CHAPTER 40

 

TAC’MOT

 

“You need to calm yourself.  She’s safe with him,” Grake says in a level but nasally voice.  He’s covering his nose and mouth, standing well away from me to prevent from being knocked out.  Wise, because I’ve never seen my skin secrete toxin like this—it’s actually visible, beading like finely pressed oil before it rapidly evaporates to affect any who are nearby.

It is what forced me to leave Tara.  I was afraid if Brax was knocked unconscious again, with the way he was clutching her, he’d collapse on top of her and crush her under his weight.

“You didn’t see her eyes,” I say hollowly.  Fully aware he can hear us, I start, “How is he bonded?  He never even touched—”

Grake holds up a hand.  “It’s thought that Brax’s family line had—or, has, rather—a genetic propensity to bond.  His brother is rather… infamous on our home planet.”

“I know this much,” I inform him, “But it seemed impossible.  I mean, it’s BRAX for galaxy’s sake!”

His nod is agreeable.  “He took every precaution not to end up this way, as far as I can tell.”

“She was frightened.”  My skin hurts.  I’ve never felt this before and it sets me on edge.  I want to charge in to comfort her.

Grake looks appalled.  “Tac, you honestly believe he would hurt her?  He won’t.  I can confirm this much at least: if he becomes aggravated, it isn’t the Gryfala he will harm.  You should let them… finish bonding.”

I stare at him, neurons exploding in colorful bursts behind my eyes.  “How much damage are we talking?”

His brows slowly climb.  “‘Damage?’  You mean… If you attempt to take her from him?  What level is dead?”

I concentrate on drawing air into my lungs, hopping in place a moment to drain some of excessive buildup of adrenaline and nerves.  Crite! Crite!  Teveking bond!  Having to force Tara to go in to save Brax’s miserable hide…  And the timing could not be worse—for Creator’s sake she’s about to nest!  Grake said stress is bad for nesting Gryfala.  She was certainly looking stressed when I had to leave her!

Though, she rejected the nesting site.  I’ve no idea the effect that will have on her.  She’s been struggling with anxiety aplenty already; of course she’s irrationally upset over being locked in with her bonded Rakhii.  Grake tried to warn me.

He also warned me she’d be exacting when it came to that nest!  He told me she would want to do most of the preparation herself, but I had wanted to surprise her.

Oh, I had.  But she didn’t seem to have any interest in designing one herself, either.  Maybe all of this will disrupt her need to nest entirely.  I’ve no idea if she’s literally filled with eggs now or…  I scrub my face with my hands.  And I pace.

I pace for spans.  I should go to work, but I can’t concentrate.  Grake left me long ago, so I warble in anguish alone.  I’m trying not to, but I keep replaying the scene from earlier: when I’d opened the door to where Brax had locked himself down, and she gave me this heartwrenchingly wide-eyed look of unadulterated alarm.  On the way here, I’d tried to explain that Brax wouldn’t harm her.  That was my rational side.  The other part of me, an uncharted, newly awakened part of me—that part wanted to clutch her to me and never let her go, much less share her.  And ‘share’ her, with Brax?  He’s a Rakhii: they don’t know the meaning of the word!  The concept seems to be completely foreign to them.  To him!

As evidenced by the situation I’m facing right now.  I’m standing in the doorway—I don’t even know exactly when I made the move to enter—but there they are.  He’s holding her close, watching her sleep.

Well... at least he was, until I stepped inside.  Now, in an obvious effort not to disturb her, he’s releasing a bone-shivering growl that’s so low, I can barely hear it.

But I certainly can feel it.

So can she.  She shifts a bit, and when he glances down, he must see something in her expression because he ceases that awful noise and instead, turns to silently showing fang at me as his body hunkers over her form protectively.

The idea that he’s protecting her from me… preposterous!

When I manage to pry my gaze from the way her cheek is pressed onto his forearm, when I manage to drag my eyes away from the sight of him lying half-atop her, and when I’m finished glaring at the way his tail is fanning all its blades at me in a warning display—my thoughts divert and sputter to a halt, confusion complete as I take in the mess all about the floor.  I peer closer.  Soap?

The floor is absolutely covered in pulverized soap.  Just the dry crumbles.  No water added, not that it would make any sense to mop with this extreme amount of cleaning product anyway.  Brax is normally so meticulous—this is totally aberrant behavior for the male I know.  It looks like he has taken a case’s worth of the soap bars, dashed them to the floor, then stomped on top of them as if he were making wine.  The crumbles are extensive and everywhere.  Why…?

And what would she have thought, seeing him do this?  I’m disgusted with his crazed behavior, as well as deeply questioning Grake’s assessment and assurances of the situation.  I’m incensed that she was put at risk—just as she feared—just as I’ve feared as I’ve paced outside this door!

“Calm yourself, machaai,” he dares to warn me.  And I see that my skin is flushing with threat-splotches, and his words do nothing to calm me at all.

Then his actions manage what his words cannot.  He leans back—backing away from her body—with only his arm remaining trapped under her.  He’s preparing himself to get dosed with toxin, but he’s also ensuring his weight won’t flatten her when it happens.

Seeing this sucks the fearful ire right out of me.

“There you go,” he says quietly, and I recognize it for what it is.  He’s been employing this same voice to talk to her for spans now.  “It’s not what you think.  I gave her the soap.  Some rotations ago, I found out by accident that it calms her.  She’s the one who committed this massacre.”  He eyes my skin again, relaxing a little.  “Good.  That’s it.”

Dumbly, I blink at him.  “You’re crooning to me too?”

He smirks faintly.  “I thought it was worth a shot.  Seems to work on divas.”

“Shut up!”

“You’d better shut up,” he snarls, serious again.  “If she wants to sleep, you’ll let her sleep.”

Too late, we see our bickering has already roused her.  And instead of the welcoming smile and warm eyes that I’ve come to crave as if they’re morsels for my heart, she looks at me dully; there is no pleasure in her countenance at all.

“What have you—” I’m about to shout, ‘—done to her!’ but that’s when she raises up enough to roll over, turning her back to me with a deliberation that can’t be misconstrued.

And, she moves deeper into Brax’s arms.

Owwww…

I didn’t know my heart could compress to the size of a dratsum seed, but it certainly is feeling like it’s attempting to do just this.

The bottoms of my long feet ache to pound out my frustration and dread, but in this mood, I’m afraid I’ll break through to the sub flooring.  I knew it.  She was as blindsided as I me.  She seemed to have no comprehension.

Bonding. Unlike Grake, this was all a surprise to her.  She doesn’t know it’s why I had to leave her with Brax.  Now, my mate is hurt and angered with me, and I can’t explain the reasons—valid reasons—that I had to take her to Brax.  Brax, who is no longer suffering from the effects of touch-deprivation from being apart from his bonded.  If not for me, Tara would never have gone to him willingly; she didn’t, and still doesn’t understand that for her to be apart from him now will make him gravely ill—Grake was very clear on this point.

I’m startled when she speaks.  “Juss goh Tac.  Leev meh.  Yoo ahhr goood et thot.”

I don’t even understand what she said but it pains me so much I feel it crushing my soul.

Now I do thump my heels into the floor.  Tara, unaware my outburst was coming, jumps.

Brax reacts like I’ve attacked her.  “GET OUT.”  He’s careful not to deafen her by using the resonance chamber in his nasal crest, despite his obvious feelings of aggression toward me in this moment.

Unsure what else to do, I grant her what she is clearly desiring: space.  But she will only get this from me, because Brax has no such intention of giving her any—of this, I am certain.