Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
There’s something wrong with the human.
Or, maybe, something right.
I cannot tell anymore. Her scent has invaded my senses in a way nothing else ever has.
It’s different, today. Warmth and spice layered over the usual tart sweetness.
Rumbles were already rising—rumors that the omega procured for the Zortaire only held one alpha scent… and it wasn’t his. By now, I’m sure the whole zvorn is buzzing.
Because this human? Currently smells of Rask and Zolkan.
I spent the morning preparing her promised medical training… and bracing myself for the stench of Rask’s alpha musk, certain the reek would put my fur on end.
I never expected both of them.
Or envisioned this reaction.
Sofi scowls at the Roktusian symbols written on the side of the vial pinched between her fingers. A numbing agent. She turns the bottle, examining the dark pink liquid sloshing inside.
The mix of her dried perfume and Rask’s spicy musk floats off her hair as it cascades down her back. The faintest threads of Zolkan’s smoked aroma warm the air around her.
My back teeth grind. Cocks straining in my breeches, tails waving restlessly, I shake my head at myself and turn to the holographic chart projected before me.
It contains the readouts for a recently deceased cadet. His battalion made it out of a surprise encounter with a Drakosian scouting vessel, but he did not. Though his cause of death, as with all the other bodies returned to us, remains a mystery.
What are they doing to these poor males and females?
What would possibly cause this kind of internal damage? And bloodlessness?
The corpses only have one thing in common—needle pricks. Dozens of them, sometimes. Always clustered together. Almost like a hundred bonding bites.
How could that—
The human dares to move, shrugging her mane back again. Fresh perfection wafts into the air between us. My hearts throb, their beats pooling in my groin. I feel my knot twitch.
Seven hells.
Sofi correctly identifies the label, sorting it into the proper bin. In an effort to help her learn more of our symbols, I’ve given her a task most Roktusian pips could do. She hasn’t turned her nose up at it, though. And every single vial is in the correct place.
Clever woman.
Never mind the fact that she’s the only woman.
Her voice is dulcet today, and somehow shyer than usual. Especially when she suddenly asks, “Cy?”
I’m not sure when she started calling me that or why I allowed it, but the shortened version of my name flips both my stomaches. “Yes?”
She glances over her shoulder, obliviously to how striking her eyes look as they slant across my tent. “What does stryllas mean?”
A jolt of surprise rocks me. I haven’t heard that word in a long time—it’s old Roktusian. And a very specific term of endearment.
“Fallen star,” I reply.
Her gaze widens as her plush lips part on a gasp. “I—It—really?”
I assume one of these other sap-skulls must be using the name for her if she’s asking about. An undignified lash of envy burns through me, but I swallow hard, keeping my tone level. “Yes.”
A bittersweet blend of sadness and joy shifts her scent. The strength of it underlines the other alphas’ lingering musk. For one insane moment, I wish both scents were stronger on hers. Especially Zolkan’s.
Sofi seems stricken, but she returns to her task. Her mind seems far from our work, but she still finishes—even though she moves at a much slower pace.
When it’s done, her frown only deepens. She also doesn’t bounce back over to me and ask for another duty.
Instead, her brilliant blue eyes latch onto one of the anatomy etchings on the wall—a Roktusian male with wings.
She zeros in on where they connect to his back—thick layers of bone and sinew, knitted into many vital muscles.
Is she thinking of Zolkan’s scars? Does she know why he has them?
The human winces, silently casting her attention to the next image. Too late, I remember which map I left on the projector beside the chart.
Gods-dammit.
I swallow a vicious curse, torn between fumbling with my holotab to remove it and letting her see. When I hear her sharp intake of breath, I know there’s no time to take it down.
“Cylus. Is that… Earth?”
I really ought to get my horns examined. What is wrong with me? Why does hearing her say my name have my cocks weeping? And how could I have made such a careless mistake?
But deep down, I know.
Because I was up half the night, downloading every scrap of information about this omega’s home planet. And when she arrived this afternoon, interrupting yet another session of research, I forgot every damn thing the moment I scented her.
Including this projection of our galaxy.
Specifically, the outer rim between Quadrant One and Quadrant Four.
Khanos is easy to pick out—it glows rosy pink, its lavender atmosphere melding with the bright hue. Earth, though, is only identifiable because of the circle I drew around it.
Trying to figure out how the hells I might get her home.
Or, you know, away from me.
Which is the only reason to give her what she wants. Obviously.
Sofi’s eyes turn glassy as she stares at her blue-and-“brown” planet. That’s what humans call the color of her hair. I’ve learned, in my recent reading, that much of her world is the same fetching shade. Their trees, their soil. Many rocks and peaks.
“It’s so far,” her small, watery voice peeps.
The thumping organs in my chest—long-forgotten and so very brittle—clench. I ball my hands into matching fists, claws pricking my palms as I fight to stay neutral. “It does look that way, in this image.”
She isn’t wrong. Our home worlds are several solar systems apart. There’s no knowing how long she was in stasis before we received her, but I’d guess it was several lapses. Even at hyper speed, it would take half an orbit to get her back where she came from.
That isn’t comforting, though. So I press the key to zoom out. “But look.”
She keeps her focus trained on the projection, observing how our universe expands before her. I let it go until the Singularity is visible, a gaping black maw at the galaxy’s center. Then I draw a ring around Khanos to match the one hovering over her beloved Earth.
On this scale, our planets seem remarkably close. They are on the same plane, after all, both situated near the outer rim.
It’s likely the reason she can survive here without any life-sustaining measures—and why she drives us to such distraction. Our worlds and people probably developed in a similar fashion, given their parallel distances from the point of origin.
Sofi listens as I explain in a low murmur. Some of the sadness slips from her expression as she absorbs the information, true excitement sparkling in her depths.
Dearest Stelaris, she is lovely.
Curious and bright, with a rich vein of emotion that inspires me to be a more compassionate male.
I’m not sure anything else ever has. Not like Sofi.
Is it merely because she’s an omega? Could that even be possible?
I want to believe it is.
It would make sense.
And yet I know, in the bottom of my withered soul, that it isn’t her designation.
It’s her.
Which only leaves me with more questions than answers. How could I send her back to Earth? How will I ever get anything done if I don’t?
Irritated, I snap out a new set of instructions, nodding to a pile of containers that need washing. Sofi makes her way over to the industrial sink that serves as an anchor for one wall of my tent. I stop dead in my tracks, noting her uneven gait.
I cannot ask any questions or slow myself down. I simply move, plucking her right off her shuffling feet.
Sofi squeaks and kicks. “Hey! Cylus, what the hell?!”
I barely keep my snarl in check. “You are limping, woman.”
The invisible, sterile covering on my exam table crinkles as I haul her onto its surface, balancing her rounded rump on the edge. I drop to my knees without thought, snatching one of her swinging feet.
“Cylus!” she protests again, half-whining now. “Seriously?!”
“Yes,” I growl. “Injuries are serious, omega.” Her right foot and its useless toes are fine. I move on to the left. “Tell me where it hurts.”
Rosy pink flares over her half-bare chest and blooms on her cheeks. The warmth deepens her lush scent and heats the other alphas’ musk. A dizzy rush roars through my mind, leaving the edges of my thoughts blurry.
Fuck.
Focus.
I snap my attention back to her legs, roaming over every bit of pale flesh visible through her gown’s customary slits.
There.
I spot the source of her discomfort—two distinct patches of chafed skin, one on each thigh. Almost as if they’ve been rubbed raw by—
Scales.
Rask’s scales, to be exact.
How do I know, you ask?
Because her slick cunt is mere finger-lengths from my face—with the General’s musk painted between her legs.
And I should hate it.
But my mouth wells with saliva, voracious hunger roaring to life. I shift my hands, peeling the drape of fabric to the side. Revealing the slightest sliver of her bright pink center.
My hearts pound, knots and cocks mirroring the frantic beat. Sofi suddenly remembers to breathe, gasping desperately and batting at my clawed fingers.
“It’s just some chafing,” she dismisses, drawing my attention back to her wound. Not realizing I’ve seen Stelaris’s very own reward between her thighs.
My vision blurs—surely because my pupils have blown wide enough to match my aching knots. I stare between her legs, trying to remember why the hells I’m on my knees. Tails restlessly curling around my own ankles.
Fuck me all the way through the seven hells.
“It is not nothing,” I determine, forcing myself to truly look at the abrasions. They aren’t deep—and likely weren’t that bad when they occurred. She’s made them worse by walking around all day without mentioning her discomfort.
Of course she did.
I can think of nothing more Sofi.
Why doesn’t it annoy me? What is this curious warmth winding between my hearts?
“Stubborn woman,” I grunt. “You’ve rubbed your skin raw. Stay still.”
The human thrusts her lower lip out in an exaggerated scowl that definitely should not be adorable. It is, though, especially in concert with her exasperated huff. “Cylus, I’m fine.”
“No,” I argue. “You will be, though.”
I set to work, retrieving the balm I distill from raxxos leaves to numb and lubricate surface abrasions. It is typically unnecessary for Southerners, with their tough scales. But Northerners and Middle Roktusians have less hardy hides.
I find myself back on my knees within seconds. Relief unfurls in my lungs, a rasp rattling my voice. “Open for me.”
I don’t have to infuse any of my natural dominance into the command. Sofi simply rolls her blue, blue eyes and squirms, parting her legs further.
Soft gold-trimmed fabric pools over her cunt, concealing the sight but not her scent or the slickness sliding down her thighs. I swallow hard, my hearts beating in my horns as I scoop balm onto my fingers, gliding it along her abused flesh in careful circles.
Sofi watches, her gaze shining. Fresh perfume spins into the air. I gulp it down, dragging deep lungfuls of the tart sweetness over my tongue. My cocks kick up, straining so hard my leather breeches creak in protest.
Hells. My musk, I realize. Too late. The smell must hit her hard—her core visibly contracts under her dress, seeping enough slick to dampen the fabric.
I can’t look away. Not even when she clamps her legs shut, trapping my hand. Putting it right where the moisture clinging to her skin begins to bathe mine.
I want to rip my laces open and cover my cocks in her slick. Allow her to watch while my tails bring me to release, spurting all over her mound and her bare breasts. Or, perhaps, let her drink my cum so her pussy will stretch to take me.
Gods-dammit. I told myself this wouldn’t happen. I specifically made myself as aloof and unlikable as possible, trying to get her to keep her distance.
What went wrong?
Sofi’s eyes glaze over as she exhales in short pants. I go utterly still, too afraid of the deep vein of need running through me. If I move, will I snap into a rut? Will she be scared of me?
I don’t know what she sees on my face, but it softens hers. A small, gentle hand floats down to trace my forehead ridges. Her brow creases as if she’s pondering something.
Or making a decision.
Because a moment later, her muscles relax. She opens her knees again, gathering her dress to move it aside. Revealing the thatch of charming curls covering her mound and her slick, pink cunt.
Gods. It’s… beautiful.
As delicate as any flower, with more petals than I expected. More glory to behold. Shining in the sterile light, reflecting the glimmer of want in her eyes.
The black orbs at their centers expand, her omega pheromones spiking in answer to mine. I nearly sway, delirious from the perfume and slick dribbling from her core.
It flutters around the air. A whine rends the reverent silence in my tent.
For the first time in my life, I do not think.
I cannot think.
I only know that she needs. And I provide.