Heart Song (Forbidden Mates, #3)

by Heather Guerre

Theyma didn’t know what to say. She’d known Caerus was ruthless and cruel, but he was also lazy and self-important. She couldn’t see him inconveniencing himself by setting foot inside a prison. Especially not when doing so would take him away from his favorite place, which was in front of an adoring audience. Whether making public addresses to a camera, or holding court with the diplomats, politicians, and administrators of Enceladus and the Confederation, Caerus loved nothing more than a large crowd of yes-men.

But unlike the Scaevens, who had slitted pupils, human pupils were small and round. It was easy, and somewhat off-putting, to track the exact focus of her gaze by the movement of those circles.

he supposed he cared to know about her breakfast about as much as she cared to tell him. In short—not at all. She was clearly here against her will.

Theyma had always thought his voice sounded deep and commanding. Until she’d heard the Dragon. That was a voice that rolled like thunder, so deep and resonant that she felt it in her chest when he spoke. In comparison, Caerus sounded reedy and shrill.

“Where are you taking us?” The Bijari asked, her voice a soft rasp. “There’s a tech lab where, uh—” she gestured at Rakhnar “—his ship is being examined. If you can get it operational, you’re free.” “What about you?” The Bijari pressed. The human laughed, a cold, dead sound. “I’ll be fine.” “Why are you doing this?” The Yivuran cut in. The human looked to him, her eyes hollow. “I’m not a good person, if that’s what you’re asking. I have an ulterior motive.” The Yivuran’s posture relaxed marginally. “I trust ulterior motives better than righteousness. Shall we go?”

“This will be more comfortable,” he told her in the Creole. In his own language, he added, “For you, anyway. For me, it will be bloody torture. Tomorrow I need to rip my mark off the mantle before I lose all sense and beg you to seal the bond with me.” She listened to his rambling with a smile. “Your voice is beautiful,” she said. She’d paid him the same compliment, back in the humans’ prison, but it hit differently now. Her praise and admiration wrapped around him, squeezing his chest, his heart.

“I still don’t know your name,” Theyma said, trotting to keep up with him. He didn’t even hesitate. “Rakhnar,” he answered, relieved to use his vocal cords normally. “Say it again.” “Rakhnar.” “Slowly.” “Raaakh-naaarrr,” he repeated, projecting the tones crisply and clearly. Her lips parted, but she made no sound. After a moment, she closed her mouth with a little sigh. She looked at Rakhnar and tapped her throat. She held up one finger, frowning. With a sudden pang, it dawned on him that she wouldn’t be able to pronounce his name. Human throats could only produce one tone at a time. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he said gently, even though disappointment prickled beneath his scales. She fluttered her hands impatiently at him, a gesture that seemed to indicate again. Keeping his expectations low, he repeated, “Rakhnar.” She closed her eyes as if savoring the sound of his name. Some of his disappointment faded. And then, to his utter shock, she opened her mouth and sang, “Raaaakhnaaaar.” She didn’t pronounce it the way a Ljark would. She broke the tones apart, projecting each one individually over the drawn-out vowels of his name. He stared at her in wonder. How did she identify the individual tones and isolate them in that way? It was his name as he’d never heard it before. In her mouth, it sounded ethereal and sacred. His heart began to pound. His scales shimmered as the nerves beneath them tingled. “Again,” he pressed. She seemed to understand. “Rakhnar.” She did it faster t...

His hand still cupped her cheek, his thumb still pressed gently below her jaw. Before she knew what she was doing, Theyma leaned in and kissed him. Rakhnar’s fingers tensed against her cheek, but the rest of him went as still as a statue. His lips were soft, more velvety than her own, but yielding and warm—so warm that the feel of them surprised her, made her gasp. Rakhnar shuddered, and a low sound, deep in his chest, rumbled through her like thunder. She pulled back, and the gleam in his eyes had become so intense, she could track the exact direction of his gaze. He was staring at her with a wild intensity while tremors ran through his entire body. What had she done? He was a predator, she was prey, and she’d literally just given him a taste of human flesh. “I’m sorry!” Theyma stumbled back from him. She tripped over the hem of her skirt, but before she crashed to the ground, Rakhnar was on her, grabbing hold of her with that unbreakably powerful grip. “Please—no—” “Theyma,” Rakhnar said, sounding rattled—but not ravenous—as he released her. “Please, don’t be afraid. I didn’t do it intentionally.” Do what intentionally? Start thinking about her as dinner? “What?” “I didn’t even realize the soulbond could form between humans and Ljark, or I would’ve been more careful about touching you when you were bleeding. But there was—” “The… what?” “—so much happening. We just needed to get you in the medbay. And it was fine—it was going to fade. But then I gave you my mark by accid...

“I’ve been told that humans can swim in water.” Theyma smiled. “You can’t swim?” Rakhnar frowned. “You really can? No. You don’t have fins. Your bones are too heavy.” Theyma laughed. “I really can swim. Lots of humans can. I didn’t learn until I was older, but people who grow up around bodies of water often learn when they’re small children. Human infants can swim by pure instinct.” “No.” She laughed again. “I am completely serious! Humans can swim!” Rakhnar had to accept that she was telling him the truth. Which made the other rumors, fantastical as they were, suddenly possible. “You can’t… fly?” Theyma gave him a strange look. “Of course I can’t.” She held out her slender, scaleless arms. “I don’t have wings.” “You don’t have fins either!” She laughed, folding her arms back in against her body. “What about your teeth?” She touched her mouth. “What about them?” “If you damage a tooth, it does not grow back?” “Yours grow back?” “Yours truly don’t?” “No. I mean, we get two sets, basically. We get baby teeth, but those fall out and are replaced by adult teeth. If we lose adult teeth, we have to be able to afford dental prosthetics, or just live with the missing teeth.” Rakhnar couldn’t fathom it. It was like being told that damaged scales or claws wouldn’t grow back. “Do your other body parts generate?” she asked. Rakhnar stared at her, momentarily frozen by an appalling thought. “Do none of your body parts regenerate?” “What?” “Your skin—the medical AI said you exhibited de...

A sudden impulse to touch him—to feel him—took her by surprise. She slipped one arm from the cover of the mantle and reached for his hand. He lay perfectly still, his glittering gaze boring into hers as she gently trailed her fingertips across the smooth, warm scales on his wrist. “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding a little more hoarse than he had before. “We’re friends,” she said. Ljark friends rubbed wrists. Hadn’t he told her so? But even as she did it, she knew this was a touch that went beyond the confines of simple camaraderie. She dragged her fingernails gently up the inside of his forearm. A soft tremor ran through his entire body. “Theyma…” his voice was ragged and richly harmonic. “Can I touch you?” she asked, her own voice faint and trembling. “Other places?” “As a friend?” Rakhnar asked with a pained laugh. Theyma didn’t have an answer. “I want to feel the scales on your chest.” Rakhnar’s expression shuttered. “Why?” She stroked her fingers gently up his forearm again. “I don’t know.” “You don’t have to do this. I don’t expect—” “I want to.” And that was all there was to it. She’d never felt compelled to touch somebody like this. For such a long time, touching had been an unwanted obligation foisted upon her—an exhausting job she performed because she had no other choice. But this was different. She knew Rakhnar expected nothing, would take nothing from her. And instead of touching him to give pleasure, she experienced the inverse. The feel of him gave he...

He was marooned on an uninhabited planet, traveling on foot to a ship that may or may not actually function well enough to get him off that planet. And yet, when Rakhnar woke that night, it was with total contentment. The most perfect creature in the entirety of the cosmos lay peacefully in his arms. She’d taken pleasure in touching him, no matter how chaste those touches, and she’d enjoyed his touches in return—trusted him with something that had only brought her pain in the past. His heart was broken, and simultaneously, as full as it had ever been. It will not last, he reminded himself. The bond will fade, and you will go your separate ways. His heart lurched unhappily at the reminder. Your future belongs to another. Your life belongs to your people. Don’t be a fool. He sighed. Holding Theyma, he eased up to a sitting position. “Hmmm?” She murmured sleepily, shifting to curl more securely against him. He’d fallen asleep half-drunk on a mixture of unsatisfied arousal and deeply satisfied intimacy. He felt it again as he savored the trusting cling of her embrace. He stroked her fur—so long, so shiny. He raked his fingers ever so gently through the long strands, combing out little snags.

“Can I touch your hair?” Theyma asked. “I don’t have hair.” She scrunched her face. “Then what’s on your head?” He cocked his head, not certain if she was joking. “Feathers.” “What? No.” She rose up on her knees and slid her fingers questingly into the feathers along his temple. She let out a little gasp. “They are feathers! They look like hair.” She stroked again and again, and Rakhnar’s eyes slid dozily shut. Arousal simmered beneath his skin. His groin tightened. “You’re like a kiwi bird.” “A what?” She’d said the last bit in her human language. “It’s this bird from the human home planet.” “Ourthe?” “Earth. There was this cute, shy little wild bird that only lived on this one island on the entire planet. They were endangered at one point. But now they’re everywhere on Mars. People breed them for pets. Anyways, they have feathers like yours—so soft and fuzzy.” She patted the crown of his head. Rakhnar opened his eyes. “There is an animal in the mountains of Sifia. A grazing hexaped. We call them prantilor. They have fur like yours. Very long and silky. I have always wondered what they felt like, but I’ve never been able to touch one because their venom is extremely lethal.” “Just like me,” Theyma said. Rakhnar frowned. He suspected she was joking, but then again, apparently humans really could swim, and really couldn’t grow new teeth when they needed them. A strong venom might be a reasonable evolutionary adaption for a creature that could be injured so easily.

If he was being honest with himself, there was something about her that had fascinated him since the first time she spoke to him, back in Bello’s prison. She was introspective and sensitive and wryly funny and proud and prickly and surprisingly knowledgeable on a vast array of topics.

Rakhnar listened in silence. He squeezed her hand now and then as she spoke, bolstering her, reminding her that he was with her. When she finished her story, both of them were quiet, digesting her words. “You…” Rakhnar paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. “You’re very brave,” he said finally. “And clever. And resilient. But you should not have had to be this brave, and clever, and resilient. I wish life had been kinder to you.” Theyma’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Whenever she was at her lowest, when the demands of the world felt like they would crush her, she reminded herself that she was a survivor, and that she’d get through it, just like she’d gotten through every other bad time before that. But there was always a little part of her—a childish, weak part that she resented—that desperately wished she didn’t have to be a survivor. That she could just live a quiet life where she made music and nobody had any control over her. That she could just be happy without having to suffer for it. Hearing somebody else wish the same for her completely undid her. She swiped at her cheeks, trying not to let Rakhnar know she was crying. But then she breathed out the tiniest little gasping sob, and those Ljark super-ears detected it instantly. “Theyma?” Rakhnar stopped, turning to her. Even with eyes closed, his hands found her face unerringly. His thumbs swept across her cheeks. Feeling the moisture there, his face crumpled into an expression of sorrow. “No, no, nal...

“How accurate is your hearing when it comes to spatial awareness?” she asked, in a confusingly playful tone. “Not as accurate as sight alone. However, both senses together give me acuity beyond any of the other sapient species.” “But right now, you can only use your hearing.” “Yes…” His suspicion grew alongside impishness in her voice. “Why do you ask?” “Can you sense... this!” He caught her hand before she managed to land a swat on his ass. She wasn’t swinging to hurt him, but he hadn’t expected it from her. “I guess you can,” she said brightly. “What was that for?” Rakhnar asked, utterly perplexed. “Amusement? Don’t the Ljark ever slap each other’s asses? They should. Yours is very… muscular.” Rakhnar resisted the impulse to feel his own ass. “I… thank you?” Before he could ask why a muscular ass deserved to be slapped, he had to flinch away from her again as a small projectile shot past his face. “Impressive,” Theyma said sincerely. “What was that?” “A little chunk of lichen. Don’t worry. It wouldn’t have damaged your pretty face.” “Pretty?” He laughed. “I mean it,” Theyma insisted. “Your cheekbones and your jawline are works of art.” “So humans like prominent facial bones and prominent asses?” Theyma was quiet for a brief, pensive moment. “Huh. I guess we do.” “Well.” A feeling he rarely experienced came over him—he was flustered. Theyma had essentially just said she found him attractive.

“Oh, dear. You were so close to a happy ending. How cruel fate can be.” “Fate is indifferent,” Rakhnar said tiredly. “People are cruel.”

“You asked if I could live in your world, and I didn’t know how to answer you,” Theyma told him. As she walked towards him, she reached behind her neck, unfastening the heavy gold necklace that spelled her name. “But that’s because it was the wrong question. You should have asked if I could live without you.”