Page 46 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)

August

Elas is quiet.

He’s never quiet. If he isn’t chatting and teasing, he hums or mutters to himself. Even if no sound comes from his mouth, he’s tapping his fingers or shifting his feet.

So when all those constant noises disappear, I know he’s gotten stuck in his head. I refuse to let him dwell on a past he has no control over, so I guide the conversation to lighter things.

When I ask about his favorite color, he rolls his eyes, although he grins and starts drumming on the steering wheel again. He prefers orange, like the sunset, where mine has recently become blue.

That earns me another pleased eyeroll.

He tells me stories of the pet he had growing up, an animal called an Arot.

It sounds like a mix between a dog and a small bear, a fluffy thing with rounded ears and sharp claws that Elas swears weren’t at all dangerous.

They would wrestle in the fields and climb trees together at sunset, curled up watching the sky’s blood orange hues fade to a deeper reddish purple.

Stories of his world fascinate me, and he never gets annoyed by my endless questions. He answers them all dutifully, telling me of the small schoolhouse in his village. They were taught basics such as reading and math, but also studied farming and foraging and other necessities of life.

“My favorite days were the ones spent crafting weapons,” he says with a smile.

“Thought you didn’t like violence?” I tease, and he scoffs and swats my leg.

“Violence for the sake of mindless killing, no, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good brawl. My people take fighting very seriously, but we have fun with it too. Every year, in the mild months, a large community of Nu’vak would host Pihanth Niror.

” He must sense my confusion, because he rubs his chin.

“There’s no direct translation for it… basically, a tournament. ”

“Wrestling?”

“Eh… no, not exactly, though hand to hand combat wasn’t out of the question.

It was an elimination fight, and the winner was the last man standing.

We were allowed weapons, but only those we could find from the ground.

Sticks used as spears, or sharp pieces of slate. Rocks were most common, though.”

“Rocks?” I choke, and a huge, nostalgic grin spreads over his face.

“Yes, big rocks. Boulders. It was considered a great feat to use the largest one, and an even greater honor to strike your opponent with it. ”

“Wait… you were running around chucking giant rocks at each other—”

“Boulders,” he corrects.

“— boulders at each other, and that was sport? What happened when you hit someone?” His brows knit, confused by my question. “What if they were hurt?”

“Of course they got hurt, August. They were hit by a boulder.”

“How did you win?”

He shoots me another side-eye, like the answer should be obvious. “You don’t get hit by a boulder.”

Seven hells.

Elas chuckles and changes the subject, asking about my childhood and early years, then the conversation moves to cooking. I share my disasters in the kitchen and he shares his own, and it’s unilaterally decided we’ll live off simple foods. That suits us both just fine.

He said it perfectly in the past. In this ridiculously complex reality, we have the power to remain uncomplicated. We can be simple.

“This is Logan’s camp,” I confirm as we approach the tall wooden fence.

Elas jumps out to open the gate, then drives us inside as I stare at the familiar buildings.

“It’s the biggest community I’ve ever seen.

Taryn’s was probably the next largest, but hers was half the size of this one.

Every other camp I’ve visited was small—makeshift fences and tents.

Logan was a good leader, but he was competitive.

He wanted to be the best and have the best. They had so much stuff here they built secret rooms to stash extra supplies.

I bet some are still here.” Elas perks up at this as he parks the SUV, glancing around like he might spot one .

“There isn’t enough daylight left to start searching tonight. Let’s get settled and put something together for dinner. I haven’t fed you enough today.”

I grin at the caretaker’s side of him and step out into the late evening sun.

My muscles are stiff from sitting all day, and I groan in relief as I lift my arms over my head and arch my back.

A hot breeze blows over us, the air dusty as the gusts roll over the desolate soil. “Want to check out my old quarters?”

“Do you use that line with all the boys?” he teases, absentmindedly grazing his fingertips over my exposed belly as I stretch. “We’ll need somewhere to sleep tonight, anyway, unless you’d rather camp in the vehicle.”

“I would not,” I answer immediately, and he chuckles.

“According to Khors, the water runs as long as the tower hasn’t dried out, and apparently someone recently repaired one of the solar panels.”

“You think that could’ve been Ronan?” I ask, and he snorts.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the commander—Ronan almost had an aneurism when our vehicle broke down once. There’s no way he fixed anything electric.”

“Could it have been Cameron?” I ask, and Elas considers this.

“Possibly. I only met him a few times, but he strikes me as the scrappy type.”

That’s putting it lightly.

Elas lets me lead the way, and we weave through the pathways until we’re in front of the familiar single-story building.

“This was the clinic,” I say as I twist the knob.

It sticks and shrieks in protest, and the hinges need some coaxing, but the roof hasn’t leaked and the windows are intact.

Everything has held up well, despite the years of neglect.

Dust coats most of the surfaces inside, and I drag my fingertips over the metal countertop, leaving a trail through the inch of filth.

A few modified twin beds sit behind makeshift curtains, with rails added to the sides for flailing patients and lights strung overhead.

Cabinets line the back wall, and I open one to find it empty.

“Raiders have been here,” Elas says, searching through some drawers a few feet away. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“They would’ve only found the stuff on the surface. Logan was paranoid… always worried others would raid the camp with the sole purpose of stealing everything he’d worked so hard to accumulate. Those rooms I told you about were loaded full of supplies.”

Elas looks amused and glances around, like he might magically locate a secret door. “They’re well hidden,” I say. “Some of them are impossible to find unless you know where to find them.”

“And you know where they are?”

I laugh. “They’re everywhere . He had a team of workers that were digging out cellars and stuff for him for years.”

“It’s all underground?” he asks, interest piqued as we continue to search the barren cabinets. The sink handle squeaks as he twists it, and a sputtering stream of water trickles from the pipes.

“Not all of it, no. Some are just rooms with camouflaged doors.” I dust my hands on my shorts and wave for him to follow me.

We walk through a door that leads into a hallway, and I grin as another surge of nostalgia hits me.

“There are a few small apartments back here where us singles lived. They didn’t want to waste the larger homes on us. ”

“You never lived with anyone?” Elas asks, and I chuckle at the possessiveness in his tone.

“No, El,” I say as I turn and place a hand on his chest, staring up into his otherworldly eyes.

They’ve always struck me as beautiful, but their endless darkness was jarring at first. Unsettling, like when you gaze off into the heavens and realize how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things.

But now?

How could I ever feel small when he looks at me like I’m the center of his universe?

“I never lived with anyone until you,” I say, and a low, satisfied purr builds in his chest as I lean closer.

“I never wanted anyone like I want you.” The rumbling contentment builds to a growl as I press my body against his, that dark wildness in his eyes emerging to the forefront. “I never loved anyone before you.”

His mouth claims mine in a dizzying rush of desperation, and I love that I’m the only one who makes him this way.

Elas is the picture of calm nonchalance, so there’s a heady power in stealing that composure.

Heavy, possessive hands roam my back as his tongue finds mine, dipping between my lips and taking complete control of the kiss.

He pushes my shorts down until my ass is exposed to the humid air, and his palm cracks against my skin.

The sting causes my cock to fill in a rush, and I gasp as he lets out a dark chuckle, rubbing my tingling ass cheek. “I seem to remember you having a particular reaction to that,” he murmurs as he leans lower, his tusks grazing my throat.

Instincts flare to life, a deeper part of me understanding how dangerous it is to have a predator in my most vulnerable areas. His tongue drags over my skin, his fingers digging into my hair and tipping my head up, and the burn from the pull hits me with the same potency as his hand across my ass.

A moan rips from my throat as he slots his leg between mine, sucking on my neck while I grind against his thigh.

“You don’t have to be quiet here,” he murmurs as he drags his tongue along the line of my jaw, until his hot breath is in my ear.

“Make as much noise as you want.” I shout as his palm meets my ass again, and he responds with a low, satisfied rumble.

“Now, are you going to show me which room was yours?”