Chapter 2
TWO
EUN
The sharp bite of a knife at my throat brought me back to my senses.
I drew in a shaky breath, willing myself to come back, back to who I was supposed to be, who I wanted to be. Not the feral thing crouched over its prize, breath ragged, clutching her like a kill.
No. Not a kill. Not prey. Not dinner.
Person.
She was a person I had saved. Not a thing I had claimed.
My mind struggled with that, the heat of her scent enveloping me as something deep within me responded to it, ignited by it.
She was mine.
The word landed hard in my chest. I flinched as instinct surged again, snarling beneath my skin.
I didn’t recognize her species, some kind of herbivore species, soft-eyed and delicate, but that didn’t matter.
All that mattered was I had run from the law with her in my arms, and every part of me still screamed: mine, mine, mine.
No, I couldn't think that, couldn't feel that.
Those thoughts would lead to her death.
I unwrapped my arm from around her, releasing her.
She slid out of my lap, putting her bare feet on the filthy ground as she kept the knife pressed against my neck.
One of my hair strands reached out on its own, sliding around her wrist. I could taste her through it, feel the salt of her skin under a strange chemical flavor and the racing beat of her fluttering heart.
The sensation of her softness through that medium was different.
She didn't have the fur that would normally separate my senses from the being that was underneath, and the sensation of the bare touch of her was pure pleasure.
Her skin had small hairs on it, making it even softer, and for a moment, I was fixated on that small detail.
Normally, when my hair brushed up against anything, it didn't feel right.
There were textures it wanted to grab onto, to pull up against me, to shield me from accidentally touching the unpleasant rasp of fur or other beings.
I'd let it grow too long since I moved out, and I had to tie it back to keep it from grabbing onto things it shouldn't.
But touching her skin felt wonderful, different.
I forced my hair to withdraw, releasing her wrist even as she still held the knife to my throat.
She stood between my crouched form and the wall, still caged in by my arm. I dropped it down to rest on my knee so that I was no longer caging her with my body. I'd frightened her.
Good, she should be frightened of me. She wasn't safe with me.
“I’m not going to hurt you right now,” I tried to reassure her with the truth. I calmed down. I wasn't a threat to her in this moment.
I should tell her that I would take her to the police station, so that they could help her, but I was on probation from the first time my family had me arrested.
If I went there with a prey species in her state - they would arrest me first and ask questions later.
If I got arrested again, my family would have even more leverage.
Then again, what were my difficulties when compared to the daily struggle of an herbivore?
I shouldn’t be so selfish. She needed help.
“I could walk you to the police station?” I asked her.
She frowned at me, pressing her lips together before saying something I didn’t understand in her light, lilting voice.
I studied her mouth as she spoke, seeing her flat teeth that matched the assessment my nose had made when she first ran into me, smelling of strange chemicals and prey.
I hadn’t ever seen any creature that looked quite like her, but she was strangely similar to me, with only two eyes and two arms and no fur except for the hair on her head.
Her hair didn't move on its own, though it was clumped with some kind of chemical gel that coated her body in uneven streaks, and her ears were small and round, just like the rest of her body.
Even so, she looked more like me than anyone else on this planet.
I couldn't take her to the police if she couldn't speak the language.
She would disappear. The police weren't there to protect legal aliens, let alone illegal ones.
But what could I do with her? She'd already triggered my prey drive, so she wasn't safe with me, that was for sure.
I didn't know any herbivores well enough to show up on their doorstep with an illegal alien who didn't know the language and ask them to take care of her.
Plus, she was mine.
The word echoed through my mind, and I tried to ignore it, push it aside. I couldn't think that way. It wasn't safe for her.
She removed the knife from my neck and studied it for a moment, finding the catch on it and folding it up before tucking it into the pocket of my jacket.
A deep sense of satisfaction came from the sight of her draped in my clothing, and I didn't understand that at all.
Prey drive had nothing to do with clothing.
What she was wearing didn't matter, and yet, seeing her in my jacket tickled something deep inside me.
The small woman made a strange hissing sound and mimicked rubbing the hair on the top of her head, as if she were washing the chemicals out of it.
“You want a wash?” I asked her.
My apartment wasn’t far. We could take a longer route, stay out of sight.
Once there, I could at least find her something to wear, an old T-shirt long enough to pass for a dress, maybe one with my scent on it, and then use my laptop to figure out what language she was speaking.
Mind made up, I stood up. She had to come with me.
All I needed to do was convince her to come.
She took a sudden step back and winced.
She was hurt. I knew I couldn't focus on that even as every part of me wanted to pluck her off the ground and search her for injuries.
I couldn't view her as wounded.
“I’m going to head to my place,” I told her. “You can get washed, and I can lend you some more clothes if you want, or I can take you to the police station, but I don't recommend that.”
I waited, but the words she said in response still didn’t mean anything.
I walked a couple of steps down the alleyway and glanced back.
She was following me, but she was also limping.
I was back over to her in a flash, worry rushing through me, my previous thoughts vanishing, worry that my own predatory feelings would trigger at the sight of injury. That didn't matter; she was wounded, and I needed to take care of her.
“Are you okay?” I asked, crouching down so I could look her in the eyes.
She said something and lifted up her heel, pointing at it.
There were cuts all over her foot.
As I looked at them, wondering why she had bare feet and was naked in the first place, she suddenly pressed herself against me.
I froze as her softness stole my thoughts.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing down on my shoulders as she leaned against me, her forearms brushing against my hair, sending shivers of pleasure through me. She reached out and took one of my arms, wrapping it around her as she sat down in the crook of it.
“You want me to carry you?” I asked, miming putting my other arm under her legs.
She made an up and down motion with her head, but I didn't know what that meant.
She wasn't screaming or pulling away, so I lifted her up in my arms anyway.
Her fingers brushed against the strands of my hair, and they responded, wrapping around her hands, feeling the heat of her palms, the taste of dirt and grime, and underneath, the sweet sense of her skin.
I clutched her in my arms, feeling more confused than ever.
I’d take her to my place and figure out what language she spoke, and then figure out what to do next. With the plan firmly in mind, I began to jog to my place, ignoring the rich scent of her blood floating up from the small cuts on her feet.
It would be fine. I could do this.
A prey animal could be safe with a predator. It had to be possible. The law that passed last year allowing prey-predator mating pairs wouldn't have passed if there wasn't some possibility of those relationships working out in a fashion that didn't lead to death.
I could keep her safe.
She would be safe with me.
She was mine.
No! She was not mine. She was safe with me.