Chapter 13

I almost tripon another pebble, and I bite back a groan at the pain from where it attempted to pierce the arch of my foot. I should’ve kept the boots, vossan be damned. I already look different from the rest of them. What would one poor fashion choice matter?

Sohven is sitting on some sort of raised bench for the gazlas. I guess they want to be able to look down on all of us suitors. Maybe I’m still not entirely recovered from that head injury of mine, because the words “fertility festival” should’ve clued me in to the vibe here, but I’ve been, unfortunately quite literally, stumbling around like a blushing virgin.

I’m just not getting the taboos. No one yelled at us when Sohven and I first arrived, and I know we must’ve touched then. Now, apparently even a chaste bit of hand-holding is off-limits, as well as any honest, private conversation. I knew that Illson guy had a scary side. I’m just glad he was trying to hide it when he was chastising Sohven. Meanwhile, when I sit down on one of what I’ve dubbed the peasant benches, I’ve got men on either side of me feeling each other up while I try to drink some stew out of a stone bowl.

At least the food is good.

The stone bowl is definitely a choice. They have the tech to carve them beautifully. The piece of granite-like rock I’m holding is shiny enough that I could use it as a mirror, and it feels surprisingly light and delicate in my hands. A large group of the spectators is manning a massive outdoor kitchen, searing a variety of meats along with what I’m assuming are vegetables. It’s loud out here between the sizzling food, chatting Lohnya, and the ever-present wind.

“You’re shaking,” Vozu remarks. He’s sort of my default buddy here, even if I have caught him zoning out while gazing between my legs more than once since the feast began. He hasn’t tried to cop a feel yet, so I think I’m good.

“It’s getting cold out.” As if eager to back up my claim, an extra strong gust of wind pushes the ends of my hair into my face. It’s just long enough to get in my eyes. This is the stuff I never have to worry about off-planet—swinging temperatures, errant breezes, sleeping in the open air.

Yep. That’s happening. Not looking forward to it, despite what I thought earlier in the cave tunnel. I never expected it to get quite this cold.

Vozu’s giving me an intense look, but I don’t know him well enough to recognize whether it’s displeasure or concern. “I could use my wing to shield you,” he offers.

I have a pretty good idea what Sohven would have to say about that, but it’s tempting.

“Thanks, but it’s probably better if you don’t, at least in front of him,” I say with a nod toward Sohven.

“Did you ever meet my nestmate? Holan?”

I set my bowl on my thighs and look over at my companion. “Sohen is the first and only Lohnya I’d met until my arrival here. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you anything, but Sohen never mentioned him. He didn’t talk much about his life here at all, to be honest.”

Vozu frowns, takes a breath, and frowns again. “I thought maybe they would’ve been together all this time. Sohen left right after Holan, so we all assumed he followed him.”

“Why’d your broth—I mean nestmate, leave?” I ask.

“Stay with me and I’ll tell you tonight. Those of us from Fallil Eyrie know the story, but the others don’t, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. Holan brought shame to our clan.”

I lift up my bowl. “I’d be happy to listen later,” I tell him, and then I take another sip of the heavily spiced stew. It sure beats our Sannaveh mystery meats. “I want to know more about the trials, too.”

Vozu presses his leg against mine. “I’ll prepare you well.”

I glance up, straight ahead at the gazlas’ bench. Sohven’s looking right at me. I can’t help but grin, and I shake my head side to side, reminding him how foolish he’s being if he thinks anything’s about to happen down here in peasant-land.

The Lohnya throw a long-ass feast. By the time they stop passing food around, the sky has finally darkened, and I’m still shivering. I tried to appreciate the process, to take in the rust and orange streaked colors of the sunset, but I was too tired to focus. Now it’s almost full dark, but lightning flashes greenish-yellow in the far off distance.

No one says anything, but everyone starts shifting around, all of them rising to their feet. It’s probably a mistake, but I snap my hand out to grab Vozu’s wrist.

“Wait. Where are we going?” I ask.

“The hot pools. You’re so cold—they’ll be good for you.” Whether he smiles or remains stony faced, I can’t tell. Even though he’s standing right beside me, his large frame is like a dense shadow. I can’t make out any details except for the shine from his eyes.

“Okay.” He starts to move, and I tighten my grip. “I can’t see well in the dark,” I admit.

He shakes off my hand easily before he slips an arm around me, pulling me in close. The warmth of his body is such a relief that I don’t bother to protest. Sinking into his side isn’t sexual. It feels like survival at this point. When his wing drapes over my opposite shoulder, I shiver again despite myself because it feels so damn good.

“Just stay close to me. I’ll get you safely to the pools,” Vozu says as he urges me forward.

It takes a good deal of faith to keep walking when I know my feet might make contact with the next jagged stone at any moment, but there’s no turning back now. It’d be easy to stroll right off the edge of the cliff in this type of darkness, and I’m not looking to tempt fate. I know Sohven believes Dan’s lies about me having a knack for finding trouble, and I don’t intend to prove him right.

It’s strange walking like this, hobbling along with a man I’ve only known the span of a day. His skin has the same leathery, comforting texture as Sohven’s as it rubs against my outer thigh, the side of my arm, and down the length of my back where my skin is pebbled with gooseflesh.

I close my eyes and surrender to the inexplicably peaceful heaviness of Fallil Eyrie’s night. The people are talking as we walk towards the hot pools, and the small sounds of normal movement still fill the air, but it’s like the noise can’t touch me. I’m removed from it, all wrapped up in the enticing anonymity of the dark.

“We’re almost there,” Vozu says. He speaks quietly, like he can read my mood even though I haven’t said a word.

“Good,” I reply.

The little shuffling sounds as they shift their wings, the soft exhales, the combined heat of so many bodies too close—I know the other Lohnya are all around us. My skin prickles, feeling extra sensitized with the awareness. I’m not accustomed to crowds. Not like this.

Vozu’s wing curls tighter around my shoulder as someone laughs, a throaty Lohnya chuff. Low lights begin to glow in a rough oval, marking a wide perimeter. Their reflection lies faint across black, bubbling water. By the time the triangular lanterns around the edges of the pools hit their full strength, I can make out individual bodies and the faces of those close to me.

“Come,” Vozu urges. He hasn’t let go of me yet, so my body lurches forward before I decide to take another step.

It’s no resort soaking pool, that’s for sure. I pull back a bit, uncertain that I want to step right in without being able to see what lurks beneath the surface. “You first,” I mutter.

Vozu freezes before he lets his wings slip away from my shoulders. He glances back as he puts one foot and then the other into the dark water. The fleshy part of his ear perks up when our eyes meet. “See?” he’s telling me with that little smirk. “Perfectly fine.” He’s standing, and the top of the pool only reaches a bit above his waist.

I take a deep breath and follow him, but I’m slower than the other Lohnya. This edge of the main pool is getting crowded by the time I step down onto the slippery ledge the others are sitting on. I quickly jump down when I realize that in this position, Vozu’s getting an up close and personal view of my dick.

“Where’s Sohven?” I ask as I sit down and start to lean back against the edge of the pool. I quickly catch myself—there’s a gap between the ledge and the wall, presumably space for their large wings.

Vozu lifts two fingers and points to one of the smaller interconnected pools to our right. Then he leans even closer so that his lips practically touch the top edge of my ear. “Sohen. It’s Sohen until the end of the festival, little Jace,” he whispers against the fleshy cartilage. I have no plans to tell him he needs to aim a little lower. I’m afraid I’d end up with his tongue halfway down my ear canal.

“Thanks, Vozu. I’ll work on remembering better next time.” I slide my ass forward a bit so I can get my shoulders underwater. At least Vozu was right about this—the heated pool feels amazing. “Can we just stay here all night?” I ask.

I’m rewarded with a hearty chuff from Vozu, but Losla has settled in against my other side, and he apparently takes it as an invitation to clamp a hand over my thigh. I give a pointed look towards the approximate spot where our bodies are touching, but it just looks like I’m glaring at the water. His mouth tips up in a little smile, and his hand squeezes harder before it relaxes.

I look for Sohven again, and this time, I can identify him. Two of the other gazlas were blocking the view before. He tilts his head as if he senses me looking, and his expression smooths out, worry lines fading away, when he finds me in the crowd. I’m glad he’s not that far from us. There’s a second small pool occupied by another group of gazlas, but between the dim lighting and the steam rising off the water, I’d barely be able to see him if he’d chosen that one.

I’d thought maybe this event was just for those of us participating in the festival, but at least thirty or so men from the older generation are standing just outside the reach of the lanterns, their shadowy forms and flashing eyes jacking up my adrenaline. I’m only human. I don’t like to feel like prey.

“Do humans drink alcohol? I noticed you drank only broth and water during the feast,” remarks Losla.

“Why?” I dodge the question. I want to figure out why he’s asking first.

“They’ll serve the muhlsa soon. It’s strong. We would say that it puts the wind at your back.” Losla’s giving me a toothy grin. It’s not at all charming on him. Not the way it’d be if it were Sohven looking at me like that. My translator provides no words in Trade to define what they’ll be serving, but it’s clear enough from the context.

“I can handle my liquor, if that’s what you’re asking.” A stiff drink would be welcome right about now to chase away the chill that’s sunk into my bones.

“Good,” says Losla with another smile. He’s somehow scooted even closer, and he’s pressed up against the entire right side of my body. “My older nestmates told me stories about this night.” He’s lowered his voice now, and his head dips down closer to my shoulder. His eyes are shining with mischief, with bubbling anticipation, and his tongue just touches his lower lip before he hides it away again. He looks like a kid hiding the most delicious secret.

“What’d they tell you?” I ask. He’s obviously waiting for the prompt, so I don’t hesitate to give it.

His hand slips further towards my inner thigh. “They said the muhlsa tastes sweet when it hits your tongue, but your lovers’ cocks taste even better,” he whispers.

I snatch his wrist and push his arm away. “Hands off, Losla,” I tell him as calmly as I can.

“Zana.” He doesn’t try to grab my leg again, but he looks at me like I kicked a kitten. “I told you to call me Zana. Zana Losla is my formal name, and we are no longer strangers now that we’ve placed our claim on the same gazla. We may soon be bonded.”

He looks much too excited by the prospect for my taste.

“My fathers told me about the opening rites, too, Zana. No one can force Jace to participate if he’d rather remain chaste. There are others who also prefer to wait until the mating flight,” says Vozu.

I turn my face towards the other Lohnya. “Will you? Wait, I mean.”

He doesn’t answer at first, eyes flitting across what’s visible of my shoulders and back up to my face. Then he smiles. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Flirty grin aside, I think I’m safe enough from Vozu. He seems to get that I’m off limits. He may have a healthy appreciation for my alien good looks, but he hasn’t crossed any lines.

I glance up when a low humming noise starts up to find Sohven watching me. He doesn’t frown, but he looks uncomfortable, and he has a good amount of space between himself and the other gazlas. I know he’s probably not happy with the guys sitting so close, but there aren’t any empty spaces here in the big pool.

The humming was just a tickle against my skin, a slight vibration I could barely feel coming off the rock surrounding us, but it’s louder now. I grit my teeth. If this is the Lohnya idea of music, I’m not a fan. The odd sound continues to swell, making me want to jump out of my skin just to get away from it. Several voices join the god awful buzz, but it must be a recording, because no one’s singing. The older men lingering in the dark are moving more. Maybe they’re going to serve us this Lohnya liquor that Los–, no Zana, was so excited about.

Someone snaps their wings, and every head tips in the direction of the sound. Naturally, it’s dear old dad Illson, my grumpy favorite of Sohven’s relatives I’ve met so far. Any brothers—nestmates—have been conspicuously absent.

Another older man hands Illson an oversized chalice. It looks like something from the human dark ages, but from the wolfish way my companions are staring at it, I’m guessing we’re expected to drink from it. Hopefully it’s lightweight like the bowls, or I might have some trouble lifting the thing.

Illson walks over to Sohven’s little pool, crouching down to hand him the chalice first. If that’s not some blatant nepotism right there, I don’t know what is. Sohven handles it easily, meeting my eyes before he tips the chalice back and takes a long swallow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he passes it on to the gazla closest to him. He dips his head in a little nod to me. I return the gesture with a half-hearted smile to let him know I’m doing just fine.

The music isn’t getting any quieter. In fact, some new instruments have jumped into the mix, although I can’t really identify the sounds. Alien arts have never really been my thing, so I couldn’t tell you whether I’m listening to strings, winds, or “other.” I just know it’s starting to give me a headache.

I slip forward a little more until my ass is barely balanced on the edge of the bench. It’s going to take a while for the chalice to reach us, and I’ve got to stay warm somehow. I lean back and lift my hands to my face as I yawn. It’s hard to believe that we’ve only been here since late morning, but it’ll only be a few days longer—I can make it. I’ve endured worse, and that’s no lie.

Suddenly strong fingers clamp down around my bicep, and a man’s talons pinch my skin as someone hauls me up out of the water. I try to jerk free, but my captor isn’t having it. “Stop. Sohen would be distraught if you were hurt. If you were tired enough to fall asleep in the pools, you should’ve told us.” Zana grips my other arm along with the first and tries to pull me up onto his lap. “I’ll hold you. He’ll learn I can keep you safe. I saw how deeply he valued you aboard the shuttle.” Zana’s voice goes rough as his gaze loses focus, seemingly caught up in the memories of this morning’s ride down to the planet.

“I’m good. You can let go now.” I glance back at Vozu and find him eyeing me worriedly too, ears tipped up in high alert. “I wasn’t sleeping,” I tell them. “I had my eyes closed, and I wanted to keep more of my body under the water because it’s cold out here.”

Vozu slips an arm between my back and the rock behind me, pushing me forward before I think to stop him. His wing opens slightly and edges into the space, blocking out the frigid breezes swirling across the cliff’s wide plateau. Zana angles his body towards me and brings his right wing around my chest.

“We’ll protect you—we’ll help you adjust,” he says. “Mates care for one another.”

He looks so terribly earnest. He barely knows me, but he doesn’t hesitate to give me comfort. I thought he was just looking for some action with the blatant flirting and heavy stares, but it strikes me again, the knowledge that I shouldn’t be here, that Sohven and I are disrupting their ritual.

I wonder what it’d be like if I took Sohven with me back to Danliev. There’s no one there who’d remember or recognize me on the station where I was born. I don’t think there’s any way I could mold myself back into the scared little boy I was there, and I have the feeling it’s the same for him here on Lohnyal. Whoever Sohven was, the man I love doesn’t belong here any longer.

“Thank you,” I say to both the men currently shielding me from the cold. “Please pick another gazla. I like you, all of you. You deserve to have the mates you want now. It won’t be me—it won’t be Sohen.”

Zana makes a low whistling sound through his teeth. From the soft gleam in his eyes, I think it’s the Lohnya version of shushing me. He leans in and bends his head to rub the base of his horns against my forehead. “That isn’t for you alone to decide. How would one man care for you here? Sohen needs us. It takes many to build a strong nest. I made my choice, and I won’t change it. You’ll see. Lohnya aren’t meant to stand alone. Sohen will be grateful in time.”

Vozu’s wing shifts against my back, the texture of it just rough enough, just familiar enough to make something jump in my chest, a sharp pinch that makes me shudder. “Does he want young?” he asks softly, sadly.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t know, I don’t think so. He never said he did.” I don’t. I want what we had, just as it was. I was content enough just piecing myself together after Sannaveh.

“Can you bear young?”

Vozu again. I shake my head a second time, but my mouth won’t unclench to release an answer. Turns out I don’t need to say a thing. Whatever Zana sees on my face tells him all he needs to know.

“That’s why we have the festival. Our young are a gift, but so few survive. Small nests are rarely successful. You don’t have to worry. Together we’ll be able to make a family,” he tells me.

He means it with every fiber of his being. I don’t need to look into his eyes to see it. Zana may be young and eager and slightly annoying, but his intentions are good. I want Sohven so bad right now. I want to take his stern face between my hands and squeeze. I want to pry out the answers I need from that stubborn brain of his and make him explain it to me. Why? Why did he need to come here? Because right now, despite the weariness tugging at my bones, the heat of the bubbling water, and the warmth of the wings encircling my body, there’s no way I can feel comfort, not when we’re deceiving these men, however unintentionally.

I’m saved from the task of composing a coherent reply to Zana’s heartfelt declaration by the arrival of the chalice. Zana’s wing drops back as he accepts it from the man on his right. He turns back to me, holding it high, and grins. “You first, Jace. Your first taste of muhlsa, but not your last.”

Cool, glassy stone presses against my lower lip, urging me to open, to accept all they want to give. The muhlsa scorches as it hits my tongue. Then it burns its way down my throat, smoky and a little sweet, as Zana continues to pour more into my mouth. I’ve drunk a lot of alien booze in my time, but muhlsa’s in a class of its own. I sputter slightly before Zana finally pulls the chalice away and takes a long drink of his own.

I grab it from him as soon as he lowers it and turn to Vozu, meeting his eyes as I offer it the same way Zana did to me. Vozu’s wing ripples against my shoulder before he begins to swallow down the liquor. The lanterns surrounding us cast disjointed shadows across his face, and the muhlsa’s fire smolders bittersweet, leaving only the tang of ash and lye on my lips.

Vozu hands the chalice to the next Lohnya with a smile. The tips of his ears quiver, his whole body vibrates, and the movement seeps into me too, setting me off balance, shifting the ground beneath me although my ass is still firmly planted on their stone bench.

I look around at the others. Muhlsa’s effects seem typical enough. The smiles are looser, eyes glossier. The Lohnya are getting louder, and not just to be heard over the now raucous background music. Voices echo, words indistinguishable, layered over the soft sounds of bubbling water. The chalice isn’t the only thing they’re passing around either. Taloned hands linger too long on shoulders, wings shift and stretch to slip against other bodies, and a sizzling undercurrent of desire heats the air, or maybe that’s just the muhlsa settling heavy in my own stomach. Whatever it is, none of us remain unaffected.

He’s looking at me again—Sohven. He’s all alone. None of the others touch him. I feel doubly guilty at the soft brush of wings from either side of me, for the way I’ve been absorbing the heat coming off their big bodies. I slide forward, distancing myself a bit from my companions, as if that will somehow allow me to see him better.

His hand lowers to the tangled mass of chains lying across his chest. Long fingers reach down to the very bottom of the pile, plucking up a large, misshapen bead resting near the hollow of his throat.

Mine. That ullaz is mine.

His talons gleam, reflected lantern light coming off bright from the thick metal strands covering his body. He turns his hand inward, the backs of his fingers slipping over his skin until he can’t go down any further without hitting the chains. Sohven tips his head back, exposing the column of his neck, and I imagine I’m close enough to take a bite. My mouth waters, that fire churning anew in my gut as I shift my hips.

I watch him swallow, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Hunger twists and burrows, racing its way through my veins, and I almost forget to breathe when his hand dips below the water.

He drops his head back down and stares, and it’s like there’s no one between us. If I let my vision go hazy around the edges, the thick steam from the pool can block out the rest of the world. I lift my right hand and show it to him, turning it side to side just to see his jaw tick before I set my fingertips at the bottom of my chin. I wait a beat to be sure he won’t look away before my fingers ghost their way down my neck. I take my sweet time, my breaths coming in shallow now. It’s easy to imagine it’s his talons, his hand, causing my skin to tighten and prickle with awareness.

Beneath the water, my dick gets harder. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I give in and let myself sink into the sensuality of the moment. My fingers feel good against my skin, but the weight of Sohven’s heated gaze feels better. I love the way he watches me. I can’t see his hand anymore, but his arm is shifting beneath the water, soft, slight movements that no one else would notice. Saliva pools in my mouth and I ache in the most maddeningly delicious way.

Sohven lifts his other hand to his forehead, fingers spread wide so he has a thumb on either side of his horns. I know he’s breathing harder now as he presses along the sensitive, velvety ridge where horn meets hide. I’ve heard it happen enough times before that I don’t need to be close to him to be certain, but usually it’s my hands driving him wild. His brow pinches as his shoulders shiver, and my dick twitches, the head tapping my stomach as I lean forward.

He fixes his eyes on me again and lowers his hand, setting it over his shoulder. Then he looks at my shoulder and nods, just a bit, enough for me to take notice.

I think I know his game. I drag my fingertips from my chest over to my shoulder, and his body eases, releasing tension I didn’t even realize was there as he settles. It’s not obvious, just a little thing, but seeing the change in him allows my own chest to loosen and coaxes my abs to unclench.

He smiles without showing his teeth, and his hand strokes down his upper arm, halting at the elbow. I copy the move and wait for him to show me what he wants next. He tilts his head and switches hands, starting at the side of his neck before he lets his fingers linger in the dip above his collarbone. My face feels too hot, and I don’t suck in enough air when I lift my hand to mimic him. I let my nails dig in a bit as my hand slides over my far more vulnerable skin. I half close my eyes, making it easier to imagine it’s his talons causing the sting.

I can still see him well enough to follow each and every deviation in the path his hand takes as it lowers from his sternum to down below the ropes of heavy beads and then beneath the water. When my fingers close around the length of my cock, I hiss. It feels so fucking good. Knowing he’s doing the exact same thing makes me feel light and floaty, like that steam swirling above the pools might’ve caught me up in its vortex, like I’m not quite here any longer.

I stroke myself in time with Sohven, never looking away. Sound seeps back in as my breath quickens. The more I fall apart, the more everything else worms its way into the cracks left behind.

I’m not the only one breathing hard. Soft, stretched, whispered words slip in and out of my mind, and I can’t tell if I’m imagining them or if the men surrounding me are actually saying them aloud. Wings rustle, accompanied by low moans that make me thrust up frantically into my fist. The water doesn’t feel so warm any more, not when my body is burning from the inside out, when I feel like whatever keeps me solid is about to fragment into pieces so tiny I might just drift away, soaring on the pleasure like it’s one long, stubborn note that refuses to fade.

Other people are touching me. Not in a deliberate way, but little brushes of arms and elbows, feet kicking out as men cry out their satisfaction, or wings that shudder and ripple behind and above my shoulders.

I can’t hold out any longer. All it takes is one more quick stroke, and my own groan spills into the air, just one more voice joining the chorus. Sohven’s neck stiffens as his brow creases in something that’s so akin to pain I’d be worried if I didn’t know better. He comes as I shake through the last vestiges of my own climax, forcing out one final shudder as I savor the thought of his release spilling over his big hand, coating him in the proof of his pleasure. Another tortured moan leaves my lips as I imagine being close enough to taste it, to have the chance to make him clean before the water does.

“Jace,” a voice beside me groans, pulling me out of the fantasy.

I feel a little dizzy as I look back. Zana is sitting up on the ledge behind me, feet on the bench in the pool and wings uplifted behind him. Vozu’s face is hidden between his spread legs as he arches back, palms planted on the cool stone as his hips lift and lower.

“You’re beautiful in your pleasure.” His breathless words come with a blissed out smile before he stiffens and his hips rock forward one more time. He licks his lips before he leans forward, reaching out to grasp one of Vozu’s horns. He strokes it roughly until Vozu releases a muffled cry, face still buried in Zana’s groin.

Vozu pulls back, mouth glossy as he unfolds his large frame and turns to me. He looks as dazed as I feel, and he collapses to his knees at my side. Water droplets splash my face, and I blink them away as he wraps his arms around my neck and leans into my chest. I can feel Zana between us in the way his cheek slips easily to the dip between my pecs, painting me in the other man’s slick come. He licks me and lets out a little chuff.

“You taste good,” he says as he turns his face up to look at me. He gives me a big, dorky grin, and I slide down further on the bench.

Maybe I should discourage him, but it all seems like too much effort. I’m still boneless and heavy, wrecked by Sohven’s big, dark eyes, by his silent commands.

Zana’s arms drop over my shoulders so his hands can stroke the top edges of Vozu’s wings. His body curls over me, and his lips brush my hair, soft and unhurried. He sighs, rubbing his cheek against me. Now I’m truly in danger of falling asleep, lulled by the security of their warm, pliant bodies. Sohven’s still watching, but he doesn’t look upset. He has one leg pulled up, knee above the water with his foot on the bench. He gives me a lazy smile, and I think I return it, although I can’t be sure.

I want to go to him, to cross the water and somehow tumble into his arms, but the urge fades away along with every other care. I’m slipping, sliding, born up on the little waves traveling across the surface of the pool. Then I sink down again until the next one tickles my skin. I’m laughing as my eyes close, but I’m not worried. Sohven’s watching. If anything was wrong, he’d stop it, so I let myself embrace the darkness, warm, sated, and content.