So I chat with the brothers that run the ship, I chat with Bethiah, and I spend a lot of time with Nassakth, just cuddling and talking of the future. It should be a good, uneventful trip, but at the same time, it feels like an axe is hanging over our heads.
I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always does.
After about a week—it's hard to keep track of days in space—we orbit the station, waiting for permission to dock. The Little Sister is going to remain on station, waiting to take us back, for however long—or short—our visit with Nassakth's parents will be. The meeting is all set up—we are scheduled to arrive at the cantina and Bethiah has greased enough palms that we've got a private room set up. We'll have time to sit and talk in private, and…hopefully that's all it is. Sitting and talking. Bethiah will be there to play bodyguard, and for the last few days, I've seen her shining her weapons with a rather avid look in her eyes.
She's ready.
The crew is ready.
Nassakth's ready.
I'm terrified.
When we finally dock, I pick through the few tunics and trou I've brought, looking for something to wear. I pull out a long piece of fabric and wrap it around my head, concealing my hair, lower face and neck, and tuck it into the collar of my tunic.
Nassakth just puts on his guns and runs his fingers through his mane. I noticed that he seems casual right now…but I also know he spent an hour grooming his tail earlier and every strand of fur on it is gleaming and in place. I'd swear there's even a decorative bead or two in the thick fur, but I don't ask. Tails seem like sensitive things, and I'm guessing it's a lot like asking a guy if he uses product in his hair. Even if he does, he won't admit it…and he sure won't like being asked.
"You nervous?" I ask him, moving to his side and putting my hand on his arm.
"I am praxiian. We do not get nervous," he tells me in a lofty voice, and then pats his belt, checking his weapons again. "I am, however, uneasy."
"You and me both." I glance down at his weapons. "Can I have a gun to carry?"
"It might draw more attention than it's worth," Nassakth admits, and produces a thin blade. "Carry this instead."
"I could kiss you right now," I say, grinning up at him from under my face wrap. I grab the knife and stuff it into the belt at my waist, then pull my long tunic over it.
He leans down and pushes my covering aside, pressing a kiss to my mouth. "I do not like this thing." He fingers the material. "It hides your beauty."
"It also hides the fact that I'm not wearing a collar, and I don't want anyone thinking I'm up for grabs." I hesitate. "Maybe I should wear one after all? A collar?"
Nassakth frowns. "I hate the idea. You are my mate, not my pet."
"I know that, and you know that. I hate collars, too. But we have to ask—will it make me safer?"
He grunts. "It might."
I pull out the collar Bethiah has left for us. It's ornamental and decorative, with a shiny, slinky chain that ties to Nassakth's belt. With a grimace of distaste, I unwrap my scarf and put the collar on my neck, chaining the other end to his belt. "Better safe than sorry, right?"
"I do not like this. I would much rather be home with you curled in my bed and naked in my arms." He cups my face in his big hands and tilts my chin, angling my head so he can kiss me. "No collars. No slaves or owners. Just us mated and content."
"That's where we'll go as soon as we're done here, then," I promise him. "Right back home."
Nassakth presses one more kiss to my lips, his gaze lingering on my face, and then he nods. "We find out what they want, and then we go home."
"Easy peasy lemon squeezy," I tell him cheerily.
"Shall we go, then?" He holds a big hand out to me.
I put my hand in his…and then grab the head covering and wrap it around my face at the last minute. Just in case.
Nassakth squeezes my hand and then we leave our quarters. Bethiah is there in the narrow halls of the Little Sister, waiting for us. Gone are the playful expressions and teasing