Page 5 of Murgul
“Yes, yes, I know. You do not hold my inability against me.”
Oh, but I do… what good is all your knowledge if you cannot repair what was done to my vessel?
Rolling my eyes at Vrog, I allow the teasing warmth in Einar’s voice to wash over me as the corners of my mouth curl in an almost-smile. Gwendolyn watches our interaction with wide, curious eyes, but does not speak as I carry her out the door and down the hall to our personal quarters.
Chapter Four
MURGUL
Once the doorcloses behind us, I lower Gwendolyn until her feet find the floor, my tail instinctively curling around her waist to steady her before I let go. The motion is gentle—possessive, perhaps—but necessary. I cannot help it.
I take a moment to survey the space I insisted she move into after our first meeting. My lair. The only place my mind—and the bond—would allow her to stay. It is hardly the sanctuary she deserves, yet it is the only place where I can be certain she is safe.
We have known one another for such a short time, and yet she already means more to me than my own life. The realization sits heavy in my chest. What surprises me most is that she has not once protested my arrogance in relocating her from Falon’s quarters to mine. The question of why lingers, burning quietly in the back of my mind—but I dare not ask it aloud. I fear the answer might shatter what little spirit I still possess.
Why are you this way?
There is nothing wrong with having feelings, Vrog. You should try it sometime.
No, thank you. From observing you, it looks awful.
Resuming the perusal of my living space, I realize my quarters are nothing special, and the only hint of personality are the items my mate has added over the last several risings. So far, she has collected a fair amount of attire from the“swap and shop”get-together she and the other human females had. Absently, I notice a pair of foot coverings left by the sleeping platform. The same sleeping platform that now looks comforting and inviting, rather than cold and detached. Her new personal viewing screen is lying on the low table in front of my divan, and I am reminded that I must thank Bikar for that. It has proved to be a great help to my mate.
Amusement swells when I notice she has attempted to sneak in pieces of décor here and there. Bits and bobs of aesthetically appealing trinkets, no doubt from the various crates of plunder in the cargo bay. Considering the fact that I was not permitted to be raised in a familial environment, all of this is new to me. Bikar has to be the one who is sneaking the females in and out of the cargo bay for what they callshopping trips. Looking around the room, I try to see if she has acquired anything new when my eyes land on a colorful square lying atop the small table next to the sleeping platform.
Narrowing my eyes, I realize it is a book. Those are beyond rare, especially in this quadrant of space. I cannot believe we have one, let alone that my mate is being allowed to keep something worth so many credits.
Definitely Bikar… again.
He may be the least favorite of all your brothers. Annoying little shet.
The silence that descends between us is awkward and stilted, while her body language broadcasts that she is not comfortable being alone with me. Gwendolyn starts pacing in front of the divan, her arms wrapped around her middle in an attempt to comfort herself. It sends a pang through me because, as her mate, it is my duty, and privilege, to comfort her.
Yet… I cannot. It is not something she would welcome or permit.
Any slight bit of progress I made in the risings since our meeting, and then semi-kidnapping her, is now lost. The rising we arrived at Deapra coincided with Einar divulging his findings after analyzing his Atraxian DNA and how it pertains to the Rukuhk mating process. It caused Gwendolyn to withdraw into herself; the tic she comprehended what he said. The stilted, yet enjoyable conversations we had before Einar’s revelation have now dwindled to nothing, silence now reigning between us. I have been waiting for the mating sickness to hit since it has been multiple rotations since my bond with Gwendolyn formed, yet I have felt no ill effects since our connection started. Not that I am complaining—I do not wish to sicken and die.
Einar is a giant, bumbling idiot.
Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I snap back at Vrog.
He was trying to help. There was no way that he could have known what he found would cause Gwendolyn to withdraw from us.
I do not give a frack. His ‘helpful’ information ruined what little progress we had made with her. WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?!
I… I do not know.
Glancing down at my digitigrade lower legs and my frackintail,I sigh somewhat despondently as I rake my fingers through long, white strands of hair. My visible differences are far more blatant than any of my other brothers, and this is in addition to the less visible changes that set me apart from my family. The Aynar were not attempting to hide what they were doing to my people by the time my mam was pregnant with me, and that is why I look like nothing short of a freak of nature.
I should not exist. Then there is YOU.
Yes, how are you going to explain me to our mate?
Huffing out a breath to prepare myself for the pain speaking will cause, I wet my lips with the tip of my forked tongue.“I will not… have you coerced into mating… with me, bright one. You still lightly… scent of… fear every time I… come close… and… especially… if I touch you.”
That is not going to work for me. The alternative is death for both of us.
Hissing in annoyance at Vrog, Gwen shrinks back from me as her scent spikes with fear.