Lords of the Deep (6 page)

“I didn’t get that last,” Miles said. “Try to get her to say it again.”

Damien tensed, gritting his teeth.

She chuckled.

It surprised him, but sent a wave of warmth through him, too. He found himself grinning at her despite the fact that he wanted to beat the hell out of Miles. “I think she said ‘lips’,” he muttered.

“Kiss.”

He frowned in puzzlement. That didn’t sound like the same word at all.

She leaned toward him, pressing her lips to his. “Kiss.”

He speared his fingers through her caplet and dragged her closer before she could retreat, fitting his mouth firmly over hers and thoroughly exploring the tender inner surfaces with his tongue. She tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before, but he didn’t have to debate whether he liked it or not. A heat wave traveled through him, spearing directly through him to his groin. His cock got so hard he was surprised it didn’t lift her.

“The language,” Miles prompted, testily. “She can’t talk with your tongue down her throat.”

Damien lifted his hand and made a rude gesture at him, but he broke the kiss. Her eyes were closed, he saw when he lifted his head. They fluttered open slowly and the dazed look in her eyes sent another wave of desire through him.

It took an effort to pull away. All he wanted to do at that moment was to lay her down on the floor and finish what he’d started, explore all of her with his mouth and tongue … especially the pretty pink petals between her legs.

Struggling to tamp his libido, he tried to focus on Miles’ fact gathering project, but he saw no reason why he couldn’t enjoy it. He stroked a hand down her arm, waited until she’d given him the word for it and then fitted his hand palm to palm with hers.

Her hand was so small in his he was disconcerted for a moment, but then it gave rise to something else entirely, something he couldn’t quite grasp. He turned his hand, studying the way her entire hand almost fit his palm, the fingers that looked so long and slender compared to her palm and so tiny compared to his. Her longest finger wasn’t even as long as his shortest.

She looked down at their hands and then pointed to each part and gave him the word for it.

He stroked her fingers, tempted to lift her hand and explore them one by one with his mouth and tongue, wondering with a trace of amusement if he could convince her to explore him in the name of science and name off his body parts in her tongue—not that he couldn’t think of a lot more interesting things she could do with that little pink tongue.

“I think you need to move on to something else,” Miles said. “We need verbs to construct sentences.”

Damien turned to look at Miles irritably. “Just how the hell do you think I’m going to manage that?”

Miles considered it. “Try just talking to her and see if she’ll talk back.”

“Why don’t we try letting her eat since I went to so much trouble to get her to?”

“Fine!” Miles said irritably. “I’ll see what the computer can do with what little I did manage to get.”

Shaking his head, Damien looked at Angie again. “Eat, Angie,” he told her, pointing to the food.

She looked a little worried, especially when Miles disappeared, but finally nodded and sampled some of the other food. She didn’t eat much. He frowned, trying to decide whether she’d actually eaten enough or not, but he had no idea how much a being her size would need to eat. Studying her in his arms, he decided that probably wouldn’t be much.

It wasn’t just that she was small. She was soft—softer than any of their catkins that he’d been intimate with—which meant a lower muscle mass ratio, which had certainly been noticeable when he’d subdued her. As frightened as she’d been, it had hardly taken any effort at all.

The thought made his stomach tighten uncomfortably. She didn’t just
appear
fragile. She was. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might easily have hurt her when he’d grabbed her and held her down. He’d only been thinking that he couldn’t spare the time to win her trust gradually, that he needed to make her understand he didn’t intend to harm her so that she’d at least feel enough trust to eat the food he offered.

He still thought it had been the right thing to do and it still made him a little sick to his stomach to realize he might easily have broken one of her fragile bones or hurt her even worse.

The thoughts not only tamed his raging lust as quickly and effectively as ice, he suddenly felt a little suffocated being so close to her, felt the urge to set her away from him and get as far away from her as he could.

It wasn’t as if the catkins were nearly as strong as the okeans, but they were certainly capable of strongly discouraging any okean that tried to mate them if they weren’t in season or receptive to the idea of one particular okean’s attentions. Beyond that, they were perfectly capable of holding their own in mating play. If it got a little rough to suit them, they were quite willing and able to dish out a strong reminder to the okean that they didn’t find his passion pleasing.

He was abruptly certain that Angie wasn’t. She had little strength—an okean in the throes of passion might not even notice any feeble attempt she made to free herself or slap some sense into him. She had no nails on her hands to speak of and her mouth was too small to clamp down on much more than a pinch of flesh even if she had power behind the bite—and he doubted that.

It was the flashing, he thought abruptly. Even knowing she wasn’t a catkin, knowing from the way she looked when she did it that it wasn’t actually a mating call, his mind, everything inside him, had still interpreted it that way—because red was the color of passion. A catkin flashing red meant that she was ready and she was interested in whatever male she flashed with that color.

She was pink and white and red anyway, though, he reminded himself. Aside from the fact that it seemed doubtful given that she was a different being than him that her people would have the same mating practices, she didn’t seem capable of flashing any other color. If she was, wouldn’t she have turned another color for fear? Anger?

It wasn’t entirely the flashing that had aroused his urge to mate, he knew. The moment he’d spied her a sense of possessiveness had coiled within him, a blind determination to get her even if he had to plow through the others to capture her. There
had
been other terras on the moving island with her—there had been some in the water—but he’d only been dimly aware of them, even as a threat. From the moment he’d spied her she’d become his complete focus.

It almost seemed fate that she had spotted him when he’d surfaced and come directly to him as if he’d called her, played right into his hands so easily he was almost stunned by how effortless it had been to capture her.

She wasn’t an animal, though. She was a sentient being. Miles really had no need of his services as a tamer. She wasn’t dangerous, and she wasn’t wild. Miles might not be convinced, yet—but then he was a scientist and he never made conclusions without careful study—but he didn’t even believe she was a primitive. Communications was the only problem they needed to surmount. She had a quick understanding—very quick—entirely too swift a grasp not to be highly intelligent.

It occurred to him forcefully that he should inform Miles that he wasn’t needed and take himself as far away from her as he could get before he did something he would regret. Miles was not uninterested in mating her. It had been more of an educated guess than actual knowledge that had prompted him to suggest Miles had been waving her, as well, but Miles hadn’t denied it.

Miles was still better equipped to deal with her for the simple reason that Miles had his head up his ass most of the time. He tended to ignore his instincts in favor of scientific pursuits. His cock could wave until it was exhausted and he would pay it no more mind than he did hunger or thirst when he was in pursuit of knowledge. If he noticed it at all, it would be with annoyance at the inconvenience of his body’s demands for attention.

Of any okean he knew, Miles was the absolute least likely to lose his head in the throes of passion—or lose his head with Angie.

Who would protect her if he abandoned her, though, he wondered? Miles hardly remembered to eat when he was hungry. When would he think to feed her? Or attend her other needs, for that matter?

At the thought, he lifted his head to look around the pressure chamber where she’d been since he’d brought her. Miles hadn’t said one word about moving her and there were no accommodations for her physical needs. There was nothing for comfort. He uttered a deep sigh that was a mixture of irritation and defeat.

He couldn’t in good conscience abandon her. Miles was an idiot—brilliant but still an idiot when it came to the mundane things—like feeding her and taking care of her. She wouldn’t last long with no one but Miles taking care of her. He’d find a dried husk when he finally remembered she hadn’t had water or food.

He discovered Angie was studying him worriedly and wondered what expressions he’d had on his face to give her that anxious look. Smiling faintly in reassurance, he lifted a hand to her soft cheek. “It’s alright, pretty babe. Come,” he added, helping her up and getting to his feet.

She balked when he reached the door, bracing her feet and leaning back from him to tug at her captive wrist.

Gods it was frustrating not to even be able to tell her what he had in mind! He grappled with his patience, trying to figure out how he could get it across to her that his only intention was to take her where she’d be more comfortable. Pausing, he waved his hand at the airlock and then pointed toward the residence beyond Miles’ lab. She looked around the room and then turned to look at Miles. Her eyes widened. She shook her head, saying something rapidly, over and over, jerking harder on her wrist until he felt the joints in her arm begin to separate. It sent a queasy feeling through his stomach.

It dawned on him abruptly that she thought he was taking her to Miles and although he couldn’t see that Miles was doing anything that she would find the least bit threatening he thought that if she had some idea what the room beyond was
that
might account for her sudden fear. Holding her hand, he stepped closer and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her close enough he could hold her. She planted her free hand on his chest and shoved. Ignoring it, he caught her face in his hand and turned her head until she could see the outer door of Miles’ lab. “There,” he said pointing.

She looked at him questioningly and then turned to look at the door he’d pointed out again. He thought he saw comprehension, but the distrust didn’t leave her eyes.

There wasn’t anything he could do about that.

Holding her firmly against his side, he opened the door and pulled her out despite her reluctance. They’d nearly reached the door before Miles even looked up from his computer.

“What are you doing?” Miles demanded, obviously aghast that he’d removed her from the chamber.

Damien paused, turning to look at him. “Taking her to the guest room.”

Miles blinked at him blankly. “You’re going to put the terra in my
guest
room? What if she … it gets loose?”

Damien’s lips tightened. “You can’t keep her in there,” he said pointedly, nudging his chin at the cell where she’d been held for hours.

Miles frowned and turned to look at the window. “Why not?”

“Because there is
nothing
in there!” he snapped. “You wouldn’t even leave a … petri-dish in that kind of environment, gods damn it!”

Miles’ frown deepened. “It’s sterile containment! I haven’t even checked her for potential disease, gods damn it, Damien!”

“I’ve been in and out of there a half dozen times myself,” Damien pointed out angrily. “How sterile is that? To say nothing of the fact that I went to the
above
to capture her!”

Briefly, a look of horror crossed Miles’ face. “I hadn’t thought of that! You should’ve gone through a thorough decontamination! My entire lab could be compromised!”

“Your domicile will be, too,” Damien ground out, “because I’m taking her to the guest room!”

Miles got up and followed him to the door, staring after them as Damien led her down the corridor. “You can’t leave until I’ve checked you out! We’ll have to quarantine the whole damned place, damn it to hell, Damien! Make sure you lock her in! I don’t want to wake up and find her gnawing on my throat or anything!”

Damien lifted his hand in a rude gesture and kept going.

“Oh yeah? Well back at you!” Miles snarled.

Damien paused at the turn in the corridor and looked back at him. “She isn’t dangerous and you know as well as I do that you wouldn’t mind if you
did
wake up and find her gnawing on your neck, you asshole! You want to mate her as badly as I do!”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind!” Miles snapped indignantly.

“Yeah, right. That’s why you
weren’t
waving your cock at her.”

“I didn’t wave it, damn it! It has a mind of its own! I didn’t display it like you did.”

Damien glared at him. “And who’s fucking brilliant idea was that?”

Miles stared at him angrily for a moment, but obviously couldn’t think of a comeback. “I didn’t get enough of her speech to decipher the language.”

“We’ll try again tomorrow. She’s tired. Aren’t you,
mesoma—
pretty little love?” he murmured, tucking a finger beneath her chin and lifting her face up so that he could study it.