Текст книги "Surviving Skarr"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Chapter Five

SKARR

This day does not allow me to properly show off my talents. Frustrating.

We do not get to pleasure the women when they wake up. We are told we must wait for permission. Bah.

First, we’re told no one is to fight despite the females getting khuis. I want to go hunt with the others to demonstrate my prowess, but I’rec insists I help him around camp, and he watches me closely. Perhaps I have been pretending a little too hard at being feeble in the cold. I go with him to retrieve supplies from the main encampment, all so I can get a look at things.

It’s not that I don’t trust the male…well, actually I don’t.

He’s not exactly mesakkah, either. His coloring seemed off to me but I dismissed it as my head full of chemicals. But his horns are different and his chin and arms are hairy. He does not have the plating that the mesakkah do, either, and I’m pretty sure I see his color ripple when he is surprised.

So that is something I need to keep an eye on.

The village is as crude as I feared, with stone huts and leather roofs. The encampment is on a hostile-looking beach, the waters crusted with icebergs. Everywhere, it is cold. It is not just here in the mountains, but the shore, too. I have a khui now thanks to I’rec, but my limbs stiffen abominably when I ride atop the drakoni’s back and the wind bites into my scales.

No more dragon rides for me.

When we return, no one seems to pay attention to the fact that we have brought food and clothing. No gratitude is lauded upon us. We are not adored by the females for bringing things. They expect it. Hmph. And now I have wasted all day at I’rec’s side instead of picking out my prospective female. Already I see the praxiian is talking to a female with darker skin, and I narrow my eyes at him, my competitive streak prickling.

I have to pick out the best female before they are all taken, or before this “resonance” strikes. I need to remind it that I am the best, and therefore I need the best female. If I’rec says we can influence it, I need to be around my chosen female constantly, to lurk nearby so my chest can call to her.

Unfortunately I have to be near the fire first, to unthaw my limbs.

The other splice is there, seated near the warmth. His furry face is a mockery of the refined human features, and he is clearly the ugliest creature here. Even the moden looks normal, for a moden. He just looks…well, like a lot of random bits were thrown together and made into a gladiator. I’m always jarred by the sight of the splices. There’s always something vaguely wrong about them. Still, they are good warriors. I move opposite the fire and immediately the last remaining female by the flame gets up and leaves. I grunt with amusement.

“They are not excited about resonance,” the splice says, a smirk on his face. “They have been avoiding me all day.”

They have? Good. I had worried that the males would be having to fend off the pleasure-hungry females at all times and I would return to find them all resonating to one another. I want to be the first, and it sounds like there is still opportunity for it. “Do all have their khui?”

“Most. Kyth needs a new one. He killed his.”

“Kyth?”

“Moden.”

“Ah.” They are rather large. Even the moden here is a splice and the breadth of him is still twice as large as the human male. I eye the splice. “You?”

He taps his chest. “Silence.”

I nod. “Anyone at all?”

“Not yet. Perhaps the resonance is waiting for something.” He shrugs. “They say it is best that way, to give the females time to accustom themselves to the idea. I say, best for who?”

I step closer to the fire, my hands now warm, and turn sideways so my heavy tail can benefit from the heat of the flame. As I do so, I think. I eye the splice. “You are…Chath?”

“Chalath,” he corrects. “Skarr, yes?” He studies me. “Ssethri and mesakkah?”

I nod. It’s a mix that allows me to excel…unless the entire keffing planet is ice, that is. “Did you spar with anyone today, Chalath?”

He shakes his head. “I hunted some, but we have been told over and over not to spar. Not to battle one another. That it is not wanted here.”

“And we have been told it is good that the females do not resonate yet, yes?” I stroke my chin, the puzzle pieces of the day teasing themselves together. “What if the two are tied? What if a good, fierce battle to show our skills will cause us to resonate?”

Chalath perks, his triangular ears flicking. “What’s that now?”

“I am simply thinking.” I prowl around the fire, circling to make sure that the bossy human female Flor and her strange not-mesakkah mate are not around, since they seem to be in charge. “How will the females’ khuis know if we are excellent warriors if we do not display our skills?”

He frowns suspiciously. “You have a point. They told us not to battle one another, and we have not. And at the same time, no one has resonated.”

“Exactly my thought. If the two are connected, perhaps they are telling us to wait because they want what is best for the females…but I am interested in what is best for Skarr. Just as you are wanting what is best for Chalath, mm?”

The splice gets to his feet and crosses his arms. “I want what is best for my female, too—”

“Hsst!” I cut him off before he can argue more. “You think this is not good for the females? Were we not told resonance is good? That we will all enjoy it? Why would we deprive them of such a thing?”

“You…may have a point.”

“I know I do.” I tap the side of my temple viciously. “They think they can outsmart me, but I am smart. I am clever. I hear what they are not saying to me, and I tell you this. I want a female of my own. I want this resonance.” I cut a hand through the air. “I do not want to wait until it is right for them. I want it to be right for me.”

Chalath’s newly blue eyes flare with excitement. “And you think if we spar this will be the answer?”

I spread my arms wide. “How else do you show a female you are the strongest? The best? By sitting here by the fire with your claw up your keffing rear?”

His expression darkens and I can see his jaw clench with anger. Good.

I pound my chest again. “Fight me. Let us test our new khuis that should help with healing. Let our blood heat with battle. Let us show these females what strong, fierce mates we will make.” I give him a determined look. “They will all resonate to us.”

Chalath grins with excitement, showing wickedly sharp teeth. “Pick the place, then. Let us fight.”

I cast a look around the encampment, trying to determine the best place to have our battle. Not near the fire– much as I enjoy its warmth, I have suffered burns in the past—I think—and it is a painful recovery. I would prefer to avoid that. Too far away from the camp, though, and no one will get to see our display. As I watch, two females start to set up another one of the strange tents a short distance away. There is a clear spot next to them, large enough that we can brawl.

And both nosy Flor and her mate are on the very far side of the encampment. Good.

A light snow is falling, and the mossy carpet has been covered with a thin layer of white powder. I gesture for Chalath to follow me and we move near the females. The two women give us uneasy looks but continue with their task, ignoring us.

They will not ignore us for long. I drag the leather heel of my new boot on the ground, marking a circle. “We will fight inside this circle,” I whisper to Chalath. “Whoever steps out of the circle first loses, or whoever draws first blood. Nothing lethal—just enough to display to the females our skills.”

He nods slowly. “I like this. You are wise.”

“I know.” I step inside the circle and pull my new heavy tunic off. It is warm and feels good against my scales, but it is also bulky and lined with fur and will not help in battle. I will need quick movements, fast movements, because splices are deadly and their reflexes are enhanced. I am a splice, too, but Chalath could have abilities I am unaware of because he could be any mixture of things. Best to be cautious at first.

Not that I need caution. I will win.

He pulls off his tunic, casting it at the feet of one of the women. They look over at us, and one female gives us a puzzled look. “You guys feverish or something?”

“Or something,” Chalath calls out, and then raises his fists to his chest, assuming a protective stance. He flicks a finger at me, indicating I should come at him.

With a feral snarl, I lunge.

The females scream, scrambling away as Chalath and I begin to spar. Immediately I am comfortable once more. This is what I am born to do. I grapple his arms, ignoring his claws as they dig into my scales. I can see the same crazy excitement in Chalath’s gaze as I feel—for the first time in days I feel alive. He shoves his weight at me, forcing me backward, and I swerve, ducking as he rakes his claws through the air. Within a few quick moves, I know what kind of fighter he is. He is all brute force, not sly intelligence or dexterity.

Unfortunately for him, I am all three.

I kick at him, turning and lashing him with my tail when he tries to roll away. I turn, keeping the upper hand, and lunge at him, trying to grapple. Back and forth we go, swiping at each other and circling, and I land a fist in his face when he tries to duck my swinging tail. He grunts and shakes it off, then tackles me and flings me to the ground.

“Stop it!” a female shrieks. “Where are Flor and I’rec? They’re fighting! Someone make them stop! Kyth! Stop them!”

The big moden splice just grunts, standing nearby to watch, and I know he will not stop us. He might want to fight me next, and I welcome the challenge. Grinning, I snap my teeth at Chalath and try to knock him over even as he seeks to sink his claws into my flesh. They bounce off my scales harmlessly and he growls in frustration.

Then I am being grabbed and dragged backward, even as Chalath has a stranger’s arm locked around his neck. It is I’rec, a look of fury on his face as he pulls Chalath away from me. I struggle to break free from my new attacker, and when both my arms are quickly pinned, I make the only move left to me—I stomp at Chalath’s face, my boot connecting with his nose.

Blood sprays and I laugh with delight. I have won. “Good match,” I call out as we are dragged to separate ends of the camp.

“Idiot,” the praxiian—Valmir—growls in my ear. “Rules are made to be followed.”

Bah. I ignore him. I shake off his grasp and fling my arms in the air, reveling in the looks of shock the females send my way and the sour looks the males do. They are just jealous they did not think of it first. My blood is roaring in my ears, and I feel good.

No, I feel keffing fantastic. I beat a fist over my heart, roaring with pride, and storm over to the fire so all can look upon my glory.

“Oh fuck off,” one woman mutters.

I raise both hands in the air again, stalking around the fire and letting all of them admire Skarr, he who has won the first sparring match here on this dismal planet.

Someone throws a handful of snow at my back. “Keep it down,” calls another female. “You’re giving me a headache!”

Slowly, I lower my arms and try not to show my frown to them. I…do not understand.

They should either love me or fear me. Both reactions are to be expected when faced with a triumphant, dangerous gladiator. They are giving me neither reaction. They are not begging to be pleasured.

Do…do they not know how to appropriately judge a battle?

I thump my chest again and then sit on a rock near the fire, my back stiff and my tail moving back and forth with agitation. I wait.

If my theory is correct, I shall resonate. I eye everyone within range of the fire’s light. The blonde female (who ignores me), Valmir (who gives me a look of disgust), and Chalath (irritated that I won, no doubt). Another two females hurry away, and another makes eye contact with me and bursts into tears.

Only one remains by the fire, the bland female with unremarkable features. She pokes at the flames with a long, skinny bone, then glances over at me with narrowed eyes.

“Ha!” I cry, beating my chest again. My tail sways back and forth, and I thump a fist over my heart once more. I do not need the adoration of that female to celebrate my win.

She curls her lip in my direction, turning back to the fire and poking at it with the stick once more. She is dismissing me. Clearly she missed the fight where I showed my strength.

I give my chest another proud thump, pacing back and forth, and then I feel it. There is a tickle in my chest. I pause and wait, curious. It grows stronger, the tickle turning into a vibration. A humming.

A song.

Yes.

I have won. I have made this parasite, this khui, realize that I am the strongest of males, and so I should get the best of the females. I thump my chest again, triumphant, and the song only grows stronger. “You see?” I cry. “I resonate! I am the greatest of gladiators! My khui all but demands that I claim a female!”

“Oh brother,” someone mutters, and I turn.

It is the female—the bland one. She makes a face at the fire, rolling her eyes, and I am not certain if that is directed at me or at something else. Surely she is impressed, just a little? I am the most clever of males to have figured out how to drive resonance. I am the total package—strength and cunning. She should be in awe.

She pauses, and then frowns. Her hand goes to her chest.

Then, I hear her song, too. She is humming with resonance.

She is humming with resonance to me. The realization sends a tickle to my groin and another charge of elation through me.

The human female looks down at her chest. She puts a hand to her heart as if not truly believing the song is coming from her. It only grows stronger, and the tickle in my cock turns into the urge to extrude and thrust. If I grab the female now…

But she makes another strange face, rubbing her chest. “Oh fuck no.”

And she turns and leaves.

Chapter Six

SKARR

We just resonated.

The bland female whose features I cannot recall just resonated to me, the greatest of warriors. There must be something special about her if my khui is selecting her to be my mate, some sort of hidden talent or intelligence that makes her worthy of pairing with me to create incredible offspring.

So why is she leaving? She should be fawning at my feet, eager for my cocks to give her my seed.

I give my chest another thump, waiting for her to return.

Everyone just stares at me with astonishment. Are they stunned that I am the first to resonate? Are the other males going to follow suit and attack each other to get their blood roaring in their veins? But no, everyone only stares in stunned silence.

“Was that…” Kyth, the big moden, finally asks.

“Yes.” I give him a look of triumph, standing straighter. “I have claimed the best of females for my own.” I need to take another good look at her. Perhaps I did not notice her physical attributes before because she was quiet. My khui has noticed something, and that is all that matters.

“I’m not certain she wishes to be yours, brother,” he points out, gazing off into the distance where the female retreated. “She looks like she’s running.”

I frown. “Nonsense. She is beside herself with delight.”

Kyth’s wide mouth draws up in a smile. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He knows nothing. Moden are not bred for their intelligence, after all. They are spliced for their sheer size and endless stamina. He does not know what he is talking about. I scan the encampment, looking for my female, but I have to admit that I have no idea what she looks like. All I recall is that she had hair and eyes, like the other females…and that she must be the best. Frowning to myself, I stride forward, heading for the females that linger on the edge of camp. I will find her and claim her, and all will be well.

Chalath steps forward, lifting his chin at me. “I did not resonate. Fight me again.”

“You did not resonate because you did not impress any of the females,” I point out, continuing forward. “I clearly did.”

“Exactly. So you should fight me again.” He wipes blood from his nose. “I will win this time.”

I snort. Highly unlikely.

Just then, Flor and her mate come running forward. “What the fuck?” Flor cries. “Someone said you guys were fighting? What’s going on? And why is he bleeding?”

“All is well,” I reassure the frantic female, trying not to sound too smug. “I incited violence to ensure resonance.”

Her eyes go wide. “What the fuck?”

“We are gladiators,” I tell her, as if this is not obvious. I raise a bicep and flex it just in case she wishes to admire it. “You said a khui will select the best of males to mate with the best of females. What better way to show a khui that I am the best than to show off my fighting prowess?”

The female stares at me. She turns to her mate and shakes her head. “You handle this.”

“I do not know what there is to handle, my F’lor.” I’rec rubs a hand down his face and scowls at me. “You know this is not how resonance works, yes?”

“It seems to work for me. My hot blood has shown it what a fierce warrior I am. That I am the best.”

“And the most modest,” the female snarks. Then, she looks around the camp. “Okay, I’rec, you handle Skarr here and I’ll go after Vivian.”

I pause, rubbing my thrumming chest. “Who is Vivian?”

The female stares at me. “Your mate, dummy.”

“Ah. She ran off.” I continue to rub my chest, and then wonder if I should rub lower, because parts of my anatomy are definitely aching. I pause. “Should I go find her? Pleasure her? Surely now she will want it, and then I will win the breeding competition.” Already I have a leg up on the others.

The female—F’lor—shakes her head. “You wait here with I’rec. I’ll go find her and talk to her.”

“But I am the one that resonated,” I point out. “I should find her in case she wishes to mount me.”

I’rec snorts, casting a look over at his mate.

F’lor just shakes her head. “Something tells me that isn’t going to be a problem, buddy.”

She steps forward, only for her mate to tug her arm, stopping her. I’rec shakes his head. “No, my mate. He is the one that resonated. Let him go and speak to her. I know you want to help, but you cannot help this.”

“I can talk to her—”

“You have talked,” he says gently, pulling her close to him. “She knows how resonance works, yes? Let them work it out between them. You would only be in the way.”

They share a secret look and she leans in close to him, whispering. “Something tells me their resonance isn’t going to work out as easily as ours.”

“I don’t think anything is going to be easy with that one,” he says, and grins over at me. “Good luck, my friend. You will need it.”

Friend? Friend? Is that like…an ally? A teammate? But needing a second person in a battle implies I am weak. I draw myself up to my full height, glaring at the amused male and his mate. “I do not need friends,” I inform him. “I am strong enough on my own. I am the best, the fiercest.”

“That poor woman,” is all F’lor says.

Chapter Seven

VIVIAN

If I’m keeping a tally of pluses and minuses for this day, I’m afraid we’re veering into the negative.

It started out good. I got shoes and warm clothes. Plus and plus. I worried nothing would fit because I can’t remember what size I am. I can’t even remember what my face looks like. I just know I’m tall and leggy and my hair is this muddy blondish-brown and hangs past my shoulders. I asked Flor for a ponytail holder of some kind and she handed me a pointed bone, so I jabbed it into my bun, Flintstones-style. The shoes are hand-stitched with lots of warm fur on the inside, and the tunic has stitching that goes up the front so it can be fitted to the person wearing it. Everything fits and I feel less like a rejected clone and more like a human being.

Lunch was hot and tasty and I didn’t even have to watch anyone butcher any animals to make it. Another plus.

I remembered camping and how to make fire. I’m useful.

These are all pluses, and it gives me a feeling of relief to be able to sit by the warmth of the fire and continually poke it to keep the embers bright. I’m doing something instead of just crying, at least. Maybe this will jog more memories for me and I’ll remember things like where I live and my name.

Even just a syllable of a name would be nice.

Flor tells us that we’re going to be heading out tomorrow for her home. It’s on a beach, where the cliffs keep the worst of the winds off of them and the temperature is slightly more moderate than here in the mountains. A more moderate temperature sounds like another plus to me. I’m even looking forward to meeting the others stranded here, because I’m hoping that more conversations will spark more memories. I’m looking forward to warm housing too, of course, but right now, the memories are bothering me more than the weather.

But then the half-lizard guy, Skarr, sits next to me and the day rapidly starts to slide into the minus column.

He beats his chest like some sort of Tarzan wannabe and bellows at the top of his lungs. He tells everyone how amazing he is for picking a fight with another guy and winning. He struts through camp like some sort of green peacock and I decide that living with someone like Skarr for the rest of my days is going to be a checkmark firmly in the minus column. Even Flor doesn’t like the guy. I see the annoyed looks she keeps shooting in his direction, like she wishes he would shut the fuck up. I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking that.

Skarr saunters next to me by the fire, and it takes everything I have not to get up and leave. He’s obnoxious, but even obnoxious guys deserve to get warm. Given that he’s got scales, he’s probably part lizard. If he’s cold-blooded, it’s going to be rough here for him. I should feel sorry for him. When I look up, he flexes and gives me a triumphant look.

Ugh. So much for feeling sorry for the guy. I hope he gets an icicle up his tush to fix that attitude.

But then something alarming happens.

My chest quivers. At first I think I’m shivering again. That I’ve caught a cold. But then the quivering gets louder, like someone’s starting up a lawnmower nearby. I look around for the source of the sound, and it takes a moment before it dawns on me—the reason why it’s so loud is because I’m the one that’s making the sound.

I’m vibrating.

Resonating.

Frowning, I press my hand to my breasts, which feel like they’re being motorboated by my internal organs. I look up—and see the lizard guy’s triumphant expression.

He’s resonating, too.

Oh hell no. That’s for me? He’s supposed to be mine?

There’s an expression about dating and plenty of fish in the sea, but I wonder if there’s also an expression for throwing back the catch you don’t want. Because I most definitely do not want this absolutely obnoxious, pompous jackass.

He smirks at me and thumps his chest again, the gesture one of triumph.

Yeah, no.

I get to my feet and leave. I imagine my minus column just filling with endless negatives, one after the other. Nightmare. This is a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I see a sympathetic look on Sabrina’s face, but I avoid her. I don’t want to hear her say sweet things about how it’ll all work out for the best. Another woman looks miserable as I stagger past, as if she’s realizing that we can just as quickly be fucked over by this “resonance” thing as we can be rewarded. I don’t want to talk to her, either. I don’t want to be comforted by anyone.

I just want to get away.

To run. To escape this hellish nightmare I’ve woken up to and never look back.

I hug my fur-trimmed tunic tighter to my body and keep walking. We’re in a valley—it’s apparently where all the clones were dumped—with high cliffs nearby. I avoid climbing out of the valley bowl, sticking near the walls and walking in the shadows of the rocky cliffs. I don’t know if I’m much of a climber.

I don’t know anything.

Well, I do know one thing—the lizard guy sucks.

What the fuck, khui? What the everloving fuck? I thought we were friends. If not friends, that at least we had a common goal—survival. But that guy is the worst. Maybe my khui is unhinged. Maybe it’s faulty and it’ll just resonate to anyone and anything. There has to be a logical explanation as to why it would pick a bully for me right away. What the hell does that say about me and who I was?

My thoughts spiral as I continue walking. The valley walls ease away, and I see a cluster of trees on the horizon, swaying on the breeze. The ground slopes, the purple and white-capped mountains ubiquitous in the background, a constant reminder that this isn’t home, because home was…

I pause, waiting for the thought to finish itself.

It never does.

With a growl of frustration, I continue on, arms hugged to my chest. I concentrate on those words, trying to force my mind to finish. Because home was…what? Home was…? Home was….??? I chant this mantra, trying on different things as I walk and walk.

Home was…cold? But not this cold?

Home was…hot? The desert?

Home was…the ocean?

Nothing fits quite right.

The crunch of footsteps in the snow tell me that someone has followed me. I turn my head—and recoil when I see it’s the lizard guy. He’s followed me out here. I face forward again, scowling. “Ugh. What do you want?”

There’s a pause, as if he didn’t expect that kind of greeting. “I wanted to look at my female.”

“I’m not yours,” I point out. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Of course you do not.”

His scoffing tone makes me pause. Is this guy reasonable after all?

“It would take more than a paltry sparring session for me to be permanently awarded a female body-slave.”

Nope.

So much for that hope. With a disgusted look in his direction, I decide to keep walking.

He races in front of me. “Wait. Stop.”

I stop, glaring at him.

“All I want to do is look at you.” He raises his hands in the air. “Do you not wish the same of me?”

His words make me pause. I have to admit that I haven’t done more than glance at him since we arrived, because I’ve been lost in my own headspace, fretting over my lack of memories. Maybe studying him will show me what this khui of mine finds so appealing. Even now, just standing close to him, it’s revving like an engine, purring up a storm and making my entire body quiver. He rubs his chest and it’s only through the greatest of efforts that I don’t mimic the action automatically. “Fine. Look at me, but that’s all.”

He grins, showing a flash of pointed teeth that curve slightly inward. “Unless you wanted to mount me, that is.”

“I can assure you, nothing is further from my mind.”

He looks abashed at my heated retort. “Just looking, then,” he finally says, and then spreads his arms. “You can look at me as well.”

“Quit posturing and just let me look,” I tell him, impatient. Good lord, he poses more than a wrestler trying to excite the crowd.

“I posture because I am excited,” he says, all grinning. “I knew I was the best and this just proves it, our resonance.”

“Are you going to keep talking or will you be quiet so I can look at you?”

“I will be quiet.” He puts his hands up and then pauses. “Can you not look and talk at the same time?”

Oh, I can, but he’s annoying me with his incessant questions and I’m too busy trying to be angry and frustrated at the world. “Does it matter? I’ve asked you nicely. Or do my feelings not matter at all?”

I know I’m being a little nasty to him. I’m just so damn frustrated and he’s so darn unlikeable. I want to sink down into the snow and weep that this guy and this icy snowball of a planet are somehow my future. Which deity in the heavens did I piss off for this to happen?

“I am Skarr.” He eyes me. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t say, and you didn’t ask.” I don’t point out that I don’t know my real name. That my mind is a blank. It feels like a dirty shameful secret that I need to keep hidden. Like I’m flawed or unworthy.

He doesn’t look abashed this time, just shrugs at me. “I am asking now.”

“Vivi,” I say resentfully. “Everyone’s calling me Vivi.”

His mouth presses, his jaw flexing as if he’s tasting the word silently. “Vivi. I like it.”

As if he gets an opinion. As if I’d change it if he didn’t. “Can I look now?”

“I am not stopping you.” He raises his arms again, in a wide, expansive gesture, and then remembers that I didn’t like him posing. He lowers them again, hesitating, and then raises them once more as if deciding that he doesn’t care. It makes him flap his arms back and forth like a bird, and I snort with amusement at the sight.

His name is Skarr. It sounds very pro-wrestler-y but where those guys seemed like all glitz and theater and kayfabe (seriously how is it I know so much about pro-wrestling and not my own name? My head sucks), there’s a hint of menace to Skarr. Like he’d bodyslam you and then bite your face off just because.

Maybe it’s the posture. His build. Because he’s smiling, but there’s still an air of menace to him. It’s in the way he holds himself, like even now he can’t relax. Like a coiled serpent, waiting to strike. He stands at least a foot taller than me, making me feel uncomfortably fragile near him, and I get the vague impression that this doesn’t happen. That I’m a tall woman and used to looming over men.

Maybe it’s the scales. He’s covered in green scales all over…at least I assume they’re scales. Everywhere I can see a bit of exposed skin, he’s a pale jade, with a striated scale pattern not unlike a snake. He’s wearing super heavy layers of furs, but his tail is exposed to the cold, and it reminds me of nothing so much as an alligator’s tail. It’s thick and heavy and tapers to a point that brushes against the snow. Even now, it twitches, as if he wants to lash it back and forth in agitation.

Maybe it’s his face. He’s handsome enough, I suppose. His bone structure is prominent, his features regular. His jaw is square, his nose prominent and scaled heavily like his brow, his eyes deeply set. As if to offset all this hardness and the harsh angularity of his face, his hair is downy, almost baby-soft in its fineness. It hangs close to his jaw like some sort of fairy tale prince, all rippling, shining tousled waves. That’s not the problem, though. It’s his gaze. His eyes are blue like everyone else, but his pupils—a slightly darker shade of blue than the rest of his eye—are vertical. They’re a slit of darkness amongst the sea of blue and give off a menacing vibe. I don’t like it.