20. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
B ayne
We’re in the ludus . Some of us are on the floor, some on weight benches that have been pulled into a circle.
We voted several hoaras ago, with a resounding number in favor of attacking our enemy. I assumed the females would all vote no. From talking with many of them over the last lunar , I’ve noticed most of them have gentle souls. By their votes, they’ve proven their fierce loyalty. They want to protect everyone on these two ships to the best of their ability.
We didn’t want to hold this tactical meeting in the dining room. That’s where we held a party only last night. It’s where we laugh and joke and relax.
No, the place for planning war is in the ludus . Though the females call it a gymnasium, it’s where we practice our fighting. It’s fitting to be here.
Although the females are here with us, it’s an unwritten agreement that the males will fight and the females will cheer us on. I’m hungry for revenge, but above all, I want to keep my Willa safe. WarDog is still subdued deep in the recess of my mind, but I feel his agreement. He whines dejectedly, trying to regain my good graces, but I ignore him.
Erro was one of the males who came aboard when Beast killed his former owner and freed the males of his ludus on planet Trent. His cabin is on Beast’s ship, the Devil’s Playground . He tells us that he and his brother were both stolen from his homeworld. He was sent to be trained as a gladiator, his brother went to work directly for Khour.
“Since I was freed from Plenum’s ludus , I’ve spent every spare moment tracking down my brother, Turk,” Erro explains. “I found him about a lunar ago and we’ve engaged in encrypted communications. I discovered where Khour is, and I know some of his habits. It was only yesterday when I brought this information to Beast that we decided to call this meeting.
“Khour has a sprawling compound on planet Fairea. Although the planet is a tourist haven known for what the females call a year-round Renaissance Fair, it has other attractions like relaxed law enforcement and enough traffic coming and going that smuggling is easy.
“Khour’s residence is in a huge wooded area far enough away from the tourism to have privacy, but close enough to the action to oversee his gun, drug, and slave-running empire.
“Turk reports that ever since one of the pirates threw acid on Khour’s face he rarely leaves his home base. He has a parade of doctors and charlatans coming to the planet. They all promise hope in the way of repairing his face, but Turk says if anything, his face is more ruined than it was before the medics began making pilgrimages there.
“Khour has taken up hunting. Turk jokes that it’s the only way he takes out his aggression that doesn’t involve harming sentient beings. He’s a motherdracker of the highest order.”
“Or lowest,” Stryker quips.
“Yes. Lowest. I was thinking there would be fewer guards on his hunting trips than at any other time of his week. It would be the safest time for us to take him out. That way we wouldn’t have to attack his stronghold. I’m told the compound is like a fortress.”
Satellite and drone footage appear on the large vidscreen. They show the compound from the air. It’s impressive and will be difficult to breach. Turk is right.
A picture of Khour cycles through the vids we’re watching and I can’t control my growl. Willa’s small hand slips around my waist and she tucks her hip closer to mine. Although her presence calms me, WarDog is close to my surface, snarling. Still angry and not wanting a replay of his behavior in the dining room, I force him back to the corner. The lingering taste of blood in my mouth doesn’t trouble me, in fact, it spurs me on.
“The forest is thick with trees and brambles. I propose one male go alone for recon. A single male camping alone wouldn’t look threatening if Khour’s males happen upon him. It could look innocent.
“There would be danger. I think the fewer weapons the volunteer brings the less guilty he will look if he’s apprehended and interrogated. No lasers. It might take several days, but the volunteer can gather enough information so our attack can be a surgical strike.”
Erro volunteers, as do many of the others.
“I’ll go,” I say loudly as I stand. “These pictures look a lot like my home planet of Skylose. I lived a simple life there in the forest. This mission was made for me.”
“I know you want revenge, Bayne. But we all want resolution,” Zar says levelly.
“I could hunt in the woods as my cover story. I’m skilled with a bow and arrow and could kill game and keep myself fed until I see him in the woods. I’ll comm the ships when I see him. I don’t even need to perform the kill, although I’d love to. I’ll give you his coordinates so we’re guaranteed a hit. I can protect myself without a laser better than anyone onboard—I can shift to my battle form.”
I look at the pictures scrolling across the vid screens. The geography is so familiar it could be Skylose.
“I think this is a good plan,” Zar says. “It might take days, but we have nothing else more pressing. We can stay in orbit, keep in encrypted communication, and wait until we have the perfect opportunity.
“I’ll give this mission two weeks. If Khour doesn’t go hunting within that time, we’ll have to run with our second plan and attack his stronghold. The hunting ruse will be the best way to avoid loss of life. Does anyone have another idea? Any objections?”
My heart is pounding. I feel proud and excited. I will kill the male who ruined my life, enslaved me for a decade, and destroyed my village. I will make him pay for murdering my mother. I’ll exact revenge just as my uncle urged when his wise words kept me alive on that fateful day.
“I’m going with him,” Willa stands as she says this. Her shoulders thrust back and her chin tips forward as if she dares anyone to argue with her.
“No,” I state it as a simple fact.
“In the dining room, you just showed us that your emotions are involved. Everyone on board this ship has a stake in this mission going smoothly. You’re the male for the job, you’re correct in that. But I’m the female who is going to support the cover story that we’re just hunting. And I’ll help you keep a calm head.”
“It’s not safe. You’re not equipped.”
“I’m from south Texas,” she says as if that explains everything. When I continue to shake my head, she explains, “I know how to shoot a gun whether it be rifle or pistol. I can ride a horse with no hands, hunt and skin my own food, and camp in the woods for weeks at a time thanks to my daddy and my daddy’s daddy who started taking me on hunting trips when I was seven. Don’t tell a Texas girl what she can and cannot do.”
She folds her arms across her chest, spears me with a blistering look, and lifts her chin as if she’s daring me to argue.
Although I wonder if this might make her change what she calls our relationship status, I repeat, “No. It’s not safe. This is a mission for a male.”
Every female in the room makes a noise. Some just say, “Ohh,” some hiss, and others say, “He did not just say that!” or “You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
What did I say wrong? I only want to protect my female.
“You’re too emotionally involved, Bayne. I calm WarDog. I did it at lunch and I’ll do it on Fairea if needed. I can take care of myself.”
We argue for a few more minimas , with every soul on board watching. When I saw both Captain Zar’s and Captain Beast’s mates fold their arms across their chests with looks that had both Captains grimacing, I knew I was fighting a lost cause.
Willa puts her hands on her hips and gives me the same look, her eyes slitted. Even WarDog chimes in, whining. I ignore him.
Maybe Willa’s right. As much as I would prefer to have her safe on the ship while I do the mission, I also come to the abrupt realization I don’t want to be separated from her ever again.
“I don’t like it, Willa, but I can’t fight you and everyone else on board. At the first sign of trouble, though, you have to go back to the ship.”
“I’m glad you still have two cabins,” Petra says after Zar approves my participation in the mission only if Willa accompanies me. “I have a feeling someone’s gonna be sleeping in the doghouse tonight.” She snickers as her eyes avoid mine. “No offense. It’s an Earth saying.”
Willa
The last few days have been an education in anxiety—controlled and otherwise. If I had just sat around worrying, I would have nibbled my nails to the quick. Luckily, I’ve been keeping myself busy.
Dax and Bayne helped me make a bow and arrows. I even have a cool leather quiver. I’ve been practicing archery in the ludus . Although I don’t think I could kill any wild game, I will look proficient enough to corroborate our cover story.
We’ve already docked on Fairea. Bayne and I look like we belong together as we wait for the ramp to lower. We’re both wearing tan leather pants and tunics. Dax helped us make soft moccasins, too. I even know what type of game we’ll supposedly be hunting, I looked it up on the Database to make sure I could stay completely in character. They’re like deer with shockingly ugly heads and four eyes. According to the Database there are no large predators in this part of the planet.
We’re parked in one of the offworlder parking lots near the fairgrounds. Most of the people from the Fool’s Errand visited here a while back and their descriptions were spot-on. It’s a giant Renaissance Festival—alien style.
I saw a cornucopia of aliens on Aeon II when I watched the canine shifter match, but it feels different here. At the gladiatorial games, the bloodlust in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. Here at the fair, people are more light-hearted. They’re here for a good time that doesn’t involve bloodsport.
The reedy sound of a flute drifts to me from my right and primitive drum beats assault my ears from the left. The smell of spitted meat wafts to my nose; I’m sure WarDog must love that.
People are wearing the garb of their ancestors, just as we do at Ren-Fests on Earth. I see everything from loincloths to velvet dresses with as much variation as can be imagined.
We don’t enter the fairgrounds, though, we skirt that and head to the hover lot. Shadow will drive us to the forest about an hour away.
After stopping at an outfitter store to stock up on camping necessities, we take off to the west.
Shadow is a large male, wearing his black leather kilt and sash. On the ship, most of the males wear loincloths or nothing at all, but this is like their uniform when we’re on land. It makes them look deadly and official, which is the exact impression Shadow is going for.
His left arm looks like it was severed in battle and he wears a high-tech prosthetic. He also has a prosthetic eye. He was a gladiator for a long time, but rumor has it that before his parents sold him into the arena, he was high-born. I’m not exactly sure what the story is, but rumor also has it that Daneur Khour was part of his fall from grace and descent into slavery.
Shadow’s smart and savvy and loves his mate like she hung the moon—or moons depending upon which planet we’re on. After he mated Petra, he decided not to fight in the arena anymore, but sometimes I wonder if he misses it.
“Let’s go over it again,” Shadow says as he competently hovers along the periphery of the vast fairgrounds.
We’ve drilled this a dozen times in the last few days so I launch without more prompting. “We’re Bayne and Willa, no last name. I’m Morganian, he’s of unknown parentage and grew up in an orphanage on Aeon II. If asked about specifics, he’ll say they didn’t allow him out of the building. I investigated the Intergalactic Database enough to be able to answer basic questions about Morgana.”
“We’re on our sweetmoon,” Bayne continues.
“Honeymoon,” I gently correct.
“We’re on our honeymoon and thought it would be romantic to live on the land, so we could rely on each other. We own a farm on Nativus.”
The three of us are sitting abreast in the front of the hover, our supplies are in the back.
Before I can continue with my canned speech, Bayne looks me in the eye, and says, “Willa, please go back to the ship,” his tone is a combination of an order and a plea. “This is too dangerous.”
Smart male. Over the last few days, I at least broke him of the habit of telling me it was too dangerous for a female .
We’ve had this argument over several breakfasts, lunches, and dinners as well as upon rising in the morning and before bedtime. It’s been between us like a living thing.
“I calm you, Bayne, and I think you might need me at your side to keep from shifting. Even Captain Zar agreed the honeymoon gave us a great cover story, and I’ve gotten pretty good with the bow and arrow.”
“You’re barely proficient at it, Willa. And you're so small. And soft. And I don’t want you hurt.”
How can I not be falling for this guy? Look at his face, his golden eyes swirling with passion. He may sound controlling, but it’s obvious he just wants to protect me. What female wouldn’t want that?
“It’s decided,” I say as I place a soft hand on his thigh. “I’ll be here with you. It’s just a recon mission.”
I think he has an ulterior motive. I believe he’s hoping to not just find Daneur Khour, but to kill him.
“Shadow, promise me someone will be at the comms station every moment. If we need help—”
“You don’t need to ask, brother,” Shadow interrupts him. “We have your back. The captains want the ships cleaned down to the seams in the metal while we’re waiting for your call. Trust me, we’ll be doing nothing more important than tuning into the comm frequency, ready to drop everything to help you. Gladiators will be armed and stationed at the transporter, ready to beam down at a moment’s notice.”
We’ve left the hubbub of the fair, and are hovering toward an expansive forest. Farther west I see what looks like a small city.
“Khour’s compound,” Shadow informs us.
“Whoa!”
First of all, I didn’t imagine it would be . . . beautiful. Even though we saw it on vid, I didn’t realize how large it really is. There is one huge main building which Shadow says is Khour’s mansion, and dozens of smaller outbuildings. The entire complex is made of rock cut by the finest artisans and pieced together in a kind of checkerboard of chestnut and gold stone.
It looks as if much of the compound is old, maybe many centuries. The mansion seems to have been added recently. It was designed to fit in with the rest, though, retaining the same checkerboard look with stones cut and pieced together to look as if they’re from the same slab of rock.
Is that an old covered well in the middle of all the structures? It almost reminds me of a feudal lord’s compound—or a fairytale. Too bad such an evil bastard lives here. I’m sure Khour loves being lord of his castle.
“I guess burning it down is out of the question,” Bayne says glumly.
“No. Stone doesn’t burn,” Shadow agrees, “but it’s not impervious to lasers.” He banks hard to the right and lowers us so we’re skimming so close to the treetops my hands grab my thighs in terror.
“Tell me when you see a campsite you like. We’ll find you something easily defensible.”
“There,” Bayne points off to the right. The trees are thicker there, and there’s an outcropping of rock maybe twenty feet high that we can shelter against.
Shadow can’t set the hover down close to the spot because the forest is so dense, but an hour later we’ve carried our supplies to our campsite, he’s helped us set up a space-age tent, and he bids us goodbye.
“We’re standing by, you two. All we need to know is when he’s in this forest, his coordinates, and an estimate on how many males he has with him. We’ll do the rest, and you two will remain safe.” He swings through the hover doorway, then leans out to tip his head and smile as he tells us, “You might as well have some fun.”
After he leaves, I take the opportunity to investigate our campsite. It’s quiet here, and although it doesn’t remind me of where I used to hunt in Texas, it does remind me of how much I love to revel in nature.
The temperature feels like the high eighties, but here in the shade, it’s comfortable. The round-leaved trees form a canopy overhead, and I hear birds calling to each other all over the forest.
When I used to hunt with my dad or granddad, the sounds of nature and the wind on my face soothed me. When I glance at Bayne, the tightness of his features tells a different story. He’s not having calm, fond memories. Is he back in his village, watching invaders burn it to the ground?
“I wish you weren’t here, Willa. I wish it with all my heart,” he looks at me, eyebrows pulled down tightly in concern. “We’re in a relationship. In my world, that means it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. I’ve met this male, he was evil and heartless years ago, and he’s only grown more powerful since then. I don’t want you on the same planet as him, much less so close to his property.”
My heart swells with affection as my eyes grow misty. We only crossed the line from ‘it’s complicated’ to ‘in a relationship’ three days ago, but I wonder if I’m falling in love with him. ‘It’s complicated’ includes a humungous four-legged dog with razor-sharp teeth, but now that I’ve met the caring male underneath the fur, it hardly seems worth factoring into the equation.
“It makes me feel so cared for that you want to protect me, Bayne. If the situation changes, I’ll comm the ship and have them beam me up. Until then, you’re stuck with me.” I waggle my eyebrows at him, suddenly in a hurry to unpack our bedroll. From the pictures at the outfitter shop that showed a thick air mattress the size of a queen bed, this is about as close to glamping as I’ll ever get.
The tent is amazing. Actually calling it a tent is like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch. The tent is a see-through sphere made of thin plastic. With the touch of a button, it somehow fills with air, inflates, and voila, we’ve got shelter. Not just shelter, but we can see the sun rise and set. It’s going to be romantic.
We unpack the six-inch cube which inflates with a press of a button to a ten-inch thick mattress, organize our food and cooking supplies, and neaten our little ‘sweetmoon’ suite. Is he adorable or what?
It’s mid-afternoon, we have plenty of time until supper . . . and bed. I wonder when I’ll tell him Dr. Drayke informed me the contraceptive implant he gave me is now effective.
“Let’s explore,” he says. His muscles are loose for the first time in days. After we shrug our quivers and bows over our shoulders, he grabs my hand, and we strike off.
Bayne
The trees in the forest have little round leaves that flutter in the warm breeze. The area we enter is so dense, not much sunlight penetrates the canopy above.
I sniff the air to find the scent of predators, but only smell small birds and little woodland mammals. My ears prick as I listen for danger, but there’s nothing nearby to fear.
It feels like an eternity since I’ve felt my canine run in a place like this, so long since I’ve been in my shifted form for anything other than fighting. Both WarDog and I are anxious to feel the dirt under his paws again.
Even though I’m still upset with WarDog, I know I may need him to fight or protect Willa. I call him forward and call a truce. His head raises expectantly and his tail unfurls from between his legs. When I encourage him to come out for a run, his tail thumps happily.
“Willa, stay here. Please don’t stray. I won’t be gone long, I just need to . . .” I shrug.
“Okay. Have fun.”
I didn’t even have to tell her what I wanted to do, she knew. She’s so accepting of who I am. I remove my weapons, pull my clothes off and set them in a neat pile, then walk a few steps away.
Mate, WarDog says happily as we glance back at her.
The shift is easy and painless, just as it used to be back on Skylose when we functioned as a team.
WarDog is cautious at first, wanting to make sure he stays in my good graces. But after a moment, neither of us can hold back. The world of smells opens and his canine nose sniffs wildly at every blade of grass, every pile of leaves, and every flower.
The feeling of dirt and loam squeezing beneath the pads of his feet reminds us of fun days as a youngling when we ran for hoaras until we were lost, then he scented our way home.
Run , WarDog says in ecstasy.
Free , I say, reveling in being able to feel the wind ruffle his fur.
Willa doesn’t leave our minds for long. After our quick romp, our duty to protect overrides our joy in exploring our surroundings. We circle back and see her still standing, her back against a tree as a physical sign of her commitment not to move, then we allow ourselves the joy of the chase.
WarDog’s muscles feel loose as he trots and then runs in one direction and then another. The delight of pulling out all the stops, of pushing his body to its limits is so freeing. His paws pound the soft ground, his chest expands with huge inhalations, his breath escapes in hot gusts.
How did I live for a decade without this? We both feel fully alive here in the woods, his strides covering the forest floor almost effortlessly.
When we circle back to Willa for the third time, WarDog does more than give her a quick glance. He drinks her in with such affection. I’ve been so mad at him for getting out of control and embarrassing me in front of everyone on board not one but two ships, but I can’t deny we’re together for a reason.
We make a good team. And we’ll always be linked by our love for that female. Maybe part of the reason I resent him is that he had her to himself for so long when I was locked, virtually unconscious, inside.
Had enough for now? I ask him, wanting to shift back into two-legged form so I can kiss her smiling lips.
More later? He’s tired, his tongue is lolling out of his mouth.
Yes. I promise.
He sits at her feet. Willa gives his ruff a vigorous rubdown, digging her fingers deep into the fur, reaching skin. His tail wags so hard dirt and leaves are flying. His eyes close in canine bliss. She laughs and gives him a kiss on the nose.
I missed her so much , he says to me on a heartfelt sigh. WarDog gives her one last adoring look, and I come out.
Willa
Bayne is standing a few feet away, unable to hide his happy, relaxed smile. He steps into his pants and slings his bow and quiver over his shoulder. When he returns to my side, the feeling of Déjà vu is so strong the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
The huntsman!
The dream has faded enough that I don’t think I’ll ever clearly remember the huntsman’s features, but everything else is exactly as it was a month ago in my dream. From the pelt on his shoulders, which is his real ruff of hair, to the bow and arrows. He’s my huntsman.
Sometimes the universe conspires against you. I felt that way when I woke aboard the Urlut slave ship on my way to God knows where. I felt it again when I was roughly tossed into a cell with two huge alien gladiators and a dog whose shoulders were taller than my waist. And again when it was clear the slave ship was being fired upon and I thought my death was imminent.
Sometimes, though, I guess the universe conspires with you. That dream was a gift, signaling me that something wonderful was coming my way.
I debate for a moment, wondering if Bayne will judge me or decide I’m crazy, but finally I blurt, “I dreamed this, Bayne. I dreamed every detail of this. The sun dappling through the leaves, the thick trees, even the rich smell of the loam and decomposing leaves.
“Mostly, though I dreamed of you.”
His eyes flash to mine, alight with an unspoken question, I’m certain he sees the sincerity written there.
Although we’ve devoured each others’ bodies a dozen times in the last few days, I feel shy, but not too shy to share, “That morning, before we left the ship for Aeon II, when I . . .” I scold myself not to give up now, “pleasured myself. It was after the dream where I met you for the first time. I called you the huntsman in my mind.”
He stalks to me, his footsteps silent on the carpet of damp leaves. He places his palm at the nape of my neck and pulls me to him—almost rough, but not harsh. He’s full of passion. “What did this huntsman do?” his voice is gruff, almost a growl.
“He didn’t speak at all. We came together without a word. Our bodies spoke to each other. It was magnificent.”
With his hand on my neck, he walks me backward until the quiver on my back hits a tree. After shrugging it off, I feel the rough, cool bark through my leather tunic.
“He took you? Here in the woods?” his tone is breathy, his expression earnest, as if he wants to know every detail in order to get it right.
I nod.
“Without a word?”
I nod again.
He slants his mouth and takes my lips so hard my head knocks gently against the tree. His grip on my neck is tight, slightly uncomfortable, a silent reminder that he’s in complete control. Just this kiss and his rigid hold on me, and I feel my arousal spiraling higher.
He bends his knees so when he grinds his hips against me the hard ridge of his cock presses right where I need it most.
Much of the time he keeps his teeth hidden behind his perfect lips, but not now. They’re on full display. My channel clenches in desire as I recall the faint sting the sharp tips of his fangs make as they scrape along my delicate flesh when he’s in the height of passion.
Maybe it’s the primitive setting, but he’s discarded the trappings of civilization we usually cling to onboard the Fool . He is my huntsman!
His hips grind rhythmically, his fangs graze me, and he’s making low growling noises in the back of his throat. If he had done this the first time we had sex, I would have freaked out. Now, just a few days later, it makes me want him so badly I sink my fingers into the pelt at his shoulders, pulling him to me so tightly he won’t be able to walk away.
I jump up and straddle him so he doesn’t have to bend to press himself against me. This allows him to thrust and grind, adding so much to both our pleasure I find myself mimicking his eager noises from the back of my throat.
His tongue penetrates me in the same rhythm as his hips and I wonder how many more thrusts it will take, even through the layers of our clothes, to bring my release.
His snarl is louder now, a different timbre; it’s distinctive. He snakes his hands under my tunic, then slides them up my midriff until he cups the full weight of my breasts in his palms. Although we haven’t been lovers long, he’s already learned how anticipation makes me want him all the more. His thumbs make hot figure-eights on my ribs, promising so much pleasure when he decides to drag them higher.
We both realize at the same moment that something isn't right. I don’t know if we heard a noise, or just felt a shift. He slides me down so my feet are on the soft carpet of decomposing leaves and twirls to look behind him.
Not twenty feet away is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. My first thought is that it’s a combination of a tarantula and a scorpion. It’s four-feet tall and disgustingly shaggy with the gross hairy ick-factor of a huge spider combined with the pincers and deadly tail of a scorpion.
Its deadly front pincers are strong and large enough to snap my neck. Its high, flat tail is cocked threateningly. Its circular black mouth opens side-to-side instead of up and down.
I can’t control a shiver of revulsion while at the same moment fear slices through me. The hideous thing clicks its pincers and then scuttles straight toward us on hard black insectoid feet, all six of them.
Bayne stands staunchly between the thing and me, using his back to press me against the tree trunk. He’s already pulled his bow off his shoulder, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. It pierces the animal through its shoulder. There was no way to aim for its heart because it’s standing with its chest parallel to the ground.
I fumble with my bow and am still scrambling to pluck an arrow from my quiver when the thing hisses, then spits. Bayne isn’t deterred, he just lets another arrow fly, this time piercing the thing directly through one of its two beady eyes. It lets loose a high piercing whine, takes two steps toward us, then falls to its side—dead.
At least I think it’s dead, who knows how alien tarantu-scorps’ bodies function? I don’t see its chest moving, but on other planets can things reanimate?
Bayne unsheathes the knife on his belt and strides toward the thing. With the six-inch knife in one hand, he pulls his arrows out with the other. The wet-squishy sound the arrow makes when he removes it from the animal’s eye makes me swallow hard. I shake my head as if to get the image and sound out of my mind. It’s one of those things you know with certainty you’ll remember in detail many years into the future.
Bayne pierces me with a knowing stare and doesn’t miss the telltale signs of my discomfort. “Are you okay, Willa?” He stands, then seems torn between approaching to give me comfort and wiping the blood and guts off the arrows.
“You don’t need to come near me with those,” I tell him, wondering where the other Willa is. The Willa who learned how to field dress a deer before her tenth birthday.
He lets them fall from his hand and stalks toward me. “You’re not okay,” he announces. “You’re shaking.”
I feel all of five years old, wanting to deny the obvious and tell him I’m not shaking because as sure as I’m standing here, if I admit it he’s going to urge me to go back to the ship. So I just stand here paralyzed, my gaze flicking between my handsome huntsman and the huge dead arthropod whose little hairy mouthparts are still quivering.
He folds me in his arms and turns me so his back is against the tree. This accomplishes three things. He can watch over my shoulder to protect me, I’m facing away from the disgusting scene of carnage, and his warmth and compassion can seep into me.
“It’s okay, my Willa,” he croons, his capable hands sifting through my hair. “I want you to go back to the ship. It’s not safe for you here.”
I knew that was coming. Truth be told, my feelings would have been hurt if he hadn’t offered. I’ll be honest with myself, I volunteered—no I didn’t exactly volunteer, I demanded—to come more because I didn’t want to be separated from my huntsman and less to protect and soothe him.
I stroke up and down along either side of the quiver still on his back. He feels good, solid, reassuring under my fingertips.
“I want to stay with you.” I did an adequate job of sounding assertive rather than whiney.
“We’ve fought this battle before, so I won’t argue. I’ll just tell you one more time that I’d feel much better with you back on the Fool’s Errand. Because I . . .” He interrupts his own sentence to kiss me. Not a hard, passionate kiss like before we were interrupted, but a soft, heartfelt one.
Was he about to tell me he loves me? By the look in those gorgeous, golden swirling eyes, I think maybe he was.
His tongue has breached my mouth and is stroking mine in long licks, reminding me there’s a dog inside him. A strong warrior capable of protecting me.
It’s dimmer in the forest than it had been, at least one of Fairea’s three suns must be about to set.
Bayne must have noticed it, too, because he says, “We should get back to camp before it gets dark.”
As we walk, I keep my hand on my bow, ready to go into hunting mode in case one of those ugly scuttling things darts out of the growing shadows. I wasn’t much help when we were being attacked; I vow not to play the helpless female in the future.
We arrive back at the clear orb made out of what on Earth would be thick see-through plastic. I have no idea what material it is out in space, but it’s durable and will allow us to see the stars and wake with the sun.
Perhaps I didn’t think it through fully, because it will also allow every predator within a mile to see us, and the idea of making love in a see-through enclosure, especially so soon after the tarantu-scorp attack is not appealing.
“Are you sure this tent was a good choice?” I ask, picturing all the little woodland creatures grabbing seats outside our tent, popping some popcorn, and watching us get it on. I decide right here, right now, that will not be happening tonight.
“No. You were busy asking the shopkeeper about the ingredients in the food packets when Shadow and I were making the purchase. It was the only thing available. We’re out in the open this way. I don’t like it at all.”
“At least we’re in agreement on that.”
We zip ourselves inside the sphere, I toss a thick comforter on top of the cushy bed. I wonder if maybe I was wrong about the no-nookie decision. All the little creatures could see would be the covers wiggling.
We have two comfy camping chairs, and the food packets heat themselves when you shake them. I have no idea what larg with vertiga and rendivar is, and couldn’t really get a feel for it from the picture on the package, but that’s what I pick to eat tonight. Bayne prefers meat—any type of meat. So he’s having a large serving of hensis .
We haven’t had a chance to talk a lot these past few days; we were too busy getting ready for this mission. Between sewing our own leather clothes, making shoes, and trying to perfect my skills with a bow and arrow, there wasn’t a lot of time for casual conversation.
“Tell me about your home planet,” I say around a bite of larg . The package should have been labeled, ‘Tastes Like Ass’.
The muscles on his face tighten as he looks down for a moment. Shit. Bad question. But then he gives me full eye contact as if he decided to focus on everything about his life before the invaders came.
“It was a simple place. There weren't any machines. It was a village with small houses made of saplings that were positioned in circular rows around one longhouse in the middle. That was where I recall the best times of my life.” A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth and his gaze darts to mine. It’s so good to see him have warm memories.