks at me as I trudge by his side. "How you doing, Sparks? Your shoulder hurt?"
"I'm good." I stop playing with the strap of my bag. "What about you?"
Connor pushes his sleeve up and rotates his arm. A thick, red stripe curves around his forearm. It crisscrosses a second mark that disappears beneath his shirt. "Guess I need to keep my elbows off the table, huh?"
Sympathy pain throbs across my back as I reach out to lay a gentle finger next to one welt. Twice the width of my finger, angry heat radiates from the mark. The muscles flex under my touch as he winces.
Guilty, I pull back. "Sorry, didn't mean to cause you more pain."
"No, your skin is cool." He reaches for my hand to places it back on his arm, over the welts. "It's nice."
"Really?" I shift until my fingers extend over more area.
"Yeah, really nice." His low voice sounds thick. It makes me think he's lying so I won't feel responsible for causing him more pain. But just in case, I keep my hand in place.
"We should check the snack room back at the dorms." The fine hairs on his arm tickle my palm, making me want to smooth them back. "They might have ice."
"That would be good." He clears his throat. "If they do, I can help hold your ice pack for you. The back's too awkward alone."
An image pops into my mind, Connor and me cuddled together as we tend each other's wounds. The teacher had smacked him a couple other times, too. Where else on his body would he need help? Unwilling, my gaze shifts to his chest, hidden beneath the buttoned white folds of his uniform, down to his narrow hips, cinched tight with a plain black belt. I remember the lean muscles of Felix's stomach. As his twin, Connor would have the same thin line of hair. Mouth dry, my fingers flex, nails digging into flesh.
He flinches, and I snatch my hand away with horror. "I'm so sorry."
"No, it's okay, it didn't hurt."
When I peer up at him, his smile looks forced, the skin tight around his green eyes. This time, I know he lies to spare my feelings. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He reaches for me again, but I skitter away. "Hey, Sparks, it's okay."
But, it's not okay. I let myself be too casual with him. Father sent away every person who showed me too much kindness. Being here, I've come to realize it leaves me at a disadvantage. He should have immersed me with my peers, taught me to understand body language, and basic social interactions. Not cloistered me away with home tutors. The disc-bike races were my only escape from the family home, just me and the light streams. What am I doing, fantasizing about cuddling? That's not me. If I'm not careful, I'll lose myself to their pace.
"I just remembered I promised Myrrine we would study together after class." Avoiding Connor's gaze, I clutch my bag's strap and lengthen my stride to outpace them.
"Where are you going, Sparks?" Declan frowns as he jostles Felix, who straightens with a start.
"I gotta go," I call over my shoulder as I practically run toward the exit. "I'll catch you guys later."
"What did you do, bro?" Behind me, Felix's voice slurs with sleepiness.
"Nothing."
"Had to be something." Declan's voice turns hard. I hate myself for causing friction between them. Hesitant, hand on the door, I consider going back. I'm acting stupid. But, a funny flutter fills my chest and heat burns in my cheeks. This foreign sensation scares me. It's too much like the panic of losing a race. I push through the door to stumble outside.
The double suns, past their zenith, cast an orange glow over the courtyard. A couple of second-year students, dressed in red slacks, lounge next to the courtyard's tree. I rush around the island of grass, past a group of fourth-years congregated on the library steps, and up into Lonette Hall.
As I burst through the door, Myrrine's pink head pops up from a study chair at the back. "Caitlyn, are you well?"
I wave a hand as I skirt past the empty couches. "Yeah, just need to get upstairs."
"Yes." Pink braids swing as she nods. "I, too, needed the facilities after such a long class."
"Uh, yeah, sure." I hurry down the long stretch of tables, bypass the snack room, and head for the stairs. I wish she wasn't down here. The guys will know I lied. But, I can't demand she sequester herself to make me look less stupid.
My thighs burn as I take the stairs two at a time and almost plow over Declan's roommate on his way down, tablet cradled against his chest. He quickly steps to the side. Pressed against the railing, he stares at me from round, red-rimmed eyes. I wonder which city official he belongs to, to be so soft.
With a mumbled apology, I bypass him as I run up the last few steps, down the hall, past the coed facilities, and into my room. Bag still on, I flop across my bed to bury my face in the pillow. Now that the soft duvet cuddles against my body, I cringe as I replay the last few minutes. That could have been done better. I should have figured out a better excuse, stayed with them until a natural chance to break away came along. I can't stop looking stupid in front of them.
I shouldn't even care. Which makes me feel even more stupid.
We're not friends, despite the camaraderie instilled today. I can't let myself be swept away by their easy touches, the quiet moments of shared history, or the gentle concern over mutual wounds.
I'm out of here as soon as it's legal. Declan, too. Will the twins be left behind as we go our separate ways? Nausea cramps my stomach. I curl in on myself as sweat breaks out across my forehead.
Something's wrong with me.
Felix pops into my memory, head between his legs with light-headedness. Maybe he wasn't faking. Dizziness swamps me. I clutch at the pillow as I pull in deep breaths.
The last time I felt like this, it was the morning after the race. I'd refused breakfast and lunch, too upset to eat. By Half-Light that night, panicked hunger warred with shaky limbs and a pulsing headache.
Realization sets in. My light breakfast, combined with the minuscule soup for lunch, has made me irrational. The panic I felt with Connor can be directly linked to this. There was no reason to make up such an obvious lie to them. I should apologize. Another cramp rolls my stomach with bile as steady pressure builds at my temples.
Revision: I'll eat, then apologize.
As I roll myself off the bed, the school shirt twists around my body like a straightjacket. Our uniforms came with casual wear for outside of class, soft black sweats and loose t-shirts. I decide to change before my walk of shame downstairs, where the guys are probably gathered at the common table.
The door swings open as soon as I get my shirt unbuttoned and off my shoulders. A flash of pink registers as I spin to face the wall, white material bunched against my breasts. "I'm changing!"
"I see that." Myrrine's footsteps come further into the room, followed by the heavy thud of her bodyguard. A shuffle at my back, the closet door closes. "You're safe now."
"We need a system." My shoulders sag as I turn, shirt in place, to verify the door shut completely.
Discomfort with Bastian waiting in that dark hole wars with indignation I have to share a living space with the man. My roommate treats him like he doesn't exist, just another piece of furniture as she wanders around the room in various states of undress. Yet another level of uneasiness. Are all halions so open with nudity?
"What kind of system?" Myrrine alights on her bed, pale blue eyes fixed on me.
"I don't know. Some kind of signal so we don't walk in on each other." Her frank gaze makes me blush. I can't be as natural about this stuff as her.
She leans forward with a grin. "Like a secret knock?"
"Ugh, no. I don't want to knock every time."
"You do not have to." Her head tilts. "I am not concerned with you viewing me."
"No, you wouldn't be." I stare at the dark grey flecks mixed into the lighter grey carpet.
"Is that bad?"
I glance back up at the worried tone. She nibbles at her bottom lip, the plump flesh turning dark purple. Guilt floods me for making her doubt herself. "No, of course not. You're gorgeous, there's nothing for you to hide."
"I am lovely." She straightens with a nod. "You are lovely as well, Caitlyn. We do not need a secret knock."
"It's not you I'm worried about." At least, she isn't the main source of my concern. I shift my eyes to the closet.
She follows my gaze and frowns, feathery pink brows sweeping upward. "Oh. Oh, no, Caitlyn. I'm sorry, I thought you understood about Bastian."
"I do," I rush to reassure her. I shift from foot to foot, awkward in my half-nudity. Ingrained behavior dictates I not talk with my back turned. "I understand that having the bodyguard is a requirement for you coming to the school."
"No. Of course you understand that." She waves a long fingered hand in dismissal. "I meant about Bastian being homibus."
Now, I frown. "I thought he was Riellio."
"He is that, too." She studies my face. "You do not know what it means to be homibus."
"Not at all."
"Ah, that explains this." She motions at the shirt, my scant protection. "When children are raised to become bodyguards for the prime families, they are first paired with a child of the elite to test for incompatibility. Once an appropriate match is made, the new bodyguard undergoes a process to become homibus. Bastian cannot, physically, mate. So you are safe."
"You mean they—" The shirt slips as I make a slicing motion at my crotch, horrified.
"What?" Confused, she stares at my hand before slow horror settles over her face. "No. Of course not. Do they do that in the cities?"
"No!" My screech echoes around the room. I glance at the closet in sudden guilt. The thin door can't block our voices, and we haven't been quiet. The topic of our conversation heard everything. I drop my voice, "So what do they do, to become homibus?" My tongue tangles over the unfamiliar word.
"Our marking ties to our mating, among other things." That spikes my curiosity, but she continues before I can ask. "You have seen mine, yes?"
"How could I not have?" The cloud-patterned birthmark covers most of her back in a rolling swirl of darker yellows and blues against her opalescent skin. She'd spent at least ten minutes this morning mostly naked while she selected which uniform to wear on the first day.
"Yes, my marking is glorious, is it not?" She preens from her seated position. "Few have such a prominent mark. My clothier at the colony has designed many outfits to display it."
"The homibus," I prompt. I want to finish changing so poor Bastian can come out of the closet.
"Yes, so the breeders come to score through the marking. Afterward, they apply a special medicine to force it to heal with scars. The combination renders the person unable to penetrate during intercourse." She beams, not at all ashamed of what just came out of her mouth.
"That's horrible." I choke on the words, nausea returning with a vengeance. Saliva floods my mouth, and I lock my knees to stay upright.
"It is an honor to be a bodyguard, the position is coveted by many." She pulls a braid over her shoulder to fiddle with the pink puffball of hair at the tip.
"They volunteer for this?"
"Yes, of course." She brushes the puff against her cheek. "When he retires, he may visit a physician to have his marking healed. Most families will pay for the repair as gratitude for their service."
"Very gracious." The words scrape against my throat, and I have a hard time maintaining eye contact.
She frowns as she stands to tower over me. "This bothers you."
I stare at the buttons on her shirt. "Yeah, I'm having a hard time wrapping my thoughts around it."
Cool fingers touch my chin and tips my head up to meet her gaze. "Understand, Caitlyn. Females in my race are limited. It makes things easier on everyone, Bastian included, to remove the distraction of temptation."
"I thought you said you were," I search for the word she used, "incompatible?"
"Yes, it is true." She nods and steps back once more though she remains on her feet. "But in the colony, as a bodyguard, Bastian would come into contact with many whom he could find compatibility with. If he were to become distracted by such a thing, his value as a bodyguard would lessen. It is a necessary sacrifice for service."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Would you like to hear it from him?" She turns toward the closet. "I will call him out to reassure you."
"Not while I'm naked!" I pull the shirt up high again as I spin away to face the wall.
"You are hardly naked." Her tinkling laughter cuts short on a sharp, indrawn breath. "Caitlyn, what has happened to you?"
"Huh?" I glance over my shoulder in the same moment her cool fingers press into my back. Pain jolts through me, and I leap forward, knock into the bed, and fall face first onto the blankets.
The mattress sinks at my hip as Myrrine climbs next to me. She prods at the welt. "What is this?"
"Ouch! Stop it!" Her touch withdraws as I flail to untangle my arms from my shirt.
"You did not have this mark this morning." I pull my head out of the fluffy blanket to see her sit back on her heels. Deep purple swirls in her cheeks as the pale blue of her eyes dim to near translucence. "Has someone mistreated you? One of those boys?"
"What?" I prop myself up on my elbows to stare at her. "Of course not."
"But, you are injured now, and you were not before." In her lap, her hands curl into fists.
"It's part of the etiquette class." I pat her fist, shocked to find her skin gone icy. "I slouched, so I was reprimanded. Everyone received marks today, most more than me."
"It is a teaching method common to humans?" Her gaze shifts to my back once more as the darker colors fade from her face.
"It's not uncommon."
"That is not the same thing." Her hands unclench. "You will not carry this pain."
"Huh?" I sit up as she leaps off the bed to go to her desk. "What are you doing?"
"I will share with you the healing ointment." She opens the bottom drawer where she stashes her contraband robot butler and lifts out a stone jar.
Unscrewing the lid, she returns to the bed. A pungent, sour odor wafts out. I put a hand over my nose. "Eww, what is that?"
"It comes from my family's physician. He is Rothven, very skilled in healing of the body." She sets the lid on my desk, then knee walks back onto the bed. With two fingers, she scoops out a blob of green goo. "Lie down, I will apply it for you."
"I don't know." Even through my fingers, the stench gets through. A sneeze tickles my nose as my eyes water.
"Do not be a child, Caitlyn." One pink brow arches. "The medicine will cure your injury."
"Ugh, fine." As I bury my face in the blanket, the smell diminishes.
As goo slimes over my back, the instant pain from her touch dissipates beneath a wash of tingles. Like the rush of standing within my disc-bike's energy rings, a full body buzz relaxes my muscles. I sink into the mattress with a sigh, not even caring when a cool finger slides beneath the strap of my bra to nudge it off my shoulder. A moment la
ter, the tight bind around my ribs releases as the hooks snap open. The cups around my small breasts sag as cool air hits my fully exposed back. I tense.
"What are you doing?" I mumble into the blanket.
"The mark extends under this contraption." More goo hits my back. It follows a straight line across my shoulder blades and down toward the bottom of my ribcage. "Why do humans wear these bindings? Does it not restrict you?"
"That's the point of them."
"But why? Are your breasts not firm enough to stand on their own?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm still young, so they're fine." I press my face more firmly into the mattress to hide my discomfort with the turn of conversation.
A vivid reminder of this morning flashes to the front of my memory. Last night before bed, Myrrine, naked as the day she hatched, strolled around the room. Much to my mortification, in the time I took to avert my eyes, I learned that my roommate has pale purple nipples. I'd assumed she'd just taken off her bra.
"Perhaps I should try one on, to find the appeal." Doubt colors her voice, followed by a light tug on my strap.
"I don't think mine will fit you."
"No, I believe the cup would be much too small." The bed dips, then rises as Myrrine moves away. A moment later, I hear the quiet scrape as she reseals the jar. "Give it a moment to seep in before you resume clothing yourself."
Already, the ache from the welt fades. But I remain face down, obedient. "Thanks, Myrrine."
"You are welcome, Caitlyn."
I turn my head so I can breathe, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit at her desk, tablet in hand. "How come you came up here? Isn't the study area more comfortable?"
She glances over. "When your men returned, they seemed surprised to find me alone. They seemed under the impression we would be together. So I came to check on you."
"Sorry about that." I reach a hand over my shoulder to poke at my back. Goo sticks to my fingers. "And they're not my men."
"Are they aware of that?" She leans back in her chair, body half turned toward me. "They seem determined."
"We have history together."