Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I’m glad he did,” Lucy murmured. “And I can’t wait to see him again and thank him for what he did.”
FOUR
T’ZAREN
T’zaren was dreading seeing the little human female he had saved. There was something wrong with her—or maybe it was something wrong with him. Whatever the case, the fact was that she shouldn’t have been able to activate his Sen Stripe and yet somehow, she had.
She would be completely wrong as a S’rentha, he thought for the hundredth time as he mentally reviewed the facts. She isn’t tall enough—or stern enough. She isn’t serious enough.
And yet despite all this—despite not looking or acting in any way like a traditional S’rentha—touching the little blonde had made his back feel like someone had poured hot coals down his spine.
When he had gotten back to his domicile, he had gone directly to the 3-D viewer and activated it at once, wanting to see what had actually happened and if he had been imagining the strange burning sensation. As the viewer hummed to life it showed him his body from all angles—including a good view of his broad, bare back.
It wasn’t his imagination—for the first time in his life, his Sen Stripe had appeared. The deep cerulean blue which was his normal skin color had been changed. Running down his spine was a brilliant scarlet line which melded outwards to orange and then to yellow. It ran from the base of his skull all the way down his back and disappeared between his buttocks.
T’zaren frowned as he reached over his own shoulder and gingerly touched the new colors that had appeared on his back. The Sen Stripe throbbed in response, making him wince. He had heard that in time the touch of his S’rentha would bring more pleasure than pain—though there would always be some pain mixed with the pleasure. Some described it as a burning ache mixed with need and desire.
He remembered asking his Sire when he was young how anyone could wish to feel such things.
“I don’t want my back to burn, Sire,” he had protested, when the older male was explaining the way of a Stri’vor male with his S’rentha. “Why would anyone want that?”
“It isn’t just a burning, son,” his Sire told him earnestly. “Or rather, the burn isn’t the only thing you feel. When I worship your mother—my S’rentha—I feel not just pain but deep pleasure in knowing that she has chosen me to protect and provide for her. There is pride and honor in bearing pain for your S’rentha’s sake.”
At the time, T’zaren had been too young to understand the implications of the word “worship” when used in this context. Now he understood it was a sexual reference. For a male Stri’vor didn’t just “make love” to his S’rentha—he worshiped her body with his own—paying special attention to lapping and kissing her sweet pussy until she came for him again and again.
For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine worshipping the little blonde. He could see himself on his knees before her, pressing his face between her thighs, finding her sweet spot with his tongue. She would moan and twine her fingers in his hair as he lapped her, calling his name and begging for more…
But no—he pushed the thought away. It was ridiculous. He was certain his Sire had never meant for him to find a female like her. She just wasn’t right for him, no matter how attractive she was!
His parents were long gone now—they had stayed on the Stri’vor home world and been swallowed in darkness along with the rest of the Monstrum universe when the Darklings came. T’zaren had been unable to get home in time to save them. But despite his sorrow at their loss, he still remembered the deep and abiding love between the two of them.
His mother had been a proper S’rentha—tall and serious with dark hair and eyes. But despite her height, she had still been tiny compared to his Sire, who had been large and muscular as all Monstrum Kindred were. They had been deeply in love, always staring into each other’s eyes and murmuring together too low for him to hear. When his mother would ask something of his Sire, his Sire would kneel before her and say,
“Yes, my S’rentha—whatever you ask of me, I will do.”
A male had to be able to respect his S’rentha—to feel she was worthy of his service and the pain that blended with the almost unbearable desire she raised in him every time she touched him. How could he, T’zaren, possibly have that dynamic with the little blonde he had rescued last night from the river?
She’s too short, he thought again. And not nearly serious enough. How can I bow before her and offer her my pleasure and my pain? Worse, what if she laughed at me when I did so? Or what if she was disgusted like the other Earth female at the idea of me worshipping her?