Sam's Secret (Icehome)

I smack my lips, trying to recall what happened. Did I trip and fall? Did something fall on my head from above? I vaguely remember filling my waterskin at the falling water, then looking up at the vines high above, to see if the fruit there were close to ripening, and then…pain at the side of my head. Then darkness. It is confusing, and when I try to open my eyes, one of them is swollen shut. Strange. My arms feel numb in the strange position I'm in, so I try to sit up…

…except, I cannot. My arms are bound behind my back. Between the prickles from loss of circulation, I can feel a hard strap around my wrists, tying them together, and another one at my elbows. There is a strap around my ankles, too.

Someone has tied me up. Incredulity and confusion give way to fear.

Kva-saht.

Sam. My Sam.

Hot terror rushes through me as I remember his words. You don't share your female. Don't you think I deserve a round in her cunt? He wants my mate. He means to take her, even if she does not want him. I try to jerk upright, only to fail and fall back onto my face again. Panting, I roll onto my back, wincing at the pain that shoots up my arms. I look around me, frantic. Where am I? I hear the trickle of the falling water nearby, but when I look around, I see nothing but rocks. He has dragged me away from the pool, and I cannot see or hear Sam anywhere.

I want to call for Sam, but if I do, will Kva-saht come and hit me again? Is she safer if I am silent?

I roll over and sit up, then worm my way toward a cluster of vines. It looks like the edge of one of the rock shelves that climb up the walls of the cave. I work over to it and then peer over the side. The strange male must have dragged me to the far end of the cavern, where the supplies are stored. I can see him and Sam by the bathing pool. He holds a shiny, shiny knife, walking along the edge of the pool while Sam scrubs at her wet mane.

My mate.

I drink in the sight of her. She is angry, glaring at Kva-saht. Her body is covered in bruises, and when she lifts her mane from her neck, I see mottled dark spots. Did he choke her? Hurt her? A precious, delicate female? My female? The idea is abhorrent. How can he think to harm Sam? How can he think to harm another being? All we have done is help him, and he attacks us. I am starting to realize that not everyone that exists is kind. Sam's stories of Brad take on new meaning. I did not quite grasp the danger of her situation before because I did not understand why a male would harm a female. Looking at Kva-saht as he looms over my mate, I understand now.

And it fills me with helpless rage.

I twist at the bonds holding my shoulders back, jerking so hard that my shoulders flare with pain. I want to call out to Sam, to let her know that I am awake, but something instinctively tells me to be silent. So I twist my arms and watch as the male stalks my mate from the edge of the pool.

Sam glares at him in silence. She splashes a bit more water on her arms and then puts her hands on her hips. "Better?"

"No," the evil one hisses. "I can still smell his seed all over you."

"Well, that's your problem, not mine. Maybe you should find me some soap if you think I smell so bad." She splashes at him, defiant, and Kva-saht hisses with anger when she does. "I can't get any cleaner than this."

"Do you have soap?"

"Up above," Sam says, gesturing at the main ledge high above the pool. "I can go get it if you like."

"No. You stay here where I can watch you." He points the knife at her. "When we get back to your ship, I'll put you in a disinfectant bath."

"There's no fucking ship," Sam snarls at him, her hand smacking the surface of the water. "When will you get that through your thick skull?"

"You are a liar," he snarls back. "Why should I believe anything you say?"

"Where's Sessah?" Sam demands.

"Probably bleeding out," the alien snarls.

She stiffens, her gaze flicking around the cavern. It moves right over me, and I want to call out to her, but something tells me to stay silent for a bit longer. Sam can take care of herself. I twist my arms again, but the bonds are not giving in the slightest. I wonder if I can break my wrist in order to free myself? I will if I must. For now, I keep my gaze on Sam. I notice even more wounds on her—scratches on her cheeks and jaw, and down one arm, and more anger blisters through me, replaced a moment later by deep, angry pride. Sam has fought him. She has fought him and even now refuses to cower in front of him.