Page 13 of His to Worship

“Down! Put me down!”

I don’t honestly expect him to listen and put me down, but he actually does. I know it’s not because of my words, but it seems body language is somewhat universal, or rather intergalactic. And that gives me an idea.

“Okay, so goat demon dudes are friendly,” I talk aloud to myself, considering he can’t understand me anyway. TDH watches my lips closely as I talk. “Maybe too friendly, though,” I amend, feeling like I’m under a microscope.

Regardless, he has been nice so far. He did overstep with the whole koala hug, but he also put me down when I asked. And I liked how warm he was.

I snort derisively at myself. I’m feeling like after being kidnapped by bug aliens my bar for civil treatment is on the floor. But, I’m also in a really weird situation, so obviously, I’ll have to bend the normal rules sometimes. I try to reason with myself, and it does make me feel a bit better. Though not more confident in my decision.

Regardless, it's time to put all of my eggs into the goat dude’s baskets.

SEVEN

- kuvier -

I have found my heart’s beat.

I did not know until today that I had lost it, but truly did my heart ever even move before I saw her? My mate. My bonded pair. The other half of my spirit.

She is fierce—even now she stands staring me down with ferocity, despite the fact that I terrify her. I can scent her fear, and yet she stands firm. It fills my heart with pride and I fight back the grin that aches to spread my lips as I do not wish to frighten her more. I am no fool. I look at her and I can see that we are not the same. Her teeth are blunted, even the ones that come down to a point look as if they would cause only minimal damage. In comparison, my wide smile with large, double canines would likely frighten her.

My mate squares her shoulders, pushing her dark braided mane over one shoulder. Then, she opens her pretty little mouth to say, “Mi naym eez Sehtohnah.”

“You make such pretty sounds. I wish they held meaning to me,” I comment, tilting my head to follow the dark coils around the edge of her face with my eyes. We have not seen curly hair in generations, not since the Tuvti tribe died off in the Great Death many generations ago.

“Mi naym eez Sehtohnah.” She says it again, this time her eyes are wide, shaped like a fafa nut, and conveying hopefulness.

But I just give her a toothless smile. I do not know what her words mean, but I do enjoy looking at her.

She makes a groaning sound and scrubs her hands over her face before locking eyes with me. She thumps her chest and repeats the last word of her sentence over and over, thumping herself each time. Sehtohnah. Understanding strikes me.

“Your name,” I breathe in awe, looking at her with excitement. “My female tells me her name.”

“Sehtohnah,” she says again.

“Hello, Sehtohnah.” She shakes her head and repeats her name again, stressing each sound. I have said it wrong. I give it another try, and then another and another. “Sedona?” She gives a nod finally, and I am happy. I tap my own chest, “Kuvier.”

“Coo-vair,” she repeats. I chuckle at her effort to make the swallowed growl that my name ends with.

“Kuvier,” I say again, stressing each sound carefully.

“Cuh-veer,” she repeats, getting it much better, though still missing some of the sounds that resonate in the chest. Regardless, I give her a bright close-mouthed smile and my heart warms at hearing my name on my mate’s lips.

But, it wanes just as quickly when I happen to look down and take in what she is wearing. I look her up and down, frowning, for I have been a terrible male. She wears an unnaturally yellow tunic and short pants with small covers that poorly protect her feet. Every article of clothing she wears looks as if half of it is missing. No wonder she is shaking like a leaf under the shawl draping off her shoulders. And yet, I did not notice because I was too distracted by her sweet face and the sugary sounds that dripped from her tongue.

Tsking at myself, I drop my pack and pull the cloak off my back, holding it out expectantly. Held up against her, I can tell instantly that the cloak would swallow her form. She will need to loop it properly, or the weight will certainly pull it off her shoulders. Still, she does not move, instead staring in confusion, so I use one hand to grab her at the waist. She squeals in surprise, but I simply pull her closer to me by the hips, getting her close enough to feel my body heat. It is hard to do so, but I let her go when she is close enough. I wish to grip at her softness, but right now she is skittish. I do not need to scare her off before I have even known her.

I throw the cape around her shoulders, and knot and loop it at the front, allowing it to stay upright. Sedona looks down, grasping at the cape and wrapping it tightly around her. She gives me a bright smile, and I feel vindicated. She looks very cute like this, draped in my clothes with her arms clutched inside.

But then she goes and tries to step away. I scowl and gently tug her to a stop. Her foot coverings—if I can even call them that—are not suitable for the ever-increasing inches of snow on the ground. I would give her mine, but I am looking at her feet and I do not know that what I have to offer would be suitable for her. I am wearing only traditional hunter’s wraps. They provide me with enough coverage from the ground that I am comfortable, but my toes are still loose to allow grip and momentum. But, even wrapped in the stiff materials of her foot coverings, I can tell that Sedona does not have feet that mimic me. If I had to guess based on the way she is a furless, soft thing, she would need much thicker coverings than what I have on. I will have to make something for her.

I wonder how to communicate to her that I wish to inspect her feet.

Sedona pulls at me distracting me from my thoughts, trying to move away again, but I will not let her. It is much too cold and she cannot walk like that. How she still has her toes after being practically barefoot in this weather, I do not know, but she will not risk them with me here. I shake my head at her and gesture to her feet, the snow, and back again.

She looks down and realization brightens her eyes. She bites at her lip thoughtfully and my eyes zone in on the motion. It is strange to think, but I should like to lick her lips. I should like to nuzzle at them with my own and nibble at the plump flesh. I have never seen any of the mated pairs do this, but I have never seen a female with such beautiful lips either.

And I have never seen a bonded pair before. Suppose we simply show more affection? I cannot imagine a world where I would not want to touch and paw at her. Already the bond draws me in, tying me closer and closer to her, like a rope tied from my soul to hers, pulled taut and dragging me into her.