Chapter 10
Lorran:
Lorran positioned the shuttle to hide carefully behind the moon while he and Mylomon gathered information. He did not want to waste time or fuel entering the atmosphere if SRV-P11’s remaining crew did not land there.
The shuttle’s scanners were not ideal, but they identified the abandoned Mahdfel base on a narrow island off the eastern coast of the planet’s second largest landmass. Why that location when a sprawling continent was literally a stone’s throw away, Lorran could not say. Perhaps the location offered a protected harbor or some other unique advantage to defense. Or the warriors who built the base planned for civilians to colonize the landmass.
The planet, designated at Etes 3, boasted a wide habitable zone suitable for settlement. Temperatures did not tend to extremes, excluding the polar regions. The oxygen-rich atmosphere required no sort of filtration or modification. Scans indicated the flora to be nontoxic. Water would be potable once microbes were filtered. Even gravity was similar to Sangrin.
Etes 3 was ideal for colonization, yet it had been abandoned. Lorran could not determine why.
“I have identified energy signatures,” Mylomon said.
“Multiple? Who knew this planet on the edge of nowhere got so much traffic? Let’s hope our escape pod is one of those signatures.”
“Your ability to state the obvious is astounding.”
“Thank you,” Lorran said.
“That is not a compliment.”
Lorran grinned, amused at the seriousness in the male’s tone.
“I have located a landing strip in serviceable condition,” he said, steering the conversation back to the mission. He did not require a landing strip to set the shuttle down. The vessel was fully capable of landing safely in a variety of environments and terrains. However, he had only received the minimum training required to pilot the shuttle and had never landed on an uneven surface. He did not wish for his mate to experience his first attempt if the landing proved more bounce than advisable. “The proximity of the nearby structures suggest they are hangars and a supply depot, which is advantageous to repairing the shuttle,” he concluded.
“Yes, and it has nothing to do with impressing your mate with a perfect landing,” Mylomon replied dryly.
“Well, I’d appreciate not bouncing all over the place. A smooth landing sounds good to me,” Wyn said from her seat. Lorran had fastened her safety harness himself, so he knew she would be secure no matter the landing.
“No communications on secure channels,” Lorran said. “Should we say hello or land without invitation?”
“I would not trust the base’s comm equipment to be secure. At best, it is outdated. At worst, nonexistent. Land,” Mylomon ordered.
Lorran eased the shuttle into the planet’s atmosphere with only the slightest bump of turbulence.
Huge swaths of greenery rotated underneath the shuttle. The occasional complex of gray structures and road networks of abandoned settlements punctuated the landscape.
So there had been settlements. Lorran wondered what made the planet nonviable for colonization.
The shuttle moved up a coast. Midday sunlight reflected off the water, giving it a glassy appearance.
The abandoned base came into view. Built into a hillside, the front was a gray slab of concrete with a rounded glass front protruding out, like half a glass bowl stuck to the hill. Near the shore, sand and beach grass stretched down to the water. Taller grass and shrubbery covered the hill.
The base itself appeared to be crescent-shaped. Whether that was the natural shape of the hill or if the architects had changed the landscape to suit their purposes, he did not know. Lorran directed the shuttle over the crescent of the hill to the back, where earth had been cleared for freestanding buildings.
The shuttle touched down with minimal impact.
“An adequate landing,” Mylomon said.
“Such lavish praise makes me blush,” Lorran teased, despite being secretly pleased.
“Again, not a compliment.”
Lorran initiated a scan to secure the area. “The escape pod is half a day’s journey on foot. Energy fluctuations are detected inside the base.”
The proximity detector alerted them to multiple incoming life forms. Without visuals, the scans could give no specific detail. Lorran and Mylomon secured their armor and weapons, expecting hostile targets.
Wyn watched, wearing her own armor. Her eyes lingered on the blaster strapped to Lorran’s hip, the dagger on his thigh, and the rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Remain inside,” he said, before lowering the ramp.
Cool air flowed in, scented with salt from the ocean.
He gave his mate a wink before securing his helmet.
Gray buildings lined the landing strip in a neat row. Grass grew thick on top. Shadowy arch doorways provided enough cover for a person to hide, despite the midday sun directly overhead.
Lorran and Mylomon proceeded with caution. The suit filtered out the odors of the atmosphere, but not the sounds. Animals rustled through the grass. A small mammal trilled in song, most likely a bird.
“We are from the Judgment,” Mylomon said. “We answered a distress signal and followed you here.”
No response.
Lorran relaxed. If the unknown persons had been Suhlik, they would already be in a firefight. This must be the surviving crew of SRV-P11.
“I don’t care where the pair of you fools are from. Blundering through the atmosphere, dragging all sorts of attention with you, no doubt!” an angry voice shouted from a distance.
Mylomon turned to follow the sound. “I am looking for the one called Caldar,” he said.
The male stepped from the shadow, blaster at the ready. He had a plum-colored complexion and horns, so Sangrin-Mahdfel. Gray salted his hair and threaded through his horns.
“You can tell Paax that I am insulted by his idea of a rescue,” he said.
Lorran tensed. Mylomon growled. Tension rolled through the air.
A small face peeked out from behind the man’s legs.
Wyn:
Wyn wasn’t sure what was happening as she watched via the shuttle’s camera. The guys went outside to meet another Mahdfel. At least she assumed he was another Mahdfel. On camera, he looked like a rather average older man. Mahdfel had a certain presence. They were bigger, more dangerous, more predatory…just more.
This guy appeared to be an old man, but he had to be something more. Lorran and Mylomon were growling, snarling, and posturing. Then they relaxed, like once they established who had dominance and gave the secret Mahdfel handshake, it was all cool.
Aliens made no sense.
Oh, and there was a kid. Well, she expected that. The ghost ship had a kid on board, ergo the kid was on the escape pod.
After a few minutes of conversation, Lorran returned to the shuttle. “We are going to the base,” he said, and grabbed her bag.
“We’re staying? I thought we’d be leaving immediately?” Not that she was going to complain, because hello? Alien planet. Day three in space and she was on another world.
“The shuttle requires repairs, among other things,” Lorran said.
“That sounds bad.”
“The damage is less than optimal, but the shuttle will function, regardless.”
“Not bad?”
“I am capturing the opportunity. It is not bad. The atmosphere is breathable. You may go without the helmet.”
Wyn tossed her satchel over her shoulder and followed Lorran and Mylomon down the ramp. She didn’t question why they still wore the armor. Shit happens. Be prepared.
Salt hung in the air. They must be close to the beach. Wyn spun around. Gray buildings—classic Mahdfel design—formed a straight line and seemed to be dug into the ground, like a ditch. Tall grass covered the rooftops. If the ocean were nearby, the sound would be blocked by the subterranean buildings.
Wyn had a bounce to her step that had nothing to do with gravity. So far, her experience hadn’t been the luxurious cruise she’d envisioned. It was better.
She glanced at Lorran, helmet off and the breeze fluttering his hair.
Definitely better.
An older Mahdfel male and the child waited for them. With his slower gait, Wyn questioned again if the man was Mahdfel. He was Sangrin with a plum complexion, horns gone gray with short salt and pepper hair. The child, though, was definitely Mahdfel, and Wyn wasn’t sure how she could tell the difference. He seemed to vibrate with energy, head swiveling between the adults as he asked questions.
They followed a wide paved lane, broken into disjointed pieces by vegetation, that sloped down toward the main body of the base. The child kept glancing behind at Wyn.
She waved.
“What happened to your horns? Were you in an accident?” he asked.
“I don’t have horns. I’m human,” she answered.
He narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe her. “I think you were in an accident.”
“I’m Wyn. What’s your name?”
“Mikah.”
“Is your accident why you’re brown?”
The older man placed his hand on the back of Mikah’s neck and steered him forward. “Enough of that now. The female is Terran, from Earth.”
Wyn didn’t mind the impertinent questions. “No, sweetie. Melanin is why I’m this color. Lots of humans look like me.”
Mikah looked as if he had more to ask, but the older man kept a tight grip on the back of his neck, not cruelly but clearly driving him forward. The older man glanced over his shoulder, the sunlight catching his pale eyes, and winked at her.
Lorran growled, a feral sound that caught her by surprise.
The older man ambled on, unconcerned.
No one spoke until they spotted a woman waiting near an open door. Sangrin, silver chains decorated the dark horns curling back from her head. She lifted her chin, as if trying to project strength. She had the same blade-like nose as Mikah. This had to be his mother.
“Warlord Paax—” Mylomon started.
“Where is my mate?” the woman asked.
“Saavi,” the older man said, “these males responded to our distress call.”
“Yes, I made the connection. They have seen what remains of SRV-P11 and traced us here, weeks too late to be of actual help. Now, where is my mate? Or did you leave him?”
“We have the body. It is in the shuttle,” Mylomon said.
“We do not have the capability here for a proper cremation. We will burn my mate at sunset.” Saavi turned sharply on her heel and disappeared inside.
Wyn looked at Lorran, unsure what just happened.
The older man sighed. “Come along. Once we are through decontamination, I will show you where you can sleep, then we can see what can be done about your ship.”
They entered a featureless white room. A computerized voice, garbled from age and indecipherable, was all the warning she had before the door sealed. A blue light swept the room twice. Wyn shielded her eyes with her hand.
“Close your eyes,” Saavi said, her voice tired like she had explained this a dozen times. “The light destroys any fungal spores on your person.”
“Fungus?” Wyn asked, alarmed, because fungal spores. Gross.
“Yes. It is quite invasive and thrives in the warmer regions of the planet. That is why the planet was never fully colonized. The winters are too cold here for the fungus to thrive, but I anticipate it will be a problem now that the weather is warmer. We are in the vernal season.”
Wyn tossed a look to Lorran. “We’re not staying long enough to worry about the weather warming up?”
“Ideally, no.”
Wow, vague.
The decontamination chamber finished its cycle and the far door unlocked. They stood in a wide corridor of poured concrete and harsh overhead lighting.
Saavi pointed them toward a quiet corridor and opened a door at the far end. A box with cleaning supplies and clean linens waited at the door. “Accommodations are primitive,” she warned.
Wyn glanced over the room. Dusty, but otherwise clean. No signs of rodents or other critters nesting. She dragged a finger over the dusty surfaces, unconsciously doodling a swirling pattern.
Finally. Privacy.
“This will do,” she said, and gave the bed a test bounce. It creaked alarmingly, like it was on the verge of collapsing, and a huge plume of dust escaped. She coughed until the dust settled.
“Sorry. I rendered some cleaning bots operational. I’ll send them your way,” Saavi said.
Wyn nodded. The cleaning supplies tucked into the box with the clean linens now made sense. “I’ll take dusty over a sleeping bag on the ground any day,” she said.
Narrow and designed for one person, the room went straight back with minimal furniture. A small counter, sink, and countertop heating element to one side served as a kitchenette. Slender vertical windows formed the back wall, allowing in the afternoon light. Saavi demonstrated how the windows folded open and the concrete slab patio attached.
Overgrown and lush, foliage swallowed up the slab, creating an isolated pocket.
Perfect.
Wyn stripped out of the armor and changed back into Lorran’s oversized shirt and her own leggings. He did the same, and they set about cleaning out the room.
Lorran took the mattress outside to beat the worst of the dust out. That done, she made the bed while the cleaning bot tackled the floor. Considering how many years the place sat empty, the bots did a decent job keeping the worst of the dust and grime under control.
They worked together well, taking cues from each other like they had tackled housework in tandem for years. In short order, because the room was not in shambles, the air felt clean.
“How long are we staying?” Wyn washed up at the cleansing room sink.
The water ran a rusty red for a solid minute before clearing. Lorran took a sample and declared it fit for hygiene but should be boiled before consuming. Still, water. She had never missed washing her hands and face so much.
“A few days, perhaps longer.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“There are Suhlik patrols in this sector. It is wise to wait them out before leaving the planet.”
“Indefinitely. We’re here indefinitely, and you’re not even concerned,” she said.
A soft expression settled over his face. “I would be more concerned if I were alone with Mylomon. He is not one for conversation. However, I find myself unexpectedly grateful to have time with you.”
Speaking of the devil, he arrived soon thereafter and took Lorran with him to retrieve Ulrik’s body. While she waited for his return, Wyn found a battered tea kettle in a cabinet and scrubbed it clean with the cake of soap that had apparently been fossilized. She beat the bar against the countertop to break it into usable pieces.
A knock at the door brought a delivery of more foil packet meals as well as a selection of glossy berries still dripping with dew. Or freshly rinsed. Probably that.
The man with salt and pepper hair held a bowl but did not release his grip when she reached for it.
“I am called Caldar. Why are you all alone, female? Can your male not provide for you?” His lips pulled back in what was probably an attempt at a smile, but was in actuality all fang and menace.
Oh. Definitely Mahdfel.
Wyn pulled her hand back, no longer interested in the berries, no matter how dripping with dew they appeared.
“I’m not alone. Lorran’s here,” she answered, ignoring the part about providing. That felt like a trap.
Caldar leaned in and sniffed the air. “Hmm, dust. A touch of damp. No male, though he has covered you in his costume.”
His gaze swept over her, lingering at where the shirt sagged on her shoulder, exposing her collarbone.
Wyn gathered the excess fabric of the collar in one hand, drawing it tight. Not that she was hanging out or flashing her bits; something about the man made her skin crawl.
“You need to leave,” she said, moving to close the door.
He stuck his foot in the door. “Do you not want my berries? I picked them this morning. They are especially…sweet this time of year.” He damn near licked his chops.
Her first thought was about fungal spores. Her second was utter revulsion at taking anything from him.
“Sorry, I’m allergic!” She stomped on his foot, forcing him to move it. The man was taller and stronger than her. If he refused to leave, she couldn’t make him.
He yelped in surprise. “Female—”
“What is going on?” Lorran appeared behind Caldar’s shoulder.
Caldar turned to face Lorran, his back straight and shoulders square. Taller than Lorran by a few inches, it seemed like it was trying to intimidate using his height.
Just a bully. Wyn knew her fair share of bullies. Always the biggest kid in her class, she had been an easy target for the usual uncreative jokes and pranks.
“I brought sustenance since you were unable to provide,” Caldar said.
“You are incorrect.” Lorran lifted a hand to display a bag. “While I prepared your crewmate for burning, I was also able to acquire provisions. You may take your offerings elsewhere. Perhaps there is a widow nearby who would welcome your sniffing around.”
They stared at each other.
Caldar looked away first. He knocked his shoulder into Lorran as he moved past.
Lorran watched the male saunter away.
“What was that—” Wyn squeaked as Lorran pushed her through the door, against the wall, and kissed her hard. Fierce and determined, not at all like the sweet, exploratory kiss from before, he left her breathless.
He growled into her mouth, demanding more, and taking it. Wyn melted against him, the universe shrinking to just them and the points where their bodies touched. One hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and the other stroked the column of her neck.
He pulled away, lips swollen and his eyes gleaming.
So blue.
“You are mine,” he said, his voice a rumble that resonated in her chest. “Say it. Tell me.”
“I belong to you?” Oh, wow. The volunteer center’s pamphlets didn’t cover this.
He tugged on her hair again, forcing her head to the side to expose her neck. It was a jerk move, designed to control her, but her traitorous lady parts were on board with the display.
He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, where it joined her shoulder. “Tell me, Wyn. That other male…you are my mate. Mine. I will not let another take you.”
She worked her hair free and pushed back the hair covering his face. It was surprisingly soft.
“Hey. Hi. Hello,” she whispered as she stroked his hair. Tension eased out of his body.
He relaxed his hold.
“You’re the only one I’m interested in,” she said. “I’m your mate. You’re my man.”
“I’m your male,” he repeated, then gave a nod.
She cradled the side of his face. This close, it was easy to see how his features were too fine and too sharp to be human. But his eyes, soft and warm and the bluest blue, were filled with soul. Briefly, she wondered how much of the growling and snarling was a chauvinist performance.
My mate. My female, blah blah blah.
A cynical part of her wanted to ignore the softness in his eyes and write off his antics as objectification. And yet…
That didn’t fit. She recalled how he gobbled her up and stripped her down with nothing but his eyes after fleeing the ghost ship. Then stripped her of her armor without so much as copping a feel.
Warm. Real.
That’s how he felt then and how he made her feel. How did she think there was nothing behind the cocky facade?
“Explain to me what happened,” she said.
“He brought you sustenance.” Lorran spat the words.
“Okay, I need a bit more to go on. That’s bad?”
“It is an act of caregiving, of devotion, between family or close friends.”
“Mates?”
His eyes flashed with heat. “Yes, it is for mates.”
“Was he…was he putting the moves on me?” The thought seemed so ridiculous. And gross.
Super gross.
“I suspect he was testing me, to see how I would react to another male sniffing my mate,” Lorran said.
Wyn hummed in agreement. Slowly, his grip relaxed, and she could step away. She unpacked the bag he had brought, setting aside enough rations for a few days. The meals would be bland but nutritionally sound.
“The culinary experience in space leaves a lot to be desired,” she muttered. She filled the kettle with water and set it on the heating element to boil. She wasn’t thirsty now, but it was always smart to have drinking water on hand.
“I could hunt or fish,” he offered. “There are wild berries to be gathered, so perhaps there is more to be had.”
“I loved to go hunting with my dad. I’d like to go with you,” Wyn said excitedly. After the invasion, hunting, marksmanship, and general shooting boomed. Not that guns did a lick of good against the Suhlik’s armor and high-tech weapons, but it gave people a sense of control. Plus, grocery stores weren’t exactly stocked regularly in the first few years after. Hunting, fishing, and even raising your own chickens in the backyard kept food on the table for many people.
“Truly?”
“What? You think because I’m a girl, I don’t know how to shoot a gun?”
“Apologies, that was not my meaning. The other warriors will be jealous that my mate has a hunter’s heart,” he said, and Wyn could just hear his future humble brags. He continued, “I would be honored to hunt alongside my mate, but allow me to determine what predators, if any, are nearby.”
“That’s reasonable. I suppose it’s best to know what critters out there would consider me a tasty snack.”
He nuzzled her from behind, clearly one of the predators that viewed her as a tasty treat. Wyn leaned back, enjoying the feel of his hard chest against her.
“I regret I must leave again,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.
“Why? Don’t go. Stay.” They finally had privacy, and she liked where this was going.
“Ulrik has been prepared for burning. We must attend him.”
“So…a funeral. I can do that.”
Lorran looked unconvinced. “Stay. The smell will be…unpleasant. Enjoy a bath with water.”
True, a funeral pyre didn’t sound like a good time. While a bath sounded tempting, she didn’t want to be alone. “I don’t care. I want to stay with you.”
“You must remain here.”
“I’m not helpless,” she said.
He leveled a look at her. Unspoken was how she couldn’t keep up with him on the ghost ship and panicked. Wyn shifted uncomfortably.
“I know what you’re thinking, but the ship was on fire and I’m not a soldier. Running with the mag lock on the suit was hard,” she said.
“This is not about your performance on the ship.”
“Then what? I want to go talk with the grownups too.”
He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “I do not trust that male.”
“Caldar? But he’s one of you.”
“I cannot give you a solid reason, but I am apprehensive, and a warrior listens to his instincts.”
“Well, his ship was attacked, and they barely escaped with their lives. If he’s acting fishy, I think it’s understandable,” she said, loath to make excuses for the guy.
“Fishy. More idioms.” Lorran secured the patio door and the windows. The room felt stuffy, with the distinct odor of neglect and mildew. “Keep these closed until I return and keep this near.”
He held out a slender black handle. When he pressed a button, a silvery blade emerged. The wicked, curved metal glinted in the light.
“It is my favorite. The body is a lightweight alloy, but strong,” he said.
“Stab first, ask questions later? You distrust them that much?” Carefully, Wyn took the knife from his hand. She pressed the button, testing the function of the blade.
“Caldar is a dangerous male without a clan.”
Great. Stuck on an abandoned planet in a derelict base with a busted spaceship, trapped with someone her badass warrior considered dangerous.
“Did…” She wanted to ask the correct question because she had the feeling that Lorran couldn’t share all the details. He had been on a mission when she wound up on his ship—a dangerous mission. Apparently not just because of the distress calls and raids on science vessels.
An unpleasant notion struck her. Was this an assassination? Did Lorran want her out of the way while he took care of problems?
“Did you know he was part of the crew at the start of the mission?”
“I was cautioned about his nature,” he said.
“So you’re not going to assassinate him?”
Lorran huffed with amusement. “No. I am not the assassin here. Stay. Rest.” He drew her to him and kissed the top of her head. “Do not open the door to anyone but me. I will return as quickly as possible.”
That wasn’t ominous at all.
Lorran:
Lorran found Mylomon waiting in the corridor. The male wrinkled his nose. “You stink.”
“Honest work cleaning the quarters for my mate. Did you not clean yours? The quarters have suffered water damage.”
“No. I did not waste time and scouted the facility.”
Lorran refused to rise to the male’s taunt. “You are best equipped for that with your—” He waggled his fingers. “What did you learn?”
Saavi had placed the newcomers in a wing opposite of where the original crew holed up. An interesting choice, as it stressed the aging power and utilities, and suggested secrets to be kept.
“Power generators. Food supplies. This facility has been used recently,” Mylomon said.
“Did you find a weapons cache?”
“No, but I expect I will. The lower levels are a warren of tunnels.”
“Smugglers,” Lorran said. Abandoned and far from normal trade routes, the base provided an ideal location as a hideaway. “Any evidence that they transported sentient beings?”
Mylomon shook his head. “I believe this is more the bolt hole of one individual rather than a gang.”
Lorran had a strong idea who that individual might be. He disliked this situation, and he really disliked Caldar.
The base unnerved him. Neglected for decades, yet conveniently habitable, if barely. He wished he could bring his mate somewhere comfortable, somewhere safe.
He wanted to spend time with Bronwyn and to know her. He wanted to hear her laughter again. He never wanted to hear panic and fear in her voice again. Mostly, he wanted to complete this mission and return to the Judgment.
“How difficult will it be to get the female and child to return with us to the centralized sector?” Lorran asked.
“They cannot stay here. They are not authorized,” Mylomon said with such certainty that it startled a laugh out of Lorran.
“Authorized? This base does not exist as far as the Council is concerned.” The female might be of no concern for the Council, but the child needed to be brought to Sangrin. Mikah required training. The Academy was the place for him.
As for Calder, the male could go kiss an asteroid for all Lorran cared. If he wanted to stay by himself in a derelict base, trying to grow enough food, so be it.
“Let us send Ulrik off to the elders. Tomorrow we determine what supplies the base can offer to repair the shuttle and plan accordingly. We also need to monitor the Suhlik in this sector.” Mylomon’s desire to return to his mate remained unspoken.
“Agreed.” Lorran wanted to return to his mate as soon as possible too.
“We must also determine the nature of Ulrik’s research,” Mylomon said.
“Yes. About that—”
“What?” The question came out as a growl.
“So friendly,” Lorran quipped. “Let me lead the questions.”
“I am—”
“I am very aware of who you are and I happily follow your instructions, but if you go in there all snarls and fangs, they will clam up.”
“Clam up? A mollusk?”
Lorran nodded. “A human idiom. Is it not delightful? Clams have a shell that snaps closed when threatened. And that is what Calder and the female will do if you start demanding information. I, meanwhile,” he placed a hand over his heart and widened his eyes, “will bumble through and ask harmless questions and acquire the information.”
“Are you sure you won’t annoy them into submission?”
Likely.
Lorran grinned. “This. Right here. We are bonding. We are friends.”
“Do not dare repeat those words.” The male’s growl filled the corridor, bounding and rebounding off the walls.
“You are correct. There is no advantage in making the SRV-P11’s crew jealous of our friendship.” Lorran held out his fist for the bumping ritual.
Mylomon gave the fist a cold look before walking away.
Saavi, Calder, and the youth waited outside. They followed a sandy path through the grass down to the beach, where a pyre had been built. The body had been prepared with oil, to aid the burn. No trace should remain, as was tradition.
As the sun set, Saavi lit the flames. In a flat, mechanical voice she said, “He died honorably, protecting his mate and son.”
Fire sparked against encroaching darkness. She stood stiffly, and her face remained an expressionless mask, giving no hint of distress or grief.
Ulrik’s spirit returned to the elders.
They stood on the sand until the fire burned down to embers. The air cooled. Saavi wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and moved toward the facility, her son following.
“We must speak,” Lorran said, his heels kicking up sand as he followed her.
“No. I have just burned my mate. It can wait.” She did not pause but continued on through the sand, yanking on her son’s hand. Mikah looked as if he had something to say but remained silent.
“Yes. Tomorrow,” Lorran said as the female walked away.
Mylomon had left; to do what, Lorran had no idea. Caldar stood near a rocky cluster, the waves gently beating against the stones.
“One moment.” The male motioned for Lorran to join him and stepped to the side, allowing room for both of them to stand on the stones.
Even in the darkness, Lorran could see tidepools. He made a mental note to check in the morning for edible creatures. He wanted to provide more than ration packets for his mate.
Caldar smirked, as if he could sense Lorran’s plans. “The female?”
“My mate,” Lorran said.
“Interesting, yet she is unclaimed.” Caldar stroked his chin, like he just had an ingenious thought.
“My. Mate,” Lorran repeated, menace dripping in every word. “Do not speak to my mate. Do not think of her. Do not look at her.”
“Young males. So much chest thumping and ‘my mate’ nonsense. Perhaps the female would like a more experienced mate.”
Lorran moved swiftly, drawing his blade and pressing it to the base of the male’s right horn. Caldar’s eyes went wide in what he had to assume was surprise.
Arrogant male.
“Do not speak to my mate. Do not touch my mate,” he warned.
“Or you will have my horn?” Caldar’s voice remained flat and toneless, almost as bored by Lorran’s display.
This close, their bodies in proximity, Lorran felt the unexpected strength in the older male’s form. Interesting. Calder had moved as if he suffered an injury. Clearly an act.
Lorran skimmed the sharp edge of the blade up the horn, removing a thin layer of keratin. He wondered if the male’s horns were truly gray or if he had rubbed a pigment in, to give the impression of an aging and helpless male.
“That is the general concept,” Lorran said. He stared hard at the male, lips curled back in a snarl. “Do not test me. Next time, I will not be so polite.”