GREN

I smell others in our cave. Along with the old scents of mesakkah natives who have been here in the past, there is the vague scent of more recent visitors, and the smell of a mated male and female. The male is not of a species I recognize by scent, but the female is human. I filter through my blurry memories of my sickness, and vaguely recall a golden male and a faceless female with soft, cool hands and a gentle voice.

And then there is my Willa.

Even now, she leans over me, carefully bathing my skin with a wet bit of fur. I am exhausted, weak as a Praxiian kitten newly from the womb, but my mind is clear and my body is whole. The bites no longer ache, and even though I am tired, I feel surprisingly well. As Willa tends to me, I realize that while I feel better by the moment…she looks terrible. The curls of her mane are matted and full of debris, her face is dirty, and there are hollows under her lovely eyes. She is thin, too, and I wonder if the others have been feeding her. Are we all slaves once more? Did our masters return? For some reason, that does not fill me with aching dread as it did before. They have left Willa at my side, and if I am indeed to be a slave once more, at least I will have someone to fight for.

But there is no collar on my neck, and my hands are not bound. Perhaps not. I reach up to touch Willa's beautiful, strange face and she smiles at me, pressing her mouth against my hand as I do. "Gren," she says softly, nuzzling my hand.

I am tired…but my cock still responds to her touch. It always will, I think. I am too fatigued to do anything about it except to note that it yet stirs. She finishes bathing my face and then pushes a cup to my face. "Tea," she says, and a syrupy smell fills the air.

I remember this scent. I sip it, grimacing at the taste. She insists that I take several swallows, and I manage as much as I can, and then take a few bites of the natives' hard rations that she has softened with water and feeds me with a spoon. My stomach growls with hunger and I eat several big bites, which makes her face crease with delight.

When I am fed, she sets the bowl down and starts to get up, probably for something else to tend to me. I reach for her hand and pull her back down and she gives me a curious look.

"You stayed at my side all this time, did you not?" It is not a question, not really. In all of my fevered dreams, Willa has been right there. She has not abandoned me. I have never known such kindness in my life. "I do not know what I have done to deserve one such as you, my Willa."

She caresses my hand, her brow furrowing as she tries to figure out my growling words. "Friends," she tells me, and gestures at the far end of the large cave.

She thinks I mention the others? I glance back at them, but I do not need to see them to know they are there; the scents tell me plenty. The male watches us from afar, his female cradled in his arms. He gazes at Willa and myself for a moment, and then turns his back to us, his chest humming with an unfamiliar sound.

It is something to do with the parasite they gave us, I think, but I do not know what. I need more words to ask Willa.

My Willa. She watches me carefully, waiting to see my reaction. Does she think I will attack them for being in our cave? The female healed me. She brought me back to my Willa. I will be forever grateful. So I clasp Willa's hand in mine. "Fraaands," I agree.

Willa just smiles and offers me more tea, and I grudgingly comply.

I sleep. The tea is a sedative, I think. My dreams are full of the blue-skinned mesakkah natives of this world, grabbing Willa and prying her from my side despite her screams of protest. I wake up, hissing and angry, only to find that Willa is asleep next to me. She is still dirty and smells of sweat and smoke, but I do not care. I pull her against my body and tuck the furs around us—at some point I have been given fresh furs—and go back to sleep.

I drowse through the day, and most of the time when I wake up, Willa is there to feed me and give me sips of water or tea. She helps me stagger to a basket in the corner of the cave that she has set aside for voiding her bladder, and then helps me back to bed. The others in the cave—the golden-skinned male and his mate—are very quiet in their corner, sleeping.

Willa sleeps very little. She attends to me and every time I stir, she leaps to her feet to see to my needs. When I am stronger, I will make sure she takes care of herself. I do not like the thought of her exhausting her fragile human body just to take care of me. She also seems uneasy that others are nearby. She watches the golden one and his sleeping mate with a slight frown on her face, as if she does not trust them.

If she does not trust, I do not, either. I hate that I am so helpless.

Soon enough, though, I will be recovered and then it will not matter. We will go far away from these others, find ourselves a cave to make our home, and then it will just be myself and Willa.

I like that thought.

By the time the next morning arrives, I am feeling much stronger. I sit up in bed, even though Willa makes protesting noises, and I feed myself when she tries to do it. I push away the tea she makes and drink plain water. I am tired of sleeping through the day. I flex one arm, and there is no response of pain. That is a welcome relief. Oddly enough, there are no muscle aches, either. My joints do not throb as they sometimes do after recovery from a difficult fight, and there are no random pains in my body that remind me that I am feeling the lack of stims from my old masters.

I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Strange.

“Gren, ubettrsuugr?” Willa crouches next to me and pushes a cup of water into my hands. Her worried gaze moves over my face and she absently brushes a lock of mane off my forehead. Just that small touch makes my body stir, and I do my best not to notice how close she is, or how appealingly mouthwatering her female scent is. She is tired and has worn herself out caring for me. The last thing she needs is me pawing at her.

I think about it, though. I watch as her teats jiggle when she gets up and moves to the fire, then touches a finger to the contents of the pouch warming there. Not tea this time, but a fresh, clean scent of something else.

“Timfrbath,” she tells me. “Uenmeebof.” She bends over the fire, and then I am gazing right at the rounded curves of her rump.

My cock stirs.

Already my body is impatient for her touch. Irritated, I swipe at it and look around the cave. The male with the golden skin lurks in the far corner, attending to his sleeping mate. He glances in our direction once, and then promptly ignores us once more.

“Libak,” Willa tells me, turning back to me. She has a wet towel in her hand. “Lmmetakcarofu.”

She puts her hand on my chest, her touch light and gentle. Again, my cock stirs, and I watch Willa’s face, wondering if she will notice…and what she will think.

“Libak,” she insists again, and I recline on my back once more. Willa moves over me, and then she begins to bathe me with gentle, sweeping motions. She lightly brushes the towel over my face, smiling down at me, and then moves lower, to my chest.

The water is warm and her touches are caressing, and I bite back a groan, reaching up to caress her face. “Willa.” I do not want a bath—I want to touch her.

She chuckles and gives me a teasing look. “Urstl recovrn.”

And then she deliberately goes lower, smoothing the wet towel down my chest and toward my groin.

“Jstabath,” she tells me, her tone light and airy. Her touch is teasing, and she looks into my eyes as she dips the cloth and then bathes me lower, brushing over my cock. There is promise in her gaze and this time I cannot bite back my groan.

“Suun,” she tells me. “Gbetterfurst.”

I know what she says, even if we do not share the words. Not yet. Not until my body is healed. It is a good response, even if I am impatient to touch her. I force myself to remain still as she finishes gently bathing me. I could do so myself, I think. I am regaining strength quickly…but it is a pleasure to feel her wet hands on my fur.

I’m panting by the time she smooths the towel down my legs and finishes my bath. She picks up the cloth and puts it in the water pouch, and then caresses my cheek before brushing her lips over mine. “Suun,” she says again.

I relax on the blankets, reaching for her hand. She gives it to me, and I marvel at how free she is with her touches. No one has ever touched me so easily or so readily as her. In her eyes, I am not a slave, or a beast, or a gladiator.

I am just Gren, and for once, that is a good thing to be.