Star Side

Chapter 34

Gilrack couldn't get enough of it. To think, the divine beings' power came from an elaborate working of tools none of his people had ever thought to even try.

It only made it worse for resisting the call of his divine maiden.

Because she was a genius.

Naomi and even the dead-eyed male (he hated thinking his name) admitted that Jolene was smart even for divine beings. The chieftess had him watch as Jolene worked numbers and symbols in order to calculate just how far a distant star was (the only reason he could fathom the distance was because of his divine maiden managing the clicks for it in his own language). And she did that all with just her head and eyes. She did it within moments. She could even tell him the exact distance between himself and the wall at any given moment just by knowing the exact length of his tail and the floor.

Intelligence in a female was rated far higher than scent, beauty, and gentleness among his kind. It made his knees weak and his claiming venom come in almost as strong as before his transformation. Several times he had to abruptly leave or risk humiliating himself.

He could never bring this maiden home. She'd be the death of him. Every male would throw themselves, tail over claw, to kill him and claim her for their own, or beg her to take them as a concubine, which he could never allow.

But her intelligence would also make all the difference. She would change their homes to something unimaginable. Perhaps she could even take them all back into the sky with her, where they'd all grow stiff and strong and sprout wings.

And to think, their children...oh, their children.

He stayed up late just imagining the possibilities. What beautiful, powerful beings they would be, beyond all comprehension and thought. They'd be creatures of myth, beautiful, divine, and able to calculate the very expanse of existence.

He wasn't worthy. He would never be worthy.

But she was unmated, and the only male around her was past his prime, small, weak, smelly, and dead-eyed.

Resistance was never a question.

So, slowly, hesitantly, as more days passed and his vocabulary expanded, he'd reach out more. First it was bare brushes of his knuckles against her clothed shoulder or elbow. Then it was her hip or perhaps her folded knee nearby or a brush of his wing tip from a distance. Then, he'd dare to hold that soft elbow in his palm or slide his tail against her calf. He even dared to lay his wing over her shoulder and back like a blanket.

Then, one day, she smiled, rolled her eyes in an expression he knew meant exasperation of some sort, and she took his hand in both of hers.

Her hands were tiny in his and doughy and soft. They were white compared to the dark purple of his hands. The claws were thin, rounded, and short, a dream for holding delicate hatchlings to her breasts.

He knelt then and there, his chest practically shaking apart with his purrs.

He knew, in his heart, that touch didn't mean the same thing to her as it did to him. But he couldn't overcome the instincts that sang at a reciprocated touch. It was a song of acceptance and love, though he knew it couldn't be possible that she could understand. Her mind's waves were warm, but not scorching and thumping like his.

But he could pretend, alone in his den, when his fangs lengthened and body ran hot, that she did.

He let his mind's waves flow over her. He wanted so desperately for her to know how he worshiped her. He needed so desperately for her to comprehend and, just maybe, return the flow to him.

But she'd only pull back the corners of her mouth in that 'smile,' which he had unfortunately learned could mean everything from pleasure to anger. Her eyes, however, said she was happy with whatever she felt, so he could comfort himself with that.

He desperately wished he could learn the word for 'love.'

He tried. He'd learned their word for mate and parents and babies. He'd even learned their word for copulation and all the taboos for what was inappropriate and what was not (he'd very, very carefully learned those words). Learning when to touch had been more difficult, but they'd shown him through example and told him it was based, much as his kind was, on permission between the two parties, for all levels of relationships, from child and parent to friends, to mates.

But his mouth would always run dry when he opened it to ask. His touches so far had only been what he had seen among the three divine beings, but he so didn't want his relationship with her to be on their level.

But he couldn't just ask to mate with her. She was just holding his hand and even he knew how wrong it would be to go from step one to the end in a moment. These things took time, step by step.

It was driving him mad. His dreams, the fleeing to hide his staff, the drowning in claiming venom, the lava of deep devotion searing his chest.

He thought he just might die.

"Touch," he managed to gasp. "Touch?"

His heart shivered as her smile fell away. "Touch where?"

Anywhere. Everywhere. Where was he supposed to start? What was the order?

In his fit of excitement and anxiety, he choked out the first word that came to mind.

"Breast?"

They were ample, large breasts, as though already filled with milk for hatchlings. No female had a right to look so sacred, so motherly, so...hnnnrrgh.

She dropped his hand as though it stung her, and he knew he'd just made a horrible mistake.

"No." The word was cold and firm.

He left, not wanting to let her see him curl up into a ball like a hatchling to cry.

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In case you guys haven't noticed, you are currently reading my rough draft. That means no editing, because if you edit during a rough draft you risk writer's block. Oh, and Wattpad is racist. That is all.