Challenged (Mates for the Raskarrans #8)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Rardek

I t is a more loaded question than she realises, of course. Knowing how some of my sisters have reacted to the idea of mates being chosen for them, I am hesitant to answer. But it is not fair to keep my Angie from the truth. She has had to learn a great many difficult things this day, and I would protect her from another if I could. But in this, protecting her will not serve her. She needs to know, and she needs to know that I will always be honest with her.

Already, her eyes are narrowing at my hesitation, so I fix a calm, open expression on my face. Decide the best path for me is to be blunt.

“I am here because we are chosen for each other. I call you ‘linasha’ not because I think it is your name, but because it is your title. What you are to me. My linasha. My mate.”

I remain silent a moment, giving her time to think through my words. From the way her mouth twists, I can tell she is displeased by this revelation.

I confess, as much as I would be thrilled by her acceptance of our mating, the thought of seeing her eyes flashing with fire again has my heartspace racing. It is difficult to contain myself, to be gentle and not teasing. My female needs my kindness and consideration as she adapts to her new circumstances, but the temptation to provoke a reaction in her is overwhelming. The sharp words she fires at me speak of a quick headspace, and I am eager to test this. To pit my wit against hers and see to what delights our words carry us.

But she first must accept our connection. Desire it. Or at least not be frightened or disturbed by the thought of it.

“Your mate?” she says, her tone a full day’s hard running from accepting.

I nod. “It is not the human way of things, I know. Many of my sisters have struggled with it also. Speak with them in the morning and they will tell you their stories.”

Her expression hardens further.

“So when Liv said that I would have a choice about how to live my life here, that when it came to being accepted by the tribe, sex had nothing to do with it, she was lying to me?”

“No,” I say, firm and quick in my answer. I do not want her to have any cause to doubt our chieftess’ words. Because Liv was not lying, though I can understand how, in this moment, it feels to my Angie like she was.

“What part of having you invade my dreams and declare us mates is me having a choice about anything?”

She speaks the words in the slow way that elders use to let you know they are very angry. This is a dangerous moment, I sense. What I say will shape her feelings for me for a very long time.

“You do not get a choice in this, no,” I say. “Lina chooses who enters in dreams together, and raskarrans have always said that she is never wrong. But you are not of Lina’s forests, and have no cause to trust her judgement, I understand that. Just as I understand that it is uncomfortable and strange to you in a way that it is not to me. And that is okay. I will be guided by you, my Angie. Every other thing in this will be your choice. I cannot stop the dreams, and I cannot stop the way my heartspace beats for you, but what we do with this time together is for you to decide. Whether you wish to spend your waking hours in my presence or avoid me is for you to decide. Whether-”

“Whether I’d rather be with someone else entirely?”

She cuts across me, her words sharp and pointy, meant to poke at my most tender places. She is testing the edges of what I am saying. Seeing how well it holds up under her assault.

“You think there is a male in the tribe who would be preferable to me?” I ask, gesturing to myself as if I think I am the finest male in the tribe.

“I told you, you’re not that impressive,” she snaps, but the flood of red that comes into her cheeks reveals her words are at least a little untrue. I cannot help the slow grin that spreads across my face.

It is tempting to answer her jab with more teasing words, but her question deserves a serious answer, so I breathe in all my amusement, let my expression settle into seriousness again.

“If you hope to find another mate, you will find you have no real choices,” I say. “You may decide you wish to give your heartspace to another, but they would not accept it. Lina has chosen you for me. Any other raskarran would desire only the female Lina chooses for him.”

“Who is this Lina, and why does she get to decide?”

“She is our goddess, the goddess of the forest that we call home.”

I am always surprised by how unimpressed humans are by goddesses, and my Angie is no exception. Her eyes harden. Her tone when she speaks is flat and dry.

“Right, of course.” She grimaces, then fixes her expression in a neutral arrangement. “And I suppose there’s no way of getting her to, ah, un-decide?”

“No.”

“But what if this-” She gestures between us. “-is the one time she’s wrong.”

“She is not wrong.”

I smile, because every word my Angie speaks makes me more certain of this. Even when she is searching for ways to escape our mating bond, I can see the speed of her racing thoughts in her eyes. Can read the workings of her headspace in the way she wrinkles her nose. She is a quick and clever female and this delights me.

“You say that with such confidence, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“Very little,” I agree. “But what I do know tells me that I wish to know very much more.”

“And what if you learn things you don’t like?”

“Unlikely,” I say, grinning. “You have already tried to pull the tail from my back and the hair from my head. You have secrets within you worse than this inclination for violence?”

The words are out before I can contain my temptation to tease her. My Angie glares at me, the fire in her eyes flashing beautifully. But she sighs, containing her impulse to spar with me for now.

“I apologise for pulling your tail and your hair.”

There is something in the flat way she says it, as if she knows it is the right thing to say, but does not feel that truth in her heartspace. It almost makes me laugh. Ferocious little female. I hope she realises soon that she does not have to contain that ferocity around me.

“You were in an impossible position,” I say. “You sought proof of your circumstances and it was an effective way to get it. There is nothing to apologise for, my Angie.”

She stares at me for a long moment, blinking slowly. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, as if words dance on the tip of her tongue but do not manage to leave it.

“That’s it?” she says in the end, her tone disbelieving.

I shrug. “I would be a fool to hold your intelligence and ingenuity against you. They are attributes I admire.”

“You admire the fact that I attacked you?” Her eyes remain narrowed as she looks at me. “Not: ‘I’ll let it slide this time, but you need to think about that attitude and whether it’s productive going forward’? Not: ‘you need to understand that you owe me your respect’? Not: ‘aggression is unbecoming of you, the fairer sex should be gentle’?”

She says these things in a false voice, condescending and dismissive, and I know they are all words she has heard before. I have teasingly accused her of a propensity for violence, but it is my heartspace that fills with a desire to terrorise anyone who belittled her so.

“How could you owe me respect?” I say, picking the simplest of the statements to counter. “As you have said - we do not know each other.”

“Because you’re male.” Her tone is disparaging, but I sense that it is towards this attitude, not me.

“I am male by accident of my birth. It is not something I control, nor something I have earned. I do not think being male demands respect any more than being female necessitates gentleness.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, then she huffs, the sound almost an acknowledgement. “I guess we have that much in common, at least.”

I chuckle. “Already you are warming to my charms.”

“Agreeing with each other on one thing doesn’t make us compatible.”

“No, but if we agree on one thing, it seems likely that we will agree on more.”

She is quiet for a moment, watching me with narrowed eyes, as if she does not trust that I mean what I say. I hold her gaze, let her really look at me so she can see that I am not trying to cover up my true feelings with lies I think she wants me to tell.

“So you don’t believe I owe you respect because we don’t know each other, but you do think we should be mates? How do you logic that one?”

There is a subtle shift in her tone. We have moved from interrogation to inquiry. She is curious, not angry. She believes I am telling her the truth.

It is a victory, and I celebrate internally.

“It is not that we should be mates. We are mates,” I say. “The dreamspace forming for us tells us that. But do not confuse being mates with having a friendship or intimacy. Even if we were two raskarrans, both expecting to find another in our dreams - anticipating it - the dreamspace forming does not make that closeness happen instantly.”

A raskarran female would expect her male to provide her pleasures in the dreamspace, but I do not mention that part. I would not have my Angie think I hold any expectation of such things happening between us this night.

“So, what, the dreamspace forms and then?”

“And then there is conversation. Learning of each other.”

“Learning?” Her tone sharpens once more. “Is that a euphemism?”

It takes a moment for her meaning to filter through the dreamspace to me.

“I meant only the kind of learning that occurs through talking. Touching can take place, but only if both parties are amenable.”

“I’m not amenable,” she says, even as colour rises in her cheeks again.

She has thought about touching me, then, or she likes the shape of me. I might have teased her about such things before, but it is a visceral thrill to see the desire is truly there.

“And that is why I have not tried to touch you. I know that for some human males, a lack of willingness is desirable.” I watch her closely as I speak, looking for any tell that this has been part of her experience. Her expression does not shift, and a great gratitude fills me that it is not something she has suffered. “But that is not how it is for me, or for any raskarran who still holds his honour. You do not need to fear me, my Angie.”

“And yet you still refer to me as yours.”

I incline my head in acknowledgment. “This is something Grace disliked also. Her mate Calran did not refer to her this way until she grew comfortable with it. I can do the same for you.”

“Just because you don’t say it, doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking it.”

“Then you would prefer me to say it as I think?”

Fury flashes in her eyes, bright and sudden.

“I’d prefer you not to think it,” she snaps. “I don’t want a mate. And you don’t want me to be your mate, not really. What happens when Mercenia comes for me, huh? What happens when they take me home? Are you going to follow me in dreams all the way back to my planet? Across the stars and into this apartment?”

She gestures at the space around us.

Mentioning the nineteen season long sleep she has just woken from does not seem prudent, nor mentioning our lack of desire for Mercenia to return to these trees for any reason.

So I ignore the question for now. Deflect.

“This is your home, then?” I say, looking at the plain, almost empty space. “It is very… white.”

“It’s sophisticated,” she hisses, another burst of red breaking out across her cheeks.

“I do not mean to be insulting,” I say, holding up my hands. “My mated brothers who have seen your human world describe it as a grey one. I do not see any grey here.”

There are some small patches of muted colour. Some drawings on the straight, flat walls. A low table between us bears a small container with flowers in it. This human practise of cutting flowers and bringing them inside instead of leaving them to grow is strange, but there is something odd about the flowers also. They look brittle, almost. I reach across and touch them, find the texture most unnatural.

“Yes, they’re fake,” my Angie says, snatching them out of my reach. “You think I can afford real flowers? I’m career path. I don’t have a fancy husband earning the big bucks for me.”

Her words make little sense, but one thing filters through.

“You have not left a mate behind, then?”

Her scowl deepens. “No.”

I am relieved until I recall that humans do not need to find their mate to have younglings.

“What of younglings?”

“Younglings? You mean children? No. No children either. This is all pristine.” She pats her stomach, glowering at me.

“Good,” I say, and her expression turns disgusted. I am unsure what I have said to displease her, so I choose my next words carefully, make sure to speak them clearly. “I am glad you have not been forced to leave younglings behind. That would be an extreme cruelty, even for Mercenia.”

The disgust evaporates, confusion replacing it.

“That wouldn’t have bothered you? If I already had kids?”

“See, you are already concerned about what bothers me,” I say. “Perhaps you are not so set against having me as your mate as you think.”

I grin at her to make it clear I am only teasing. She gives me an unimpressed look, but her expression softens within the space of a breath.

“It wouldn’t have bothered you?” she repeats.

“Of course it would have. Separating a mother from her younglings is a terrible thing.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about me. Being second-hand goods.”

Again, the dreamspace has to work to make her words make sense to me. I have the advantage of the knowledge of all my mated brothers before me, and it is still difficult sometimes to understand her true meaning.

“You speak of yourself as if you are an object to be traded,” I say.

“You call me ‘yours’,” she fires back, bright irritation flashing in her eyes. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I would not trade you.” I let a little heat come into my voice, so she knows I am serious, truthful. “That suggests that you are of low value to me, something I could just give away. If you understand one thing in all our conversations, let it be this - you are mine and I am yours and there is nothing I could be given on this world or any other that could persuade me to part with you.”

Her lips part in a soft, round shape, putting the thought of human kisses in my headspace. The urge to slant my mouth over hers, to learn her taste, is overwhelming. But before I can do something very unwise, I feel a strange sensation - a sort of flickering at the edges of my vision. The dreamspace starting to unravel.

“Forget your human ways of thinking about things,” I say, making my voice softer, gentler, though urgency bleeds through. “Especially all the ways in which you have been told you have no value. You are not an object to be traded, mostly because you are not an object at all. You are a person with thoughts in your headspace, feelings in your heartspace, just as I am. We might be different, my Angie, but Lina has chosen us for each other, and that means that you are the most important thing to me. My mate, my linasha.”

I get to my feet and so does she. Because I desire there to be nothing between us, the low table vanishes, and I take a step forward, daring to reach out a hand, brush a strand of her hair out of her face. It feels impossibly soft beneath my fingertips.

“You will wake soon, and I will be away, working with my brothers. If I could stay, see you in the waking world first, then know that I would. But it is an important task I have been set. The future and safety of the tribe may well depend on it, and I would not neglect that. You are important to me, but if the tribe is not safe, then I cannot keep you safe. I hope this is something you can understand. That you will not think too ill of me for my absence.”

She makes a strange sort of sound, like a strangled gasp, but no protest. I lower my hand, step back. Give her just a little more space.

“You should take the time while I am gone to speak with your sisters. Ask any questions you might have. Tell them of what we have discussed and test the truth of my answers so you can be sure I have not misled you in anything.”

Her brow furrows, her eyes hardening a little. “There isn’t some rule against that?”

I shrug. “Only the rules of your own comfort.”

“And what about your comfort?”

I know she does not ask out of concern for my comfort. She looks for a trap, her whole body bristling defensively in anticipation of one.

Grinning, I lean close to her. “Tell them every little detail if you wish. Do not fear for my pride. My brothers and sisters will tell you I have plenty enough for it to suffer a little bruising without permanent damage.”

“I don’t need to speak to anyone to know that’s true,” she says, a hint of fire flashing in her eyes.

I’m laughing as the dreamspace disintegrates around us, and grinning still as I open my eyes to the waking world.