I presented Zeezee with her clothing, then got to work securing the saddle to the irkdu. Because I was turned away from her, working with the saddle, I did not see Zeezee’s reaction to our supplies, and thus was blindsided when I turned around and found her eyes shining, her cheeks wet, her voice coming in short little wails. Rika told me Zeezee had done this in the smoke tent. Rika was fairly sure it was nothing physiological, not a sign of illness, but rather something to do with strong emotion. I abandoned the saddle and was at her side immediately, brushing my fingers across her wet cheeks.

“What is it? What is happening?”

What is happening? A question for the ages. A question I was asking myself far too often lately.

Zeezee was waving the thin leather foot coverings I’d made in the air between us, her words coming thick and fast. The wetness coming from her eyes was unnerving. Losing that amount of moisture in the desert, apart from normal daily bodily functions, was never a good sign. I pressed my fingers to her cheeks, applying a small amount of pressure upwards, as if I could somehow stem the flow. But that only seemed to make things worse.

“Save your fluids, mate, or I will need to collect more valok for our journey.” I wished I knew what she was saying. She was very clearly talking about the foot coverings, and her tone was upset. I frowned, trying to look at the garments as she waved them frantically. I’d copied the design of the ones she’d come with, and the ones I made seemed far better constructed, the fabric softer and also more durable. But clearly I had done something wrong.

“I can adjust them. Give them here.”

I tried to take them from her hands, but she yelped, hugging them to her chest with the ferocity of a krixel defending its kill, before bending and putting them on her feet. I watched her in confusion, and worried that, even if we one day shared the same language, I would never really understand her.

After putting on the foot coverings (that I saw with satisfaction seemed to fit well, despite whatever her protestations may have been) she pulled on her leg coverings. When she noticed my amendments to that garment, her eye leaking was renewed once more. I was at a loss. She didn’t seem to want me to do anything, and I did not like that feeling. She wiped viciously at her cheeks then put on her hard foot shells.

She stood and faced me, and started trying to form a sentence. A question.

“Dakrival hide... Balia?”

I stared at her, confused. She sniffed hard, then tried again, this time pointing to the new parts of her pants, then her feet.

“Dakrival hide Balia? Rika?” She made a motion with her hands that looked like the sewing of hides. Was she asking who had made her garments? I couldn’t see why that mattered.

“I made them last night.” I gestured to myself. She didn’t seem convinced that I understood her meaning, so I copied her sewing gesture then pointed to myself.

Absurdly, this made her face crumple inward in despair and her hands flew up, pressing hard against her eyes as her shoulders shook. Rika must have been wrong. Panic filled me. Surely this is not normal.

I was about to reach for her when she tipped forward, pressing her hands and face into my chest. I grappled at her back, drawing her hard against me, as if by doing so I could undo whatever malady plagued her. And it worked, somewhat. Soon, her shuddering subsided, and she turned her damp face up to mine, saying one of her words that I did not recognize. Then she rose up on her little toes, pulling at my shoulders. She said something in irritation, then pointed at her mouth.

Now what? Something was wrong with her mouth?

She spoke more, then reached up to tap my mouth, then hers again. Her face was drawn tight with determination. She wanted something. Realization dawned, and with a groan, I lowered my mouth to hers. As her wet mouth opened under mine, I tried to remind myself of my ablik will. I am a mighty Gahn. I will be a god among men. I will show such restraint that stories will be told of it round fires forever...

My body did not care about such noble musings. My cock hardened, pressing hungrily against Zeezee’s abdomen. She did not shy away, and her small hands moved back down to lock around my waist as she arched against me. I could not shake the image of replenishing the fluids she’d lost from her eyes with my own. I’d fill her until her cunt was dripping. Or her mouth. I hissed as my cock throbbed painfully in response to that image.

How men with mates got anything done was beyond me.

But, like it or not, we did have things to do. Though it pained me, badly, I pulled back from Zeezee, brushing away the last remaining wetness from her cheeks.

“We must go now.” I smiled to myself, then imitated her garbled wording. “Buroudei Cece to walk to retrieve sand.”

Zeezee licked her lips, her breathing ragged, but she smiled and nodded her head in a way I now recognized as “yes,” her braid bouncing against her shoulder. Without further delay, I helped her up into the saddle.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER NINETEEN Cece

I sat stock still in the saddle, trying very hard to keep my shit together. We didn’t need more tears now, but it was tough. Those socks were just so soft and small. The fact that somebody in the tribe cared enough about the lost human girl who barely spoke their language to make her new clothes and socks was already enough to set me off. And finding out it was actually Buroudei? Yeah, that was a whole other level. The image of him, bent over and sewing a garment as ridiculously small as one of these socks, making sure it would fit my puny human foot, was a shot straight to my goddamn heart.

I watched him as he frowned and muttered to himself, fussing with the saddle, tightening some things and adjusting others. I watched his muscles bunch, his jaw growing hard in concentration, his starkly beautiful eyes focused. Frankly, I was kind of wondering if he was even real. A strong warrior who seemed addicted to giving me pleasure, who’d made me a pair of freaking socks, plus new pants and a saddle? My last boyfriend couldn’t have even been bothered to take the trash out.

Why was I comparing him to my last boyfriend?

What exactly is he to me?

My captor? My saviour? My big alien boyfriend?

Honestly, I had no idea. All I knew was that the closer we got, the less I wanted to be away from him.

Soon enough, Buroudei grunted in satisfaction at his handiwork, and I wiggled my hips, settling in. This was about a thousand times more comfortable than the last time I’d ridden on this thing. My legs felt supported and cushioned, and when Buroudei swung up behind me after securing all our supplies, I was able to lean back comfortably against him for support. My cheeks grew warm as he murmured something into my hair, his massive arm circling around me. His other hand gripped a spear, and I couldn’t deny the brutal, purely masculine eroticism of that image. The warmth in my cheeks travelled down my neck, then lower and lower.

Buroudei barked at the irkdu, and then we were off.

The journey took hours. At least, I assume it took hours. I had no way to properly tell. I was amazed Buroudei could keep track of where we were going. So much of the way was rolling, featureless sand. Buroudei kept his eyes trained ahead of us, his weapon always at the ready, but nothing seemed to stir in the sand around us.

Eventually a set of cliffs appeared to our right, and I yelped, recognizing them. Buroudei grunted in acknowledgement. Those were the cliffs where he’d first taken me. That meant we were getting close.