Barbarian Alien(42)

“I’m here,” a soft voice says in the darkness. Tender fingers brush my cheek, and I fight against the tide of pain that threatens to pull me under. My eyelids feel as if someone is sitting on them, they are so heavy. “Relax,” she says, her breath sweet. I feel her lips kiss my cheek, and then she caresses me again. “You’re safe. Just heal, okay?”

I lick my dry lips. “Metlaks—“

“Taken care of. I’ve got a fire and meat drying, and I’ve resharpened your knife.” Her hands smooth down my chest and my arms, and I feel a fiery bolt of pain surge as she does. A hiss of breath escapes my throat. “You’re healing well. Really fast, actually. I had to set your bones. I’m sorry. I know it must hurt. Just relax, okay?”

My khui thrums in my chest, and I hear hers respond. Even though I am grievously injured and awash in pain, my cock stirs in response. We are taking too long to answer the call of the resonance, and my body reminds me that we must obey soon. “Do not leave me…”

“I won’t,” she says in a soft voice. “Just live. Sleep.” Her fingers brush over my lips. “Sleep,” she repeats again.

And I do.



• • •



I’m in and out for what feels like forever. My mind is full of the soft touches of Liz’s hands, her soothing words as she pours broth down my throat, and the throbbing ache of my body as my khui works to heal it. My limbs are not the only things that ache – my cock burns ferociously for my mate, and I worry that I will wake up, healed, only to fall upon Liz and force her into mating.

I do not think a human would like that. Not with all their rituals of denial.

But my choices are not my own. My body must have time and rest to heal, and so I slip in and out between dreams.

At one point, I wake up, surprisingly clear-headed. There is an ache in my body like a rotten tooth, lingering but not overly painful. I’m able to open my eyes without it feeling a chore, though, and I look over to the fire.

Liz is there, my leather tea-pouch boiling over a tripod placed over the fire. She sharpens my knife against a rock and as I look over, I see strips of dried meat hanging from a net of woven reeds placed against the wall. Her bow – no, a new one – is placed against the far wall, and a companion to it lies unstrung nearby.

My mouth feels as if it is leather. I lick my lips and try to sit up, thirsty. I am weak, and my khui throbs and hums with hunger.

Liz looks over at me with surprise. “Raahosh!” She moves over to me and puts a hand on my chest. “Don’t get up. Seriously. You’re still weak.”

I ignore her fussing and sit upright, testing my body. It aches but nothing grates out of place in my chest. I lift one hand and flex it. There’s hot pain in it, but it is straight, a makeshift splint around it.

“I had to set the bones,” Liz explains, tucking blankets around my body. “Does it feel okay?”

“You did well,” I tell her thickly. Her nearness makes me ache with a different kind of hunger. My cock aches and my khui resonates as she leans in to press her small fingers to my forehead. I grab her hand and kiss the palm, wishing it was wrapped around my cock and stroking it. I remember that from before – the rawness of it is seared into my mind.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry?” she asks, her eyes wide and searching. She pulls her hand from my grip and gets up, moving toward the fire. “I made you some broth. You need to keep your strength up.”

When she brings the small cup of broth to me, the scent of her warm skin is more appealing than the drink. She lifts her arm to hold the cup to my mouth, and I caress her round, lovely breast through her clothing. Liz trembles and my khui resonates in time with hers. “I see you’re feeling better,” she says in a shaky voice, and pushes my hand away. “No hanky-panky right now.”

“Hankeepahnkee?” I ask. I do not know what this word is. Nor do I particularly care. Liz’s hair is braided back from her face, displaying her beautiful neck, and I want to bury my face there. I want her small body against mine, to feel her heart beating, to scent her arousal and touch her and claim her.

“That’s right,” she says, and her voice is breathless. I hear her khui resonating in her chest. “It’s not the time right now. You’re not really well yet.”

My fingers brush her cheek, touch her jaw, her throat. I touch her everywhere I can before she moves away, even as she puts the cup to my lips and forces me to drink. When she pulls it back, I lean my head against the cave wall, my eyes closed. I’m tired, but touching her is making me feel better.