Chapter 9

Ican hardly bring myself to notice Lesath through dinner. My gaze keeps slipping to him, though, the way his muscles move when he brings his fork or spoon to his mouth, the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

Every time he catches me looking, a sly smile spreads across his cocky face.

Mother fucker.

Kaus, who's always annoyed me when he comes and visits, can't seem to believe his good luck, staring at the three newcomers with open admiration.

"So how did you know they were your mates?" Cassie asks as the meal is finished. It's clear she's been waiting for her opportunity to ask and is still starry-eyed over the idea.

I roll my eyes, and there are no stars in them whatsoever.

"Some of us can scent them. And then there's this," Dabin says. "Danielle, should we…" he trails off, clearly waiting for her to give her acceptance.

Everyone stares at her, and she finally nods, drawing her loose blouse up.

"What, exactly, are we supposed to see?" Gisele squints at her bare stomach.

Dabin doesn't answer, and Danielle grins at him as he presses a hand to her stomach. Immediately, red light floods the space around her, and my jaw drops.

"Holy shit," Gisele says, clearly impressed.

"Is that?" Lyn starts, tilting her head in confusion.

"The sign of Capricorn," Danielle says proudly. "Here." She presses her hand on him, and an answering light glows on his skin. "The sign of Auriga."

"Much of the lore on mates was lost to time and the madness the Butcher King brought with him. But it seems that mates, when they touch and begin to bond, will display fate's choice on their skin."

"This is so cool," Cassie gushes.

"That's not true." The words burst out of me, disbelief winding me tight. "I don't have any marks. You never told me about this, Danielle." I haven't seen shit, and Lesath wouldn't have hesitated to lord that kind of claim over me. My hand closes around an apple on the table, or at least something similar to an apple, because all the food here is just a little off their Earth equivalents.

At least, I think he would have. Memories race through my mind. I don't remember him touching me, not skin to skin. Not like Dabin's caressing her, anyway.

Danielle bites her lower lip, her gaze shifting between Lesath and me.

"Right?" My voice climbs an octave, and Lesath stretches a hand out, as if to take mine in comfort. I snatch it off the table, dropping the apple into my lap.

"It, ah, takes trust. It didn't shine right away for me, either. It didn't show up on Dabin until after we, um, bonded."

"You mean after you jumped his bones? Knocked boots? Scored a touchdown?" Gisele blinks at her innocently.

"Enough, Gisele, seriously." Lyn scowls at her.

Kaus grins at Gisele like a besotted idiot, probably determined to put his hands all over her ASAP. I would roll my eyes, but honestly, I'm too freaked out.

His mark is on me? What, like I'm a cow? Branded meat for market?

It's barbaric.

I stand suddenly, and my chair falls over behind me, thudding into the floor.

"I'm going to bed. Thank you so much for dinner, it was lovely. Goodnight." My words waver in the air, everyone blinking up at me in surprise, probably because I angrily shouted the last part. It's definitely not as polite when you yell it at someone.

Without another word, I stomp out of the room, anger and helplessness roiling inside me. I take several steps into the main area of the house.

I don't know where my bed is. Fuck it!

I can't be in this house anymore. I need to be by myself.

Starlamps flicker, their glow softly illuminating the space. I turn towards one, spying the heavy door that leads outside. That's all it takes, and I'm aiming for it, practically falling over myself to get out. Despite the food and bath, or maybe because of it, I'm exhausted from today. My butt is sore from riding, my nerves are completely frayed, and somehow my traitorous body is all too ready to get down with Lesath.

The door slams shut behind me, my feet taking me faster down the path than I meant. I'm squeezing the apple I don't remember snatching in one hand, my fingernails biting into the firm flesh.

Branded like a cow.

"Fuckity fuck," I mutter, kicking at some flowers lining the path. "Fish sticks and a side of fuck fries."

I stop walking. My entire body is quivering, pent up aggression making my muscles tremble. I tilt my head back, inhaling slowly through my nose, making an attempt at control. The three Vrayan moons hang heavy in the sky overhead, constellations twinkling beside them. Without the glare of artificial lights, the stars are incredibly bright, and energy floods me as I soak in their light.

"Stupid fucking magic tricks." I kick another clump of flowers. My heartbeat pounds in my eardrums, and I get all the way to a campfire surrounded by the armor-clad men and women who guard this place before I realize I still don't have a clue where I'm going.

"Hey there, beautiful," one of the men stands up, a literal stein of beer in his hands. It's pewter and everything, and something about that is so ridiculous and Earth renaissance faire that I snort out a little laugh.

"Hey."

"Would you like to join us? Have a beer?" He's grinning at me now, wiry ginger hair braided intricately, the same braids in his beard. The guy jerks his head at one of the others sitting around the campfire, and suddenly, there's a tankard of beer in my hand. The apple, unfortunately, is still a victim to my death grip on it.

"Sure," I finally manage, my chest heaving. "When in Rome!"

"What's Rome?" The ginger haired guy sits, patting the ground next to him for me to sit.

"Who cares?" I take a long swig, everyone's startled attention on me. A little slips out of the side of my mouth. It's not good exactly, but it's not bad, either. I keep drinking. Well, less of a drinking and more of a chugging. Before I know it, there's no more beer, and I take a deep breath when it's gone.

"More!" I throw the stein on the ground, watching it hit the dirt. A little liquid rolls out of the top.

"What? Why did you throw it?" someone asks, but their comrades quickly shush them up, someone retrieving the stein and refilling it from a huge barrel.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, joining the ginger dude on the ground by the fire. I'm not as mad now, the slick slide of the alcohol warming my chest and stomach. "I don't know why I did that. I saw it in a movie once." I shrug a shoulder, feeling warm and much, much less stressed out. "That's strong stuff."

"You drank it all very quickly," the ginger haired man tells me.

"She's the Scorpio's mate," someone says at a stage whisper, and I'm irritated all over again.

"I'm my own person." The tankard is shoved back into my hand, and I take another long drink. Slightly more cautiously, though.

"Why are you out here with us? I'm Brock, by the way."

I eyeball Brock, giving him an unimpressed once over. I mean, he's fine, but I'm not interested. No reason in making him think I'm interested. "Cool. I'm Ali."

I take another swallow of the beer, feeling warm and toasty, and not just from the blazing fire.

Brock's staring at me, hazel eyes wide, lips turned up in amusement.

"Oh." He's waiting for an answer. I look down, wondering why my hand is cramping, until I see the apple, my fingers claw-like around it. "Horses."

I twist my mouth to the side, peering up at the sparking fire.

"Horses?" Brock lets out a small laugh. "You mean you wanted to bring your horse an apple?"

"Yep." I nod vigorously, glad he's cottoned on so quickly to my lie. "Horses." I hold the apple up for everyone to see.

I close one eye, taking another long drink of the beer. It's strong. Really strong. I haven't had alcohol in a long time. Since Earth. Shit.

"I'm gonna get going to the horses. Death on hooves misses me, I can tell."

"Death on hooves?" He shares an incredulous grin with a muscled woman with tight black braids sitting on his other side. "Is that the Westshear charger?"

"The black one? Mean and bitey?" I stand, or more like stagger, to my feet, raising a hand high above my head. Beer sloshes out of the tankard. "Oops. About yea high? Real bad attitude?"

"That's the one. He took a chunk out of one of our handlers. He's not a sweet pony."

"Molmith can be a real piece of shit," I agree. Squinting at him, I try to figure out why that last remark bothers me. "But we have an understanding." I rub my hands on my pants, trying to get the dust off, then am surprised when more beer sloshes out, the apple not doing much to help the dust situation.

"All right," I pause to drain the rest of the beer. "Thanks for the beer. I better get good ole murder horse his apple. Wouldn't want him to get angry."

Brock stands, and I look up at him. And up. Why the hell is everyone on this planet so damn tall? Would it kill them to have regular sized people?

"Do you know where the horses are, Ali?"

I take a moment to swing my gaze around the area. There's the house. There's the meadow. There's all the warrior campfires and tents.

I frown. "Nope."

Brock laughs again, and it's a nice laugh, warm and comforting. "Come on, I'll take you to your murder horse."

"Promise?" I close one eye again, and then the other, trying to focus on him. "Molmith will be pissed if he doesn't get his apple, and you don't want him to be pissed at you."

"I promise."

"Brock, I don't think that's—" the woman on the ground starts, but he levels her with a stare that cuts off the rest of her sentence.

I roll my eyes. "He's fine," I tell her. "Brock, tell her it's fine."

"It's fine," Brock echoes, his hazel eyes on me again, before he points beyond the campfires.

"Cool." I step in the direction he's pointing, a little dizzy from all the alcohol I forced on my unsuspecting liver. A thick arm wraps around my waist, steadying me.

"No touchy-touchy," I say.

"Just trying to get you there without you breaking a leg," Brock answers. "You're a lightweight, you know that?"

"Oh yeah?" I sniff. "You try nearly starving to death in a tower after being ripped out of your world. Then we'll see who's the lightweight, bub."

"Bub?" His voice is pure confusion.

"Just go with it, muscles."

A deep laugh rips out of him, and he rights me again as I start to fall forward.

"Whoopsy!"

Before I know it, Brock's successfully guided me to the stables, where I immediately spot my big pain pony. "Molmith, you rat bastard, I got you an apple. I know it's not human flesh, like you prefer, but I thought you could try something new."

I'm crooning in the baby voice all animals seem to like, and Brock props me up on the stall door before taking a few steps away.

Molmith rolls his eyes, blowing out a huff of air that sends my hair puffing from my face. Showing some teeth, he sniffs at the apple, then takes it delicately from my hands before crunching it loudly, sending horse spit and apple juice all over my cheek.

"You did that on purpose," I say accusingly.

Molmith nods his head.

"Stars above," Brock says, and I notice belatedly he's stepped closer to me. Damn beer.

"What?"

"It's like he understood you." He moves in closer.

I don't know that I like how close he is. I mean, he's fine looking, but he's not doing it for me. Nah, he's not my type at all. Though I do respect that he didn't get handsy on the walk over.

"Of course I didn't get handsy," Brock responds, his lip turned up in amusement. "That's not how we behave. Not the Starbound or any Vrayans. Blood drinkers are the only ones who take what's not freely given."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "I said that out loud, huh?"

"I mean, are you sure I'm not your type?" He flexes his arms, giving me a slow smile.

I raise an eyebrow. "That is pretty impressive, not gonna lie."

"Thank you," he says, stepping even closer. I tilt my chin up, and realize he's moved in for the kill. Or the kiss. Something in me snaps, and I step back, unsure. Or totter back. Either or.

"Get away from her." Lesath's voice lashes out, quiet and dangerous.

A shiver runs down my spine, and my head swivels to where he leans against the barn entrance, one arm overhead. His body language is casual, but I recognize his expression.

It's the same one he had when he was chopping heads off vampires.

"Do you want me to get away from you, Ali?" Brock's voice is gentle, and I huff out a breath.

I mean, yeah, I do want him to, but only because I don't want to be kissed. Not because Brock's a bad guy. Not because I belong to Lesath.

Brock shrugs, backing off.

"I said that out loud, huh?" Fucking beer. I kick at a pile of straw on the ground.

"She doesn't want you, either," Brock says, and really, that's just stupid. He stares at me.

I point at my mouth. "Out loud again?"

He nods, still grinning at me. "You sure, Ali? You seem like a lot of fun."

"You seem like a nice guy, mostly, Brock, but yeah. I'm sure. You should probably leave before Lesath rips your arms off like he did to the vampires we killed earlier."

Molmith kicks a leg out against his stall door, and Brock backs up, gaze darting between me and the horse.

"Murder ponies gonna murder pony," I tell him, nodding sagely.

Brock dips his head, then struts past Lesath like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"He should go chat up Gisele. They're both coloring outside the lines, if you know what I mean. Peas of a feather flock together and all that." I screw up my lips. That last bit wasn't quite right.

Lesath doesn't say anything. His eyes are on me though, not a hint of a smile on his face.

"Lesath, I'm not in the mood to fight."

"That's a lie."

"Yeah, it is. I'd like to kick your ass, you complete stool softener!"

He narrows his eyes at me. "Is that considered an insult where you come from?"

"No," I scoff. "But it doesn't mean I won't fight you."

"You want to fight me? Would it make you feel better to fight?"

I don't know the first thing about fighting. "Yeah, I'd like to punch that smug grin right off your face."

He steps forward, into the brighter light of the Starlamp lit barn. A shrug moves his powerful shoulders, and I suck in a breath. Damn. He's so handsome.

That familiar devilish grin tugs up the corner of his mouth.

I narrow my eyes. I'm not even going to ask if I said it out loud. Fuck this guy.

"You're drunk."

"Well spotted," I say acidly. "Really brilliant powers of observation, Sherlock. Er, Watson." The insult is slightly ruined by me weaving as I meet him in the middle of the barn.

"Come on, I know the perfect spot where you can take your, ah, aggression out on me." He offers an arm to me for support, but I slap it away. God, his skin feels good against my hand, so right. I raise my hand again, rubbing it against his exposed forearm.

"Mmm." Desire rushes through me, and I frown, pulling my hand away.

Lesath's body tenses beside mine. "Do you want to do this, or not?"

"Do I want to punch you right in your perfect nose? Yeah." I lean forward a little too far, and he pushes my shoulder back up, like a toddler's balance toy.

He tugs me out of the barn, out a backdoor, leading me into the woods that surround the back of Idiene Fieldhouse. I stumble behind him, though the initial buzz is wearing off in the brisk night air. When we finally stop, just inside the edge of the forest, light streams through the leaves, the ground here filled with low wildflowers. Moonlight silvers the white tree trunks. I stop, drinking it in.

Vraya isn't Earth, but damn, it is beautiful.

Lesath moves in front of me as I stand stock-still, taking in the moonlit clearing. A blur of movement catches my eye, and I turn my attention back to him.

And stop breathing.

My mouth goes dry. Lesath's shirt puddles on the forest floor, and he rakes a hand through his hair, watching me. Always watching me.

His bare chest catches the moonlight, a study in muscles and shadows. The man might drive me insane, but I cannot deny that his body is a work of art. Every muscle stands out in stark relief, the moonlight's soft caress only amplifying his perfection. I didn't know that stomachs were like that outside of movies and magazines. His muscles have muscles. Curious, I step forward, running a hand over the tight pack of muscles ridged across his ribs.

He shivers under my fingers. His eyes holds mine. Slowly, I take my hand away.

"Is it the magic?" I finally ask. "Is that what keeps you looking like that?"

"Looking like what?" He raises an eyebrow before surveying his own body.

"Like perfection." I mean, he has to know. It's probably why he's such a cocky tool bag.

"That and training, I suppose." He shrugs, and lust staggers me as I watch his muscles ripple.

"Training," I echo.

"Training. Something we should see about for you."

"You mean with a sword?"

"If you want. You seemed happy with that dagger, though."

A night bird takes up a forlorn song, and we both freeze for an instant, the bird flying overhead before alighting on another branch, starting a new song. I step further away from him, from the heat of his body, from the pull of the mating bond.

"So," I say, glad the bird interrupted us. I don't know what I was about to do, but it wasn't a good idea, that much was certain. "Training."

I run a hand through my hair, surprised to find it mostly loose.

"This can be the first lesson."

"I thought you wanted me to hit you, you sicko." I try for a joke, but there's too much tension between us. I lick my lips.

Bad idea. His gaze snags on my mouth, and heat surges through me. I want him, I know that. I want his hands on me and his mouth on mine and I want to give in.

But I don't want to do it because of the mating bond, because some force decided we were it for each other. I don't want to be controlled, especially not after what he did to me. How can I trust him, trust fate, after that?

I take another step back.

He swallows loudly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

My brain stutters to a stop, and I take another step forward. Damn him. Damn this. Anger kindles in me, strong and violent, and the bird's song ceases, leaving only the hum of insects.

"I don't want you to hit me, so you know," he says conversationally. "But if you need to get it out of your system, after all I've done to you, then I suppose you can go ahead and?—"

Crack.

Lesath's head barely moves as my palm makes contact on his face.

"That's for stealing me away from my sisters."

I raise my hand again, ready to hit him, and he stands there, waiting for another blow to fall.

And something about it breaks my heart. About the quiet way he'd let me take it out on him, for no other reason than he thinks it might make me feel better.

"I've been a real jerk," I say quietly, rubbing my stinging hand. "I'm still mad at you, don't get me wrong. But I realized today that you might be right about that curse after all." I scrunch my mouth to the side. "That doesn't mean I'm cool with what you did." I shake my hand out, wincing. "You have a hard face, you know that?"

"It was a good slap." A soft chuckle rolls through the space between us. His warm hand finds mine, and he brings it to his lips. The feather light pressure of his mouth on my palm sears through me, and I let out a little gasp of surprise.

"I can never apologize enough for what I did to you, for everything I put you through. I will shoulder that guilt for the rest of our very long lives." His eyes search mine, my hand still in his.

Everything in me screams to go to him, to run my palm across his stubbled jawline, and to find out what those lips would feel like against my mouth. I blink up at him, riding the torrent of lust and conflicting emotions, swaying slightly where I stand.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you to bed. It's been a long day." In the bright light of the three moons, his eyes glint, his words full of an emotion I can't quite put my finger on.

My heart softens, just a little bit. Not because he's being bossy again, as usual. Actually, for some contrarian reason, I find it amusing, probably a by-product of the ridiculously strong beer I downed like a parched frat boy.

"Fine." I turn, expecting his hand to fall away from mine. Except, when it does, I miss the warmth of his skin on mine immediately.

The aching sense of loss nearly shocks me sober.

Lesath steps beside me, shrugging back into his shirt, and I sneak a sidelong peek at him. His hands twitch at his sides. Instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest, knowing that if I don't watch myself, I'll reach for him. I'll give into the call of the magic between us, and lose what little inhibitions I have left, thanks to the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream.

He chances a glance at me, and I'm too slow to avoid meeting his gaze as we move out from the cover of trees. A smug smile tugs up one corner of his mouth, and reality washes over me. He thinks of me as a foregone conclusion. That I'll eventually give it up to him, because he thinks we're fated. Whatever I feel for him isn't real—it's fate or whatever else his people think form the bond between us.

Not that I feel anything for him. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not one bit of feelings. My lips scrunch to the side as I dodge a gnarled root, barely staying upright and throwing my arms out for balance.

"You know, you have to sleep with me tonight," he says conversationally.

"I should have hit you again. Real missed opportunity," I grit out. "And we're not sleeping together."

"You will not be able to get out of the oath you made to me so easily."

"What, like I did with my murder horse?"

He dips his head in acknowledgment, that slow smile growing. Heat curls low in me, a reaction anyone attracted to men would have. Not because of fate, and not because of his annoying personality, but because he's just that sexy. It's incredibly obnoxious. Just like the rest of him.

"That was clever. You're very clever."

"Oh, wow, a compliment." I shouldn't feel warm and fuzzy from it. I don't. I'm warm and fuzzy from the beer. That's all. "Shocking."

He tenses next to me, and I grin at landing a barb before his motions smooth back out, liquid and graceful as always. Lesath doesn't walk so much as he swaggers. It should be impossible, given his size and bulk, but he moves like a dancer might, loose and powerful.

Warmth envelops my hand. His fingers curl around mine.

"Is that what you want, then, Ali?" A shiver wracks me at the sound of my name, the way he says it, the syllables caressed from his lips. "Compliments?"

I don't respond, instead trudging onward, ignoring the pull of him. He stays in step with me, and I know he's staring at me as we walk, hand-in-hand, back to Dabin and Danielle's house.

"I will take your silence as a yes." Amusement colors his tone, and I tug my hand a little. He lets it fall away, and I clutch it to my chest. Campfires burn brighter in the distance.

"Then hear this, Ali of House Orion. You are the most beautiful and stubborn woman I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. You take my breath away. Every day the sun is jealous of the brightness of your eyes, and every night the three moons revel in the way their light falls upon your skin. You are brave, and brilliant, and kind."

I press my hand harder against my chest, my heart pounding against my ribs. At some point, my feet stopped moving, and now I'm staring up at him, incredulous.

"But that's not what I like best about you."

I squint at him, unsure.

"What I like best about you, Ali, is that you aren't afraid to show me your sharp edges. That you don't dull your tongue or anger with me. That I alone get to see all of you, your anger and your passion, and that you aren't afraid to tell me exactly what you're thinking." His voice has softened, and I swallow against a lump in my throat. "You're perfect?—"

"Don't put me on a pedestal," I snap, completely out of sorts. "No one is perfect."

"For me," he finishes, one eyebrow raised, that stupid cocky smile returning. "And I cannot wait to prove to you how right we will be together."

"You," I step forward, poking at his chest again. Which I have got to stop doing, because really, chests like that should be touched, and now I want to keep touching it, and that is a bad, bad idea. The road to the love shack is paved with those kinds of intentions.

"Me," he says softly, and I startle as I realize I've been stroking his pec.

"Dammit!" I whirl around, heading back for the house at a near jog. My stomach sloshes, and I press my traitorous hand to it, then stumble across a rock.

And go down hard, my ankle twisting, from the shitty combination of beer and exhaustion. Pain shoots up my leg, and I suck in a breath.

"Fuck me," I half-whimper.

"Ali, you must know I cannot possibly fuck you when you're in pain."

I glare at him, but there's no trace of amusement on his face. He's serious, and thinks I was asking him to fuck me, and honestly, why did I chug those beers?

I collapse fully onto the ground, staring up at the still-strange sight of the three moons, the stars that give us our powers and apparently force us together, giving up.

"I'm tired."

"You're hurt," Lesath mansplains.

"I really wish I'd hit you more than once."

He scoops me up into his arms, in the good ole princess carry, and I don't even argue.

"Don't worry. I'll start training you on the way to Donnora, and you'll have as many opportunities as you'd like to get in another blow. In the meantime, let's get you inside and make sure that leg's okay, hmm?"

I'm not used to the soft and soothing tone of his voice, and I'm definitely not used to the feel of his breath against my ear. His chest feels even better against my body than it did my hand, and as he picks up the pace, I'm flummoxed by how safe I feel in his arms, how it feels so right.

Tired, I rest my cheek against his shoulder, trying not to jostle my ankle.