“It’s fine. I just thought it would help you dry off. It’s certainly warm enough that we don’t need a fire.”
But despite her confident words, she was worried. She could see his hands trembling as if he had a chill. Perhaps he needed nourishment.
“I think I still have some fruit in my bag. You should eat some.”
In her haste, she grabbed the wrong end of the bag and everything came tumbling out. She was starting to gather up the contents when he gave a hoarse cry and grabbed the metal cylinder that had been in the bag originally.
Before she could ask what he was doing, he flipped open the top of the cylinder and a small flame appeared. As she watched in shock, he applied it to his pile of branches and a moment later, the fire was crackling merrily.
“Fie-uhr,” he said with satisfaction, then slumped down beside it. She rushed over to check on him and realized he was sleeping, his breathing harsh but steady. He must have been more exhausted than she realized by the battle with the river, but she wished he hadn’t fallen asleep quite so quickly.
Her brain whirled in confusion as she retrieved the cylinder. A firestarter. How had he known what it was? The entire time they had been together, there had been nothing to indicate he had any familiarity with advanced technology. Even his knife appeared to be little more than a basic weapon, although it must have been forged at some point.
But if Taraxan recognized the firestarter, did that mean he was familiar with whoever had brought her here? Was he somehow in league with them?
Even as the thought occurred, she dismissed it. She knew that he would never betray her—but he certainly had some explaining to do once he woke up. And no matter how difficult the language barrier, he was going to do just that before they moved another inch.
Her desire for an explanation vanished as his condition deteriorated, and it soon became obvious that he was extremely ill. He had bouts of shivering so intense that his entire body shook, alternating with periods when his skin gleamed with sweat. He tossed and turned restlessly, muttering away in his own language.
She didn’t want to go far from him, but she did her best to set up camp the way they usually did. During one of his more lucid periods, she managed to get him to move onto the pile of leaves she had gathered, then built a somewhat crooked shelter around him. There was little food left since most of their supplies had been swept away, but she had some smoked meat in her bag and she boiled it with some water in their cooking pouch. The next time he awoke, she scolded him into drinking some.
As if he understood the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Tiddles had been her silent shadow all afternoon, helping when he could. Night fell and she shivered, cuddling him on her lap.
“This is like the first night,” she told him. “I didn’t appreciate how much of a difference it makes to have Tarax around.”
Mr. Tiddles chittered softly and patted her cheek. She gave a watery sniff and hugged him close. They sat in silence, watching the fire, and listening to Tarax moan in his sleep.
He took a little more broth the next time he woke up, and then she finally gave into exhaustion and climbed in next to him. His skin was still fiery hot, but as soon as she laid down, he rolled over and pulled her against him.
“Jayn,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. “Luhv Jayn.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had he said what she thought he had? And even if he had, how could she know that it wasn’t just the fever talking? Her logic didn’t prevent a warm glow of happiness from filling her.
“I love you too,” she whispered as the knowledge rushed through her.
She didn’t expect the words to penetrate his fever, but he rolled over and began kissing her with frantic urgency, his mouth hungry as he pried her lips apart and plundered her mouth. He suckled and nibbled at her neck before descending to her nipples, drawing them into his mouth with hard, sucking pulls that sent sparks of lightning straight to her clit. Sensations rocketed through her, his mouth and hands almost too rough, but creating so much fiery pleasure that she didn’t even think of protesting.
He abandoned her breasts, leaving them achy and needy, and found her clit, laving the sensitive pearl with rough, urgent strokes of his tongue until a fast, hard climax swept over her, leaving her shaking. He growled and flipped her over, lifting her hips, then plunging into her in one powerful thrust. She was barely ready, but he didn’t even pause, setting a demanding pace that left her gasping helplessly, overwhelmed with pleasure.
He growled again and yanked her hips higher, holding her in place so she could only receive his thrusts. His body dropped down over hers, his heat surrounding her as his mouth found her neck. His hand slid around to her clit, tugging demandingly at the hardened flesh until another climax seized her, her body shaking in endless waves of bliss. He grew impossibly larger inside her, then roared as hot liquid flooded her. His mouth returned to her neck and his teeth clamped down on the tender flesh, the sharp sting sending her into yet another climax.
His body collapsed over hers, although he managed to keep most of his weight off of her.
“Mie luhv,” he whispered, then fell back into a heavy sleep. She laid there, still quivering, her mind dazed, half buried beneath his big, hot body—and then she smiled.
The fiery pain in Taraxan’s leg forced him awake, but his first thought was of Jayn. To his relief, he could feel her tucked against his side, but another memory kept trying to surface. Of her under him, rather than next to
