She winced from Garr’s hand at first, but he took hold of the tie holding in her braid, loosened it, and was surprisingly gentle in the way he combed the braid out, starting at the bottom and working his way methodically up.
At his gentle touch, she relaxed just a little. Truth told, Rae had always loved having her hair played with. She enjoyed haircuts, and the soothing quality of having it braided or combed out.
“I’m not your mate.” She felt compelled to point it out, maybe because she was simultaneously easing back into his chest while his fingers loosened her locks. The tight braid’s erasure eased a tension in her scalp and the graze of his fingertips slackened her body and mind at once.
He didn’t answer. A wise move: without his stubborn insistence to gall her, Rae could guiltlessly enjoy the way his fingertips massaged her head, working shampoo through her hair.
She tried not to sigh loudly—just a soft exhalation, as though all the pressure in her center leaked from her lungs slowly. Garr took his time, sure to work her hair from the roots to the ends.
His ministrations were firm, knowing, and never too rough, pushing her gradually into a state of languid satisfaction.
“On Ythir, the male cares for his mate,” he purred over her shoulder. “We show it through rituals, and this is one. Is my affection demonstrated, Dr. Rae Ashburn?”
He eased her into the water, tilted her head back, and washed the suds from her hair while being ever-so-careful not to get any in her eyes—his thumbs brushed any stray rivulets that threatened to drip past her eyebrows.
It was a different side to Garr, and truth told, had he not shown her through this ritual, she’d not have believed him capable of it. It would have been like expecting tenderness from a wild lion.
She thought briefly of the mating rituals of birds. Demonstrating his value to me, she realized.
Sighing, because the comfort of his hands had to eventually be replaced by the cold, hard fact of his sins, she twisted to face him. On her knees beside him, so as to avoid straddling, she squared him in her gaze.
It was easier to look at him now, her reflexive desire to punch his perfectly square jaw somewhat diminished.
“These are your rituals. Not mine. The most important ritual where I’m from is that you ask to get into the bath with me. You only come in if I allow you.”
His face hardened. “A prime does not ask. He wins. You are mine by victory.”
The good feelings evaporated and she stood from the pool, water running from her sleeves. The mud had been scraped from her blouse, dark colors disguising the stains. She would need a change of clothes eventually, and wasn’t looking forward to wearing wet clothes the rest of the day.
Garr followed her from the pool. His outfit rippled into that liquid form, shedding the water until it all dripped clear. After the otoya solidified again, his clothes were bone dry. He seemed to wait for hers to do the same.
Her teeth chattered.
It dawned on him that her outfit didn’t shed water that way. “You will wear mine.” He disrobed his jacket, offering it.
“I damn well won’t.” She pushed past him and strode away, water squelching from her wet shoes.
Chapter Five
The sun dried everything but Rae’s shoes and socks. Those she was stuck with for the rest of the day.
Vaya behaved skittishly, always looking off into the canopy or down the trails, perhaps alert because Lyr was alert. Rae hoped the arboreal squid-beast was finished with them—getting a dozen knives embedded in its body should ward off most predators, right?
Around midday, they were close to Kaython’s border but had to cross the “geyser jungle.” The terrain was a swampy territory filled with dingy trees bleached of all low-lying foliage, the squama bark made from dense, foreboding armor plates.
The ground was wet, with an orange lichen that seemed to thrive off the humid atmosphere, and all around them a thick mist reduced visibility. Periodically, jets of steam would explode from pores in the soft earth, filling the air with boiling water and hot vapor.
“How do we cross?” Rae could see no pathway that didn’t occasionally erupt. “For the record, humans are burned by steam. Not sure what it does to Ythirians.”
“About the same,” Vaya murmured.
“Lyr wants us to cross here,” Garr said. “She’ll provide a sign.”
They waited, until Vaya pointed out a swarm of insects that hovered in the distance. Their reflective azure shells twinkled through the jungle’s fog, as though beckoning them.
“You’re sure about this?” Rae did not want to argue about Lyr’s responsiveness, but the domé had certainly sent her some mixed signals before.