Taken to Lemora by Elizabeth Stephens

5

Essmira

“Ughm. So this is the great hall.” That’s the first thing that Raingar says to me after shuffling awkwardly between Gorman and myself.

Gorman, after the initial shock of seeing my alien face, was extremely cordial — slightly aloof, but very gentle in his mannerisms.

All of Lemora’s beings seem to be extremely kind. I’m not used to it, but it excites me. Gives me hope that I may actually like living on this planet. I know better than to get my hopes up. There’s always the chance that I may not find a place here at all and that I’ll be…I swallow hard at the thought…returned.

I don’t know what conditions these Lemoran were given by Igmora and Tyto for my purchase, but I’m absolutely certain that Igmora would willingly take me back only to sell me again. Why make one sale when she could make two off of the same creature? And Tyto?

I shudder. I don’t want to know what would have happened had he gotten his way and been allowed to keep me. All I know is that I wouldn’t have likely survived very long.

I’ve heard tales of what he does in other pleasure houses where the creatures within can be made expendable — for the right price — though I’ve never seen it myself. I didn’t want to believe the stories I heard from the guards and cooks and helpers that ran Igmora and Tyto’s estate, let alone see it. I don’t know if it makes me a wretched thing, but I’m selfishly glad that wasn’t my end.

I smile up at the male assigned to give me a tour of his village. He doesn’t seem particularly agreeable or excited about his task, but I plan to change his impression of me, which has been odd from the start.

“It fits,” I joke, in an attempt to charm.

He just crosses his twitching arms tighter over his broad, bare chest and looks down at me with a frown. “What fits?”

“Oh. I just meant the moniker. The great hall. The name fits.”

“Pagh. I don’t see anything great about having all of these creatures toiling in my halls. These halls are mine. And ordinarily, they’re free of all this rabble.”

He waves his enormous mitt at a passing Rekkaru, almost hitting the poor creature, which is only half my size and a quarter of Raingar’s. I don’t like that and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but I shame myself by worrying what sort of punishment I’ll receive by defying him. So I bite the inside of my cheek and whisper only to myself, “Not now, Essmira. Shh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say, cursing myself and old habits. “I was just saying that you’re probably right.”

“I am?”

Nob. “Yeffa. Of course.” The male is always right. I wince, hating that I can hear Igmora now when she’s Quadrants away. Momentary panic grips me as a new thought arrives, a dangerous one. What if I still haven’t escaped?

“Humph,” Raingar grunts. He’s still staring at me as we finally reach the vaulted doorway. The doors are wide open and sunshine streams in through them, and also filters down from the skylight overhead. It’s beautiful. A whole new world full of mist and light.

Inside the hall, huge bales, crates, tuns, cartons, shells, yeeyar pods, and sacks are arranged in what looks to be an increasingly methodical order. Rekkaru carry items back and forth. The male who introduced himself as Gorman carries a notebook that he records things in — I’m assuming, some kind of ledger.

I had sort of hoped he’d join us on this tour since he was more…articulate and helpful about the workings of this keep than Raingar, but Raingar and I are alone and everyone is staring.

I had expected them to stare at me given that I have never seen any creature that looks like me before, but what I didn’t expect in a million years? They’re staring at Raingar equally. It’s like…they’ve never seen him before either. Isn’t he clan chief of this territory?

“What? What are you thinking? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it my pants?”

I glance down, suddenly flustered as I’m pulled from my thoughts by this strange pronouncement. “Your…pants?” The female is always articulate…

“Don’t look at them!” He jumps — jumps! — an entire foot into the air! It’s…absurd and I start to snort-giggle and I struggle to control it. I use a different tactic taught to me by Igmora and try to mask the snorts as coughs.

“I don’t — ” cough, cough “ — understand, my lord.”

“Your…your…WHAT!” He shouts so loudly, it’s my turn to jump.

We stand facing one another in the vaulted doorway while Rekkaru and Lemoran and the occasional Asgid — creatures about my size with charcoal skin that’s just as dark but a little grayer than mine, and effervescent eyes that sparkle like stars in their square faces — trickle past.

I try not to let my confusion show and smooth my expression into something amenable. “I’m sorry. I believe we may be crossing yeeyar frequencies, here.” I laugh. Laughter makes the male feel calm. It makes you seem more accessible. You must always be easy to access for the male.

“You asked me originally what I was thinking. If I am interpreting your second question correctly, I was not thinking about your pants. I was thinking of the rich diversity of Lemora and how proud you must be of your keep, even if it is unfortunately full on busy solars such as these,” I fudge. It’s the best I can come up with and the most subtle way of hinting that I don’t agree with his assessment of his hall. Because it is great.

I wonder fleetingly if he doesn’t see it, or if he’s simply pretending not to. There’s something about him that screams goodness, to me. Or maybe I’m just tainted by our first meeting when I gave him every opportunity to push me away and he did the opposite by protecting me and keeping me close. Safe. Warm.

“Pagh,” he says noncommittally.

He shifts his weight between his feet, scratches his leg, scratches his cheek. He looks in and out of the hall and anywhere but at me. It gives me time to look at him — really look — at his face.

His lips are full and a paler brown than the rest of his skin. His nostrils are wide. His skin is rough all over, truly like the surface of a rock, choppily carved, but the contrast against his eyes…it throws me for a loop every time.

His eyes are rings of striated color. They’re stunning and beautiful and so expressive. He doesn’t have eyebrow hairs but his brows protrude and cast shadows onto his rough cheeks. I fight the urge to lift onto my tip toes and brush my fingers over his face and instead concentrate on the horns protruding from above his ears.

Huge, magnificent things, they circle down, low enough to breach his eyeline before tipping back up a foot above his head where they stand as sharp as spears, ready to stab into low-hanging clouds. They make his giganticness seem even more giant.

Each horn is as thick as my upper arm. They’re dark grey, almost black, except for a small patch on the right one that appears lighter than the rest. I wonder if his horns pain him — he sure acts like they do. Maybe the color flaking is a sign that they molt or shed?

“You…” He clears his throat. “You’re sure you like the pants?” He holds the sides out away from his thighs and I’m surprised, given the size of his thighs, that his pants are so large.

But I’m not going to tell him that! I snort, cough to cover it, and then blurt, “You are a very striking male…”

“Pagh!” He shouts, body jolting with the sound. “I know what I look like. I was asking you about the pants. Do you like them?”

“Nob!” I squeak. “Nob, I…” I gasp, and then realizing that I’ve just insulted this male, I snort nervously.

The sound seems to please him though, because his lips jerk up into a smile.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

His smile falls just as quickly as it surfaced and I wonder what I’ve done to ruin it. I’m starting to wonder if everything that Igmora taught me wasn’t just a little bit…wrong.

“Nob. Say what you mean. I know you meant it.” He crosses his arms over his chest and manages to look oddly more comfortable. “Could you fix them?”

“Your pants? Yeffa, of course.”

One of his brows lifts and his eyes narrow, but I have no idea why he’d be skeptical. It’s the female’s job.

Isn’t it?

I shake my head, trying to seem certain and less confused by this interaction — and all of our interactions. “Nob, I do mean it. I would be happy to help you tailor your garments. I tailored this dress this past lunar. Providing you with a garment more suited to your shape would be my pleasure.”

And it would. Sewing is one of the few skills that Igmora insisted I perfect that I actually enjoyed. “I’ve been sewing since before I can remember. Since I was a kit,” I offer, though I don’t know why. He doesn’t care about my childhood…

“You like to stitch?”

I nod.

He relaxes further. “Igmora let you?”

“She insisted, actually. She was the one who taught me herself. I always actually liked those moments. I felt like I got to actually see her a little bit. Most of the time, she was just…she is just…cold.”

He nods and frowns, but I don’t get the sense he’s displeased with me. So then, why am I so nervous? I lick my lips and shuffle uncomfortably. He licks his lips. He has such full lips. I wonder if they’re as tough as the rest of him or if they’re able to be gentle. I think they are. I think he is.

I feel myself heat and quietly clear my throat.

“Did she treat you…okay? As a kit, I mean?”

My fists clench automatically. I struggle to hold his gaze and find myself looking out of the wide open doorway — and then through the open doorways of the outer walls of his fort — at the mossy hills that spread out into the distance and the roads that wind across them.

“There were some good times.” There were three. “Like when Igmora bought me my first stitching device.”

“What kind?”

“Wh…what?”

“What kind of device? Was it a machine or a wand?”

“Oh. It was a wand.”

“Can I get one for you? Would that please you?” His voice is tinged with just a hint of desperation.

It makes me smile. It also makes my heart beat faster and my insides scrunch up together tight. It’s the female’s job to please the male. That’s what Igmora always said. But right now, if I’m not totally delusional, it seems like this male is trying to please me.

“Yeffa. It would please me immensely. I can do double the work in half the time. I’d have probably gotten more sleep last lunar, too.” I snort when I laugh and his eyes go wide.

I wonder if I’ve said something wrong, but the corner of his mouth twitches and his bulky arms squeeze even tighter over his massive chest.

“GORMAN!” He roars over his shoulder. “Can you get Essmira one of those Asgid stitching gadgets?”

My face burns. I reach out and place my hand on his arm. “You don’t have to ask him to do that for me.”

He stares down at the contact of my skin on his and I wonder if he can feel it. The tingling… There’s a tingling in my skin that’s entirely alien to me.

Maybe it’s because his skin is so rough and I’ve just caught the vivid hallucination of all that rough skin pressing down on me. Maybe it’s because that tingling has reached my lower belly. Maybe it’s because of his kindness. Maybe it’s just the cool, damp Lemoran breeze.

And maybe it’s because the idea of having a male looking to please me is new and exciting, but whatever it is, I feel zapped by it and I wonder if he’s stunned equally.

“I…” His throat works and his right hand floats halfway to his horns before jerking to a stop and folding back against his chest.

His left arm — the one I’m touching — doesn’t move at all. It’s eerily still. And then, dazedly, he whispers, “You can have anything you want. Anything that’s mine to give.”

“Do you need it now, Essmira, or shall I have it delivered to Merquin?”

“Oh. I don’t want to bother one of your couriers,” I say, quickly turning to face Gorman, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. His eyes are bright and curious and I feel my face heat even more when he not-so-surreptitiously glances between Raingar and I and my hand and his arm. “I can carry it.”

“We have shipments to deliver to Merquin’s keep, anyway, and the wand takes up a negligible amount of space on the pad pad carts. It would be no trouble at all.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, that would be overly kind of you. Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He offers me a smile and a little bow, but doesn’t move away immediately. Instead, he makes a little note in his book and then shuts it with a loud snap. “What will you be making first, Essmira?”

“Some pants for Raingar,” I reply and Gorman belts out a laugh. He laughs so hard that tears come to his onyx eyes. He wipes them away with the sleeve of his robe — an extremely fine creation, but not wholly suited to his species’ frame, I think, dreaming up possibilities for Hypha creations while simultaneously trying to cage my own responding snort-laugh.

“Is it something I said?” I ask Raingar with a smile. I bite my bottom lip.

“Don’t answer that,” Raingar barks to Gorman, who promptly ignores him and says, “Apparently, his visit to Quadrant One turned him into quite the connoisseur of style.” Gorman laughs at his own joke before shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve had so much fun in my life…”

“Pagh!” Raingar grabs my arm a little roughly and wheels me outside into the fresh, misty air. “Buggar off, you bastard!” He shouts over his shoulder.

Gorman answers by saying, “It’s been a pleasure, Essmira.”

“The pleasure’s all mine!” I wave awkwardly over my shoulder and let Raingar steer us out of the busy courtyard, out of the forward gates, and onto a crowded street. Most beings here are riding pad pads, but Raingar insists on walking.

“Um…where are we going?” I say when we’ve been standing in the center of the crowded path in and out of his keep for some time — long enough for a half dozen creatures to attempt to speak to him and, surprisingly, me.

“Uhmmmmmmmm.” He stammers wildly, hands reaching for his horns absently. I’m more convinced now than ever that they’re hurting him, and I fight the urge to ask him if I can help him in some way. I know that Lemoran horns are sensitive, but I worry that if I offer, he’ll view me exclusively as a pleasurer. Wait. Aren’t I? Given my confusing and often conflicting treatment so far, I’m no longer sure.

“Is there somewhere I might source some fabric for your pants? I was thinking I might tailor your existing trousers, but I can also make you a new pair, too.”

“You mean…the market?” I don’t know why he’s looking at me as if I’ve just asked him for one of his vital organs, but I nod.

“Yeffa. The market. Is there one in your territory?”

“Is there…is there! Is there one in my territory? Pagh!” He throws both hands in the air and stomps further down the path, seemingly without caring whether or not I follow.

I bite back a smile as I jog to catch up and, even though the air is wet with drizzle and sunlight, I snort and don’t bother putting up my hood.

The walk to the market is winding and long. I’m realizing quickly that Lemora is a very spread out planet, yet…you’re never alone. There are beings, the occasional outpost, pub, restaurant, dwelling or storefront, all along the winding paths and at every single location, every being within or simply on the path waves at Raingar as we pass. They don’t even seem to mind that he only ever offers them grunts, at best and, at worst, curses in return.

The pad pads some beings ride are magnificent beasts. Huge and shaggy, they have long, tan and white fur that tracks dirt and dust. They have four legs and a split tail with three furry ends that they occasionally use to swat at, catch and devour large insects that buzz past them, or simply swat at each other or their riders. They’re always making wild sounds that I like to think is laughter. They seem so happy. It’s infectious.

Their mouths are wide on the front of their gigantic heads, smiles stretching all the way back to their tiny, horned ears. Their teeth are blocky and oddly charming. Their dark noses are soft and fuzzy to the touch and their eyes are small and dark. They are, in a word, the opposite of Lemoran — soft everywhere the average Lemoran is not.

But happy.

Everything here is. And maybe even the grumpy Lemoran beside me who I can see staring at me out of the corner of my eye when he thinks I cannot.

I look up at him and he quickly turns forward. I smile, the tingling getting stronger in my belly, affecting the tops of my thighs, making them itch. I recognize the symptom for what it is — my body’s growing need. I only hope that he can’t scent arousal like some other species can. How embarrassing…

“Do you…dislike pad pads, my lord?” I ask as we round another bend.

The path disappears over the hill behind us, taking the last sight of Raingar’s keep with it, while in front of us, a cluster of boulders parts to reveal Raingar’s village below. It’s beautiful.

Small houses and stores come together in the center of a shallow valley. Moss, rather than grass, covers the dark soil everywhere else. Against the horizon, a single enormous star glows.

Large though it is, the heat it emits isn’t so violent. With the cool winds and gentle, intermittent rainfall, I still require a cloak. Raingar seems immune to it.

“Dislike? I hate them! Do you not see their faces? They’re always smiling about something, like they’ve got the secrets of the universe hidden underneath all that fur. Fur! How ridiculous for this climate.”

I smirk. Smirk! Ladies don’t smirk. Or do they? I can’t seem to recall Igmora’s wisdom on the subject so, I decide then to define my own. Smirking is okay.

“Do they not originate on this planet?”

He scowls. “Of course they do.”

I tamp the urge to snort again by biting the inside of my cheek. “So you don’t like them because they have fur?”

“I don’t like them because I don’t like them.” I think that’s all he’s going to say until he offers. “They smile too much.”

I can’t help it. I belt out a laugh. It goes far, far beyond a snort and it honestly surprises me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a sound. At least, never from my own mouth.

I’m still walking when I realize Raingar isn’t. I turn, ready to apologize for whatever I’ve done to offend him, but the expression on his face wipes away that urge cleanly. He looks totally stunned. I glance back behind me. Perhaps…the sight of the village.

“It is beautiful,” I tell him. “You must be very proud.”

He licks his lips. “Very proud. Extremely proud. Proud. Pride. Pride?” He shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Certainly not your pants.” Oh my stars! Did I just say that!

Raingar’s brows rise and he blinks suddenly, in rapid succession. His chest inflates and I don’t fail to notice the tightening of his heavily defined abdomen. And then laughter explodes out of him. He releases a flurry of laughter so loud that it startles the pad pad trotting towards us and the Asgid riding it.

The rider is smiling though, and the pad pad is obviously smiling, too. What’s funny is that I’m used to males looking at me, but this rider isn’t. I like that. It feels…liberating, not to be seen.

Instead, he’s smiling fondly at Raingar and I suck in a breath, feeling almost giddy. They love him, it occurs to me. The surliest brute in the cosmos, and they love him for it.

The rider’s laughter dwindles and the pad pad huffs out a happy breath before plodding contentedly past us. I scamper out of its path, but the movement sends me crashing into Raingar directly.

“Off. Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I reach instinctively to straighten his shirt, but he isn’t wearing one. I end up pawing his pectorals instead. When I should pull back, I linger. His skin is so rough, it feels like textured fabric, courser than untreated cotton but still much softer than untreated wool. He freezes underneath my touch and I still. The urge to touch him more grows stronger, more intense.

He reaches his hand towards my face and touches one of my black, springy curls. “I think Merquin may be right,” he says distractedly before shuddering suddenly and withdrawing from me. My palms feel cold in the absence of his heat, even though I burn with embarrassment at having touched him — a stranger, ostensibly — so freely.

“In my limited experience, she often is,” I tease for the second time. Ohr! What is wrong with me? “Sorry, I…”

“Oghh, don’t you dare tell her I’m agreeing with you, but you’re right. She is always right and you need to listen to her.”

Horror that I’ve missed some important directive crushes me. “I’m so sorry, I…”

“That!” He shouts. “There! You did it again.”

“What?”

“Apologized! I hate it! Stop it!”

“Oh…” I don’t know what to think. “Um…” I go to apologize, then quickly amend, “Of course, my lord.”

“Lord! I don’t like that either,” he glowers.

I smirk. “Raingar.”

“Good. Now this, Essmira, is the village.”

He points out different buildings, different stores. Within them, I’ve spotted six different species so far and none seem to be treated any better or worse than the rest, though I have noticed that Lemoran make up the bulk of the leadership.

The healer of his village is an exception to that, however — the male is an Asgid. We stop there to give Raingar time to speak to him about some form of honey that he’s acquired. He’s asking about quantities and stores and other items he might need in the future and the male is very respectful to Raingar, despite all his curses and grumbles.

We do this at several more stores — a spice stall manned, or womanned — by a pair of Lemoran sisters, a blacksmith, a keeper of the pad pad beasts, a team that deals in lumber, and a bakery where Raingar insists on stuffing me full of Rekkaru, Hypha and Asgid delights — before finally arriving inside of a shop full of fabrics. All kinds of fabrics.

I feel giddy with nerves and struggle to contain myself as I glance around at the multitude of different colored bolts inside the cool, brightly lit space. Eshmiri orbs float around the low ceilings, shuffling in the wind and casting shadows this way and that, illuminating striking colors, shines and sparkles. It’s stunning.

I try to remain calm and reserved as Raingar approaches the Lemoran male behind the counter. They exchange the traditional Lemoran greeting before Raingar turns to look at me. He frowns and his gaze drops to my toes before sweeping back up.

“Do you need to urinate or defecate?”

“Stars! Nob. Nob, I don’t.” I laugh and snort. I almost cover my mouth to suppress the sound when I remember that Raingar doesn’t seem to mind it, so I don’t. My hand twitches and his gaze falls to it before returning back to my mouth and he smiles, as if he knows the struggle I just went through and is pleased with the outcome. I flush with pride. Pleased to be able to please, as I’ve been trained to feel since forever.

“Nob. I’m just feeling excitement. Thank you, Raingar, for bringing me here. This is amazing. Even just seeing all the options you have is so rewarding. I mean, even if you didn’t mean to purchase anything…”

“Not…not to purchase,” he gasps. “What are you on about! We didn’t come all the way down to the village for you not to purchase!” He’s shouting again and I laugh and roll my eyes. Roll my eyes? Roll my eyes! Are you insane, Essmira? The Igmora voice screams inside.

“I just meant that it’s beautiful. And I’m happy to help you select the material you’d like for your trousers,” I finish with a smile.

“Material,” he all but whispers. “Trousers?”

Staring into his eyes, I feel my lips pinch with pleasure. Every time I speak to him he’s either shouting at me or he’s forgotten what we’re talking about in the first place. And I find it charming. Stupid and unhelpful, but charming.

“I said I’d help you make trousers, Raingar?”

He sucks in a breath and straightens up, his chest puffing out. He looks suddenly twice his previous size, as large as he did when he was fighting the Egama. He takes a brutal step towards me and I feel suddenly caught in his shadow even though the light hasn’t moved. Stars dance in my peripheries. Freaking suns! Raingar is aroused. I can see the bulge forming on the front of his trousers and my own body responds immediately. I step forward, my lips part, my torso sways, too heavy for my legs and between my thighs, liquid heat puddles.

“You’re looking for fabric for pants? Pants for Raingar? Raingar wants new pants?” The female’s voice jerks my attention around and severs whatever poison or elixir Raingar and I were both high off of simultaneously. What the ohr was that? I feel a little shaken. I was taught of pleasure in all its many forms, but never of that, whatever that was…

“Yeffa.” I clear my throat. “Yeffa, I am.” I am? What was the question? I clear my throat louder and try again, “Yeffa, I am hoping to make new pants for Raingar and tailor his current pants. I mean…” Ohr! “Not that these aren’t fine trousers. They’re just…I was hoping to slim them down to fit his form.”

The male behind the counter grunts and I tense, worried that I’ve insulted him. Then he says, “I think I made those pants for Raingar’s fat father. I don’t think I’ve ever made a pair of pants for Raingar himself.”

“The last time I told him he needed new clothes, he told me that he’d rather eat fried pad pad dung.” The female stands at one of three sturdy tables littering the space. She looks up from the swatch of fabric in her hand that she’d been studying and grins lopsidedly.

She looks surprised as her eyes flick between Raingar and me and I’m immediately embarrassed by it. Did she see that, too? Cosmos, I hope not.

“Looks like the issue wasn’t with the pants, but with the tailor. I’m happy to help you help him get out of those rags. What are you looking for, heelee?”

I flush at the implication of her words. Does Raingar…like me? Like me, like me? Like me beyond my ability to pleasure? Like me as he might a potential female he’d wish to engage with in courtship?

The thought is so overwhelming, it fills me with lethal combinations of hope that it might be true and shame for even considering it. He’s a clan chief. I’m something that was sold. I have a price tag attached to my toes. He’s priceless. We don’t exist in the same realm and I’m a fool for reading into any of his actions. He’s just a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman.

But…he does want me to make him pants and he did fight an Egama warlord for me.

Banishing these terrible, tantalizing thoughts, I turn my attention fully towards the female, offer her the Lemoran greeting, which she returns, and say quickly, “I’m wondering if you’d be so kind as to point me into the direction of durable fabrics? Feranin fibers may be suitable, but wego or tantu would work just as well.”

She tilts her head left, but I don’t feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I just stand beneath her taller form and allow her to look her fill. Not all females benefit from attention. You will allow others to observe you. It is your responsibility to accept this gift and bear it. And she is staring. Her striated gaze drags from my hair to my face down to my chest and feet, hidden by my cloak. Had she been Raingar, I’d have opened my cloak to allow her to look more freely.

I heat anew at the thought, unable to help the way my gaze cuts to him. Light trickles in through the skylight in this single story shop. It’s pink, the light, and colors his brown skin pink, too. My gaze travels down his back to reach his hips. His pants fit around his waist far too high and fall haphazardly over his rear. He’s a muscular male and his torso speaks to spans spent doing manual labor.

Many of the Lemoran males and females share large physiques but where some have rounded middles and soft pecs, Raingar has hard ridges that make up his abdomen. His back is streaked with muscles that bunch and flex, even when it seems like he’s hardly moving. His arms are thick and meaty and I imagine his thighs are too, underneath the shapeless material of his pants. I bet he even has quite a nice muscular ass. My mouth twitches to form a smile at that.

But that’s when I realize that I’ve been caught in the act.

Raingar’s expression is one of pure bewilderment as my gaze lazily travels up to meet his. I quickly look back at the female. “Oh yeffa. I mean…I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Would you say that again?”

The female glances between Raingar and me a half dozen times more before her lips quirk up into a wry smile. Her head tilts even further and her eyes narrow as she places both hands on the tabletop in front of her and leans her weight onto her palms.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Essmira.”

“I’m Lyla.”

“It’s a pleasure,” I tell her, fighting the urge to bow. Merquin told me once that Lemoran find it strange to bow. It makes them uncomfortable.

“I think the pleasure’s about to be all mine,” she says.

I just smile back, unsure of what she means.

“Huh.” She looks again at Raingar even as she speaks to me. “So you two are…”

I understand what she’s implying and smile at her brittlely. Brutally. Longing floods my arms, making them hurt. Raingar makes a throaty, horrified sound behind me that just makes everything hurt that much worse. Of course he wouldn’t be courting a female like me. One who cost him all that kintarr. I’m a charity project for these clan chiefs. An expensive one.

“It is so generous of you to assume that Raingar might have chosen someone…might have chosen me for companionship. It was only his kindness and bravery that brought me here from Quadrant One. You see, I’m…” I swallow, unable to meet her gaze — or anyone’s — as I say stiffly, “I was in the care of Igmora and Tyto before Raingar and the other clan chiefs purchased me. I’m…” I stagger, struggle, ashamed that this is so hard. “I’m a pleasure female, currently just a guest of the Lemoran clan chiefs until I find my place in the community.”

“A pleasure female!” The female shouts.

The male at the counter spits out whatever he’d been drinking all over Raingar and then steps onto a wooden crate, breaking whatever was inside, before toppling over. “You purchased her!” He shouts from the floor.

But Raingar reacts to none of it. Instead, I feel his gaze on me, colder and more distant than it was. I look into his eyes and a fire sparks, hot and wild, restless energy drawing a small gasp from my lips.

“Is that what you think is happening here?” He hisses and a splinter of fear cuts through me.

“Which…which part?”

“A pleasure female?” Lyla bellows. She drops whatever she’d been working on, good progress lost as pins scatter wildly across the floor.

She comes to stand directly in front of me, blocking my view of Raingar and stamps her foot onto the wooden floorboards, making them all rattle. “Don’t you dare tell me, Raingar, that you have in any way used this stunning creature for your own personal pleasure.”

“Pagh! Of course not. But even if I had, it would be none of your ohring business!” I can see him shaking his fist over the top of Lyla’s shoulder. This is expected. What isn’t? Her growl.

Even the male on the floor manages to shoot up onto his feet, his one bare foot spearing through the bottom of the crate as he drags it along with him. He stomps towards Raingar and the female closes in and I panic, worried that a fight’s about to begin.

“Are you telling us…”

“How dare you come into my shop…”

“You know that we don’t deal with…”

“We need to alert the clan chiefs…”

“We won’t stand idly by and let you abuse this creature!”

“Pagh! Ohring asteroids, strike me down! Come outside, the both of you,” Raingar roars, cutting into their babble. He grabs both the male and female by the scruffs of their necks, making them look like younglings despite the fact that he’s only marginally larger than the male. He hauls them out of the front door, which he kicks shut behind him with a loud thwack.

My skin prickles with goosebumps.

I curl my left hand into a fist around my palm, fingering the raised skin there. There’s no scar, but the skin is puckered slightly from where I cut myself on the window. It serves as a reminder that I was a pleasure female once, but that I’m also a female who fights for her freedom.

I never truly minded the idea of being a pleasure female. I thought it would be nice, to be good at something, to be valued for it, and to be treated well — even revered — for being good at a thing that brings pleasure to others.

I hadn't wanted to be bought and sold by the creatures I encountered in Quadrant One though, at least those I met before Raingar. But now, hearing the reactions of the other Lemoran, I feel even worse. What Igmora and Tyto made me is a shameful thing in this society and it hurts to know that that’s how these proud, strong creatures view me.

I rub the cut on my palm, distracted by it, until the doors blow open and the three Lemoran return, expressions entirely changed. Raingar is holding onto one of his horns again and has trouble meeting my gaze. It makes me frown.

Could it be the pain his horns are causing him that pushes him sometimes toward me, and other times farther away? I make a mental note to ask him to stop at the herb and flower stalls so that I can pick up some materials to press soothing ointment for them.

Lyla starts to smile and turn to face me, but Raingar reaches up in a menacing motion, grabs her by the horn and wrenches her back around. They exchange a few more hushed words that I can’t make out before breaking apart. It bothers me, the sight of his hand on her horn, and I find myself frowning at the pair, even as they both turn back around.

“So! Yeffa! I have materials for your pants,” she says, voice cheery, while the male shop owner resumes his place behind the counter.

“We’re sorry for our outburst, heelee.”

I shake my head, shame still making my eyes prickle. “It’s alright. I just…” Nob. I won’t say anything. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. “Nevermind.” I shake my head and force a smile, but all three of them are frowning at me now.

Raingar steps forward, blocking out everything behind him with his broad shoulders and rocky frame. My gaze tips to his horns, and then to his eyes. It’s hard. He isn’t a hard male. A grumpy male, sure, but a hard one? Nob. It’s an unusual look for him and makes me nervous.

“What is it, Essmira?”

I’m a practiced liar, having been trained by the best, but I find myself incapable of getting the words out. Instead, I utter a soft truth, “I did not know that pleasure mates were so shameful here on Lemora. If I had, I wouldn’t have brought it up. I didn’t mean to shame you.”

“Shaaaaaame?” His voice strangles. He grabs onto his chest, hands clawing at his center like he’s trying to tear through it. “You…shame…nob…nob nob nob.” He starts walking towards me and I back up because otherwise, it looks like he’d run me over.

“Raingar?”

“Nob nob nob nob.” He doesn’t stop walking, not until my back hits a bolt of fabric. There’s an open window to my left that looks out onto the street. I’m surprised to see several faraway faces peeking through it. Young faces, when they see me, they squeal and disappear. I might have laughed if I weren’t so concerned and had Raingar’s hands not slammed against the wall beside my ears.

“You shame no one,” he grunts, voice like gravel dipped in honey and dragged through shards of glass. The moment holds its breath — or maybe just I do — before he lowers his face just a little towards me.

“We don’t have pleasurers here, but we do have a few beings who are now Lemoran but who began as pleasurers. They were enslaved against their will and were only able to venture here by escaping, or because they were too old to be of use to the pleasure houses anymore. Lemora is a safe place for all and we don’t judge anyone. We just don’t have experience with pleasurers who…who pleasure by choice.”

I nod, feeling embarrassed all over, and look down at our feet. His three toes against my five. I’m not wearing shoes, but he’s wearing thick sandals. I don’t know why, but I find the sight of our feet juxtaposed like that kind of funny. Kind of erotic, too.

“Do you…” Raingar swallows, sounding perturbed himself. It’s enough to bring my gaze back up to his. He swallows again. “Would you like to be a pleasure female?” His voice cracks a dozen times over those eight little words, if I’m counting correctly.

A rogue smile breaks out over my face, completely twisting the shame that had been spiraling through me until it winks out of existence. I lick my lips. His gaze flutters down to them. I inhale deeply. His gaze flutters down to my breasts.

“Yeffa.”

His expression hardens, eyes snapping back to mine. I can hear the sound of his fingertips scraping over the hard wood on either side of my head.

And then I whisper, “But only for the right male.” I hope he hears the implication that I’m too much of a coward to voice as a demand. I hope he hears my need.

I think he does, because his face morphs into a mask of shock, but he recovers quickly. Pressing his entire body forward slightly so that we’re separated by little more than my forearm’s length, his heat washes over me.

“Just for one male?”

“Yeffa. Just for one male.”

He chokes and comes forward a little more, to the point that I lose focus on his face and look at his chest instead. I have to clench my palms around my scar in order to stop from touching him. A female must wait for permission before touching the male… Ohr that.

I slide my palm over his pectoral, smoothing over the flat, dark brown nipple.

He bends down and growls in my ear, “But Essmira, would you not rather be a mate?”

“A mate?”

“Yeffa. A mate.”

My fingers slide down…down… “I don’t know anything about that.” I touch the top of his pants, fingers so dangerously close to the single strap that holds them up on his narrow hips. So close, I could just…pull it.

He sucks in a breath, his eyelids fluttering over his striated eyes. So many colors. So many layers. Not unlike the male himself. “Would you like to?”

My fingers still. My heart catches.

His eyes fly open and they burn with fire hot enough to singe. Is he… “Are you…” He can’t possibly be… He doesn’t know me. Unless, the way I look is all he’s after. I find that thought immeasurably disappointing.

“Ohr. I’m not good at this. I…”

“Raingar. Uh…Essmira? Would you two bugger away from the window? You’re causing a traffic jam outside of my store!”

“Our store, Timor. Unless you’d like me to take these scissors and cut your useless fingers off with them…”

“Ohr! Our store,” Timor concedes.

I look left and sure enough, more faces shine in the window — this time, no less than a dozen. Raingar shoves away from the wall with a roar and shakes his fist at the lookie-loos.

“Why don’t you creeping knackars mind your own ohring business? Pagh!” He shouts more insults, calling them knackars — insects — dung, asteroids, space junk, and a fascinating array of synonyms for idiot before turning back around and huffing around at the inside of the fabric shop.

“What? What are you staring at now!” He shouts at Lyla and Timor.

Timor’s grimacing and looking anywhere but at Raingar. Lyla’s laughing uproariously behind her hand. “You’re definitely going to need new pants now, Raingar. Though I think we’ll be needing to take the next pair out instead of in.”

I see what she’s referring to — it’s uhmm…impossible to miss — but I don’t dare look down at the massive erection screaming at me from the peripheries of my gaze — screaming at me to stare. Raingar looks down at his pants as if confused and then shrieks in terror, like he’s just sprouted a cock for the first time, or was only now made aware of it.

I snort so hard my eyes roll back and, when Raingar dances around, showing us his back as he tries to shake out his legs and…I don’t know, tuck his impressive length somewhere, true laughter spills out.

“Ohr the lot of you,” he shouts over his shoulder before snatching a heavy drape off of one of the tables and stomping towards the door. “Essmira, are you coming?”

“I haven’t gotten the material for your pants yet.” He hesitates on the threshold and I feel horrible for delaying him. He’s clearly uncomfortable. “It’s alright. I can get it the coming solar…”

“Nonsense. We’ll make sure you get to where you need to go alright. Stay with us the solar. I’ll give you some tips on how to shape trousers for Lemoran dimensions,” Lyla offers.

“She doesn’t need your ohring help. Don’t you see what she’s wearing? She made that cloak and the dress beneath it herself! In one lunar!”

Lyla looks at me anew and I feel pride sparkle across my chest. Raingar likes my dress? I beam at him, but he doesn’t see it. He’s too busy shouting at the folks still gathered outside of the shop.

“Are you familiar with creating clothing for other species?” Lyla says.

“Most definitely. It was one of the only trades Igmora allowed me to learn. I’m quite adept at it.”

“And you enjoy it?” Lyla says and I stutter. Enjoyment. She cares if I enjoy it.

I nod. “More than anything else I know how to do yet.”

Her lips quirk and she shouts over her shoulder. “You alright if we take care of your miriga for you, Raingar?”

“Mir…miriga?” He says, and I wonder if this is an invented word because Raingar seems just as confused as I am by her use of it.

Her eyes sparkle. “Yeffa. I think we could use an extra set of hands around here. Especially with the extra customers we’re likely to have once you’re finished blocking the door.”

“Pagh!” Raingar tuts and huffs and stomps his feet. He’s still holding the sheet away from his body, preventing me from being able to see his erection and what’s become of it.

He looks stressed enough as it is, so I smile and say, “I’d really love to stay, if it’s alright with you.”

“Off! You infernal creatures. Don’t let anything happen to her or I’ll break off your horns and shove them down your throat!” He shouts at Lyla, startling me with his ferocity. “And you.” He points at Timor and is downright murderous when he says, “I know you wear white horns so you’ll understand me when I say no. touching.”

Timor just chuckles. “Trust me, Raingar. You’re not the one I’m afraid of. Have you met Merelda?”

Raingar’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t respond. He just turns his gaze to me then. I nod. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he answers.

His response makes me giddy but, before I can answer, he’s out of the door running through the crowd of people like a kit storming through a flock of birds. They scatter with screams and squeals of delight, often laughter.

“You really know how to make pants for other species?”

I jolt. Lyla’s about a dozen paces closer than she was, staring at me with her head tilted in that funny way. “Yeffa. I actually had some ideas for Hypha garments more tailored to their shape. I think if I added two darts from either shoulder to the waist, it would fit nicely around the thinner torso of the…” I trail off. “Are you…Apologies, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

She’s just staring at me with a huge grin on her broad, brown face. “Timor,” she calls over her shoulder, “Forget about finding me some help. I think it just walked through our front door.”

He grumbles something that I can’t make out, but I can tell that Lyla’s words were more for my benefit than for his.

“Would you like to come back on the coming solar and the one after that and then every solar — except for the resting solars, of course — and work here? Help us make clothes for Lemora’s strange and eclectic population?”

“A job? Are you…are you offering me a job?” My heart patters beneath my breast. My chest lurches, my stomach turns for a whole new set of reasons than the ones brought about by Raingar, his heat and his presence.

“Yeffa. I’m actually begging you to take this job.” I blink quickly, so many times she starts to laugh. “Is that a yeffa?”

“Yeffa!” I blurt. But then I bite my bottom lip. “I told the other clan chiefs that I’d be touring their grounds on these coming solars.”

“Pagh. Ohr that,” she says, sounding decidedly like Raingar when she quips. “Forget the other clans. We’re the best one, anyway. And besides, miriga, you’re allowed to do whatever you want to do now. So tell me, do you want to come here and help us or do you want to tour the other keeps? We’ve got no problem if you need a few solars to decide. We’ll be here, waiting and ready whenever you are.”

I beam, insides shuddering with so many foreign sensations. Hope, maybe? Nob, it isn’t hope. It isn’t pride either. It’s something else, something more tender. It makes me want to cry.

She takes my hand and rubs it firmly in hers as she meets my gaze. “You can do whatever you want here, miriga. Just tell me. If you don’t like Timor over there, you won’t break my heart. Though you might break his.”

He grunts in the background and I laugh and shake my head. “I’m in. I’d love to help you here.”

“Really?” She says, eyes light with surprise, with a hope that makes me feel like I’m someone special.

I nod, saliva thick in my mouth. I struggle to swallow it down. “Really.”

“Excellent news, miriga. Now, let’s find you some material for Raingar’s extra, extra large pants.”