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“This is not a confrontation,” Becky warns me as if she can hear my instincts narrating our actions from my perspective.
And perhaps it isn’t a confrontation, because the other Yonderin appears much relaxed as he stares at me over the top of his mate’s head.
A commotion in the street draws Becky’s and Stella’s attention.
“There’s a loose donkey,” Stella says sadly. “Poor thing must be so scared. Sounds like no one has had luck catching him.”
The donkey in question honks at us and gallops by, kicking and bucking and snorting and fighting. Farting too.
“He looks happy,” I observe.
“He really does,” Becky agrees, sounding surprised but also relieved.
“Can we take you two to lunch?” Stella asks us, one of her hands linked with her mate’s, who is a wall at her back.
“NOT IN HEL—” I begin.
“Thank you for the invite,” Becky speaks over my bark. “We accept.” I look down at her, appalled at the idea of eating with our enemy, but she only squeezes my hand and smiles at Stella. “Where to?”
***
I don’t like that another male is feeding us at his (temporarily claimed) table.
It makes me feel unmoored. Unmanned. As if I can’t provide for us myself.
Beckywhispers that it’s rude to force the issue when Stella insists that they “pick up the check”—and she generously begs us to order anything we want.
Her male’s eyes have hooded with smug satisfaction. Silently he taunts me that he can provide not only for his mate and offspring, butmymate and tadpole—anything they want.
I glare at him.
The females situate us so that we’re seated on opposite sides of our mates, who are facing each other; that way the male and I are not so easily able to lock on with a direct stare. We’re still aggressively reading each other's brains, as well as scanning the environment for threats.
The restaurant we’re in is small and simple, and I’m certain nothing served here can be as satisfying as what Becky makes at home. Or the bakery next to the general store.
But Becky and Stella smile at each other over large glasses of ice water—mostly filled with ice—and chatter rapidly as they uncover shared experiences, apparently inevitable with both of them being mated to Yonderin. The more they converse, the more their brainwaves cohere. The more their neurons fire at exactly the same time in the same areas, synchronizing.
It’s… friendly. And rather pleasing to observe, like watching brains dance to the same music.
“It’s like watching two big lions sneer at each other,” Stella remarks, and Becky’s hand—which has been resting on my knee under the table—begins to slide toward my groin.
This pulls my glare off the male positioned diagonally opposite of me.
Stella must do something to her mate too because he grunts and I feel his attention divert from my face.
Becky stops her hand just before she reaches the top of my thigh.
And she leaves it there.
I lean down and nuzzle the side of her face.
Surprise colors the other Yonderin’s skull contents.
My hackles attempt to rise, somewhat defensive because I can feel him reading my brain even more intensely.
But I'm also reading his brain, and I can see that he's relaxing, finally determining that I'm no threat to his mate.
Becky’s voice breaks partway into my preoccupation, her tone rueful amid some conversation. “I’ve been feeling like I’m melting for months. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Traxia ishotfor merman species.”
