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  “Am I doing it right?” she whispered.

  That only made his shaking worse, but when she tried to pull back, he held on to her like she was the only solid ground in the world. “I don’t know. Is this … Are we … all right?”

  “I think so.” Her voice came out husky, not just from language practice.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “We’re only … sharing culture.” Why do I sound like that?

  “Yes.” He curved his hands over her shoulder and ran his claws down her back. A shocking pleasure drenched her. “This is how we tease our young.”

  “It tickles.” When she squirmed, he only did it more, until she was laughing, breathless, and just melting with delight.

  He rested his chin on her head, where she’d nuzzled into the curve of his shoulder. “Now teach me something. You’re not the only one who likes to learn.”

  Thank you, she thought. Tegan probably wouldn’t have had the courage, if he hadn’t phrased it in precisely that way.

  “This,” she said. “This is how we kiss.”

  Breath-Marking

  Tegan cupped his face in her hands and leaned in slowly, giving him ample time to back away, if that was what he wanted.

  But Szarok held still. When her lips were a heartbeat away from his, she whispered, “Close your eyes.”

  “Is this another test of my trust?”

  “No, it’s just how we do it.”

  He closed his eyes, seeming entertained by this custom. If only she weren’t so nervous, she might be smiling, too. But since the pace and power all rested in her hands, anticipation and eagerness tangled until she shook as much as he had earlier. Her heart pounded so fast, it echoed in her ears as she closed the minute distance between them. Up close, his mouth was thin and delicate, a surprisingly pretty cover for his sharp teeth. Tegan wet her lips and then brushed them against his, soft as a whisper.

  Szarok jerked, his claws nipping her shoulder. But he didn’t open his eyes. “Is there more?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Since she was the opposite of an expert, Tegan struggled with the explanation. “Families, blood kin, kiss like this.”

  Easier to demonstrate.

  She pecked his cheek.

  “But there are other ways?” he asked.

  “Definitely. Between people who share a strong bond but aren’t blood kin, there are lots of different kinds.”

  “Like the one you just showed me.”

  “That wasn’t much. It was…” Why did I think I could do this? Her face blazed. “Well, a child might kiss his mother that way when he’s young.”

  “But when humans mature, they save the mouth kisses for the one who holds their heart-bond.” He seemed sure of this assessment.

  And what a lovely way to put it.

  “Exactly.”

  “Ah. Then … I would learn a little more, if you’ll teach me.”

  He could’ve said nothing more guaranteed to fire her imagination. A little dizzy from the wealth of possibilities, Tegan studied his face and smoothed her thumb over the skin just beneath his mouth. On the third sweep, his lips parted a little to let out a soft breath. Then she went in for another kiss, pressing her lips first to his upper, then lower, and back again, emulating the way he’d scent-marked her. At first he only held still and let her do it.

  She sat back. “Is it strange?”

  “You’re breath-marking me.”

  “A little, perhaps.”

  “Am I supposed to do it back?”

  “It feels best when we do it together.” She swallowed hard after saying that, but he didn’t have the context to make it more than she meant.

  “Can we try again?”

  “Definitely.”

  This time, he met her halfway and instead of just kissing him, which felt good, he returned the pressure precisely as she gave it, lips sliding and sipping. Pleasure curled through her, sharp and sweet, especially when he exhaled against her mouth as if he didn’t want to stop long enough to take a breath. She stroked his face as they kissed, luxuriating in the flex of his jaw and the smoothness of his skin.

  Finally he pulled away and touched his mouth. Her own felt swollen and soft. “It’s good. I like it.”

  “That’s not all,” she blurted.

  Why did I say that?

  She knew about tongue kissing, but she wasn’t sure how that would work. His teeth might get in the way. But he tilted his head, apparently intrigued. Her entire body simmered, but for all she knew, he might just be … curious. It would be humiliating if he figured out how this affected her while he remained unmoved. Dr. Wilson would say there was nothing unusual about her reaction, and science couldn’t predict how physical relationships developed.

  All organisms are different, he used to say.

  Szarok opened his eyes then. “I want more…” He trailed off, gazing at her mouth.

  “But?”

  “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to…” That statement trickled off. He seemed to be confounded over how to express his doubts.

  “Just tell me. Whatever it is, it’s all right.” With her whole heart, she hoped that was true.

  “This is not ours, not of the People. But … it makes me want,” he said baldly.

  Her smile broke the bubble of tension that had been rising steadily. “It’s supposed to. Breath-marking is a prelude to more contact. If it doesn’t make you … want, then we’re doing it wrong. Or it means you feel nothing for me.”

  “I feel everything for you,” he said. “So my mouth … you need it, too?”

  “Yes.” There was only simple honesty.

  And somehow talking only deepened the ache. She could spend all day learning his lips and drinking his breath. They might starve, but it would almost be worth it. Tegan rubbed her chest and hoped she could survive these lessons. Life hadn’t prepared her for desire; it was fierce, urgent, slightly terrifying, but also exhilarating.

  She realized she had a question, and since he’d been honest, she owed him the same bravery. “Is it not like this between Uroch?”

  He shook his head. “There is touch. And we play. But mouths are for eating. I think … we shy away from using them otherwise because…”

  Because you used them to devour indiscriminately.

  “Before, you said something about a heart-bond. What does that mean?”

  He appeared to consider for a moment. “It’s the one closest to you, not blood kin. Most often this leads to mating. Other times, I suppose you would call it friendship? To the Uroch, there are only layers of kinship. I don’t know if I’m explaining it well.”

  “I’m so curious, but you got angry at me for ‘studying’ you.”

  His gaze lingered on her face, warm and gentle. “It’s not the same now. My heart is open, and I choose to share. If you wonder, ask.”

  “Then … do the Uroch marry? That is, choose a heart-bond partner for life?”

  “No. In the past, we didn’t live long, so all our ancestors cared about was eating and breeding. We’re still learning, as you would say.”

  Tegan had known that—of course she had—but the reminder that the Uroch didn’t live as long as humans hit her like a falling rock. “You … How long?”

  How long will you live? She couldn’t ask, but he understood.

  “I don’t know. The young ones, the Awakened, are different in a number of ways. I hope that means we also have more time. But…” Szarok flourished his claws, a gesture that she recognized as being similar to a human shrug.

  “That must be hard,” she said.

  “There is no point dwelling on what cannot be changed, and what human knows exactly how long he has?”

  “You make a good point.” Her heart lightened then. “Can I … keep asking?”

  “Insatiable. Yes.”

  “How does gender work among the Uroch?”

  “Some are born male, others female. And some have both traits. If you mea
n for mating, the Uroch do as they wish. Sometimes we mate for pleasure, male to male, female to female. Sometimes it is from the need to get offspring. Or both.”

  “So that’s not so different from humans, at least.”

  He shook his head. “Very different. No mouths. No breath-marking. We start and use our claws a little. It’s … faster. You seem to know a great many frills and embellishments.”

  Tegan buried her face in her hands. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

  “No hiding. I like your kissing. Show me a little more?” A teasing gleam in his eyes told Tegan that he understood that this was a game between them, but also that it wasn’t.

  Should I…?

  Bold and a little reckless, she took his mouth as she had before. His eyes drifted shut on their own, a sign of his permission and pleasure. His lips worked against hers, and he parted them willingly so she could suck gently at each one. Surprised, Szarok growled deep in his throat, and it was beyond delicious that she understood the word more.

  No longer worried, she teased delicately into his mouth, skirting his teeth. He didn’t respond until her tongue teased his and then he licked, holding his jaw with such care that she could’ve devoured him. You won’t hurt me. I know your heart. Then she showed him hers with the hungry-gentle glide of lips and tongue, pouring everything into the deepest kiss.

  They were both breathless when she pulled back.

  “That is … is so…”

  She almost fell into him again when human words failed him, and then he lapsed into a deliciously heated tirade in Uroch that she only half understood. The bits that came through, however, set her on fire with blushing. But his reaction was flattering and precious, too.

  Finally he managed, “Don’t do that. To anyone else.”

  “I won’t. I never have before.”

  He stared in evident astonishment. “Then how are you teaching me?”

  Tegan grinned. “I’m amazing?”

  “You are,” he agreed.

  “Kissing doesn’t stop at the mouth,” she told him.

  Szarok only offered an expectant look, so she brushed her lips over his jaw, his chin, his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck. On the last point, he shivered and drew back. Since his eyes gleamed, she didn’t think it was because he disliked it.

  “Stop now, before the wanting becomes hurt.”

  Sensitive neck. Noted.

  “Then we’ll end the lessons here.” Satisfaction thrummed through her, along with a ton of nervous energy.

  “I am very interested to discover where the breath-marking ends.”

  She wandered some distance away before answering over her shoulder. “It doesn’t.”

  His reaction was everything she could’ve hoped, shocked disapproval commingling with reluctant curiosity. She didn’t linger for further questions. At this point, she could run the perimeter of the island and come back again without feeling winded.

  Though it was relatively late in the day, she couldn’t return to the signal tower yet. I’d have to climb all those steps twenty times to simmer down. Instead she walked through the old settlement and past it, toward the lowlands. She hadn’t scouted this part yet, and the other settlers might have discarded something she’d find useful. Or maybe that wasn’t the only abandoned camp. Szarok usually ranged where the animals foraged, so if he’d discovered anything, he would have said.

  If I move quickly, I have time to walk to the southern rim and back before nightfall.

  Tegan picked up the pace, alert for any sign of prior civilization, but she found only a beaten track that seemed to have been worn from many others walking this way. The lowlands were full of birds that scattered at her approach, scrub bushes, and green-brown grass. Native flora here differed from what Dr. Wilson had taught her in Winterville. What she knew of plants related mostly to the ones that could be used to produce medicine.

  Soon the lowland gave way to rocks, some moderate in size and others so huge that she marveled at them. Strangely, five of them had been arranged in what looked like a ceremonial fashion, some upright and others fallen down. She paused to inspect the site, and guessed it must be incredibly old, far predating the metal huts and the signal tower. Here, she found fragments of pottery, too, and shards of bone.

  They burned something here.

  An unpleasant chill trickled through her, and Tegan straightened, returning to her original intent of checking the southern reach. It was hard not to be disappointed when the sea came into sight again, along with a mound of stones tumbling toward the water. Here, fat white-and-black seabirds with colorful beaks waddled about, scrapping over fish and diving into the bay with an awkward charm. She watched them longer than she meant to.

  It’s probably not wise to find something you’ve eaten this adorable.

  The daylight got away from her, so by the time she started back toward the settlement, she’d lost the sun. Darkness dropped like a heavy veil, and she’d overestimated how clear the path back would be. She went slowly, not wanting to get lost. He must be worried. The island wasn’t huge, however, and he had tracked her under worse conditions.

  A shimmer of ice on her skin startled her into gazing up.

  Snow.

  But in that split second, as she marveled at the drifting white flakes, she tripped over a rock. Her bad leg gave, and she was closer to the edge than she’d realized. Tegan tumbled down an embankment, bashing against the rocks. She landed hard on the shore below, perhaps fifteen feet down, but it would be a difficult climb, bleeding and in the dark. Breathing hard and shaken, she took stock.

  Gash on my arm. Contusions on right thigh and left side of rib cage.

  Blood seeped from her wound, and she tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt without hesitation. She wrapped it and tied it off. Remain calm. At least there are no large predators. But she wasn’t sure how far she was from the settlement, and the sea nibbled at this small slice of land. If high tide came in, she’d have to scramble to higher ground.

  I can’t fall again.

  Her weak leg throbbed. Though Doc Tuttle had saved it, the pain lingered even now, exacerbated by exertion. She tried shouting for help but gave it up as the snow flurried around her, slicking the rocks and dissolving in the sea. By now she should be back at the signal tower, waiting by the fire. He’ll find me.

  He has to find me.

  But … it was so cold. She couldn’t wait to be rescued.

  With great care, she searched for handholds in the dark. The wet rocks scraped her palms, but she hauled herself up, two feet, three. But on the next step, her shoe slipped, and she tumbled back, nearly smashing her head on a rock. Dazed, she lay on the stony sand, staring up at the spangle of stars while the snow drifted and melted on her lips, her cheeks, icing her lashes.

  The reality crystallized.

  I can’t climb up.

  Weakness ate at her, but she shoved it back. Despite the pain, Tegan hauled herself upright. If I can’t get out of here, maybe … It was best to keep moving anyway. So she followed the sea ledge forward. Ideally, it might join and widen at the beach where she gave Szarok swimming lessons. It would be a long, circuitous walk, but she’d be able to climb the gentler incline on that side, even with these injuries.

  With renewed hope, she set out, but five hundred feet or so along the rim, the land just … stopped, and the ground above was even steeper than where she’d failed to clamber out. Throttling a wave of terror that made her want to scream and scream, she retraced her steps. Damp through to her skin on her back, the cold worked down to her bones. At first it ached, and then she started to feel numb.

  Tegan called out once, again. Then she heard rustling above. There are no predators, except those foxes. But if they came at her in a pack, smelling blood, she didn’t know how it would end. Don’t panic. Scant moonlight didn’t grant much visibility, so she felt around for a weapon, and found only a rock. Hefting it, she decided maybe she could use it.

  She paced.

>   When her hands went numb, she ignored it. Her feet lost feeling next. The urge to sleep washed over her in a comforting wave, and she pinched her cheeks, hard. It wasn’t enough, so she gouged her fingers into the makeshift bandage on her arm. Tears streamed down her icy cheeks, but the pain also roused her a little.

  Why wasn’t I more careful?

  There was no shelter down here that she could find, and huddling against the rocks only made her colder. It wasn’t like the night in the sea cave. She didn’t want to cry, but fear tapped, tapped, tapped at the doorway to her mind until she went half mad with loneliness and let it in.

  Tegan had no way of knowing how long it had been, where Szarok might be searching. She had no doubt that he was, but—oh.

  Oh.

  What if the snow’s like rain? Washing me away. Winter-fresh, so he can’t find me.

  And she knew—she knew—that he wouldn’t give up. In the cold, dark night, he would search and run and try, until they both froze and died. The tears felt like lava on her cheeks, blessed relief from the cold, but also tasting of despair. This couldn’t be the last thing she ever tasted, layered over the confection of his kisses like the doleful weight of graveyard earth.

  No, please. No. Not this. Not because of me.

  And the snow just kept falling.

  Darkness and Thorns

  The silence chilled Szarok, more than the dark and the cold.

  When the wind carried his voice away but brought back no answer in return, he ran from the signal tower. He’d last seen her heading for the metal houses, but as he crested the hill, he found no sign of her. Kneeling, he sought her familiar smell, and wisps of her sprang alive, faint but unmistakable. This way.

  The scent trail beckoned and kept calling, yet it seemed strange that she would have gone so far. To his left, a curious fox kept pace, likely wondering if he might kill another goat. If so, there might be scraps to scavenge. Not tonight, he told it silently. Raw fear gnawed at him inside, as much as what he first felt in the water, as much as weighed on him when he walked into a human town, surrounded by his enemies.