I turn my eyes to the crowd. “This is the only prize I want. To heal this human.” I turn to the council, daring them to refuse me an act of compassion. They can read my emotions and the purity of my desire from the colors weaving over my skin. I have no duplicity. I desire to heal him. Not to deceive them.
The council members break the hush in the crowd by bickering among each other. Their words indecipherable. A murmuring hum rises through the crowd.
I turn back to Graven, and it occurs to me, because his aura is so flawed, I have no true idea of his intentions. I have no idea of his thoughts, of who he is really. He could be dangerous. He could be duplicitous. He could be out to take advantage of me and my desire to help him.
I don’t think that’s likely. He’s in too much pain, but the uncertainty he offers me, the not knowing, the mystery of him, fascinates me and draws me to him more. I have no idea what this man is capable of.
He takes a step toward me, but then stops himself. The crowd notices, though. Someone calls out in a Fellamana accent, “Human! Human!” as though cheering Graven on, as though wanting him to move forward, wanting him to come to me.
The chant spreads, and others take it up; gradually, it weaves through the crowd until the whole stadium, over a thousand voices, are shouting in Graven’s favor. “Human! Human! Human!”
Graven does as they say. He comes forward, walking toward me. His face is an expressionless mask, but his eyes are haunted—with what I can’t be sure. Something heavy. In a desire to see him better, I turn on my light; I let myself glow, as I’ve learned, to let my Exstare radiate outward like the Fellamana system’s star.
As my light cascades over him, illuminates him, his aura changes. It doesn’t heal, but it lightens in places, and his expression eases, his steps become more confident. He stands before me, graced with my light, enormous in his height. My eyes are level with his chest. I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
A thrill of fear runs down my skin. I’ve had sex innumerable times today alone, and yet, I’m enthralled by the male standing in front of me, as though I’ve had no one in days.
The crowd hushes, and I look behind me to see the council’s chancellor standing with the sound amplifier in his hand. “You are too generous in your victory, Niva. You may heal the human.”
The crowd cheers, and my victory is secured, as far as they think. But I hear in his words what they do not. I’m permitted to heal my choice human, but that is all. I’m permitted to touch him, but they do not want me to make love to him.
I engage in a stare-down with the chancellor. I narrow my gaze so he knows I’m not happy with his choice of words. He levels his gaze as though to affirm that even if I might think I have authority, it’s only by his allowance.
The chancellor usurped my power. If I were Koviye, if I’d had the Exstare for ten years as he had, if a mere month ago, the previous possessor of the Exstare hadn’t been given two strikes and deemed near dangerous enough to imprison, I could laugh in the chancellor’s face and have sex with Graven on this stage from now until dawn.
But I’m not Koviye. I’ve been doing this for only a month. I’m twenty-two years old. And they outnumber me. The truth is that Koviye’s actions left me with little power and with restricted choices that had never occurred to me until now. I feel suffocated and trapped.
Having someone, anyone, dictate what I’m allowed to do with my body has my gut heating in rebellion.
But I’ll sort this out tomorrow. For now, I at least get a moment with my human.
I turn back to Graven. I smile. Now, I have to get his permission. I realign my focus on what of his language I’ve learned and craft the question I think he needs to hear.
“May I touch you?”
Chapter Five
Graven
I don’t understand what’s happening. They’ve been speaking Fellamana, but Niva’s “May I touch you?” sends a wave of heat beneath my skin. My blood pulses through me, and my cock goes hopelessly hard.
I now have a hard-on the size of a blaster gun, and beneath my tight uniform, it’s obvious for everyone to see. I haven’t fed the desidre yet today—code for, I haven’t jerked off. I should’ve. Why didn’t I think of that? As if I wasn’t already obsessed with this female; now I’m ready to blow it like a teenager just from the sound of her voice.
Niva glances down and notices, and a mischievous smile graces her mouth. “You want me, yes?” Her voice is low and quiet so only I can hear. Everyone can see us, but at least they’re all too far away to hear us speak.
I swallow, trying to force my voice to work. “Yes but… there’s something I have to tell you. I want you to touch me, but it’s complicated, because I’m broken…”
Her eyes glaze over with a confused expression. She has no idea what I’m saying. Damn it.
Her brow furrows, and she tries again. “You want not…what?”
I try to think about what I could say that she would understand.
She misunderstands my confusion. “I get translate.” She waves at a person on the sidelines who’s been serving as an interpreter between the human and Fellamana contestants all night.
I’ll be damned if I let a stranger into this very intimate conversation. Not to mention if another human finds out my problems with touch, they’ll be one step closer to figuring out I was my father’s experiment. “No.”
I graze my fingers down her arm, asking her with a gentle touch to lower it, to not ask for help. I can’t feel her skin, but I’m exceptionally careful how I touch other people. I’ve had to learn intimate awareness of my strength, or I could crush a bone with my fingertip.
She gasps and stares at where my fingers have touched her arm.
I jerk my hand back, afraid I’ve miscalculated, afraid I’ve hurt her somehow.
But she shakes her head and reaches for my hand. She laces my fingers with hers. I can’t feel it. I have no sensation of her hand, except pressure. I have no idea whether her skin is warm or cool, rough or smooth, soft or hard. But I can see her touching me, and the sight of her small hand in mine with her blue undulating swirls across the back, and her little fingers between my inhumanly large ones, awakens a small emotion in my chest.
It’s tiny, like a pinprick, but it’s as though on the inside, there’s a small part of me that notices something good where I’ve only ever had sadness. It’s the closest to happy I’ve ever felt in my life.
I glance at her face to see if she likes holding my hand, too, and there’s a delicate look in her eyes, as though she’s watching me, waiting to see my reaction. I don’t know what to do. I stand, staring, losing myself in her deep green eyes.