Page 40 of Exiles on Earth
Slamming my mouth shut, I try to breathe. She’s so unlike any female I’ve ever dreamed of, fierce, strong, and unapologetically herself. Physically, she shares some similarities with Olorian females, such as soft curves where males are hard and flat. She’s so much smaller than me, her form delicate compared to my bulk.
I flex my hands, the scornful remarks of the True Born sons pinging against me. Even if I restrained my strength, I’d have to be careful with her in my arms. I’ve already failed a female once, and I’d die if I hurt El-len.
Coolness flows from her bare hands across my feverish skin as she brushes down the outside of my thigh, and desperate desire sears through me at her touch. The intensity of it almost makes me stagger, the need clawing through me, a yearning not just for her presence but for her approval, her connection, her fire. She has no idea of the power she wields, how easily she can undo me with a single glance or word.
El-len isn’t just different. She’s everything.
But as commanded, I hold myself utterly still despite the burning torture, and endure my need, as hot as the thrusters on a rocket.
Straightening up, she brushes her hands together. “No broken skin, phew. And your scales are really clever.”
Clever? Panting, I glance down at the flattened scales on my thigh where she touched me. They synchronized with her skin, turning my legs the same color as her palms, and it's spreading down my calf and up into my shorts.
El-len watches the ripple, fascinated. “That’s a pretty cool camouflage trick. Can you do that on purpose? Perhaps we can make you look like a human, in case we have hikers or visitors swing by.”
I hold up my forearm between us, still catching my breath. “If you touch me, my scale color will key to yours.” I’m not asking her to touch me, I’m inviting her. I’m not worthy of asking her for anything.
Her fingers dance eagerly along my muscle from my elbow to my wrist, feeling along the ridges and edges of my scales. I can’t sense her as well as I could on the relaxed scales of my thigh, but looking at the wonder in her face warms my hearts.
She pulls her hand back. “Sorry, I got carried away there.”
“You can touch me whenever you want.”
El-len’s eyebrow rises slightly. Is she pleased? She seems amused. Humans are so complicated and yet fascinating. Only a few days in her company and I’m eager to soak up all knowledge of her.
Clearing my throat, I gesture at the surrounding fields. “Is this your land, too?”
“Yes. Up on the ridge we’ll see a lot of it, come on.” She hefts her own bale, but I catch up to her and hook it from her hands. “Hey!”
“It’s nothing to me.” I lift them both over my head to showher, noting how her gaze locks onto my pectorals. She likes this show of strength? I will show her more. I begin jogging up the hill, hoping to run off some of the pounding heat coursing through me.
“Okay, show off,” she laughs, racing to take over. She leaps with sure steps along the gravel path on her land, clearly a trail she has taken frequently, but I’m built for adventure, for running and climbing and exploring. I pull ahead of her, legs pumping and sucking in air to fuel my body, the bales held in front of me. I will impress her!
Once I gain the top, I place the bales down, my hearts thundering like the clouds on the horizon. We need to work fast, or El-len will be exposed to the storm.
She points to the squat structure. “Let’s get these inside the lambing shed. In lambing season, I sleep up here to keep an eye on all the fields.”
“So it has a good vantage point as well as being a shelter.” Excellent.
El-len opens the latch door and waves me inside to deposit the bales. Within, it’s a battlefield and sanctuary in one—its walls basic wood lined with shelves of jars, bottles, and tools. A single bed sits in the corner, blanket folded with military precision, surrounded by the faint metallic scent of disinfectant and the lingering aroma of animals.
I warm my core to heat the space for El-len, but she doesn’t notice, looking out of the solitary window.
“Is it the oncoming storm that concerns you?” Perhaps we’ll be forced to shelter here together. The idea thrills me.
She points down the other side of the hill. “No, that’s just a shower of rain. I’m looking at that, the Road House.”
From this distance, I can see a low-lying brown roof, entangled with wide trees standing firm against the wind. “Another barn?”
“Back when the family was growing, my great-great-grandfatherand his brother built that. The sprawling house has fallen into disrepair but it has a beautiful shape, a U that encompasses a courtyard, like the one at the farmhouse.” She holds up her hands to make an open cup shape, as if she is framing her small face.
“Beautiful,” I repeat, and mean it. The frown falls from her features, replaced by a dizzying excitement that sets my hearts pounding. Perhaps she always looks like this when she’s stimulated.
How I crave to find out.
She waves her arms, describing shapes in the air. “I want to open a farm shop stocking local produce. I already had MOUs from interested parties locally, all signed in stacks in the appendix of the business plan. I’d serve teas and coffees during the day and sandwiches in the evening, and there’d be a wing for a small brewery, to take advantage of the malt field and bring that back into use, and an old cider press for the overgrown apple orchard.
“Not only that, but there’d be office space enough for that and to spare: Arabella’s going to rent a studio, Laura’s setting up a practice and Nicole would put her horse rehabilitation center here, next to the lake where you went swimming. It’s fresh spring water, might as well use it.”
