Page 24 of Challenged

“Then I will use theshowers.”

Despite the ill feeling inspired by the Mercenia hut, it might be a more pleasant experience than the stream.

I grab my pack and head inside, descending once more into the lower level of the hut. As I emerge into the long room that connects to all the others, my eyes track to thepodroom, ever drawn there by the strangeness inside. I think of my Angie,sleeping in one of the bedrooms. I hope she has pleasant dreams, that she does not dream of cold confinement and unending sleep.

I hope soon her dreams will be shared with me. That way, I can be sure they are full of pleasant things. That no bad memories haunt her.

I drop my pack to the floor as soon as I enter the bathing room, tugging my top off and my leathers down. I do not think the itching substance got on my clothes, but I will not wear them again all the same. There is a bowl of geberren root on one of the benches beside some drying pelts. The human soap itches at raskarran noses - a sharp, unpleasant smell to it that overpowers the floral notes that the human females enjoy - so I am grateful to whoever thought to place some of the root down here. I grab a handful and step into the washing area, humming low in my throat to distract myself from the increasingly terrible itching. The less I scratch it, the better, but it is proving an intense battle of will to resist.

There is a spot on the wall at about the height Lorna indicated. I go to it now, applying a light pressure with my finger. The water starts to fall, cold at first, but quickly turning warm. I step beneath it, turning my face up to the spray.

And wonder immediately why any of us have bothered using the stream when this has been beneath our feet all this time. Yes, the Mercenia hut has a way of shivering over raskarran skin, but for this indulgence? Worth enduring a hundred times over. For a long moment, I just let the hot water rain down on me, relaxing the muscles in my shoulders, my back. Then the itching breaks through my pleasure and I recall the reason I am here. Start lathering up the geberren root. Begin working it into my arms.

The water that sluices off my skin is a dull brown colour - the foam of the root combined with the ichor on my skin. As soon as it rinses away, the itching eases some, and I feel no small senseof relief. My skin is irritated, brown in places, and slightly puffy, but I agree with Shemza’s assessment. A little djenti berry tonic will probably see it healed overnight.

Satisfied, I turn my attention to the rest of my body, lathering up more geberren root and working it into my skin. I am enjoying the warm water so much, I do not notice that I am not alone until my companion is right next to me.

Tugging on my tail.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Angie

The tail is supposed to come off in my hands.

It doesn’t come off in my hands.

Instead, the guy yelps, spins round. He moves so fast I barely have time to register that he’s grabbed me before I’m pinned up against the wall, the hot water showering down on me, soaking my hair and my clothes right through. My back jars against the wall, a flare of pain moving through me, but the pressure on my shoulder releases almost immediately, a large, heavy hand withdrawing. I look up, meet wild yellow eyes as they grow wide with surprise.

I expect him to run, to grab for a towel and flee before the paint starts dripping off his body. Instead, he takes a small step back, the spray of the shower still hitting his broad chest as he raises his hands, holding them palm out towards me in a gesture of submission. I should be looking at his face, trying to get a read on his intentions. I’m in a very compromising position rightnow, alone in a shower with a naked guy. But my eyes are fixed on the water bouncing off his toned pecs.

And the green that is very much not washing away.

Panic flares in my gut. Without thinking about the consequences, I pounce, pressing my hands to his skin, rubbing at it. My fingers glide through the remains of the soapy lather, his skin warm and smooth beneath them. But no amount of scrubbing makes any bit of the green shift.

I look up. Find him looking down at me with a brow arched in a very human kind of way. The lighting isn’t great in here, but it’s better than the constantly shifting light of the pod room. I search his face for seams, edges to the prosthetics he must be wearing. The too broad nose, the too heavy brow. The features they’ve enhanced to make him look not quite human.

But all I see is the strong line of his jaw, cheekbones made to cut diamonds. My heart stutters in my chest, and I grow painfully aware of how close we’re standing. How very naked he is.

With a cry that’s half frustration, half building terror, I launch at him again, this time sinking my hands into the hair that must be fake. My fingers slide through thick, wet strands before I close my fists, grip it and tug. Yellow Eyes lets out a low, warning growl, but he’s smiling at me, mouth twisting upwards in a way that signals his amusement. When I pull again, harder, he grins, revealing a flash of fang.

And his hair doesn’t shift. There’s no give in it, it doesn’t lift anywhere. Wigs can attach pretty strongly, but the yank I just gave it should have dislodged it a little.

The tail that was supposed to come off in my hand didn’t.

The hair that was supposed to be a wig isn’t.

The green that was supposed to wash away hasn’t.

I look back at his face, meeting those yellow eyes. Eyes that are supposed to be that colour because of contacts. But nomatter how hard I look for it, I can’t see the telltale circle around the iris that is the edge of the lens.

My heartbeat grows more erratic, my breaths only reaching the very top of my lungs. I stand frozen with my hands still gripping his hair, unable to move, unable to think.

Because if I do anything to move past this exact moment, I’m going to have to admit to myself that this isn’t a trick.

It’s fucking real.

He’s really real.

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