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Zoran carried Mia into the shower stall and knelt before her, his hands gentle as he scrubbed the evidence of their love from her fragile, human body.

She rested one hand atop his shoulder, starting down at him with the strangest expression. “You don’t have to bathe me.”

“I wish to,” he said gruffly.

“Do I get to bathe you? Like on the ship?”

“If it so pleases you.”

“I think it will.”

He glanced sharply at her face, trying to read her mood. She was ever happy, his pjora-la , seldom driven to the shadow emotions even when he pushed her where she did not wish to go. Or, rather, those dark depths never held her long. Her humor remained irrepressible. He had never considered such a trait important until meeting her. Now, he was certain he couldn’t live without it.

Her fingers trailed lightly from his shoulder to his jaw. “You have a nice body.”

Strangely, her words provoked an odd shyness within him, akin to, but not quite, embarrassment. He dropped his gaze to the curves of her body and soaped her midriff, cleansing his seed away.

“Well, you do,” she continued. “All hard muscle and, and manliness.”

“Manliness?”

“Yes, manliness. I like it.”

His cock twitched, heavy between his thighs. If she continued in this manner, he might forget his promise and pin her against the stall with his manliness .

Carefully, he slid his fingers between her thighs, testing her readiness. She hissed in a small breath as his fingers grazed her womanly folds, moaned softly when he cleansed the bruised mark he’d given her, high on her thigh. A private mark, made for them alone. One day, perhaps, he would bear her marks upon his flesh, a measure of her desire for him. A measure of her love.

The thought ripped through him, burning his skin from the inside out, and a keening need rose within him as swiftly and surely as a flock of not-dragons startled out of the jungle canopy. Yes, he wanted her love, every drop she could willingly give him. He wanted her to welcome him openly, to draw him down upon her in their bed and coax him into her body. Wanted her to wrap her hands around his horns and dig her teeth into his throat and wear his marks proudly.

His hands tightened on her hips, and he dipped his head, dragging the tip of his horn along the mark he had bitten into her thigh, an instinctive gesture torn out of soul-deep need. Savagely, he disciplined his desire for her. Their play had left her sore. She was not ready for more, and he would not abuse her in such a manner.

Force the mark on her, yes, for her own safety and his peace of mind, to abate the trilling call of the mating instinct.

Force her to bear his desire? Never . Surely even the mindless mating frenzy could not override this vow.

Quickly, before his body betrayed him, he washed her legs and feet, then stood and turned her into the water, rinsing her. She tipped her head back into the warm spray, smiling sensually as he lathered her hair from the scalp out. The movement stretched the elegant lines of her throat and thrust her breasts forward. With water rolling down the ivory curves of her body, she appeared more goddess than fleshly being.

A possessive growl rolled out of his chest. His goddess, forever to cherish and adore.

“That feels amazing,” she purred. “I swear, we’re never showering alone again.”

“Greedy little klika ,” he said, pleased.

Her laughter filled the stall. “I guess so. I mean, if we’re going to be mates—”

He bared his fangs at her, though her eyes remained closed and she could not possibly see the reprimand. “ If ?”

“Mates do things together.”

“Then you will not be averse to touring our jutji today.”

Her eyes popped open and she gazed happily up at him, her expression so sunny, his heart stuttered. “I would love to! Ok, my turn.”

She guided him around with tiny shoves, pulled on his arms until he knelt before her under the water’s spray. She filled her hands with bathing scrubs and washed his hair, rubbing his scalp in a gentle massage. Her fingers glanced innocently along his horns, sending shuddering heat through him. He wrested himself away from the pleasure, focusing on his breathing to keep the mating instinct from shoving him into a frenzy.

He could feel it building in him. Their morning play had appeased it somewhat, allowing him to retain control, but if she did not accept him soon, fully accept him, he feared the frenzy would overwhelm him. He knew his own mind, knew he would not force her, but the frenzy would push him anyway, frightening her.

He swallowed hard. No, he could not allow such. He must find a way to win her acceptance.

Her tug on his arm interrupted his thoughts. “Up,” she said firmly.

Silently, he rose, mutely accepting her guidance as she positioned him just so and cleansed his buttocks, legs, and feet.

Then she stood before him, her gaze on his hardening cock.

He took her hands in his and said, gently, “I shall cleanse the remainder.”

“No, I—” She shook her head and tugged her hands free. “I want to.”

Before he could argue, her hands encircled his cock, sliding from base to tip in one smooth, slick caress.

His head fell back on a low groan. “Mia, you must not.”

“Why?”

“Much more and I will lose control.”

Her fingers teased his tip, drawing the first drops of moisture from his cock. “Maybe I want you to lose control. Maybe I want to be the one you lose control with.”

His head dropped forward and his gaze clashed sharply with hers. “If I lose control, there will be no stopping the rutting.”

A knowing, purely feminine smile played around her soft lips. “I know.”

Before he could do more than gawp at her, her hands slid away and she stepped out of the shower.

“Rinse off,” she said over her shoulder, her eyes a flash of blue under dark lashes. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

He gazed at her as she retrieved a drying cloth and rubbed it over her hair. Was she teasing him, as mates were wont to do? Did she truly feel so comfortable in the trust growing between them?

And if she did, should he not welcome this temptress his mate had become?

He cut the water off and stepped out of the stall behind her, purposefully crowding her in the tiny room. “Mate,” he said, deliberately adding an edgy snarl to his voice, “you dare much.”

Her laughter pealed like the daintiest of bells, and she smiled warmly at him, until he could no longer resist the urge to steal another kiss.

Leona had dragged Mia and Kira to a weekend spa retreat once, not long after they’d met.

That was nothing compared to the way Zoran pampered her. After their shower, he gently rubbed a soothing, citrus-smelling ointment over the punctures and bruises marring her skin, murmuring soft praise to her as he tended each mark. His hands smoothed over her hair, gently untangling it as he brushed it dry, then he rubbed a lightweight conditioner through it and presented her with a small box of human and Xeruvian toiletries.

She nearly tackled him when she found the deodorant. He seemed bemused by the kisses she peppered across his cheeks.

Together, they changed the bedding. He frowned over the holes he found on her side of the bed and spoke abruptly into his ever-present wrist device. And then he helped her sort through her meager wardrobe and find something suitable to wear for their journey around his jutji , dressing her in one of his robes when she found a smudge of dirt on her own.

On him, the shinsek’uk hit mid-thigh. On her, it fell below her knees, amusing her no end.

And then he herded her into his conveyance and spent the entire journey across his jutji talking with her, sharing details of his childhood when she asked, drawing her into a wide-ranging conversation about her own childhood. She discovered within herself a deep desire to take him there, to show him the places where she and her parents had lived. To introduce him to the people and the cultures of Earth the way he was introducing her to Zephyria.

Mia stood beside him now on a shaded balcony overlooking acre upon acre of cultivated land, leaning her back against his front, his arms wrapped loosely around her. The jungle had been tamed here, trimmed back away from the fields and orchards. She was surprised to see both Xeruvians and machines tending the crops.

Her fingers itched to study the plants closely. Zoran seemed to have anticipated her needs. When she’d drunk her fill of the view, he led her hand in hand through the building that served as both his local base of operations and his on-site residence to a mini science center. There, he introduced her to his agricultural team and indulgently observed the lively conversation she drew them into, clicking his teeth in gentle humor when she pulled out her tablet and made notes.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m here to help,” she reminded him, earning a fierce kiss.

After, they retreated to the balcony where brunch had been set out for them. Zoran nudged fresh fruit her way. “I should like to feed you this someday.”

“We’re working on it,” she said. “ Someone is working on it. Allergen tests. Here.”

She picked up a chunk of fleshy blue fruit and scrubbed it across the inside of her forearm. It smelled a bit like honey and rosemary with a sour undertone. Her arm turned a funky teal color. She reached for her water and a napkin, and swiped the stickiness off her skin, taking most of the teal color with it, then twisted her arm back and forth, examining the area critically.

And sighed. “That one’s probably a no. My skin’s a little itchy there.”

Zoran leaned toward her, his teeth grinding together. “That was foolish.”

She snorted. “Hardly. We’ve already been exposed to the pollen. A little skin test won’t hurt me. Probably. Granted, some plants could kill us if ingested, but the same could be said of you. How many poisonous plants are there on Zephyria?”

“You likely know far better than I,” he gritted out.

That…might actually be true. Zoran came at plants from a practical standpoint, as either food or a barrier to the welfare of his people. She came at it from a very different angle, even though their goals were the same.

Which might explain why he looked as if he wanted to reach across the table and strangle her.

Just to be safe, she pushed the plate of fruit back to him. “No more testing. Scout’s honor.”

He settled back with a decidedly grumpy, disbelieving snort. “Your curiosity will get the better of you one day.”

“Probably not. I like my skin intact.”

“As do I.”

On cue, the bite mark high on her thigh throbbed. Yup, he definitely liked her skin intact, so he could unintact it later.

She pressed her lips firmly together, suppressing a smile. “So, this jutji . It’s inherited?”

“Inherited?”

“Passed down in your family. You know.” She waved her granola bar at the fields. “Your parents got it from their parents, and they got it from theirs. Inherited.”

“You have not yet had an opportunity to study our clan system?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that.”

“It is important.”

“Yes, I know, but so is everything else. Knowing what foods I can eat, for example.”

He gave her another grumpy-disbelieving snort. “For someone possessed of such natural ebullience, your remarks can be quite cutting.”

How could she possibly respond to that?

Mia shook her head and pointedly made a note to study the clan system. “Why don’t you give me an overview so I have some context?”

“Very well,” Zoran said, then launched into an abbreviated history of Xeruvian culture.

Some years ago—Mia eventually figured out that he meant centuries or perhaps millennia, long before they gained space flight capabilities—Xeruvians were nomads banded together in small warring tribes. These tribes constantly raided each other for food and pack animals and even for mates.

One day, a certain tribe witnessed a remarkable sight: an object descending from the skies. At first, they believed the gods had come down from the heavens, but the beings that came out of the object were different enough from the Xeruvians to disabuse them of that notion. The beings attempted trade, and when they found nothing among the Xeruvians worth trading for, they departed.

Out of this time there arose a great philosopher chief, a warrior of some renown who understood the threat these visitors posed. He approached other chiefs with his concerns and managed to persuade some to his cause. Others mocked him and turned away, but the ones who allied with him worked together to fortify themselves against another encroachment. They created the first jutji , built stone and timber walls around their dwellings and fields, and trained for the day of the not-gods’ return.

The philosopher chief was vindicated when the beings returned and warred against the other tribes, stealing their children and warriors as slaves. But when the beings tried to war against the chief and his allies, they were turned away despite their greater power and weaponry. Once the beings retreated, the philosopher chief disbursed his allies, commanding them to spread across Zephyria, create their own jutjil, and train their warriors to protect the people.

“And that was the start of the clan system?” Mia said.

“It was,” Zoran replied. “Soon after, the sacred warrior-art of Ky’Lota was formalized.”

“Warrior-art. Martial arts?”

“Yes.”

“Can I learn?”

“If you so desire, then I shall happily become your kii-ba’il .”

Mia blinked at the untranslated Xeruvian word. “My what?”

“Your teacher. The person who guides you through the soul dance to help you master the forms and discipline as well as the underlying philosophy.”

“Oh! My sensei.”

Zoran stared into space for a moment, clearly pondering the word. “Yes, I believe so.”

She beamed at him. “So, this philosopher chief, the one who united the proto-Xeruvians and founded the clan system. Was his name passed down through time, or is that an etiological myth?”

The look he gave her held enough pride and arrogance to float a navy. “His name was Kerus. He became the first warlord.”

Oh , she thought. That explained so much. “So the town where you live—”

“Arkkukari,” he said, rather pointedly. “Where we live.”

Mia only just refrained from sticking her tongue out at him. “Yes, Arkkukari. Is it built on the site of the town Warlord Kerus built?”

“No. That place was a fortified area only, never a true town as we think of them now. Once the Var’Kol had been driven back—”

“Wait, your whole clan system, your whole culture, came about because of the Var’Kol?”

At his stiff nod, her shoulders slumped. How ironic was it that the Xeruvians’ leapt forward, culturally and technologically, because of their enemy? Just like on Earth. War always fueled change, good, bad, or ugly.

“We really need a learning module on Xeruvian culture,” Mia murmured. “So, once the Var’Kol were driven back?”

“Kerus allowed the people he and his warriors protected to expand their dwellings beyond the fortified walls. Under Kerus’s peaceful reign, and with the help of the other clans, Xeruvian technology soon advanced to the point where the old forts became outdated. Rather than rebuilding them, they left the walls standing as a monument to their unification. If you can abandon your love of Xeruvian flora long enough, we have time to visit the ruins.”

She did stick out her tongue then, drawing a smirk from him. “I’d love to. But I’m a little puzzled by something. When they first came here, the Var’Kol had to have been technologically superior. How did Kerus and the other chieftains manage to fight them off?”

“Their flight capabilities were greater. Their weapons were not much more advanced, and we had the advantage of being a warrior society defending our home territory.”

“Your military strategy was better.”

“And our training. The deciding advantage, however, was our familiarity with the terrain and our ability to use it to our advantage.”

“Guerilla warfare?”

After a moment, Zoran nodded. “Did not such wars resolve in this same manner among humans?”

Mia frowned down at her waterglass for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. “Sometimes, yes. Many of our cultures were warlike. Are warlike. We fight among ourselves all the time and have since our earliest civilizations. The Mongols overran southeast Asia in their day. I think the military technologies were similar between them and the peoples they conquered, though the Mongols had better strategies, obviously. There are a lot of examples like that, and also examples of less-developed cultures pushing back against more developed cultures. The Celts and the Romans, for instance. Or was it the Picts?” She wrinkled her nose as she prodded her memory, then shook her head. “Anyway, Rome built a wall to keep out the barbarous, less technologically advanced northern tribes and eventually gave up the British Isles because of the resistance there. And, of course, there are plenty of examples of people with advanced technologies wiping out less-advanced cultures. Sorry. I’m not much of a history buff.”

“Yet do you possess a broad understanding of such history.” He nodded approvingly. “I should like to study these histories myself, particularly the military aspects.”

“Human men like military history, too.”

“We are not so different, are we?”

“Sometimes we’re not,” she admitted. “And sometimes I wonder if our differences will always drive a wedge between us.”

“Not between you and I,” he said firmly. “Eat now, little klika . The distance between here and the old fort is great.”

Mia dug into her food, more to give herself time to think than out of obedience. Maybe Xeruvians had more to give humanity than technology. Maybe humans could learn something from the peace Zoran’s people had forged when faced with a common enemy.

Despite her best intentions, Mia dozed off while Zoran navigated the jungle-lined roads between his jutji ’s agricultural center and the old fort. It was a beautiful day, the temperature pleasant, the humidity surprisingly low. The vehicle’s rumble was lower and quieter than most human cars, but still loud enough to soothe her into drifting.

She woke when the vehicle came to an abrupt stop.

“Be still,” Zoran commanded in a low voice.

Mia froze in the middle of straightening. Her eyes blinked open, scanning what she could see of the surrounding area, which admittedly wasn’t much. She’d listed against the door while sleeping and could only make out the underside of the canopy of trees stretching across the road.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“ Vyirkolen .”

Mia’s heart tripped into a thready hammering and her breath froze in her lungs. “Oh, my God. I thought I was seeing things.”

“Would that you had, for your own safety.” Zoran reached behind the seat and extracted a long gun of some kind, as lethal looking as any heavy rifle Mia had ever seen, then reached back again and withdrew a wickedly sharp sword. His gaze never left the road ahead of them. With both weapons in one hand, he grasped her shoulder and pushed her into the floorboard. “Stay there, Mia. Do not make a sound. Do not satisfy your curiosity. Do not exit the conveyance no matter what you hear.”

She nodded once, the most she could manage, and watched mutely as he climbed out of the vehicle and locked her into it, alone.