The mystery of his strong reaction to her only added to his desire to see her again. It didn’t matter what the others thought. He would see her again.
He had to, even if he didn’t know why.
“VIKTOR, I present to you Miss Raisa Chavell.” Giving him a look filled with the protests and misgivings, voiced and unvoiced, which he had argued over the last three days, the defense liaison reluctantly stepped aside. He left just enough room for the young woman behind him to enter the conference room. “Miss Chavell, this is Viktor Ragerip, defender of Sullipin.”
Miss Raisa Chavell looked just as beautiful as she had during the parade three days ago. Viktor had been vaguely aware of a bluish blouse and tan slacks the previous time, and she seemed to be wearing something similar, this time greenish on top and brown beneath. The last blouse had been flowery; this one seemed to be an abstract sprinkle of greens. It made her skin look creamy and her hair a little redder than before. He liked it.
He also still liked her scent. The flow of air currents in the air-conditioned conference room held back most of her scent, but it was there. Threatening to distract him.
He had done his own best to look civilized, with a fitted black jacket and a black and gold kilt. There wasn’t a comfortable way for a Haguaro to wear pants, thanks to their tails, though they did wear loincloths under their kilts. Nor could they wear a traditional plaid, since the crisscross of stripes clashed horribly with their spotted fur, but this kilt had been made with an attractive spotted print somewhat reminiscent of Viktor’s jaguar-patterned hide.
Aware of how important a good first impression was, Viktor had taken extra care with the selection of his clothes, the combing of his tail and the fluffing of his mane, even going so far as to decorate his ears with thin gold hoops, following current fashion for Sullipin males, Normal or otherwise. He thought he looked rather attractive. Gentlemanly. He deeply hoped she thought so, too, and he let his chest puff up a little as she swept her gaze slowly from the top of his head downward, perusing every centimeter of him.
She giggled. Her hand flew up to her mouth and her face flamed with embarrassment, and she did her best to choke it back . . . but she undeniably laughed. Ears flicking back, Viktor wondered what had set her off.
Cameron scowled and grabbed her elbow. “Behave yourself ! He is a defender of Sullipin, and you will give him every respect!”
The defense liaison’s harsh act startled her out of her laughter. It affected Viktor, too. For a moment, he trembled with the urge to leap across the conference room and fling the other man away, just for daring to touch her. Struggling against the uncomfortably violent impulse, he pinned the other man with a glare, ears flat and whiskers pulled back. “Thank you, Cameron. That will be all.”
Cameron glanced sharply at him but did not release her elbow.
“Thank you, Cameron . . . that will be all,” Viktor repeated firmly, his voice deepening almost to a growl. He let his tail lash sharply when the other man didn’t release her fast enough. He didn’t have to move anything else; the defense liaison was well trained in reading Haguaro tail, whisker, and ear moods.
Withdrawing his touch, Cameron gave Viktor a hard, chiding look. He followed it with a stiff half bow before striding back out through the conference room door. Deliberately leaving the door open behind him and deliberately not going very far. Annoyed, Viktor did his best to ignore the older man. He wanted to ask Raisa what had amused her, but first he had to get them past this moment of awkwardness.
Soothing his tail, pricking forward his whiskers and ears, he offered her a smile. “Would you like to see the gardens? They’re at their best right now.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Is that why I’m here? To see your gardens?”
“For a start. Come. We can talk while we walk outside.” Holding out his hand, he waited to see if she would take it.
She stared at his fingers, callused skin on the palm side, plush, velvet-short fur on the back, his nails pointed like claws, though they were not actually retractable. The ones on his toes were, but not his fingers. The fact that she hesitated hurt him a little, reminding him that for all he felt like a man inside, he still looked more like a beast. Stubbornly, he kept his hand out and his ears up, and hoped.
Slowly, she lifted her hand. Slid her fingers against his. Curled them around his flesh. Touched him of her own free will.
Something sparked from her flesh to his, something deeply primal. Viktor heard the fabric of his jacket shift and strain with the swelling of his muscles, and suppressed the urge to roar in triumph. Instead, he did his best to keep his expression polite and pleasant rather than ferally possessive, and guided her back through the doorway, past the frowning Cameron, and out through the glazed doors leading to the gardens of the Haguaro Headquarters.
His ancestors had requested a large tract of land be set aside and developed for their use, more or less centrally located in the Rift Valley. Some of the buildings were training salles with all manner of equipment to train and test their combat abilities, some were medical facilities with staff dedicated to the study and maintenance of Haguaro biology, and some held meeting rooms and offices such as the conference room they had just left. The rest were personal residences, interspersed with stretches of lawn, trees, streams, fountains, and gardens.
Viktor’s home wasn’t visible, having been built beyond some of the trees off to the left; if it had been, he would have pointed out with justifiable pride the heavily blossoming rose vines he had trained to grow up over the many trellises he had erected with his own hands. Maybe he would show her his home later, if things went well. As it was, there were plenty of other flowers for her to see, and the need to reassure her that his intentions were civilized.
Given how the weather was on the cusp between late spring and early summer, everything that could be in bloom was in bloom, and vigorously so. From carpets of violets to bunches of bluebells, the view was a riot of colors and smells. Nothing quite as intoxicating as her scent, but some of the pollen was strong enough to make him want to sneeze after only a minute of strolling along the path. A subtle attempt to rub at his nose with his free hand made her glance at him. Viktor barely had time to turn his head into his far shoulder to muffle the explosion he had failed to subdue.
She snerked. She quickly averted her head, but his ears had picked up the muffled, suppressed laugh. He felt it in the subtle tremble and squeeze of the fingers still cupping his. Strolling with her along the winding brick path felt right, even if he had given her a laugh at his expense.
“I am glad I can amuse you,” he murmured, catching her startled glance.
“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .” she stammered in apology.
“Your laughter is a gift, and quite understandable. There is nothing more amusing than watching a creature as dignified as me letting out a hearty sneeze,” Viktor reassured her. “Of course, I am also curious to know why you laughed the first time. Would you care to let me in on the joke?”
She blushed and shrugged. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have thought it. You’re a hero, not a . . .”
That intrigued him. “Tell me anyway. I’m a hero, not a . . . what?”
Raisa blushed deeper. “You’re a hero, not a fairy tale creature.” A glance up caught the perking of his ears. She offered him a tentative smile. “I looked down, saw your feet, and, um . . . well . . . I immediately thought Puss-in-Boots . . .”
Viktor glanced down at himself. While his hind legs weren’t entirely human in shape, neither were they quite the exaggerated ones of a true cat, and the fit of his footwear reflected that. Still, he could see her point. Permitting himself a chuckle, he gently squeezed her fingers. “We Haguaro are well aware of how we look. We often take pains to look more human, even if we can’t look Normal.”
“Well, you are very, um . . . exotic looking,” she offered politely.
This close, with the wind shifting direction, her scent filled his senses, permeating him with a f
eeling of rightfulness. “On the outside, perhaps. On the inside, I am still a man.”
She flushed again. “Erm . . . why do I get the feeling the reason you wanted to see me is because . . . you’re a man?”
He couldn’t hide it. “Because you have excellent instincts.”
“Why?” Stopping, she turned to face him. “Why me? I don’t look anything like, well, an Haguaro woman. Aren’t you . . . um . . . Wouldn’t you prefer one of your own kind?”
Viktor shrugged. “I’ll admit it’s more common. But there is something about you which I find . . . compelling.”
“Compelling? Me?” Raisa shook her head, her sun-streaked locks sliding over her shoulders. “I’m surprised they even let me come here. That is, presuming you know . . .”
He didn’t pretend ignorance. “You and your father and brother were former Danispin citizens. Your father was—and is—a baker, yourself a massage therapist, and your brother a clerk in the Danispin military. A dissident clerk. You have my condolences for his loss,” he offered.
She shrugged, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, smell the subtle tinge of sadness in her natural perfume. “He was trying to do the right thing. Father raised us to think about the differences between wrong and right, and my brother believed in it. He died getting us across the border, along with the information he had smuggled out of his work.” Raisa breathed deeply, gazing at the trees in the distance. “I still wish my mother and sisters had seen reason, too. Bombing these people just to get their hands on rare minerals . . . it’s an insane idea. We should be working together, all of us, to rebuild the technology we’ve lost.
“Arapin has a spaceport, yes, but we’re on the back end of colonized space; hardly anyone ever visits, and we don’t have enough resources individually, nor enough cooperation as a group to rebuild our half-lost spaceship technology. The only way we’re going to regain solid contact with everyone else, and regain all the advantages that will entail, is if we stop fighting each other—I’m sorry if that kind of goes against your entire purpose for existence,” she added quickly, looking up at him. “But it’s how my father and I feel.”
Viktor wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t call it our purpose for existence. It’s more our purpose for employment. Saying that we exist for no other reason than to fight and kill is to render us less than the beasts we resemble. I don’t deny we were made to be tools of war, and that we look more like beasts than like men and women, but we are still human beings inside.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she murmured, tugging on her fingers to free them.
He kept them tucked in his. “You didn’t. I know what I am. I was just hoping that you did, too. Or that you’d be willing to learn.”
“Which brings me back to why I am here.” Lifting her chin, Raisa looked up at him.
She was about average in height, which made her around forty centimeters shorter than him—and that was without him rising up on his toes. Her height and slender build made Viktor all the more aware of how fragile and delicate she was, and how that comparative delicateness dug its claws into his protective instincts.
“Why am I here, Viktor Ragerip?”
“Rose,” he corrected. She blinked and frowned softly, confused. Viktor sighed. “A few years ago, I dug through the records our ancestors brought when they escaped the Gengin facility which had created them. My paternal bloodline is descended from a man named George Rose . . . so by rights, Rose is my true family name. Not the battle name I was given in an effort to make me sound all the more ferocious to our foes—which is a stupid practice, if you ask me.”
“Oh?” she asked. “How so?”
“Well, it’s not like we stop to exchange names and hobbies and interests first before entering a battle with our attackers,” he pointed out. “Our names might occasionally get across the borders through rumor and so forth, but the people who hear them every day are our fellow Sullipins. With names like Ragerip, Throatgouger, and the like, all we’re doing is intimidating the people we’re sworn to protect.”
Raisa tipped her head, acknowledging his words. “You’re right. It does seem excessively intimidating. But to quote Shakespeare, would a Ragerip by any other name sound as fierce? To call you a Rose would make you sound sweet, and you are supposed to be a symbol of ferocious defense for this land.”
“That may be reasonable for when I’m working, but what about my leisure time?” Viktor argued. “Shouldn’t I be allowed to seem sweet and kind? Do I have to remain a beast every hour of the day? Or can I also be a man at least some of my time?”
She gave him a dubious look. “Viktor . . . you don’t look like a man. As sad as it is to say this . . . people tend to judge first on how people look. They see you, they think, fierce jungle beast.”
“Then that’s all the more reason for me to be looked at as a man. To have the opportunity to be seen as a man. Which is why you are here,” he murmured pointedly.
“Yes, but why me?” she asked again.
Viktor shrugged. “Because you smell right.”
“Because I what?” Raisa demanded, her brows rising with her incredulity. “I smell right? I thought you wanted to be seen as a man, not a beast, but if this is your selection criteria . . .”
She tried tugging her hand free again, but Viktor kept it. He pulled it to his chest, turning it gently but firmly in both of his hands so that her palm pressed flat against his golden fur. He didn’t smell any fear about her, which was good, but the combination of her scent and her touch made it a struggle for him to focus on mere words. “I have a heart. I have a brain. I have a soul. I also have a body, which by these measurements is merely one-quarter of me. I’m not going to ignore my appearance or my abilities, but neither am I going to deny the other three-quarters.”
Her blue green gaze dropped from his face to his chest. He felt her fingers move slightly, a subtle caress of her thumb. “Your, ah, fur. It’s very soft.”
“Lots of vitamin E. Both in my diet and in my shampoo.” He smiled when she glanced up, inviting her to enjoy the mild joke. “It takes forever to wash and dry, and I have to use a conditioner if I don’t want problems with static electricity, but at least I don’t have to lick myself.”
She blushed at his choice of words. Dropping her gaze to his chest, Raisa splayed her fingers over his fur. Viktor released her wrist slowly, giving her silent permission to explore him. Released, her fingers rubbed against the grain of his fur, then with it, stimulating and soothing the underlying skin. She frowned slightly, thoughtfully, and raked the pads of her fingers through the longer, golden strands cresting his sternum.
“Does it interfere with massage therapy? Or have you ever had a massage?”
Her clinical interest gave him hope that he could capture other facets of her interest as well. Viktor shrugged. “It does take a certain talent to massage a Haguaro, and the right tools of the trade. I’m not quite sure what oils are used, since our therapists don’t use them very often. I think some of it is aloe vera gel, maybe with some vitamin E. They often follow it with an oatmeal powder scrub, which is very invigorating.
“But most of the time, they just use their bare hands and our natural body oils.” Stooping a little, he picked up both of her hands and guided them into the thick, long, hairlike mane covering him from scalp to shoulders. “There are glands on both males and females at the back of the head, below and behind each ear . . . Feel that, the bit that’s a little more oily? Plus more glands down by our tails and around the bases of our whiskers.” Pulling one of her hands free after it had wriggled experimentally for a little bit, he guided it to her nose. “For the men, the oil glands are a bit muskier in their scent than for the women. Here, smell it for yourself.”
Hesitantly, she sniffed. Blinking, Raisa looked up at him. “It’s not bad . . . Kind of like a perfume, actually. Or a cologne.”
Stooping again, Viktor twisted his head and shoulders, offering her his mane. “Stick your face in it and brea
the deeply.”
She laughed and swayed back. “I can’t do that!”
“Sure you can! You just might like it . . . but you won’t know until you actually try,” he teased. “Go on, do it.”
“Well . . . okay.” Steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, she buried her face in his fluffy gold and brown mane. Most of the Haguaro feline genome had come from jaguars, but some had been borrowed from other cat species, including Viktor’s lionlike mane. He heard Raisa inhale deeply, then exhale on a humming sigh. “Mmm, yes . . . like a very nice cologne. Unless you applied some actual cologne to your fur?”
“I’m not wearing any. What you’re smelling is the real me.” Turning to face her, still stooped over, Viktor found their faces close enough to mesmerize him. Partly because of her own perfume, natural and heady, but partly from the fearless curiosity in her blue green eyes. This close, he could see they were definitely too dark to be called aquamarine, and she had two tiny flecks of amber in the iris of her left eye, while there was only one fleck in the right.
She was also close enough that he couldn’t resist. Angling his head, he pressed his mouth to hers. Kissed her. Raisa sucked in a startled breath, both of her hands coming up to his shoulders. Balling his own hands into fists to keep from touching her, from pulling her closer, from obeying the instinct to snatch her up and carry her off to his lair, Viktor instead gave her parted lips a teasing lick. He pressed further when she gasped again, claiming her mouth as gently as his instincts would allow.
Apparently not gently enough; she pushed at his shoulders, stepping back. Cheeks flushed, she didn’t meet his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that. You’re a . . .”
“I’m a . . . what?” Viktor asked, angry that she was daring to call him that in spite of his explanations.
She lifted her chin and her gaze, meeting his stare firmly. “You’re a stranger, and we’ve only just met. I may be a Sullipin now, but I was raised a Danispin, and in Danispin, we don’t do that on a . . . on a . . . I can’t even call this a first date!”
Bedtime Stories Page 26
