Cold Mark (5 page)

"And your ... friend, how old is he? How many marks does he have?"

"Jax is the same age as me. He also has all ten."

"And yet you still believed you needed to help him?"

"I did." I scratched my shoulder, feeling uncomfortable under their regard. "I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if he had died like
that
." I snapped my mouth shut, but it was too late.

Pluma Kreob cocked his head, his golden hair brushing over his shoulder. I tried not to gaze at the pointed top of his ear I could now see. His quiet and sinister tone sent a small quake down my frame. "Do you think the arrival ritual was cruel?"

I did not answer. There was no safe response for that question. I did, however, clear my throat, knowing my oxygen was becoming dangerously low. "Will one of you please remove my helmet?"

With dark as ebony hair gliding over his shoulders, Pluma Wazra rested his elbows on his knees, asking gently, "First, what is your name?"

"Braita Valorn." I pointed at my helmet, peering at each of them. I tried to be respectful, but anxiety was etching up my spine. "Please? The helmet."

Pluma Moir grunted, and then moved forward. As he stalked toward me, he pulled his long white hair back into a ponytail, fully exposing the pointed tops of his ears. He bent, placing his bronzed face in front of mine.

My breath caught. With him so close, his eyes were hypnotic in their very darkness.

I wanted to lean forward just to see them better, not sure if I had ever witnessed a vision so delicate, yet punishing. His eyes held a ruthlessness that alarmed me, but it was a view I could stare at for days. I was not sure if even an advanced halo-image would do his eyes justice. There were just too many mixing complexities hiding within the glimmer of his ominous scrutiny to be duplicated.

That
gaze raked up and down my frame ever so slowly. When he finally spoke, his tone made my heart beat in a wild cadence. "What you did today was foolish." His glowing eyes narrowed, but he raised his left hand and pressed his thumb to the side of my helmet.

Instantly, it released with a loud pop to my ears. I sucked in the clean oxygen that raced underneath the edge of the helmet, my lungs heaving in great gulps, no longer having to regulate my breathing for fear of death. "Thank you."

But, I stumbled to the side. I grabbed my helmet and jerked it off, suddenly feeling dizzy as the Cold Mark on the back of my neck began to itch. I dropped my helmet as the room grew silent, and clutched my forehead as my hair fanned down around my face. Instinct had me grab the nearest sturdy structure to regain my balance, and that ended up being the shirt sleeve of Pluma Moir. I instantly jerked my hand away, slurring, "Sorry ... sorry." I slammed back against the glass door and used the heel of my palm to thump my forehead a few times. "I don't know what's wrong. Please give me a second."

There was a pause, then Pluma Moir mumbled, "Did the Human just call me a ... 'cow'?"

Mother Joyal, how did I keep doing that?

"No," I grumbled, shaking my head again. I scratched the Cold Mark where I could feel it branded my skin, the black barcode there slightly raised on my flesh. "I didn't."

The room went completely silent as I continued to scratch the possibly infected mark.

"Oh, my." Pluma Moir chuckled softly. "That ... is interesting."

My fingers stalled in mid-scratch and I blinked a few times as I lifted my head, trying to focus on the deadly Mian inside this room. What I saw froze me in place, my vision not settling.

All four men were also staring directly at me. Where my hand rested on the Cold Mark.

Pluma Moir lifted a white brow and stepped closer. His right hand rose, which sported three black rings between his thumb, pointer, and middle fingers. Surprised, my head thumped back against the door when I tried to evade his touch, but his hand moved in an action my eyes could not register. His thumb brushed my cheek in a gentle, almost affectionate, stroke.

I flinched at the coldness of his skin.

Just as swiftly, he retracted his hand. With his immense muscled frame now blocking my view from the rest of the room's occupants, his shining, black gaze continued to roam my face in the hushed silence, appearing to be assessing each of my features in slow turn. His sophisticated facade was so void of any emotion that there was no way to determine his thoughts.

But even in my sickness, I was lost in his gaze. My vision was still blurred though it did not matter. I could not peer away from his intricate eyes. Just as his body tensed to step away, I beseeched on the faintest breath, "Wait."

Bizarrely, he paused at my nearly inaudible order.

His frame relaxed in a smooth change as if he had not been about to move.

Ever so casually, he lifted a perfectly sculpted, white brow in silent question.

My lips thinned. I did not explain. I was not sure if I understood it myself.

Pluma Moir did not appear bothered that I did not respond. Instead, his gaze ran over my features once more ... and then lower. The assessment felt more personal in nature than a cold evaluation of my physical wellbeing, making me wonder why he was studying my physique with the intensity that he was. He cleared his throat as his gaze met mine again, and I did not try to evade his touch as he lifted his right hand for a second time.

Once more, his thumb brushed gently against my cheek. His touch was not frigid this time; it was normal warmth. But he grunted softly and lowered his hand in an unhurried movement.

Pluma Moir ultimately pulled his unique gaze away from mine. He glanced back at Pluma Creo, who was watching him with mild trepidation. Pluma Moir cracked his knuckles and then snorted ... right before he laughed outright, his head even falling back with his booming glee. "She's not ours, thank the Gods. Our Harem would have been breakneck violent." Even as he continued laughing his butt off, I noticed he took three large steps away from me, back toward Pluma Creo. Not glancing in my direction again, he waggled a finger at me and then spoke to Pluma Kreob and Pluma Wazra, "Good luck with that."

Pluma Kreob's enormous form was tense where he sat on the table, his legs no longer swinging in relaxation. He sat as if he were frozen in place, merely blinking at a spot above my head. His mouth barely moved when he choked, "Malik, please go check her."

My head cocked, the room reeling with that tiny movement. Butterflies spun in sadistic fury inside my stomach. I burped quietly, and quickly put a hand to my mouth. "I think I might be sick." I had no clue what the hell was going on with these Plumas, but I knew I could not take much more of this. "Is there a trash can around here?"

Pluma Kreob mumbled, "And figure out why the hell she keeps saying 'cow.'"

Oh ... whatever.

I peered left, and then the right searching for a trash can.

"Gentlemen, she looks vaguely ill." Pluma Creo grinned from ear-to-ear, appearing mighty pleased with my predicament. "Perhaps 'cow' means 'toilet' in her language."

Pluma Wazra grumbled, "Fucking hell, this cannot be happening." He jerked from his seat, his silver, glowing eyes dead set on mine as he prowled in my direction.

A small, frightened noise that completely embarrassed me floated past my parted lips. This Mian was even taller than I had guessed him to be, well over a foot taller than the top of my head. He was not as tall as the jerk litigator I had first seen, but where that Mian had been skinny, this Pluma was all hard corded muscles. I groped for the door handle, wanting to get as far away from him as possible with that killer expression he wore while he watched me fumble for an outlet of escape.

I squealed when he was suddenly gone from my vision ... then plastered up against the front of my body, smashing me against the frosted glass. I snapped my mouth shut against the sign of fear, and ground my molars against each other. I would not show any more weakness.

With his weight crushing my smaller frame, he lifted his left hand.

I readied myself against the bite of coldness I knew would come, like all the Mian's unwanted touches so far. It was a peculiar reaction, but still one nonetheless. Fisting my hands, I held perfectly still.

With the easiest of brushes, he gently caressed my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

He went frigid against me.

I blinked in surprise.

His finger was not cold. It was warm and soothing. I felt it all the way deep into my bones.

A contented sigh that I could not stop escaped as my body went languid against him. All of my nausea was gone in the blink of an eye. The horrible itch of my Cold Mark was a fleeting memory. When the pad of his thumb turned slightly, never leaving my flesh, just altering his hand so he could cup my cheek with his large warm palm, I did not even flinch at the foreign touch. Instead, my head sank against his heated skin, burrowing deeper into it, like a kitten wanting to be petted.

There was a radiant light coming from underneath Pluma Wazra's black shirt, but I barely noticed it as I lifted my arms. He automatically bent for me, and I placed my arms around his neck and began climbing up him until I was wrapped tight around him with legs around his waist. The quiet purr that I heard from deep within his throat was in pure cadence to the harmony that wove itself through my entire being, shattering deep into my soul. Still gently cupping my cheek, he wound his other muscled arm around my waist and held me close while nuzzling his face against the side of my neck, deeply breathing me in.

Through the blissful haze, I heard Pluma Kreob growl at the other Plumas, "Touch him and you're dead." The table in the middle of the room sounded like it was knocked over. His tone was full of contrived politeness. "With much respect, you two need to get the fuck out." Then his voice was closer in the fog of my mind, whispering gently against Pluma Wazra's ear, "Malik, you need to move away from the door."

Pluma Wazra growled quietly but glided over like he was moving on air.

The door, so difficult to open before, released. It clicked shut as the Pluma's Moir and Creo left.

I groaned softly when Pluma Kreob stood behind Pluma Wazra and hesitantly brushed his own thumb over my forehead. Lightning warmth sizzled through me, grounding me to these two Mian. Shuddering to my core, my eyes closed to listen to the beauty beating inside of me. All I felt was heating warmth as I passed out in the safety of two Mian's arms.

A rough rocking jarred me awake. I lifted my head from the warm leather my cheek laid upon. I repeatedly blinked , trying to understand where I was. Rubbing my eyes, I tilted my head to the side and stopped stock still.

I was in some kind of armored vehicle.

I was also lying on top of Pluma Wazra and Pluma Kreob's laps.

They were both staring down at me with their simmering, glowing eyes.

I shrieked and slammed a hand against Pluma Wazra's face, and shoved away from them.

I fell in a heap onto the floor of the vehicle.

Pluma Wazra grunted and rubbed his chin where I had whacked him.

With enormous eyes, I noticed he now wore a black ring on his thumb.

Same as Pluma Kreob, who lifted a hand in a gentle patting motion. "Calm down, Braita."

I was anything but calm. "What was that back there?"

Both blinked, then glanced at each other. Their eyes gradually came back to me in confusion.

Oh, Mother Joyal, I hated this language
. I tried again, speaking slower, "What was that?"

The confusion instantly cleared from their expressions.

Pluma Wazra gestured to the seat behind me, the empty bucket seat that faced them. "Sit down and buckle up. Once you've done that, we'll explain." Just then, the vehicle bounced hard, and I lost my balance. My chin struck the abrasive metal coating the floor. I grunted in pain, but just as suddenly, I squeaked in alarm when Pluma Wazra grabbed my arms and shoved me onto the empty seat. He grumbled quietly under his breath, his silver, glowing eyes flicking up to me in irritation as he buckled the seatbelt around my waist. "Do as I say next time." He sat back on his seat next to the other Pluma, both of them glaring.

I moved my jaw at the lingering pain and silently waited for them to speak.

Pluma Kreob broke the silence, sighing in aggravation. "That back there is what the Mian call a Reckoning. All women of Harems fear it. It is when a Vaq meets their intended, their Soul." He tilted his head to me. "You ... somehow ... are our Soul. The one woman who was meant specifically for us." His golden brows were deeply furrowed. "A Human bound to two Mian."

I stared. "Pluma Kreob, that makes no sense."

"We know," he growled. The muscles in his jaw bounced before he grumbled, "And given the situation, you calling us Pluma is even more ridiculous. My name is Leo." A hand flick at Pluma Wazra. "His is Malik. From now on, call of us by our first names."

Um ... I still did not understand. "I don't get it."

Malik cracked his neck harshly, but his words were slow. "A Soul senses when their Vaq is near. It comes on just as it did for you. You became ill until I touched you." One of his black brows lifted. "Or are you going to argue the rightness of our touch?"