Page 30 of Challenged

She is quiet for a moment, watching me with narrowed eyes, as if she does not trust that I mean what I say. I hold her gaze, let her really look at me so she can see that I am not trying to cover up my true feelings with lies I think she wants me to tell.

“So you don’t believe I owe you respect because we don’t know each other, but you do think we should be mates? How do you logic that one?”

There is a subtle shift in her tone. We have moved from interrogation to inquiry. She is curious, not angry. She believes I am telling her the truth.

It is a victory, and I celebrate internally.

“It is not that we should be mates. We are mates,” I say. “The dreamspace forming for us tells us that. But do not confuse being mates with having a friendship or intimacy. Even if we were two raskarrans, both expecting to find another in our dreams - anticipating it - the dreamspace forming does not make that closeness happen instantly.”

A raskarran female would expect her male to provide her pleasures in the dreamspace, but I do not mention that part. I would not have my Angie think I hold any expectation of such things happening between us this night.

“So, what, the dreamspace forms and then?”

“And then there is conversation. Learning of each other.”

“Learning?” Her tone sharpens once more. “Is that a euphemism?”

It takes a moment for her meaning to filter through the dreamspace to me.

“I meant only the kind of learning that occurs through talking. Touching can take place, but only if both parties are amenable.”

“I’m not amenable,” she says, even as colour rises in her cheeks again.

She has thought about touching me, then, or she likes the shape of me. I might have teased her about such things before, but it is a visceral thrill to see the desire is truly there.

“And that is why I have not tried to touch you. I know that for some human males, a lack of willingness is desirable.” I watch her closely as I speak, looking for any tell that this has been part of her experience. Her expression does not shift, and a great gratitude fills me that it is not something she has suffered. “But that is not how it is for me, or for any raskarran who still holds his honour. You do not need to fear me, my Angie.”

“And yet you still refer to me as yours.”

I incline my head in acknowledgment. “This is something Grace disliked also. Her mate Calran did not refer to her this way until she grew comfortable with it. I can do the same for you.”

“Just because you don’t say it, doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking it.”

“Then you would prefer me to say it as I think?”

Fury flashes in her eyes, bright and sudden.

“I’d prefer you not to think it,” she snaps. “I don’t want a mate. And you don’t want me to be your mate, not really. What happens when Mercenia comes for me, huh? What happens when they take me home? Are you going to follow me in dreams all the way back to my planet? Across the stars and into this apartment?”

She gestures at the space around us.

Mentioning the nineteen season long sleep she has just woken from does not seem prudent, nor mentioning our lack of desire for Mercenia to return to these trees for any reason.

So I ignore the question for now. Deflect.

“This is your home, then?” I say, looking at the plain, almost empty space. “It is very… white.”

“It’s sophisticated,” she hisses, another burst of red breaking out across her cheeks.

“I do not mean to be insulting,” I say, holding up my hands. “My mated brothers who have seen your human world describe it as a grey one. I do not see any grey here.”

There are some small patches of muted colour. Some drawings on the straight, flat walls. A low table between us bears a small container with flowers in it. This human practise of cutting flowers and bringing them inside instead of leaving them to grow is strange, but there is something odd about the flowers also. They look brittle, almost. I reach across and touch them, find the texture most unnatural.

“Yes, they’re fake,” my Angie says, snatching them out of my reach. “You think I can afford real flowers? I’m career path. I don’t have a fancy husband earning the big bucks for me.”

Her words make little sense, but one thing filters through.

“You have not left a mate behind, then?”

---