Chapter Ten
Her barbarian’s team hadn’t questioned her presence at their impromptu get-together, as she had feared. They had embraced her with open arms, treating her as though she were one of them—normal, not a freak—as if she were a regular Chamele. Nayan was still flying high from that experience one shift later.
Lead Medic had liked her, had said exactly that. They had chattered about normal things like weapons and medical devices.
Nayan couldn’t remember what it was like to have a friend. It had been so long since she’d had one. But it must be similar to spending time with the human female.
That friendship wouldn’t last. When her secrets were exposed, and they would eventually be known, Lead Medic would distance herself from her. She’d have to do that to protect herself and Second.
Nayan expected that. She’d enjoy the relationship while she could.
Her present task completed, she placed her devices in their proper compartments. Qulpa did the same, storing the private viewscreen he’d borrowed from her. They had been working on different projects yet were together.
The rest cycle approached. Her drones and bots, including Hitch, were recharging. She wandered toward the sleeping support. They should recharge also.
But she was still too wound up from the medic bay visit. Her gaze drifted over her warrior’s hard form. And she wanted him…again, her need for him increasing, not decreasing.
“You can return to your chambers for the rest cycle.” She offered him another means to escape…if he desired to do so. Her scars were unsightly. Even she didn’t like viewing them. “You must have tasks to complete.”
“I can complete those tasks here.” He kicked off his boots.
He was staying. Her chest warmed with happiness.
“We can’t bond.” She removed her footwear.
“There are other things we can do.” His eyes gleamed as he discarded his ass coverings, rendering himself completely naked.
His cock jutted out from a base of gray-streaked black curls, his shaft long and thick and hard, the curve in it intriguing her. Every part of him was defined, his muscles flexed. Scars decorated his golden skin.
Her barbarian was strength and savagery, primitiveness and power. And for this rest cycle, he was hers.
Wanting to feel his form against hers with no barriers between them, she started unfastening her body covering.
“Don’t.” He clasped her hands, stopping her. “You’re mine to undress.”
Stars. Her mouth dried with desire. He was possessive of her. After a lifespan of no one wanting her, that appealed to her. Very much.
Her warrior loosened her hand coverings, pulled the leather away from her skin, his movements slow and deliberate as though he was savoring the experience, striving to make it last.
He raised her right hand to his lips, dragged his mouth over her scarred knuckles. She trembled, enthralled by that act of devotion. He turned her wrist, nuzzled against her palm.
“The skin here is soft.” His voice lowered to an arousing rumble.
“The leather protects my palms.” She rarely removed her fingerless hand coverings, even when she was alone. Concealing her secrets had been her priority.
Before she met him.
“I will also protect them.” Qulpa, the one male she’d risked everything to touch, vowed. He repeated the ritual, slowly stripping away the leather, adoring her left hand as fervently as he’d cherished her right. “I’ll guard these hands with my life.”
“You’d be foolish to do that,” she murmured, charmed by his words. Her own parents had rejected her due to her lack of claws.
Her barbarian didn’t appear to care about her defect.
“I’d be foolish not to do that.” He grasped the collar of her body covering, parted that skintight garment, revealing her curves. “You’re special, Nayan. Others might have been threatened by your uniqueness, but not me. I admire your differences. They made you who you are now.”
“And who am I? A mechanics-obsessed recluse?” Her laugh was shaky. “A being living a lie?”
“You’re the strongest, most intelligent, resourceful female I know.” He pulled her garment lower.
Cool air swept down her form, brushing over her nipples, along her stomach. She quivered, stimulated by that ghostly touch and by his statement.
“You’re beautiful.” He had seen the scars on her back, on her knuckles, and still believed that, the heat in his eyes reinforcing his words.
Feeling feminine and extremely powerful, she shimmied for him, shaking her breasts, her hips. The leather fell to the floor. She stood in front of her warrior completely naked and all his.
He skimmed his gaze over her body, pausing at her hips, at the neatly trimmed black triangle of hair covering her mons. An exciting growl escaped his lips. His nostrils flared.
Was he breathing in the scent of her arousal? Fighting the urge to retreat, to cover herself, she remained still, allowing him to look at her.
There were more scars on her knees. She had fallen onto them. Once or twice, she’d been dragged.
Her face heated as shame filled her. She should have stood, fought.
“I’m not strong.” Nayan had to correct that image her warrior had of her. Because it wasn’t true. She wasn’t like him, hadn’t been able to face her enemies as he had.
“You were alone and a child, yet you survived.” He cradled her face between his big hands, tilting her gaze upward to meet his. “That’s strength.”
She opened her mouth to disagree.
He covered her lips with his. She leaned into him, teetering on her tiptoes to reach more of her male, gripping his shoulders with her fingers to steady herself. Their tongues tangled, twined.
Qulpa ran his hands over her back, holding her to him. His hard cock pressed against her stomach. His distinct flavor filled her mouth.
He knew her secrets and he wanted her. That could be due to their genetic bond, but she wagered it was more. He truly desired her, all of her.
That revelation thrilled her. She sucked on his tongue the way she wanted to suck on his cock. That part of him bobbed against her.
He rumbled, walking her backward until she bumped against the sleeping support. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her onto that surface.
She parted her knees. He pushed between them. His shaft made contact with her hot wet pussy and they both groaned. Pleasure flowed through her, warm and fluid and enticing.
She rubbed against him, branding his flesh with her scent. The friction, the delicious pressure fed her passion. He stroked into her mouth, matching her rhythm. His fingers twisted in her hair.
The tendrils often doubled as a veil, as a means to conceal her scars, But that wasn’t necessary with him. Neither was dimming the lighting or remaining partially dressed or any of her many other strategies for hiding.
She could be herself, could embrace him freely, without worry. Her barbarian had seen all of her, accepted all of her, needed all of her.
She hooked her feet above his ass cheeks and rolled her hips, rutting without entry, showing him the extent of her appreciation, of her caring. He began to move also, pushing forward and pulling back, pushing forward and pulling back, varying the force against her, giving bliss and then taking it away.
Her wanting escalated, building inside her. Sweat dripped between her breasts. Her body heated at all points of connection. The energy between them snapped and sizzled.
It bound them together, not permanently, but it was more than she’d ever had with anyone else. She reveled in that, in him. He engulfed her, his scent, his taste, his sounds, his grunts echoing in the chamber.
Greedy female that she was, she wasn’t satisfied. She bumped against him harder, faster, soaking his cock with her pussy juices, enveloping him with her flesh. He changed his angle; his rim brushed over her clit and her breath hitched.
“Qulpa.” She clutched his shoulders. “I need—”
“I know what you need.” He drove his hips forward and ground against that pleasure point.
She broke, screaming, bucking, smacking all of her against all of him. Her world exploded into a million pieces, ecstasy blasting her. She writhed and twisted, and that sent him over the edge.
Her barbarian roared and thrust against her again and again. Cum shot from his tip, coating her skin, the heat, the wetness extending her release.
His grip on her hips held her steady as he forced her to take the exquisite bursts of movement, the barrage of sensations. Each slap of his flesh against hers propelled more of his essence from his cockhead. She was coated with him, and she loved it, the link between them strengthening.
He shuddered and fell, the weight of him flattening her. She landed on her back on the sleeping support, wrapped her arms and legs around him. His chest heaved. The chamber gradually stopped spinning, satisfaction turning her form to mush.
The chamber was quiet except for their breathing.
This was supposed to be a one-rest-cycle encounter but she didn’t want it to end. Did it have to? Could they rut without bonding, have a relationship built around solely that?
She smoothed his long hair, threading her fingers through the soft strands. “Could this be enough for you?”
He lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes dark with sated desire. “I want more.”
He was honest with her, and she respected that. Relationships, normal relationships were built upon truth. He gave that to her.
Even if that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Oh.”
“But if this is all we can have…” Her barbarian paused. His forehead furrowed with thought lines. “I’ll take it. I would rather do other things with you than do everything with another female.”
He had done everything with other females. Almost everything. He hadn’t bonded with them. That could only be done with a Chamele’s genetic match. But he had likely rutted with them, been inside them.
Those females had that experience, had known him in a way she never would. When he thought of rutting, he’d think of them, not her.
That pained her. She sighed.
“You’re tired.” Her warrior misinterpreted her sound. “And I’m squishing you.” He straightened, standing.
Cool air swept between them, chasing away the rest of her bliss, increasing her irritation at him, at the world.
“I’m not weak.” She glowered at her male. He didn’t have to coddle her.
She doubted he had treated those other females like they were delicate. Because they were normal and she was a freak, would always be one.
“Only a fool would believe you weak.” He picked her up, repositioned her on the sleeping support, placing her at the far side of it. “And we’ve established I’m not a fool.”
“My father believed I was weak.” And lazy. He had called her that often, blaming her for her inability to extend the claws she didn’t have.
“You must have inherited your intelligence from your great-aunt.” Qulpa tumbled onto the sleeping support, spreading his big body out next to hers.
Neither of them reached for the cleaning cloths. They were two primitive souls, liked being covered with each other’s scent.
“You certainly didn’t get any of your cleverness from your father.” Her barbarian’s voice was edged with judgment. “He is a fool.”
She opened her mouth to defend her parent and then decided not to. Her father had abandoned her when she was a child. He didn’t deserve her loyalty.
“My great-aunt was highly intelligent.” She confirmed that fact. That family member did warrant her praise. “She built her bots using parts scavenged from the crashed ships.”
Her warrior slid one of his arms under her, drew her closer to him. “She was resourceful.”
Nayan rested her head on his shoulder. It was…strange sharing a sleeping support with another being, with him. She’d been alone for so long, couldn’t remember ever having done that. “My great-aunt saw possibilities where other beings saw debris.”
Her great-aunt was the being who had first suggested she craft mechanical claws. After Nayan slashed her knuckles to the bone, trying to extend her nonexistent natural weapons, she had almost bled to death, passing out on the hallway floor. Her great-aunt had bound her wounds and told her not to be an idiot. If she wanted claws so badly, she should craft her own.
Nayan did that. Her first attempts were disasters, but she learned and improved and some of her disasters inspired other weapons. One set of hand coverings shot spikes. A hunter had bought that design, used it to down his prey.
She told her barbarian all of that, relaying to him her remaining secrets, trusting him not to hurt her. They talked until her brain quieted, until the darkness closed in on her.
Then she slept, knowing she was safe. He protected her.
* * *
The dream started the same way it always did. Saruk swaggered toward her, kicking up dust with her big boots. The girl’s eyes were hard with malice. Her claws were extended.
Chameles surrounded them, watching, waiting, judging. They expected a show, one with blood and agony and humiliation.
For solar cycles, Nayan had been trying to extend her claws and failing. Everyone in their small settlement was now aware of her plight. They knew she was a freak and delighted in seeing her receive her comeuppance. They wanted her to hurt, to bleed.
She didn’t belong, would never be one of them. They hated her for being different.
That hate was written over Saruk’s face. “Are you going to fight this time, coward, or are you going to run?”
She should fight. Her chin lifted. She would die. Saruk would kill her for daring to stand her ground. But maybe then her father would be proud of her.
Her opponent neared her. Light reflected off the girl’s claws.
Nayan’s courage evaporated. Fear coursed through her, stronger and more primal than the need for approval. She turned and ran, fleeing as quickly as she could.
The other Chameles jeered at her, called her a being without honor. She didn’t care. The only thought in her mind was survival, living to see another planet rotation.
Her foot hit a solid object and she fell, smacking against the stone pathway. Hurt shot through her hands and knees as she made contact with the hard surface. Blood scented the air.
Leather rustled against skin. She looked upward and met her father’s gaze.
“Help me. Please.” She reached out to him. Pebbles were embedded into palms of her hands.
She expected him to turn away. He always rejected her in her dreams as he had rejected her in reality.
Except the dream had changed.
The being standing before her, tall and broad and muscular, was no longer her father. It was Qulpa, his long black hair streaked with gray, his body chiseled from a lifespan of battle.
Her barbarian didn’t reject her. He pulled her into his arms, folded his massive form around hers, protecting her from Saruk, from the Chameles watching her, from all danger.
She was safe. Nayan pressed her face against Qulpa’s bare chest, breathed in his male scent. The tension and fear eased from her form. She relaxed.
Her warrior would safeguard her. He wouldn’t allow anyone to harm her.
“You can’t escape who you are.” Saruk’s voice pierced her serenity.
Qulpa’s body jerked, his back bowing the way hers did when Saruk struck her with her claws. Her warrior howled, the sound ripping at Nayan’s heart, tearing at her soul.
The agony hadn’t been averted. It had merely been transferred to him, the male she trusted and adored. His howl broke the silence once more, his huge form convulsing with the most excruciating pain, one she knew well.
She’d inadvertently caused him that physical suffering. He was being punished because he dared to shelter her, to care for her.
Her punishment was now his.
It was all her fault.
* * *
“Nayan. Nayan.” Firm, rough hands shook her awake.
She opened her eyes and blinked at the brightness. “What is it?” She was disoriented, caught between sleeping and consciousness. Her body ached.
Her barbarian gazed down at her, his expression gentle. “You were having a bad dream.” His voice was soft.
Remembrance brought with it trepidation, banishing the haze in her brain.
It hadn’t been a bad dream. It was a warning.
Being with her would hurt her big strong male. Had it already harmed him?
She flung herself against her warrior. “Hold me, Qulpa.” She ran her hands down his chest, his arms, seeking reassurance he was uninjured.
“I’m here. You’re safe.” He cupped her head and rounded his shoulders, tucking her into his body, much as he had done in her dream.
Because that is what he would do—protect her, even if it harmed him. He was brave and kind and honorable.
Nayan lacked his integrity, but she knew what she had to do. She had to safeguard him as he would seek to safeguard her if their positions had been reversed.
That meant…
They couldn’t bond. Ever.
Their relationship had to remain a secret. No one could know about them.
And if she heard even the faintest whisper about her, saw even a glimpse of speculation in another Chamele’s eyes, she had to let Qulpa go.
She had to end them.