Unknown - The_Growing_589064

“Do you believe that? That we are going to make a whole new kind of world? Truly?”

“I do.” Something else stirs in Koda’s eyes, a question Kirsten cannot quite read. “When I scouted the battlefield with Maggie, I spoke with—I spoke with one of the Four-Footed people, Igmu Tanka. She said she wait for our return.”

“Igmu Tanka? Igmu is ‘cat’—a mountain lion?”

Koda nods. “We will survive, cante mitawa. Not just us, but our people—all our peoples. If we use all our weapons, all our knowledge. It is promised.” Her expression changes, a smile breaking over her face. “Now get into the tub with me, or the water will be cold.”

Kirsten rises, turning away and slowly drawing her shirt over her head. Behind her, she can hear Koda’s breath catch, and wonder washes through her that she has such power to move her lover. But she says, laughing, “I know how we can warm it up again.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Koda answers, a hint of laughter in her own voice. Kirsten hears the quiet murmur of cloth on cloth as Dakota’s jeans and shirt drop to the floor, the soft splash as she steps into the tub and settles into the water. “Oh gods,” she breathes, “this is heaven. I could die happy right now.”

Kirsten turns to face her, taking in the long, copper legs that stretch all the way to the front of the tub, the angular shoulders contrasting with the upper curve of Koda’s breasts. The blue eyes are closed in sheer, abandoned ecstasy, incredible long lashes fanned out on her cheeks. A more inviting prospect would be hard to imagine. But, “How are we going to do this? That’s not exactly designed for a hot tub.”

“True.” Koda sits up straight, drawing her knees up almost under her chin. “Come on in. No, not that way,” she says as Kirsten steps in, facing her. “Turn your back. That’s it.”

As she moves to comply, Koda’s legs part to let her sit between, and Koda’s arms come around her, holding her gently. “This is better, no?”

“Much better,” she breathes as she feels a kiss, soft as the spring breeze, ruffle her hair. Her own hands on Koda’s she leans back against her, feeling the embrace tighten. The warmth of the water, the silkiness of her lover’s skin, the rich scent of the lilies combine in something close to sensory overload. For a long moment, they remain motionless. Then Kirsten sighs, letting go Koda’s hand and reaching for the puff of pleated tulle that hangs from the hot water tap. “Time to scrub.”

“Let me.”

There is not room to turn around, but, Kirsten hands the sponge and the bottle of soap backward, laughing. “Who’d have thought the woman waving an M-16 in my face would turn out to be such a hedonist? Just goes to show first impressions aren’t all they’re racked up to be.”

Koda chuckles, deep in her throat. “Who’d have thought the cute little android taking a leak in the snow would be such a sucker for it?” Kirsten opens her mouth to protest, but closes it abruptly. Koda’s hands, slick with the soap, pass over her shoulders in long, slow, circles, slip down her spine and up her flanks, the pattern repeating again and again. Through the film on her skin, she can feel Koda’s nipples harden as they brush against her back. Koda’s hands continue to spiral across her shoulders, down her flanks, sweeping across her thighs, circling her belly. They rise to cup her breasts, thumbs lightly brushing her own nipples, the touch and the cool air tightening the flesh around them. Koda’s mouth moves along the back of her neck, nibbling at her ear. Kirsten presses herself back against the strong body behind her, her own hands gliding over the long legs that arch beside her. “Nun lila hopa,” Koda whispers. “Cante mitawa.”

“Cante mitawa,” Kirsten echoes, her breath catching as Koda’s hand slips between her legs, then, fingers parting the labia to find the nub of her clitoris. Fire catches under her touch, strikes along the nerves of Kirsten’s legs, flares to life up the column of her spine. “Cante mitawa,” she says again, while she can say anything at all, and her head falls back as release takes her and she feels her pulse hammer against Koda’s hand that still cups her sex, shuddering through her again and again.

When she can move, she turns to kneel between Koda’s thighs. Dakota’s eyes, wide and unfocused with desire, draw her down and down, until it seems that she glides slowly through dark water, while shapes move along the verge of the pool above her, slim-legged and swift, slow and lumbering, moving on four legs or two or none. Around her she hears the darting passage of bright fish, the roll and tumble of otters. Then they are gone and she is back in the world she knows, her lips seeking Koda’s in a long, lingering kiss as her knee presses against her lover’s center and Koda comes, the blood pounding in her throat under Kirsten’s mouth, beating frantically, then slowing as the after-languor takes them both. For a long moment they remain still, holding each other. Then Kirsten says huskily, “You remember that ring I saw in my vision?”

“Mmm,” Koda answers, her head still against Kirsten’s shoulder.

“Well, then, are you gonna marry me?”

“Are you proposing?”

“I am.” Kirsten smiles against the dark hair that coils over her own shoulder and Koda’s. “One of us had better.”

“Since you put it that way—” Koda raises her face to Kirsten’s, claiming her mouth in a kiss that takes Kirsten’s breath. Then, “Since you put it that way—yes.”

“How—that is, I don’t know what the Lakota custom is? How do we do it?”

A glint of mischief comes into Koda’s eyes. “Well, first, you take Wanblee Wapka a string of ponies. Say about a dozen, you being President and all. Then you get a courting blanket and come calling. Then—”

“Then we elope,” Kirsten says succinctly. ‘When does the Judge get back?” A shadow crosses Koda’s face, and a stab of regret goes through Kirsten. “I’m sorry, love. I’m worried, too.”

“I know,” Koda answers. “But we’ll make our own rules. It’s a new world. We’re something new. We just need to get through this fight. Then we can plan.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Kirsten leans forward into a kiss. “Hold you now and forever.”

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

KIRSTEN SITS CROSS-LEGGED on the springy, cool grass beneath the heavy boughs of fragrant trees that dot the residential area of the base. At her back, the waters of the stream chuckle merrily as if listening to a joke only they can hear.

The scent of the rendered fat in the bowls before her doesn’t exactly rival perfume, and she resists the urge to sneeze just to get the smell out of her sinuses. She settles for what she hopes is innocuous mouth-breathing instead, flushing slightly at the look she receives from Tacoma. A touch to her knee draws her attention back to Dakota, who is sitting with a bowl of yellow paint cradled in her lap, and a small twig laden with the same held up, elegant eyebrow raised slightly, questioning.

Kirsten nods, almost shyly, and, smiling, Koda brings the loaded twig to her lover’s cheek, painting a design with sure, deft strokes. After several moments, she pulls the brush away and tilts Kirsten’s chin, eyes raking over the design she’s just created. A quick touchup, and she nods, satisfied with her work.

“Iktomi zizi.”

The words bring smiles to the faces of Manny and Tacoma, and a frown of puzzlement to Kirsten’s. “Excuse me?”

Reaching up, Dakota gently touches Kirsten’s face, then lays two fingers on her partner’s chest, right above her heart. “Iktomi zizi.” With her free hand, Koda lifts a bowl of clear water and hands it to Kirsten, gesturing for her to look into it.