ASHTAR

I sleep that night, curled around my mate to give her my warmth. Though we have spent several nights like this, she was unconscious for the others. The difference is apparent to me as she tosses and turns, shivering and moving closer to me whenever she gets too cold. She is right—humans need shelter from the weather, and I worry I should not have taken her from the others after all.

I will not admit such a thing, though.

My mate is in a cheery mood the next morning. She does a few stretches to get the “kinks” out of her back, and then she pounces on me with enthusiasm, demanding to heal my wings. She cannot wait to try her powers once more. I make her eat a morning meal of charred fish first, because she needs her strength and it is my duty as her mate to take care of her.

So I shift back to my battle form and gently take her in my claws. Like this, my mate goes from “dainty” to “miniscule,” and I worry I will hurt her with my size and strength. I take extra care to place her neatly atop one shoulder and she roughly hauls her way up to sit between my wings.

"Damn alien turns into a dragon," she mutters as she gets comfortable, shifting her weight on my shoulder blades. "What else are you keeping from me?"

Her words are a joke, but they make me uncomfortable. I think of my people and their mating rituals. I cannot remember if I told her of my bite…but I know I have not told her of the mental bond between us that will be created. That we will be as one in spirit, and that I will know all of her emotions, her most private thoughts. It will link us so we can communicate from across distances…but it will also strip her of her privacy. As a slave who is still becoming used to the idea of having independence, this loss of privacy is something I am painfully aware of. I do not want Veronica to tell me no…

So I simply do not tell her. I will not until I have given her my fires and she is mine. It will be done at that point and there will be no chance of losing her. Is it wrong to not warn her? Probably. I do not care, though. I will take no chance that my Veronica does not go through with our mating. She already struggles with the idea of being bonded to me. Adding another layer to that will not help matters.

I will simply deal with her anger later.

My mate takes a deep breath and then goes quiet. Her hands touch my shoulders, where my wings meet my scales, and her khui begins to hum. It is not the “song” of a mating khui, but a different pitch and tone. Mine answers, but it is sluggish and almost disinterested in its response. Whatever power her healing gives her, it is clear my khui does not feel the same.

I remain quiet and still as she works, her hands twitching against my scales. Other than that, she is completely still and does not speak. The wind howls around us, and I wonder if my mate is cold, but the hands on my scales are warm with heat, so I do not interrupt her. When she is quiet for a very long time and the tiny twin suns crawl high in the sky, I start to worry. I think of how she passed out for two entire days and wonder if she is over-exerting herself again. Should I nudge her to shake her free of her trance, or will that make things worse? My wings feel no different, and her hands have not moved from my shoulders.

Suddenly, she lets out a loud, gusty sigh. "Well, crap." The strange song of her khui ends and she pats my scales. "Help me get down?"

I stretch one foreleg forward, lowering my body to the ground as much as possible so she can slide down. She thumps to the ground—and then lands on her face, sputtering. I swallow my sigh and pick my poor, clumsy mate up and set her upright, nuzzling her. My Veronica. She would never last a day in the gladiator arenas, and it makes me all the more protective of her. Perhaps that is why the khui gave her to me—I can be the protective, fierce one. She can be the nurturer, the sweetness to my rage. I like this.

She wipes wet snow from her face, frowning. "Sorry about that. You want to change back so we can chat? We need to talk about what I found out."

I immediately shift to my two-legged form, and she gasps in surprise and nearly stumbles backward. I manage to catch her arm and hold her up, and her face goes bright red when she realizes my naked body is pressed against hers.

"So," she says, and her voice goes up to a high, squeaky note. "That was interesting."

"Was it?" I brush her hair back from her face, far more interested in how lovely she is than mending my wings. After all, I have long gotten used to the idea of them being a lost cause.

"Turns out that there's nothing to heal," Veronica tells me, spreading her hands. She looks a little tired, but her eyes are bright with excitement, and it's clear she loves healing and learning her powers. "It's hard to explain. It's like when I go into a trance, I dig into your body's cootie, looking for it to tell me where and how you're hurt. It's like I'm talking to it and directing it where to go and what to do, instead of actually healing you. And with you…your cootie is there, and I can talk to it, but it doesn't recognize that there's anything to heal. To it, that's how your wings should be."

Even though I've long gotten used to the fact that my wings are useless, I still find myself curling my lip at the thought. This is how my wings “should” be. I hate the thought. I hate that these destroyed, wasted things are normal in my khui's perspective. That this is all I can hope for. I let out a derisive snort, and for a brief moment, I am glad that my Veronica and I do not share a mind-link yet, because I do not want her to feel my shame.

She deserves better.

"But," my mate continues, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. She reaches out and grabs my hand in hers. "I had this crazy idea…"

"What is it?"

"I can see the old scars along your wings. The gaps in the sail." She spreads her fingers, mimicking the fine bones of my wings, and then points at dips near the webbing of her fingers, where my wings were cut. "What if I were to cut them again, and so there would be a wound there, right? Then I can heal that wound." She blinks for a moment, and when I'm silent, her shoulders slump. "It's crazy, right? Tell me I'm crazy. Making cuts and hurting you just to try and heal something that—"

I put a hand to her lips to stop the words before they tumble out. "I say yes."

Veronica stares at me in shock. Her tongue flicks against the backs of my fingers, probably to force me to pull my hand away, but all it does is remind me that I crave this female and I am desperate to give her my fires. Even now, my fangs ache with the need to distend. My cock is completely erect and my khui hums and sings to my nearby mate. "You didn't say I was crazy," she murmurs, her voice husky and her eyes soft as she gazes at me.

"Because you are not. What you propose makes sense."

"But I might hurt you." She bites down on her lip and looks distressed. "What if I cut you up and it's for nothing? These abilities are new and I'm not entirely sure it'll work. Are you sure you trust me that much? I'm not exactly anyone's first choice to wield a knife."

"Of course I trust you." I reach out and caress her delicate jaw, cup her cheek. I want to touch her all over, but for now, I will settle for this. My khui sings even more fiercely when she leans into my touch and closes her eyes. Not yet, I tell myself. Not until she is ready. Not until she is done with her healing, because I will not drain too much strength from her at once.

Because once she falls into my arms, she is not leaving there for a long, long time. I am going to claim my mate over and over again, marking her with my scent until there will be no doubt that she is completely and utterly mine.

My Veronica, of course, isn't thinking about mating nearly as much as I am. She ignores the singing of her khui and gives me an excited look. "Let's get started, then! I need to make a knife of some kind so I can cut your wings. I saw Harlow had one that was made of rock that she chipped into a blade. We should do something like that."

I pull her into my lap, too distracted by her nearness. "You spent a long time trying to heal. You should rest." She has smudges under her eyes that show her fatigue, and I won't let her tax herself. "I will work on the knife. Soon."

"Oh, but…" Her words trail off as I run my claws through the waves of her dark hair. She gives a little shiver and stops protesting, her hands moving to my shoulders. Her gaze meets mine and she gives me a shy look. "Some of this is still pretty new to me."

"To me as well. I did not think I would have a mate," I admit. "Most gladiators do not live very long. I accepted that I would die a brutal death in the pit on some distant, dirty planet." I lightly caress her cheek with my claws, tracing them over that fragile skin. "I cannot say I am unhappy with the turn my life has taken."

"Will you miss your old life?" Veronica asks, breathless. Her lips remain parted, and her gaze seems to be focused utterly on my mouth. She thinks about more kisses, I imagine, and I like the thought of that.

"Miss it? Does one miss a broken tooth? A split claw?" I snort. "I enjoy fighting, but I do not enjoy being the plaything of others. I do not miss being a slave." I trail my fingers through her hair again and then lift it to my nose to drink of her scent. "And I certainly do not regret that I am here with you."

She breathes out and her gaze flicks to mine. That's all the warning I get before her mouth plants on mine once more, and then we are kissing wildly. Her breasts press up against my chest, the thick leathers of her clothing hiding the feel of her body.

I groan, wrapping my claws in her soft hair and pinning her against me. Hot, delicious mating violence surges through me, and I resist the urge to pin her down, to force her onto her back so I can mount her and claim her as mine. She's not ready for that. Not yet. I stroke my tongue into her mouth in a bold, claiming sweep, and then break the kiss before I can forget myself. "You need to rest."

She blinks at me without understanding. "Huh?"

I caress her face, letting my thumbs lightly graze the tired smudges under her eyes. It brings my claws close to her eyes, but there is no fear in her when I do so. She trusts me, and that fills my heart with joy. "You need to rest. Your healing this morning took a great deal out of you." She opens her mouth to protest, and I put a finger over her lips—any excuse to touch her. "Do not say otherwise. I can see it on your face. As your mate, it is my duty to take care of you and protect you, even if you do not think you need protecting."

Veronica blushes, her cheeks coloring bright red. "I'm fine, really."

"And you will be finer after a nap," I insist, tucking her against my body to share my warmth. I am learning my mate, and I suspect that one reason why she is always tripping and falling over her own feet is that she does not think ahead—she simply surges forward without conscious thought. I do not want her to treat her healing the same, because I suspect it can easily take too much out of her.

I won't let Veronica hurt herself. Not at my expense, or at the expense of any others. She comes first in all ways.

My lovely human grumbles a little, tucking her face against my chest as I cradle her in my arms. Her legs are slung over my lap, and my cock throbs a reminder that it would not take much to rip the clothes from her body and claim her. I ignore it, though with every day that passes, my khui feels more and more insistent. I suspect this will only get worse instead of better…but we have time yet.

I would rather mate than have her work on healing my wings, but I know Veronica would have a different perspective.

Even as I ponder such things, her breathing evens out and she goes slack against my chest. She is asleep again, in that deep, dreamless sleep that healing-exhaustion sends her to. I do not panic this time, though I still do not like it. I merely hold her and stroke her hair, imagining what our young will look like. I picture a child with my scales and her wavy brown mane. Her smile. Her soft, lovely eyes that show every emotion.

Holding her, imagining such things, I feel such piercing joy that it's staggering. There is no arena in my future any longer. There is no death, no violent fights or rivals to overcome. There is only Veronica. Veronica and her smiles and her cold hands and Veronica drooling on my chest as she sleeps, like she does right now.

I remember once that I met a very old slave - a szzt male who had gone through so many battles that his hard skin was striated with old scars and the fierce orange color of his hide had paled to a faint yellow. He was given his freedom and retirement after many, many years of serving his master faithfully and winning so many arena fights that he was legendary. Every gambling den knew of this great honor. I thought it was a waste. I remembered feeling sorry for him, because what life does an ex-slave have once his only reason for living—fighting—is taken from him? And I was not surprised to hear that the former slave suicided a short time later. Of course he did. I remember never wanting to end up like him.

And yet…with Veronica in my arms, thoughts of the arena are far from my mind. I do not care if I never fight another again, or if I grow old and feeble with time and my scales bleach to a pale white with age. As long as Veronica is with me, none of that matters.

Strange how a life can completely change with the introduction of a mate.

Veronica sleeps heavily, not stirring even when I ease her out of my arms and tuck her as carefully onto the ground as possible. I don't like that I have to leave her lying in the snow and in the open. I remember how she shivered last night. I cannot keep her out here. Not like this. She needs shelter. Warmth. Blankets. I can provide protection and food, but not much more than that, and I hate that I am so helpless. Perhaps we should have stayed longer, if only to glean information from the others on how to survive on this planet. If I was alone, I would be fine.

But I have Veronica with me, and she changes everything.

I want to find fish for her, but her sleeping place is too far from the stream and I will not leave her side. Instead, I carefully move a safe distance away, shift to battle form, and stretch my useless wings. With one carefully shielding her from the wind, I search the nearby rocky ledges, looking for something that will serve as a knife. The stone here is flaky, and I pry at pieces with my claws until I find one that looks sharp and dangerous enough to use as a cutting tool. Of course, given my Veronica, it would not take much to make a dangerous implement. I could hand her a blunt stone and she would find a way to cut herself with it.

Perhaps that is another reason to go back to the others. There will be others to watch her, to make sure that she is safe so I can go out and hunt to feed my mate. I want to spend every moment with her, but I know that is not feasible. If there were others nearby…

But if there were others nearby, they might take her from me.

My mate wakes up from her nap, eats, and then immediately starts on my wing. I spread it on the ground, doing my best to remain utterly still as she hacks at it with her rock-chip knife. Each gouge into the membrane doesn't hurt much, but the tearing sounds and the pulling on my wings make it difficult to suppress shudders. Veronica clucks under her breath and makes soothing little sounds as she cuts at my wing, and I think she is more upset at hurting me than I am.

Once she cuts open old wounds, she goes into her trance, and my wing gets alternately hot, then cold. My khui hums with a different song than the mating one, and I can hear hers humming as well. I lay my head down, turned toward my mate so I can watch over her, and wait. She's utterly still, her eyes closed and her brow lightly dewed with sweat, her hands moving over one ripped-open sail. As I watch, she pushes the membranes together, and almost as if my wings are made of clay, they slowly—agonizingly slowly—knit back together as her khui pulses a song.

When she has finished mending the last of the wounds she's inflicted upon the one wing, she opens her eyes and smiles at me. "Fingers crossed that works."

And then she topples over into another deep slumber.

I expect this, but it still worries me. I know she has pushed herself hard, and I pull her close to my breast and hold her as she sleeps. She sleeps through the afternoon and on through the night. The next morning, she wakes up, hungry, tired, but ready to take on my other wing. I make her rest through another nap before I'll let her, because I don't want her to push quite so hard, but with every restful sleep she takes, she seems to need less time to recover.

Even so I remain worried. I study my mended wing as she sleeps, and it feels…better. Less tight. I might be able to fly after all, though I won't give it a try just yet. She needs to rest and I won't leave her…and only one wing has been mended as of yet. That is not what worries me, though. It's her growing power. It would be a hot commodity on the slave market. I think of my prior owners, and how their slaves were treated. Someone as beautiful as my Veronica, with the power her hands hold? She would be worth billions upon billions of credits. If anyone were to ever find out that she is here…

More than ever, I am glad the ship was destroyed. Vektal and the other sa-khui say that their planet is remote and they do not expect more visitors, but I will need to talk with Veronica, to ensure that she does not share her powers unless she absolutely must. If that means lying to the rest of the motley “tribe” on the beach, so be it.

I suspect she will not like my suggestion, though.