Page 39 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER TWO

Anghar

F inding myself in the dreamspace is jarring.

All my life I have known that it is not somewhere I will ever get to visit. There are no female raskarrans. My brothers and I have always been destined to die alone, mateless. To never know the touch of our linashas - the females meant only for us.

And yet, I am here, unmistakably in one of our travel tents when my waking body lies on the hard forest floor. There is a fire in the corner like this is the colder season, not the peak of the hot, humid rainy season.

And most telling of all, in front of me, a slender female form.

She has her back to me, but I do not need to see her face for my mouth to grow dry, my heartspace to beat a frantic rhythm.

It is my linasha. My mate. Surprise and delight render me speechless, frozen in place.

I am afraid to move, like this is some regular dreaming image and I might disturb it, shatter it and wake before I get the chance to look her in the eye.

So I study her, shameless in my examination of her body.

She is not raskarran - too small, too slight.

No tail sways behind her, and I confess this is distracting.

She looks somehow naked without one, despite wearing clothes.

I feel as though I am looking on something I should not, not without permission, and yet my gaze returns again and again to the curve of her hips, the fullness of her rear, the place at the base of her back where her tail should be. I cannot help it. I am fascinated.

Every moment that passes in the dreamspace gives me more confidence that this is real, that it will not be snatched away, that it is not some cruel trick my mind is playing on me - exhaustion and the hard forest floor twisting my dreams into this shape.

We have run far and fast towards the egg that fell from the sky today, Gregar filled with an urgency that I feel goes deeper than simple fear or curiosity.

And I wonder - has my tribe brother also visited the dreamspace? Does he have a tailless linasha of his own? Do we run towards them?

It is useless speculating, and I am here, in the dreamspace with my linasha.

I should use this time to do as I have been taught since old enough to sit still and listen.

The dreamspace is for pleasuring our mates.

To worship them as they are owed. And foolish male that I am, I am standing here, frozen while my headspace races with useless thoughts.

I take a step towards her, my feet a whisper as any good hunter’s should be. But perhaps this is a mistake, for my linasha spins on her feet then stumbles back away from me, shock and fright written in every line of her face.

Her beautiful face. I should say something, but my tongue feels caught in a net. I am robbed of words by the fullness of her lips, the deep, dark brown of her eyes. Her features are small, delicate. I want to trace my fingers along her cheek, learn the shape of her.

But first, words.

“Forgive me, linasha,” I say, pleased that my words do not come out halting. “I did not mean to startle you.”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, apparently finding it as hard to speak as I was.

I do not mind this. It makes me feel better about my own struggles.

So I smile and step towards her, just as she reaches up and touches a hand to her hair.

Short hair, tightly curled, not the long, straight hair of raskarrans.

I do not think it is just the fact that she is my linasha that makes her differences pleasing to me.

I think she would be beautiful to any eye.

Lina has blessed me. I will spend the rest of my life working hard to be worthy of such a blessing.

“My linasha. I am Anghar of the Deep Forest tribes.”

She does not respond, just stares at me as if I am the strangest thing she has ever seen. She is so unfamiliar and strange to me, so I must be to her. I try to stand open, holding no tension in my body. I want her to be relaxed, unafraid.

“What is going on with my head?” she says after a moment.

I frown, looking at her head. There does not seem to be anything unusual about it. It is different to mine, yes, but it is head shaped and she shares all my features - two eyes, nose, mouth, two ears.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She gives me a look like she does not understand what I am saying, then shakes her head, retreating to the far side of the tent away from me and sinking down to the floor.

“Must be something I’ve eaten,” she mutters, scrubbing her hands over her face. She casts sideways glances in my direction every so often, always looking surprised when she sees me, as if she expects me to vanish when she looks away.

And I am confused. This is not how I have been taught meeting your mate in the dreamspace should go. She shows no joy in her expressions. None of the elation I feel is evident in her reaction. But she is not raskarran. Perhaps she does not understand what is happening.

I lower myself to the floor so I am on her level, but do not get any closer. She chose to place herself far from me, and I must respect that choice. I do not wish to frighten her.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask.

“I’m dreaming,” she says. “A very weird, vivid dream.”

“You are in the dreamspace, yes. Have you seen one such as I before?”

“No, I’ve never seen anyone like you before. I don’t know why I’ve cooked you up.”

“Cooked me?” I say. The dreamspace helps to translate our languages for each other, but meanings are not always clear. I get the sense that she does not mean to cook me literally, but I get no greater sense of her meaning than that.

She does not elaborate, so I continue. “I am raskarran. My tribe brothers and I live deep in the forests. I have not seen your like before, either. Raskarrans have rarely strayed out of the forests, even less so in recent seasons. You must be from beyond Lina’s forests.”

“Just a bit,” she says, with something like a laugh. I do not think she is amused so much as still shocked, perhaps a little wary. But she is speaking with me and that is something.

“And your people do not know the dreamspace?”

“I dream.”

“But not like this?” I gesture around me.

“No. Never this vivid. What’s causing it? Something in the water? The air? The food?” She frowns, shaking her head. “And you are looking for answers in a projection of your subconscious, Ellie. Well done.”

I do not understand many of her words, but one jumps out at me. Ellie. Is this her name? I think it must be. It suits her perfectly. A pretty sound for my pretty mate.

“It is us that cause it,” I say, in answer to her question. “Your headspace and mine. It is a joyous thing, linasha.”

“Joyous? Right.” She looks at me like I am a fool, and I am glad that though I startled her, she does not fear me.

My female has a fierce heart - a strength of spirit to match the strength I can see in her body.

Defined muscular arms, strong legs. I wonder if she is a warrior or a hunter.

A hunter, I hope. The thought of long journeys, hunting to provide for the tribe with her by day, mating with her by night, fills my heartspace with a kind of joy I have never felt before.

I find I cannot take my eyes away from her, as if I am drawn to her by some strange magic. It is the power she holds over me as my linasha - as though I am a frenelle caught in her snare. Except I do not wish to fight to be free as a frenelle would. I am delighted to be caught in her trap.

It does not appear that my Ellie feels the same.

When she does not communicate her displeasure to me with her gaze, she looks everywhere but at me.

Right now, she turns her attention away from me to the pelts beneath her.

She strokes her fingers over them, soft touches and firm, apparently fascinated by the sensation of the pelts against her skin.

And though it stings me some that she is not so fascinated with me, I cannot help watching the way her fingers move, wondering what it would feel like to have her touch me like that.

The thought makes my mouth grow dry, my cock stiffen.

The next time her eyes flick in my direction, they catch immediately on the bulge in my leathers and widen.

I do not think to hide my body’s response, for she is my mate - I do not feel the need to hide anything from her.

But I see this is a mistake when my Ellie scrambles further away from me.

I raise a hand out towards her, but suddenly she is gripping a spear, pointing it out towards me.

It is a poorly constructed weapon, its point made from a shiny material I do not recognise, the handle a fallen branch that has not been smoothed or shaped for better balance.

But even a poorly constructed weapon can do damage.

And I do not know what would happen if she injured me here. I do not think I have ever heard speak of a first meeting in the dreamspace going so badly.

I bow my head, lowering my hands, making my posture as submissive as possible. She grips her spear tight, but does not advance toward me.

“Don’t even think about getting any closer,” she says, her voice a hiss.

“I will not,” I say, keeping my voice soft, calm.

She is afraid. I can feel it in the bristle of the air around her, in the way the tent has suddenly gone colder, the dreamspace responding to her emotions as surely as my own heartspace does. My aching heartspace, full to the brim with shame that I have made my linasha fearful.

“You do not need to fear me, linasha,” I say, as gentle as I can. “My only desire is for you to be happy.”

“I don’t think that’s your only desire.” Her hands tighten around the shaft of her spear.

“You need not worry about that anymore,” I say, trying for a humorous smile. “Being threatened with a spear has a way of… deflating a male.”