Stolen: Warriors of Hir, Book 3 (4 page)

“Rest,” he whispered, his warm breath against the sensitive skin of her ear sending little shivers through her. So close to her she couldn’t help breathing in his scent, warm, male, with overtones of cinnamon. “I will come for you as soon as they have gone.”

They were a despicable race—these g’hir—hideous with their alien rippled foreheads and unnerving glowing eyes, their fangs and hulking brawn. Summer would never forgive what they had done to her, how Ar’ar had swooped in with the full knowledge and approval of his people to tear her from her home, her family, her whole life . . .

But this one, Ke’lar, was the first of their species to show her any real kindness, the first to show some respect for her rights and wishes. Knowing that a half-dozen warriors lurked nearby watching him, that they would kill him if they discovered that he sheltered her from them—

She touched his arm just as he was turning to leave, the light brown leather of his warrior’s jacket soft under her fingers.

He stopped, his glowing blue eyes blinking down at her.

He must have read the gratitude in her eyes because he gave a faint smile and gently pressed her hand with his own for a moment. Then he left the shelter, careful to close the fabric door completely behind him this time.

Summer shifted a bit, slowly, trying to keep her movements silent. The sleeping pallet was incredibly comfortable. Wide and long, it was meant to accommodate his greater size so she had plenty of space; the pillow under her head smelled faintly of him. Outside she could hear the sound of the river, the splash of water running over the rock, the call of birds from the nearby forest. 

She could hear him too—Ke’lar—moving about outside the shelter. She couldn’t see him, of course, and so had no way of telling what tasks he tended to. To her ears at least, his movements seemed unhurried, perfectly at ease, as if he had dismissed the encounter with the Betari clanbrothers from his mind and had turned his attention to the simple work of maintaining his campsite.

But he was g’hir too, a hunter like the rest of them. There were times that she didn’t hear him at all.

She wished he’d whistle or play music or listen to the equivalent of whatever the g’hir had for a ballgame. Now that she’d stopped moving, that she had to stay here, quiet and still, every bump and bruise, every scrape and blister, made itself known. She hurt all over. The lightest shift on the pallet made every overtaxed muscle cry out in protest and she had to press her lips together to silence a moan.

And if it hurts today, it’s sure as hell going to hurt worse tomorrow. God, what I wouldn’t give for a couple Advil . . .

And this was supposed to be my vacation.

At least that had been the idea. Two weeks at her uncle’s cabin, some time to unwind and relax while he headed out to Florida for some sunshine, a nice quiet old-fashioned Christmas in North Carolina then back up to Virginia—

Summer let her tired eyes fall shut and found herself listening for Ke’lar again as he moved about outside the shelter. Just knowing he was nearby, that he was standing between her and capture by Ar’ar and his clan, let her breathe easily for the first time since that sunny, snow-filled afternoon a week ago when she left her uncle’s cabin to head out to the woodpile . . .

Ar’ar’s massive hands clamped around her upper arms, his shadowy bulk looming over her. Summer cried out, struggling against his grip—

“They have gone!” Ar’ar insisted in another’s voice, his eerie alien eyes the wrong color. “You are safe!”

“Wait . . . where am—?”

Moonlight showed through the partially open window flaps but she couldn’t see anything save the shadowy outline of him and his eyes, glowing blue even in this faint light.

Her memory came rushing back.

This was the warrior from another clan, Ke’lar, peering down at her. This was his shelter by the river.

In the next moment the space was filled with light as he activated a luma hanging on a hook on one of the shelter’s support beams.  Summer wet her lips as she pushed herself against the soft fur covers of his pallet bed to sit up.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her hand going to her temple. Green-gray flakes echoed the movement and it took a moment to realize it was the dried mud from the creek, still caking her hair, that she’d covered herself with last night.

“I, uh—” She swallowed against the dryness of her throat. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“Clearly.”

He wasn’t whispering! They should have been whispering!

Her frantic glance went to the shelter’s open door, to the forest beyond. “Can’t they—what about—”

“The Betari clanbrothers have retreated far enough into their own territory that even scouting as deeply as I dare into their land I cannot now detect them. And thankfully so—since your cries would have made your presence here plain.”

Summer’s mouth tightened at his chiding tone. “Sorry, I was dreaming. I thought you were Ar’ar.”

“Again, thankfully I am not,” he muttered, his tone dry. Despite his show of neighborly politeness there was plainly no love lost between the two. “But I believe you may move about without fear of discovery now.”

Her sore muscles cried out in protest and she couldn’t help a groan as she stood. She was still wearing her boots and the blister rubbing her right heel made her grit her teeth as she gained her feet.

At the pained sound she made, he turned to face her, startled. “What is it?”

For an instant Ke’lar’s concerned expression, the fine, high cheekbones and square-jaw of his face, the intelligence in his bright blue gaze, made him, despite his rippled brow and glowing eyes, his growled language, seem . . .

Human.

“Nothing,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

His fingers went gently under her jaw to tilt her face up.

“You are injured,” he growled, his focus on her swollen, bruised chin.

“Oh,” Summer agreed. “Yeah, thanks to Ar’ar, I’m a mess.”

He bared his fangs, his alien visage utterly savage, and she recoiled, any resemblance to the humanity she had seen a moment ago vanishing instantly.

“He did this to you?” he snarled.

“No. That’s not what I meant.” She gave a dismissive wave, wincing as she shifted her weight. That was one bitch of a blister on her right heel. “I did all this by myself. Apparently, if there’s one thing about escaping from an alien fortress for me
isn’t
, it’s graceful.”

“But this—” He indicated her chin. “It is not the result of a hand strike? You are certain it is not from a blow? That it occurred during your flight from the Betari clanhall?”

“Actually, that one occurred during my
fall
from the Betari clanhall last night,” Summer said, wincing as she touched the sore spot. “To get out of Ar’ar’s quarters I had to climb from one balcony to the next. On the bright side I might have conquered my fear of heights. Space Mountain, here I come.”

“From one balcony to the—” His brow furrowed. “How high within the Betari clanhall are your mate’s quarters?”

“Don’t call him that!” she flared. “He’s not my mate. He’s not my fucking
anything
!”

Ke’lar blinked and Summer’s face heated at her outburst.

“Eight flights,” she muttered.

“You—” His glowing eyes widened. “You
jumped
—at night—between balconies eight stories above the ground?”

“Actually there’s some decorative carving that goes around the clanhall there. I got between them crossing on that.”

His gaze ran down her body again. “You said you fell—”

“Well, I didn’t fall all the way, obviously,” she said impatiently. “Just from the carving to the next balcony. But I busted my chin up, my elbows too. Look.” She took a step to move around him. “If you don’t mind—”

“I do mind.” He moved to block her way. “To have concealed you from your lawful clan—and one with long-standing enmity to my own—is a very serious matter. There are things we must discuss. Choices to be made.”

“Like what?”

His eyes narrowed a bit at the suspicion in her tone. “I do not seek to trade my assistance in return for coupling with you, if that is your concern.”

Summer shifted her weight since she’d been thinking precisely that. “Good, ’cause that’ll happen when hell freezes over.”

“Why did the Betari lie about their hunt for you?” he demanded. “Why would they seek to hide your presence within their clan?”

“I don’t know. But then again, I don’t really understand a lot of things your people do.”

“They claimed to be hunting a fugitive.” He folded his arms, a wall of muscle between her and the shelter exit. “
Did
you break clan directive?”

“If clan directive includes making a run for it instead of breeding a bunch of half-humans for them against my will, then hell yeah, I broke their damn directive. Anything else?” she asked. “Or are we good?”

His face tightened. “I find the Betari clanbrothers’ deception, their attempt to conceal the presence of a human female on their enclosure, very suspect—and disturbing. It is important that I discover their reasons.”

“Absolutely. You ponder that good.” Summer shifted her weight again. “Are we done?”

His nostrils flared. “To assure your safety—as well as mine—we need to have these questions answered now.”

“Actually, what
I
really need right now,” she grumbled, pushing past him, “is to pee.”

Three

“Have you finished relieving yourself?”

“You know—” Summer began, still squatting behind the tree. The moons were waxing, their cool light bright enough to allow her to see pretty well. His g’hir vision was better, of course, but his back was turned and he was determinedly looking the other way. “The fact that you followed me over here
and
listened to me pee and even
asked
me that question is freaking weird. Even for an alien.”

“I meant—” he growled, “do you require a cleansing cloth?”

Funny how a couple short years ago a conversation like this would have left her mortified.

How things change . . .

“Toilet paper? Sure, if you’ve got it, I’ll take it.”

She put her hand out and without looking at her he offered her a soft biodegradable cloth.

“Hey, this is even nicer than what the Betari stock,” she commented, feeling it between her fingers. “Really, this stuff should be in the bathroom at the Ritz hotel.”

“I am glad it meets your approval,” he muttered, his face still turned toward the river.

When she’d finished she stood and fastened her pants, then joined him on the other side of the tree.

His glowing eyes finally turned her way. “My impression of human females was that they tended to be more fastidious than this.”

“Hey, I climbed across a building, ran—covered with mud!—from an alien posse, shot a spitting centipede from hell, and wrecked my manicure. Sorry, warrior, but I’m not sure I can be called a lady by any stretch now.”

“I knew that you fell.” His gaze swept her. “What I do not understand is how you could have fallen in such a way so that you are so completely covered in muck.”

Summer put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I liked it so much I rolled in it. Like a hog.”

His brow creased.

“I used the mud to cover my scent so they couldn’t track me,” she said impatiently. “You know—because I was
escaping
?”

“It is very effective,” he agreed. “You do not smell human at all. I detect only organic decay and fish remains.”

“You know”—Summer shut her eyes briefly—“believe it or not, I was happier not knowing just how much I stink.”

“You may wash in the river. In fact,” he grumbled, heading that way, “if you are to spend any more time with me, I insist.”

As much as she wanted to get off the planet, needed to get back home, she knew she had to sleep. Had to eat. And if the Betari couldn’t cross over into Erah territory, she certainly wouldn’t mind washing the muck off either.

“Why are you out in the middle of nowhere anyway, warrior?” Summer asked, following him. “Did your clanbrothers banish you to the wilderness for having too much charm or something?”

He stopped, his mouth pursed to retort, then his brow creased. “Why are you walking like that?”

“We human types call it ‘limping.’” Those boots had done a number on her; she was wincing with every step. “And gee, O great alien overlord, I don’t know—maybe because my feet hurt?”

With a g’hir’s shocking speed he swung her into his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cried, struggling at finding herself cradled in his arms—not that it did any good. His grip was warrior strong, his long strides carrying her to the river faster than she could have jogged there. “Put me down!”

“I intend to.” He spoke as if he were trying not to breathe while he carried her. “The Betari clanbrothers have retreated into their own territory for the moment but they may return at any time. We cannot afford to dally about till the suns rise simply because your feet are tired.”

He was already wading into the river, water sloshing around his legs as he bent down to place her, sitting, on a large smooth rock there.

“Tired! Are you fucking kid—!”

With the swift movements his kind were capable of, he unfastened both her boots, already pulling the right one off before she could finish her protest. It felt like sandpaper being scraped against her injuries to have the leather yanked across them like that.

He stopped instantly at her whimper.

“Wait . . .” His frown deepened. “How much do they pain you?”

Without waiting for an answer, his touch gentled but even such care couldn’t stop her from gritting her teeth as he eased the boot off.

He stared at her bare foot for an instant then with doubled gentleness removed her other boot and tossed both to the nearby shore.

His alien square-jawed features were softened by the moonlight, his eyes luminous as he bent, gently cupping her heel to examine one foot then the other.

“Little one . . . why did you not tell me?”

She couldn’t see the abrasions, cuts, and blisters as clearly as he could—not with his alien acuity—but she bet her feet probably looked as bad as they felt. The cool air and blessed freedom from the pressure and rubbing of her footwear was pure heaven though.

“You are badly blistered, the soles of your feet have many cuts.” His touch hovered over one spot lightly. “Some of these are showing the early signs of infection.” He looked up at her. “This is the result of your journey through the Betari territory?”

“I got out of the clanhall barefoot, probably cut the bottoms up a bit then. And then there was the fourteen-hour walk without socks in ill-fitting boots . . . Wading through creek water teeming with bacteria probably didn’t help any either but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t steal myself any medical supplies,” she admitted. “I didn’t even think of it before I left and I sure as hell wasn’t going back.”

“What about—” He hesitated, his vibrant gaze meeting hers seriously. “Do you have other hurts? Other wounds I have not seen?”

“Bruises, cuts, scrapes on my arms and upper back. My feet are probably the worst of it.”

He gave a huff. “I have supplies to treat your injuries at the shelter.”

“You might want to hold off on the Band-Aids till I can get some of this muck off,” she said, indicating her matted hair. “I don’t think I can stand this crap on me a minute longer.”

“The water of this river is safe for you to wash in,” he agreed. “Wait here. I will return soon.”

He was gone before she could say anything more. Scooting forward on the rock, she carefully lowered her hurting feet into the cool water. It stung like hellfire at first but she’d been expecting that and once she withstood the initial shock the chill felt fantastic. Summer, her hands behind her, leaned back and let her head fall back in relief.

The splashing of his boots alerted her to his return.

“I have brought cleansing lotion and a cloth for you to dry yourself.” He placed them beside her on the rock. “After you have bathed I will carry you back to the shelter and then tend your wounds there but I am here if you have need of me.”

Summer heaved a sigh and began unfastening the filthy shirt she wore. “Peep all you want, warrior. Just keep it in your pants, okay?”

He scowled. “It is not my intention to ‘peep’ at you,” he said shortly and turned his back to her.

Summer kept one eye on him as she finished opening her shirt. G’hir females wore short halters to support their breasts but she hadn’t put one in her pack. Since she’d originally thought to disappear right after the morning meal, she’d mistakenly assumed that her breakout from the enclosure would happen at a time when she was wearing day clothes. Her nighttime escape left her without a halter or bra but a suspicious glance his way showed that—true to his word—he wasn’t even trying to peek. She eased off her mud-encrusted pants and carefully stepped into the water, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a groan.

“Are you all right?” Ke’lar asked over his shoulder, but he didn’t look at her.

“Yeah,” she said, wincing. “Just hurts when I walk.”

The last thing she needed was yet another bruise and she took a few steps deeper into the river, cautious about her footing. The water was cold but not fast moving. She wasn’t worried about getting swept away by the current.

Anyway, he’d probably just jump in after her and haul her out with one burly arm if she did.

A half-dozen paces in she found a little depression where the riverbed fell away and the water was deeper, a little pool she could lower her body into by halfway bending her knees. She dipped down, spreading her arms out for a moment in the water till she was submerged to her neck.

She put her face in the water, rubbing at the dried mud with her palms, then tilted her head back. It was a weird but welcome feeling to have the mud soften and float from her hair. Summer used the pads of her fingers—she’d broken a couple of her nails off short since last night—to scrub at her scalp, loosening the dirt and muck there.

When her hair was good and drenched she waded back to grab the cleanser. She lathered her hair, rinsing the long strands and lathering again. She washed her face and body of the dirt and sweat and scrubbed off the mud caked behind her ears.

She washed her lower body and legs and, gingerly, her heels and feet too. Then she waded back to the depression to rinse. For a few moments she just relaxed there, letting herself float, letting the cool water soothe her aches and bug bites, letting the river’s currents carry away some of the terror she’d known since her abduction . . .

“Are you all right?” he asked again, his tone urgent. “You are not moving.”

The warrior still wasn’t looking at her but his sharper g’hir hearing would let him listen for her movements, even above the gentle sound of the slow-moving water. He shifted his weight restlessly, his upper body already half turned her way.

Summer sighed. 
Break over.

“I’m fine,” she said aloud. “I’m going to be dunking my head so don’t panic if you call out to me and I don’t answer immediately.”

“I would not ‘panic’ in any case,” he grumbled, folding his arms and firmly turning away

She dipped her head back to rinse, the strands of her hair billowing out around her, feeling so much lighter and cleaner.

In fact, Summer felt cleaner than she had since Ar’ar had first put his meaty hands on her.

As wonderful as it felt here, the water was starting to get chilly and she was shivering a bit when she stood and headed back to the rock. She grabbed the large drying cloth and stood behind him to towel dry her hair.

“I have another set of clothes in my pack.” She’d wrapped the drying cloth around her body and retook her place on the rock. She shook out her shirt, stiff with dirt and sweat. “But since I’m wet anyway I should wash these. Just give me a minute.”

“I will wash them after your injuries have been treated.”

“I’m right here. I can do it.”

He huffed an annoyed sigh and started to turn toward her, then caught himself. “May I look at you now?”

“I’m wearing the towel if that’s what you mean.”

Apparently that satisfied him because he turned to face her. “Leave the clothes. I will—”

Ke’lar broke off, his vibrant blue eyes blinking down at her and his mouth parted, the white tips of his fangs just visible between his full lips.

“What?” she asked then realized this was the first time he’d actually seen her not covered in gray-green muck. With the moons’ light and his superior g’hir sight—able to detect color even when moonlight blanched her vision to black and white—he could see her perfectly.

He dropped his gaze and reached for the cleanser.

“I will tend the clothes later,” he said gruffly. “Come here so that I may wash your feet.”

“I just washed them,” she objected, scooting a little away from him.

“And then walked here from where you bathed,” he pointed out. “I will be quick.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. She was sore and stiff but it was hard to be too mad—it was thanks to him that she’d gotten this bath at all.

And that she wasn’t back at the Betari clanhall right now.

His touch was soothing as he bathed her feet, a tender gentleness surprising in a man so big.

Summer’s brow creased. Ar’ar had never physically injured her, hadn’t even left her with a bruise, not even when he’d “captured” and restrained her, but his touch lacked any warmth to it, any caring behind the dutiful attempts at coupling—