“Watch,” I tell her.
“Watch,” she agrees, looking up at me with huge, white-rimmed eyes that do not sing with khui-color. It reminds me of her vulnerability. Her fragility. This must be corrected, and soon.
I pull out my traveling pouch. No hunter leaves the tribal caves without one, and in it I have several of the red snow-berries that are so plentiful. I grip two of them, smash them between my fingers, mix the juice with a handful of packed snow at my feet, and then lob the entire thing into the current of the stream. Then I look at Shorshie again. “Watch.”
She watches, her face intent. I see her surprise when the water begins to flick and the fang-fish swim upstream, fleeing the waters and the berry-taint they hate so much. “They do not like the juice,” I tell her. “They will not return here until the moons go down once more. Now we can drink.”
She looks at me curiously, and so I show her by moving toward the water. I dip my waterskin in and fill it, then indicate that she can drink the water directly from the stream.
“Sokay?” she asks cautiously. “Noh mnsters?”
I nod to whatever nonsense she’s saying and drink again, then wash my face in a cupped handful of water.
That gets her attention. “Wash?” she asks, plucking at my vest. I see she’s now clutching my bone knife in her hand, no doubt frightened of the fang-fish. But her gaze is on my face, and she mimes my gesture from a moment ago. “Wash?”
“Yes, you can clean yourself,” I say, taking the knife away from her before she can hurt herself. I hand her a few more of the berries, instead. In addition to being a taste the stream-dwelling fish dislike, they make a fine soap. I indicate that she can lather with them, and she looks excited.
“Vektal wash?” she asks, then speaks another nonsense stream of syllables before repeating the words and miming bathing. “Vektal wash?”
“Are you afraid to get into the stream alone, my resonance?” I tease. “Shall I stand upstream so the fang-fish devour my carcass before yours?”
She gives her head a tiny shake indicating she doesn’t understand, but there’s an excited smile on her face. “Wash?” she asks again.
I nod and begin to remove my leathers. I’ll wash my mate gladly. I watch her graceful form as she undresses, stripping out of her own strange leathers. For the first time I realize they’re covered in stains, and they reek of offal. I’ve been so enamored of Shorshie that I haven’t paid the slightest bit of attention to the fact that she’s dirty. No wonder she’s so excited at the thought of washing.
My resonance mate is chattering up a storm, shivering and rubbing her arms as she gets naked. Like her hand, her tiny feet have too many toes and are oddly shaped, but I don’t point this out. I love every ounce of her strange body, even if she is furless and tailless. My khui starts to resonate with pleasure at the sight of her, and I finish stripping off my leathers and then wade into the water.
“Hoboy,” she breathes, still standing on the bank. She’s staring at my groin. Pleased at her attention, I stretch and rub a hand over my stomach. My cock grows hard at her stare, and my body surges with resonance. Is this Shorshie’s way of encouraging mating?
“Come to me, then, my mate.” I gesture her forward. “I will fill all your needs.”
GEORGIE
“Hung like a horse” really never had much of a meaning until now.
I try not to stare, and fail.
I can handle fangs. The tail. The suede-like bluish-gray skin. Heck. I’m cool with the horns that curl around his head like a badass crown of some kind.
And I tell myself that I should realize that a dude who’s seven feet tall will have an enormous cock. It’s size appropriate. I’m almost prepared for that, though the sight of it growing erect still makes my thighs clamp together in trepidation.
I’m not prepared for ridges.
He’s got freaking ridges on his cock.
Just like the upraised texture along his chest, his brows, and his arms, he’s got the bumpy, knotty ridges along the top of his cock. His very big, very thick cock. In addition to those ridges, he has an additional one that almost looks like another horn, except it’s blunted at the tip instead of sharp. Small miracle, that. So, okay. He’s got a textured, huge cock with a bony, protruding knob an inch or so above it.
I feel like there’s an alien bingo card somewhere that just got checked off. Horns? Check. Tail? Check. Crazy-ass cock? Check check check.
And since I’m staring, he’s giving me heated looks with those glowing blue eyes of his. It’s like he’s daring me to touch him.