Again, he opens his mouth, but the words drifting from his lips make no sense. When he sees the confusion on my face, he frowns again and pulls away. No! I long to scream out, desperate to have him touching me again.

But he slips away from view. A chill races down my spine as I look about as best as I can, my body freezing now that he’s not next to me, lending his warmth. Are dreams supposed to be this uncomfortable?

I’m well aware of how naked I am with every gust of frigid wind crossing over me. Shivers wrack my body as I lie there, strapped down, helpless, and alone. For a moment, I long to rectify the situation, to cover myself up and cocoon in the warm haven which lulled me to sleep earlier.

The only plausible reason is the fire died out, leaving me cold on the couch. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Shaking my head, I groan as an odd throb aches on the side. Definitely eschewing all alcohol after this.

My fingers twitch as I resist the urge to touch the spot. None of this makes sense. Even if I buy into the dream aspect, I’m far too uncomfortable to really enjoy it. All I want to do at this moment is wake up and burrow under the blankets after stoking the fire—blue, god-like behemoths be damned.

But just as I try to force myself to wake up, he’s back. This time, he’s not alone. Another man, just as tall as he is, accompanies him, his frigid blue eyes scalding over my naked body. The main difference is this man’s skin is a much deeper blue than the other’s. He seems just as muscular, perhaps a touch more so.

My insides twist as I look him up and down as best as I can. Not much of him is exposed, but what little is, speaks of strength. His long fingers clench up, forming thick fists. The knuckles seem a little callused, but that’s it.

It’s the way he moves, however, that makes me pause. There’s a lethality in each stride, a hidden strength the other just doesn’t have. Now that he’s stopped, however, the two look similar enough to possibly be family.

Tipping his head forward, he looks me up and down again, his lips rising into a wolfish smile. Though, from my vantage point, I can’t tell if the view is having a sexual effect on him or not. Thankfully, his gaze seems rather appreciative.

Curling my lips up into a smile, I go to greet him, but the two start communicating with each other in that same odd language. Granted, I’ve never been a linguist, but nothing at all about it sounds familiar. With all my research for court cases, and all the replays I’ve seen, I’ve heard so many different languages, but this one stumps me.

It’s all guttural, almost as if they’re grunting at each other. But then, they’re also speaking so fast that I can’t catch anything. It’s more like a vibration than a sound. Strange.

When they both look over at me, however, all thoughts stop. I’m arrested by the heat of their gaze. Honestly, if I wasn’t already strapped down, I don’t think I’d be able to move under the onslaught.

As if moving as one, they prowl over to me, their fingers brushing my scalp. Again, with the hair. It was nice the first time, but now I crave something else, something much lower than my head.

“I can assure you,” I finally gather the courage to say, “there are far more interesting places just a bit down south.”

Their heads whip up as they look at each other, their murmuring washing over my skin until I’m shivering for a far different reason. The newcomer’s frown is just as fierce as the other’s as he leans in and stares at my head.

Fear trembles through my body as he palpates the spot that hurts. What if my original assessment was correct and I’m not dreaming? What if I’m very badly hurt?

It would explain a lot of things. At least, I think it would. Head injuries can cause so many nasty side effects, including hallucinations. It would also explain why I’m so cognizant during this dream.

Never before have I been able to keep up a running dialogue in my head. Normally, my dreams played out like movies I watched instead of things I participated in. It all makes sense now.

The only part that still eludes me is how I became injured in the first place. The last memory I had was falling asleep on the couch as the Ghost of Christmas Past came on the screen. Could I have rolled off and hit my head?

It couldn’t be alcohol poisoning. Even for a lightweight like me, I didn’t put that much in there. Definitely enough for a hangover, but not enough to incapacitate me.

“Please,” I groan. “What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?”

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 3

OceanofPDF.com

VROKJAN

My brother, Nagán, the ship’s doctor, glances over at me, his expression unreadable. Typically, Ranchers aren’t called in to deal with the cows, but he knows I’ve taken a vested interest in this one. She’ll have to go to auction like all the others; though, nothing as paltry as bidding on her will deter me.

Since this is an unofficial gathering, not many Ranchers should be in attendance. Even if they were, I’d still spend whatever it takes to have her on my farm. My cock bobs as I glance down at her lush body. Her breasts are already large, perfect for milking.

Sliding my gaze down further, I take in the soft nature of her skin and stomach. She’s not fit and toned like some of the other cows. In fact, I’m sure every inch of her is a handful, perfect for grabbing while I drive into her.

I shake my head, dispelling the lustful thoughts racing through it. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. There’s a problem. Pushing past Nagán, I brush the side of her head again, a frown twisting my lips down. The translator should have taken hold by now.

What’s preventing it? Knowing Nagán, he’s troubleshot whatever he could. Hence why I’m here. He knows I want her, and no doubt doesn’t want to be the one to break her. That seems to be my privilege.

Hunching down, I ignore her pitiful questions, opting to not speak again until I know she can understand me. But I hear her. I hear the panic in her heart, the sorrow in her tone. This cow isn’t a stranger to anguish. I can feel it with every pained breath she releases.

Though I cannot hear her thoughts, I know they must be buzzing about inside that head of hers. It’s not her fault, though. Typically, the cows wake up able to understand us. Yes, they go through a period of hysterics, but once the serums take hold, they’re far more pliable.

Her fingers twitch as if she’s trying to claw her way out. This won’t do at all. Growling over to Nagán, I point to the syringe that will help her sleep again while we figure out what the hell is going on.

As he goes over to her, the cow goes wild, her eyes shifting back and forth as she looks at the needle. If only there was something I could do. Other Ranchers might not give a fuck if their cows are happy or not, but I do.

It’s the standard I live by. Lifting my hand, I motion for Nagán to stay put as I tip my cow’s face over to mine. Her green eyes sparkle with unshed tears, tugging at my heart. Desperation and terror war within her, making her nearly vibrate.

Reaching over, I hold out my hand for the syringe. The other I slip underneath one of the straps and rest it against her breastbone. Though she can’t understand me, I do my best to take in deep breaths and let them out, showing her what I want her to do for me.

After a moment or two, she seems to understand. Eventually, her breathing slows, matching mine in both speed and cadence. With exaggerated motions, I show her the needle, pressing my palm harder against her skin as she grows agitated once more.