Page 126 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER TEN

Lorna

T he bird dances.

There’s no other word for it. He’s not just hopping about in some random way - it’s coordinated, planned, structured.

He shuffles from side to side, flashing his colourful wings, bobbing his head and fluffing up his bright orange feathers, then turns round and shakes his tail, using his wings to contort his body into strange shapes.

And then he hops back round, bows, and begins the whole routine again.

Jassal giggles into her hands - pressed to her mouth to stop the sounds escaping - while Ahnjas stuffs his hand full into his mouth, but still manages to squeal with delight around it.

My own chest bubbles with contained laughter, my shoulders shaking as I watch the bird dance and dance for his lady friend.

And for a moment I forget that I’m really, really high above the ground on a wooden structure constructed by hand probably many years ago.

I forget that I’m far away from Earth and anywhere I’m supposed to be.

I forget about the real Lorna, living in my old prison cell.

I forget Robert and my memories and my lies.

I forget about everything except the bird dancing, the sound of Jassal and Ahnjas’ stifled giggles, and the feeling of Shemza’s body against mine.

My leg presses against his where we’re sitting so close, his arm around me and Jassal, keeping us safe.

I’m absorbed by the magic of it - the power of life as it tries to prevail.

From tribes trying to find a way to continue while keeping their decency after suffering such great losses, to a group of human girls trying to make lives for themselves on a strange new world, to a pair of birds engaged in a mating dance.

If I could freeze a moment in time, exist in it forever, this would be it, I think.

I glance up at Shemza, wanting to see his reaction to the crazy bird dance, but he’s not watching the show. He’s looking at me. There’s a softness to his expression, and I find I can’t look away. I’m caught by those big, brown eyes, and all the tentative hope I see inside them.

Something brushes against my cheek, a gentle touch. Warm, smooth skin against mine. His tail, I realise, because he has one hand round Ahnjas, the other round me and Jassal, and he won’t let us go.

I could fall in love with you, you know.

Yesterday, it felt like such a bad thing. A dangerous thing. But now, with the bird bouncing round my mind rather than all the other stuff, the giddy, dizzy feeling is back and all I can think about is his mouth and how it would only take the slightest movement to bring mine to it.

I want that. I want it more in this moment than I’m afraid of the consequences.

Shemza is so big, so close. He takes up all my awareness, grounding me in the now far better than any counting ritual.

Five things I can see.

Shemza’s lips, his eyes, those killer cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his neck.

Four things I can touch.

His tail on my cheek, his leg next mine, his side pressed against me. I let go of Jassal with one hand, move it so it rests on his leg.

Three things I can hear.

The distant sound of Jassal and Ahnjas’ laughter, their attention still on the bird dance. The rustle of the wind through the leaves all around us. Shemza’s heartbeat - a feeling more than a sound.

Two things I can smell.

The earthy sweet scent of root soap, not quite drowned out by the delicious scent of Shemza’s skin.

I look up at him just as he moves closer, bringing his lips to brush against mine in a sweet, chaste kiss.

One thing I can taste.

After a few runs through of the routine, the lady bird fluffs up her feathers and performs her own bow, then the two hop around each other, before flying off together into a nearby tree.

Shemza climbs up to his feet again, standing close enough to the edge of the platform that it makes my head swim a little.

He has Ahnjas tucked under one arm, his other hand held out to me.

I take it, his hand enormous round mine as he helps me to my feet.

He doesn’t let go until we’ve walked to the opposite edge of the platform where we climbed up.

Jassal climbs down, lightning fast. Which is good, because I hold my breath until her feet touch the floor, my arms wrapped around the trunk of the tree in an attempt to make myself feel more steady.

Shemza takes Ahnjas down, and then it’s my turn, my heart hammering from fear and his closeness both as he sweeps me up into his arms. I can feel his own heartbeat drumming in his chest, and it’s slow, steady, soothing.

I tune into the sound and feel of it and try to block everything else out until I feel the soft sinking of leaves beneath my feet.

Even then, I remain in his arms a moment longer, not wanting to let him go.

But I take a step back, put some space between us.

“Thank you,” I say to him. “Jassal, tell Shemza I said thank you very much.”

“The words are ‘maha shun’,” Jassal says. “For saying ‘thank you’. Although, rasakarrans would probably say ‘ s hun shoffas nhi mahain ’, which is like ‘you have my thanks’.”

“Shun shoffas nhi mahain,” I say, repeating the phrase a couple of times as Jassal corrects my pronunciation.

I think of how her face fell earlier when Molly finished the writing exercises so fast, and drop to my knees so I can look her in the eye on her level.

“Do you know how clever it is that you can speak two languages so well?” I say.

She beams at me, a flush of colour coming into her cheeks, before throwing her arms around my neck.

I hold her close for a moment, then get back to my feet, turning to Shemza and repeating the words she’s taught me, trying to shape them right.

My tongue feels ungainly, like it isn’t up to the job, but Shemza grins like I’ve just recited some beautiful poetry.

“Shun flanas vo’shashkan,” he says, bowing his head to me, and I don’t need Jassal’s whispered translation to know what it means.

You’re welcome.

Sally’s awake when we get back, and the kids run straight to her, jabbering excitedly. I grin as I watch them, Jassal talking at a hundred miles an hour, Ahnjas doing a wobbly imitation of the bird dance, much to Sally’s amusement.

“I hope you said thank you to Shemza for taking you,” Sally says to them.

“We have,” I say, “in both languages.”

“Very good,” Sally says, smiling at her daughter, who preens a little under the praise.

With the kids back with their mother, I turn to Shemza and mime walking with my fingers.

His answering smile is slow and full of heat and makes my whole body light up with need.

I head out into the trees in the direction of the hut we sheltered in during the thunderstorm.

It’s not so far from the village, and doesn’t take long to walk there, so we’ve been several times.

I’m starting to recognise the different paths through the forests, the different landmarks the raskarrans use to navigate their territory.

The more time I spend in the trees, the less they look all the same.

My heart thunders as I walk. I’m painfully aware of Shemza following behind me, close enough that I can sense his presence, but not close enough to touch.

I keep replaying his kiss in my mind, wondering what he would have done if we hadn’t been chaperoned by Jassal and Ahnjas. What he’ll do now we’re alone.

The consequences I was so worried about before seem distant now, secondary to the need that boils inside me. Because if one little brush of his lips over mine could feel so good, what would a proper kiss feel like?

Will he want to touch me in other ways? God, I hope so. I might spontaneously combust if he doesn’t.

I charge up the hill toward the hut, vaguely registering how much easier it is now, how my lungs don’t ache with the effort, and my thighs don’t burn from the climb.

I feel vital and alive, and with Shemza’s heated gaze on me, I feel sexy.

And not in a dirty way, like other guys have made me feel in the past. Nothing about Shemza is disrespectful or inappropriate. He’s too pure a soul for that.

It crosses my mind that maybe I shouldn’t sully him with my darkness, that if he really knew me, he wouldn’t look at me that way.

But full of the joy of this crush and his attentions, it’s easy to think of this version of me that he knows as the best version of me.

The version I would have chosen, if I had ever been given that choice.

It’s not a lie, so much as a manifestation.

Then we arrive at the hut and his arms wrap around me, crushing me against him, and it knocks all other thoughts out of my head.

There’s only Shemza, and the various points where our bodies connect.

And his lips coming down to claim mine once again.