Alliance: An Intersolar Alien Romance, Book 6

18

All higher thought fled Fásach’s brain as his instincts stepped into the spotlight and took a massive fucking bow before diving into bloody thoughts of ripping whatever was emerging from the sea to shreds. He jumped in front of Roz, his fur standing on end everywhere, and tensed his claws so they’d extend to their full length from within the pads of his fingers. Then he peeled his lips away from his jaws, exposing gums and the full snapping power of his teeth as a writhing mass of tendrils sought out the edges of the pool.

Large red eyes set in a steel-blue face emerged from the water, their golden striped pupils fixated on the room as they adjusted to being above water. Calloused mitts for hands grasped the edge, and a shilpakaari with two arms hoisted her elbows up onto the ledge, cocking one shoulder with a grin.

“Well, you’re definitely not Idesh. Hand me a towel, traveler, it’s fuckin’ freezing down there.”

But Fásach was seeing red. His nose lifted away from his fangs at the gesture. The shilpakaar’s voice was deep and rough, and their build wasn’t nearly as narrow as most females of the species. When a long senticotylus snaked over their shoulder, healthy and glowing with white stripes, he knew that regardless of having only two arms instead of four, they were speaking to a simult.

Simults were intersex, sharing a range of traits from across the shilpakaari biological spectrum. They were the pinnacle of society, embodying the redundant genetic traits that had pulled their species out of the ocean hundreds of thousands of years ago. Some were female-presenting with pheromonal glands and four arms while others had a male’s enlarged spleen and triple set of fanged dental ridges but no senti or phallus. Whatever their presentation, no two simults were alike.

Which made the one grinning at him an unpredictable opponent.

No way they were getting near his fucking thuais and pups.

“Um, here,” Roz said in a small voice. She squeezed Fásach’s shoulder and brushed down his hackles with a soothing hum as she leaned around him with a towel in her hand. He clutched her outstretched wrist, freezing her in place.

“Don’t,” he ground out.

But she continued to pet him until the snarl in his throat was at a low idle rather than a revving engine. She hummed for him in his ear, her breath tickling his fur, distracting him with her calming harmony, then pushed past his hand. “It’s okay, Fás.”

The shilpakaar hoisted themself up the ledge and took the towel with a long look up and down Roz’s figure. Their tendrils curled with interest and Fásach snarled again.

“Thanks, na’syalī. Could you tell your buck that I’m happily coiled?” they teased stiffly, obviously using the shilpakaari honorific “older brother’s honored one” to soothe Fásach’s temper. A long drip of saliva fell from his fang as he pulled Roz back slowly with a firm grip.

“You must be the station operator,” Roz said, trying to break the ice. She grabbed Fásach’s hackles behind his back and pulled with a sharp warning.

Yeah, yeah, his brain knew who they were talking to, but the rest of him—his symphony, his cock, his rut fever—it all told him to fight for territory. Little discordant notes pulled the operator’s tone off key here and there. Not lies, but suspicion. Concern.

The operator knew what a human looked like. Everyone did.

“That’s right.” The simult stood to their full height, not actually much taller than Roz, and patted down their neoprene suit. “I’m Gilladh Sharef, Pahadthi 03’s chief operator. Gil for short, prefer they. Good to meet you both.”

“You too,” Roz said, twisting Fásach’s pelt again. His shoulder twitched from the sting as he retracted his claws, one by one, licking his gums back into place.

Fine. Roz wanted to play nice? He would try to play nice.

“Fásach,” he said, practically gurgling gravel.

Gilladh nodded slowly. “Right, and your human priya?”

“Roz,” she said. “Sorry, Fás is protective.”

The operator grinned. “That’s alright. Not too many yiwren on Yaspur, but we’re practically the same kettle of fish.” They winked. “We both go feral over our mates. You two sheltering from the blizzard?”

Fásach chuffed, finally getting his teeth back in his mouth. He gave Roz a thin smile, and she gently brushed his pelt where she’d been pulling. Having her hands in his fur nearly made him chirp and roll his eyes back.

And Gilladh wasn’t doing a bad job either. Of course a shil would know how to diffuse a territorial wreck like him, referring to Roz as his priya. Their species was perhaps the most competitive about their matehood practices. More so than the yiwren, no question. The operator understood the boundaries of his instincts.

Fás exhaled slowly, easing his civilized mind back into the pilot’s seat.

“Roz and I wanted to get away for a while,” he growled, swallowing down the intimidating huff. Wriggling his nose to ease the aggressive crease that had formed along the bridge. He ended up having to rub at it with his thumb. “And we both love camping. Blizzard took us by surprise.”

Gil’s smile fell with a grimace as they crouched by the open hatch and reached back into the freezing water. “Yeah, you and me both. We don’t get weather like this up here except during ulta samudr.”

“What’s that?” Fásach asked, training his ears on the operator’s tone.

“The upside down sea,” Roz explained while Gilladh pulled up a two-foot long bolt with several long silver fish hanging skewered and already gutted from its hooks. “It’s the rainy season. At least at the colony.”

“So you are a human from Renata!” Gilladh guffawed with awe, their mane hissing with excitement. There was honest bewilderment in their voice now, not the warping of suspicion. A good sign. “Never thought I’d actually meet one of you. And at P03 of all places!” They shook their head, tendrils spiraling, ringing the water from their muscular lengths. “You guys can stay as long as you need. We’ve got plenty of supplies to hole up a crew for a month or more, so don’t be shy.”

“Thank you,” Fásach said, finally easing away from Roz. She gave him a pat and a proud smile.

“Thanks! Fás, why don’t you help with the fish? I’ll organize our stuff. I want to brush my silk.”

Gilladh’s eyes roamed across her features again as she opened Fásach’s pack and rummaged for the comb, humming a little song without words. Her voice instantly soothed the tension in the room as Fásach joined the operator at the hatch, taking their wet towel in his claws. He cleared his throat and crouched in front of their view of his—of Roz.

“Human, huh? Chudthi, nice catch,” Gilladh’s tendrils hissed with salacious respect. They nudged Fásach’s shoulder like a conniving sibling, then tilted their head down at the half dozen long fish with silver racing stripes. “Speaking of catch, does your priya eat fish?”

“She’s from an island.”

“Then we’re having zai for dinner. I’ll get the food bay online if you don’t mind using your fancy claws to defin these.”

“Sure, but it won’t be pretty. They’re not knives.”

“Tasty isn’t predicated on pretty, my friend. Rip away. Unless I’m wrong about you needing to blow off some of that rut growing out of your skull with your bare hands? I do have actual knives.”

Fásach’s war chuckle bubbled up again at the satisfying thought of violence. He brushed at his tresses and ears, pressing them flat in an attempt to get himself under control. “Bare hands would be good,” he coughed.

Gil smacked his hackles with their wide palm and a sigh of understanding that reminded Fás of some of his older comradai that had already entered their first rut. The sort of sexual confidence that held a secret he’d learn someday. It was… nice. It reminded him of Vindilus and Novak and Quiopha, the people in which he’d found family again after the evacuation. A note of warmth chased Gil’s words as they stood.

“I’ll get the food bay running then. And a fire. Fuck, love me a good fire.”

Fásach glanced back at Roz, pulling the first fish from its hook as Gil stood. She’d pushed the vital pods behind their packs and draped a towel over it all as if she’d used it before Gilladh had arrived. Sitting on the bedroll, she unraveled her twists and fluffed up her tresses.

Hiding the port on the back of her neck.

When their eyes met, he smiled, and her cheeks turned red.

He couldn’t wait to watch her eat something warm and fresh.