Stolen: Warriors of Hir, Book 3 (13 page)

“It would be faster, wouldn’t it? The river should take us practically to the front door.”

“
If
there were a boat at hand, and
if
they were willing to abandon their own work to cater to us, then yes, that would be the swiftest way to the clanhall,” he growled. “If a boat sturdy enough to navigate the swift currents were to magically appear, we would reach my father by nightfall. But—as you can see—there are no boats and there are unlikely to be any for at least a day or two.”

Summer gritted her teeth. “It sounds like you think it’s a stupid idea.”

“It
sounds
as if you do not trust my judgment as a warrior,” he growled sharply. “It sounds as if you do not trust me to protect you.”

“This isn’t about trusting you! It’s—” She broke off, her hands clenching.

“What is it?” he rumbled, frustration plain in his face. “What distresses you so?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “I just need to get the clanhall as fast as I can.”

She tried to push past him but he caught her gently by the wrist.

“Will you not let me share this burden?” he asked and offered a faint smile. “Surely I have proved I am strong enough to carry anything for you?”

She stayed stubbornly silent and he cupped her cheek in his warm broad palm, serious. “I know you are afraid. I vow there is no need for it.”

Summer’s hands wrapped around her middle. “There is.”

“You do not fear Ar’ar? He has no claim on you any longer.”

“I think he would disagree with you on that,” she muttered.

“It does not matter what he thinks.” He gave a short huff, a derisive laugh. “You are my mate now.”

“Wait—What?” Her head came up sharply. “Ke’lar, what did you say?”

“You are mine,” he repeated. At her stare, his alien brow furrowed. “We are mate-bonded.”

Her mouth parted. “Oh, God . . . I didn’t even think . . .”

She’d forgotten about that aspect of g’hir males. Of the powerful instinctive bonding males experienced during sex. Something about their physiology left a male permanently imprinted on his mate.

Like Ke’lar was now imprinted on her.

Summer wet her lips. “Ke’lar . . .”

“You have nothing to fear, my mate.” He took her hand in his. “You will be happy here—on Hir—with me. I will protect you; provide for you—” He gave a gentle smile, his blue eyes so loving it broke her heart. “I will cherish this honor always.”

“Listen to me,” she said, tightening her grip on his hand. “I can’t stay here, Ke’lar. I
can’t
, even if I”—she swallowed hard—“even if I wanted to. I have to go back to Earth.”

“Summer, we are mate-bonded.” He blinked down at her. “You know I cannot live on your world.”

“I do know that.” She swallowed hard. “And I’m sorry.”

“No, you cannot mean this.” He shook his head. “You cannot mean you still intend to return to your world, not after—”

“I
have
to.”

“Why?” he demanded, his voice echoing the anguish in his eyes. “Why can you not remain here with me?”

“Ke’lar . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “I just can’t.”

“Even now?” he asked tightly. “Even after I have bound myself to you you do not trust me?”

“Ar’ar—”

“You are not Ar’ar’s mate!” he snarled, his fangs bared. “You are mine!”

“I have to go back.” Her eyes stung. “I
have
to.”

“Tell me why!”

“I can’t.” She blinked the tears back. “I’m sorry.”

His glowing eyes were raw. “Perhaps you do not love me as I do you but I know you feel something for me. What is it that demands you must return to your world? Will you not give me at least that much? Do you—” His voice was strained. “Do you understand what it will be for me to be parted from you, from a mate I have bonded to?”

Summer looked away.

“Wait . . .” he whispered. “This is more than fear. I see guilt in your face too . . .”

She raised her gaze to his. His breath caught and she knew he’d read the truth in her eyes.

“It is not something that draws you back . . .” The color had drained from his face. “It is some
one
. There is another there—back on your world . . . one you love deeply.”

“This is my fault.” Summer closed her eyes briefly. “I shouldn’t have let that happen last night, this morning, not when I’m leaving—”

His breath exploded in a rush and he stepped back as if she’d slapped him.

“I’m sorry, Ke’lar.” She reached for him but with g’hir quickness he eluded her grasp. “I’m so sorry . . .”

He was facing away from her, his lips white as if he were remaining standing by will alone.

Summer pressed her hand hard to her mouth. There was nothing she could say to him, nothing she could do to make this right.

“I will keep my vow. I will take you to the clanhall,” he rumbled tightly. “I will give you over to my father.” Ke’lar took Beya’s reins in hand again. “You will be returned to your world . . . and the one who awaits you there.”

Twelve

The suns were nearly set when Ke’lar slid off the saddle again, leaving a rush of cool evening air against Summer’s back where a moment ago the warmth of his body had been.

They rode double for long stretches of time but there were few words exchanged between them. There was no comfort she could offer him now that he knew the truth of what drew her back to Earth. Small talk was impossible and he was a warrior well accustomed to solitude.

But they weren’t making great time either, despite their focus on the journey.

Even when Ke’lar pushed the animal to a run he did not force her to it for long, but Summer knew he wasn’t purposefully delaying their journey; even she noticed that Beya was tiring quicker than she had the last time they had ridden her. They had been going since the suns were at their zenith and during the course of the day Beya’s galloping had dwindled to trotting and frequently simply walking.

“Is she all right?” Summer asked. The multari was still breathing hard even though she hadn’t run for long at all this time. “She sounds like she’s wheezing a little.”

“The rain yesterday, the chill last night, and this journey have worn on her,” he growled. “When we reach the clanhall’s stables I can rub her down, cover her with a heated blanket, and let her rest. In a few days she will be strong again.”

“Should I get down? That’ll make it easier on her and we’re only at a walk anyway.”

He glanced back at Summer; he’d been avoiding looking at her since this morning.

“I think that would be a kindness to her,” he rumbled.

Of course it meant that Ke’lar was going to have to help her get off the multari, since the thing was roughly the size of a damn Clydesdale. Summer’s hands rested on his shoulders as his hands went to her waist to help her off. For just an instant it seemed as if he held her against him, then ducking his head, he let her go.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Summer commented, wincing a bit as they started walking. Spending that long in the saddle, even with the frequent breaks, left her sore and aching.

“We have reached the other side of the river,” he said. “Walking through the night means we will be at the clanhall by morning.”

Summer glanced at Beya. She was breathing easier, that was for certain, but still—

“I’m not sure an all-night walk is a great idea, Ke’lar.”

He kept going, his gaze on the path ahead. “It is your wish that we reach the clanhall quickly.”

“I know, but we’ve been on the go for almost nine hours. I’m not sure Beya is up to it. I know I’m sure as hell not going to able to manage a ten-hour walk. She’s exhausted and I’m getting that way fast.”

“You are too tired to continue?” He stopped, frowning around at her. “You would have us make camp and spend the night here?”

“I’m a human woman, not g’hir warrior, Ke’lar. You’re the one that’s indestructible, not me.”

He shifted his weight, his eyes aglow in the twilight.

“If we let her rest for a few hours,” he rumbled finally with a measuring look at the multari, “she may be able to carry us the rest of the way. That would make up for the time that we lose if we make camp tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.” Summer rubbed her hand over her face. “I don’t suppose you can smell any water nearby?”

“There is a creek ahead. I intended to let Beya drink before we continued but if she were to rest for a few hours as well she would be the better for it.”

“Her and me both,” Summer said. “How far to the water?”

“Just beyond that tela tree.”

“Which one is that?”

He pointed to a tree in the distance. “The one with the red flowers.”

“I can’t see colors in this low light,” she reminded.

That startled him. “You cannot?”

“I don’t have g’hir eyes either, Ke’lar. I have human ones—you know, the kind that need a certain light level for the cones to work? And I’m going to be stumbling around in the dark pretty soon here so I’d be grateful if you could hand me the luma.”

“Is this night-blindness typical of humans?” he asked curiously. “What can you see now?”

“I can see your expression but your face is in shades of gray and black. Except I can see that your eyes are blue because they glow. ”

“Will the Sisters’ light not let you see?”

“I’ll see
better
in bright moonlight but it’ll be a cool light. No color.”

“How did your ancestors hunt at night?”

“We didn’t. Before electric lights people pretty much stayed indoors if they could at night. Though humans are a greater danger to each other than any wild animal probably ever was.”

He slowed his pace to match hers. “How could your species survive if they could not hunt at night?”

“We had a meeting and decided to go in the whole hunt-during-the-day direction.”

He gave an annoyed huff at her tart reply. “Come, if you wish to make camp. We should not stroll here talking.”

“I’m only strolling because I’m trying not to fall on my face in the dark. And, hey,” she grumbled, nearly twisting her ankle in a furrow she’d mistaken for firm field, “feel free to hand over the luma—which you clearly don’t need—anytime, Ke’lar.”

With a blast of light he activated it and offered it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, gratefully using its beam to pick her way across the field as he led them to the water.

He had Beya unloaded and the shelter built in a few spare minutes while Summer rinsed her face and hands in the creek. It was a testament to how practiced he was at this that he could do it so swiftly, so silently.

One accustomed to a solitary life indeed.

She waited inside the geodesic dome—already toasty warm since he’d already set the portable heater running—while he fed and watered the multari.

She offered a wry smile when he ducked inside. “I wanted to get dinner for us but I don’t know where you’ve stashed everything,” she said with a wave at their supplies. “I was afraid digging through all of it would just make a mess.”

“It will be dried fruit and meat again,” he warned, quickly shifting through the supplies to the right sack. “You must be tired of it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” She gave a grin. “Hell, I’m hungry enough to eat my own cooking.”

“You will not have to, little one,” he assured, returning her smile. “There is plenty of food still. And I would hunt for you if there were not.”

“Right,” she said, taking the simple meal he offered. He handed her a pouch of fresh water too. “The famous g’hir eyesight. Without the luma I’d be lost if I took two steps away from the shelter, you know, so you’re not getting it back until morning.”

“I will not need it,” he replied easily. “Unless we decide to shelter in another cave.”

“I think it’s safe to say we won’t need to tonight,” she said with a nod toward the shelter door and the clear, star-filled sky.

“You fled the Betari enclosure at night,” he commented, settling beside her with his own meal. “And with no luma. Were you not afraid?”

“Hell, yeah, I was. I intended to leave during the day but then I realized that whenever Ar’ar wasn’t with me the other Betari clanbrothers were keeping an eye on me. The only time everyone assumed I really didn’t need extra guarding was at night when Ar’ar was right next to me. But afraid?” She gave a humorless laugh. “There’s a whole running theme in horror movies where the dumb blonde takes off alone through the woods at night.”

“I do not know what ‘horror movies’ is.”

“Oh, right . . . Well, a movie is like a holotale, only two dimensional. And a horror movie is designed to scare you. The good ones keep you from being able to sleep—or shower.” She laughed at his perplexed look. “Never mind. But they usually take place somewhere remote or at night. Humans find both of those pretty scary.”

“Do humans have an instinctive fear of the dark then? Because you cannot see well?”

“Maybe we evolved that way. I’m guessing that the humans who were afraid of the dark didn’t leave the cave at night and didn’t wind up getting eaten. And here I am—” She struck a mock dramatic pose. “The proud product of many humans who did not get eaten.”

He gave a huffing laugh. “And the g’hir who could see at night could hunt better. So I suppose I am the descendant of many well-fed g’hir.”

“Have you ever wondered how it’s possible for humans and g’hir to reproduce?”

His gaze met hers and her face went hot. Clearly neither one of them had forgotten just how well humans and g’hir could mate—

“I mean,” she blundered on, “we’re different species. From different sides of the galaxy. It shouldn’t be possible for us to reproduce.”

“G’hir have human DNA,” he reminded. “It became part of our genome untold millennia ago.”

“But you shouldn’t have human DNA at all,” she argued. “How the hell would a human have gotten all the way out here in the first place? We didn’t have space travel then.
Your
people didn’t even have space travel then.”

“I do not know,” he said quietly. “I believe it is a gift from the All Mother, bestowed long ago, to give us hope now.” He dropped his gaze. “To give others hope.”

“Ke’lar—” Her throat tightened at the anguish in his face. “I didn’t—I never meant to hurt you—”

She reached for him, sure he would pull away, turn away from her touch, but he closed his brilliant eyes and gave an achingly soft purr of contentment. He leaned into her, pressing his cheek against her palm.

“My Summer . . .”

In the next moment his arms were around her and he was gathering her against the broadness of his chest, wrapping his warmth and strength around her.

“I do not regret what the All Mother granted me.” His rumble was like fierce thunder. “I am grateful for what I have had even if it is fated I must lose you to another. Every moment with you has been precious. I know you were never truly mine at all, little one . . .” His voice caught. “But I will always be yours.”

He cradled her, her cheek pressed against his chest; she could feel the strong beat of his heart. She could almost feel that other—so very precious—heart, a half a galaxy away, beating too . . .

“Emma,” she whispered hoarsely. “My daughter’s name is Emma.”