GREN

Willa’s scent changes throughout the night. I sleep lightly, attuned to the faintest of noises, and then after a time, I do not sleep at all. I can survive off an hour or two of rest, and the rest of the evening, I spend holding her close and breathing in her scent, learning her body. I am entranced by her breathing, the sounds she makes while she sleeps, the feel of her against my side. I’ve never been able to sleep next to another, but I recognized her shivering and fitful rest and wanted to share my warmth.

More than anything, I wanted to touch her. Perhaps she is foolish for eagerly moving into my arms and curling trustingly against my side. I am a mutant beast, a fierce gladiator that has won dozens upon dozens of bloody victories in many arenas. But she holds onto me and gives sweet little sighs as she sleeps, and I know I would fight every ooli, mesakkah, a’ani, drakoni, and szzt if they tried to separate us.

Willa does not know of my fierce thoughts, though. She slips her fingers through my fur and I find myself craving her touch, hoping that she will wake up and put her hands everywhere on me. That she will caress the stiff pole of my cock and make my seed come forth. But she only sleeps, and eventually my erection dies a slow death, because I will not touch it. To do so is a betrayal of her trust as she sleeps at my side. So I lie quietly and tell myself this is enough.

But then her scent starts to change.

I am not sure how or why, but it does. It becomes sweeter, more enticing. Did I think my cock ached before? It is nothing compared to how it feels now. It extrudes again, thrusting into the frigid morning air and she lets out a little moan in her sleep, her hand between her thighs. I am panting, I realize, and I grab a fistful of snow and rub it against my aching length, determined to make it recede once more. Eventually it does, but only when I breathe through my mouth. Something about her scent is making me react this way. I wish I knew more of females, so I could know what would cause this.

She stirs, and I go very still, making my breathing even as I close my eyes. She wakes, turns over, and then pulls away from me.

And I feel an intense sense of loss as I gaze at her back.

I wanted her to turn to me, to see that she slept next to me, and smile. To feel her hands on my body. Instead, she has pushed away as if I disgust her.

Perhaps in her eyes, I am yet a monster.

It does not matter. I will be a good protector to her. I vow this even as I grab another handful of snow and place it against my throbbing groin.

Later that morning, Willa indicates to me that we need to hunt. She gestures at the food we have left, and then the spear, and it does not take long for me to grasp what she means. “Food,” I tell her, but she only gives me a puzzled smile and indicates the pouch of rations again. I find our lack of communication frustrating. Her words sound very different than mine, her language a musical series of sharp sounds mixed with harsh syllables, whereas mine is growled inflections and low notes.

But I keep trying. “Hunt. Food.” I gesture at the spear, then at the rations, then at the distant hills. I mime using the spear to stab at something, and then eating.

Her speckled cheeks grow red. She tries to growl the word for “food” in praxiian, but it comes out garbled and nonsensical, but she understands now that I am speaking to her. We share words, and I teach her praxiian for spear, for food, and for home, since that is our crude shelter.

“Shhhhpeeeer,” she says slowly, indicating the weapon.

My teeth get in the way, but I repeat her as best I can, and she looks thrilled at my mangled attempt. She does not care that I am not perfect. It makes it easier to share words, and as we try to communicate, we use gestures and sounds, and it almost becomes a game.

But we need food, and I cannot spend all day here learning her words, not when she needs to be fed and kept safe. We take the spear down from our lean-to, and I put it in her hands, indicating she should follow me. Then, I begin to hunt. I circle outward from our small camp, searching for scent trails. I crouch low from time to time, my face near the snow, and the human keeps behind me a few steps, her hand on the spear, struggling to keep up with my speed. I slow down my pace, because I cannot leave her behind, nor can I carry her. We must figure out a way to work together and this is foreign to me. I have always fought alone, and thinking of another pricks my frustration even as it fills me with pleasure. If only she were faster, or stronger, or her feet did not sink into the snow…

Then she would not be Willa, though, and I would not change her for anything.

So I force myself to be patient. I force myself to creep slowly when I scent a trail, instead of leaping after it. I keep the distance we travel in mind, because we cannot get too far from our camp and our supplies. I smell felines again, and even though I want to steer her in another direction, I head after them. Felines are dangerous, and I do not know how big they come on this world. They can range greatly in size, and it would be smarter to hunt down a plant-eater…but for what I have in mind, I need a carnivore. I sift through scents for what feels like hours, and I know Willa must be getting impatient, but she waits behind me in silence, studying the landscape and watching me with trust in her gaze. I cannot let down that trust. When I find a fresh scent in our vicinity, I pick up the pace, tracking it, and when I locate the source—a den—I pause long enough to indicate to Willa that she must stay safely up on the ridge.

She nods understanding, and then I disappear into the rocky crevices, hunting down the creature. It is a feline with snowy white fur and scarcely large enough to go to Willa’s hip. If this is the feline wildlife here, we are safe. I push my way into its small den fearlessly, attacking it with my claws and ignoring its swipes at my hide. I smell other felines nearby even as I do, so I make this hunt quick. The creature sinks its teeth into my hand. I smack it against one rocky wall of the den and crush its skull, and then it is dead. Tucking my prey under one arm, I emerge from the burrow, only to see Willa standing at the entrance, her face pale and her scent awash with fear.

“Gren!” the human female calls out, her gaze barely flicking over the feline in my grip. She runs her hands over my fur, worry on her face. “Yusokay? Sinjurd?”

I go completely still, aching with hunger at her touches as she moves her hand up and down my arms. My cock thrusts out again, hot need pulsing through me, and the bloodlust still roars through my body. She is soft and vulnerable in front of me, with a body that would be easy to pin down…

I growl a warning at her when she steps closer, and Willa skitters back, startled, her eyes wide.

“It is not safe here, female. I warned you,” I tell her, even though it is useless to spit words at her. She will not understand them. She understands my tone, though, and hurt crosses her speckled face. Willa takes a step back, then two.

Immediately, I am filled with shame. She was worried about me. She touched me, gladly, and I reacted by frightening her. I am angry because my cock aches and throbs and I cannot do anything about it, and I worry that before long, I will just be a walking erection with no relief in sight. I take these frustrations out on her and she does not deserve it.

“I am…sorry,” I tell her. They are not words I have ever said before. “I do not know what it is to worry over another.”

She studies me, her expressive face so full of emotion. Her eyes glow a sad blue, and then she reaches up and caresses my face. “Friends?”

I have never wanted anything more in my life. “Friends,” I agree, and caress her cheek.