My balls ache. My first cock keeps twitching, stirring every time I glance at the sway of her ass, the swell of her chest, the curve of her hips. Even the moisture dripping down her face is erotic and arousing.

When she tilts her head back to drink water, the way her throat works stiffens my cock. It’s distracting, clouding my thoughts. Desire, need, every moment is a reminder of how much I want her. She is my treasure. The most primal part of me wants to claim her fully. Consummate my desires.

There are no words between us, and we travel in silence. Heavy quiet, full of unspoken thoughts and desire. Her body responds to me, so she wants me as much as I want her—that much is obvious. How she maintains control in the face of our mutual attraction and rising needs is beyond my comprehension.

My thoughts won’t quit circling around her. Desire, need, pulse pounding, cock stiffening, time passes by unnoticed. Rosalind stops, hip cocked to one side making her ass the most enticing, desirable thing I’ve ever seen. My palms itch with desire to touch her, to feel her bare skin under my fingertips.

“What is that?” she asks.

It’s an effort of will to tear my gaze away and follow her pointing finger. Even so my gaze traces the perfect line from her shoulder to the tip of her finger before I can focus my eyes on her target.

“That’s the camp,” I say.

Sticking above a not-so-distant sand dune is the tip of a spaceship, barely visible from our current position.

“We need to get closer,” she says.

Smoke drifts up into the red tinted sky. I catch the scent of it on the wind. Fuel, burning fuel.

“We have a problem,” I say. “That ship is preparing to leave.”

“How do you know that?” she asks.

“I don’t, for sure, but there is the scent of fuel in the air,” I tell her.

She nods, frowning.

“Let’s move,” I say, leading the way forward.

Rosalind falls in with me. We move slowly, stopping often to listen and look. The suns are low, sinking fast below the horizon as we make our final approach towards the Zzlo camp. The shadows give us some cover. The Zzlo chose their location well, an especially barren area where even the surrounding sand dunes are relatively low.

After crawling on our bellies to the top of one of the dunes, we look down on their camp.

It’s a flat area, a rare feature on Tajss, with an oasis close to hand. The camp is surrounded by a temporary fence marking their area. Well-armed guards patrol along the fence. We watch in silence and I count three guards working the perimeter. There is a gap in their coverage where we might be able to penetrate past them if we time it well.

The ship dominates the landscape, towering over even the highest dunes. I know from experience it’s only a shuttle, but it’s been long years since I’ve seen its like. Once, before the Devastation, such ships were common, and the memory of them, vague under the fog of the bijass, is still with me if only as a concept. The ship has a ramp open leading to the ground. A Zzlo stands guard at the base of the ramp too.

The engines of the transport are warming up. Smoke drifts from them at regular intervals as they heat the fuel for takeoff. So many of my memories from before are dim and hazy because of the bijass. The origins of this memory are lost to me, but I know it’s true.

“There,” Rosalind whispers, pointing.

Following her finger I see what she spotted. A pop-up shelter with two guards in front of it, located close to the fence on the far side of the compound. A Zzlo emerges from inside, pulling a struggling figure along with him. A human, male. Hands bound behind him, still he fights against his captor. Kicking and screaming, trying to break free.

Cold spreads through my chest, running through my veins. When the door opens, I catch a glimpse of several other humans in there. One female with red hair and pale skin stares out the open door. Her eyes are sunken, skin red and peeling, and now moisture pours down her face from her eyes. My stomach tightens into a hard ball, and I can’t swallow. Her despair drives into me across the distance. I’m shaking with pent-up anger. It’s clear that they have found a lot of slaves and they’re shipping them off-world.

I tap Rosalind on the shoulder, nod, then point back down the dune. Together we slide towards the base.

“We don’t have time to go back to the Tribe,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“Why not?” she asks.

“That ship is preparing to leave, a day, two at the outside. It would be gone before we can get help and return.”

“Shit,” she exhales. “We have to save them.”

Mind racing through the possibilities I try to find a way to say no. Images of that forlorn female drift through all my thoughts. No one will rescue her, no one but us. We are their only hope.

“Yes,” I agree.

“How many of them did you count?”

“Fourteen,” I say.

“Same,” she says. “Damn it.”

Her lips purse as her brow furrows. Touching her face before I think about it, my fingertips trail along her jaw, smoothing the tension away. When I stare into her eyes, the ache in my chest and stomach yawn wide, emptiness that only she can fill. I want to say something, find words that will set things right between us but nothing comes. She places her hand over mine then the moment passes.

“We’ll have to be smart about this,” I observe.

“We need a distraction, something that can pull most of them away,” she says.

“The oasis,” I say, an idea coming to me.

“What about it?”

“Majmun,” I say, a smile breaking across my face. “We can use them!”

“How?” she asks.

“Come with me, I’ll show you an old trick,” I grin.

Crouching low, we make our way out and around the dunes. Full dark falls as we slowly skirt the Zzlo camp. As the temperature drops, my body slows, aching with the cold. Rosalind doesn’t seem to be affected by it, but the cold always bothers me, and tonight seems particularly cold. We’re moving, still in a crouch, around what should be the southern-most dune when I hear something.

Grabbing Rosalind, I jerk her close and drop flat to the ground, covering her with my body. An initial gasp comes from her, but then she doesn’t resist as I cover us with sand using my tail and wings.

A Zzlo appears at the top of the dune. He holds something up to his eyes and looks out with it. Only my eyes are watching him. My thoughts are consumed again with her. I’m not sure how long I can resist the lure of her soft flesh. My first cock digs into her, relentless, wanting more, needing to take her. My hearts pound against the soft mounds pressed against me.

Her heart beats against my chest, rapid and strong. Her hands rest on my shoulders, burning points where her bare skin contacts mine. Unbidden my hips shift, thrusting into her, instinct and desire controlling my body without conscious thought. I want to bury myself inside her, giving her both of my cocks and leaving my seed to grow. Together we could create the future we both dream of. Our children could be numerous.

The Zzlo turns and makes his way back down the far side of the dune. I count to one hundred, making sure he’s had time to be a good distance away before I roll off her. We both rise, and her gaze lingers on my erection holding my pants out. All my will is consumed in not grabbing her and taking her, even breathing is held off as I struggle to maintain control.

She signals that we should move and I agree, if for no other reason than if we stay here any longer, I’m going to claim her, risk of capture or no.

Crouching, we continue towards the oasis. The moons are dim tonight, and long shadows creep across the dunes that we dart between. Coming around the edge of a dune, we see the oasis lying before us. Now to implement my plan.

“Be careful,” I whisper. “Follow in my footsteps only.”

Rosalind nods understanding, not risking more words. The imminent threat of the Zzlo is too close for comfort.

Leading the way into the oasis, I avoid the most dangerous plants that grow along the edges, ready to capture unwary visitors. As we move deeper, there is the soft sound of water moving. This oasis must have a small waterfall. The baoba trees grow closer together until we have to squeeze between the massive trunks, easier for Rosalind than me by far.

Ahead is a cluster of a dozen trees, all close together. I study the branches that are far overhead. As I expected, I notice the signs of the majmun making their home up there.

“Stay here, be ready to run,” I whisper.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“Something stupid,” I grin, moving away.

Gripping the base of the closest tree, I climb up the trunk towards the high branches. Silence is a must. Alerting them to my approach will ruin my plan. Almost there. The trunk of the baoba trees are smooth. I shimmy my way up the bole until the first of the massive limbs is within reach. I’m twenty feet off the ground by the time I reach it, and now I smell them. Majmun mark their territory giving it an offensive odor.

Pulling myself up onto the limb and positioning myself in a crouch, I look around for my goal. The majmun are sleeping just over my head, but as I expected, the weaker young ones are lower. Taking a deep breath, I stand and stretch for the next branch up. As my full weight presses onto the branch I’m on, it bends down. My fingertips brush the branch but I can’t get a grip on it.

Damn it.

There is no other option. Crouching, I take one deep breath, then I leap, spreading my wings for lift. Rosalind’s gasp reaches me just as my fingers close over the top of the branch. Hanging by my fingertips, body swaying, my muscles strain as I pull myself up and over, scrambling on top of the branch.

I hold still, listening, alert for any stirrings of the majmun. Fighting them in the trees would not go in my favor.

Silence.

Good. Getting my feet under me, I make my way along the branch towards the nest that is my goal, a collection of limbs covered with leaves where I know I’ll find a baby majmun. Majmun are strange creatures—the babies are not kept with their mothers. They set them up in their own beds for the night and leave them, but if an alarm is raised by one of them the entire pack will come to its aid. A strange display of indifference balanced by rabid protection. Which is what I’m counting on.

The baby majmun is curled into a ball, sleeping. Positioning myself carefully next to the nest, I cover its mouth at the same time as I carefully grab it up, keeping it from crying out. It struggles in my arms but doesn’t make a sound.

Opening my wings, I drop out of the tree, landing with a thump close to Rosalind. She’s staring at me wide-eyed but doesn’t break the silence. I take off, and she falls in with me as I make my way back to the edge of the oasis. Once the Zzlo camp is in sight beyond the edge of the oasis, I crouch and watch for the patrol, struggling with the baby in my arms who is fighting for its freedom. Rosalind at my side, I watch the guard march slowly by, my hearts thumping in my chest, ready to spring into action.

He passes, and I count to twenty. I mouth silent instructions with gestures to Rosalind, and she nods when she gets I want her to stay hidden. Satisfied it’s time, I race across the barren land between the oasis and the fence of the camp. As I reach the fence the baby in my arms manages to bite my hand. The sharp pain blinds me for an instant, and I lose my grip on it. It cries out, a loud, pitiful sound that carries through the night. When I put it on the ground, it races away from me, through the fence into the Zzlo camp.

Perfect.

I race back to Rosalind, take her hand, and pull her along. We run out of the oasis and north, parallel to the camp. Before we clear the oasis, I hear the cries of the majmun, and the treetops are rustling. Rosalind looks over her shoulder. When she looks back, she finds me grinning.

“What?” she asks.

“A distraction,” I answer, as the commotion grows louder.

I grab her arm as I slide to a stop and crouch behind a small rock. The majmun pack bursts out of the oasis in a mad rush, led by their alpha. The cries of the baby from deep in the Zzlo camp are calling them on. They barrel forward, leaping over the fence. Cries go up from inside the camp.