“More.” His voice is muffled by his shoulder. I know he wants me to draw blood, but I can’t bring myself to cause him any more pain. I suck hard around my teeth, hoping to leave a bruise behind, and then nip the tiniest bit of skin I can manage until I taste a hint of his coppery blood. A shudder ripples through his frame, and he stands, lifting my feet from the ground, and starts walking.
I can hear voices, many more than when we started our lesson because word has obviously spread that we were sparring, and people probably came to watch. But I pretend they’re not there. I pretend that it’s just us, and this connection that neither of us wants to break is all there is. I wrap my legs around his waist to make it easier for him, and he slides one arm under my ass to hold me up.
I unclamp my teeth and cover his neck and shoulder in kisses, then pull back slightly to admire my work of art in the glow of the passageway’s sconces. It’s even better than I thought it would be. Though his skin has faded back to camouflage, the spot I sucked on has stayed bright blue, with a single drop of dark blood welling in the center. I lick it off, and it doesn’t reappear.
I trace over the pigmented area, smiling. “It’s still blue here.”
“You gave me a pocket?” he asks, arms tightening around me even more.
“A what?” I must have heard him wrong.
“A pigment pocket,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he turns down the passage to our room. “The suction pulled my pigment from the emotive channels into a pocket above the camouflage system. Usually they’re red or pink because lovers make them to prove their partner’s desire.”
So it’s like a hickey, but also not like a hickey at all. I wonder if they take the same time to heal. “How long do they last?”
“I’ve heard you can massage them out, or they take a few days to dissipate if you leave them alone. I’ve never had one before. Cidro is going to be annoyed with me, because I’m not letting him touch it.”
“Let him do his thing—it’s obviously working. I’ll give you a new one if it goes away. You realize I’m going to give you one every time you change colors, right?”
He pushes open the door to our quarters and dumps me on the soft bed, then uses his reflection in the dark comm screen to admire the mark. With a grunt of satisfaction, he prowls around the room like a panther, adjusting the temperature and lights before fetching me a cup of ice-cold water from the bathroom.
Suddenly parched from all the exertion in the pits, I take a long drink, tipping the cup back until some water escapes the sides of my mouth, running down my neck and between my breasts, making me shiver, partly from the cold and partly because I know what’s coming next.
He takes the cup from me and refills it, letting me drink until I can’t anymore before finishing it himself. Then he pushes it impatiently to the side and climbs into bed, bowling me over until I’m on my back and he’s on all fours above me.
He’s a dark silhouette, a canopy of night with glittering stars for teeth as he stares down at me, breathing in my scent. He bounces slightly in the soft furs, like a puppy asking to play.
“Are you happy, Nik?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Chapter 30
Nik
The pocket she made on my shoulder is my badge of honor, better than any crown. She vowed to make them in every color. I want to show her the pigment that is hers alone, the lavender reserved for fated love. I close my eyes and will it to be, but I can’t summon the telltale rush of my camouflage retreating.
“Is everything okay?” Delphie asks. Her small hands stroke the sides of my face, and I open my eyes to meet her concerned brown ones. Sure enough, I’m still the same pale color as the furs. “We can just sleep. I know you’ve had a long day, and we have a lot more of them coming up.”
“I wish I could show you my colors.” The words, propelled by my frustration, burst out before I can stop them. “Cidro says I may have lost the ability to make some pigments if I haven’t used them for camouflage. Sometimes parts of the system die off from disuse.”
“We know you can make blue,” she says hopefully. “And yellow. And you were lavender in your sleep.”
“I want to show you more.”
“You will.” Her mouth tips up into a smile, and I can see her mind working behind it. “Hey. Camouflage against me.” I skim my gaze over her, admiring her shades, before sinking down onto her, careful to keep my full weight from crushing her. Ilet my camouflage shift, turning me the same color. It’s not the color of fate, and frix, it’s not my emotional system, but I feel it just as deeply, because the color reflects the deep contentment and fulfillment she brings me.
“You can make brown.” There’s quiet triumph in her voice.
“I have used it for camouflage; there are brown areas of bedrock in the mines,” I say, voice thick with emotion as I admire our fingers twined together, sharing this.
“If you can make it, you can show it. It’s okay if it takes a while. I believe in you.” She kisses me, soft and sweet.
“There are colors I have never used to camouflage.” My throat constricts until I’m short of breath. They’re the colors she deserves most, the colors of passion and desire, fate and affection. They might be lost forever.
“If there are colors you can’t make anymore, so what? You still feel the feeling. This isn’t a failing on your part. You know that, right? This is another wound. If it scars or never heals, it’s a disability, not a failure. It’s just a pipe breaking. Can’t fix the pipe? Get a new one. Carry water in bucket. Go to the river and drink from the source. Hell, stand in the rain with your mouth open.”
I can’t help chuckling. “Not on Usuri. You might get a mouthful of ash.”
“You know what I mean. Your feelings are just as real, even if you don’t show them. You can tell me. Like right now, what are you feeling?”
