Ice Planet Barbarians (Ice Planet Barbarians, #1)(14)

“Who did this to you?” I ask.

She trembles, but she doesn’t answer me. She’s not mute. She makes sounds, and I wonder if she hit her head. Or perhaps her people speak the nonsensical language of hard syllables she’s been filling my ears with. It sounds nothing like my language.

But then again, she is nothing like one of the sa-khui. I should not expect similarities.

I’m fascinated by her, though. The men of my tribe say that there is no pleasure like the taste of a resonance mate on your lips, and they’re right. Burying my face between her legs was one of the truest pleasures I have ever felt, and I want to feel it again.

It’s clear from her reaction and the way she cringes away that I’m the only one feeling this way, though. I’m mystified by her reaction, but it must be her lack of khui. She doesn’t feel the resonance like I do.

She doesn’t feel the teeth-aching need to claim. She doesn’t feel the hollowness of a lonely spirit. How can she? There is no khui inside her to resonate.

Clearly the gods have sent her to me so I might learn patience. I smile ruefully. It is not my strongest trait. “Very well, little one,” I say to her and brush my fingers over her strange, smooth skin. “You and I shall learn patience together.”

“Dnt nnerstnd yew.”

Her words trip and tumble off of her agile mouth. I notice her fangs are gone, and my heart stills in my breast, my khui ceasing its resonance. Despite her slapping touch, I peel her lips back to examine her teeth. Are they broken?

But no, it appears as if her small teeth are just that: whole and not nearly as large as my own front tusks. Strange creature.

I release her, and she slaps my hands away, her strange eyes narrowing. “Fckoffwth tht.”

Her body is different than that of a sa-khui. She’s soft and hairless in most places, and I haven’t seen a tail. And then there’s that strange nipple between her legs. I find it arousing because it makes me think of how she tastes. I want her on my tongue again. Even now, my mouth waters in remembrance, and my khui resonates in my chest.

So I just sit back and watch her, to see what she will do next.

She gathers her strange leathers around her, determined to cover her small, soft body. Is she cold? My protective instinct rises, and I turn to the fire, feeding more of the stored wood to it. I will need to chop wood and refill the stores here for the next hunter, but it’s a task I will gladly do for my mate. I want her to be warm and comfortable.

Once I build up the fire, she moves closer to it and puts her hands near the flames. They look . . . strange. “You have five fingers,” I tell her and hold my own hand up. I have four. It is yet another difference between us. I’m fascinated and a little revolted by those extra fingers.

Her hand touches her chest. “Shhheorshie.” She pats her breast again and looks at me. “Haim sheorshie.”

Is there something wrong with her chest now? Is she trying to tell me her khui is gone? It’s as obvious as her dull white eyes. “Yes, I know,” I tell her. “Fear not. We will perform the ceremony when we return home to the tribe.”

“Shhheorshie,” she says, patting her breast again, and then reaches out and pats my chest. She looks at me expectantly.

Is she asking about my resonance? I press her small hand to my chest so she can feel my khui vibrate. She jerks away, startled, and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Whtws tht? Thtcher naym?”

“Resonance,” I explain to her, and my khui hums at her touch.

She looks at me with such shock that I start to feel a sense of unease. When she puts her hand on my chest again and I resonate, she pulls her hand away so quickly that it’s as if she’s touched something ice cold.

“Hiee cnt pru nownsce tht,” she tells me and presses her hand to my chest again, then back to hers. “Sheeorshie.”

“Sheeorshie,” I echo.

Her face brightens. “Ys!” She gives her chest a happy pat. “Shrsie!”

It’s not her trying to tell me about her khui or her lack of resonance. It’s her name.

She touches her chest again and looks at me expectantly.

Baffled, I touch my own chest. “Vektal.”

Her jaw juts, and she tries to say my name properly. It comes out more as “Huptal.” She’s unable to make the swallowed first syllable properly. It’s all right. It’s a start.

“Huptal,” she says happily and pats her shoulders again. “Shorshie.”

Her own name is garbled syllables, but I try to pronounce it to make her happy. Shorshie she is.

And Shorshie is a mystery to me. She has no tail, no fur. She wears strange leathers and walks the dangerous hunting lands with no weapons. She’s weak and soft and has no khui, and she does not speak a word of proper language.

It makes no sense. How can Shorshie be here? Every creature has a khui. My people, the sa-khui, are the only intelligent people in the world. There are metlaks, but they are covered in hair and no smarter than rocks. They have not yet mastered fire.

Shorshie is smart. She doesn’t flinch away from the fire like a metlak. She recognizes it. And she is wearing cured leather. Her boots are finer than any I have seen. Shorshie has come from a people from somewhere.

But where? I can’t ask her. We can barely communicate.

And then it occurs to me that . . . she is not resonating. She doesn’t feel what I do, because she has no khui. Maybe she never has.