Page 46 of Ulune's Daughter

We’ll see about that, human. We. Will. See.

* * *

To addto the almighty insult of sleeping withmymate, the human has the gall to set an alarm that goes off before the sun’s properly risen. The shrill tone has me leaping out of the bed and running from the room before I realize what it is.

The human kicks the door closed behind me and wards it.

Motherfucker.

I yowl at the door for a half-hour, but no one comes. Their desire perfumes the air with salt and jasmine. Images of what they must be doing behind that warded door torment me. I claw at the carpet just beyond the door’s ward furiously.

Finally, the human opens the door and strides to the bathroom without looking at me. My mate emerges a minute later, heavy-eyed, rumpled, and red-lipped. “You hungry, boy? It’s early but I’ll put some tuna out if you want some.”

I stretch up, patting up her leg with soft paws until she picks me up. She cuddles me against her breast, kissing between my ears and rubbing my belly. “Did you miss me, sweet boy?”

I rub my chin all over hers, scent-marking her, ridding her of the taint of chlorine. When she starts walking toward the kitchen, I wriggle out of her arms and run into the bedroom. I dive onto the bed and roll all over the rumpled sheets, eradicating the human’s scent. I’ll spray everything with my seed after they’re gone.

While I’m de-scenting, the human leaves. My mate returns, yawning, and climbs back into bed. She holds her arms out to me and I snuggle in, worming my head under her chin and purring so loudly her teeth rattle.

“Mmm, who is a stinky boy this morning?” she asks around a yawn.

The human. He is a stinky boy. The lingering chemical reek of pool water still wrinkles my nose.

Tacitly agreeing with me, my mate settles back to sleep, cradling me close. As soon as I’m sure she’s under, I stretch into my skin and gather her in my arms. Where she belongs.

She shows me how much she needs me—me, not the smelly human—by climbing on top of me and riding me to two orgasms before she goes limp, snoring softly into my neck. I hold her while she sleeps and slip back into my fur as soon as she begins to stir so she wakes to the purring of her pet.

Mymate.

Chapter16

The Dream Killer

KELLAN

I’ve studied the Magi of the Mist now for over five years. I still don’t understand them.

I’ve begun to wonder if I ever will.

In some ways, they were tremendously advanced. Theirs was a true socialist society with barely any privately-owned property. They rotated onerous jobs like farming and construction with individual pursuits such as arts and education. Their clothing, implements, and buildings were highly decorated, indicating they had bountiful free time. They had a strong storytelling tradition, reflected in their art, which mixed pantheistic religious allegory and moral lessons emphasizing individual responsibility. They lacked any concept of marriage, but often formed stable family groups to care for children. They were sexually liberated, with evidence of same-gender and polyamorous relationships. They recognized a third gender, which encompassed hermaphrodites and people without external sex characteristics. They celebrated transgendered individuals in their art.

There’s very little archeological evidence of inbreeding; with such a small population, they must have kept track of genetic relationships. Although they had no understanding of bacteria or germs, they understood anatomy as well as humans do now. They used their magic to cure everything from smallpox to cancer. Their average life span was over a hundred years. Despite droughts and crop failures due to the changeable weather of the California coastline, they rarely starved and ate a plant-based diet supplemented with fish and insects to avoid overhunting their island and the nearby mainland.

In some ways, they were tremendously backward, at least by Western standards. They didn’t build monuments. They didn’t conquer surrounding civilizations. They didn’t own slaves or have a caste system. They used a barter system and never developed currency. They played games but never developed competitive sports, much less the brutal competitions that marked the Aztec and Roman cultures. They had a basic runic language but used pictographs far more often in their art and design. They had a numeric system but didn’t recognize the concept of zero the way their Mayan neighbors did. Most curiously, they didn’t keep a calendar. They were unquestionably aware of the Aztecs, whose calendar was even more accurate than the modern Gregorian calendar, but never developed their own.

Was it because they lived in rhythm with the Earth and its seasons? Was it because they didn’t value the passage of time? Or could it be because they were Time Walkers like my friend Teddy?

Those are just some of the questions I have about the Magi of the Mist. But the biggest one, the most important question, is why did their civilization abruptly end almost exactly a thousand years ago? Why did nearly ten thousand people choose ritual suicide, with the few survivors disappearing to the mainland with hardly any trace?

As I usher Rhodes into the exhibit, I lift my hands to the fanged, gaping mouth that frames the entrance.

“The Death of Sleep: Dream Demons and the Magi of the Mists,” he reads from the legend under the monstrous mouth.

I nod. “Twelve hundred years ago, the Magi of the Mist began trying to exorcise what they called a dream demon, a monster who stalked its victims’ dreams and gave them increasingly horrifying and vivid nightmares. Victims went mad from lack of sleep or killed themselves as their nightmares blurred into reality. When exorcism failed and one dream demon turned into hundreds, they tried everything. Rituals and sacrifices to appease the gods. Complicated quests. Herbal remedies so harsh, they were deadlier than the dream demons. Their second to last resort—culling the victims—tore their society apart and sparked a vicious civil war. Finally, in despair and desperate to stop the dream demons’ spread, they chose mass suicide. The largest mass suicide in history.”

Rhodes’ eyes widen as he looks around. “This is what you found on Isla Cedros? A mass grave?”

I nod. I’m inured to it now, after so many years of living with it. But I appreciate it’s still startling to people outside the historical community.

---