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“It seems to work for me. My hot blood has shown it what a fierce warrior I am. That I am the best.”
“And the most modest,” the female snarks. Then, she looks around the camp. “Okay, I’rec, you handle Skarr here and I’ll go after Vivian.”
I pause, rubbing my thrumming chest. “Who is Vivian?”
The female stares at me. “Your mate, dummy.”
“Ah. She ran off.” I continue to rub my chest, and then wonder if I should rub lower, because parts of my anatomy are definitely aching. I pause. “Should I go find her? Pleasure her? Surely now she will want it, and then I will win the breeding competition.” Already I have a leg up on the others.
The female—F’lor—shakes her head. “You wait here with I’rec. I’ll go find her and talk to her.”
“But I am the one that resonated,” I point out. “I should find her in case she wishes to mount me.”
I’rec snorts, casting a look over at his mate.
F’lor just shakes her head. “Something tells me that isn’t going to be a problem, buddy.”
She steps forward, only for her mate to tug her arm, stopping her. I’rec shakes his head. “No, my mate. He is the one that resonated. Let him go and speak to her. I know you want to help, but you cannot help this.”
“I can talk to her—”
“You have talked,” he says gently, pulling her close to him. “She knows how resonance works, yes? Let them work it out between them. You would only be in the way.”
They share a secret look and she leans in close to him, whispering. “Something tells me their resonance isn’t going to work out as easily as ours.”
“I don’t think anything is going to be easy with that one,” he says, and grins over at me. “Good luck, my friend. You will need it.”
Friend? Friend? Is that like…an ally? A teammate? But needing a second person in a battle implies I am weak. I draw myself up to my full height, glaring at the amused male and his mate. “I do not need friends,” I inform him. “I am strong enough on my own. I am the best, the fiercest.”
“That poor woman,” is all F’lor says.
ChapterSeven
VIVIAN
If I’m keeping a tally of pluses and minuses for this day, I’m afraid we’re veering into the negative.
It started out good. I got shoes and warm clothes. Plus and plus. I worried nothing would fit because I can’t remember what size I am. I can’t even remember what my face looks like. I just know I’m tall and leggy and my hair is this muddy blondish-brown and hangs past my shoulders. I asked Flor for a ponytail holder of some kind and she handed me a pointed bone, so I jabbed it into my bun, Flintstones-style. The shoes are hand-stitched with lots of warm fur on the inside, and the tunic has stitching that goes up the front so it can be fitted to the person wearing it. Everything fits and I feel less like a rejected clone and more like ahuman being.
Lunch was hot and tasty and I didn’t even have to watch anyone butcher any animals to make it. Another plus.
I remembered camping and how to make fire. I’m useful.
These are all pluses, and it gives me a feeling of relief to be able to sit by the warmth of the fire and continually poke it to keep the embers bright. I’m doing something instead of just crying, at least. Maybe this will jog more memories for me and I’ll remember things like where I live and my name.
Even just a syllable of a name would be nice.
Flor tells us that we’re going to be heading out tomorrow for her home. It’s on a beach, where the cliffs keep the worst of the winds off of them and the temperature is slightly more moderate than here in the mountains. A more moderate temperature sounds like another plus to me. I’m even looking forward to meeting the others stranded here, because I’m hoping that more conversations will spark more memories. I’m looking forward to warm housing too, of course, but right now, the memories are bothering me more than the weather.
But then the half-lizard guy, Skarr, sits next to me and the day rapidly starts to slide into the minus column.
He beats his chest like some sort of Tarzan wannabe and bellows at the top of his lungs. He tells everyone how amazing he is for picking a fight with another guy and winning. He struts through camp like some sort of green peacock and I decide that living with someone like Skarr for the rest of my days is going to be a checkmark firmly in the minus column. Even Flor doesn’t like the guy. I see the annoyed looks she keeps shooting in his direction, like she wishes he would shut the fuck up. I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking that.
Skarr saunters next to me by the fire, and it takes everything I have not to get up and leave. He’s obnoxious, but even obnoxious guys deserve to get warm. Given that he’s got scales, he’s probably part lizard. If he’s cold-blooded, it’s going to be rough here for him. I should feel sorry for him. When I look up, he flexes and gives me a triumphant look.
Ugh. So much for feeling sorry for the guy. I hope he gets an icicle up his tush to fix that attitude.
But then something alarming happens.
