Her skin is losing heat. I can feel it under my palm, the slow bleed of warmth draining from her bare shoulder into the freezing cave air. Her body cannot hold temperature the way mine does. The thin atmosphere of Xiraxis strips the warmth straight out of her while she sleeps, and she does not even stir. The thought sends a sudden, blinding spike of panic straight through my chest. I wrap my thick arm tighter around her waist, pulling her flush against my body until there is no air between us.
Mine,the instinct whispers in the dark.
I open my eyes, looking down at my own body in the dim, yellow light filtering into the alcove.
The absolute black of the starfield has retreated. The skin of my chest, my arms, and my thighs has faded back to its natural, deep amber-gold.
But I am not the same Drakav I was last sol.
I am denser. My chest is too wide. The deep claw gouges from the shadowmaw are gone. Every wound from the battle has been erased, the skin smooth and unmarked, as if the dust itself sealed me shut before rebuilding me from the bones outward. And then there is the weight resting between my thighs.
I shift my hips slightly and the two thick, ridged shafts drag against the furs.
I stare at them in the dim light.
They are... substantial. Solid. Densely ridged and tapering to a blunt, swollen head that twitches at the lightest shift ofair against my skin. The primary one, the one I buried inside her during the dark, is longer than the span of my claw. The secondary too, pressing snug against the first, slightly shorter but just as impressive.
I am the only male in the cavern with two.
None of the other warriors went through a transformation as this. Their bodies are built for fighting and surviving the wastes. Mine was rebuilt from the inside out for one single purpose: to claim her so thoroughly that the scent of me would be soaked into her blood for the rest of her life.
I look down at them again. Then I look at Eh-ree-kah, curled against my chest. She is so delicate. Her hips are narrow. Her thighs are soft and smooth, not much wider than one of my forearms.
And she took the primary one.
All of it. In the dark. While gasping my name into the furs.
There is no way the males from her water-world possess anything of this size. They are probably smooth and blunt...and short. No ridges. No secondary shaft. Just a single, underwhelming appendage.
And I havetwo.
I am vastly superior.
Just thinking about the blazing heat of her clamping down around both of them makes them swell instantly, thickening against the furs until they ache.
I clamp my jaw shut. I cannot take her again. Not yet. I spent half the dark out of my mind, driving into her with a hunger that barely left her able to breathe, let alone walk. If I wake her up and drag her beneath me again, she will break.
But the need to touch her is an ache in my fangs.
I want to lick the salt off her skin. I want to bite the soft skin of her shoulder just hard enough to leave a mark. I want to pryher lips apart and examine those tiny, flat teeth before plunging my tongue between her lips.
I have lived alongside the human females for sols now. I have watched them from across the cavern. But I have never held one against my chest like this, never had her close enough to actually study. The details are alarming.
How does she tear meat from the bone? She has no fangs. No claws. Just blunt little teeth and soft digits. If a sandfin snaps at her, she will simply die. I must never let her out of my sight. I must wrap her in thick hides and carry her everywhere. The dust is not fit for her.
Now I understand the overwhelming possessiveness Rok, Tharn, and Sarven display.
Eh-ree-kah mumbles something in her sleep, her brow furrowing.
I freeze. Did I wake her? Is she hurting?
“...pizza...” her thought floats through the mindspace. It is sleepy and confusing. “...extra pepperoni...”
Pee...zah? Pep...eh...roh...nee?
The mindspace gives me an image of a flat, baked disc covered in congealed fat and circular slices of spiced meat.
I frown in the dark.
