Authors: Jess Granger
Beyond the Rain (10 page)
With a second scarf, she cloaked her delicious belly by wrapping her breasts tightly with it, and lacing the bodice on top, then tucking it into the waist of her skirt. Even though it covered her skin, the allure of how the silk moved as her torso twisted in one of her kicks made Soren’s blood burn in his veins.
And finally she had taken a ginger cloth and managed to turn her skirt into a strangely tied pair of flowing pants, complete with “undergarments” of sorts. She looked like a warrior born out of restless flames, but he knew the woman she hid beneath her cloth, her weapons, her control.
Crack!
Cyani swung an arm-length stick over her head and brought it down hard on the toppled trunk of a dead tree.
She shook her head, took three strides back then ran at the tree with full force. With one hand she vaulted over the trunk, landed on the other side, and brought the stick down with another loud
whack
.
whack
.
She fought so hard.
What was she really fighting against?
It had been four days since the storm. He was still feeling remarkably well, even though he could feel the drugs fading. He figured the kiltii water and sleeping so close to Cyani had helped keep his system balanced. Each day he regained more of his humor, his hope, but the days had tortured her.
She rarely spoke with other members of the tribe. He had taught her a few phrases, but she used them reluctantly. Each night she stared out at the far moon and watched the pinpoints of light flying to and from the Union base there. Every morning before dawn, she came to this shadowed place near the outer wall and practiced her training rituals. While she had grown closer to him, she didn’t seem to be adapting to Makko itself.
Soren turned the small round bead in his hand. With the edge of his knife, he deepened a slice to emphasize the edge of the fox’s face he had carved into it. He had made a whole sack of beads, but they sat in the dark, not woven into a necklace for the only woman who meant anything to him.
ines, swinging the makeshift “blade” around with the ease of a master.
He wanted her so badly. He wanted her to smile, to enjoy life here and relax, learn the language, and fit in with the people. He wanted her to bond with him.
He could picture them living out their days in the village. They could watch the sun set over the savannah as wrinkled gray elders, while their children began families of spotted and striped, blue- and gold-skinned, green- and red-haired ferocious little mind-bending warrior hunters who could make things grow.
He laughed, wondering if the Gatherers Cyani had told him about ever planned on something like that.
It was only a fantasy. She couldn’t survive here. He could see that now.
The Grand Sister of her planet was smart: She offered Cyani a choice. Cyani didn’t even realize she had been enslaved.
He was not her choice.
He rolled the bead for her necklace between his fingers.
What was he going to do?
She landed another blow on the tree trunk, and the stick she wielded cracked in two.
“I don’t understand the fascination men have with a woman who does not act like one,” a cool voice commented near his ear.
He glanced over at one of the pretty young Makkolen women. She had twisted her hair up to display her long, golden, completely bare neck.
She smiled seductively at him. It seemed the Lorna, the time of exploration, was upon them.
He didn’t need this, not now.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for Kaln?” he asked.
“Why would I be looking for Kaln?” she responded. “He’s nothing special.” The young woman pressed closer, touching his shoulder. He tried to ignore the feel of her fingertip tracing the edge of one of his stripes. “You are special.”
Soren pushed her hand away. “I am unavailable.”
“Hmmm,” the woman murmured. “She doesn’t wear your necklace. Why not take advantage of that fact while you can?”
Soren glowered.
“Awww, don’t do that, your eyes are so much prettier when they’re blue,” she commented.
Soren felt as if a Garulen guard had just thrust the butt of a shock thrower into his gut.
“What?” He could barely force out the question. He must have misheard her.
The girl took his moment of shock to press herself up against him and trace her finger over his eyebrow. “Your eyes are the most beautiful mix of blue and violet like a dark sky.”
Gracious Grower, giver of life.
He was bonding with Cyani.
He was bonding with Cyani.
His heart galloped in his chest as he took a step away from the girl and leaned up against a tree.
How could it be?
They hadn’t mated. They had touched, they had kissed, but he hadn’t willingly bonded to her. His body was responding to her anyway. He had thought her presence could slow his deterioration, but it seemed she could stimulate new hormones, natural ones.
I can survive.
Unless she chose to leave him. If she did, his body would deteriorate quickly. Without her near, the hormones would shut down completely and he’d be dead in a matter of hours, not weeks.
How could he give her that choice?
“Are you okay?” the girl asked. “You look a little ill. Maybe there is something I can do for you.”
She wrapped her arm around him and smoothed his hair back. His stomach turned in revulsion.
“Go home,” he ordered her. “I belong to one woman, and that woman is not you.”
He needed Cyani, but when he turned to look at her, she wasn’t there.
CYANI FUMED AS SHE STALKED TOWARD THE VEGETABLE GARDEN, THE THIN shells of the bark nuts crunching beneath her feet. She wrenched a branch from one of the overhanging trees and stripped the smaller twigs off it then tossed them into the sticky mud with angry flicks of her wrist. A swarm of mudbiters rose up into the air and buzzed around a rotting gourd.
With a furious yank, she pulled her mask off and let it fall around her neck.
She shouldn’t be so angry, but she was.
When she turned and saw one of the Makkolen women snaked around Soren like a parasitic vine, she fought the urge to throw something at them.
What was wrong with her?
Was she addicted to him?
Or was it something worse?
She smacked the branch against a gnarled tree then launched it like a spear over the high wall. She felt so trapped. The wall loomed, casting her in its shadow. She couldn’t find the words to speak her mind, couldn’t keep herself from being exposed, and couldn’t escape.
Betrayal burned in her gut. After the storm, she only had one piece of comfort to cling to. She could finally sleep—with Soren’s help.
She needed him.
And he was turning to another.
Could she blame him? How often had she pushed him away? And for what? For all Azra knew, she was dead or a slave of the Garulen, and those who wanted to see her fail had their wish.
What if they never escaped?
What would she do if he bonded with another and she was left in this world alone?
She needed him. She trusted him.
She . . .
She couldn’t think about it anymore.
Cyani leaned against a tree and scooped up a handful of nuts. She threw one of the nuts at a bloated gourd reclining in the mud. The mudbiters took to the air again. She swatted at the irritating little flies, scattering them like her thoughts.
It shouldn’t have shocked her that the native women found Soren attractive. And it shouldn’t have surprised her that he would notice them either, with their long copper hair, sun-golden skin, and wanton display of their bellies.
She threw another nut at the gourd with enough force to dent the vegetable’s skin.
If he bonded with one of them, it could save his life. He was happy here. She didn’t need to see the green in his eyes. He radisplth="1em">
He exuded warmth and tenderness, caring, patience, humor, and strength. With him she could dream, free from her terrible nightmares. She didn’t want him to bond with one of them, she wanted—
He exuded warmth and tenderness, caring, patience, humor, and strength. With him she could dream, free from her terrible nightmares. She didn’t want him to bond with one of them, she wanted—
“What are you doing?” she muttered to herself. “You have a mission. If he finds a way to survive here, then you’ll have done your duty.”
But at what cost?
Why was she even asking herself these questions?
They stung her as badly as the bites of the flies. She could avoid the flies if she kept moving; her thoughts were another matter.
“Were you speaking to me?” a low male voice asked too near her.
Cyani wheeled around in shock. A young native man stepped out from behind the tree. He wore nothing but his leather nuta and an intricate beaded necklace.
“No,” she began, searching for the words. “I leave now.”
The Makkolen reached out and grasped her hand, but she pulled it away. She gasped in shock as he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. “You don’t want to leave yet. We hardly know each other.”
Cyani felt the sluggishness invade her mind. He pulled the scarf from around her neck and let his fingers trace over her bare skin.
“No,” she shouted, whipping her forearm across his face with a solid crack. He fell to the ground and she tried to run, but her mind clouded with sudden unnatural panic. She froze on the spot, not knowing where to turn. Each option seemed more terrifying than the next.
A second male laughed from behind a tree. She found herself laughing too in spite of her effort to fight it, trapped by the newcomer and a wave of confusion.
“What, did you think she had the mind of a cow?” the second male asked the first. Cyani laughed. No, she shouldn’t laugh. She was in danger. Real danger. A heavy blanket of numbing calm shrouded her mind.
“She is a predator, you stump. You have to treat her like a lioness or she will rip you apart.” He stalked toward her with a look of triumph in his red eyes. “Do you know how the sight of you arouses me?”
Cyani felt a swell of pride in her long hair and toned muscles. Muscles she had to use to stop him. Muscles she could use to fight.
She fisted her hand and swung at his face. He caught her fist.
“Ah, ah ah,” he murmured. “You know how my skin feels against yours. You know you want the pleasure of my touch.” He pulled her fist forward and kissed the back of her hand.
Her mind flooded with want. She could picture his hands sliding over her arms and down her sides. He pulled her closer, leaning in to kiss her bare neck. Before she could stop herself, she had pulled the scarf around her midsection out from beneath her bodice.
She needed that scarf. She didn’t want to take it off. No, she had to get it off her skin. She wanted to touch him. She needed to feel his body against hers. Foreign lust simmered beneath her muddy confusion.
His lips brushed her shoulder as his hand pressed into her bare back.
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel the way it did with Soren.
She shoved him away with all of her strength.
“No,” she roared as she pushed his influence fy.
His eyes blazed bright, pure blue as he looked at her. “If they had touched you . . .”
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, even as her own muddy hands left streaks on his sides and back as she tried to cling to the comfort and familiarity of his body. “I wouldn’t let them touch me.”
Her words didn’t seem to comfort him as he held her and stroked her loose hair. They didn’t comfort her either, because she knew they weren’t the truth. They might have broken her, and she couldn’t fight it. She furiously tried to wipe the mud from his skin.
Soren sighed. He reached for a bit of cloth, dipped it in the kiltii water, and smoothed it over her face, washing away the filth from the garden.
Her stomach crawled with the awareness of the dirt clinging to her. She needed to be clean. She itched all over as her insides churned with the creeping feeling.
As if sensing her sudden unease, Soren dipped the cloth in the water again, and gently cleansed her temple, then her neck.
The cool cloth slid over her. Soren leaned forward and kissed her damp skin, as her body hummed with tension.
He carefully bathed her hands, drawing the cloth over each sensitive finger. He lifted her hands, and took the tip of each finger into his mouth. The hot pull drove her mad. She could feel the soft stroke of his tongue pulling her toward something deeper, something greater, something she was forbidden to touch.
She moaned softly as he placed a kiss in the center of her palm, then a hot laving caress on the inside of her wrist. He gently kissed each blossom circling her wrist. She swore she could feel them turning to him, growing for him.
His warm hands cradled her arm as his hungry mouth trailed up her arm with sharp nips followed by his soothing tongue.
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