CHAPTER 14
“This is not a confrontation,” Becky warns me as if she can hear my instincts narrating our actions from my perspective.
And perhaps it isn’t a confrontation, because the other Yonderin appears much relaxed as he stares at me over the top of his mate’s head.
A commotion in the street draws Becky’s and Stella’s attention.
“There’s a loose donkey,” Stella says sadly. “Poor thing must be so scared. Sounds like no one has had luck catching him.”
The donkey in question honks at us and gallops by, kicking and bucking and snorting and fighting. Farting too.
“He looks happy,” I observe.
“He really does,” Becky agrees, sounding surprised but also relieved.
“Can we take you two to lunch?” Stella asks us, one of her hands linked with her mate’s, who is a wall at her back.
“NOT IN HEL—” I begin.
“Thank you for the invite,” Becky speaks over my bark. “We accept.” I look down at her, appalled at the idea of eating with our enemy, but she only squeezes my hand and smiles at Stella. “Where to?”
***
I don’t like that another male is feeding us at his (temporarily claimed) table.
It makes me feel unmoored. Unmanned. As if I can’t provide for us myself.
Becky whispers that it’s rude to force the issue when Stella insists that they “pick up the check”—and she generously begs us to order anything we want.
Her male’s eyes have hooded with smug satisfaction. Silently he taunts me that he can provide not only for his mate and offspring, but my mate and tadpole—anything they want.
I glare at him.
The females situate us so that we’re seated on opposite sides of our mates, who are facing each other; that way the male and I are not so easily able to lock on with a direct stare. We’re still aggressively reading each other's brains, as well as scanning the environment for threats.
The restaurant we’re in is small and simple, and I’m certain nothing served here can be as satisfying as what Becky makes at home. Or the bakery next to the general store.
But Becky and Stella smile at each other over large glasses of ice water—mostly filled with ice—and chatter rapidly as they uncover shared experiences, apparently inevitable with both of them being mated to Yonderin. The more they converse, the more their brainwaves cohere. The more their neurons fire at exactly the same time in the same areas, synchronizing.
It’s… friendly. And rather pleasing to observe, like watching brains dance to the same music.
“It’s like watching two big lions sneer at each other,” Stella remarks, and Becky’s hand—which has been resting on my knee under the table—begins to slide toward my groin.
This pulls my glare off the male positioned diagonally opposite of me.
Stella must do something to her mate too because he grunts and I feel his attention divert from my face.
Becky stops her hand just before she reaches the top of my thigh.
And she leaves it there.
I lean down and nuzzle the side of her face .
Surprise colors the other Yonderin’s skull contents.
My hackles attempt to rise, somewhat defensive because I can feel him reading my brain even more intensely.
But I'm also reading his brain, and I can see that he's relaxing, finally determining that I'm no threat to his mate.
Becky’s voice breaks partway into my preoccupation, her tone rueful amid some conversation. “I’ve been feeling like I’m melting for months. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Traxia is hot for merman species.”
Stella laughs. “Yeah, C’vest hates the heat and dryness too. Do you guys have access to a watering hole?”
“We have a river.”
“No kidding! We do too. Looks like we’re both blessed.”
Dropping her gaze, absently petting my thigh under the table, Becky nods. “Joel… Joel and I spent everything to buy our property because of the water source.”
“Oh, I bet,” Stella murmurs, grimacing and rubbing her back. Her mate reaches over and rubs at her back too as she adds sadly, “Water is worth a fortune here.”
Becky is looking upset as she rubs her own back. “It sure cost us ours.”
I bring my hand to the spot that’s paining her, hoping to help her ease the ache.
“Who is Joel?” Stella asks. To her male, she whispers very quietly, “I’m fine. No, it wasn’t—wasn’t you.” Her color heightens along her cheekbones and her brain heats in the area for embarrassment. Her volume lowers even more. “I’ve been having cramping and back contractions for days. The orgasm actually helped. For a second anyway.”
I look at Becky, who is collecting herself, her emotions a messy tangle in her brain as she brings her glass of water to her mouth. I ask her, “Would you like an orgasm?”
She chokes on her water. Ice cubes clatter to the tabletop.
Frowning, I lean in, helpfully patting her back. “Is that a yes or a no?”
She splutters, her hand coming up in an attempt to block her mouth from view, as if the people holding us speciously, politely hostage haven’t already seen her spit water at them.
The other Yonderin’s brain has lit up in amusement. The lingering tension in his frame subsides a little more.
If it would have helped to verbalize my intentions to the other male—my lack of intentions where his mate is concerned—I would have. But we are creatures who rely on action—and seeing me tend to my own mate has spoken more clearly for me than any words could have. I don't want to take his mate or harm her.
I have my Becky, and I tenderly love her.
Our food arrives, and the women continue to make conversation and nibble their meals while C’vest and I dig into our portions almost as savagely as we’re digging into each other’s skull contents.
Suddenly both females’ brains are triggered in the area for pain and anguish—and both of them spontaneously begin to weep.
“What the hell?” the other Yonderin remarks, his tone absent of anger but full of confusion.
Clearly we both missed crucial conversation between our wives because both of them are expressing sudden sadness.
“What is making you distressed?” I whisper to Becky.
She waves to Stella. “It’s heartbreaking! Her first husband, Baron, mysteriously dies—and suddenly she’s at the mercy of these barbaric Traxian laws. She loves her man now, but she was forced to marry a stranger for her safety.” She looks at me, her soft eyes full of pain. “Just like me. It’s bad enough it happened to one woman, but to two of us? We know mine was a setup because—” She swallows convulsively, and I wrap my arm around her to give her comfort. She tries again to speak. “Because that man bragged to us as Joel was dying that he—he was hired to kill him and take me to his boss. It should never have happened! This shouldn’t be happening to anyone. How many more are out there, having their lives ruined?”
Stella reaches across the table, holding out her hand for Becky to take. “We’re working to change the laws here,” she says as Becky accepts her gesture.
Becky makes a reply, but I’m distracted.
My mate views her life as being… ruined?
Pain lances my chest.
The other male sits up straighter, and I seethe, knowing he’s privy to the pain receptors activating in my brain as well.
I attempt to marshal my emotions.
I must not be successful, because Becky looks up at me suddenly, and her mouth opens. She closes it again, and winces. Then she finds my hand with her free one and gives me a hand clutch.
As she grips my hand and leans her shoulder into my side, the strange pain I’m experiencing dissipates.
By some silent mutual agreement, the female’s conversation lightens and they begin to discuss less important topics. “Have you noticed how they gravitate toward neon?” Stella asks, wiping her eyes and tipping her head to indicate her mate.
Becky blinks. “No? Can’t say that it’s come up.”
Stella’s eyes flick to me. “Watch him. I bet you’ll see that his first inclination is to select the most garishly bright fabric or wall samples or whatever. C’vest does. But somewhere along the way C’vest learned it isn’t within the normal parameters for humans to opt for colors like that so he’ll stop himself from wearing an electric pink shirt, for example. But if he weren’t trying to fit in with the population, that’s what he’d wear.”
C’vest looks down at his mate forbiddingly, as if he can’t believe she’s divulging his secrets .
I’m silently delighted. Although my brain isn’t silent. It has to be screaming my enjoyment from its hedonic hotspots. C’vest can surely see how much I enjoy learning about his foibles.
Stella glances up at her male and does a double take. She captures his face in her hands and brings him down for a contrite kiss. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she whispers to him when she pulls away, her voice so quiet I don’t think Becky can hear.
But I can. I continue to spy with avarice.
Becky pinches me.
Startled, I send her an incredulous look.
“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” she informs me. “Come here.”
She pulls my face down much like Stella has just done with her male, and she kisses me until I don’t care that another Yonderin male is in the vicinity, let alone what causes him to feel abashed.
“Iiiiii think we’d better go…” Stella chuckles, scooting back her seat. “Nice meeting you two.”
I tense as her male stands, but he only attends to his wife’s chair, pulling it the rest of the way out for her.
I force myself to pull back from kissing Becky. Panting, I work to collect my breath.
She’s fighting to do the same, and heat rolls off her cheeks. “It really was nice meeting you both. But yes, I think we’d better head home.”
“Not yet,” I say as I rise to help her out of her chair.
Becky looks up at me in confusion. “Not yet? Why?”
“There is one more thing we must do before we leave town.”
Her nose wrinkles fetchingly. “Like what?”
“We need to make our marriage legal,” I remind her.
Staring up at me, her eyes color with emotion.
Stella, being moved away from us and our table by her mate—who has effortlessly paid for our meal and service, clearly familiar with the local tender—stops walking. In fact, she takes a step back in our direction. “Would you… would you like us to be witnesses? ”
“N—” I start.
“Yes,” Becky says. She looks over at the other female, sending her a smile, before she looks back up at me. No doubt noting my jaw, the way I’ve clamped my teeth. She leans in. “Is that okay?” she whispers. “I like Stella. It would be nice to have her at… at our wedding.”
Swallowing, I stare into Becky’s eyes, and give her a low nod. “If it would bring you happiness, then yes.”
***
Tucked into my side, Becky walks out of the chapel as Mrs. William Frederick Cody.
C’vest and Stella trail after us, her mate ensuring we have our space, if I had to venture a guess—but then Stella pulls at her mate until they’re abreast of us. As a unit, we cross the street, moving for the bakery store where we parked our wagon.
“HAWWWWWWWWWW!” comes a loud bray from the street, making Becky jump.
But not from fear. “PACO!” she cries, clutching my arm and brightly grinning at our jackass, who is trotting alongside the boardwalk, dodging wagons.
“Haaawww REEEEE! Hawwww REEEE! Hawww REEEEEEE!” he replies back, as if he’s telling Becky about the events of his day apart from us.
I hardly notice his antics, because I’m watching something concerning in the other Yonderin’s brain. Inside his skull, his brainwaves have sped up, high frequency beta waves entirely taking over his cognitive pattern.
Despite Paco’s nearby fracas, the other Yonderin remains unnaturally focused, too invested in gaining some unknown-to-me but essential-to-him goal, some vital target .
My body tenses, unable to extrapolate what is driving him as he walks so close to Becky and I. My instincts urge me to attack him before he can harm us.
C’vest bends his head and whispers something to his mate in an unmistakable imperative that sounds like, “Ask her.”
His mate throws him a look that I can’t interpret. Something between alarm and refusal.
Her brain gives me more data, yet leaves me with more questions. She’s disturbed, something swirling in the area for fear and trepidation, as well as reluctance. The limbic area of her brain is also activated, perhaps indicating that she’s afraid of making a social faux-pas.
She shakes her head at her mate and tries to pull him closer to her person. To shush him, I believe. “This is our stop,” she says too brightly, waving her hand at the stairs that will take her to a wagon parked several spots ahead of ours. She tries to tug at C’vest yet again, once more attempting to hurry him away.
He helps her down the stairs, then onto their vehicle. But when he gets her seated and his eyes are level with hers, he captures her with his very intense gaze. The blue glow of them amplifies.
“Stella,” he says, not whispering this time. Her name on his tongue sounds urgent.
She slumps and sighs. “Hey, Becky?”
My mate, having caught some of the exchange and able to read and interpret enough of the tension and Stella’s disinclination to be wary, replies, “Yeah?”
She’s standing at my side on the boardwalk in front of their parking space, feet away from their tied horse. Their animal is golden and black, and incredible looking. At any other time I’d be entranced by the coat of the creature, which has a stunning metallic sheen.
Paco must be entranced too. He’s sidled up to it, and he raises his head into the air and lifts his upper lip, curling it up in a flehmen response .
Everyone, even the horse—evidently a mare—ignores him.
Stella’s mate moves to untie the creature, then joins Stella, dropping down beside her and curling a supportive, protective arm around her back.
Stella rushes her words out as I move with the intention to help Becky down a set of nearby steps so that we can head for our own vehicle. “Did Joel’s… I’m sorry to ask this, but did Joel’s murderer mention the name of…” Her face flickers, revealing almost as much turmoil outwardly as her skull is experiencing inwardly. She forces herself to finish asking, “The name of his boss?”
Aggression ignites inside me.
The boss that hired the bad cowboy to kill Joel because he wanted my Becky delivered to his doorstep.
Suddenly I too want this answer.
Beside me, Becky freezes in her tracks. Stricken, she stares down at her boots while I glare over at the other Yonderin male.
As if she knows what I’m doing, Becky pats my arm. One hand gripping her belly, she twists back to Stella. “He did. It was like Albert, or… Al—” she breaks off her reply, sounding frustrated at herself for not remembering such a detail, despite the fact she’s attempting to retrieve information out of a traumatic memory. Statistically, it’s common for humans to have difficulty with their recall in acutely distressing situations. And no one could miss that Becky is upset—she forces her words past a quivering throat. “His boss’s name was Albert Galen… Galen-something.”
Stella bleaches of all color, like a squid that’s been dealt a death blow. It’s exactly that dramatic, as if her nervous system has experienced such a shock that her chromatophores have ceased to function. Through numb-sounding lips, she whispers, “Alvert Galensten.”
Not a question .
“Yes!” Becky confirms, her head snapping up, heat in the word. “Alvert! That’s what it was. Al vert Galensten.” Her eyes are intense on the other woman. “Why?”
C’vest explodes up from the wagon seat in a rage.
Paco honks in surprise and scrambles away from their shiny metallic horse. Our shaggy beast clambers up the steps we’re standing at the head of and slams into me to reach Becky, who pets him, as if, after this upset he’s had to suffer, he requires her comfort.
I don’t push him away because Becky brokenly collapses over him, obviously deriving comfort from him as she gives him an embrace.
I bring my arm around her shoulders and consider peeling the animal away from her for stealing my comforter privileges. But then Becky turns to me and throws her arms around me, embracing me as tightly as she can manage around the insistent press of our tadpole.
Not content to be set aside and forgotten, Paco catches her skirt in his mouth.
Over Becky’s head, I watch a panting C’vest. He looks entirely the predator now, outwardly as well as inside his skull. He’s incensed. There’s almost a tangible coldness emanating from him.
Stella has her hand on one of his pantleg-covered thighs. It’s a stalling gesture, I think. But unless he has better tech than what I’ve been fitted with, he won’t be able to feel her touch on his C-legs like he would elsewhere on his body. However, his limbs should have sensors that provide him with biofeedback. If so, he’s likely aware of her hand’s pressure and warmth on his cybernetic limb.
If he has decent tech, he’s also probably receiving the feedback that his wife’s hand is trembling.
I can see that it is from here.
That could explain part of his aggression. I would be very upset if Becky were so distraught that she were shaking.
I glance down at her. My eyes scan her hands, which she’s wringing.
Her fingers are quaking.
A bolt of fury takes me. “Who is this human? Is this the same Boss Alvert who took over the livery stable?” I ask dangerously.
C’vest scoffs. “STOLE it, you mean. And he’s a rival,” he growls. His eyes are nearly solid blue, a mass of scrolling data lighting up his orbs. “He’s been making moves to run this town.” His jaw clenches. “As you’re aware, by Traxian law, if a man marries a woman, all her assets become his. I couldn’t prove that he killed Baron. But Alvert hated him. And Baron owned a lot of land, a lot of cattle, and a river—and with Stella as his widow, there was this surefire way to swoop in and legally lay claim to all of it. Baron’s death was…” His jaw works. “Too convenient.”
His mate flinches.
C’vest reaches down and cups her face, the tender gesture at odds with the areas in his brain lit up for aggression.
Releasing his mate, eyes scanning the people milling around the nearby shops, he coolly retakes his seat in the wagon. “I still can’t prove he did it. But I know that I know that I know Alvert is responsible for Baron’s death.” He pins me with a look that raises the fine scales on the backs of my arms. “But I just heard that he made Becky a widow so that he could take her land. That’s all I need to hear. He’s a dead man.”
Becky is trembling now, infuriating me. Yes. This Boss Alvert is as good as a dead man.
“When his man didn’t return with me…” Becky remarks, her voice strange and faint. “He had to wonder why. It’s surprising he didn’t send goons to scout our homestead.”
“He did,” I say.
Everyone looks at me.
“It was on day two of building a fence,” I tell Becky. “The pain had put me in a somewhat negative mood—”
“You were in a savage mood,” Becky points out.
I incline my head. “That is perhaps an honest assessment. The trio of cowboys who rode up and asked after you in a threatening manner would likely agree, if they were still alive. But they aren’t. I skipped eating the breakfast you offered to make for me that morning and it was a terrible day. I dispatched them.”
“You WHAT?” Becky shouts, startling Paco, who lets out a rusty squeak as if echoing her. “You took on three guys and you didn’t say anything?!”
I nod. “One of the cowboys was the same livery stable hand who you confirmed overcharged me for Paco. I sent their horses back the way they came with slaps to their rumps, their dead riders affixed to them with rope. As I said, I was out of sorts that day, partly due to how painful fencing is, partly because no meal compares to what you cook for me, but the outcome of my short temper resulted in no other rivals daring to move on you after that.”
“What brands were their horses wearing?” C’vest asks, voice tight to the point of biting.
Their golden mare nervously chews on the bit in her mouth and shifts her weight uneasily, causing her leather lines to jingle and creak.
I look at C’vest. “The same brand as the horse that belonged to Joel’s murderer. A Scab Six.”
C’vest’s focus flies to his mate’s face. His mate, who is clearly distressed as she hunches over, gripping her stomach. “Stella?”
She gasps. “That’s Alvert’s brand.”
“Yes,” her mate grits out, hunkering low to catch her eyes. “It is. Are you all right?”
Still hugging herself, she shakes her head, and shudders. After a moment, she meets her mate’s worried gaze. “My water just broke.”