Page 87 of Tracked and Taken

“Tael.”

“Sweetheart.”

“You did not mark me.”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Natalie.”

I lower her to the mattress.

Gently. My tail unwraps from her waist. My arm under her shoulders, turning her, so she is on her side and I am behind her and my chest is at her back and my mouth is at the top of her spine between her shoulder blades.

She is shaking.

Exhaustion. The kind a body has when it has given everything four times in ninety minutes and is running on the empty that follows. Cum on her thighs. Marks on her throat. My scent all over her.

“I cannot move.”

“You do not have to move.”

“I cannot feel my legs.”

“You are not supposed to.”

I kiss the top of her spine.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Natalie.”

I slide out of her slow.

She makes a small sound of protest at the absence. I kiss the spot between her shoulder blades.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart. Hold on.”

“Where are you going.”

“Water. And I am going to clean you up before you try to walk.”

She makes a sound that is half laugh, half whimper.

“Tael, I cannot even protest.”

“Then don’t.”

I get up.

The bunk releases me reluctantly. I pull the thermal blanket up over her hip before I go, because the cabin air is at 18.5 degrees and her body is at the configuration where she is going to feel cold within the next four minutes.

I get water in the cup I have had on Helia’s Reach for three years. I get a soft cloth from the med-kit, warm it under the tap at the temperature on my overlay says matches her skin. I come back.

She has not moved.

Her eyes are half-closed. The thermal blanket at her hip. Her hair across the pillow. The shape of my mate who has been taken care of.