Chapter 15

Wyn:

Lorran spun on his heel, pulling Wyn behind him. A growl, sounding feral and full of teeth, came from the shadows.

Nothing good lurked in the shadows.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered and held the rifle at the ready.

A creature emerged from the trees, all compact muscle and slinking motion. Crouching, Wyn had trouble judging the size of the animal.

Big. Way big.

It had the face of a wolf with a long snout. With tusks at the corners of the mouth, the upper lip curled back in a snarl. The body reminded her of a bear with thick trunks for legs and massive shoulders. Muscles shifted under brown, speckled fur as it pawed the ground.

Lorran fired a warning shot into the ground. The animal’s ears went flat as it stepped back. It rose onto its back legs, finally giving them an idea of its true height.

Massive.

They were so fucking screwed.

The wolf-bear threw back its head and roared. Wyn felt it down to her bones, reverberating through her.

Time slowed to a crawl as events seemed to happen all at once. The wolf-bear charged, and Lorran rushed forward. He held out the rifle like a shield. The wolf-bear’s powerful jaws clamped around the bulk of the weapon.

Lorran grunted, pushing forward and wedging the rifle further into the beast’s maw. A massive paw swiped, knocking Lorran away.

He tumbled to the ground, rolling with a practiced skill that made Wyn believe all that morning yoga wasn’t for nothing. Bouncing to his feet, he held out a knife.

One puny knife against the wolf-bear.

The wolf-bear shook its head, dislodging the rifle. The weapon fell to the ground, disappearing to the tall grass.

Wyn’s heart pounded in her ears.

She was going to be a widow. She saw it clearly. If she ran now, she might make it back to the base before the beast was done munching on her husband.

Spinning in a panicked circle, she saw the path they had taken through the trees. Well, path was generous. They hacked their way through undergrowth. There was no path, she’d get lost in a matter of moments, and no way could she run faster than the wolf-bear.

She didn’t have her comm unit on her, not that it worked because there was no network connection on this awful planet. There was nothing she could do except watch Lorran be mauled. She felt small, powerless, like she had been during the gas attack, watching Reese stumble and fall.

Breathing was a struggle, then and now.

Lorran was on the back of the beast. For a moment, his size appeared ludicrous, like a grown adult riding a pony, but a yowl from the beast erased all pony notions.

So not a pony.

His knife plunged between the shoulder blades. If the wolf-bear felt anything more than a sting, it gave no indication. A paw reached out, raking claws down Lorran’s arms. Blood bloomed because he wasn’t wearing his armor.

Wyn had asked about the double standard of him swaddling her in protective armor while he wore that equivalent of a T-shirt, but blah blah blah, thicker skin, faster healing, and other BS reasons.

A thick tail—it had a tail?—came from behind and wrapped around Lorran’s neck. He pulled the knife out and hacked at the tail.

Fuck this. She wasn’t helpless.

Wyn skirted around the grassy field, searching for something, anything, that could distract the creature. She just needed to snag its attention and give Lorran an opening.

She picked up pieces of broken pavement, choosing the heftiest ones that fit into her palm. Pelting the wolf-bear with stones wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one she had.

Arms full, she carefully inched forward. The wolf-bear had its full attention on Lorran.

Taking aim, she realized the flaw in the plan. The stone flew, hitting the wolf-bear’s flank. It spun, turning a burning eye toward her.

Yup. That was the flaw. Wolf-bear had claws and tusks and a tail that could strangle.

Wyn had an armload of rocks.

She threw the rocks, pelting the beast as quick as she could. It shook its head, as if baffled by the assault. Lorran dug his hands into the fur, trying to hold on, but the wolf-bear shook him free.

He fell, and the wolf-bear clamped its jaw around his arm.

Okay, not the best plan. Desperate, she threw the last stone.

Growling, the beast whipped its head to the side, eying her. Lorran broke free of its hold and leaped onto its back once more.

Now move.

She took off at the sprint, the grass whipping around her. The beast bellowed as it followed, unable to resist a chase.

This was the worst plan she’d ever concocted.

Her foot hit a solid mass. She fell to the ground, catching herself on her hands. Pebbles dug into the flesh of her palms. She rolled onto her butt, scrabbling back as the wolf-bear advanced.

Her hand landed on metal.

The rifle.

She grabbed it and lurched to her feet. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she aimed at the charging wolf-bear. Her hands shook. She didn’t want to fire, lest she hit Lorran. Even at the lowest power setting, shooting Lorran would be bad news.

It obviously had a thick hide. One shot wouldn’t do anything but piss it off.

Wait. Hold.

She practically heard her father whispering, telling her to be patient and wait for the perfect moment.

It roared. Wyn swore the ground shook.

Wait.

Closer now, close enough for hot breath to roll over her.

Lorran plunged the knife into the wolf-bear’s eye. The beast opened its mouth to howl in pain or to take off Lorran’s head. Honestly, the odds were even, going either way.

Wyn pulled the trigger, the barrel of the rifle practically in the wolf-bear’s mouth.

The back of the beast’s head exploded, splattering Lorran with green gore. It lurched wildly to one side, claws catching her in the gut. The force of the hit knocked Wyn on her ass. She scrambled back, desperate to get out of the dying creature’s path.

Lorran leaped free, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away.

The wolf-bear took another shambling step before collapsing.

Unable to get her hands to stop shaking, she tucked them under her arms. Up close, she could now see that the beast’s shoulders stood hip high to her. Hardly the massive monster her panicky mind perceived.

But there was no mistaking those dinner-plate-sized paws. If she hadn’t been wearing the armor, she’d be gutted.

Lorran pulled her into a tight embrace, despite one arm hanging limply at his side.

“My fierce huntress,” he murmured, his face in her hair.

“I told you I’m not helpless,” she said, or tried to say. Enunciation proved difficult with her face smashed against his blood-speckled shirt. She couldn’t push him off as her hands were still tucked under her arms and she was neatly caught in his embrace.

Still, there were worse ways to pass the time.

She could hear his heart thudding in his chest. It synced with hers.

Lorran stepped back to inspect her. “You are injured. It hit you.” He ran his hand over her stomach, then her arms and legs before spinning her around to inspect the rest of her.

“I’m fine. You’re bleeding.”

“A scratch.”

“Bullshit. It bit you. With its teeth. Big teeth.”

“I am aware.” He held out the injured arm. Blood—red, his—soaked the cloth, and she saw the raw inner workings of his forearm. He wiggled his fingers. “I am well. No major damage.”

His other arm, the non-bleeding one, hung at an odd angle. Dislocated.

Wyn laughed, because he was gushing blood, his shoulder dislocated, and probably had a weird parasite now. Only a Mahdfel would consider that no major damage.

“Grab this,” he said, holding out his dislocated arm. “Pull it straight.”

Wyn did, realizing what he was asking. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You will not.”

Wow, that was some quality bull right there. Still, she grabbed his wrist and pulled it straight.

The joint popped back into place with a crack. He hissed and rubbed his shoulder.

The crisis was over. Lorran had been used like a chew toy, but he’d survive. The fluttery, anxious feeling in her heart vanished, and all her cool evaporated.

“Are you serious!?” She smacked his good shoulder, which felt like battering her puny human hands against stone. “That was the lowest power setting? It blew out the back of its head!”

He blinked, as if confused. “Yes. That setting will damage a being without armor but merely tickle a Suhlik’s scales.”

“And what does the highest setting do? Melt off faces?”

“Pierce armor.”

“That…makes sense,” she said, but she was wound up on adrenaline and her hands were still shaking. “What were you thinking?! You could have been killed!”

“You failed to obey my order to run,” he retorted.

“Do I look like I could outrun that thing?”

“I would have distracted it!”

“As a chew toy!”

They stared at each other, chests heaving, and nostrils flared. Green gore splattered across his face and dripped off his horns. Half in shadow from the trees, his turbulent blue eyes glinted. He was an untamed force, coiled tight and looking like he was ready for a fight or a hard fuck.

Wyn knew which one she preferred.

She grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed her mouth to his. Hard and fierce, he kissed her deeply, until her knees trembled.

He broke away, pressing his forehead to hers. She didn’t care that he smeared green gore on her face. He was with her, alive and breathing.

“I nearly lost you,” he said. “When you fell. Do not do that again.”

“That’s why I’m wearing the armor, right?”

“No. You are not listening.” His hand tightened on the back of her neck and his forehead returned to hers. “You were prone, no helmet, staring up at the sky, and I could not see you breathing. I knew my actions endangered you and there was nothing I could do to prevent that fate. I was alone.”

Wyn took his free hand and pressed it against her chest, over her heart. He winced at the pain from his injured shoulder but said nothing. The vulnerable moment between them seemed endless, all-encompassing. They had both felt powerless, but they had rallied. She hoped they were stronger for it.

“You are not alone. We are not alone,” she said. “We’re in this together. You and me, yeah?”

He nodded. “You and me.”

Lorran might not have been caught off guard if she had not been there, but if she hadn’t been there, he might have suffered worse than having his shoulder dislocated and his other arm clawed to ribbons. She might have pulled the trigger, but Lorran kept it distracted enough for her to make that ridiculous shot. She said, “We brought it down together.”

“My huntress,” he whispered, then nuzzled the side of her face.

“Oh my God, you’re getting monster brains all over me.” Apparently, she cared a little.

“I’m marking you with your kill.” His thumb swept across her cheek, no doubt rubbing the monster brains in her skin.

There might have been a little residue on his lips. She didn’t want to think too hard about that. Wyn considered saying as much and then scrubbing her mouth clean, but the serious expression on Lorran’s face kept her silent.

“All the warriors will be jealous!” Lorran clapped her on the back, moment over. He retrieved the rifle and paced around the fallen beast. “I will butcher it here, before we return to the facility.”

“You want to field dress it?” Her stomach always felt squeamish from the act. “What makes you think that monster is edible?”

“It certainly believed we were edible.” Lorran crouched down to position the animal, knife at the ready. “If you would prefer another meal of rations—”

“No,” she said quickly, eliciting his cocky grin. “It’s just…we can scan for parasites, right? And it’s probably all stringy.”

“It is a predator.” He slapped the back flank. “We honor its spirit and sacrifice when we consume its flesh.”

Once done, he buried the offal and lifted the carcass into a firefighter’s carry. Wyn worried about his injured shoulder and arm, but he assured her he healed fast.

“I cannot wait to tell all about my mate, the huntress,” he announced, pride audible in his voice.

Lorran:

Mylomon intercepted them before they returned to the base. The sun had dipped near the horizon.

“What is that?” the male said in a tone that demanded answers.

“Dinner. My mate took the killing shot,” Lorran announced proudly.

“Did she?” A questioning look replaced his signature scowl. In response, Wyn made finger guns, complete with sound effects, which made Mylomon resume his scowling.

“Because we are such good friends, you will not object to butchering and preparing a fire while I tend to my injuries. There is more than enough to feed us all.” Lorran dropped the beast at Mylomon’s feet.

“We are not good friends,” Mylomon said. “I will do this only because I am tired of rations.”

“But you do not deny that we are friends. Can this day be any better?” Free from the burden of carrying the beast, he rolled his shoulders and stretched. His shoulder still complained, but it would until he had a good night’s rest. Mahdfel healed quickly, but they were not miracle workers. Healing took energy and rest.

“I think a shower would make it better,” his mate said. “Let’s get your arm cleaned up.”

Once inside the base, Mikah rushed to greet them. “Did you go hunting? Was it hard? Did you get attacked? Is that why you’re bleeding?”

“I battled a considerable opponent.”

Wyn cleared her throat.

“We battled a fierce beast,” he corrected. “My mate had the killing shot.”

“She did? Where is it?” Mikah’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Wyn, as if he doubted Lorran.

“I hunted enough for all. The beast is outside with Mylomon,” he said. That morning he had only intended to feed his mate. The hunt proved bountiful. He had enough to share with the entire party. “We do not have the capability to roast meat inside. I plan to build a fire and cook our meal. Tell your mother that I have a portion for her. She may join us at the fire if she wishes,” Lorran said.

Mikah ran off. Wyn held her comment until he was out of earshot.

“You’re such a softie,” she said.

“You know that is not true.” He licked his lips and growled at her.

She blushed pleasingly. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re flirting when you’re covered in blood and brains.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. She burst into laughter, which also pleased his greedy soul. He would do whatever he could to snatch these moments of joy and delight, even if it meant he had to make a fool of himself.

“They are signs of our triumph. I am a good provider and mated to a mighty hunter,” he said.

“So good you brought enough for the entire village.”

“Well, I did not claim to be a humble male.”

More laughter.

Inside their room, they stripped their filthy garments at the door. Wyn pushed him into the shower stall. Tepid water sluiced away the worst of the gore from them both.

Wet hair plastered against her forehead, Wyn inspected his arm. The lacerations from the beast’s claws had already knitted closed. “I heal quickly,” he said.

“This isn’t quick. This is inhuman.” She poked the pale marks, and he held back a hiss. She raised a brow.

“First, I am not human, and second, it is closed but still hurts.”

“We didn’t have a chance to clean your cuts. What if you picked up some weird intergalactic virus or parasite?” She took a handful of liquid soap and an abrasive cloth and scrubbed his skin.

“Unlikely. My immune system would eradicate a simple virus or parasite.”

She scrubbed his arm a bit harder. “Well, if your ego could fight off viruses, I know you’d never get sick.”

Mahdfel did not get sick, but he kept that comment to himself. He allowed her to continue scrubbing with more force than necessary until his skin felt raw. She worked the soap into his hair and then along his horns.

That…stirred him. He lowered his head, leaning into the smooth strokes of his mate’s hand, imagining those strokes gliding along his cock.

Right. Enough.

“My turn,” he said, grabbing the rough cloth and tossing it out of the stall. Using a generous amount of soap, he lathered every part of his mate. His hands appreciated her softness, the supple give of her skin, and the way her breath hitched in her throat.

He pushed her back to the tile wall and spread her feet apart. He crouched, letting the water from the shower drum against his face and blind him. As much as his mate was a visual delight, she was best appreciated by touch.

He lathered the gentle curve of her belly and the roundness of her hips. At the juncture of her thighs, he caught the scent of musk and earth, nearly overshadowed by the antiseptic soap. He marveled at the softness in her thighs and the hard muscle in her calves.

She gasped and giggled nervously when he caressed the back of her knees. She melted as he reached around, pulling her against him, and gave the same attention to her posterior.

That ass was made for a warrior, lush and sweet. He squeezed and kneaded the soft flesh.

“You’re playing dirty,” Wyn moaned.

“Not yet.” He planned to do more than touch his mate. He wanted to taste, to revel in her unique flavor.

“Hold on to the bar. Do not slip,” he said, placing her hand on the safety railing. He spread her legs wider and pressed his mouth to the tender inner flesh of her thighs.

She sighed, and her posture relaxed.

The curls here were damp from water. The clean scent of the soap nearly obscured the scent of her arousal, but he breathed in deeply, savoring the musky, earthen aroma.

Her taste bloomed on his tongue, as lovely and satisfying as ever. His mate. He took pride in knowing this was the only female whose flavor he would know, and he was the last male who would ever experience her delights.

His mate. So responsive, moaning and arching her back as he nipped and sucked. His cock ached, dripping with need. He wanted to take her, to pin her to the wall and thrust hard into her, again and again. Distantly, he remembered that his shoulder prevented this. He growled with frustration.

Wyn gasped, her hand clutching at his horn. “What was that?”

“You like that,” he said, rumbling with pleasure.

“Yes. Oh, yes,” she panted.

Lorran continued until he felt her thighs tremble. They were soft but held strength within. Lovely female.

He moved back, and she whimpered, but not for long. One hand stroked her folds, then plunged into her core. Hot and tight, her inner channel gripped him. Her hips pumped, riding his hand.

When she fell…

He had tried to express himself. His entire life, Lorran had been able to use his words to charm and manipulate. For the first time, his words failed. When she had been on her back, no helmet, and staring at the sky, his heart stopped. He had been helpless to prevent the worst from happening.

A part of his soul must have left his body because he felt empty. It was more than the humiliation of having failed to protect his mate. More than the shame of putting his mate in harm’s way.

There was no meaning to existence without her. Somehow, in a short span, Wyn became everything. She was his mate, but more, she was a friend and a companion. They worked together. They helped each other. Not helpless, not when they were together.

Satisfaction rumbled in his chest. His mate was alive, she was luscious; she was his, and he was hers.

His free hand worked his cock. Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling and tugging. She squeezed his horn, stroked the shaft like it was his cock, in rhythm to his own hand.

Her fingernails dug in as she reached her climax, then her weight slumped forward. Her hands slid down his head, his neck, coming to rest on his shoulders, like the force of her pleasure made standing impossible. Impractical.

With his face pressed against her hip, he pulled and twisted at the head of his shaft. She was so gloriously alive and they were together. How full the universe felt at that moment and how empty it had been before his mate.

His release coiled tight at the base of his spine. Close. Bliss bloomed, and he spilled into his hand with a shudder.

* * *

Mylomon had neatly butchered the beast and built a fire near the facility, on a patch of packed earth. Old soot and a ring of stones indicated others had used the spot before them. Lorran set to finding more kindling while Wyn delivered a pail of water and a cloth to the male.

“I thought you’d like to wash up.” Water sloshed at her feet as she set the pail down.

Mylomon poked at the embers. Fresh meat sizzled and dripped onto the fire, creating a smokey aroma that made his mouth water.

“Do not drool,” Mylomon said, not taking his eyes off the fire.

“A male cannot survive on rations alone.” Lorran deposited his armful of driftwood.

“False. Rations contain all the necessary nutrients for survival.”

“Survival. Not living.”

Mylomon huffed but did not correct him. “We have waited here too long.”

“Agreed.” Saavi had resisted all attempts at answering questions regarding her mate’s research, neatly deflecting or finding a reason for the questioning to be inappropriate.

“Tomorrow,” Mylomon said. “You need rest.”

“I am not that injured.”

“You move like you were mauled by a wild beast.”

“That is highly accurate,” he sniffed, as if offended, despite being secretly pleased that the male teased him. At least he thought Mylomon teased him.

Lorran gave the male a furtive glance. It was so hard to tell what he thought.

The meal had nearly finished roasting when the others joined them. Caldar brought potable water, plates, and utensils. Mikah arrived, dragging his mother, who carried a basket of berries.

Saavi breathed deep, inhaling the aroma of roasted flesh. “It has been too long since I had anything but ration bars. My thanks.” Lorran watched carefully as she set the basket near the fire and indicated that anyone may help themselves.

As he divided up their portions, setting aside the best cut for his mate, he regaled his audience with their hunting adventure. His mate sat nearby, staring at the fire and not contributing. Odd. The more he praised her, trying to rouse her playful nature, the more withdrawn she seemed.

Caldar seemed far too interested, casting his covetous eyes at Wyn, and Mikah stared at her, like he could not imagine a Terran operating a Mahdfel rifle.

“You’re a hunter,” Mikah said, his voice incredulous, as he rudely stared at Wyn. If she were Mahdfel, such behavior would be a challenge.

Wyn did not let such rudeness bother her. “I went hunting with my dad,” she explained, “but we usually caught little things like rabbits.”

“What is a rabbit?” Mikah asked.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing grease. “Um, a small furry mammal. Burrows underground.”

“Are they dangerous?” The youth’s interest peaked.

“Only to vegetables,” she answered with amusement.

Mikah pulled a face. “So not a dangerous animal to hunt. A prey animal.” Disdain dripped in his voice.

Lorran had never felt a violent impulse toward a child before, but he felt it now for the snotty, judgmental youth and his parent who sat by and said nothing. He ignored the impulse that wanted to ask how many predators the youth successfully brought down. He was a mature male, a responsible warrior, and Mikah was only six or seven years old.

Still…

“I often went hunting when I was your age,” he said in the blandest tone, because he was a mature, responsible male.

“Prey animals are for babies,” Mikah said.

Mylomon watched the youth, his expression unreadable.

Caldar said, “I once thought the same, but I was mistaken. Prey animals are a greater challenge.”

“Really?” Mikah turned his attention to the older male.

“Evolution has adapted their senses to be more alert. To catch a prey animal, who must be more silent than silence. Subtler than the subtlest difference, and more cunning than the most cunning mind. Anyone may attract the attention of a predator. It is not afraid and will charge right at you.”

The youth made wonderstruck noises, as if he had never imagined such difficulties. Lorran shifted, his body stiffening with inactivity. He glared at Caldar, not appreciating how the old male devalued his mate’s accomplishment. The beast may have charged right at Wyn, but she remained calm and kept her head. Lorran had known many grown warriors who had not behaved as coolly while staring down the snarling maw of their first kill.

“I want to hunt,” Mikah announced. “Please take me. My father said he would take me, but he did not.” The youth frowned at the fire.

Something loosened inside Lorran. He said, “My father also said he would hunt with me, but he did not. I went with my brothers.” Hunting trips often took days. Lorran spent many a night huddled around a fire with Seeran and Mene. For unknown reasons, Mene enjoyed camping in the most inclement weather. “And hunting is part of the curriculum at the Academy.”

“School?” Mikah sounded skeptical. “I do not believe you. School is boring.”

“This one,” Lorran muttered, turning his eyes to the night sky. “The Academy prepares young warriors. The venerable instructors—”

“Does it hurt to be venerable?” Mikah asked, derailing Lorran’s prepared lecture about the Academy.

“That is not what that word means,” he said.

“Oh.” Mikah’s cheeks darkened, as if shamed.

That had not been Lorran’s intention. He searched for the correct words to take back his error when his mate said, “To be fair, being venerated sounds a bit like being skewered.”

Mylomon chuckled.

Lorran gasped, half in mock shock and half genuine shock.

“What? She is amusing,” the male said.