I’m out of breath, incapable of thinking. Something has gone to my head; I’m no longer reasonable or afraid or… anything. All I can think of is him, how much I want him. “But I—”
He stands up—he has been submerged to his neck and now the water only reaches his abdomen. “This is dangerous, you silly girl. You have no idea how dangerous.” He turns and strides out of the pool. Open-mouthed, my heart reeling, I stare at his glorious body, the water running down his ink-blue muscles, the yellowkrythpulsing. He is so beautiful I cannot tear my eyes away from him. He dresses while I stare.
He turns around, but looks over my head, out into the wilderness that surrounds us. “You must clean any trace of me from you,” he says. He picks up my robe and sets it on a rock. “Then you must return to the training room.”
And then, mystery of all mysteries, he leaves.
When he’s gone, my heart feels like it cleaves in two. Tears form and fall to my cheeks, into my still-open mouth.
I snap it shut and float on the surface of the water, blinking my tears away.
I don’t know what I have done, except that it’s dangerous, and it’s a mistake. And yet I would do it again, in a moment.
Because these words I should never speak again, these dangerous words, are true.
And something tells me that even if Rysethk, the Kapsuk, the muscled, killer alien that I want inside of me with every fiber of my being, cannot say so, they are true for him as well.
CHAPTER13
Rysethk
I stare at the vial, which I had the Apparit prepare long before Anya Mann even arrived here, because I’m a Kerz who thinks of everything—almost everything—and one never knows when they will need such a formula. It’s a green liquid, the behavior of which is known in Kerz and human hybrids, but not pure humans like Anya Mann.
There is no choice but to give it to her.
Mykrythis burning. I have never experienced this myself, and I’m infuriated by the weakness I have demonstrated. I have seen it coming, felt it coming, for many days now. I should have done something different, refused to train her, but I feared that saying such a thing would only plant ideas in the mind of my insane and jealous cousin.
It’s not just Zethki I fear—though my love for his bride is not something he would take lightly. Anya Mann is now a weakness, a weakness that grows inside of me with each passing day. Now that I have tasted her, now that I have mated with her, my love for her is only more fierce. And the weakness this creates is only worse.
She returns. I knew that she would. I feel her presence, smell her skin, all without turning around. I grasp the vial and steel myself. I cannot give in to my weaknesses for her flesh.
I need to protect her. As much, if not more, than myself. The liquid in the vial is an amnesiac, erasing hours of memory in Kerz. What it will do to a human, I don’t know. But Anya must forget this ever happened.
I close my eyes and draw deep upon my practice ofkatsa. It’s useless; I feel her like a fire on the other side of the room. Nothing has ever tested my strength like this human girl.
I turn. She is standing, clutching her robe to her damp skin. Her hair is wet, but this is no matter; I will give her this vial and I will replace her training implement, and if she can simply remain quiet until she falls asleep, she will forget this happened.
Her face is beautiful, glowing; she’s even more beautiful and enticing to me now that I have claimed her. I can only hope that the qualities of the water will prevent the unthinkable from happening; if she has been impregnated, I will have no choice but to give her to Zethki immediately, to watch her claimed by his brute soldiers, to ensure that her betrayal is never known to him. Or mine.
“Rysethk,” she says, and I hold up a hand. My name is sweet on her lips; her use of it sends a shudder of pleasure through me, uncontrollable. I’m out of control. The memory of the soft, vulnerable sweetness of her flesh around my cock threatens to submerge me again in this weakness, this loss of power, this subservience to a female. It cannot be.
I cross the room to her, each step taking me closer to the danger of her, making me weaker.
“Anya,” I say. I hold out the vial. “You have to drink this.”
She looks at it, and then looks at me, her eyes fearful. I want to hold her, to console her, to grab her and take her somewhere, just her and me, and have her for myself forever. I want to possess her utterly, and share her with no one.
“This cannot be,” I say, when she looks at me imploringly.
Her eyes are wet with these drops that humans call tears. I feel a throb in my chest; tears are for pain, for sadness.
But she’s stronger than she looks, more sensible. She is smart, as I sensed. Rational. She sniffs and blinks a tear away, then wipes another impatiently. She juts out her jaw with the defiance I’m so attracted to.
“What is it?” she asks.
But she’s already taking it from my hand, looking at it. She signals to me that she will take it, because I asked her to. The trust that she places in me claws at my heart. She would drink it if I told her it would kill her, I can see this in her eyes.
She looks at it and shakes her head, it seems before I even tell her, “It will make you forget.”
