Barbarian Alien(10)

My bed.

My mate is in my bed.

I groan, hit by a wave of need so strong it makes me dizzy, and I close my eyes, willing myself to be strong. She will be awake soon enough, and then we can mate.

She moans with pain as she sleeps, and her foot twitches. I remove her coverings gently, then massage her small feet. They're dirty and small, without the bony protective ridges that cover vulnerable spots on my own skin. She has five toes where I have three, and at the sight of the purple, swollen ones, I remember that they are broken.

They must be set for the khui to heal them.

She whimpers, her head tossing, eyes flicking under her eyelids. I must do this while she's unconscious so as not to cause her more pain. Strangely, the thought of hurting her makes my stomach churn. I run my fingers over her toes and compare how the bones sit. Then I suck in a breath and set them. I fight back bile as the bones make a snapping noise, moving back into place. She makes a choking sound and slumps.

I manage to set all three toes and then carefully bind them with leather wraps to hold them in place before my stomach rebels. I barely make it out of the cave before I vomit. Then, I kick snow over the patch of sickness, disgusted at myself. I have set broken bones for my clan mates. I have set my own broken bones. Never have I been sick at the thought of causing pain.

Already this small female changes me.

My khui hums in my chest, urging me to return to her side. I do, and she looks small and fragile and miserable in my furs. Dirty, too.

I tell myself I should undress her to check for more wounds. That she will appreciate a clean mane and clean skin when she awakens. All the while, my khui thrums and pulses agreement. It wants me to touch her. To claim her. And I cannot resist its siren call.

I set up a tripod over the fire and hang a snow-filled cooking bladder over it. The snow will melt and warm, and then I can clean her. Now to tend to my mate.

Her filthy clothing is strangely made, and it takes me a few moments to pull it off of her body. Once I do, I toss it aside to clean later. There seem to be two parts – a long tunic that reaches her hips, and a tiny loincloth that puzzles me. Is it for protection? It barely covers her hips, and it's clear that the humans cannot handle the temperature extremes of being outdoors. Is that why she is so pale and unhealthy? Does she not go outside?

When she is naked, I see the differences in our bodies more plainly. My khui sings louder than ever in my chest, but I'm not about to fall atop an unconscious, sick woman and mate her, so I ignore it. Instead, I crush soap-berries into the warming water and stir. Then I wet my hands and slide them over her skin to clean her.

And if I am being honest with myself, also to touch her. My cock is hard as stone at the first brush of my skin against hers, but I will myself to ignore it. She is filthy, and weak, and tired.

And she hates me.

That enables me to be strong as much as anything else. I sweep my fingers over her pale flesh repeatedly, rubbing at dirtier spots and exploring. She is soft all over, her skin without the distinctive, protective ridges that we sa-khui have over our most vulnerable parts. She is almost entirely hairless, too, which I find odd. My people have a downy fur covering their skin, but hers is open to the cold. No wonder she shivers so easily. The only places she grows a mane is on her head, and between her legs. I remember Vektal telling us of the humans and their strange anatomy. He claimed his Shorshie has a third nipple between her legs. Does this one have the same? Curious, I slide a hand over her sex and push her lips apart with my fingers. Surely enough, a small nub is exposed. It is poised at the top of her slit, and gleams with arousal. Even as I touch her, the scent of her sex perfumes the air.

I need her.

I close my eyes and will myself to be strong. My khui throbs incessantly, full of longing. It reminds me of everything I have never had, and everything I have wanted for what feels like an eternity.

She will be my first everything. My first mate. My first lover. The mother of my children. My hand trembles a little as I release her sex, resisting the urge to stroke the soft folds that gleam with arousal. The khui is already working on her if she responds to my touch, even unconscious.

I hope she will awaken soon.

The thought of my mate awake springs me into action. She will need food and drink, and warm, fresh clothing. She will have questions…and she will be angry. For some reason, the thought of her anger amuses me. It's like she blames me for her predicament. As if I could control a khui and choose my own mate. I snort as I go back to scrubbing her dirty skin. Filthy water sluices off of her, and it takes many rounds of washing until her skin is a fresh color that I am satisfied with. I also clean her mane, and it's surprising to me because what seemed dark and unremarkable is now a dark golden color. It is soft and tangles easily, and I get out a double-toothed pick from my bag and slowly detangle handfuls of the wet locks until they’re clean and gleam in the firelight, and run through my fingers like the soft, feathery leaves of a sashrem tree. It's her most attractive feature, I think, because the rest of her is so soft and weak that I don't know what to think. Even her breasts are heavy but tipless. Her nipples are barely noticeable against her skin. It's strange.