“For mate. You haven't taken Khor's bond bite. That makes you available. The ancient hunting codes are clear on this.”
I force myself to standing, though my legs shake and threaten to buckle. Everything between my legs throbs with the movement, reminding me of what's missing. What Khor didn't give me yesterday despite the seven orgasms. His cock. That massive, ridged thing I've been craving since he showed it to me at the spring.
“You think offering me dried meat will make me forget all that and choose you instead?”
“I think his scent has claimed your blood. The way a female's body changes during her first heat, bonding to whoever triggers it.” He touches his throat scales. They brighten and pulse in apattern I don't understand. “But that's not real choice. That's biology. I'm offering you the chance to choose without your blood screaming for him.”
“My blood, my choice.”
“Is it? When you can't think past the need for his specific touch?” He pulls out dried meat, tears off a piece, eats it slowly. Makes me watch. “I'm younger. Stronger in different ways. I'd learn what you want instead of training you to want what I give.”
Thunder rolls across the desert. Still distant, but building. The air pressure drops, making my teeth ache.
“The storm will flood these canyons,” he says. “I have shelter. True stone, above the water line. All I ask is that you listen to my offer while we wait. No claiming. No forcing. Just conversation.”
“Conversation.” I laugh, the sound scraping my raw throat. “While I leak his scent and crave his cock. Sure. That'll be productive.”
His scales shift to deeper green. Embarrassment? Arousal? Both?
“You're very direct.”
“I'm very tired of games.” I pick up the second purple fruit, take a deliberate bite. The taste of Khor's sweat makes my body pulse. “Say what you really want.”
“I want you to choose me. Freely. Without another male's pheromones driving the decision.”
“Why?”
“Because you survived four days with him without breaking. Most females beg for the bond by day three when the need gets too strong. But you're still fighting. Still choosing.” His throat scales pulse brighter. “I want a mate who chooses strength, not one who surrenders to it.”
“You think I haven't surrendered? I came seven times on his tongue yesterday.”
“But you didn't beg for his bond bite. That's the difference.”
More thunder. The wind picks up, carrying the scent of rain and something else. Metal. Ozone. The storm will be violent.
“Where's your shelter?”
“North. Half a mile. Easy walk even in your condition.”
I look at the pack of food. My stomach cramps with hunger. Real, physical hunger that has nothing to do with the sexual need. I could eat. Get strong. Think clearly for once.
But.
My body doesn't respond to Vek at all. He's objectively attractive. Healthy. Strong. Offering everything I should want. And I feel nothing. No heat. No interest. Just a vague appreciation, like admiring a painting.
“Thanks for the offer. But no.”
His scales darken. “You'd rather starve?”
“I'd rather choose my own suffering than accept comfort from someone I don't want.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It doesn't have to make sense to you.” I grab the water pouch, take a long drink. “You should go. Find shelter. The storm won't wait for your hurt feelings.”
“He's not coming for you. You know that, right? He's testing you. Seeing if you'll break and accept any male who offers relief.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he's seeing if I'm strong enough to reject comfort when my body screams for it.”
