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“No,” Flor says, pulling her leathers out of R’jaal’s grip. She has a dangerous look on her face, one that I am wise enough to avoid. “Absolutely not.”
R’jaal does not seem to understand the danger he is in. He takes her by the shoulders. “Then I will kiss you.”
Rage explodes through my mind, as if my head has suddenly burst into flame. Never have I been so furious. I bite back a snarl of pure fury and storm forward. “I will breakbothyour hands, Tall Horn, if you touch her.”
Howdarehe?
Both of them look over at me in surprise.
“I’rec,” F’lor says, and there’s a look of intense relief on her face. She pulls out of R’jaal’s grasp and steps toward me, neatly putting herself between me and the Tall Horn fool. “What are you doing out here?”
“I am here to take care of your problem,” I growl.
“My problem?” she asks.
R’jaal tries to step around her, only to be thwarted by F’lor’s neat sidestep.
“Your Tall Horn problem.” I bare my teeth menacingly at R’jaal.
My words make anger flash across her face. “You are not going to fight. R’jaal was just leaving.”
She is defending him? My nostrils flare with irritation, and I pick up an intense scent—feminine and sweet, musky and delicious. I want to bend down and sniff F’lor to drink in that scent, to make sure it is hers, but R’jaal stands far too close nearby.
“I will not fight if he leaves you alone,” I offer. Truly, I am benevolent.
R’jaal scowls at me. “F’lor and I were talking. You should not be here.”
“I should not be here?” I laugh, the rage bubbling in the back of my mind again. “How many times has she told you to leave her alone, Tall Horn? How many times have you not listened?” My tail lashes, and I can tell the fur on it is prickled with alertness. “I am going tomakeyou listen.”
F’lor rolls her eyes—again, at me—and then puts a hand on my bare chest. “I’rec. Stop it.”
Her hand is small and cold against my chest, and for some absurd reason, I feel the need to grab it and warm it for her. Take care of her. Look after her. It is clear R’jaal is not doing these things. He is letting her get cold. He is letting her get too far away from camp to be safe.
He would be aterriblemate for her.
Just the thought of her mating him runs up my spine the wrong way. I shudder and place my hand over hers, gazing down at where she touches me, because I cannot look away. “I am not doing anything,” I say, and I sound sulky even to myself. “I am just here to protect you.”
She taps a finger against my chest, and it feels like a secret between the two of us. “Bring it down a notch. You look ready to murder someone.” There’s amusement in her voice. “I’d hate to have to explain this to Raahosh, okay? I’m handling things.”
F’lor gives me another meaningful look and pulls her hand out of my grip, then turns and faces R’jaal. To my surprise—and immense pleasure—she remains directly in front of me and puts her hands behind her, as if trying to hold me back. She is choosing my side, and the realization fills me with delight.
I shoot a triumphant look at R’jaal, but the male is watching both of us with an odd look on his face. He looks as if he has just bitten into something sour.
“Look, I appreciate the help today, R’jaal,” F’lor says in a cheerfully sweet voice that nevertheless sounds firm. “But I’m done having this conversation with you and I think you should go back to camp, all right?”
He eyes her, his gaze sliding back to me. “What about I’rec?”
“I’m going to talk to him, and then we’ll be along, too. Tell the others we’ll be back shortly.” And she smiles at him. “Thanks for the help today. You’re a good friend.”
R’jaal flinches, and I can tell from his expression that he understands her words. She is telling him she does not want his kisses. She is telling him she does not want his attentions now that he has decided he is tired of waiting for resonance. She is done with him.
I shoot him a triumphant glance.
Again, he eyes me with a quizzical stare, as if he cannot quite figure me out. “I will tell the others you will be along soon, yes.” He pauses as if he wishes to say more to F’lor, but then shakes his head, and the infinitely sad look returns to his face. “I know you are safe with him.”
“I’m safe anyhow,” F’lor calls out, puzzled, as R’jaal leaves.
I watch as he goes, and there’s a strange slump to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. A defeated slump. When I first arrived, he was bristling, as if he would indeed fight me, but something has changed and now he acts as if he has lost everything. Is it because F’lor said she would not kiss him?
