lads were discovered missing.
If Lyuba had pestered Tresset before, she now harassed him tirelessly. Her injuries had been minor, but the rape had been consummated. Tresset had saved her life but not her honor. The young reyaqc had never understood the human fixation with sexual protocol. Sex was the most basic of biological functions and necessary for the continuation of the species, and yet complex rules and traditions clouded the simple issue. As to the Romani, they value virginity in a young woman above all else. Lyuba was now marked. It was unlikely that any amongst the clan would allow a son to marry one so defiled. This, despite the fact that she was a healthy specimen from good stock, and likely capable of producing multiple offspring.
“We could be married, you and I,” she said one night as she found Tresset returning from a romp in the woods.
“You know well, reyaqc do not marry,” he said, turning away from her.
“But, you care for me. I can see it. You may not know it yourself, but you do.”
Tresset remained silent. There was no use arguing this nonsensical point.
“You are alone, your one companion gone from you. I am now tainted in the eyes of my people. But we have each other.”
Tresset turned toward her, anger rising in his veins. “We do not have each other. You at least have a family and I have…myself.”
“Family?” the girl suddenly became furious. “Family? My father was too drunk to prevent the rape, and now he scorns me as if it was I who committed the act. My mother won’t even meet my gaze. Everywhere I go, whispers, smirks. But, you…” She grabbed his arm, cradling it, hugging him even as he fought the urge to rip her face from her head. “You cared enough to come for me. No one else cared, but you. And now that I am unclean, it seems you are the only one to care.”
“I…do not care.”
She gazed at him at length, a peculiar twist to her lips. “Of course you do,” she said finally. “I think it’s time I prove it to you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be in my tent—alone—soon after sunset. Come to me.”
A firm hug, a wane smile, and she moved back toward the camp.
The smell of her sex lingered on the subtle breeze.
* * * *
Tresset did not go to Lyuba’s tent that evening, but as had become his habit, bedded down amidst the trees at the outskirt of the camp. He did not feel comfortable indoors. Even the thin canvas tents incited some small claustrophobia in the often endless nights. And sleep was now deep, near deathlike, since he’d foolishly allowed himself to become so depleted. No more was he so attuned to his surroundings as he’d once been. No longer did the wisp of a scent invade his dreams and wake him to impending danger. True, these traits would return—with time, with multiple infusions—but at this point, on this clear star-filled night, he slept as the dead.
At first it seemed a dream. Lyuba’s scent. Her arousal. But then, still dreamlike, it became something more. There was a tension in his loins, a tingling. Pleasant. Stirring. An unfamiliar warmth. Moist. Enticing. There was a subtle friction, rhythmic, pure. A building of glorious pressure.
Then he was awake.
And she was there, atop him, naked, straddling his pelvis, her hips in constant motion.
She giggled. “We are now mated, you and I. You the husband, I the wife. We’ll have a ceremony. There will be no shame. No…”
The realization that she was defiling him came as a rush of anger and revulsion. Hissing deep within his throat, he released his claws, swiping right to left with such ferocity that he nearly detached the girl’s head from her form. Enraged, he allowed the corpse to fall to the grassy ground as he leaped to his feet, screeching, scraping at invisible sores, his entire form itching and burning anew. Diseased. Diseased! The human contact had ruined him, damned him.
Hearing the commotion, someone moved forward from the camp proper,
If Lyuba had pestered Tresset before, she now harassed him tirelessly. Her injuries had been minor, but the rape had been consummated. Tresset had saved her life but not her honor. The young reyaqc had never understood the human fixation with sexual protocol. Sex was the most basic of biological functions and necessary for the continuation of the species, and yet complex rules and traditions clouded the simple issue. As to the Romani, they value virginity in a young woman above all else. Lyuba was now marked. It was unlikely that any amongst the clan would allow a son to marry one so defiled. This, despite the fact that she was a healthy specimen from good stock, and likely capable of producing multiple offspring.
“We could be married, you and I,” she said one night as she found Tresset returning from a romp in the woods.
“You know well, reyaqc do not marry,” he said, turning away from her.
“But, you care for me. I can see it. You may not know it yourself, but you do.”
Tresset remained silent. There was no use arguing this nonsensical point.
“You are alone, your one companion gone from you. I am now tainted in the eyes of my people. But we have each other.”
Tresset turned toward her, anger rising in his veins. “We do not have each other. You at least have a family and I have…myself.”
“Family?” the girl suddenly became furious. “Family? My father was too drunk to prevent the rape, and now he scorns me as if it was I who committed the act. My mother won’t even meet my gaze. Everywhere I go, whispers, smirks. But, you…” She grabbed his arm, cradling it, hugging him even as he fought the urge to rip her face from her head. “You cared enough to come for me. No one else cared, but you. And now that I am unclean, it seems you are the only one to care.”
“I…do not care.”
She gazed at him at length, a peculiar twist to her lips. “Of course you do,” she said finally. “I think it’s time I prove it to you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be in my tent—alone—soon after sunset. Come to me.”
A firm hug, a wane smile, and she moved back toward the camp.
The smell of her sex lingered on the subtle breeze.
* * * *
Tresset did not go to Lyuba’s tent that evening, but as had become his habit, bedded down amidst the trees at the outskirt of the camp. He did not feel comfortable indoors. Even the thin canvas tents incited some small claustrophobia in the often endless nights. And sleep was now deep, near deathlike, since he’d foolishly allowed himself to become so depleted. No more was he so attuned to his surroundings as he’d once been. No longer did the wisp of a scent invade his dreams and wake him to impending danger. True, these traits would return—with time, with multiple infusions—but at this point, on this clear star-filled night, he slept as the dead.
At first it seemed a dream. Lyuba’s scent. Her arousal. But then, still dreamlike, it became something more. There was a tension in his loins, a tingling. Pleasant. Stirring. An unfamiliar warmth. Moist. Enticing. There was a subtle friction, rhythmic, pure. A building of glorious pressure.
Then he was awake.
And she was there, atop him, naked, straddling his pelvis, her hips in constant motion.
She giggled. “We are now mated, you and I. You the husband, I the wife. We’ll have a ceremony. There will be no shame. No…”
The realization that she was defiling him came as a rush of anger and revulsion. Hissing deep within his throat, he released his claws, swiping right to left with such ferocity that he nearly detached the girl’s head from her form. Enraged, he allowed the corpse to fall to the grassy ground as he leaped to his feet, screeching, scraping at invisible sores, his entire form itching and burning anew. Diseased. Diseased! The human contact had ruined him, damned him.
Hearing the commotion, someone moved forward from the camp proper,
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