As she stared at him, her body trembling, unable to comprehend his words but too afraid to piss him off again, he seemed to soften, the tension leaving his hard muscles. He plucked the fabric from her slack grip and opened it up to reveal what appeared to be a dress, covered by the mother of pearl shells that flowed down the entire length of the garment. With each movement of the fabric, they rippled along its length and shimmered in the cool light cast by his body and the warmer light cast by the round coals.
Again, he pushed the fabric towards her. “Hachek ver.”
She took it wordlessly, her hand shaking. This time, she thought she understood what he was demanding of her. She was to wear the dress. It looked like it would be tight fit, but she’d do her darndest to put it on to avoid him getting angry again.
“Um, could you turn around?” she said, without much hope that he’d understand, or even comply.
Again, he cocked his head as if considering her words. Then he gestured towards the flameless firepit.
She recognized his command, even if he didn’t bother to express it verbally, perhaps growing frustrated by her lack of understanding.
She made her way to the firepit, biting her lip as she considered what to do next. It was clear by his nudity that he wasn’t concerned about modesty. Perhaps he didn’t expect her to be, either. And, after all, he’d already seen her naked. He’d undressed her.
She shivered as an idea occurred to her that she wanted to quickly dismiss. A glance at his groin showed that he had no visible genitalia. Only that strange, circular glowing tattoo. It looked impressive and was probably not a tattoo at all, but some extension of his bio-luminescence. Yet it didn’t seem threatening in a “I’m about to be probed by an alien” kind of way. If he was even male, then everything was tucked up neat inside, or it was non-existent. At any rate, he didn’t appear to be interested in her in a sexual way.
Sucking in a bracing breath, she let the fur drop, despite feeling Jotaha’s eyes on her. If he was ogling her nudity, there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she focused on pulling the dress over her head, moaning in pain as all her aches came to the fore. She’d been so distracted by her fear that she’d forgotten her pain.
The sounds she made were answered by low growls from him. She shuddered at the menace in those sounds, biting harder on her lower lip to keep silent as she struggled into the fitted dress.
It barely made it over her chest and hips, stretching so tightly in those areas that the scales hardly moved, and some stuck straight out instead of hanging down neatly. The dress felt heavy from all the shells, but the fabric was soft and sleek, like silk. It hung more loosely against her legs, and barely brushed her calves like a soft breeze, pooling over her feet. A slit in the back, right above the crack of her ass, gaped open, the material below it stretching tight to accommodate her generous hips.
Sarah looked down at herself, acknowledging that the dress was the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn, even if it didn’t fit properly. Then she glanced over at Jotaha to find his gaze intently fixed on her, his entire body still, like he’d been frozen in place. Even his ever-moving tail had paused.
He might be an alien monster, but there was no confusing his body language. Sarah’s heart thudded against her chest as she quickly looked away from him. She swallowed through a thick knot that formed in her throat. She no longer suspected he planned to kill her and was biding his time. Now, she suspected her fate might end up being much worse.
6
Jotaha reined in his frustration as the nixir named Ssarah shied away from him whenever he approached her. This was his drahi—his mate for life. They were supposed to grow old together and bring each other comfort in their last moments. They were supposed to have nestlings together, which he knew the nixir could provide for the yan-kanat, rare as such pairings were.
Now, she wore the sitak, the robe he’d had made for his drahi, and she looked surprisingly appealing in it. It had been made to hang loosely on Farona’s slender form, but it clung to Ssarah’s alien curves in a way that stoked an unwanted desire in him that felt deviant.
She didn’t seem in the least bit impressed by the harzek—the treasure—he’d given her. Any more than she’d been impressed by the glowing seal he’d revealed for her sake. He felt vulnerable and far too exposed being fully nude in front of her. Her lack of interest in his form stung, especially when he was beginning to see the appeal of hers.
Now, she wouldn’t meet his eyes, turning her body sideways as he stalked her around the inferno stones. It was a clear sign of submission, making herself appear smaller than she really was by presenting only her side. It was also clearly the sign of prey, guarding the most vulnerable areas of their body.
His nixir did seem more like a creta—animal—than a yan-kanat. She had tried to gnaw his hand off, her flat teeth boasting surprisingly sharp and painful edges that had torn his flesh. Now, that ferocity had melted away and she looked meek. He found her submission suspicious.
Then she seemed to give up on retreating from him and crouched down, bowing her head and lifting her arms to cover it. “Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t… touch me.”
He had no idea what she was saying, but her body language was unmistakable, as was the snuffling sounds she made after speaking. She kept her face turned away from him.
It was rare for a yan-kanat female to weep, but it did happen when they were in pain—or very afraid.
His drahi was shivering, the fortune sewn onto her sitak quivering with her movement, flashing the beautiful colors of the kivan he’d been collecting since he was a nestling. When she’d crouched, he’d heard seams tear, and suspected that parts of her sitak would need to be mended.
He’d stopped advancing on her when she dropped into her crouch, hiding her head. At first, he suspected she still felt pain from her wounds, though the venom would have lingering effects to dull that pain. Then he realized she was terrified.
If she had been yan-kanat, her fear would not have made sense. No honorable yan-kanat male would hurt a yan-kanat female. He’d been so wrapped up in his own anger over discovering that she was his mate that he hadn’t paid attention to her body language.
Her fear would not be unwarranted in any other situation. Normally, a nixir would have everything to fear from him if they passed over the boundary. He was Jotaha, Guardian of the Dark Paths, and it was his duty to hunt and slay those who broke the treaty. If she hadn’t been his drahi, she would not be alive now—despite being a female of her species.
It was clear she recognized how dangerous he was, but remained unaware of what she meant to him. Her gaze had fallen on his trophies, forcing him to abandon them when her disgust became clear. He could no longer wear the bones and teeth of her people and expect her to welcome him in her bed.
He’d been angry even then, bitter and resentful as he’d cast them down at her feet. Now, he felt a sense of growing shame, as the fear his drahi felt became unmistakable. With the venom wearing off thanks to the drink he’d given her—though her vicious bite had kept him from giving it all to her—she would be sharper and more aware of her surroundings, and her situation—or at least, what she believed was her situation.
She remained in a crouch, shuffling away from him in an odd position to put as much distance between them as possible. Her shivering increased, her entire body shuddering visibly so the shells bounced against the strained silk of the sitak.