9. Ostor
Chapter 9
Ostor
W hen we got close to where a cluster of humans about our age sat on chairs suspended in the water and in front of a bar, the woman who must be Macy because she and Rosey had the same face, leaped off her seat. She floundered through the water and jumped into Rosey’s arms. The two females laughed and hugged, and I was happy to see that they loved each other.
It would make this easier for Rosey, and that was all that mattered to me.
The two women finally pulled apart as the laughter died down between them. A tall male with light hair, his body toned, though not enough to wrangle even a sorhox youngling to the ground, waded over, his eyes landing on Rosey before flicking to me. I saw neutrality there—and a touch of concern. But it was Macy he reached for, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
The way his face softened around her made this obvious. He loved Rosey’s sister. Without question. That, at least, gave me some peace.
But a quick glance at Rosey told another story. Her smile wavered around the edges. Hurt clung to her like a shadow. She held herself too stiffly now that the other male had joined us.
Of course it hurt. This was the male she’d had feelings for. No wounds healed that fast, even for the strongest.
Following the male’s lead, I slid my arm around Rosey, tugging her against my side. She sucked in a breath, then melted into me. That’s what it felt like. Like she relaxed, her body going soft and pliant. She fit perfectly against me. I bent my head and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Melty. That was the look in her eyes when she glanced up at me. Soft and warm, like something inside her was easing up.
At least I hoped that’s what it was.
This wasn’t entirely pretend. Not for me, at least. Everything inside me churned with the strange emotions that came with the mate bond. Things I couldn’t control. Things I didn’t want to control. I wasn’t faking. Not with Rosey. Maybe we were playing at being a couple, but for me, nothing had ever felt more real.
Rosey cleared her throat, snapping the tension between us. “Macy, this is Ostor.” She gave my waist a quick squeeze. “Ostor, this is Macy, my sister.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I offered Macy a grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Rosey talks about you all the time.”
Macy's bright laugh broke through the air, and her eyes warmed when they turned back to her sister. “Oh, she does, huh? I’m glad.” She leaned into the guy at her side and gave him a playful nudge. “Jacob, this is Ostor, Rosey’s,” her eyebrows went up ever-so-slightly, and her lips curled knowingly, “boyfriend.”
Boy. Friend. I was no boy. I wasn't sure I was even a friend. But when one combined the words, they meant something much more than they did while separate. Rosey's boyfriend . The word sent a pulse of possession through me. But I stomped that feeling down deep because I didn't want to show too much. Not when the male Rosey had cared for was standing there, his eyes darting between me and her like he was assessing my dominance, my determination, and my confidence. The latter was lacking most of the time, but this was a show, and I'd do anything to please Rosey.
Jacob’s expression stayed neutral, but his gaze wasn’t. It did that whole up-and-down thing a male sorhox might do when it measured a challenger. My protective instincts stirred, as if my body was lifting back hackles in a show of strength.
I forced my face to relax, to keep my expression easy. “Jacob, it’s nice to meet you.”
A handshake would’ve been the natural gesture for a human, but the problem was, my hands were locked around Rosey, and leaving her was not an option. So, I gave him a chin-nod, my gaze locking with his just like a male sorhox would do when he wanted to show a youngling he was quite willing to attack if threatened.
Jacob didn’t smile, not exactly, but he gave me a short nod back. “You too. You’re . . . with Rosey, eh?”
“Yes.” My smile widened. “She’s wonderful.”
His eyes shot to her, and when I read a hint of protectiveness in his gaze, I relaxed. Somewhat. He’d still need watching.
Macy, completely oblivious to the undercurrents running between us, clapped her hands. “Come sit with us! Mom and Dad will be here tomorrow, but the rest of the crew has arrived! Drinks are flowing, the sun’s shining. And we're in Mexico for my awesome wedding!”
Rosey exhaled, the tension draining from her in one whoosh. I was going to make sure she relaxed if it took everything inside me.
“Yeah, let’s go hang out.” She flashed a quick, almost real smile at her sister. We trudged through the water together toward the cluster of humans lounging around the bar. The whole scene was bright and loud, everyone's voices mingling with the splash of water and clinking glasses. Shouts from those playing in the water behind us.
A cacophony of names flew around as one person after another introduced themselves. Some were males who'd stand with Jacob at the wedding, while the rest were Macy's female friends. Macy’s crew, as she called them.
I couldn’t keep track of them all. So many unusual names. They blurred into one long, exhausting string of syllables.
Rosey must’ve noticed my wince. She tugged at my hand, urging me to bend down close to her. Her lips brushed my ear, sending a jolt of awareness through me. “Don’t worry about remembering everyone. I’ll help you later.”
I nodded.
“Okay, everybody. Tequila time!” Macy's voice boomed across the pool, and they all turned toward the bar.
There was that word again I’d heard in the lobby.
Macy signaled the dark-skinned male standing behind the bar, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt. He looked so formal, he must be the owner. Nice of him to join us, to welcome us with his bright smile. He laid a row of tiny glasses on the smooth, glossy surface and grabbed one of the many bottles lined up between us.
“What exactly is this teek-eela?” I asked, remembering how the boob-ly pain drink made me feel silly, how it made me sing. Everyone around us laughed or joined in with my song. If I behaved in a similar manner, would this group do the same?
“Tequila.” Rosey said it slowly and for my ears alone, and I practiced it until it came out seamless. She settled on a floating mound of a chair, and I moved to stand behind her, placing my palms loosely on her shoulders. She gave one of my hands a squeeze, leaning back against my belly and looking up at me. “Tequila's a popular drink in Mexico. It’s made from agave, and it’s really strong. You shoot it.”
I stiffened, peering around, though I spied no weapons. “We’re not shooting anything.”
Laughter erupted from a group nearby, one of them letting out a snort loud enough to echo across the pool.
Rosey’s face tightened, her eyes narrowing into hard slits as she turned toward the offenders. Their laughter faded, and the ones who’d been chuckling suddenly became interested in their drinks, as if the floating foam garnish on top might explode and smack them in the face.
I hoped it did.
She was protective, my Rosey. My chest warmed at the thought. A pit of awkwardness tingled there as well. I hadn’t meant to say something wrong, but it seemed I did almost every time I opened my mouth. What did ‘shooting’ mean for humans if it wasn’t linked to combat? Human nuances slipped past me too often. By the fates, I needed to do better. I wanted Rosey to be proud to have me standing here with her.
I shifted my feet, trying to shake off the awkward feeling clinging to me like vines in a dark cavern. Thankfully, before the silence could stretch too far, the owner of this fine establishment nudged the tiny row of glasses filled with amber liquid toward us.
The others sprinkled white crystals on the web of skin between their thumb and index finger and each took a slice of a green and white thing that could be a vegetable, a meat, or even a fruit.
I did the same, wanting to fit in.
Rosey leaned into my belly. “You don’t need to drink it.”
“I want to.”
“You’re sure?” At my nod, she grinned. “This is going to be an interesting experience for you, Ostor. I hope you like it.”
Why wouldn't I if I shared it with her?
She handed me one of the tiny glasses, and I wrinkled my nose at the sharp, pungent odor wafting from the glass. Golden, it appeared almost oily. Repulsive, if I was being honest, though I didn't state that to my new friends.
Humans drank such a thing? Or did they use it as a skin emollient or to clean dirty objects? It reminded me of the fermented rock crushoons we used for certain orc celebrations, the scent of their cooked bodies strong, almost acrid as the chef piled them onto our plates. Fortunately, the odor didn't come through in the taste. Perhaps this liquid was the same, repulsive smelling but with a delightful flavor.
Macy raised her glass high into the air, and her “crew” went silent. “Here’s to the weekend! To Mexico! To my wedding the day after tomorrow! To my soon-to-be husband, Jacob! But especially to my bestie, my big sis, my favorite person in the whole world—”
Jacob coughed, his face darkening.
She leaned back into his side. “You're special too, babe. I named you first, didn’t I?” Her glass wavered, still held at eye level. “But this toast is for my maid of honor, my sis, Rosey. You'll get your reward later.”
Her friends grinned. Jacob curled around her to kiss her cheek, placated by the promise of a favor.
“To Rosey,” Macy said simply, her eyes shimmering as she gazed at her sister.
Cheers rang out from our friends and even Jacob, but all I could focus on now was my mate, whose eyes sparkled with happiness tinged with a touch of sadness that maybe only I could see.
“To Rosey.” The others upended their tiny glasses, draining them before smacking them back onto the counter. They followed that up with licking the white crystal that I'd already misplaced. I hoped it wouldn't cause problems with the pool water. Licking was chased by each sucking on the green and white thing.
Rosey watched me. Waited, most likely, to see if I would join in on the dubious fun. When her glass lifted, her brow furrowed while she glanced from me to my drink from behind her long lashes.
I’d follow this woman anywhere, even into the bottom of this tiny glass.
I raised it, cupping it carefully between two fingers. No one else seemed concerned about how sharp the liquid’s smell was. To them, it appeared as nothing. It would be the same for me.
Rosey sent me a quick sideways grin. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just drain it and get it over with. Follow it up with the salt and the lime.”
“I have misplaced my salt.”
“Here.” She held out the clear glass tube full of the stuff and carefully poured some onto my finger webbing.
I clinked my glass against hers before holding my breath and tipping the drink back in one swift motion, aiming to shoot it the way everyone else had.
The tequila cauterized my mouth and throat like dragon fire. It scorched my belly when it hit, and it was all I could do not to hurl it back up. While scattering white crystals into the pool may be allowed, I suspected vomiting tequila was not.
Coughing, my eyes dumping a river of tears into the pool, I gagged, barely holding the tequila down.
Rosey’s laugh burst, genuine and sweet, and she leaned into my chest, blinking up at me. “There you go, Ostor. Lick that salt and suck on that lime. This is almost like an initiation.”
I did want to fit in.
“Salt, salt,” the others chanted, followed by, “lime, lime”.
The salt made my mouth pucker, but I sucked on the lime, gasping at the sharp tang.
Somehow, the two made everything right, as if they blended together and neutralized the harsh drink.
Rosey's smile filled my world, and it exploded.
“You're doing good,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”
If she smiled at me like that every time, I’d shoot anything down my throat.