Page 32 of Alliance
Their bravery struck a chord in him, the rare chime of his symphony caressing their words. Their conversations sometimes spurred harmony in him, an effect of the symphony that was full of adoration and comfort. This was one of those times when he felt things wereright.It was counterintuitive, but he’d felt it more and more since they’d made the leap to headtowards the human colony with only drop coordinates and cold weather gear.
Still, the anxiety was nearly overwhelming. Fásach didn’t want to admit to Safia and Misila just how hard the journey would be. He wasn’t prepared for it, not physically. In order to survive, he needed to transition to his predator-fluid state. He’d need the aggression for potential fights, the heightened speed for hunting, and increased strength for hauling their supplies.
There were other benefits too. Thicker fur for the cold and a wider diet. He’d be able to eat raw organ meat and a lot of the jungle’s flora without potentially falling ill.
But sitting idle on a ship for days on end wouldn’t help him achieve that, so when the door chimed, he greeted Lugh with a grim nod.
“Give me fifteen,” Fásach said.
“I’ll meet you in the gym then.”
The yivenan left with a tight-lipped smile at the girls when they waved, and Fásach closed their vital pods.
“Alright, you heathens. Bedtime.”
?
Born to a yiwreni father and a venandi mother, Lugh was a massive man. Silvery plaited tresses hung long down one side of his head, a neat pelt of white fur running through the spaces between gunmetal grey plates. Every inch of his exoskeleton was covered in venandi etchings and slender scars from knife fights. Though he didn’t have mandibles like his mother species, it only made his mouth that much more intimidating. The biting power of a yiwren paired with a mouthful of pointed fangs, slit open on the sides and guarded just at the nob of the jaw, where his mandibles would have grown.
He grinned as Fásach threw off his shirt, and his smile slit open like a monster. No wonder he hadn’t smiled at the girls.
“You’re filling out,” he said, slapping the front of his neck to signify Fásach’s dewlap.
“A bit,” he admitted, tugging at the wolfish amber scruff. He’d been eating more, and his shirts were tighter to his chest. They’d been sparring after the girls fell asleep for a handful of sols since boarding, trying to spur the transition.
“Not fast enough,” Lugh remarked, licking one side of his mouth.
Fásach was just as tall as Lugh but felt small as the arms master looked him up and down with an appraising eye. All yiwreni pups grew up brawling, and Fásach had been a good enforcer because of it, but he wasn’t a cold professional like the man before him.
“Trav’s obsessed with humans. I didn’t get it at first, but recently, I’ve developed an appreciation for them.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ll show you once you stop stalling and get to work, pup.”
Fásach stepped into the center of the rough floor, extended his claws, and took a deep breath. They circled each other slowly, Lugh upright but keeping his ankles from crossing his center of balance. They feigned a few times, getting their bodies warm, testing their pace.
Then Lugh had the guts to say, “So, have you talked to the doll about needing to fuck her yet?”
Fásach snarled, his hackles rising. He snapped his teeth louder than snapping bones, a clear sign that Lugh should shut up. Any concern he had about the other man’s superior fighting skill was quickly being replaced by an angry heat in his chest. It wasn’t the first time Lugh had riled Fásach up, but even if he knew it was coming, it still had the same effect.
“I’m not doing that, and you know it.”
“Why not? It’s what she was made for—”
Fásach took the chance to scramble forward, taking the low route while Lugh used up his precious air. Hitting him with one shoulder to the gut pushed the rest of the air from his lungs, and the arms master grunted, falling back two, three steps.
A sharp, white pain sliced across Fásach’s back. He yelped with a high-pitched whimper, sliding away on all fours by instinct. Wide-eyed, he pressed his palm to his back. It returned red with blood.
Lugh raised one brow plate and held a curved knife in his palm so it caught the bare overhead light. The burnished steel blade looked like a raptor’s talon, nestled in the crease of his palm. “This is called a karambit. It’s a human blade for close combat. Ingenious little thing. So small and natural to hold that your opponent doesn’t notice until you’ve severed an artery and several ligaments.”
Fásach’s heart skipped, his breath compressing. “You’re planning to do that to me?”
Their eyes met and Lugh grinned wider, resuming their dance. “Why do you look so worried, Fás? You know I’ll patch you up.”
Fásach grimaced, showing his impressive molars and canines. “Rolling in mediplasma then?”
“One of the perks of the job. So,” he flipped the knife casually in his hand. “I believe we were talking about fucking the doll.”
