“It’s an honor I cannot accept,” Molly protested. “I mean, do you want him? Because you can have him—I just can’t—oooh!”
Her last words ended in a gasp of wonder because they had finally reached the crest of the rocky hill, which seemed to be the focal point of the Deep Dweller village. Standing there was Drogor, along with an older male with stooped shoulders and an air of great age and wisdom around him—he must be the clan’s Elder.
But it wasn’t the males waiting for her that drew the gasp of surprise from Molly’s throat. It was the sight that met her eyes when she finally reached the top of the hill.
Earlier she had noted that the village, which seemed to consist of rock-walled dwellings with no roofs on them—was lit by a soft blue-green glow. But now she could see the source of the radiance.
It was a river of blue fire that pulsed and flowed along one side of the village.
No, not fire or lava, Molly thought. It’s Cha’llah—the Cha’llah.
She knew at once she was right. For the fire didn’t look like any other she could ever remember seeing and there didn’t seem to be any heat emanating from it. It didn’t flicker—it throbbed. It looked like pictures Molly had seen about the Aurora Borealis back before she’d lost her sight. That immense, beautiful glow that filled the sky on cold arctic nights had imprinted itself on her memory and she had never forgotten it, even after she went blind.
“Oh,” she whispered, staring at the mesmerizing flow of the Cha’llah. She could see now why the people here worshipped and revered it. Even at a distance, she could feel the power coming from it—could almost hear it—a low thrumming in the air that beat upon the ears, just under the range of audible hearing.
“You see the Cha’llah,” the Elder remarked to Molly. “And the Cha’llah sees into you. I notice you wear a healing crystal upon your forehead.”
“Yes. Yes, I…the Wise One gave it to me.” Molly spoke haltingly. Though a moment ago she’d been upset about the idea of being “claimed” against her will, now she couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from the river of turquoise and cerulean light that pulsed far down below her.
“It glows only dimly. Now that you are here in the Depths to stay, you can perhaps persuade the Cha’llah to fill this vessel to the brim to help in whatever healing it was given to you for in the first place.” The Elder said, nodding sagely.
“Oh, uh right,” Molly mumbled, and then realized what she was saying. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away from the mesmerizing flow of power and looked at the older male standing beside Drogor. “No wait—I’m not here to stay. I mean, I shouldn’t even be here at all!” she told him. “I was stolen—kidnapped! I am not here of my own free will.”
If she was hoping for some reaction, she was considerably disappointed. The Elder simply nodded and Drogor actually had the gall to laugh, his rumbling tones rolling like thunder .
“Of course you are not, Molly from the Stars!” he exclaimed. “You are here at my will—because I brought you. You are here because I want you and no other.”
“But I don’t want you,” Molly exclaimed.
He frowned. “It does not matter—for you are mine now. I am claiming you since that fool of an off-worlder was too stupid to claim you when he had a chance.”
Seeing there was no help in that direction, Molly turned hopefully to the Elder.
“Please, sir,” she said, leaning towards him anxiously. I am not Drogor’s woman—I, uh, belong to another man.”
Though it stuck in her throat to say such things—she was an independent woman after all—she felt this might be the only way to get out of this predicament. Maybe if she could make the Elder understand—
“You belong to Drogor now, Molly from the Stars,” the Elder said gravely. “You do not wear the scent of any other male which means you are ripe for claiming. Drogor has taken you as many have been taken from the Surface clans. You will be his and live out your life among us here in the Depths.”
“No, she won’t!” A loud, masculine shout echoed through the huge cavern, sending a shiver down Molly’s spine. Could it be…? Had Braxx come for her, even after the fight they’d had?
Heart beating hard, she turned and strained her eyes, using her new vision, trying to pick out the big Kindred from the rest of the milling crowd. At last she saw a much larger figure with one dark blue cheek shouldering his way through the assembled people.
It is him! It’s really Braxx, she realized, feeling a surge of relief. Now he’ll claim me and we can go home—or at least back up to the Surface. Everything will be all right—won’t it?
A look at the Elder’s face, which she could see pretty clearly because he was closer, made her not so sure. There was an expression of grave disapproval on his glowing features while Drogor was glowering like a thunder cloud about to break and spew lightning.
“Who are you?” the Elder demanded as Braxx pushed his way up the hill to stand beside her. “And how is it that you interrupt a sacred claiming ceremony, here before all the village?”
“I am Braxx, the rightful mate of this female.” Braxx put a proprietary arm around her, drawing Molly close. “I have come to take her back with me. Drogor cannot claim her because she is mine.”
Molly felt an electrical tingle of excitement rush through her when she heard the big Kindred say she was his, just as she had at the feast. God, she knew she shouldn’t react like that—she was a strong, independent woman who didn’t belong to any man. But she couldn’t help herself—hearing Braxx claim her seemed to touch something deep inside her, some primal, sexual part that wanted nothing more than to belong to the big Kindred forever.
But the Elder was shaking his head and Drogor’s face had gone more red than gold with fury.
“Your scent is not on her,” he pointed out, stabbing a finger at Molly. “You did not claim her when you had the chance.”
“I pledged to her,” Braxx said, speaking to the Elder, not to Drogor. “At the Feast of Pledging in the village of the Surface Dwellers. And the Elder of the Surface Clan declared that she was mine and no other.”
The Elder turned to Drogor, frowning.
“Is this true?”
“Yes, but after pledging to her, he did not claim her!” Drogor protested. “When I came upon her, she had washed all his scent away. And she said she regretted allowing him to pledge to her.”
Molly felt Braxx’s arm around her shoulder stiffen and she wished she could sink into the ground right then and there.
“I wasn’t saying that to you,” she protested, glaring at Drogor. “And I didn’t mean that I didn’t want Braxx. I just meant—”
“It’s all right,” Braxx muttered, pitching his voice low. “I heard it. I found your recorder—it’s how I knew that Drogor had taken you.”
“Braxx…” She turned to him, putting a hand on his arm appealingly. “Please believe me, I would never say anything to hurt you. I was just…expressing my feelings. Not that I feel I don’t want you. I mean, what happened between us at the feast was wonderful…amazing. It’s just—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he cut her off grimly. “It doesn’t matter how you think of me, Molly. I have sworn to protect you with my life and see you safely home. I will keep my promise no matter how you feel or do not feel for me.”
“And that’s the only reason you came for me?” She couldn’t help the twist of disappointment she felt. “Just to keep your promise?”
“No,” Braxx growled. “Damn it! I—”
“You see, Elder—they don’t even want each other!” Drogor exclaimed and Molly realized with a sinking heart that he must have heard their whispered conversation.
“That’s not true,” she retorted quickly. “It’s just…complicated between Braxx and me. And anyway,” she added. “I sure as hell don’t want you, Drogor.”
“But I want you—which is all that is necessary for a claiming,” the Deep Dweller proclaimed.
“You cannot have her! She is
mine and I am taking her back to the surface where she belongs,” Braxx growled.
“I took her! She is staying here with me!” Drogor snarled back.
“I’ll kill you before I let you keep Molly.” Braxx’s voice was quiet but deadly. “I have sworn an oath to protect her and I will not allow you to take her.”
“If it’s a fight to the death you want—” Drogor began but the Elder interrupted him.
“There can be no fighting or killing by the sacred Cha’llah flow—you know that, Drogor,” he said sternly.
“Then how is the matter to be settled?” the Deep Dweller demanded. “How if I am not allowed to kill this bastard who is trying to take my female?”
“She is my female,” Braxx growled.
The Elder held out his hands to forestall further argument.
“We must do as we have always done when two males dispute for the same female,” he said. “The two of you must run The Race.”
“The Race?” Molly frowned. “What’s that?”
“It is when two males see who is fastest and strongest and best able to take care of the female they both want,” the Elder explained. He turned to Braxx and Drogor. “Molly from the Stars will be placed in the claiming cottage on the other side of the Cha’llah flow. The two of you will start at the same time at the Finger of Stone and pass over the Bridge of Safe Distance. Whoever gets to her first will win her.”
A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in Molly’s throat and she had to swallow it back down hastily. I have a Ph.D. I’m well respected in my field. I’ve given lectures in universities all over the world. And now I’m reduced to a prize to be won—a blue ribbon or a trophy cup to be handed out to the fastest runner!
“I agree with your decision, Elder.” Drogor bowed his head. “We will run The Race.”
“Off-worlder, do you agree as well?” the Elder demanded of Braxx. “I warn you—though we do not practice violence near the sacred Cha’llah flow, we will restrain you and throw you into the Pits of Darkness far beyond its radiance if you will not agree to participate.”
Molly looked up at Brax. “What are we going to do?” she asked in a low voice. “I don’t want you thrown into the, uh, Pits of Darkness, Braxx!”
He sighed. “It seems I have no choice. I can fight Drogor for you but I cannot prevail over all the males in this village.” He took her by the shoulders and looked down at her, his eyes glowing fierce and red in her new vision. “I swear to you, Molly, I will win this race and I will mark you as my own at the end of it.”
Molly felt another little shiver run through her—a flutter of nervous desire that made her nipples tight and the place between her legs ache with need.
“All right,” she whispered breathlessly. “Do it, then Braxx. I…I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line.”
“I’ll be there,” he said grimly.
“Good—then it is decided. The Race shall decide who owns Molly from the Stars.” The Elder nodded decisively and then called out. “Healer Llewith, come—you are needed again. Please bring this off-worlder female to the claiming house to await the winner of The Race.”
“With pleasure, Elder.” Llewith stepped forward and was about to take her arm but Molly pulled away.
“Wait!” Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around Braxx’s neck. At first he seemed surprised but then he hugged her back, leaning down to pull her close to his broad, bare chest.
“Molly,” he murmured. “I swear I’ll win you, no matter what I have to do.”
“I know. I—” It was on the tip of her tongue to say “I love you” but Molly swallowed the words before they could come out. Where had they come from, anyway? Despite all they had been through together, she still barely knew the big Kindred. She couldn’t be in love with him on the basis of such a short acquaintance…could she?
“Be careful,” she said instead and then kissed him, pressing her lips to his recklessly—defiantly. Though her opinion didn’t seem to count for anything in this misogynistic world, she wanted there to be no question about which male she preferred.
Again, she seemed to have caught Braxx by surprise but then he kissed her back, taking her mouth with his in a kiss so hot and sweet it took her breath away.
Molly felt herself melting, her nipples rubbing against his hard chest were tingling with desire and her pussy felt wet and hot beneath the grass negu she wore.
At last, though, the cool hand of the healer tugging at her made her break the kiss. Reluctantly, she left the big Kindred’s arms and turned to face Llewith.
“All right—I’m ready.” She looked back at Braxx. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll be there.” There was a low growl of desire in his deep voice that Molly felt right between her thighs. She was weak in the knees with need and fear as she finally turned and allowed the healer to lead her away.
Chapter Sixteen
“So where is this race to be held?” Braxx demanded as the Elder led him and Drogor along a winding road that led through the dimly illuminated village.
“There is a path—we call it the lover’s way—which leads over the sacred Cha’llah and to the claiming house,” the Elder answered. “You will see—it is wide enough for two to run…if you are careful.” He shot a meaningful look at Drogor who was frowning.
The road was taking them along the bank of the Cha’llah flow which looked like a strange kind of river to Braxx. A river with streams of blue and turquoise and green and even some purple which coursed and throbbed along a channel of solid rock. Its glow illuminated the entire village, which was built on its banks, though not too close, Braxx saw.
“There!” They had walked a little way past the village and the Elder was pointing with one gnarled finger at something on the far banks of the Cha’llah river. “There is the Claiming Cottage, where new couples go to spend their first night together.”
Like all the other buildings in the village, it was a simple structure which consisted of four stone walls with no roof. Apparently none was necessary since no precipitation ever fell under the ground, Braxx thought. There were windows in the rough stone walls and he saw Molly standing at one, looking out at him. She waved tentatively and he waved back.
She looked so close, he thought—just across the river of Cha’llah which was perhaps as broad as an Earth soccer field was wide. It didn’t look that deep either, although he knew distances could be deceiving when looking through water. Still, the Cha’llah wasn’t really water. It was pure, undiluted energy. What would it do to him if he touched it?
From somewhere in his memory he seemed to hear someone—the Wise One—whispering a warning. Beware the Cha’llah, she had said. But why? For some reason, he couldn’t remember. He only knew that the blue and green glow of it was mesmerizing…enchanting…
Suddenly a hard hand was on his arm.
“Stop off-worlder! Or do you wish to forfeit The Race before we even begin it?”
It was Drogor, staring at him as though he had gone mad. Braxx realized he had veered off the road and begun walking down to the river’s edge.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking off the other male’s hand. “I was simply looking at the Cha’llah.”
“You were doing more than looking, you were answering its call,” the Elder said gravely. “It is one we of the Depths learn early to ignore. But those from the Surface find it much harder to do so, especially because their eyes are much too sensitive and see too much.”
“And what if I did go into the Cha’llah?” Braxx demanded. “Does it burn like fire or drown like water?”
“It can do both…or neither,” the Elder said mysteriously. “The will of the Cha’llah is ever changing, ever flowing. It…changes things. Distorts them. We especially do not allow females heavy with young to go anywhere near it. The babes within them come out…changed in unknowable ways if they do.”
“Certain among us—myself included—are brave enough to go to the edge in order
to recharge the crystals and Cha’llah stones.” Drogor puffed his chest up with pride. “But even we use special instruments. We do not touch the raw flow of the living Cha’llah. It is not safe.”
“I see.” Braxx nodded shortly. “Well, show me to the beginning of the path we must run during this race.”
“This way.” The Elder led them back to the road which curved away from the river of Cha’llah and towards a huge natural stalactite which poked up from the ground straight towards the unseen cavern ceiling many feet above. “This is the Finger of Stone,” he explained to Braxx. “And there is the path you must run.”
He pointed to a smooth, level road which led from the base of the stalactite and then climbed abruptly up and over a natural stone bridge which rose more than a hundred feet as it crossed over the luminescent flow of the Cha’llah and descended again to the other side until it led to the front door of the claiming house.
Braxx lifted his head, allowing his eyes to trace the graceful stone curve which passed over the Cha’llah. It must be what the Elder had called “the Bridge of Safe Distance.” But why did it need to be so high above the flow?
“Why so high?” he asked, pointing to the bridge.
“Do you fear heights, off-worlder?” Drogor sneered.
“No,” Braxx said mildly. “I simply wondered why the bridge is so far from the ground.”
“It has to do with the Cha’llah,” the Elder told him. “Remember I told you that we do not allow females heavy with young to approach it? And some who leave the claiming cottage are already quickening with their mate’s seed.”
Braxx thought of something else which put him on edge.
“So then, am I expected to, ahem, claim Molly at once, the minute I get to her?”
Claiming her would mean bonding her to him permanently and though he would have gladly tied his life to hers, he wasn’t sure the curvy anthropologist was ready for that, especially since they’d known each other such a short time.
“You wish you might get to her first,” Drogor snapped. “When it is I who will be walking in the door of the cottage a few moments from now.”