Chapter 9

We’ve packed light.One of the fun facts I’ve learned about eyries on Lohnyal is that hardly anyone wears clothes. It wasn’t exactly a surprise given Sohven’s penchant for nudity. He explained that I’ll probably be granted some allowance for my odd ways if I choose to don pants and a shirt since I’m human and therefore easily bruised and burned, but that everyone will notice.

Since I don’t have sturdy-bottomed taloned feet, my boots are on like normal and I packed some lighter sandals. I’m wearing coveralls, but they’re stripped down to my hips with the sleeves tied-off just like when I was down on Sannaveh-8B. I figure I can easily adjust if the sun is too bright or the wind too cold for me once we’re on the ground, but maybe I’ll blend in a little better at first—at least as much as I can.

My nerves are jangling like the engine on a bargain bin station cruiser, and I’m half dreading the moment we’ll hear the airlock system blare out its warning. Any second now, and it’ll happen.

A claw-tipped hand around the size of my own clasps my shoulder. “We’ll be up here keeping watch,” S’ahveki says in his measured, refined voice.

Sohven lets loose with one of his deep rumbles. “That wouldn’t be wise. Remain in the system, fine, but you must leave Lohnyal’s orbit if you don’t wish to offend my people. Such behavior would be considered very insulting.”

“You’ll both still belong to my crew. Perhaps we can cruise the system, but we’re not going far, and interspecies etiquette isn’t going to make me change my mind on that count.” His hand slips back as he steps to the side so that he’s slightly behind us, yet centered perfectly so that he’ll be the first person our incoming guests notice. “Their ship is docking now,” he says, and I find myself standing a little straighter, bracing my muscles a bit tighter.

Sohven shifts beside me as well, rearranging his wings so they spread out to either side of him, making him appear larger. The bottom edge of his right wing is almost brushing the outer side of my boot. If I had his sense of smell, I’d bet I could scent the anxiety rolling off him. I don’t look his way, but I hold out my left hand and wait. I think we both feel better when he grabs it just before the wail of the airlock alarm has us all startling.

I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, maybe a wall of nude winged men the height and breadth of Sohven striding in with dicks swinging free, but that’s not what happens when the shuttle bay’s interior doors slide open.

A single Lohnya walks into our space, and he’s only about as tall as me. I’m so used to Sohven’s appearance that his coloring takes me aback. His face is a soft gray that’s lighter than my own skin, closer to alabaster white, but the majority of his body and wings are streaked with bright green, the same shade as the ubiquitous small lizards that roamed the garden decks on my home station. I was right about the nude part, though—he’s all pale hide except for a heavy looking silver-beaded necklace that falls almost down to his groin. His curved horns are thinner than Sohven’s and the color of sun-bleached bone. When he opens his mouth to speak, I see a hint of faint pink as the tip of his tongue darts out and retreats.

“Sohen Onava, Faalil Eyrie welcomes your return.”

A sharp jolt of recognition has me squeezing Sohven’s hand too hard. The other Lohnya’s voice may not be as deep as Sohven’s, but that ground shifting, moaning wind way his lips form their alien vowels is forever embedded in my mind after our time on Sannaveh. Sohven’s language will always pluck some chord in my brain that screams home.

The messenger turns his dark-eyed gaze towards me at the sudden movement. He stares, taking in my exposed chest and stomach after a thorough inspection of my face. When Sohven drops my hand and steps in front of me to physically block the man’s view with his own larger body, it spurs our visitor to speak again.

“Are you ready to board our craft with your prospective mate? Your eyrie awaits your return, respected Gazla Onava.”

“I’m S’ahveki, captain of the Medway Queen. Welcome aboard my ship,” our captain says in his driest voice, making it clear he won’t tolerate being ignored.

I walk around Sohven’s side so I’m no longer hidden behind him like a child. “And I’m Jace Cesari,” I add.

The Lohnya’s gaze darts from S’ahveki to me and back again before his thin slitted nostrils flare. He lifts a hand to the side of his head, pushing where the main hole for his ear is located. He doesn’t really do anything, but he fiddles his fingers around like he’s trying to adjust an old-fashioned translation device. Instead he just looks nervous.

“I’m Zana Losla,” he says, the words stretching and rolling like far-flung echoes, cavernous things that need to be tied down and contained. “Thank you for your welcome.” He extends his arm and bends his fingers down towards his palm, leaving his two thumbs facing outwards.

Sohven lifts an arm and returns the gesture before he shifts his weight to face S’ahveki. “I believe this is goodbye for now. The festival should be completed within a week’s time at most. We’ll keep you informed.” He dips his head in a brief nod and then picks up both our bags.

I decide not to fight him on it for now, turning empty-handed to give S’ahveki my own nod accompanied by a fleeting smile. “One week,” I tell him, hoping my meaning’s coming through loud and clear. I have no intention of getting stranded on Lohnyal.

“Enjoy your vacation, both of you. You’ve earned it.” S’ahveki smiles for the first time since we all gathered here by the shuttle bay. Then he looks at our guest. “Take care of my people, Zana Losla,” he says, and he stays right where he is as Sohven and I start moving towards the other Lohnya.

When the shuttle bay doors clang shut behind us, it feels uncomfortably final, but I’m sure that’s just the uncertainty tainting things. This Losla guy hasn’t done anything overtly, much less even mildly, threatening. We both have tracking chips embedded in our bodies, and I packed a few extras to make sure I can get a message off of this planet if we need to. There’s no logical reason to worry, so I don’t let my steps falter as I follow Sohven.

Soon he’s leading us both, his longer legs and the stride to match leaving me to walk alongside the smaller Lohnya male. Sohven moves straight toward an unfamiliar shuttle without any hesitation.

“Are you piloting?” he asks Losla, glancing back over the top edge of his wing.

The Lohnya at my side chuffs lightly, more of an anxious sound like a human clearing their throat than the laugh I would usually take it for. “No, of course not, respected gazla. The eyrie sent one of the most skilled lowland pilots with me. We wish to take no risks with your safety. The news of your return is the cause of much rejoicing among our people.”

I’ll bet he counts himself among that number considering the way he’s eyeing up my man right now. Since I didn’t notice Sohven checking out the goods on this guy, I’m guessing Losla shouldn’t be letting his gaze rest on Sohven’s ass like it’s his new favorite meal after a month of starvation.

“Well, I’m ready,” I announce as I brush past our Lohnya escort, making sure my side pushes up against his fluttering wings.

The man sucks in a noisy breath and gives me a wide-eyed stare as the tips of his ears go wild, flicking forward and back before they stiffen. I hurry on towards Sohven before he can tell me off. I’m the alien here, after all. It’s not my fault if I insult people with my poor manners.

Maybe I was wrong about that. Sohven’s big hand wraps around my bicep as he hauls me inside the shuttle after him. “Don’t touch him,” he whispers harshly against my ear. He has me backed up against his body from chest to groin, and all that gloriously exposed hide burns like a furnace behind me. I’m enveloped in a wall of living heat, and I can’t say I hate it.

I take a deep, centering breath of my own before I notice a second Lohnya is there with us. The shuttle is both small and unusually spacious at the same time—the floor plan is about what I’d expect from any humanoid species-designed short-range aircraft, yet it feels roomier since the headspace is so much higher. I could lift both arms straight up and still have no chance of touching the ceiling.

The second man is sitting at what I assume is the pilot’s seat, but it looks like a simple high stool. He’s facing away from us, wings drawn up tightly behind him. He’s darker, like Sohven, charcoal stained gray with swaths of stormy blue adding a little color to the palette. I set my hand over Sohven’s where it still grips my upper arm and give it a squeeze. I tip my head towards the pilot and glance back. Sohven’s mouth firms up in that worrisome way that means he doesn’t want to talk.

Interesting.

Losla enters the shuttle, near silent like a wraith. I never thought Sohven was graceless, but he’s always announced his presence through the distinctive rustle–glide–rustle of his wings against the ship’s deck. I can see now that the other Lohnya’s wings are smaller, and not just due to his slighter stature.

Sohven grips me tighter and gives me a little shake. “Don’t look at his wings like that. The fertility festival approaches. He’ll interpret it as a sign of interest.”

Losla turns his body to face us and watches Sohven’s lips moving against my ear before his eyes drop to the way Sohven’s arms are wrapped around me.

“You must be anxious for the start of the festival, gazla,” he says with a little jerk of his head. It makes the light catch on his pale horns, and he lets out a little purr-like noise as he looks down and to the side.

I know I’m frowning slightly, but I’m almost positive that he’s flexing his abs, even though he’s pretending to be demure. Is this guy for real? If monogamy means nothing to his species, is it going to be open season on Sohven once we hit the ground? My dissatisfied grunt has him tightening his hold on me again.

“Take us to Faalil Eyrie,” Losla commands when Sohven doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t even bother to glance towards the pilot as he speaks.

Sohven leads us two steps over to the starboard bulkhead, grabbing me by the shoulders to push me against a slight, humanoid-shaped depression. “Safety restraints,” he mumbles just as he moves back and thick straps surge over my shoulders before crossing my body. Another zips up from between my legs to meet the main harness, a bit snug for comfort. Since I’m the only one here wearing pants, I wonder how that’s going to work out for the other guys. As far as I’ve noticed, Sohven’s just as sensitive there as any human male.

Sohven’s body thuds against the wall beside me. His neck stiffens as he braces for the restraint system to engage. He releases a huff of air as the two parts snap together across his hips.

“Do you remember me, gazla?”

My head snaps up as quickly as those restraints at the question. It’s clear enough to me now that Losla knows Sohven, even if my big warrior doesn’t recognize the other man.

“I’ve lived much since I left Lohnyal and my eyrie. Should I know you, young one?”

I’ve spent enough time reading Sohven’s expressions to realize that Losla must be mortified. His entire frame seems to droop within his safety restraints at Sohven’s admission.

“I’m not so young. This will be my second festival,” he replies, temporarily ignoring the question.

“Swift winds to you then. You’re looking for mates?”

“Aren’t we all?”

I’m not sure how I know since I hear nothing over the slight rumble and hum of the shuttle’s engines that would give it away, but I can tell without looking that Sohven’s body tenses hard beside me, muscles locking in place.

“No. I’ve already found mine,” he says, voice as deep as ever, velvet-plush enough to win me all over again no matter the words he uses. The man could read the operator’s manual for the Queen’s sewage release valve and he’d still sound like temptation personified.

“That’s right,” I chime in, slapping my palm over Sohven’s leg. When my pinkie finger goes rogue and starts stroking the skin on his inner thigh, he hisses in a strangled breath, but I can’t say I’m sorry. I’m not going for subtlety here. If staking my claim like a caveman is what it takes to get the message across, call me Paleolithic.

That about ends the conversation—the uptick in the vibrations running through the shuttle doesn’t hurt either. I can’t see anything from where I’m strapped in. We’re far enough away from what I’d consider the cockpit that I can’t make out many details, but it’s obvious there’s no panoramic view up there either. I’m guessing the pilot’s using some sort of radar imaging system, but we’re not treated to a view of Lohnyal’s sunny skies—or stormy ones, as the case may be.

An abrupt, bone-jarring clunk shakes through the shuttle, testing the effectiveness of our safety restraints. Despite a slight pinch as the edge of a strap digs into the sensitive area where my thigh meets my groin, I’m happy to report the verdict is positive. We’re all still in one piece, pinned to our places like prize specimens in a museum case.

The somewhat dim interior lights flash orange, and I sneak a glance at Sohven. He doesn’t look worried, so I’m feeling fairly confident that’s not the signal for “hostile boarding party” or “hull breach imminent.”

“Arms down,” says Sohven, and just in time, too.

I manage to get my hands out of the way before my restraints suddenly release, zipping back towards the wall fast enough to have done some damage if any of my wayward limbs had been blocking their path.

Losla is almost smiling at us as he moves in front of the same hatch we used to board the shuttle. “We’ll be stopping here at Vallow Station for your mandatory health checks. It won’t take long, and then we will return to our eyrie.”

He seems to be addressing both of us now, not just speaking for Sohven’s benefit and giving me the conversational equivalent of a pat on the head. I can appreciate the effort. I give him a smile—only a small one since I don’t want him getting the wrong idea, and his nostrils flare as his lips part in what I’m interpreting as pleased surprise.

I guess I’m eager to get this over and done with, because I start moving first, leaving Sohven a few beats behind. I’ve gone through enough health checks and screening bays that I’m not squeamish. I enjoy being poked and prodded as much as the next person—in other words, not at all—but I have no desire to linger on this station when there’s a whole new planet awaiting me.

“How large is the station?” I’m asking my question with one foot hovering mid-swing, eyes fixed upon the streaks of ultra-vivid green that drip down Losla’s wings like mineral stains on rock.

“Vallow is primarily used as one of our export centers. The medical unit is small because the number of laborers who work at the station daily is limited, and not many off-worlders are granted access to enter Lohnyal.” He drops his wings a little as he looks back. “You’re one of the few, Jace Cesari. Fallil Eyrie is excited to welcome you.”

Once we’re all off the shuttle and through the second door of the docking chamber, Sohven moves in close enough that his chest brushes my shoulders. I wonder if the doubts percolating around in that big brain of his are the same ones that kept him awake last night. He still hasn’t told me why he’s waited so long to return to Lohnyal. If the reason’s anything like me and my home station, the story’s not likely to be a happy one.

“Stay still,” Losla commands as he comes to a halt in the short, closed-off corridor we’ve just entered. “Accept the eye-protection.”

His warnings are as abrupt as Sohven’s, but at least I don’t jump when a black device lowers from the ceiling to clamp over my face like some sort of nightmare tarantula. I wait, statue-still, but thankfully don’t feel anything strange happening. For a brief moment, I worried that the Lohnya might not have factored my far more sensitive skin into their decontamination chamber parameters, but everything feels as intact as it should be. I’ll learn soon enough if I’m wrong.

The device suctioning itself to my brow releases, and I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. I wrinkle my forehead a little to stretch the muscles in my face and give my shoulders a shake. Losla’s staring again, but I’m not too alarmed. I’m the alien here, after all. I’m probably interesting to look at.

We’re moving again. A door cutting us off from what I assume is the main body of the station lifts up, revealing another small chamber. We walk through to the other side before we enter an astoundingly large space. My head tips back despite myself. I don’t like to let on when I’m impressed, especially around unknown quantities, but for a so-called small station, this room is massive. Just what are they exporting out of this place?

A few Lohnya are working silently, lifting identi-locked packages into a neat stack in what looks like a shipping container frame. Unlike Losla, who’s as bare as the day he was born, no, excuse me…hatched, these men are wearing ragged, makeshift trousers and low-hanging, bulky scarves. The one near the closest container has his back to us, displaying the wear on his wings. Scarred tissue mars the patterns on the dark membranes, the shiny white lines like angry cracks cutting through dry ground. He must hear us walk by, but he doesn’t turn to look, and Losla doesn’t bother with introductions.

We pass two additional workers before we reach another door. “One of the station workers will perform the assessments,” says Losla as he sticks a thumb over what looks like a large button with a rune scored across it. His talon sinks into the marking, and the button glows bright yellow before the door opens with a whoosh.

Losla waits beside the entrance, head bowed as Sohven passes through first. When he shows no sign of following, I hurry to join Sohven in the uncomfortably dark room.

At first it’s difficult to tell how large the space might be. Everything is cloaked in shadows, and the air is significantly warmer than in the other portions of the station. It reminds me more than I like of the stifling humidity of Sannaveh’s jungle. A voice almost as deep as Sohven’s hums behind me.

“Hold him. I’ll scan for immunities and possible parasites,” the man says, those long Lohnya vowels moaning through the space like winter wind.

I look at Sohven, lifting my arms slightly as I decide whether or not I want to follow the directions. My confusion is quickly dispelled when Sohven shakes his head side to side, a knowing smile tipping up his thin lips.

“He was speaking to me,” he says as his large hands settle over my shoulders. He starts to knead my muscles, forcing me to sink into his touch despite myself. I only startle a little when a cold instrument presses against my bare back. “He won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m not worried.” I lift my face and cock one eyebrow. The medical device slips down over my spine, and I shiver. The Lohnya behind me is making these soft, low sounds as he works. If it were Pavok, they’d be cut-off grunts, but I guess you can’t find bedside manner like his just anywhere. “Is he almost done?”

“You could ask him yourself,” Sohven replies as he digs the pads of his thumbs into a tight spot at the base of my neck.

“Would he understand me? He gave you the orders, after all.”

“I’m going to administer a probiotic dose and a wind sickness preventative. Initial scans indicate he should be safe on Lohnyal.” He jabs me with something that pinches a little, but it’s over before I can get a word in edgewise.

“Thanks, doctor,” I say in Sohven’s language, or at least I attempt it. I can’t tell yet whether I was successful since Sohven’s expression doesn’t give anything away and I still have my back to the other man. “Done?” I ask, turning beneath Sohven’s grip to face the medic. His ear-tips are tilted back and his wings lifted high above his shoulders. He looks a little worried if the way he’s frowning at me can be trusted. His curving horns are dark like Sohven’s, but there’s a deep gouge in the left one that leaves me wondering what kind of trouble he got into in order to damage it so badly.

“You understand me,” he says, the words slow and stretched out even for a Lohnya. My pronunciation must be worse than I thought. He thinks I’m simple, over-enunciating his words like people do when they assume just talking louder and slower will magically equal translation.

I tap my ear. “Yes.” I switch to Trade. “Do you understand me?”

The man’s frown deepens and then he lets out a throaty, rumbling groan that sounds decidedly grumpy. “Yes,” he says, still in Lohnya. I’m guessing he doesn’t much like using the translation device, because his nostrils open and close and he shakes his horns a bit like he’s hoping to knock loose the dirty sounds of my language from his ears.

I glance back. “Your turn,” I tell Sohven.

He moves closer, letting our bodies brush before he steps in front of me. “Check me,” he demands with a little toss of his horns.

“Yes, gazla,”the man replies immediately, head down, device at the ready.

Sohven’s exam is significantly briefer, and before I know it, Losla lifts and snaps his wings from the hall, turning away from the small, dark medical chamber once he sees he has our attention. We follow him back through the same cavernous warehouse area, and once again, not a single head turns our way. I can’t exactly ask about it now with our personal escort, but I’m marking that down in my imaginary ledger for future reference.

We pass through a few more corridors until I see the one with the tarantula eye masks ahead. Except for a few rapid glances, Losla hasn’t interacted with us much during our return walk.

“How long is the journey to Sohven’s home eyrie?” I ask.

That gets Losla to stop and pay attention. He opens the door to the decontamination chamber and waits for us to pass through before he responds. “A half ralk.” My translator doesn’t even attempt to decipher that unit of time. I guess I should have thought first before I posed the question. Time and currency tend to trip up the programs the most.

I’m glad to step back aboard the small shuttle with its disconcertingly high ceiling. I’m ready to see something besides more station and shuttle walls. I don’t think many Lohnya spend an extended amount of time up here. Almost all species I’ve encountered who live long-term in space and have the tech to do it comfortably design viewports or windows into their stations and spacecraft. We all have this need to orient ourselves, even if it”s only in the midst of a whole bunch of blank nothing—we like to see what lurks behind the walls. Not having any access to the outside world has me feeling a little twitchy, so much so that I’m looking forward to the barren sounding cliffside Sohven told me about.

I walk over to the same depression in the bulkhead and let myself be strapped in. “I wish we could see it—Lohnyal. I can’t fly,” I add with a wry glance at Losla. “I’d like to see your world the same way you do.”

He looks up as his own restraints slap across his pale chest, and his jaw shifts like he’s trying to crush gravel between his molars. I can practically hear the movement.

“If Sohven is unable to fly with you, there are many others that will offer,” he tells me.

“Will you?” I ask.

Sohven politely stomps on my toes. Another reason that proves it was a good choice to wear my boots today. Message received. It’s probably dumb to flirt with the alien escort, but maybe I’m more nervous about everything than I’ve realized. I’ve always been the type to act out under pressure.

The shuttle lurches slightly as we disconnect from the station. Losla’s looking at me like I’m a cute little animal that just showed its teeth. If he wasn’t strapped down, I’m pretty sure his wings would’ve jumped in alarm. His wide-eyed gaze darts to Sohven like he’s hoping for some instruction on how to handle me.

“Forgive Jace—he has a playful manner. He didn’t mean to upset you, Zana Losla. I will be happy to fly with him myself. It’s the primary reason we’ve come to Lohnyal, after all.” That statement has his voice going deeper, rougher, as if he’s imagining far more than flying. When his hand clamps down over my hip, one thumb caresses the furrow between my abs and obliques, teasing beneath the waistband of my pants. The other draws circles over my lower back. If Losla cared to look, he’d be able to see the goosebumps scattered across my skin.

I inhale through my nose, trying not to be too obvious about it, but damn if that man doesn’t know how to work me up and twist me sideways. He’s gotten his revenge for my careless remark, that’s for sure, but if he doesn’t stop, he’s going to embarrass us both.

“Point taken,” I whisper with my head turned towards him.

His low chuckle lets me know he heard me, and luckily, he releases his hand, but he still lets his fingertips brush across my sensitized skin with excruciating slowness before he pulls all the way back.

A strange squeak has me glancing up. Losla quickly turns his head when he sees me looking. He swallows and then coughs before he catches his breath. “Gazla Onava, you and your…it has been many years since you’ve visited your eyrie. Touching your prospective mate like that before the festival—the elders…”

“Calm yourself. I know how to act when we reach the eyrie. My mate just needed a reminder of how to behave,” Sohven says, sounding smug as fuck if I do say so myself. His tongue caresses those syllables like they’re coated in caramel, and it’s all I can do not to palm my rapidly thickening dick.

He knows how to act, my ass. He knows how to torture. How to torment—how to drive a man mad. That’s what he knows with that sin-laden voice of his. The red beaches of Jalichst sound like paradise right now. That’s where I want to be with him, not hurtling towards a massive family reunion with my winged future in-laws.

Losla’s gone quiet, but he’s still looking at us like he’s expecting trouble, and honestly, he’ll probably get it. The shuttle’s vibrating hard, giving us all a good tooth-shaking ride. It should level out soon, I’m guessing. I wish again for a window, but the familiarity of this position—standing as a shuttle tears downward towards an unknown land—calms me. If it’s just another mission, I can handle this, so that’s what it’ll be. One that hopefully ends with us getting married Lohnya-style, but still, a mission.

I suck in a deep breath and tip my chin down towards my chest as I let it all go, eyes closing as I feel the shuttle’s vibrations ripple up through the soles of my boots. I can handle this. I’ve got this. Just one more mission.