The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit

“Tomorrow, then?” she asked. “After breakfast?” She grimaced. “You’re playing chess with Daddy.”

“Then after luncheon,” he suggested softly.

Her sad expression lifted. “That would be wonderful. What should I wear?”

He wanted to tell her to keep on the gown she was wearing. It complemented her delicate beauty. But it would be impractical. “Casual clothing,” he said.

“Jeans and a shirt and boots?” she asked. “That’s Western American clothing. It’s the fad right now with designers. Nobody knows what they really wore, but handed-down documents mentioned boots and jeans, which we assume were pants made of some coarse fabric, and shirts that button up.”

“Western American.” He sighed. “I shall have to go to the virtual library.”

“Not to worry. Daddy has a book on it.” She laughed. “He has a book on everything!”

“A paper book.”

She looked worried. “It would offend you to touch it,” she guessed.

He glanced down at her. “Jasmine, a paper book is already a dead tree,” he pointed out. “I only take issue with trees on my own world being used for such a purpose, which would never happen. The process of other cultures is their concern.” He leaned down, his eyes searching hers. “I’m not offended.”

“Oh.” She was looking at his mouth. It was beautiful. Chiseled, the upper lip thinner than the lower one, wide and masculine. She’d never been kissed. She wanted to be.

He read that in her face and almost groaned. There were people everywhere.

It was too soon. He kept telling himself that as he pulled her slowly by the hand to a hidden alcove that was, temporarily, unoccupied.

“This is too soon,” he said aloud.

“I don’t care...!”

She reached up as he reached down. Her mouth was soft and sweet, nectar itself. He groaned under his breath as he fought not to crush her against his body. It truly was too soon for that sort of intimacy. He framed her face in his big, warm hands and drew his lips tenderly against her soft mouth, drowning in frustrated passion, hungry for far more than this.

He drew back to see her reaction. Her eyelids were half-closed. She looked at him with something akin to awe.

He bent again, parting her lips softly this time before he possessed them. She moaned and pressed close to him.

He didn’t dare take the invitation. The dravelzium was already wearing off. He’d have to make sure he kept a supply with him. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.

But her mouth was intoxicating. He got drunk on the taste of her. He whispered to her in High Cehn-Tahr, the Holy Tongue that only his Clan and a few members of the kehmatemer could even understand.

“What?” she whispered dizzily.

“Synthale.”

She drew back a breath.

“You go to my head like spirits,” he translated.

“You go to mine,” she whispered shakily. Her soft arms reached up, but he caught them and pulled them gently down.

“Too soon,” he whispered. He felt unsteady on his feet. “Some things must not be rushed,” he added.

She smiled stupidly. “Okay.”

He chuckled. She looked as intoxicated as he felt.

“Nobody ever kissed me before,” she confessed, shocking him. “I wasn’t sure how it would feel.” She flushed. “It’s very...nice.”

“Very nice, indeed.” He was immensely flattered. He would be her first, in every way. He had heard that some humans were very promiscuous, especially in the outer colonies. He was delighted to find her as chaste and discreet as he, himself, was. The Cehn-Tahr were pristine in their mating habits. Once bonded, they never strayed. Bonding was for life.

“So. Tomorrow after luncheon.” She looked up at him.

He nodded slowly. “After luncheon. I’ll see your father after breakfast.”

She cocked her head and smiled. “Is it a cultural thing that you don’t eat with other cultures?”

He smiled. “I’m afraid so. Our choice of cuisine is quite different from yours and might be offensive to your olfactory processes.”

She blinked. “We might not like the smell?”

“Exactly.”

She searched his eyes, so far above her own. “I can get used to anything,” she said softly. “And I mean anything, if it means being with you.”

He caught his breath. It was the way he felt, too.

He bent, helplessly, to her soft mouth. This was unwise. The dravelzium was wearing off. Contact with her mouth, without the protection of nanobytes, which also wore off, could trigger the mating cycle. She knew too little about him, about what he truly was. It would be unfair to expose her to something she might not be able to accept.

He kissed her very softly and drew back before she could reciprocate. “Slowly,” he said.

She managed to smile through her excited disappointment. “Slowly,” she replied.

He touched her soft hair where it draped around her shoulders in a beautiful, curly curtain. “Your hair is magnificent,” he whispered.

“I thought you might like it better if I wore it loose, like this.”

“Yes. I do.” He chuckled. “My own hair is even longer...” He stopped suddenly at her look of surprise.

He ground his teeth together. It was a bad slip. “I mean, I used to wear it long,” he said, shaking his head. “You see? You intoxicate me so that I can’t say what I mean.”

To his relief, she laughed. “I wonder what you’d look like with long hair,” she said aloud.

“I’ll grow it out, just for you,” he promised.

She smiled. “Will we be able to do things together, when we get to Memcache?” she asked worriedly. “I mean, will your family mind?”

“My Clan won’t mind,” he replied. “My parents are long dead. I have many cousins, but no close family anymore.”

“Sort of like me,” she said. “All I have left is Daddy.”