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  He grimaced in embarrassment. After he healed Mestor for a second time, Mestor had spent the night on Sohm’lan’s sleeping platform. He had woken, calling Mestor’s name because he had not sensed him nearby. His prince had been returning from the lavatory and saw his panic and unconcealed yearning.

  “Mestor…” Sohm’lan thought of all the reasons why he could not allow Mestor to claim him.

  “Do you want me to choose someone else?” Mestor goaded with a smirk. “I could take another to my sleeping platform.”

  Snarling, Sohm’lan grabbed Mestor’s wrist and jerked him down, rolling until he had Mestor underneath him.

  Chuckling in triumph, Mestor wrapped around him, raking his claws down Sohm’lan’s back. “I thought so.”

  He clutched Mestor to him and buried his nosed in the softer scales of his neck. “You should choose someone else.”

  “We have been over this time and again, and my answer has not, nor will it ever, change. You are the only one I want. Without you, I will spend my life mateless, for I will not choose second best. It is you or no one.” Sohm’lan shivered at the vehemence in Mestor’s voice. “I do not wish to take Niobe’s place, my love. I will always be grateful that I get to share your heart with her.”

  Had Mestor not already proven that by lighting incense for her? Several times Sohm’lan had returned to his cabin to witness the incense puttering out, Mestor’s scent mingling with the smoky fragrance.

  Mestor caught him unaware and rolled him over. “Become my amor.”

  His body went tight with tension. The air around them turned weighted as if his response mattered and would have consequences. He clamped down on the denial on the tip of this tongue. His refusals quit having any meaning the moment he had put his lips against Mestor’s scales to heal him. Something within him had changed, something beyond how he glowed or how Mestor’s scales answered with an illumination of their own.

  “I am scared,” he answered, the truth burning his throat. “I never expected to love anyone other than Niobe. But you make me want more. Your meme and father are going to string me up by my tail, but I cannot lie to you. You fill my thoughts day and night.”

  Mestor beamed as if Sohm’lan had given him the greatest gift of all time. “You will never regret being mine.”

  He closed his eyes when Mestor leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. He squirmed, moaning as claws raked down his chest. He could not wait for Mestor to rub against him, to hear the unmistakable sound of scales sliding over each other.

  Never a passive partner, he ran his palms up Mestor’s thighs. Without the urgency of healing, he could take his time and explore every rise and crevice. Their pheromones filled the room and he imagined that passersby could easily figure out a claiming was taking place.

  With arms and legs entwined, his scales raked deliciously over Mestor’s. His palms slicked as the rasping sound of their love play grew in volume. Bulls secreted oils at the base of their palms as they claimed their lovers. An amor’s scales were always highly polished due to being thoroughly rubbed against, followed by the oil as they were claimed. He did not waste this chance to touch Mestor everywhere, not only leaving behind a shine, but his scent for all to smell. Mestor had not carried the sex scent of another for a while, and his scales never looked polished since he never claimed an amor. Sohm’lan could not help but think about the weeks or even moons they would have to endure before they returned to Atlainticia. How many would inquire if his prince wanted a lover, if only fleeting?

  Mestor made soothing, shushing noises. “You are my amor. From now on, no one but you will be on my sleeping platform.”

  Had he voiced his fears aloud?

  He flipped Mestor onto his back and began licking, adding another layer of scent behind. Mestor moaned out an affirmative before spreading his arms and legs wide in complete submission.

  He chuckled. “Brat,” he murmured before scraping his teeth along Mestor’s sternum.

  There were small scars, inevitable since Mestor was a warlord, but what held his attention was the one he had left behind at the first healing. As his scales had burned with internal fires, he had bitten Mestor low on his stomach. His saliva had not healed it like the other wounds, and he wondered why. He licked the white scar tissue that shown like a silver beacon against the expanse of black scales. It was a claiming mark just as the palm oil and his saliva were, and he was not sorry or embarrassed. No, this would be visible any time Mestor changed uniforms with the guards or soldiers. Everyone who looked upon Mestor would see he was claimed and found precious by another.

  He ran his palms over Mestor’s scales, almost purring with contentment. When he came to the straining erection, he licked it too. Mestor jolted as if he had been electrocuted. He chuckled evilly until Mestor swung around so he could attend to Sohm’lan’s arousal. Just Mestor’s palm on his shaft had him pressing his face into Mestor’s groin, breathing heavily. A glance at the clock told him they had been at bed play for a couple of hours and not the few minutes it felt like.

  “I will not last.” He groaned when a hot, bumpy tongue wrapped around the head of his cock.

  “You think I will?” Mestor laughed before attacking Sohm’lan’s penis with all his considerable attention.

  Not to be outdone by his younger lover, he took Mestor in one hand so he could lick the end and used his other hand to find the sensitive scales on the underside of Mestor’s tail. When the base of Mestor’s cock pulsed, warning of his impending release, Sohm’lan pointed the head at his chest, pleased when Mestor spilled onto him. His own orgasm swept over him, and it was so much better than any of his attempts at masturbation. His body shuddered, and he closed his eyes, groaning.

  Mestor growled and hissed, crawling over Sohm’lan’s limp body to rub spend into his chest. “There will be no doubt who is in our sleeping platform,” Mestor said as he stared down with such possessive glee. “You will carry my pheromones and sex scent.” He collapsed, half on-half off Sohm’lan. “I cannot wait to tell Azaes.”

  At the mention of family, Sohm’lan wanted to cringe. “Valdor and Ashari will have my scales.” He was already devising a way to break the news to Valdor without losing his life and almost missed what Mestor said.

  “What?”

  “Meme already knows. I have talked to her many times about taking you as my amor.” He was speechless. Mestor continued, “And what Meme knows, so does Father.”

  Sohm’lan scowled. “Does everyone know about your plans?”

  Mestor squirmed against him, their scales rasping together provocatively. “You were the only one who was not listening to me. Now I am never giving you up,” he vowed.

  Sohm’lan was no longer young and romantic, so he was not convinced, but he would be Mestor’s for as long as Mestor wanted him. He was mature enough to deal with the heartache when Mestor found someone more suitable to be his official mate. Well, at least he hoped so.

  “When do you have to report for duty?” He nuzzled Mestor’s forehead.

  “The same time tomorrow as you, when we meet with Alpha, Dargon, and Zeus about the V’Saar. Azaes has invited the Feteine to attend.”

  He pulled Mestor more fully on top of him. “Plenty of time then.”

  Mestor grinned. “I like the way you think.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mestor

  * * *

  Mestor slowly woke, burrowing farther into the surrounding warmth and press of scales.

  Scales.

  Not just any scales. He inhaled deeply. Sohm’lan’s scales.

  What had transpired the night before practically smacked him on the forehead, and any lingering drowsiness evaporated. He remembered, and yet he could barely believe it had finally, finally happened. They had claimed each other, the scent of it so heavy in the air that his nostrils and tongue were coated with the pheromones. He could taste nothing else. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the night before. Sohm’s worry. The scent of possessiveness com
ing off him in thick waves. How Sohm did not walk away when Mestor had tested him. A shiver worked its way up his spine. He had been bold, hoping his wait was finally over, and it was. Warlord Sohm’lan Myrmidon was his.

  The rhythmic beeping of his data pad was joined by Sohm’s. It was a wake-up call. They were to join Azaes for first-meal before the meeting with the Feteine to discuss the V’Saar and make plans if Valespian airspace was under siege.

  Sohm groaned and his arms tightening around Mestor. Mestor’s stomach flipped and his breathing sped up when Sohm’lan ran a hand down his side.

  “Good morn, my amor,” Mestor practically panted.

  Sohm’lan made a sound that was almost a purr but more of a rattle. He remembered Sohm’lan making that noise when he was a youngling. He had rarely heard is since Canry had disappeared. He had loved falling asleep to the vibration, Sohm’lan lying back on the swing with him and Azaes across his chest. The vibration was not sexual but one of utter contentment, and Mestor was delighted Sohm’lan was making the noise again.

  “It will take time for me to get used to being called your amor,” Sohm rumbled groggily.

  “Then I will say it often,” Mestor teased, turning in his arms.

  He had spent summers yearning to see the soft reflection of ultimate adoration in Sohm’lan’s luminous blue eyes and actually seeing it now stole his breath away. Sohm’lan pressed his forehead to Mestor’s. He prayed he was not dreaming.

  “I need to change my uniform before first-meal.” Even though Azaes expected them, Mestor was reluctant to leave Sohm’s quarters.

  Sohm’lan hissed, tongue flicking out as he tested the air. “Are you going to wash off my scent?”

  A slow grin spread across his lips. He was going to wash carefully, but Sohm’lan did not need to know that. “I do need to wash.”

  Quickly, he slithered from Sohm’lan’s grasp before he could tighten his arms. Mestor rolled off the sleeping platform, dressing hurriedly while his lover stared hungrily at him. “Come here, my amor,” Sohm rumbled softly.

  Mestor froze, warring with himself. Sohm’lan called him amor, had in fact called Mestor the same throughout the night, but still, hearing it from Sohm’lan’s lips gut-punched him. He wanted to spend the day indulging in this claiming and not emerge until they were thoroughly gorged on each other. But they had obligations, and he had spent this past summer proving to Sohm’lan, and everyone else, that he was a responsible adult, and not a sex-crazed youngling.

  He made himself take a step away. “Azaes is expecting us. You know, food with family. I think Zeus and Dargon will be there. Then we meet with the Feteine. Humans allied with V’Saar. An unknown threat in Valespian space.” He was babbling embarrassingly. He thought listing everything that should come first would firm his resolve, but he still wanted to pounce on Sohm’lan.

  His warlord’s tail lazily thumped on the bedding, his gaze darkening as he slowly took in Mestor’s body. Rolling to his hands and knees, he crawled across the sleeping platform. Mestor’s mouth went dry. Where did this sexy, provocative bull come from? His sex released and his pants turned uncomfortable and constricting.

  “But you are going to wash my scent off. I do not like the thought of you walking around this starship smelling unclaimed.”

  His knees trembled, and he stumbled to the door.

  “If you insist on washing…” Sohm reached the edge and gained his feet. Mestor pressed his back against the door and pawed at the panel next to it. Why was it not opening? “Then I will have to find you and mark you again.” Sohm’lan was stalking him and Mestor groaned, almost whining with sudden need.

  Suddenly, the door swished open. Mestor had been leaning so hard against it that he fell backward. He barely caught himself, the dangling broken clasps on his lapel tinkling with the sudden movement. Luckily, he staggered instead of hitting the floor.

  “I will… I will see you at first-meal,” Mestor said before hurrying to the lift. Sohm’lan’s throaty chuckle followed him.

  When Mestor stepped inside the lift and turned, he half expected to see Sohm stalking him. Instead, his warlord leaned on the door frame, wonderfully nude. Everyone who passed by would see his gleaming, earthy-brown scales that proclaimed he had been thoroughly claimed. Gods above, Sohm’lan looked glorious.

  Lamely, Mestor waved. When he realized what he was doing he snatched his hand out of the air then tipped his chin. The slow, wicked smile Sohm’lan gave him in return almost made him leave the lift. Ha! Sohm’lan would see he could give as good as he got. Instead, he widened his stance and adjusted the thick outline of his sex in his tight pants as the lift doors closed.

  He slumped against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest. Where had Sohm been hiding his sexy bull side? He had taunted, flirted, and looked at Mestor as if he would devour him. Was this what it was like to have an amor? Of all the visions of his possible future with Sohm’lan, Mestor had always concentrated on the events or actions that could steal Sohm’lan away. The visions were more warning than predictions. This playfulness was unexpected, and Mestor was so filled with happiness he thought he would burst.

  Exiting on his level, he hurried to his quarters. He did not want to eliminate Sohm’lan’s scent, but he did have dried spend on his chest. He opted for a quick rinse—no soap that would wash away the oils. He allowed himself a minute to preen before the mirror. His scales gleamed like polished black onyx, his ridge a fiery red. The bite scar on his abdomen was two silver half crescents. He lovingly ran his claws over the raised ridges.

  In the other room, his data pad beeped, his ten-minute warning. He ran his palms over his glossy scales one more time before rushing to don a new uniform. As he worked the clasps, he remembered how they had been made useless on the other uniform. Quickly, he ran through military strategy and anything else that would take his mind away from last night. He did not need to walk into Azaes’ quarters with his arousal trapped in his pants. He wanted his brothers to notice that he had been claimed though, and he decided he would carry his uniform jacket with him. The undershirt left his arms bare and would make it easier for people to see the changes.

  Taking one long, last look in the mirror, he left his rooms and walked down the corridor to Azaes’ quarters. He went right in, happy to see Zeus was already there. They sat at the table where Azaes sometimes conducted meetings with the warlords. It was already covered in trays of steaming food.

  Zeus’s silver-white eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. He wore clean mechanic’s cargos, ready to head to the engine room after first-meal. He imagined that Dargon and Sohm’lan would be along shortly and he wanted this alone time with his brothers, so he could share how much his life had changed overnight.

  Suddenly nervous, he shuffled his feet as the door closed behind him. Azaes glanced over and his eyes widened. Zeus followed Azaes’ gaze, and he too looked startled.

  “Mestor?” Zeus’s voice was barely above a whisper. Simultaneously he and Azaes raised their noses in the air and sniffed.

  Mestor could not help but preen, running his hands over his gleaming scales. He knew what they were scenting for. Even though he had quickly washed the spend from him, Sohm’lan’s pheromones remained with him, if faintly.

  Zeus hummed in contemplation. “You have been claimed! You were courting someone and did not say a word to me?” His eyes narrowed, but not before Mestor saw the hurt Zeus quickly hid. “Who is your amor?”

  “Sohm’lan,” Azaes answered for Mestor.

  “No wonder you said nothing,” Zeus replied, the tension leaving his shoulders. A bright smile split across his face, his joy for Mestor shining through.

  Zeus hopped up from the table and hurried across the room, tackling Mestor with a back-breaking hug. His littlest brother hid an amazing strength in his soft-skinned body. Azaes also approached, no less subdued in his enthusiasm, embracing him when Zeus stepped back, and playfully swatting Mestor with his thick tail. Moving to the side, Azaes looped an arm
around Zeus’s shoulders and brought him closer. The three of them pressed their foreheads together. His brothers crooned and sang a heartfelt congratulations that made Mestor’s throat constrict and eyes cloud.

  In the middle of their song, the cabin’s door swished open and Sohm’lan walked in with Dargon. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of Mestor hissing a chorus with his brothers. Sohm’lan had barely washed as well, and Mestor scented their mingled pheromones. When Azaes and Zeus broke away from him, they turned to Sohm’lan. It seemed that his amor had the same idea and wore one of his sleeveless uniforms, showing off his polished brown scales. Mestor’s gut clenched at the sight. Zeus and Azaes hurried to him, singing a welcome and another congratulation. Sohm’lan had to lean down so Zeus and Azaes could press their foreheads to his. On top of his overwhelming joy, the sight of his brothers and amor singing made Mestor that much more… he was not sure which word to choose that would encompass the multitude of emotions bouncing around in him. It was as if he was mushy on the inside.

  Dargon crossed to Mestor, eyeing the commotion Azaes and Zeus were making over Sohm’lan. “Should I be congratulating someone? I feel as if I am missing something.” He looked as if he was thinking something over, his nose twitching. “Well, you do reek of the warlord. Did you matebond?”

  “We are now amors,” Mestor proclaimed boldly. “After the period of a summer, we can be officially committed if we are both agreeable.”

  Dargon snorted, tugging on the copper braid hanging over his shoulder. “Agreeable. That sounds so business like. Do Mar’Sani not life-join in love matches?”

  Mestor looked into Dargon’s green, feline eyes. His fangs peeked over his bottom lip, the set of his mouth almost stern. “Of course, my people lifebond with someone they love just as often as they match with someone for other reasons. There is always some kind of affection involved. The families would oppose any match that was empty. Alliance and ambition are not reasons for people to join together. They would not see their relative ruined and unhappy, though that does happen occasionally. There is no honor in the emotional destruction of another. Families work hard to make sure the couple or nest is happy and well-matched before a commitment can be officially given.”