Anya stepped out of the winter air and into a shop that would have been cozy if the décor hadn’t been entirely made of metal—much of it in sharp and pointed shapes.
She drew her arms a little closer to her sides and resisted the urge to touch the gleaming blades that filled more than half the room.
She recognized the layout of the building immediately. It was common in many of the pre-fab homes that housed most of the colony. They were in what should have been the main living area, only in this case the walls had been removed or omitted during construction. Where the kitchen should have been was a small, well-lit workspace full of tools. Many projects were in progress, but she was too far away to make out any details.
Both males stood behind her, watching silently as she moved through the space. When she got more comfortable, she touched the hilt of a dagger with a gem-encrusted handle and a blade no wider than her pinkie finger. “Form over function?” she asked almost absently and then froze when she realized how insulting that sounded. “I mean. It’s beautiful. Really. But how do you hold it without cutting your hand?”
“You don’t.” Damos smiled as he picked up the weapon and held it up so she could see it better. “Only the point is sharp, not the edge. It’s meant to decorate a female’s hair.”
He made a vague gesture around the back of his head with his free hand. “To help pin it up. Originally they were also for defense, but the females at court don’t fear attack, so these became a fashion statement instead of a weapon.”
“This is a hairpin? Can I try it?”
“Of course,” they both said at almost the same moment.
She pulled her hair out from under her cloak and let it fall down her back. She was about to start twisting it into a simple chignon when she realized both males were staring intently. She wasn’t even sure they were breathing. Had she committed some kind of cultural sin that Saral hadn’t remembered to warn her about?
“Something wrong?”
“Your hair is beautiful. I didn’t realize it was so long,” Tra’var said.
“Or that it was the color of asloni vren.” Damos’ amber eyes gleamed brightly, the dark rims showing up starkly in contrast.
“Cold steel?” she asked, trying not to feel self-conscious as she struggled to translate Damos’ words.
“Cooling steel,” he clarified in Galactic Standard.
“Ah.” She winked and held out a lock of her hair. “I thought you were commenting on the amount of silver in my hair. Another decade or so and it will look like cold steel.”
Damos shook his head, but Tra’var spoke first. “You will look just as you do now. Your nanotech will see to that.”
Time for revelation number one. Anya bowed her head so she didn’t have to look at them. She focused on twisting her hair up so she could try the dagger in it. “I don’t have nanotech. I’m just a basic model human. No upgrades.”
Tra’var made a startled noise and then demanded, “Why not?”
She had an answer prepared for the question, and she rattled it off without stopping what she was doing. “I have a unique contract. I had no idea if the tavern would be successful, so I made a deal with the council. I stay for three years. If I decide this is where I want to stay, I can take the nanotech treatment. Until then, I have all the rights as an ordinary citizen of Haven.”
“No,” Tra’var stated flatly.
Anya took the dagger and slid it into her hair before she looked up. Tra’var’s expression was stormy. “What do you mean, no?”
“You will not wait three years. You are our mahaya. You will carry our nanotech soon.” He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a look that had her ready to reach for the dagger she’d just slid into her hair.
She glowered up at him. “No.”
Tra’var cocked his head in confusion. It would have been adorable if she wasn’t so fraxxing annoyed.
“No what?” he asked.
“No to anything you said that started with the words ‘you will.’ I may be your mahaya, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do.” She turned to glare at Damos. “Either of you.”
“But you are our—” Tra’var didn’t get to finish the sentence before Damos cut him off.
“You are right, Anya.” Damos raised both of his massive hands, palms out, fingers splayed. “The choice is yours.”
“Damn right it is. I’m not giving up my life or my plans just because our chemistry is compatible. I am not a slave to my pheromones.” She frowned. “Or is it your pheromones? Whichever. Biology and chemistry are not in charge of my life.”
Tra’var’s mouth opened and then shut with an audible click.
Anya pulled the dagger out of her hair and handed it back to Damos. “Word of advice, Tra’v. Don’t annoy your mahaya when she’s standing in a display room full of weapons.”
Tra’var lowered his head, ran a hand through his blond hair, and then looked at her askance. His expression was one of perplexed frustration. “You are… not what I expected.”
She laughed, and all her annoyance melted away. “You’re still light years ahead of me. I wasn’t expecting you two at all.”
“A fact we both need to keep in mind.” Damos reached out and then paused before his hand got too close to her. “May I? Your hair is…”
She tipped her head to one side and drew the length over her shoulder so that it spilled down her front instead of her back. Her hair was her one vanity. She didn’t wear cosmetics and was well past the age of dressing for attention. She preferred comfort to the latest fashions, especially when it came to footwear. It was gratifying to know she wasn’t the only one who liked her hair.
Both males crowded closer, twining locks of her hair around callused fingers. “It’s so soft,” Tra’var said.
Damos didn’t speak. He stroked her hair like it was a living thing. His jaw moved just a little and she recognized the movement. He was subvocalizing on the comms implants the Vardarians used.
“What did you just say to Tra’v?” she asked.
Tra’var grinned. “If you had an implant, you’d know already.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t get one until I have nanotech, and we already had that conversation.” She changed the topic before he could respond. “So, what did he say?”
To her amusement, Tra’var pressed his lips together and then shook his head.
“It’s a secret. You’ll find out later,” Damos said. Then he wrapped a length of hair around his fist and pulled her in for a hard kiss that made her toes curl and her heart race. Damos was all rumble and growl, the sound rolling through her body and buzzing against her lips as his mouth slanted over hers.
Liquid heat pooled deep in her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together to try and ease the ache between her legs. Her clit throbbed in time to her pounding heart as the slow-burning embers of the sharhal ignited once more.
She kissed him back, craving the heat of his mouth and smoky, sinful taste of his lips.
A moment later, Tra’var caught her by the shoulder and turned her toward him, stealing her from Damos to claim a kiss of his own. His mouth was so hot it was like a brand against her skin, and when he nipped her lower lip, demanding entrance, she whimpered and opened to him.
“No biting,” Damos said.
Tra’var stopped to snarl something unintelligible at Damos and then his lips crashed down on hers once more. His arm locked like a steel bar across her lower back, pressing her against him from hip to breast. Re’veth, the two of them should have their mouths registered as lethal weapons. Her hands moved over the powerful wall of his chest and she revised her last thought. They should have their whole damned bodies registered.
All her plans to take this slow and learn more about her would-be lovers melted faster than ice in a steam bath. Now she was near them again, the sharhal had returned full force, and she couldn’t even remember why giving in to it wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.
Tra’var had never met such a beautiful, glorious, obstinate female. What had his ancestors been thinking when they’d joined her life to his? He’d dreamed of a soft, gentle female. They’d sent him one already forged in flame, with edges sharper than any blade he and Damos had ever crafted.
Despite his confusion he wanted nothing more than to kiss her until she softened and the walls around her heart melted away. Then he would tear off her clothes and make her scream with pleasure. They’d fuck her until she stopped fighting this, and then… then they’d claim her completely. Mating marks on her throat and their harani on her arm.
Once she understood what it meant to be their mahaya, the rest would fall into place. Home. Family. Offspring. Damos thought she needed more time. He didn’t agree with his anrik. All she needed was to be shown what the future would be like for the three of them, and he knew just where to start—once he’d finished kissing her, that is. That could take a while.
Her scent wrapped around him like a caress and every breath drew more of it into his lungs. The more of her he had, the more he wanted. Taste. Touch. Scent. Her soft gasps and moans as their tongues danced and their bodies pressed together. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, holding on to him just as tightly as he held her.
The only reason he stopped was the soft chime of their resident AI. He lifted his head and sighed.
Damos walked out of the back room a few seconds later, holding the wrapped bundle of kes’tarvs they were supposed to deliver today.
“Already?” Tra’var grumbled. He’d lost all track of time. He’d also missed the moment Damos had left them alone, and that didn’t sit well with him.
“Time moves faster when you’re enjoying yourself.” Damos put the weapons into a carry bag and set it on the floor. “In fact, you’re going to be late unless you wing it. You two should hurry.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Anya asked.
His jaw tightened for a moment before Damos shook his head. “I can’t fly that far.”
Anya pulled out of Tra’var’s arms. He let her go, but she wasn’t fast enough to catch Damos before he turned and walked back through the door to the storage room.
Anya stopped, her hands opening and closing as she looked first at the door and then back at him.
“You upset Anya,” he sent to Damos as he moved to their mahaya’s side and took her hand in his. “It’s not you. I’ll explain soon,” he told her.
“The two of you need some time together, and I have work to do. Is that hilt you made back here somewhere? The one we talked about, with the fire stone in the pommel?” After a brief pause, Damos added. “You need to get moving or you’re going to be late.”
“Funny that. I know I set that reminder to go off early enough we could walk.”
Damos didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Tra’var knew he’d changed the reminder so there wouldn’t be enough time to get there without flying. He’d have to confront his partner about that later.
“The hilt is on my workspace. Back left corner. It’s ready to go, just needs the blade.”
He already knew what Damos had planned. It was the secret they were keeping from Anya. They’d worked on the blade together this morning, but it wasn’t finished yet. He hadn’t expected to be left alone with Anya while Damos finished the dagger on his own.
“Is this about his wings?” Anya asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
He should have known. Gossip moved at close to light speed in a place as small as Haven. All he said was, “Yes. But later.” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have within earshot of Damos.
“Later,” she agreed, her tone making it clear that he didn’t have long before the topic would come up again.
“So, how is this going to work? You fly these over and I’ll meet you there? Where are we going, anyway?”
“The main practice arena. I am not leaving you to walk there on your own. I’ll carry you.”
“You’re joking. I’m not exactly a featherweight at one G, and this is a higher gravity world. If you’re holding me and all that,” she flicked a hand toward the kes’tarvs, “how are you even going to get airborne?”
“Come over here and I’ll show you.” Tra’var picked up the bag and then placed the carry-strap over his head so that it crossed his body while leaving space for his wings.
Anya hadn’t moved.
“Come,” he repeated.
Anya made an unimpressed noise at the back of her throat and pointed up. “One little problem. There’s a ceiling in the way. You might be the buffest flyer on the planet, but even you can’t take off from here. Also, I’m not sure what the context of your last command was, but either way, it doesn’t work like that with human women.”
“Noted, my lovely sandar. You’re right about the ceiling. I just wanted to show you what I planned before we went out into the cold again.”
Her lips quirked into a bemused smile. “Ah. You should have just said so. And what’s a sandar?”
“A desert flower on my home world. Fragrant and beautiful.” And guarded by spines as long as a male’s thumb, but he didn’t mention that detail.
She stepped in front of him. “So, what do I do? Is there a safety harness I should put on? Do I need a parachute?”
“You trust me,” was all he said and then scooped her into his arms.
Anya yelped in surprise and threw her arms around his neck. “Holy fraxx, this is the plan? If you drop me…”
“I won’t. If I let anything happen to you, Damos would throw me into the forge and I wouldn’t try to stop him. You’re our future, Anya.” He tipped his head so he could look into her hazel eyes. “You are our everything.”
Her eyes widened and a soft gasp fell from her lips. He knew it was because of the sharhal as much as his words, but that didn’t matter. She was beginning to understand.
Confident that things were progressing as they should, he carried her through the shop and storage areas. The door opened automatically when it sensed him, letting him walk into their backyard.
Damos was already at work. He’d shed his cold weather gear, opting to work shirtless. He was so close to the forge his scales had tightened, including the dorsal ridges that ran between his wings.
The stubborn male had done that on purpose, deliberately letting Anya see another of his differences. Damos thought of them as flaws, and nothing Tra’var said could make his anrik change his qarfing mind.
Anya didn’t react at all save for a tiny scowl that was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Then she raised her voice to carry over the noise of the forge. “Damos, we’re going, but before we do I want to check on something. As much as I enjoy ogling your ass, please turn around for a moment.”
Tra’var shook with barely suppressed laughter as Damos stiffened and then turned, looking more than a little confused. Clearly he’d expected their mahaya to have a different reaction than the one he’d gotten.
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Two things. One, is this really a safe way for Tra’var to carry me or am I being played for a fool? Two, would you really stuff him in the forge if he dropped me?”
“I already answered that,” Tra’var reminded her, stung.
“And I’m getting a second opinion,” Anya retorted.
“He could carry me if he had to… and if I allowed it. You are perfectly safe. And yes, if he let you come to harm, I would consider using his worthless hide as fuel.” Damos grinned, flashing his fangs. “But only if you asked me to.”
“Right. Pretty sure that’s never going to happen, but good to know,” Anya drawled. “Oh. One more thing. I am not leaving without a goodbye kiss. You left before I could give you one earlier.”
Yes. She was making her acceptance as clear as a summer sky.
“If you smile any wider your face will crack,” Damos sent to him via their private link.
“She has accepted us. Soon we’ll mark her and finalize the claim. You were worried over nothing.”
Damos ignored him, but he didn’t disregard Anya’s request. He left the forge to do its work and crossed the snow-covered yard. He tucked a finger under their mahaya’s chin, lifted her head, and then kissed her softly. “Enjoy your time with Tra’var. I will be here when you return.”
“Then will you show me what you’re making?” she asked.
“Of course,” Damos said in a voice that was more contented rumble than actual words.
Tra’var had never heard his anrik sound so happy before, and they’d been bonded since they were boys.
“Then later, you can both give me the tour.” She touched Damos’ cheek and then turned her head to smile at Tra’var. “Okay, Tra’v. Time to prove me wrong.”
“Take care of her,” Damos spoke on their link as he stepped back to give them room.
“Of course,” Tra’var sent back. Then aloud he said, “You might want to hold a little tighter. I’ve never quite gotten the hang of take-offs.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed and her arms locked around his neck. “Not funny.”
He laughed, spread his wings, and then took to the air, his pride and nanotech working hard to ensure it was a perfect launch. Within a few wing beats they were climbing into the winter air, rising in circles to a comfortable height for over-city flying.
“He was kidding about the take-offs. Don’t trust him on the landings, though!” Damos called a moment before they passed out of earshot.
“He exaggerates. I dropped him once and he’s never forgiven me.”
“From how high?” Anya asked, making an obvious effort not to look anywhere but at him.
“Less than a meter…” he paused and then admitted, “into a river. In the middle of the winter. There was ice involved.”
She laughed. “I can see why forgiveness hasn’t been offered. You dump me in an icy stream, and I’ll be doing more than carrying a grudge, though.”
“Noted. It was an accident, though. I thought I was strong enough to carry him. Back then, I wasn’t… and he’d never gone flying before.”
“Never?” she had to raise her voice to be heard over the wind now.
He shook his head but didn’t say anything more.
Anya nodded and then pointed to the ground with her brows raised in question. They’d talk about it after this flight.
They needed to learn so much about each other and had so many plans to make.
He couldn’t wait to get started.