Star Side

Chapter 40

He understood instantly, as he had made it his singular goal to know and understand her ever since coming to heaven. She had thought he wouldn't think more of her body like one would an animal, or a different species. She'd probably taken into account that he didn't wear clothes unlike her kind, which put as much emphasis on how much skin they showed as his kind did with touch.

"No shame!" he cried. "No shame! I did—it was as you thought!"

"But you want to mate me," and her voice wavered as he'd never heard, her scent breaking through the water with a bitter tang.

His own whine rose with her own. Must fix, must fix, he had to fix this, how how—clothes! He had to cover her, he had to fix this—

He grabbed for the towels hanging on the wall, only to stop himself from flinging it over her while the rain water was still on. He hurriedly smashed it off, clacking his claws against the tile, then threw the cloth around her.

"It's okay, it's okay," he kept repeating in-between his own desperate crooning. Instincts screamed that her body was already under enough stress making babies without any meat, he couldn't be putting more on her. He was a failure, he was the worst father and mate in existence, he couldn't stand himself.

Her hands moved to tuck the towel about her more securely. Her face was still that unsettling red. This couldn't be good, it couldn't be.

And then she let out a sob.

He shattered.

"No...no nkookkeee keek keek," any attempt at speaking her tongue dissolved into his own desperate clicking. He'd made her cry. This couldn't be happening.

She sunk back to the floor in a ball, towel about her like a shield. He keened and crooned, mindlessly trying to comfort her as though she were a female of his own kind, too panicked to process her strange language.

"Go away."

He shivered at the command. His instincts demanded he take her, hold her, wrap his wings about her till the danger had passed and she felt safe again. He didn't know if he could leave.

But he gone past the point of being able to explain that to her.

"Go away!"

The rising volume and pitch to her tone rang I his sensitive ears.

And he snapped.

Conscious though flew out the window. He coiled about her, senses peaked. New nuances of her pregnant scent filtered past him. Her heartbeat pattered hard and too fast, her blood rushed back and forth through her veins, her skin's softness made the beast within him roar at the very thought of anything touching it. His growl vibrated along his back, raising his spines and hair. His needles extended.

Den. Safety. She needed to be safe.

Her small hands beat against his chest, but it only registered as her panic to danger to him. He held her fast with both arms and wings as he gathered a blanket in the next room over to wrap tightly about her before scuttling through the too-bright tunnels. His claws made not a sound on the floor. His breath went hard and ragged through his throat.

Protect. Make right. His mate and young had been neglected for far too long. He had to fix.

Her heightened voice hurt his ears, but it only made his heart beat faster. She was distressed. He had to hurry, had to take her to safety.

And then he was there, in his den, surrounded by familiar scents and leaves and the blankets of his bed.

He swaddled her squirming form into the blankets, keening and crooning in turn. His scent glands ached with the intensity with which he let loose calming pheromones. His wings cocooned about them, blocking out the light above.

The door hissed shut to his den, but it wasn't enough. He wanted stone walls, he wanted darkness, he wanted to hide his mate away, make her safe, block out the sound and stimuli to ease her frantic instincts. Her mind waves scraped over his skin with pungent alarm.

Then, abruptly, she quieted and grew still.

It was so sudden, he stiffened, breath hitching. He nuzzled her head, her neck, desperate to find her scent glands so he could taste for sickness or a premature labor. While heady and powerful, her scent was diluted over her body, though concentrated in her privates. She had no scent gland, and his thoughtless mind keened louder in distress.

But then her soft hands held his face.

She...purred.

It confused him. Her mind waves still had a rank stink of alarm. They hadn't calmed enough for purring. Which could only mean she was trying to soothe him.

He clicked in question. Nudged her hands. Crooned.

She crooned back.

They echoed each other, back and forth, and his breaths eventually matched the steady rhythm. In time his heart slowed and his spines relaxed. His tail needles withdrew. His wings uncramped.

When her mind waves finally calmed, so did his, and his thoughts returned, though it had become difficult to think because his head hurt so much rather than his instincts being out of control.

"Jo?" It barely came out through his raspy voice.

"What happened?" she asked.

He became aware that she was still only wrapped in a towel and the blanket he had grabbed. He realized that couldn't be comfortable for her, but he couldn't bring himself to move. His instincts were still in force, locking him about her in a flesh-made cage.

"S-sorry," he had to make that clear. He pushed it through his mind waves. "Inr—instincts. You distress. Instincts—instincts—had to protect."

"I thought I felt something like that," she said. "Your, uh, mind waves? They were all over the place."

He whined and hid his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He'd never felt so ashamed in his life, or more afraid. But he quickly had to let go of those emotions as his instincts rose up again, ready to drag him back under.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Her hand moved back to stroke his hair, making him shudder.

"Why do your instincts say you have to protect me?"

He didn't want to talk. It hurt to talk. But she deserved an answer.

"Big like," he muttered. "Friend. Mine." He swallowed back the rest of the truth, the truth of their young.

She was quiet for a moment, in which he simply ached and tried to comfort himself in her warmth and smell.

"You love me?" she asked.

He'd heard that word. But they'd usually use it in reference to food or some other thing they liked. A big like, but something he didn't think applied to living things. Nothing like what he felt.

She understood his hesitance instantly.

"Love is between mates," she said. "It's a big like between family members too, but biggest between mates. Between spouses."

Ah, yes. Perhaps that was it then.

"Yes," he said. "I lo-loffe—"

"Remember 'v', you bite your lip and hum. You've done it before."

"I...I love you. I love Jo. Love."

Her breath stuttered a bit and his wings tightened again.

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My husband likes politics. I'm cool with politics, but there's only so much you can talk about, and I hate how people so quickly turn to grouping others by their beliefs, making broad based assumptions, and just plain warmongers. Soooo, he spares me from the majority of his political rantings and saves them for his brother and father. That's true love right there. 

Anyhoo, I hope you're liking the story. ^.^ Let me know what you think and if you like it.