Steph's Outcast

18

JUTH

Even though I have my mate curled up against me, I cannot sleep. Everything is too different. There are too many sounds of others snoring, or their breathing. There is the faint sound—and scent—of someone mating. A young kit wakes up and cries. The cave grows warm from the heat of bodies, and I want to throw the furs off, but I know Steff needs them. I worry about Pak, if he will wake up afraid. I worry that Steff will wake up and decide she no longer wants a mate. I worry that her tribe will decide that Outcasts do not belong after all, and we will be forced to leave once more.

I worry about a great many things, and they spin through my mind, over and over. I stare up at the ceiling of the cave, at the stone icicles that drip down from above, and wait for dawn.

When the skies begin to lighten, I slip out from under the furs and check on my son. He is curled up against one of the young females, his hand in her mane. She has an arm around him, snuggled close, and it makes me smile. One of us has no trouble sleeping, at least. The scent of food tinges the air and my stomach growls. I put on my belt and head to the front of the cave.

The moment I step out of the cave, it feels as if I have wandered into a strange land. The mounded creatures have buried themselves so deep that only a few tentacles stick out from the sand. The beach looks like massive hills, and all seems calm despite the fact that our home has been invaded. I watch as one of the hunters—by the look of him, from Tall Horn—goes out with a spear and pokes at one of the mounds. Immediately, tentacles rip from the sands and lash out. He stumbles backward, laughing, and then jogs away.

Still dangerous, then.

I follow the scent of smoke and food. Close to the cliffs, where it is too narrow for the creatures to wedge themselves in, someone has built a fire. A male—Strong Arm—adds roots to the cooking pouch as a brown-maned female chops up some meat nearby. A few others have gathered by the fire, waiting for food, and I hesitate, not entirely sure I should join them.

As if reading my mind, the golden-skinned male—Ashtar—appears at my side. He claps a hand on my shoulder. "It is good to see your face this morning. Did you sleep well?"

I grunt, unsure of how to take this friendliness. How do I answer such a question? How did I sleep? What does it matter? Why does he ask? Is there a rule about sleeping that I am unaware of?

But he just pats my shoulder again and leans in. "After breakfast, would you like one of my kilts?"

"Kilt?" I ask, uncertain.

"Clothing," he says, and gestures at his lower body. "For the loins."

I frown at him, crossing my arms over his chest. "Why? I am not cold."

Ashtar chuckles. "I know. But having our magnificent cocks out on display bothers the human females. They are blinded by our magnificence." He leans in conspiratorially. "And some of the humans are possessive. They do not like the other females admiring." He winks at me. "So best to cover up your weapon, friend."

I glance down at my near-naked body. I have seen some of the other males wearing furs or loincloths, but I thought they were simply…cold. Do the females not like it when other females admire their mate's body? The thought is a strange one, but also rather…pleasant. Does my female want my cock to be for her and her alone? She has not said. A quick look around the camp shows that no one is bare except me. Hmm.

Is this why Steff constantly brought me clothing in the past? I grow warm with affection at the thought. Even then, she was trying to stake her claim on me, and I had no idea. I find myself smiling. My female is far too subtle. She should have just told me I was hers and I would have gratefully hidden my cock behind any number of furs if it meant more of what we did last night. Just thinking about her mouth on my cock makes my body respond, and I scratch at my thigh, willing my erection to die down. Yet another reason to cover myself. "I should not mind a kilt."

"Excellent." Ashtar smacks me on the back again, hard. "I'll retrieve one for you. Wait here and tell them to save a bowl for me."

It is odd to be here in the midst of camp. I try not to stare as I look around, memorizing faces. I do not know their names yet. Some of them are Outcast names, which are confusing, and some of them are names that the island clans pronounce differently than are spoken. Perhaps names do not matter to these people like they did to mine.