41. Drasuk

41

Drasuk

Even though she told me there wasn't a threat, I still can't stop my nervous scanning. I hadn't meant to go into my mid-level sleep, but something about her laying with me lulled me into it. Even I can admit it's been a long, exhausting string of events.

Usually there are plenty of other Maj'Ras to help share the responsibility, which is why once we are past proving ourselves, we rarely travel in groups fewer than four.

When she stands, grumbling out curses, it draws my gaze. Her suit recedes a moment later, and my body freezes as I stare.

She's beautiful.

Drakonid skin and spines cover her back and rise up into her pink hair. Her body tucks in at a small waist, then swells out again before transitioning back to her legs. My blue hide continues right up to the top of the globes of her rear, which are still her soft, brown skin.

Her hips are covered, though, and her new, far more protective hide covers the outsides of her upper legs down to the joint in the middle. My eyes dart back up to where the sand creature patterns blend with the blue.

Then they are right back to looking at her still very soft looking behind. The Maj'Ra in me would have preferred that was covered too, but the rest of me is very glad it isn't.

"Come on, Drasuk. You're killing me. What do you see?"

I tell her. Of course, leaving out my opinions about the soft globes. I also don't admit how much I want to squeeze them to see how they feel under my grip.

"Fornicate."

It takes me a blink to remember that it's a curse, not an invitation. I don't let myself dwell on my disappointment.

A question passes my lips before I can trample it. "May I touch you?"

I expect a quick rebuke and some sort of insult about my parentage, but instead her shoulders slump.

"Sure, why not?"

I take a slow step forward, unaccustomed to having an invitation to touch someone beyond teasing swipes, or the near-deadly blows of a skirmish. None of those included putting my hands on someone so fragile.

It feels different from the night before, when we were exhausted, and she had already lulled me into thinking it was acceptable to return her caresses. I hadn't thought about it beyond wanting to reciprocate how soothing her touch was for me.

Like nothing I had ever experienced.

There's a tremor in the pads of my outstretched limb when I open my opposing digits and slowly glide them along her back.

She feels just like a drak, and a breath in confirms she smells like me now, too. I flick aside an errant thought that I'd like her to smell like me for far different reasons, then focus on the feel of her under my hand.

I reach around her side, noting the differences in texture. I grab on to the front of her waist to hold her in place as I drag my other hand down her spikes.

I wonder if they will help me better assess her strange shifts in emotion.

When I reach the transition to her soft skin, I stop pondering and focus on sensation. I pause, waiting to see if she will tell me to stop, but all she does is let out a few panting breaths.

My hand continues its slow glide, reveling in the softness, not just of her skin, but in how pliable she is. I might have to stop using squishy as an insult. I had no idea just how alluring it could be.

As I squeeze one of the globes, she lets out a low moan. It makes things uncomfortably tight along my belly in response.

The scent of her heat surges, but she is also trembling. It is a sign of deep trust for a Maj'Ra to display vulnerability.

My chest fills with pride that she would offer that trust to me, but I don't want to push, afraid she will take offense. Afraid she won't let me do that again.

I don't like admitting to fear, and my warring impulses sicken me. Completely unacceptable for a veteran of my status.

I let out a long breath, then slide my hands off her and take a step back.

Before, her vulnerability might have disgusted me, but that was when I saw her as weak. Now I take it for the compliment it is.

A determination to be worthy of that trust crests within me, spreading out from my chest into my limbs, which twitch with a need to hold her again.

Not right now. She needs something altogether different from me now.

She turns to me as her suit covers her, though I do get another tantalizing glimpse of her chest. I'm sure it would be just as pleasant to squeeze. Her suit doesn't cover the spikes, just fills in the space between them.

Kira looks like she's anything but calm, even a little defeated. I have to remind myself to exude nonchalance, for both our sakes.

At some point, I'm not sure when, I stopped feeling unconcerned with her changes. I can no longer just focus on their utility but am now also wondering if they might be a threat to her health.

It's a shock, but I'm just as alarmed as she is. Showing it won't help her, though.

She has the genetics of at least four different species. It isn't natural, even to me, a species that has been heavily genetically modified. Ours was just an amplification of what already existed.

Not the traits of others.

I can't say I have a lot of practice at it, but I try to be a soothing presence.

"Don't worry so much," I say. "The only expression that really fits you is that mask of rage you like to wear so often."

Alright, I'm not very good at soothing people. It's always better to focus on your strengths, so I decide to needle her until she's snarling at me again.

She snorts, but the sound lacks its usual bite.

"I mean it," I continue, my spines shifting as my amusement builds. "This slumping doesn't suit you. But a visage that promises death? That's the Kira I know."

She glares at me, but I can see the faintest hint of a smile trying to break through. I keep teasing her, determined to get a reaction.

"Come on, bare those blunt little teeth at me," I coax, my tone light. "You know you want to, regardless of how impotent they are."

When she doesn't respond, I decide to take more drastic measures. I whip my tail around and whack her on the side, which elicits a nice growl and a firm hand on her sword in warning.

The next one lands on her rump, mostly because I wasn't nearly done touching it, but the outraged squeal I get is a different, just as inciting, reward.

"Stop it, Drasuk," she hisses, swatting at my hands.

I keep going, and finally, she gives in, laughing out loud. She lands a punch on my last incoming tail swat, but it's half-hearted, her anger replaced by amusement.

I let out a rumble of my own levity. "I'm glad we have that behind us."

She rolls her eyes, but I can see she's calmer now, the fear and panic receding, if only a little. I take a deep breath, preparing to tell her what I know, even if it's not much.

"Listen," I start, my tone serious. "There is a chance the modifications, or whatever is making you absorb armored skin plates, might not be permanent. If my knowledge of the genali's disgusting female trafficking is correct, they are always looking for new ways to please clients. This latest change is more drastic than I thought they could manage, but a manticorid might know more."

She frowns, absorbing my words. "So, this might go away?" she asks, her voice tinged with hope.

"Possibly," I say, not wanting to give her false hope. "It's all speculation on my part. But adaptability suggests change and change means this might not be forever."

She nods, a bit more comforted, though the uncertainty still hangs in the air.

"I need to prepare myself for it being permanent, but I do appreciate your words."

"And the tail whacks? Did you appreciate those?"

She scowls but doesn't respond. Of course she liked it.

I fall to all fours, stretching my limbs. "It's time to leave," I say, breaking the moment of quiet.

She packs up our supplies into the backpack, her movements more assured now. I watch as she places extra weapons and clips so they can be easily accessed. She checks her ammo, smiling at how many clips she has, then re-situates the zeltium weapon along her hip.

As we leave the cave and wade past the waterfall, my nose picks up a familiar scent. Dread fills me instantly. I never thought I would catch their foul scent again.

"I smell someone I know nearby," I say, my voice low and tense. "Let me carry you. It'll make the journey faster, and I feel like being nice to my pet today."

She gives me a flat look, then narrows her eyes. "I thought we had moved past the pet joke, Drasuk. What's going on?"

"You only thought we had," I reply with false amusement in my voice. I hope she hasn't figured out how to interpret the movement of my spines by now. They will betray me.

When I see her eyes dart up to them, I have my answer, though I continue to deflect. "I'm sure by now you know that your resistance to your pet status is futile, though I do commend your attempts."

She raises one of her delicate eyefurs, her face telling me she is suspicious, but simply gestures for me to go ahead. I scoop her up effortlessly, her weight barely noticeable. She grudgingly holds on as we move through the dense forest.

We travel in silence as I run, the forest around us eerily quiet. The ground is uneven, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The canopy is much thicker here, not allowing much light to filter through. The lack of ambient sound is unsettling.

We come to a large pond, its surface still and reflective like a mirror. I place Kira down without a word, not liking what I smell, then tip forward onto all fours and bound toward it. She hisses a curse out at me, but I can hear her running to catch up.

My dread returns tenfold when I spot the corpse of another drakonid. He's lying face down by the water's edge. His Maj'Ra armor is worn from extensive use and ripped asunder, useless now, a sight that sends a chill down my spine.

I rush to the body, my heart pounding. I recognize him immediately. Thukul. He was once a Maj'Ra like myself, though our paths diverged long ago. I stare at the tear in his throat as Kira catches up to me. She blinks at the sight, then starts scanning around us, her new rifle in her hands.

"Thukul," I whisper, my voice choked with equal parts rage and shock.

I kneel beside him, my hands trembling. His guts spill into the lake, the water around him tinged with blood. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

"You know him? Who did this?" Kira asks, her voice barely a whisper.

"I do, yes. I don't know who killed him, but I do smell other draks."

Ones I dreamed of coming across again, but never in this sort of context.

My mind begins racing. "The rest of them are close."

"Judging by how you're acting, these aren't friends."

"No, they are not."

I don't expound, and she, rather uncharacteristically, doesn't press for more answers.

We stay by the lake for a moment longer, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Thukul was a warrior, one of the best, though he chose to throw away all his principles. If he was taken down, then we are in more danger than I initially thought.

I stand up, my resolve hardening.

"We need to move," I say, my voice firm. "Whoever did this could still be nearby, and we can't afford to be caught off guard."

She shoots me a look. "You sound worried, so I assume this isn't going to go well for us."

I sigh, before gesturing down at the corpse before me, "Maj'Ras armor is incredibly difficult to destroy because it uses very expensive alloys. There's a reason you have to earn your place as a veteran Maj'Ra, plus have political influence, before you get a set made for you. Whatever it is that could rip it to shreds is equally dangerous."

"A fellow Maj'Ra, but you don't seem to be mourning his death. Traitor?"

It doesn't surprise me that she figured that out. "Yes," I reply, leaving it at that.

Of course, that bastard Xar'Ar'ax and his crew would spend their time in these degenerate pits.

She nods, looking as composed as usual when a fight is imminent.

"Well then, it's about time we got the fornicate out of here, don't you think?"

I give her the flattest stare I can muster even as she pivots on the balls of her feet and begins walking in another direction.

Again, with the fornicating.