“Every adult must receive them,” the older woman said. “It is the law.”

“But—”

“There are no objections to this. Law is law.”

“But I’m not from around these parts. Everything here is new to me. I didn’t know I was breaking some law just by being me.”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

Darla felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Hang on. If it’s an actual law, what kind of penalties are we talking for breaking it?”

The woman looked at her almost sympathetically, as one would a foolish child who had truly messed up. “You do not wish to find out.”

The group began chattering excitedly, and with the lower-powered pigment used for her translation rune, Darla found herself having a hard time keeping up with so many voices at once. Finally, they stopped, the older woman holding up her hand for silence.

“We understand you are new here, and it is believed there is some leeway for newcomers.”

“Oh, thank God,” Darla blurted.

“We will summon the Skrizzit. It may take a few days as the nearest with the skill for the task is a few days’ trek away.”

“What’s a Skrizzit?”

“The artist who will apply the pigments and ensure you comply with the law.”

“Hang on, are you saying I have to be tattooed? Oh, hell no. No one, and I mean no one, is tattooing me against my will.”

“Trust me, the alternative is one you do not wish to experience. In the meantime, you will be held away from the others, as is tradition.”

Darla was beside herself. “I just got here, and you’re going to lock me up for not having ink? And for days? This isn’t right. I want to speak with a lawyer.”

The woman looked at her curiously. “We do not have a translation for what you have just said. How unusual.”

“You’re saying your world doesn’t have lawyers? Oh man, I am so screwed.”

The water surged as Heydar rose from beneath its surface. He’d submerged and swam over to her, emerging from below like a stealthy predator on the hunt. He moved beside Darla and stood from the water, glistening wet from head to toe. From her position neck-deep in the pool, Darla now found herself looking up at his glorious cock, dangling just a few feet away from her face, the water running off his body dripping from its tip.

She felt her mouth water for a moment, and that wasn’t the only thing that had grown wet, totally independent of the hot spring.

“I will do it,” he said, locking eyes with each and every one of their hosts for a moment to drive home his words. “There is no need to summon a Skrizzit.”

“I see your runes, Nimenni. You know as well as any that the laws are quite clear,” the woman said.

“Yes, I do know,” he replied turning and glancing down at Darla with his violet eyes a long moment, then shifting his focus back to their hosts. “I had hoped her alien origins would afford her leeway, and I was unsure if this world was even within the Dotharian Conglomerate. But if that is the case, and if she is to receive runes, I possess the skills required.”

The aliens murmured in surprise.

“You are a Skrizzit?” the young man asked, clearly shocked that a man who looked like a warrior was an artist of that degree of skill.

“I know the runes and possess the ability, yes. Furthermore, I have my implements with me. However, the Raxxians only allowed me a small amount of pigment, and it was weak at that. Enough for basic translation runes for the prisoners but little more. My supplies are lacking. I will require additional resources.”

The older woman mulled over his words then nodded her acceptance. “We possess a great many varieties of pigments in our village,” she said. “I will convey your request to Rohanna personally. You will have what you need, Heydar of the Nimenni. And so long as you do as you say you will, your woman will go unpunished.”

He bowed his head slightly. “She is not my woman, but thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I am at your service.”

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Darla had been allowed to bathe for a few minutes, but then found herself escorted to one of the smaller yurts, the flap pinned open awaiting her arrival. Again, it was males who were preparing things for their guest. Though it was daylight, thick candles were burning inside, providing a warm, flickering feel to the enclosure.

Light trickled in through the opening in the top of the yurt. The feature was normally used to allow smoke to exit the structure, but it was currently providing a bit of air circulation and a bit more natural illumination during the day.

Incense made of native woods and spices smoldered off in holders lining a far wall, the wisps of fragrant smoke wrapping the space in fragrant tendrils, lending a soothing aroma that almost felt as though it was draining tension from her body just as the spring water had.

A very old woman stepped into the tent. She seemed to be even older than Rohanna, and was covered in delicate, and surprisingly vibrant markings. Whatever this pigment was, it did not seem to fade in the way inks did on Earth. That, or this woman was getting regular touch-ups, which Darla thought would be highly unlikely.

A man walked in behind her, carrying a small table with a notch cut out of one end. He was shirtless and far more muscular than the others she had encountered so far. His tattoos were thicker as well, their lines flowing around his pecs and shoulders in a particularly pleasing way, drawing the eye to the man’s impressive endowments.

Runes were carefully inked in place, enhancing some of his natural strengths, no doubt, though the one on his collarbone was notably smaller than the others.

Darla realized she was staring. She also realized he was well aware of it.

The woman noticed the exchange. “Here,” she said, pointing to a spot off-center in the enclosure, out of the narrow beam of light coming in from above.

“As you wish, Tikanna,” he replied in a deep, rumbling baritone that Darla thought almost buzzed like warm honey in her ears. Most unusual.

His muscles flexed powerfully as he strode through the yurt and set the table where directed. He turned and stood quietly, waiting for further instructions. But he didn’t have the air of a servant. There was an amusement dancing in his deep amber eyes, as if he was party to a joke no one else could hear. He looked at Darla with clear interest, taking her in from top to bottom with an almost lascivious grin on his lips.

Darla felt a tingle flare between her legs and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She was pulled from the moment when the woman’s surprisingly strong hands grabbed her and pulled the clean tunic she’d been provided free. Darla felt her nipples harden as the fabric fell away, fighting the urge to run with all her will, forcing her body to obey and stand still.

The man’s gaze did not break, but it did shift, a slight flush warming his cheeks.

Again, she was distracted by that look when the woman pulled on her arm, moving her this way and that, examining her body, poking and prodding, pinching and pulling. Finally, she stepped back and handed Darla her top back, shaking her head.

“It would have been better if you had soaked in the spring longer. You are still tense, and your skin is not yet pliable enough.”

“I was soaking, but your people pulled me out and dragged me here.”

“Hasty of them. I understand their motivations, but the laws do have some flexibility to them.”

“I wish they’d known that.”

“You cannot fault their actions. You are unadorned, lacking all but the most basic translation rune, and that is given to all children before they can even walk. You are an anomaly, and that must be rectified.”

Darla bit her tongue. Snarking to this woman would not help anything, and she seemed to be the only one so far willing to cut her a little slack on the whole tattoo thing.