Page 38 of Infala: The Alien's Bond
“Then tell me about yourself.”
Heydar hesitated, locking eyes with her then breaking from her gaze. “Perhaps another time. Now, come. We must be on our way to make the most of the daylight.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Strangely, Darla found herself a bit torn as they trekked out of the village. Sure, Zepharos had a bit of a reputation. Okay, alotof a reputation, but who didn’t? And who was she to judge without having all of the details firsthand? And it was nice having someone show such interest in her.
Then again, she had also been given that warning from someone who had nothing whatsoever to gain from it. Rohanna was just doing her a solid, as far as she could tell. But damn, he was one sexy son of a bitch. And unlike Heydar, Zepharos was actually available. Available and interested.
Ugh. This is all just so messed up.
She adjusted the small pack she had been given as she walked, the pressure of the straps annoying her tender shoulders. Heydar had taken care to ensure it was not overloaded, taking all the heavier items in his own backpack, sparing her newly inked skin from the inevitable abrasions and sweat it would otherwise cause.
Even so, she felt her skin drying out as the pigment set in. And boy was it itching.
Alot.
“Do not scratch,” Heydar said as she finally gave in to the urge. “You must let the pigment bond uninterrupted for it to properly take hold.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s annoying.”
“As is complaining,” he shot back.
Darla flashed an angry glare his way, and amazingly, it seemed to land. Heydar hesitated, stopping in his tracks. “Very well. Drop your pack and come here.”
She did so, more because the straps were itchy as hell than from a desire to do as he asked. In any case, that one action alone provided a modicum of relief. Heydar’s own pack remained on his broad shoulders, riding there as easily as if it was weightless to the massive alien. He stepped to her and took her arms one at a time, surveying the condition of her newly inked skin.
He nodded, satisfied, then unceremoniously lifted her top, surveying his work, tracing his fingers over the rapidly healing designs. He followed one of them up her flank, curving along the side of her breast where it rose to her collarbone.
Darla’s nipples had gone hard the second he had lifted her top, the skin straining and tight in the open air. Heydar didn’t seem to notice, but as his fingers followed the line higher, his thick wrist grazed the erect nub, sending a wild, electric buzz directly to her clit.
Darla forced down a gasp, clenching her teeth and flexing her legs and abs hard to remain in control. This was something new. She’d always had sensitive breasts, and she’d loved nipple play as long as she could remember, but this? This was a whole new level. It was like walking around resonating like a goddamn tuning fork.
Is it always going to be like this now? ‘Cause I don’t know if I’ll ever get anything done if it is.
She let out her breath, willing her pulse to slow. Heydar looked at her curiously.
“Are you ill? You look as though you may faint. Do you need to sit?”
Darla blushed. “I’m fine. Can we just get on with it?”
“In a moment,” he replied, turning her to study the ink on her back and hips. “Your pigment is settling in much faster than normal. How very unusual.”
“Good unusual, though, right? Not something bad.”
“It is not bad. Just something I have not encountered in my years. The pigment is not only binding to your flesh, it is thriving, starting to move on its own.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told you the pigment is a living reservoir of power. It becomes a symbiotic part of your body in time, even shifting to form new runes, allowing you to tap into the galaxy’s power.”
“Okay, you already mentioned that before.”
“I did. But this process normally takes time. And you, my unusual human, are already showing progress most do not see for months if not years. It is no wonder your flesh itches as it does.” He slid the pack off his shoulders and dug inside. A moment later he produced a small tin with a painted lid. He popped it open revealing a thick salve of some sort. A musky-sweet aroma wafted from the container.
“What is it?”
“Gorram extract,” he said, scooping out a dollop with his long fingers. “Hold still, this will not take long.”
