Page 22 of Guarded By the Vodnik

Abruptly and without warning, Vodyan smiled.

I gasped as his face stretched in a brief smile, his eyes crinkling, his lips widening enough to reveal the sharp tips of even, white teeth. Just as quickly as it appeared, the smile vanished. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, it was gone.

But the lines of his face were softer and kinder now. He definitely didn’t look as hostile as that first day, and it made me slump in relief.

“Maybe not the porn,” he said. “I’ve had enough of it for a lifetime.”

“Well, now I want to ask you why, which sucks, because you don’t want to talk about it,” I said with a playful grin that was a bit hesitant.

I still worried he would kick me out.

But Vodyan only shrugged, the scale-covered muscles in his shoulders rippling. “The client who stayed here before you played it very loudly. I developed an intense dislike.”

“Ah,” I nodded, shuffling a bit closer until I could reach into the pool and dip my fingers in the water. It wasn’t quite like touching, but it felt a bit similar. That pool was so filled with his body, it almost seemed like the water was an organic part of him.

He watched my fingers as they skimmed the surface. The water was surprisingly cool, but not icy cold.

“So, where is he now? Why doesn’t he use this place anymore?” I asked, playing with the water.

It quieted some of my longing, but at the same time, it sharpened it into an even greater need. This was barely enough to fill the yawning craving for touch that gaped inside my chest.

“He’s dead,” Vodyan said without inflection, like it didn’t matter one way or another. When I looked up, startled, he shook his head. “He didn’t die in my care, but on land. This place is completely safe. You have nothing to worry about.”

Water splashed as one of his tentacles shot out with a jerky, compulsive motion. It almost brushed my fingers—I felt a ghost of a touch as the air he stirred whispered across my wet knuckles—and dipped back under the water.

I pretended I hadn’t noticed, and Vodyan didn’t comment on it, either.

“How long did it stand empty?” I asked, dipping my entire palm underwater.

Vodyan released a sharp breath, and I looked up. The softness leached out of his face, replaced by that hard look from the day we met. He didn’t look at me, his eyes focused on where my wrist dipped under the surface.

Slowly, as if he was a wild animal I didn’t want to startle, I pulled my hand out and wiped it on my leggings. The air felt suddenly heavy and charged, and I was anxious I’d done something wrong.

Vodyan looked up and slowly leaned back against the edge of the pool, relaxing.

“Eight years. But the MSA poured a ton of money into building it, and it’s useful in extreme cases, so we maintained it. The food was replaced when it expired. Client quarters were equipped with clothes and things for both genders to anticipate situations like yours, when someone had to be placed here without preparation. It’s completely self-sufficient energetically. The generator uses fresh water, just like your suit.”

I blinked a few times. This was probably the longest utterance he’d made in my company, and I was tempted to pump my fist in triumph. I finally got the big vodnik loner to talk.

Encouraged by that success, I asked the question that had been on my mind since the first day.

“Okay. You don’t have to answer the next one, just for the record. But can you tell me what was your deal with that lamia? Did you really cut off their tail?”

Water splashed as Vodyan shifted a bit, leaning his head back until he gazed at the ceiling. That position revealed the underside of his long, muscular throat, lighter in color where the delicate voice sack lay against his scaly skin. I pressed my lips together and used that moment to touch the water again. Just a bit. I barely grazed it with my fingertips.

“I did,” Vodyan said at length. “Just a small piece. He tried to steal a shipment of shanta I guarded. Mutilation is the customary punishment, and it can be delivered by any shanta handler as long as they are able. I was able.”

His lips tipped up in a small, cruel smirk. My fingers spasmed, partly with attraction, partly—apprehension. He heard the faint splash I made and straightened. His eyes narrowed on where I stroked the water.

“Is this all right?” I blurted.

He nodded once but didn’t lie back like he did before. His eyes fixated on my hand as I played. Something in my belly tightened, and I had to swallow with effort before I spoke again.

“So anyone can deliver the punishment? You don’t need a trial?”

He snorted, a tentacle jerking out until it almost touched my hand. I stilled for a moment before I dipped my fingers a bit deeper in, just to the first knuckle. Heat warmed my belly. It felt intimate. This was his space, and since I didn’t see furniture in the room, I suspected he slept in the pool.

I gulped, wondering if what I was doing was akin to playing with the sheets on somebody’s bed. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like such a good idea to keep going, but I didn’t want to stop. I needed at least a substitution of touch.

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