Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(7)

I can’t fuck this up and scare him. I can’t escape, either. It’s clear I can’t outrun him, so I need to make him trust me. I gingerly step out into the deep snow, pick a rocky outcropping that looks as relatively private as I can find, and do my business. My face burns when I catch him watching me a short distance away. I know it’s because he doesn’t want me to run, but can’t a girl have some privacy? I kick snow over my ‘toilet’, then rub more snow on my hands to clean them. As I do, I look up at the sky.

There’s a smoky trail cutting through the air, and I look over in the distance. The wreck of the spaceship is still visible, like a stain on the mountain.

The reality of it hits me. Kira’s dead. Aehako and Haeden are probably dead. I’m the only one of our small party left alive. Oh God. I don’t know the way back to the tribal caves…and I’m not sure I want to go back. How would it look with just me limping back after abandoning the two hunters? Would anyone believe me if I told my side?

Probably not.

I’m fucked. A few miserable tears squeeze from my eyes and freeze on my face. I have no place to go anymore…

Except back to my captor. I look over at him, all dirty, wild hair and naked body. My khui immediately responds, and I clench my fists to ignore the arousal sweeping through me. Any logical woman would not be aroused by her filthy captor, but the khui ignores logic.

So I’m going to do my best to ignore my khui. Steeling myself, I return to the alien’s side.

His hand goes to my elbow and he steers me back into the cave. All right, then. See how good I’m playing along?

I move to the far end of the cave the moment we get inside. There’s too much of a breeze at the entrance, and the small cave isn’t big enough to provide a ton of protection from the elements, which is unfortunate. I squeeze down against the rock wall, huddling.

He picks up the bonds again and re-approaches me.

“No, please,” I tell him, putting a hand up.

He crouches next to me, but he doesn’t try to tie me. Instead, he cocks his head, as if waiting for me to speak again. I have to assume that he doesn’t understand his people’s language, or else he’d have tried to speak it already. He’s like Mowgli or Tarzan – completely wild.

I need to start with the basics.

I tap my chest, over my thick clothing. “Harlow.” I tap it again and repeat my name, and then reach out to tap him.

He pushes my hand aside, his brows drawn.

I try again. “Harlow.” I point to myself. “Haaaaaarlow.” Then I gesture at him.

The light goes on in his head. “Arrr-loh.” He taps my breast.

My khui immediately responds to his touch, and a hot blush covers my face. I hope he doesn’t notice how hard my nipples are. I don’t want him to touch me. I really don’t. Not when he’s that filthy and I expect him to tie me up at any moment.

But there’s no denying that my cootie and my brain aren’t on the same page. I just hope he doesn’t pick up the scent of the moisture seeping between my thighs. Because then he might not be willing to play the name game and instead tackle me to the floor of the cave.

And I hate that my body really, really likes the thought of that.

“Harlow,” I repeat. I smile at him, and then gesture at him again. Surely he has a name?

“Ar-loh.” He puts a hand to his own chest. “Rukh.”

The word is guttural, almost swallowed in is throat. I try to repeat it. “Rooookh.”

He snorts and taps his chest again. “Rukh.”

“Oh, are you going to correct me, then?” My mouth curls up in a half smile. “Then let’s start with my name. It’s Harlow. Not Ar-loh. Ha-r-low. Ha in front. Like ha ha ha ha.” I repeat the sound.

“Ha ha ha,” he echoes. “Ha ha ha-ar-loh.”

I giggle. “You’re terrible at this.”

His hand goes to my face, feeling my mouth. His eyes are wide. I freeze, but he only taps my lips with his fingers and then tries to make a sound. Oh. He likes my laughter. I laugh again, forcing it a bit to see how he reacts.

A smile breaks out on his face. His teeth are big and white and sharp, and they look wild in his dirty face. I smile back at him. We’re getting somewhere.

For the next few minutes, we practice saying each other’s names. I can get him to make the H-sound in Harlow when he makes a biting motion, but the name still sounds bait mangled. I’m about the same with his name – he’s only pleased when I make a swallowing sort of sound with the R that doesn’t feel natural with a human throat.

But we’re getting somewhere. I smile at him again and decide to try for the next bit of communication. I put my hands out as if warming them. “Fire?” I try the word in his language, since English would be useless for him. “Harlow needs fire?”

He frowns and gives a small shake of his head. He doesn’t understand.

“Makes sense,” I say to myself, drumming my fingers on my lips as I think. There’re so many things I need to ask for if I’m staying here for a while – blankets, a warmer shelter, fire, food, water, bathing, weapons…the list overwhelms me. I feel helpless and more alone than when I first woke up out of my tube. A tear of self-pity slides down my cheek and I angrily scrub it away. “Shit.”

“Shit?” he repeats, and touches my cheek. “Harlow shit?”