Oh, lordy. He had the whole fucking shirt off now.
“Yes!” I squawked. “I’m cold. Because it’s cold out here. So why are you getting naked?!”
He paused in his movements. Still shirtless. Still rippling with thousands of abs. Millions of them. Where did he get them all? And where did my brain go?
“You and I,” he said, his voice a low growl, “have very different definitions of the word ‘naked.’”
I scrambled to catch the shirt he then tossed at me, dropping my boot in the process. It landed with a dull thud on the cold wood.
“Put that on,” he said. Despite his earlier confirmation that I wasn’t under his command, his words were laced with unmistakable authority. And they were lacedtight. Just like the rest of him. “It should fit over your coat. Or you can wear it in your lap like a blanket. Put your hands beneath it to keep them warm.”
The man wanted me to use the heat generated by his billions of abs to keep my fingers from falling off.
Well, that was better than deciding to kill me out here and bury my body where no one would ever find it, I supposed.
“And put your boot back on,” he said – a bit curtly, I couldn’t help but notice. He picked up the reins once more, every muscle in his back and shoulders bunching and shifting with the movement.
“What about you?” I held the shirt awkwardly in front of me. It felt weirdly pervy to use it while it was still warm from Warden Hallum’s body. I waited for it to get nice and impersonally cold. Even if I did use it, it would only be to trap my own body heat, not his.
It felt nice on my hands though. Damnit.
“What about me?” he asked. The wagon started up once more.
“Won’t you be cold?”
“No,” he said at once. “I only wear it because it is part of my uniform. We are not affected by the cold weather theway humans are. You noticed Rivven without a shirt earlier, I presume?”
“Of course I noticed!” I said, slightly offended he thought I would have missed a detail like that.
Although, to be fair, I hadn’t been struck with a sadly terminal case of missing-brain-itis by Rivven’s bare physique the way I just had been by Warden Hallum’s. Rivven’s lack of shirt hadn’t really registered as anything significant, especially since we had spent most of the time inside the cozy saloon.
“There you have it, then.” His response was certain, final. As if that explained everything.
“I guess I do,” I murmured. The garment was cool now, kissed by the night air. I laid it over my lap, putting my bare hands beneath it. It made quite a big difference. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond to that, instead keeping his focus ahead. And I kept my focus on him. Without his shirt, the incredible rigidity of his posture was even more apparent. His spine was an unflinching, straight post, the kind you’d trust to hold up a whole house. His muscles, though, were a different story. I watched them ripple and stretch anytime he moved, all fluid power around the unyielding frame of his bones. Frankly, his body was an incredible thing to watch at work.
I was already looking forward to learning more about Zabrian biology and anatomy. There were many similarities to humans, of course. But I had a feeling the differences would be intriguing. Like his tail, for instance, long and rope-like, slung in a tight loop on a hook at the back of his belt. I’d seen him use it a few times with fascinating results. It was somewhere between limb and lasso, prehensile and strong, but flexible as cord.
The flexibility of that tail, and the near-liquid pulse and tide of his musculature, seemed somewhat at odds with the rest of him. At odds with that hard spine and even harder stare.Warden Hallum did not appear to me as a man who would easily bend.
When I realized I’d spent about fifteen minutes staring at what was essentially my coworker’s bare, muscly back, I forced myself to turn my attention elsewhere. Like the trees! What very nice trees they were! Definitely nice enough to distract me from Mr. Ripply Muscle Man over there.
We followed a trail through a dense forest, the trees all silver and black in the star-bitten light. Snow continued to fall, dusting branches and piny needles. The shuldu didn’t seem bothered by the weather.
Neither did Warden Hallum. When my eyes went (inevitably, it seemed) back to him, I saw the snow land on his skin and immediately melt. His shoulders were dappled with moisture now, like dew. Some of it ran in shimmering rivulets down the shifting valleys of his back, trails over trapeziuses. Were those even called traps for Zabrians? The muscles might be a little different. I’d have to find out later.
Warden Hallum’s station appeared out of the gloom like some little forest house in a fairytale. It was a neat, compact building in the style of a log cabin, with one front door and a porch. Above the door, a small lantern glowed, a surprisingly warm and welcoming little halo made fuzzy by the snow, which was falling more thickly now. The house stood in the centre of a clearing in a dense part of the forest, ringed by hushing trees. Behind the house, close to the trees, was a tower – probably a comms tower to boost signals off-world – and there was another little building off to the side, presumably for the shuldu to shelter for the night.
“Cute!” I breathed, liking the look of the place. It was a little smaller and a touch more rustic than I was used to, but the house was undeniably well-built. Sturdy. Already, I could imagine starting a nice big fire inside and warming up my toesies. Myfingers were warm enough now that I had Warden Hallum’s shirt in my lap like some kind of hand muff.
Speaking of which, it was time to give that back.
“Here you are,” I said when he drew the wagon to a stop not far from the steps leading up onto the house’s porch. I flapped the shirt at him, and when he turned to look at me in response, I felt strangely like I’d been shaking a hankie out of a window trying to get his attention. His attention was a heavy load to bear. I couldn’t even see his eyes like this – with the porch light behind him, and his hat still casting his face into shadow. But I felt his gaze. A physical presence, a pressure. I was willing to bet that he had no trouble keeping his men in line, convicts or not, with nothing but the heavy power of that stare.
Well, I wasn’t one of his men. I fortified myself and smiled broadly, holding the shirt out to him.
“Thank you again,” I said. “This helped a lot!”
