“Oh!” Christine gasped and froze, not certain what—if anything—she should do. The Monstrum’s breath was hot against the side of her neck, sending helpless shivers down her spine. For the first time she wondered if he was here seeking more than help for his wounded leg.
But then he straightened up again and looked down at her. His golden-green eyes were calm, as though he had satisfied himself of something by sniffing her and smelling her scent. Maybe some animal instinct that told him she was a good person? Christine didn’t know, but she did know they couldn’t just keep standing here like this.
“Come on,” she said to the huge alien. “Let’s get you into the kitchen so I can clean up that leg of yours.”
Turning, she motioned down the hallway and towards the kitchen. The Monstrum cocked his head to one side, as though trying to understand her.
“Come,” she said again and stared walking.
After a moment, he followed her.
Christine had the feeling it was the beginning of what was going to be a long, strange night.
ELEVEN
The little female led him through the low-ceilinged domicile, chattering away in English, as she did. Roarn didn’t mind—her voice was sweet and soothing—the sound of it and the scent of her, helped drive back the Fury which was his constant torment. Also, the more she talked, the more of her language he understood and assimilated. Kindred of all kinds were excellent at learning languages extremely quickly and Monstrum were no exception.
Roarn didn’t feel ready to try speaking yet—he had been completely non-verbal for the past five cycles. So for the present, he only listened.
She brought him into a small food-prep area—everything in this domicile was small, built for the humans who were extremely short and delicate compared to Kindred—and sat him in a wooden chair across from a round black iron thing that was radiating heat.
Roarn was glad of the warmth. Though he was well able to withstand extreme temperatures, he preferred to be comfortable. Also, the heat was drying his fur, some of which had become damp from the snow.
The curvy little female bustled about, heating water and getting towels. She also made some liquid that smelled sweet and fragrant and poured it into a cup where it steamed enticingly.
“I don’t know if you like tea, but I thought this might warm you up,” she said.
Roarn frowned, trying to understand her. She seemed to be asking if he wanted the steaming liquid. When she held it out to him with her eyebrows raised enquiringly, he took it without question and brought it to his lips.
“Be careful!” she exclaimed. “Blow on it first—it’s really hot!”
She was warning him, Roarn thought—she didn’t want him to burn his mouth. Cautiously, he blew on the hot liquid and took a tiny sip. A sweet, mild flavor filled his mouth. He rolled it around his tongue and then let it slip down his throat. Mmmm—good!
He made a deep rumbling sound at the back of his throat—his pleasure purr—and sipped again. The heated liquid seemed to calm and warm him from the inside out. It was a good thing—just like the curvy little female was good.
“All right, I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She smiled, as though delighted that he liked what she had given him. Then she knelt on the floor with a steaming bowl of water and a wet towel. Looking up at him, she said, “I’m going to wash your wound now—I’ll try to be gentle. Can you hold still for me?”
Roarn frowned. She was asking him not to move, he thought. And it was clear she was going to wash the place where the biter had dug its teeth in. Of course, his own saliva had cleaned the wounds adequately and they were already beginning to heal, but he didn’t mind letting her touch him. In fact, he wanted to feel her soft hands on him—even if only on his ankle.
Hesitantly, he nodded. The female seemed to take this for assent because she smiled again and said, “Good. That’s good.”
She dipped the towel into the warm water, wrung it out, and began carefully dabbing the places where his fur was bloody.
Roarn was tense at first, but her touch was gentle—it was clear she had tended wounds before. Was she some kind of healer? Roarn thought she must be. Everything about her spoke of it—her kind way with him and her gentle voice and touch—yes, she must be a healer.
He watched with interest, sipping the soothing liquid she had called “tea” as she tended to his ankle. As she knelt beside him, the neckline of the garment she was wearing gaped open, showing the tops of her full, heavy breasts.
The sight affected him deeply and he felt his heavy shaft, which was enclosed in the furry pouch between his legs, begin to stir and harden. She had no fur except for the long, dark hair on her head. How smooth and naked she must be under the pink garment she was wearing! He hadn’t seen a female in years and he had never seen one without fur.