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"Yes. There's no other way." Rael's fingers pressed against the corner of Elian's jaw and throat, rubbing the salve into his skin. "I have to get you through the outpost and to the military's representative. That won't happen if every damn Borraq in the outpost catches the scent of you."
That didn't sound good. Elian shuddered— and then stiffened as Rael's large hands closed on Elian's skinny frame, forcing him to stay still. "This will block your scent," Rael explained again. "It will only last for a short time, but that should be enough."
Rael leaned close, his broad chest pressing against Elian's back as he worked it into Elian's skin. In the dim light of the dawn, the scent of something spicy in Rael's own natural musk filled Elian's nose, dizzying him. Desire warred with nervousness, creating a heady mix that threatened to send him reeling.
This was dangerous. This man was dangerous.
But not in the way that Elian had first feared.
Rael finished rubbing the salve into Elian's skin at key points — his shoulders, the small of his back, and the back of his neck — and then pulled a cloak over his body, sealing him inside. Despite the heavy material, it did little to block the heady sensation of Rael's touch and the closeness between them.
"Does this stuff actually work?" Elian asked, his voice a little hoarse.
Rael's smile was sharp. "I don't take risks. If any other Borraq catches wind of your scent and decides to challenge me for you, there's no telling what might happen. I will not let that happen."
"They're not as polite as you are?"
"Polite?" Rael snorted. "Outposts like that are full of Borraq without clans. Lone wolves."
He said the term like a curse. "Thrown out of their clans? I didn't know that happened. I thought all of you guys were into clan honor."
"Sometimes, one can go too far. Sometimes warriors are thrown out of home." Something dark crossed Rael's gaze. "Or they have them, but don't want to return. After the war… Some warriors come back with a darkness in them. They do not wish to return."
He shook his head. "At least with Borraq from rival territories, you know what you're getting. With lone wolves… You never know what they're going to do. They have no alpha to hold them accountable, no families to care about, no-one to rely on."
That sounded like Elian's whole life. He was thankful for the cloak that covered his expression.
Rael stood. "You are disguised. It's time to go."
Elian's heart sank. He'd been trying not to think about it. "Do you really have to do this?"
"I must take care of my clan," Rael said, brooking no disagreement. "Stand."
"Is there anything I can do? To earn my freedom, I mean." The words tasted bitter on Elian's tongue the instant he said them.
"Please," Elian said, his voice breaking. He reached out to grab Rael's arm, but the man turned away from him, avoiding Elian's outstretched hand easily. "I'll do anything. I'll work for you. I'll — I'll be your personal bookkeeper, or your cook, or your — your anything. Just don't hand me over to die."
Rael's jaw clenched. "I do not need a cook. Or a bookkeeper, for that matter." He diplomatically didn't mention the 'anything' part of Elian's plea.
Elian's heart sank. He was offering himself up, and he still wasn't good enough. "There's nothing else that I can do?" he whispered.
Rael's expression was hard. "You can survive."
Elian's shoulders slumped. He hung his head, the weight of his defeat pressing down on him.
He was going to be handed over to a place full of strangers who wanted to kill him. There was nothing that he could do about it.
And despite everything, the idea of being separated from Rael filled him with a cold, miserable dread. Rael was his enemy, but he was… kind. Proud. Respectful, in his own way.
He'd never mistreated Elian. Not even when he could have, the two of them all alone in the wilderness.
Elian's cheeks flushed. What kind of man was he, to be miserable at the thought of being separated from his captor?
Sorry, humanity, he thought. Someone else should have crawled out of their cryopod. Someone better. Someone stronger.
Someone who would have known what to do.
Elian's heart hammered as they approached the alien outpost.
