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“Oof, you’re like a baby mammoth or something,” I half-grumbled as I obliged him. He tilted his head blissfully.
Meanwhile, I watched Naxer sleep. Our little cuddlefest did not wake him. His eyes stayed closed, and his lashes and eyebrows were pewter-colored and so was his beard shadow. His muscular chest rose and fell steadily with his breaths beneath the silvery fur. Even relaxed, his powerful frame exuded strength.
He was even hot while he was sleeping.That’s not a weird and awkward thought or anything.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I stuck to the facts. We’re attracted to each other, and thanks to his belief system, he thinks we’re meant for each other. The more I thought about the whole situation and his behavior, the more genuine Naxer seemed. And that conveyed he meant what he said when he talked about me like I had just saved his life instead of the other way around.
And he believes that I’m his Sheleki… Well…I don’t know what to think or even feel about that.
My eyes traced over the contours of his muscular frame, desire slowly unfurling inside me. I was at a loss, torn between physical longing and emotional uncertainty. And it left me wondering if the rumors about these aliens having weirdly armored, damaging cocks were true… or if I would actually enjoy taking it.
Fuck, my brain is just not working right since I met this guy.
I had a million other worries right now, and watching him sleep while thinking about fucking him was nothing but a giant distraction. It felt fantastic to think about such things and it tempted me to do more than think about it. But I had too many other concerns, starting with saving my fellow humans.
Pain lanced through me as I sat up, feeling every single vertebra unstick with an alarming crunch. My knees were even stiffer and noisier as I tried to stand. My feet, even bandaged, stung so badly that I sucked air and had to force myself not to sit back down.
Naxer’s eyes flew open at my small sound of distress and fixed on me worriedly. “Are you well?”
Damn, he’s a light sleeper.I’ll have to remember that.
“Stiff, sore, starving, and itchy,” I replied. “I guess you don’t have any painkillers handy?”
His brows drew together as the last of the haze left his golden eyes. “Painkillers?” Apparently the translator wasn’t doing the concept justice.
“My feet feel like hell and so do my joints and muscles. I could sure use an aspirin.” Or something.
“If your pain is great, then you should stay off your feet,” he said with a mix of concern and disapproval.
I groaned with frustration, sitting back down and wrapping the fur around myself. “I feel like a goddamned cripple.” My fingers curled around the canteen he had left, and I took a long swallow of water.
“The Omthryx have not cursed you,” he said.
My translator interpretedOmthryxas the wordgods.
He sighed, getting up and stretching. The suede-like jumpsuit he wore under his armor pulled against the contours of his muscles, and I had to force myself to stop staring.
“Not really what I meant,” I replied. “I’m just frustrated that I’m not healing faster. The other women can’t wait.” Even now, I knew that some of them were dying on the road just as they had for days now. We could only carry so many wounded before the carriers became exhausted and wounded themselves.
“I understand your disappointment. I, too, felt frustrated when I was separated from my pack when they needed me most. But both will be resolved soon. Soon.” His deep voice was soft and calming as he started stoking the fire back up, adding thin lengths of branch to it between pokes.
“I sure hope so,” I muttered, reaching down to probe my wounded feet through the bandages. I winced. They felt like one big blister on the bottoms. But the others will have it worse. Nobody would take care of them except for each other, and if the slavers decided that stopping was a waste of time, the women wouldn’t even have the chance to rest.
I didn’t do well with helpless anger. I never had. And now I was stewing in it. Hopefully my anger wouldn’t be helpless for long.
CHAPTER9
AMARA
Once we had filled our bellies with dried meat and water, Naxer led me through the jungle toward his secret bathing place. I didn’t really like the idea of being naked in front of him. I was curious to see if he had been honest about his intentions or whether he had just been sweet-talking his way into my pants.
As we walked, he pointed out plants I shouldn’t touch or even get near.
“That one raises blisters when you touch the leaves,” he said of a low-slung, purple-leafed plant that was one of the few species to have normal proportions. “This one is whipgrass. It will lash out at passersby and use the blood it draws to nourish itself.” I gave the cluster of thin rust-colored blades a wide berth.
He pointed out the strangler-vine, which hung its loops low and coated in a sticky sap. It would draw tight around anything that blundered into it and let its prey rot and drip over its soil. The more he pointed out, the more I could confirm what I already suspected—even the calmer parts of the jungle were hazardous to the unaware.
