7. Chapter 7
seven
Sor’en
Humans are strange. I watch from the corner of my eye as my mate builds a…
nest in the middle of the dwelling. Her oddly short and stubby nude frame heaves and grunts as she slowly gathers up the stools from the dining area.
Although during my research, while she slept, I gathered nothing about humans requiring nests.
I had thought their shelter requirements were quite companionable to ours.
My fist tightens on the spoon as I stir my mate’s first meal of the solar, humans requiring three meals and frequent snacks to maintain a happy and healthy lifestyle.
I’ve already let her starve and failed to provide her an adequate shelter.
I could’ve done far better at her nest than she is.
It will be a tight fit for me, but if it is what she needs, I will adjust. My aging back lets out a spasm of soreness at the thought.
It is nothing. My spines have ached since I was very young.
A botanist spends many zentics on his knees, couched over and tending his fields.
Making a mental note to do further research into her shelter requirements, I stir the flamet in the large cooking pot.
It is a simple meal often fed to younglings, but the health scan I performed when we arrived, and my mate was soft and quiet, indicated this would be a good meal to introduce her to our food.
A loud crashing sound fills the space, making my heart jolt in my chest as I whirl, slinging more flamet around the cooking space.
A deep breath of relief leaves my lungs as my mate stands unharmed with her hands on her hips, glaring down at the collapsed formation of stools.
Everything in me is screaming go to her, bond her, take her, perform the vigil I’ve waited my entire life to share with my Draya’la.
My soulveil. The very being on earth created to balance and calm me.
I cannot think of a less calm-inspiring being.
Reluctantly, and mostly only because of the death stare she casts over her shoulder, I turn my attention back to preparing her food.
Our Balla’mar, the leader of our people, bought my story about her crash landing outside our dome.
That I had been gathering soil samples when I found her, injured and helpless, and that she had no veil.
Already, he could see the evidence of my newly mated aura.
The space above my head would no longer be visible to him.
It would denote silence, the absence of light or darkness.
If my mate had been a Xyrelith, it would only be seen by her eyes alone until we are passed to the dirt.
There is something shamefully pleasant in knowing she will not see it.
That nobody can judge my worth again by merely glimpsing my veil.
That there will be no whispers about the darkness that swirls there where there should be light.
He bought my story, but only because they do not venture outside the dome.
His veil swam with an instant of darkness that clenched my gut before it filtered out.
I contemplated how quickly I could kill him.
I am grateful it did not come to that.
The Balla’mar is a balanced male, a proud one, if not annoyingly so.
It would have troubled me to murder him.
I glance over my shoulder, my senses telling me of my mate's angry whispers, although I cannot hear them. The bowl of steaming food in my hand would’ve burned had I had the soft palms of my people.
No, mine are hardened; years of working the dirt have ensured it so.
I find myself, for one of the first times, oddly grateful for that.
I cannot afford to be soft like them. Not with such a strong mate.
I watch her as she drapes the large sheet from our bed over the top of the stools, balancing on the edge of the sunken opening that is common in Xyrelith homes, making some sort of tent structure.
My cock vibrates, but I can’t find it in myself to be embarrassed by the sound.
By my own lack of control, my bizarre foreign mate is strange in all ways; I cannot wait to explore her.
She doesn’t cast me a single glance before dropping to her hands and knees, providing me the most interesting view of her openings before crawling into her nest. I promptly follow suit, letting her take the lead.
It would surely make the people of my city laugh to see me crawling around after my little human like this, but I do not care.
I would crawl through the thorns of Qavara if only she would order it of me. I would humiliate and humble myself, starve, murder, steal and cheat if only to gain an ontic of her favor. Because I am an unbalanced male, a horrible, horrible male, but I am hers.
She screams as I edge my front half into her nest.
A scary male.
“Did I frighten you, my gift?”
Her eyes make an alarming-looking rolling motion. “No, I just scream like that for fun.”
“Do all humans do this, or is it specific to you?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
I nearly drop her food, my eyes widening and the buzzing that had nearly faded kicking up again, filling the room with the sound of my need. “You wish to copulate?”
Her eyes widen too as she sprawls cross-legged in the middle of her padded nest. “What the shit does that mean?”
“You said fuck. I am of the understanding that is another human term for breeding.”
“No! I mean yes, it is, but I am not fucking you! You kidnapped me.”
I try not to let her see me deflate. “I did not kidnap you. You were mine to take. I also paid you, you attacked me and attempted to have me murdered on the—”
“Wait. If I let you touch my vagina, can I have that? On the outside only!”
My jaw nearly unhinges as I stare down at the forgotten bowl in my hand. “I made this for you,” I mutter dumbly.
“Like, for free?” Her voice softens a bit, and by the goddesses, it is pretty. Too bad I greatly dislike her words.
“Do you often let males touch your reproductive parts for food?” My words leave me in a rough growl, toxin surging behind the surface of my skin at the thought of other males seeing my mate as she is now.
This hardens her, but I am too agitated to care. “It’s really none of your damned business what I do with my vagina!”
I nearly break the bowl, urging my large, lanky frame into the space before it occurs to me I likely will bring it down on us both.
“Oh, but it is. You are my mate, and unless you want to be the cause of a great many deaths, I must insist you keep your vagina to yourself. I will provide you food, free of charge, unless you find yourself to be wanting.”
Her face falters, her voice softer as she crosses her arms, hiding her small breasts. Her legs, annoyingly, do the same, hiding her warm center from me as well. “Yeah, right. You’ll probably just knock me out with your oil again and rape me.”
I smirk, hating how unkind it is. How evil she thinks I must me.
It is easy to slip into that role, the monster the Alliance needed.
The monster General Adder made me, the monster I made myself when I fled from the dying body of a child all those spans ago.
“This oil can do more than make you sleep, little gift. Perhaps if you mind your manners, I shall show you one day.”
My mate's pretty little face is flushed, the smell of her arousal so heady in her nest I nearly groan, all of my anger leaving me as quickly as it came. Oh, perhaps we are firmly matched indeed. It seems my Draya’la likes monsters.
She’s quiet, suddenly adept at avoiding my eyes as she snatches the bowl from my outstretched hand.
“I’ll be outside. There are things we need to discuss when you’re ready.”