Page 123 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lorna

I can’t stop thinking about the way Shemza ran his fingers down my neck.

The powerful shiver that went through me at the touch, the heat between my legs flaring as if my neck were connected directly to my groin.

I feel like I’m becoming more untethered with every little graze of skin against mine, every heated glance he gives me.

And they are heated. I’m not imagining that because I want to see it.

There’s definitely want in his gaze, and that’s only natural, right?

There haven’t been any women in the tribe for seventeen years, and though the raskarrans only truly want their mates, curiosity is going to drive them a little.

Like Callif sniffing round Carrie and now showing off for Hannah.

They’re like big teenagers - full of hormones and feelings and not sure what to do about any of them.

Shemza’s just fixed his attention on me because he’s been around me most, because he has the excuse to be around me. It doesn’t mean anything.

What I can’t decide is whether I’m okay with that.

My body is definitely okay with it, revving up for just thinking about him.

All that time preparing for my wedding to Robert, the wedding night was my worst nightmare.

But Rosa made it sound like sex could be pleasurable.

Intensely pleasurable. And I’m as curious about that as Shemza apparently is about me.

If it was just bodies, it would be an easy decision to lean in.

But it’s not. There’s the fact that we’d be going against his culture.

Raskarrans don’t do flings. They have mates.

Chosen for them by their goddess. It’s probably against Lina to fool around with someone who isn’t your mate.

While I’m not too concerned about retribution from on high, I am concerned that it would get me in trouble with the tribe.

What punishment could I face if we did hook up and someone found out?

And it would be me who would face it. It won’t matter that we’re both as virginal as each other, that he’s pushed this far more than I have.

I’m the more worldly one. I’m the one who’d be viewed as having seduced the big, innocent raskarran.

So I’m a little nervous when it comes time for my next walk with Shemza, every nerve ending in my body alight with anticipation - good and bad. He smiles at me, giving me the thumbs up, and a part of me melts at his goofy adorableness.

I’ll just let him take the lead, I decide. See if he wants to push our boundaries any further.

But the only thing he pushes over the next couple of days is how far I’m walking. Several times I have to tell him ‘slow’ and double over, hands on my knees, as I catch my breath, and every night I collapse into bed and sleep, dreamless.

I’m getting stronger, though. It’s noticeable how much easier it is for me to cover distances I struggled with on the first couple of walks. My thighs and calves ache, but Shemza keeps me topped up with the berry water, and I never wake up hurting.

I can pick my sink up now as well. All that playing with Ahnjas, picking him up - using my arm every day has made it stronger too.

I can’t make it all the way to the edge of the village, but I can get to the door of my hut comfortably, and the first morning I do it, Shemza beams at me with such pride, you’d think I’d done something far more impressive.

It’s that supportiveness that really gets under my skin - takes my superficial attraction to his pretty face and turns it into this deep, unrelenting longing.

No one ever cared what I wanted before, never mind helped me to achieve it.

I’ve always followed everyone else’s plans for me.

I wore the clothes my mother wanted me to, was seen, not heard, like my father wanted, smiling prettily for his friends, even though they all liked to make gross comments about me.

I learned the lessons upper tier society deemed were appropriate for me.

Got engaged to the man my parents chose for me.

A shiver goes down my spine, so different from the ones Shemza’s touch creates. Those are all pleasure and need and anticipation. This one is fear. Fear that even four years and a whole different planet’s worth of distance hasn’t diminished.

In my fifteen years of life, I’d always been the good girl.

I never stepped out of line. I did what they wanted, when they wanted me to and didn’t question it.

It was as if I knew, even as a tiny kid, that there would come a time when I’d need to ask for something for myself, that I needed to save up all the good will I could to give myself the best chance of getting the answer I wanted.

In the end, it didn’t matter. All the good will in the world wouldn’t refill my father’s bank account.

I don’t want to marry him, Mother.

Don’t be so selfish. That’s what she told me.

Even now, the memory of it makes my hands shake. I run through Rosa’s little ritual.

Five things I can see.

Knots in the hut floor, dust on the sideboard, the old rag in my hand, the bucket of water and soap root, Carrie scrubbing in the other room.

Four things I can touch.

Wood, cloth, clay, water.

Three things I can hear.

The crackle of the central fire, the slosh of water in Carrie’s bucket as she rinses her cloth. I strain my ears, listen for birdsong.

Two things I can smell.

Dust. So much dust. These huts haven’t opened since their prior occupants died. They’re thick with dust and the smell of disuse.

One thing I can taste.

I take a sip from my canteen. It’s just water, but I’ve drunk so much of the bitter berry tonic over the last few days, there’s still a trace of their flavour.

I’m not someone else’s chess piece to move around a board here. I’m my own person. I’m encouraged to do what I want to do. Shemza encourages me.

But the happy, fuzzy feeling that normally inspires doesn’t come. Instead, a sinking feeling in my stomach threatens to drag me right through the floor of the hut.

Because the one time I did something for myself, it was the worst thing I ever did.

“You okay?” Carrie asks, her voice so soft I almost can’t hear it over my own breathing.

She’s been getting quieter and quieter lately, saying less, and what she does say is barely over a whisper. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but don’t feel I know her well enough to ask. Besides, I’m not going to tell her what’s going on in my head. I doubt she’d tell me, either.

But I stop myself before I tell her I’m fine. Decide to go for something a little closer to the truth. I feel so alone in my problems sometimes, and I have to be. But maybe Carrie doesn’t.

“Do you ever feel like sometimes the stuff from before just rises up inside you and takes over your brain for a moment? Like you think you’ve got away from it, but it’s all right there, all the bad things, waiting to catch up to you.”

I shake my head. Carrie puts a hand on my arm.

“Before gone,” she says, and this close, I see the way she winces as she tries to force the words out, as if it physically pains her. I wonder if it’s worth mentioning to Liv, or even Shemza. “Can’t. Find you. Here.”

She was one of the ones that didn’t want to come to the village, who thought that Mercenia would surely come for us. I wonder if this thing she says to reassure me is part of what’s causing her pain.

But that’s the difference between me and the other girls, more so than the fact that I’m a top tier citizen.

They all have things they left behind - the hardships and torment, sure, but also the dream of Alpha Colony, maybe family and friends.

I didn’t have any good things to leave behind, and all the things I wish I could leave, I’ll always carry with me.

We finish cleaning the hut just before lunchtime. Liv has asked us to get one done a day in pairs, so that they’re all ready for when the two new tribes arrive. There are quite a few of them, but with all of us on the job, we’re getting through them.

The raskarrans don’t use any harsh chemicals to clean with, but Grace prepares a moisturising cream for us to treat our hands, anyway.

I think she likes testing her healing skills, and she’s been experimenting with different scents to mix in with the basic cream to make it nice to use.

She makes it in a little bowl, which she passes round the group.

“I used to steal stuff like this from the warehouse all the time,” Khadija says as she rubs it into her hands and arms. “Easy to slip a little tube up your sleeve, or pocket a small pot of something. We never knew what any of it was, but we’d feel like we were on top tier, slathering it all over our bodies at home. ”

I wince at her words. Hope no one notices.

“My factory processed machinery,” Hannah says, as the little bowl is handed to her. “Nothing worth stealing. Wouldn’t have minded a bit of this back then. All the chemicals they used to keep the place clean were rough on the skin.”

“Same at the slaughterhouse,” Ellie says. “Bleach for the floors, bleach for the walls, bleach for everything. Some of the girls who’d been working there a long time used to get these really painful sores on their hands.”

“Waste disposal was easy on the skin,” Liv says. “But I wouldn’t have minded something that smelled nice, so I didn’t stink of bonfire every day.” She draws the bowl to her nose. “I like that scent, Grace. Nicest one yet.”

Grace smiles, her cheeks going just a little pink.

“None of the creams we had access to as medics smelled nice, but at least we did have some.” She turns to me. “Laundry work must have been tough on the hands.”

I nearly freeze up, so sure for a moment that there’s an accusation in her tone. Of course there isn’t, she’s just trying to include me in the conversation. I just wish she wouldn’t.