WastelandRogue (4 page)

“I was wondering if you wanted to bathe before I take you to
that dark den in the ground. I know of a nearby watering hole. It might help
you recover quicker if you weren’t such a mess.”

“While I’m aware I smell like a carcass. I don’t have the
strength for the task.” She shifted her position against the door and quieted.

Sevrin didn’t ask again. He saw the fuel gauge drop lower.
The engine of the steam-trekker needed water, so the watering hole had to be
their next destination.

It was a short walk to reach the small but clean wasteland
pool. Barren land surrounded the basin, making it easy to see they were alone.

“Rye?” He reached over and touched her neck when she didn’t
respond. “You’re still feverish.”

He got out of the steam-trekker and walked around to the passenger
side. Putting his foot up on the running board, he stepped up and opened the
door. Rye fell out.

“What are you doing?” she demanded when he caught her.

“Something that needs doing.” He scooped her up and climbed
down.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” she murmured, putting an arm
around his neck.

She lethargically wilted against him and he adjusted her
weight in his arms and cradled her against his chest.

Her face rested on her arm near his face. The strong
metallic odor of blood floated under his nose, triggering his desires for her
again. Wary of falling under a spell, he held his breath as he carried her to
the water’s edge. Dusty, stiff from sweat and now stained with blood, his
clothes needed washed. He didn’t think twice about wading into the pool fully
dressed.

“I don’t have the energy to do this,” Rye weakly informed
him.

“But I do.” He sat down in a shallow area with her on his
lap.

“This isn’t necessary.” Her protest came with a feeble
attempt at pushing him away.

“I think it is. Your temperature is unstable.” He pulled the
shirt over her head, baring her. “Why aren’t you stronger?”

“I’m not sure. Residual effects of the allium, I presume.”

He dipped the shirt in the water, wetting it to wash her.
“But I gave you blood.” He wiped the cool water over her shoulder and across
her collarbone. He soaked the cloth again and rubbed it over her shoulder and
down her side.

“Apparently, it was only enough for a temporary burst of
energy to further heal my wounds.”

He lingered at her belly, brushing the faint traces of cut
marks. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

She shuddered when he swabbed the cloth in her cleavage.
“Admit it. You’re doing this just to fondle my breasts again.” She gave a
feeble laugh.

“And you’re not fighting it, so do I assume you’re enjoying
it?” he teased, pleased by her ability to joke.

For the first time since they got out of the steam-trekker,
she opened her eyes. The gripping blue of her irises held his attention without
stopping him from washing her. He pushed his hand up and cupped her breast,
touching the small steel rings piercing her hard nipples. The pliant flesh
molded to his palm. He kneaded gently, swirling his fingers around the dainty
hoops, cleaning off dried blood.

She continued staring without speaking. He took her silence as
permission to continue and moved on, sliding his hand up and down her back. Her
gaze flickered over his face briefly and then returned to his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her breath coming
heavier.

Her lips remained slightly parted. The warmth of her soft
breath washed over his face.

“Because you’re letting me.” He tried to joke again.

A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I meant
helping me.”

He rubbed her hips and thighs, enjoying the slick softness
of her skin. “I have what my brother calls an empathetic personally. Believe or
not, I have a compulsion to assist those in need of help.”

Not a hint of skepticism tainted her laugh. “Strangely, I do
believe you.”

“Yeah?” He leaned her back in the sling of his arm and
splashed water over her hair. “Must be my calming temperament.”

She closed her eyes but her alluring smile remained.

It took a lot of rinsing and scrubbing to remove the buildup
of dirt and the caked-on blood but he managed to get her hair clean. Water
droplets glistened on the tips of her curls.

“There, that looks much better,” he said, combing through
the silky wet strands with his fingers.

She slid an arm around his neck and pulled herself upright
on his lap.

Along the water’s edge, a lone clump of vegetation grew.
Sevrin recognized it as a dandelion plant. Wastelanders of the human breed used
the flowers to make a potent drink. It had been a long time since he had tasted
the inebriating wine.

He plucked the lone flower from the nest of green leaves and
tucked it behind Rye’s ear. “Yellow brightens the blue of your eyes.”

He imagined her leaning closer, brushing her lips against
his. How well he remembered the way she drank blood from his mouth, sucking on
his tongue with a voracious thirst.

He brushed the top of her thighs and rubbed what traces of
filth he imagined still clung there. In truth, he didn’t believe anything
remained. He just wanted to touch her, feel her excitement in the way she
shivered against his fingertips.

Rye’s unwavering gaze remained on him. Then she leaned
closer or maybe he did. Desire flickered in her eyes. The warmth of her breath
caught his as she pressed her mouth to his. Her lips moved gently, as if she
sampled and savored his. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Her sweet
invasion briefly hinted of innocence and then seductively turned to domination.

He didn’t care.

It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a
female. He missed the softness of feminine flesh molding to his, her core moist
and accommodating. Thoughts of plunging into the supple heaven made him tense.
His cock throbbed, eager to experience a female’s virtues—particularly
this
female’s intrinsic appeal.

The urgency in her scratching fingers against the back of
his neck had him on the brink of exploding. Then her low moan disrupted his
thoughts and his movements. He came aware of having his hand cupped against her
cunt and his fingers nestled inside it.

What was he thinking? He had found her cut up pretty badly.
For all he knew she had been raped as well. And there he was treating her
without much more consideration than the low-life scum who had hurt her.

He expected her expression to change from peaceful to
outraged.

She slid her hand over his as he attempted to pull away.
“Finish,” she whispered as she pushed his fingers back in place.

“Rye.” He jerked his hand out from under hers and grabbed
her face by the jaw. “You don’t have to pretend to want this.”

She twisted her head and caught his thumb between her teeth.
Sucking it into her mouth, she teased him with her movements. Then she released
and turned her head to rub her cheek against his palm.

“Finish,” she murmured, guiding his hand down between her
legs again.

He tried to think of the situation as some clinical exam, a
cleansing she needed to wash away the ordeal she escaped.

Catches in her breath mesmerized him. The soft hum of
approval, faint yet continuous, told him she knew what she wanted. The
why
eluded him as Rye guided his strokes back and forth. She pressed his middle
finger between the lips of her cunt. Hard to keep his mind off his physical
needs—his mental wants, he burrowed his free hand into her hair. He kissed her,
aggressively diving into the sexual satisfaction of giving her pleasure.

When her panting grew heavy and erratic, her mouth stopped
moving with his. She turned her head against his shoulder and let out a
trilling sound proclaiming the pinnacle of her arousal. She clutched at his wet
shirt and trembled hard. A shiver raced up his back at the dusting of her
panting breath on his jaw. Her insides repeatedly tightened on his knuckles,
clenching and releasing. He continued sliding his finger back and forth,
sloshing water into the opening of her cunt. Her stuttering breath ended with a
replete whimper. Then she went limp against him, fainting from exhaustion.

He slid his hand around her in several more passes, soothing
the tension in her limbs, and then scooped an arm under her legs and lifted her
as he stood. Crowned by pale areolas and pink-pebbled nipples, her jiggling
breasts caught his attention.

He glanced at her face, content to see a peaceful
expression. He hated to think of what she had gone through before being dumped
in a ditch and how vulnerable she was. Yet still she had put her trust in him.
More than she should have. Not that he would do anything to hurt her.

Rye was certainly someone special.

Carrying her to the steam-trekker, Sevrin climbed up on the
steel running board and sat her on the passenger seat. Her stillness concerned
him. He had enough knowledge about a
lamian’s
regenerative ability to
know she should have been better by now. Gently, he pushed his fingers beneath
her left breast and checked her heartbeat again. The rapid pulsing was a good
sign.

Carefully, he put her in a balanced position so he could
close the door. Once it was shut, she slumped against it. Her pretty face
pressed against the thick glass, holding her mouth open. She was clean,
beautiful and naked. That he might lie with a female made him ache with a
primal need. It seemed a sick thing, desiring an injured and unconscious
female, and there was certainly no avoiding that he was a man with a raging
hard-on because of the potential availability.

Soaked through, his clothes weighted him, making his
movements laborious. Thinking to bathe in the pool before they left, he jumped
down to the ground and stripped them off one layer at a time. His mind hovered
on sexual release. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked the moist
skin of his throbbing erection several times. Fantasies filled his head. Rye
could be the first
lamian
female he fucked.

Since when had he not done as he pleased or taken what he
wanted? As his scrotum tightened and a tingling sensation made a heated charge
through his veins, his thoughts fell heavily on jumping back up onto the steam-trekker
and climbing on Rye. How stupid would he have to be not to take advantage of a
willing female, no, a female who had
demanded
that he fondle her?

Rye woke lying in total darkness. Lethargically, she reached
out and touched a rough wood surface above her. Feeling around to her sides,
she discovered a confining enclosure surrounded her.
Lamians
burned
their deceased—a practice once used to put to rest any doubt a thought-to-be
dead
lamian
wasn’t in a coma. Humans buried their kind in coffins.

Panic escalated immediately, heightening her energy. Not
knowing where she was, why she was there and who put her in the box, she flung
her arms up seeking escape. Her hands landed hard, splintering some of the
wood. However, the sharp impact also flipped the lid completely off her
coffin-like container. She took in a deep breath of relief.

“You’re awake,” a man said.

If not for his familiar voice putting forth an amazingly
calming effect, she might have screamed. She rose slowly, yet remained wary.
Muscles stiff, body aching aside, a low burning of euphoria swirled inside her.
Aroused by the sated sensation, she turned her head to see the man who saved
her.

Her expectations never rose beyond what she had learned from
past encounters. Men typically failed her. This man had exuded helpfulness
without knowing anything about her, but why? What was in it for him? Was he
biding his time in the hopes of sex? He certainly had showed his attraction.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

She didn’t think her unconscious state counted as sleeping.
“Awful,” she answered, raising her hand to rub the throbbing ache in her
temple.

She turned her head to look at him. The memory of drinking his
blood brought on cravings for more to heal her thoroughly. Then she saw him
standing naked in the glow of a small campfire.

Unaware of his stimulating effect on her and probably
females before her, he didn’t show a need to conceal himself.

“You’ve been out for a while.” He took a few steps into the
firelight.

Her stomach fluttered. She opened her mouth to speak but the
air expelling from her lungs caught in her throat.

“If you don’t remember, I saved you from death in a ditch.”
He stirred the flaming wood.

She nodded, watching the stretch of his body as he tended
the fire. From his long, strong legs, leading to lean hips and a taut rippled
abdomen, he had sexual appeal. His casualness around her purported a certain
kind of trust. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable carrying on a
conversation while she accessed the best of his gloriously exposed features.
Most notably his lengthy cock dangling in view as he bent forward to keep his
distance from the heat.

“My name’s Sevrin Renault,” he said, righting himself and
setting aside the thin pipe he used to poke the fire.

His nudity left her in awe in a speechless sort of way.

His muscular arms and bold shoulders had already proved
capable of carrying her without effort. But it was his wide chest sprinkled with
light-brown hair that captured her interest.

Lamian
males, just the same as
lamian
females,
had no hair on their body other than what grew on their heads. This was the
first she’d seen of a naked human. She hadn’t expected to find anything
appealing about him, but from the whiskers on his face to the thick patch of
hair circling the base of his cock, she was intrigued.

Did this man epitomize what once was the perfect specimen of
a male meant for breeding a superior race?

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how well designed or
striking she thought he was. Humans weren’t able to reproduce. Still, she’d not
mind coupling with him for fun. It wasn’t as if she was ready for babies.

“You said your name was Rye, right?” he continued. “You
didn’t give me more than that.”

In the back of her mind, she plucked a memory of him holding
her and carrying her, his firm, demanding mouth pressing against hers. The
fragmented jumble of thoughts forced her to try to recall more. Had he already
used her for his own pleasure? Did he take advantage without her consent?

Anger flared.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“You don’t need to keep asking me that. I’m stronger than I
look,” she snapped.

“Got it. You’re all right.”

She glanced at the fire, upset by her edginess. Sevrin
hadn’t done anything outrageous except show concern. She hadn’t had that in a
while, let alone from a man was alluring.

She tried to distract herself from imagining him grunting
and rutting on top of her. While she favored the image, another vision crept
into place. Hamner’s filthy, scruffy face made her physically ill.

“Rye?” Sevrin’s puzzle expression unnerved her.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous to have an open flame
in a mineshaft?” she asked, avoiding the topic of her disposition. “Explosive
gases tend to flow through the tunnels.”

He prodded a piece of wood back into the center of the fire
pit. “This shaft hasn’t had a trace of gas in years. This isn’t the first time
I’ve been here. I know most of its layout and it doesn’t have the depth to—”

Rye closed her eyes and let the sound of Sevrin’s voice
restructure the memories of their meeting. She forced her mind to recall
details—the sickness, his kindness, the strength of his arms, his gentleness.

And the bath with his attentive care.

The intimate moment sprang forefront. His hand cupping
between her legs, rubbing briskly over and in her cunt. Perhaps he felt she had
extended her permission for more than a washing. Then, remembering touching the
back of his long thick fingers and pressing them into her, maybe she
had
given him permission.

Opening her eyes, seeing him now, she had a hard time
reasoning why she’d not want a man like him. He looked nice. Far less had
attracted her in the past. What right did she have to be angry if he took his
deserved repayment for saving her? Men often bartered for sexual favors.

Sevrin casually strolled to a shakily constructed rack made
of iron rods lashed together with wires. The crude frame held pieces of
clothing near the fire—his laundry. He picked through them, turning some,
tossing others aside. The domesticity gave her a warm, comforting feeling.

She hadn’t indulged in the romanticism of a lover’s
commitment for a long time. Happiness inundated her senses as buried longings
to find the perfect someone surfaced. Most aspects of Sevrin’s character easily
met the qualifications she had ascribed to the ideal mate, save one. He wasn’t
lamian
.

“How long have I actually been asleep?” she asked, shaking
off her attraction to the human.

Besides, until she found Shay, she’d never completely be
happy, so why think of soul-gratifying luxuries such as everlasting love?

“All day.” Sevrin shook out pants, bent down and stepped
into them. “You sleep like the dead.”

She watched the clothing conceal the manliness of his lower
half. With the light of the fire now behind him, she wasn’t able to see his
body in detail anymore.

Glad to be free of the distraction, she rose to her feet.
“How did you know to put me in the dark?”

Lamians
kept certain aspects of their lives a secret
from humans as a safeguard. Sleeping in a tight dark space was natural, as if a
form of rebirth to them. It also had benefited them as a good hiding place when
on the run from vigilantes.

“You told me,” he answered.

“I did?” She couldn’t remember.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I know a little about
lamian
physiology. It may not be much, but it’s proved to be enough to keep you from
dying so far,” he added, fastening his pants.

She noticed he shied away from staring at her. Feeling as if
she were a deformed freak, she looked at her bare arms, her bare breasts and
her belly. No evidence of her wounds remained. Was there something else he
didn’t like? Was she too skinny, too tall, maybe too small in the breasts?
She’d heard human men liked females well endowed in the bosom. It didn’t make
sense since humans could no longer conceive. Without a baby to nurse, what
point was there to big breasts?

She raked her hands through her tangled hair. He had given
her blood, cooled her dehydrated skin and washed her. Why had he not clothed her?
There was a shirt. Why wasn’t it on her any longer? She glanced at the rack by
the fire and saw it next to his, the reason now apparent. He had washed their
clothes.

His constant avoidance of looking at her made her
self-conscious. She wanted to fold her arms up and conceal herself to break the
awkwardness of the moment. Then he walked toward her.

As he moved closer, she saw lust darkening his brown eyes.
While unsettling, his now unwavering, radiant gaze prevented her from wanting
to move at all.

Her cheeks tingled with an unusually strange warmth
radiating up from her neck.

She changed her mind about her assumption he didn’t want to
look at her. Maybe that was the reason she had no clothes on, so he could ogle
her naked form or do more. How often had he lifted the lid to the crate and
stared at her? Had he touched her? Fondled her nipples or thrummed his fingers
between her legs? She ached from head to toe. Had he repeatedly raped her
unconscious body?

And now what?

She contemplated where to run. Could she run? Her legs felt
weak, so she doubted she’d get more than a few steps before he caught her.

Rye tried turning her attention to the cavern of the
mineshaft as a distraction. Darkness swallowed whatever lay beyond. The black
hole offered nothing to prevent her from turning her gaze back to Sevrin’s
stare.

The prickling heat spread along her limbs, arousing her in
the familiar way it had when he had washed her. Eager for his caresses fondling
her and his kisses bathing her in passion, she couldn’t deny wanting him. She
yearned to hear him grunting and feel him rutting atop her.

“Here, it’s cleaner, even though it doesn’t look it, but now
it’s dry.”

Her unexpected desires confused her. “What?” She glanced
down at the shirt she hadn’t noticed before in his hand. He wanted her covered
up? Confusion turned to embarrassment and then sizzled into an infuriating
slight upon her generosity. She never took kindly to any human’s indifference.

She snatched the shirt from his hand, angered by what she
perceived to be his prejudice against
lamians
. In her haste to quickly
put on the item of clothing, her wobbly knees gave way and she toppled into
Sevrin.

He caught her. “Easy does it.”

“Do you make a habit of helping strangers?” she asked
sharply, flustered by her roiling emotions.

“It’s not something I go looking for, but I don’t ignore
things I can make right,” he answered with a serious tone and a subdued smile.

Even though the shirt she held was between them, it didn’t
fully prevent the contact of her breasts against his firm body. The hair on his
bare chest tickled her nipples. Heat flamed in the pit of her belly. The
campfire had made his skin warm, inviting her touch. She spread out her
fingers, fanning them over one of his taut nipples.

Pride be damned. Her desires prompted forwardness.

She swept her hand over his hard pectoral muscles, caressing
the fine soft hairs. Tingling threads of stimuli flowed from her fingertips
into all parts of her body.

He placed his hand against her cheek and she closed her
eyes, absorbing the comforting feel of his touch. Vulnerable to the attention,
she savored the glide of his fingertips over her cool skin. As if guided by the
invisible tug on her senses, she leaned and felt strands of her hair fall
forward.

With one finger, he swept the lock from her face and tucked
it behind her ear.

Half-mindless with desire pooling in her loins, she licked
her parched lips and lifted her lashes. She stared into his beautiful brown
eyes with a thirst for his kiss. Immediately, her reflection in his pupils made
her aware of her too-desperate need of affection. Tears bubbled to the rims of
her lower eyelids.

She feared him seeing her as weak as a human woman and she
shouldn’t have cared, and yet, she did.

Tension thickened the air as they each stood hesitant. She
gasped for a breath.

Sevrin broke the spellbound connection first, pulling back
from her.

It severed both her sexual hunger pangs and her growing
emotional bond.

“Take your time, no rush to move too much,” he advised,
sliding his hand down her arm and around her elbow.

His fingers tightly gripping her arm gave a steadying
reassurance he’d not let her fall. It brought back a vivid memory of his long,
thick fingers inside her. His gentle caresses washing between her legs had
lulled her beyond relaxation. She had fought sleep to enjoy both his touch and
the euphoria of her orgasm. Wanting to relive that moment of tranquility, she
lifted her gaze to his. All she needed was one glimmer of weakness in him to
see her as desirable. But he no longer showed any indication of wanting her
now.

She decided it was for the best. She didn’t have the
strength to play the seesawing game that had her emotions in turmoil.
Begrudgingly thankful for his help, she stepped out of the rickety crate.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

His question reminded her he was human. Quickly, she
snatched her hand out of his. What was she thinking, trying to seduce him? She
had never been intimate with a human before.

“I’m sure you know we don’t eat.” She put on the
long-sleeved, dingy white shirt.

Her hands shook as she attempted to fasten the laces and the
task became pointless. Holding the garment closed, she took a step. This time
her knees buckled and she collapsed, falling to a heap on the ground.

Sevrin immediately came to her assistance, grabbing her at
the waist and raising her up. “You need a drink.” He guided her to a wood
chair.