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“No,” Krista says quickly. “It would be one male. Not that I agree. But if I did, it would only be one Harkurian.”
Krista would not want Noss. He’s not bad-looking, but he dislikes her and he hasn’t bothered hiding it. She can’t imagine that he would remain patient with her should he attempt to stuff that Harkurian monster cock into her body. Pel seems friendly, but Thon is nicer to look at. He is … not exactly conventional by Human standards, but he’s striking—brutally masculine in form, but unexpectedly thoughtful in spirit. Krista hadn’t thought she possessed many opinions on Harkurians, but she must be more biased than she thought if their civility comes as such a surprise.
“I want to think it over. Will you give me the night?”
“You have it,” Thon says immediately, gazing at her like she’s done something incredibly surprising. “And you have tomorrow while we hunt. Take the second tent and the blankets inside. I will join my brothers.”
Nodding, Krista pulls the last bite of venison from the knife and rises with a shiver. Her clothes stick to her in new places when she moves, the wet fabric like ice on her skin. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she tells her hosts stiffly, then limps her way over to the tent as quickly as she can without making it look like she’s fleeing.
“It will leave,” she hears Noss say as she ties the flaps closed behind her. “Once it uses tent.” His Standard is rough enough that Krista suspects she was meant to overhear.
“I could open pants again,” Pel chuckles. “She liked that.”
“Open them if she chooses you,” Thon growls. “Otherwise, keep it to yourself.”
“Jealous, brother? We see where you send her for sleep,” Pel teases, but then the Harkurians switch back to their gruff language and their conversation is lost to Krista once more. She thinks they’re still discussing her, probably rehashing the bargain and speculating on the outcome. She listens hard as she feels around over her head for a lamp and switches it on, but she does not hear her name amongst the jagged syllables.
The interior of the tent is basic, with little more inside than a pile of fluffy pelts and a traveling pack for a pillow, but right at this moment it’s exactly what Krista needs. Her body aches for the promise of warmth and she can’t peel her damp cloak off fast enough.
There is a sturdy wooden dowel slung diagonally across the tent frame, from which the lantern hangs. Krista throws her cloak over it, barely taking time to smooth out the bunches, then follows with her dress and, after the briefest hesitation, her undergarments. Nakedness is not an ideal state for her to be in here, with three Harkurians outside who have admitted to an interest in copulation, but she’s soaked to the skin and the prospect of climbing beneath that warm, fluffy bedding with soggy clothing sounds so miserable to her that she actually cringes.
Wow. Here she is throwing all caution to the wind for a dry place to sleep. This is what her life has amounted to.
Krista douses the lantern and scurries over to the pile of pelts, diving beneath them with gusto. The bottom of the tent isso much squishierthan she anticipated, but she supposes she can thank the pine needles for that. It isn’t quite a pallet, but it’s close enough that relief prickles all the way up her body from her toes to her eyeballs. Drawing her knees to her chest, Krista shivers violently until she’s toasty warm and the brush of soft fur against her bare skin starts to feel hedonistic rather than chilly. An unfamiliar scent clings to these pelts—something heady and masculine, but unlike any Human male she has ever known. This scent is different, definitely wilder, but she recognizes the same musky tang of virility.
Thon said the blankets were his.
Feeling her face grow warm in the dark, Krista shifts around a familiar heat in her groin. Surely not. Not for a Harkurian. Marveling a little at herself, Krista presses her thighs together and finds them slippery. Is this because Thon's pelts smell so good or does the thought of fucking a Harkurian really do this to her naturally? And if they lie together itwillbe fucking. Breeding. The purpose would be reproduction, not physical union, not pleasure, not—she snorts softly to herself—not love. These Harkurians want to put a child in her, then have her grow it for them, then send her on her way, very businesslike. The whole thing ought to disgust her. A significant part of her demands, loudly and indignantly, that she reject this profanity at once and find a High Priest to confess to. That part of her sounds a lot like the Patriarch, but does it sound anything like herself?
The Patriarch’s Gods don’t belong to her now. She owes them nothing.
Religious trauma aside, Krista should hate everything about this bargain after what happened at the commune just hours ago. Hadn’t the blacksmith wanted to use her body, too? All she had been to him was a body with warm holes in it, a vessel to breed more cultists. This is all she would be to the Harkurians as well—a container in which to grow their legacy.
But the blacksmith hadn’t offered anything in return. And, significantly, no one had allowed Krista to negotiate for herself. A trade—a generous trade at that—changes the situation, doesn’t it? For the first time, Krista gets to take custody of her own body. She gets to decide what happens to it, to barter with it if she chooses, and she feels a bit drunk on that power. A bit giddy. Carrying a child … she could do that. In exchange for certainty, for security, for thestars,it’s more than a manageable concession. The Harkurians will ferry her safely to a Human settlement and see her settled on a trustworthy vessel—a difficult undertaking to attempt on her own. Accepting an unknown exile with no character references is risky. After all, people are usually exiled for a reason.
Birthing a Harkurian in exchange for a future of her own, with no husband and no financial strife—is doable. It’sbeyonddoable. Fortuitous is what it is. And Krista has a strange, guilty suspicion that bedding a Harkurian won’t be such a terrible hardship for her, either. A slow, deep breath confirms this suspicion when her nose fills with Thon’s rugged scent, and her abdomen throbs in response. She may not want a husband, but she doesn’t think she’d mind a little cultural exchange.
Her hand brushes down her body—over the flat stomach that could swell with Harkurian young, then lower, to the clit that could know a Harkurian’s fingers, a Harkurian tongue, the hard, slippery grind of his pelvis. Krista is soaking wet when her fingertips reach her seething entrance. She could know a Harkurian’s cock here. She could let a Harkurian mount her and stretch her open and push into her. Krista’s fingers press experimentally into the warm, slick line of her vulva and when she imagines a larger intrusion she finds that she likes the idea, her eyelids fluttering shut as she sighs.
Touching herself like this in Thon’s blankets feels obscene. It feelsdelicious. Krista will clear her head, purge the distracting memory of Harkurian penis from her brain, and reconsider the bargain more objectively when she finishes appeasing her traitorous hormones. Who can think rationally when they keep imagining how a Harkurian would feel atop her, holding her down and emptying balls the size of planets directly into her body?
No one, that’s who.
In a few minutes, she will be objective. Right now, she rubs herself beneath Thon’s blanket.
4
Thon
TheHumanfemalehasagreed to consider their offer. Thon can hardly believe this. As a rule, Humans are not receptive to carnal bargains with Harkurians. Most of them will happily trade when they need meat and furs, but only the rarest will agree to sexual unions, even temporary ones for business only. It doesn’t matter what the Harkurians offer in exchange. No trade is worth it to them. Harkurians must be very undesirable from a Human perspective, but Thon doesn’t understand why. Humans are desirable enough to him.
And Krista is quite a lot more than desirable. She is a strong female. She’s feisty—brave enough to stare them all down and lie to their faces about fake companions and raiding parties. She hadscoldedNoss, armed with nothing but her incredible wrath. Her will is a formidable thing. She’s out here in the wilderness, braving the dark and the rain and the predators in the trees because she dared to fight for herself. She carved the last man who tried to touch her because she found him unworthy. It is … intoxicating.
Thon remembers the way she had smelled beneath her damp clothing and anxiety—female and ever so slightly aroused. It had been subtle, but Pel was ultimately correct about his dick. The way Krista’s pretty brown eyes kept jumping to it, scandalized but not disinterested, curious, and smelling faintly of desire, Thon can be certain that she has at least some interest in Harkurian nudity.
IfKrista agrees to bargain andifshe chooses Pel, then Thon will tell himself that he is grateful. For their clan, he must be.
Thon stands and stretches out his powerful limbs. His self-mastery is a point of pride for him. As the eldest and as the leader of their small hunting band, this is how it should be. Pel and Noss look up as he strides off into the trees, but they will figure he’s relieving himself or checking on the animals. They aren’t entirely wrong, since he does look in on them. One of the draft horses whickers softly at his approach, rousing a war hound from the pack that guards them, but Thon lays a hand on the stallion’s heavy neck and continues on, motioning for the hound to stay put.
