CHAPTER 50

 

TARA

 

Things are interesting here.  Tac and I just recently re-graduated to holding hands after much Brax-training.  I can go full on palm-to-palm with Tac now—with threaded fingers—and Brax barely even fusses.  The hand holding has been exciting, and considering the effort we’ve put into getting this far, it feels like this is the most exotic courtship ritual I’ve ever partaken in: very Amish.  Tac is allowed all the visiting time he wants with me—just as long as Brax is present.  Otherwise: many sad-whale songs.  It’s like the Greatest Hits of a sad-whale radio station are played live, right here.

By the way, ‘present’ is code for ‘attached at my wrist.’  I am incredibly uncomfortable putting him into the chains, but that’s what we have to do if I won’t let him be latched to me.

Like the times I want to go to the bathroom.  Without his help.

(That would be every time.  It’s a weird hangup, I know.)

How many times do you have to step on a guy’s tail before he gets the hint?

I don’t know yet.  Someday I’m going to stumble on—har har—the magic number and it’ll quit creeping under the door.

Tac is more busy than ever.  I’m not exactly able to follow along with how things go here, but I think he’s having to pick up some of Brax’s work too, on account of our constant Cuff Buddies status.

Poor Tac.

He’s been so exhausted that he’s almost asleep before he hits the bed.  Which is gosh-darn convenient when you consider our brand new Supervised Visitation setup.  Brax is a conjugal visit downer.  Downer?  More like dictator.

A tail tugs on my wrist, causing me to glance up.  Brax’s stare on me feels as pensive as my thoughts have been all morning.  Pensive?  That’s too moderate a word for the buildup of ‘worries’ that feel like they’re trying to sink me.  Despite the distraction that two aliens in particular are very good at providing, I’m treading water.  And I’m terrified I’ll never see land agai—

No!  I can’t think like this! I will get back.  I have to get back!  I blow out a breath, and try to shake it off.

A packet of watergel is pressed into my hand.  I pat his tail (which, I’m so used to having wrapped around my wrist now, that it feels like I’m basically patting myself) and I try to make my lips curve up into something resembling a smile.

For now: concentrate on training Brax.  Annnd saving Tac from Brax.  Try not to think of two other someones.

Don’t think of how long it's been.

Don’t think of where they are.  If they’re safe.  If—

Stop right there! I can’t do anything but work with what I’ve got right now: don’t go there!  Don’t do it!

I blink and focus on the packet I’m holding.  And I see that I’m struggling yet can’t quite manage to peel the entire tab of the gel packet off to get to the contents.  Gooodness.  Seems to be a whole lot I can’t do, geez—

Brax slowly tugs it from me, examines the partially torn tab, and instead of fighting with it—he exposes those big teeth, and nips the bottom corner.  Mmm.  Interesting teamwork.

I accept it back and squeeze the contents onto my tongue, nodding gratefully.  Works for me.  The guy covers me in his spit every day.  I can handle drinking from his tooth-perforation without missing a beat.  I set the broom that I’ve had wedged under my arm aside while I finish my ‘drink.’

Brax and I are team cleaning.  For days now, that’s what we’ve been doing to pass the time.  We work together.  He helps me sweep and mop, doing the heavy lifting; it’s sweet, and funny, and it keeps me from laying around and making myself crazy.  We’ve made it all the way back to the bedroom, and he even helped me put clean sheets on the bed, and he was good at it.

This looming alien has a domestic streak.  You’d never know it looking at him.

I work to suck the gel packet empty, getting the last mouthful.  “Thanks,” I say to him, and I get a smile.  He’s still got smirky-eyes, but I figure these are permanent because this alien is irritatingly smug.  He can’t help himself.

Speaking of smug: guess who gets to wield the Feather Duster of Obedience Training now?

I can feel my face splitting into an evil grin.  Because Brax is letting me train him now.

All it took was some chains and leather.

I snicker and choke.

Brax bends to peer at me better, while I try to recover and cough out, “Watergel.  Wrong pipe.”

Brax sees my grin and it startles him for a second, then he’s tugging me so close my hips bump into his thighs and the big dolt smiles at me.  And it’s such a… It’s a different smile.  It’s a smile with heat.  It’s open.  It’s affectionate.

Oh damn.

He’s been so nice.  I mean, he’s still Brax—so he’s a jerk—but he’s been a nice jerk.  To me.  (Poor Tac.  I’ve heard the growling when Brax thinks I’ve already fallen asleep.  I’m starting to think he likes it when I yank on his tail.) He’s been nice to me ever since I freed him from those crazy-heavy chains.  And…if I’m being honest, he wasn’t really mean to me before.  He was just weird about me.  About touching me.

Not so anymore.

With that smile that’s doing strange things to my insides, his big thumb is suddenly brushing behind my ear, and his big fingers are wrapped under my jaw, tipping my face back enough that he can examine me.

Weird about touching me?  Gee, golly, whiz, whatever was wrong there is all cured now!

With his other hand, he picks up a tendril of my hair, inspecting it with hooded eyes.

And when those eyes meet mine, I feel a jolt zip from the back of my neck to my tailbone.  My thighs are tensing and the backs of my knees feel… tight and fluttery.

What wizardry is this?

The little ring of iris that’s visible around his now orb-shaped pupils isn’t a dark russet anymore.

I blink.

His thumb is still teasing the curve of my ear, and just this light touch has me riveted, unable to move and unable to break from the power of his hypnotizing golden stare.

I read once that a blacksmith cranks the fire in his forge to more than two thousand degrees to get that bright yellow glow he needs before he’s ready to pound his sword.

His eyes look just like that.

I gulp and try to look down.  To the side.  Just—away!

Brax won’t let me.  He jostles his hand just enough to let me know he thinks he’s in charge right now.

...Of my face?  My spine snaps straight.  I don’t think so!

That's when he exhales on my lips.  It shouldn’t be good.  It shouldn’t be anything.  It definitely, definitely shouldn’t be great.

My lids flutter shut.  This part of him, this attractive-smelling part?  Two words: Human.  Lure.  Thank God he’s not running around on Earth: women everywhere would be in serious trouble.

Stupid trouble.

This is Brax! He’s mean, he’s bossy, and he doesn’t know how to share!  Pull yourself together!

I shouldn't have opened my eyes.

“Brax… we can’t…” I curl my pointer finger towards myself, then weakly flop it back in his direction.  “It’s ‘Tac and Tara.’”

He stares at me, unblinking.

It should be creepy.

What it is, is an uncomfortable conversation.  And he’s not helping with this hot stare he’s trying to smelt me with.  But there will be no smelting.  “Not ‘Tara and Brax.’”

His ears very, very slowly fold back.

Uh oh…

He leans in, right into my space—right into my face—and whispers, “Wrrrong.”

“YOU KNOW MORE WORDS?!”

Brax moves in even closer, and to counter, I step back.  A soft growl rumbles from his chest.

Gah!  This does confusing things to me!  If someone told me they felt like their belly was melting, and they liked it?  I’d be telling them they need to book a visit with a doctor.  Maybe two.  Sounds like they have a body problem in addition to a head problem and both need immediate medical attention, stat!

...I could use those two doctors right now.  Yes.  Both.  I am having a problem.  I am having a big, big problem.

Brax is getting hard against my stomach.

And I like it.

I told Tac ‘No Sex’ and he followed my lead.  When has THIS alien EVER ‘followed’ anyone’s lead, but his own?

I take another step back.  “Brax, this is important.  What else do you know?  Babies?”

But he’s all done talking.  He stalks two steps forward.

This brute.

I sidestep, knowing right where I need to be, next to the bedside table where a very important thing is sitting out, ready and waiting—and Brax moves to block me just as I suspected he’d try to do.

That’s fine.  No remorse then.  Slowly, not able to take my eyes off of his even if I trusted him—which I don’t, I definitely, definitely don’t—I place one hand on his bicep, making my way to his wrist and our umbilical cord of leather.  But with my other hand… I reach down.

I’m holding my breath as I run my hand along the hard surface, and I almost squeak when I bump into the heavy alien-steelness.  Got it!

The clanking sound is what finally breaks Brax’s gazelock, but it’s too late.  I’ve already clamped a manacle around his wrist.

He rears back in surprise.

I leap sideways.

He’s scary-fast, but his little hesitation costs him, and I can’t afford to wait around.  I’m getting out of here.

My heart is racing as I force myself to start for the door, and to ignore the remorse in his whale-ing.