Cat Star 04 - Outcast

by Cheryl Brooks

  Kipper was racing around like a madman, barking his head off. The chickens were in the henhouse, which was small comfort, since it would go up like a pile of kindling if the fire ever reached it—as would the grain, and as much as there was in the shed, it would prob­ably smolder for months. Bonnie fought the urge to hose down the shed, knowing that water wasted now would mean there might be none to put out the sparks that would surely fly on the wind ahead of the fire.

  The flames drew nearer, sending smoke billowing into the sky. Lynx stood still for a moment, staring out at the fire, before suddenly jumping down from his perch on the tower to run through the field of stubble.

  "What are you doing?" Bonnie screamed. The fire was almost on him. Something must have been jammed, because she could see him swinging an ax to chop through the line. Then the water burst out like a foun­tain, and she couldn't see him anymore.

  Sparks were flying everywhere, carried toward her on the wind. The smoke burned her lungs and enveloped the entire compound in a hot, dense cloud. She couldn't see Lynx at all and could barely see the house. Then she saw flames and aimed her hose. The fire went out im­mediately, only to be replaced by another, and another. My God, they're everywhere! Bonnie kept on spraying; trying to see, trying to breathe. She had no clue as to where she was, let alone the direction she was facing.

  The enocks were going wild; Bonnie could hear them, squawking like a bunch of dying chickens. Turning to­ward the sound, she could see that some of their feathers must have caught fire, and she was heading toward them when she caught sight of Lynx inside the pen, hitting them with his shirt to smother the flames. She let out a scream, terrified that the enocks would turn on him. Bonnie ran to the gate, dragging her hose.

  "Get out of there!" she screamed at him. "They'll kill you!"

  In that moment, the air seemed to clear as the fire began to pass around them. Lynx ran toward the gate with the big male at his heels. Bonnie shot the bird with a stream of water, diverting his attention long enough for Lynx to escape.

  Slamming the gate closed, Bonnie screamed again as lightning struck and the sky opened up, deluging them with rain. In the glare of the lightning and the roll of thunder that followed, she could see Lynx standing there with rivulets of water coursing down his bare, heaving chest. As she stood gulping the cool, moist air into her burning lungs, her only thought was that Lynx was hers. I damn near gave my right arm for him, I've fought fire and enocks for him, and he is mine! Running to him, she flung her arms around his neck, and, pulling him down, kissed him fiercely.

  While the storm raged all around them, she clung to his hot, wet body, tasting his lips at last. He smelled of smoke and rain and sweat, and Bonnie twisted her fingers into his hair, refusing to let go. Someday, she would pay for this. Someday, she would be watching him walk away as he had done in her dream, but that would not happen on this day. No, on this day, she vowed, he is mine!

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bonnie knew that her logic was faulty, but she didn't care. Kissing him for all she was worth, she pushed her tongue past his sharp fangs, not caring if he bit her; it was worth the risk.

  Feeling his hands at her waist, she paused for a mo­ment, knowing that this was the end, and he would push her away now. All of her love for him came crashing down. Crying out in anguished protest against his lips, she cursed the day she'd met him, but with her next breath swore her undying love.

  "Don't you dare push me away!" she screamed at him. "I love you so much, Lynx! No one could ever love you more, but it doesn't matter to you, does it? Nothing mat­ters to you, and I hate you for that! Go on! Leave here now and take your precious solitude with you!" Giving him a shove, she turned to go back to the house—back to her home, her child, and her life of loneliness.

  For the second time that day, Lynx caught her by the arm. She tried to wrestle away from him, but he held her fast, just as the enock had done on the day they'd first met. Bonnie swore at him, pounding on his chest with her free hand, trying desperately to escape. Despite his superior strength, she twisted away from him some­how—and ran.

  But Lynx wasn't about to let her go. He hadn't been trying to push her away, he'd been about to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he'd ached to kiss her for so long... Running after her, he caught her arm just as she tripped and fell, pulling him down on top of her.

  Bonnie began to fear for her life; she'd pushed him too far, and now she was sure he would have his re­venge on all women by killing her. Kicking and scream­ing, Bonnie swung at him with all her might, wishing she had something—anything—to fight back with. Her strength was beginning to desert her when, suddenly, in a flash of lightning, she could see his face clearly, his yellow eyes blazing down at her out of the storm. His fangs gleamed like pearl daggers, and she could almost feel them ripping out her throat. Then, as the thunder rolled, his head descended. With a growl that she felt more than heard, his tongue swiped across her parted lips and then thrust past them.

  It took several moments before Bonnie's aston­ished brain caught up with her lips and realized that she was being kissed rather than killed. As she kissed him back, sucking hard on his tongue and teasing his lips, she felt desire building as her fears drifted into nothingness. Lynx released his hold on her arms, and she wrapped them around his neck. Their love-hungry souls met, and they kissed like thwarted lovers who had never kissed before: with fierce, demanding, ter­rifying passion.

  "I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I didn't mean it... please... don't ever leave me. I love you." Bonnie's voice trailed off as his lips found hers once more as the darkness of night fell.

  Caring nothing for his reply, she only wanted him to keep kissing her until she died. Lynx might not be capable of sex, but he could kiss, and Bonnie couldn't fault him on the way he did it, either—except that he stopped much too soon.

  "You need to get inside," he said roughly. "Ulla may need you."

  This was where she'd been headed when he'd stopped her so unceremoniously, but she ignored that, saying only, "If I do go inside, you're coming with me."

  "Bonnie, I can't—"

  "Don't say it," she pleaded. "I already know why you thinkyoxx can't, but, please believe me when I say it doesn't matter! I want you, Lynx, and I don't care what you can or can't do. I only know that I want you in my arms, in my house, in my bed... and most of all, in my life."

  "But I am in your life," Lynx protested, his body sag­ging with weariness. He'd tried so hard to resist... and had failed miserably. "I have tried not to be, but I am."

  Getting to her feet, Bonnie held out her hand. "Come on, then. Let's get inside where it's warm and dry and we can talk about it."

  Lynx stared out her outstretched hand as though he dared not touch it. Not meeting her eye, he said, "You will not be... disappointed... that we cannot be lovers?"

  "Maybe a little," Bonnie admitted. "I'd like to be able to touch you and hold you as much as I want, but right now, I'll take anything I can get, even if it's just being in the same room with you. Honestly, Lynx. That's all I need."

  But it certainly wasn't all she got.

  Chapter 13

  Lynx knew the moment he lost control. Somewhere in the blazing inferno filled with suffocating smoke and horror, he heard her voice calling out to him, and his body reacted without thought or direction; he went to her—came when she called—just as he always did. And now he knew why. It wasn't from having been a slave, conditioned to responding quickly to a sum­mons. It was because he loved her. There in the midst of chaos, it became so clear to him; the entire pretense, all the denial had been pointless. He was sure he'd fallen in love with her the first moment he saw her about to be torn apart by those vicious birds.

  He'd gone to her rescue then, just as he had every time she needed anything. Anything she mentioned— and anything he thought she might want or need—he gave to her, telling himself that it was to keep her in his debt. He knew now that he'd been lying to himself from the very beginning. He hadn't bee
n angry with her for being foolish enough to risk her life for a chicken; he'd only been terrified of what might have happened had he chanced upon her a few moments too late.

  She still had hold of his hand, or this revelation might have caused him to fall into another fit. He felt the tug of her grasp, warm and strong, as though she was the anchor that kept him secure and centered in this world, not letting him go careening off into insanity.

  "You're sure you're all right?" she whispered. "Not burned or anything?"

  Lynx shook his head, not trusting himself to speak yet.

  Had she meant those words she'd said before? That she only wanted to be in the same room with him? It was difficult for Lynx to comprehend that anyone could feel that way about him, because if anyone else ever had, he certainly couldn't remember it. People, especially women, always wanted something from him, something more than just himself. They wanted him for what he was capable of, the tasks he could complete, the ma­chinery he could repair, the sexual gratification he could provide. Had he ever been wanted just for himself? He didn't think so. Bonnie was unique in that respect—and in so many other ways as well...

  Perhaps the most amazing thing about that night was that Ulla had slept right through the fire and the storm. Bonnie listened for her cries as she carefully opened the door and, hearing no sound other than her occasional contented sigh, slipped inside, pulling Lynx in behind her. Dripping wet and smelling of smoke and rain, the first thing she wanted was a shower, and she wanted to have it with Lynx.

  Bonnie might have kissed him and held him, but she still hadn't caught him with his pants off. His shirt must have been out by the enock pen—or even inside it— and since he'd used it to douse the flames, it was doubt­ful that he would ever wear it again. His pants weren't in much better shape, and Bonnie's own clothes were dotted with holes from sparks she hadn't known had touched them. Tiptoeing through the kitchen so as not to wake Ulla, Bonnie led Lynx into the bathroom and, closing the door, flipped on the light.

  He looked wild. His hair was a mass of wet, spiral curls, and his face and torso were streaked with soot and rain. Bonnie had seldom seen him up close without his shirt, but even wet and dirty, he looked seductive. She caught a glimpse of passion simmering in his eyes.

  Bonnie didn't fully understand what had happened to suddenly change the way Lynx acted toward her. That kiss had been completely unexpected. She tried to think back, to come up with a reason or a time when she thought he might have changed toward her, but couldn't put her finger on it. Perhaps he hadn't changed; perhaps something was wrong with him.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, peering up at him tentatively. "I mean, you didn't get kicked in the head by an enock or struck by lightning—did you?"

  "I am uninjured," he replied. This was a bit of an un­derstatement, since not only did he appear to be uninjured, but looked like every woman's wildest erotic fantasy.

  "Then would you mind explaining this sudden change of attitude? This morning I wound up getting hurt when I kissed you, which, given your previous attitude toward me, I could have expected—"

  "I did not intend—"

  "To hit me? I know you didn't, but tonight was so completely different. I'm not sorry it turned out this way, but I am a little confused."

  Lynx looked uncomfortable and tried to say some­thing to explain but seemed to have trouble finding the words.

  "Can't explain it, huh?"

  Shaking his head, he said softly, "No, I cannot. I only know that I feel... differently... toward you than

  I have for any other woman." To tell her he loved her now would have been too sudden, too pat an answer. He would wait.

  "Yeah, well, I can't explain why I feel the way I do either," Bonnie said candidly. "It isn't as though you've ever been friendly or anything."

  "It is... difficult," he said. "I thought you would be like the others, but you—" Lynx broke off there, throwing up his hands in a gesture of utter futility. —are not.

  "Well, it's nice to know I'm not anything like your typical harem girl," Bonnie said agreeably, but no­ticed that the fire had gone out of his eyes. It wasn't his usual stoic expression, but still... The words were difficult to utter, but she knew she had to say them. "Lynx, would you rather go back out to the shed for the night? I may have been a bit... premature in bring­ing you in here."

  His expression grew wary, and his voice sounded hollow when he replied. "I will do as you wish."

  "What I wish is immaterial right now," Bonnie said evenly, hoping she was saying the right thing—for once. "The question is, what do you wish?"

  His gaze dropped to the floor. "I wish to stay and give you joy," he said. Looking up, he added, "But I know that I cannot."

  "Yes, you can," she whispered. "In fact, you may have done it already."

  He seemed puzzled by this. "But I have not mated with you," he protested, "and I—"

  "Lynx," she said earnestly, cutting off his protests, "I'd trade all the enocks on this whole damn planet just for the chance to see you smile—and to hear you laugh would bring me the greatest joy I can possibly imagine."

  Lynx stood there gaping at her in disbelief. This was not at all what he'd expected her to say. "But my laugh­ter is worth nothing," he said.

  "Not to me."

  He shook his head, seeming to find it difficult to be­lieve that such a plain and simple thing would matter to her—or to anyone; he was used to being asked for a great deal more than a smile.

  "Lynx," she said gently, trying to explain, "what I'm trying to say is that I want you to be happy. Nothing more, nothing less. You've said before that you only want peace and solitude, but, tell me truthfully: is that really all you want? Isn't there something else you dream about and wish for?"

  It took him a long time to form his reply. Lynx knew what he wanted, but he also knew that it was no longer possible. "What I want most of all, I cannot have," he said at last. "It is useless to wish for it."

  He went no further with his answer, which left Bonnie to assume that whatever he wanted was some­thing she couldn't give him. His face gave nothing away, and Bonnie wanted to kick herself because, while this conversation hadn't been without merit, it had certainly killed the mood. I should have kept my mouth shut, she thought. Just stripped him down, pushed him in the shower, and asked questions later.

  "And I suppose peace and solitude come right after that—whatever it is." Sighing regretfully, she said, "Well, go on, then. Take a nice, hot shower, and I'll try to find you something dry to wear." Actually, she had already made more clothes for him, but so far hadn't felt masoch­istic enough to give them to him. Lynx made no gesture of protest, nor did he say a word as she left the room.

  It took Lynx a few moments to realize she'd given up again. She was so beautiful, so kind, and he wanted to give her everything, including his love, but he didn't know how.

  Shaking his head as though doing so might help him think more clearly, he was recalled to his surroundings. Lynx had never been in such a room before. He had noted her gesture and moved closer to the bathtub, turn­ing knobs at random. The water grew warm and then hot. With the instinct of a born mechanic, he had it figured out in seconds. Removing what was left of his cloth­ing, he stepped beneath the spray and let out an ecstatic groan. The cookies had nearly robbed him of speech, but to someone who had always had to bathe in cold water, this went far beyond that. Lynx thought he would have to build her another enock pen as payment for this treat. No, you don 'thave to do that anymore, he told himself. She wants you, not a fence.

  Still not believing it fully, he picked up the soap. It was the same as what she had given him to use; prov­ing that, even then, she had considered him her equal. The concept of equality was the one he'd had difficulty grasping since earning his freedom. The conditioning of his mind had been very thorough in that respect. Would he ever feel that anything was his due, rather than a treat tossed to him the way you would reward a dog? He cer­tainly hoped so.


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  Stripping off her own sodden garments, Bonnie put on a robe and then took down the clothes she had made for Lynx from the shelf where she had laid them, not know­ing when she would ever give them to him—if indeed she ever would. They weren't fancy but were made from heavy, unbleached cotton, comfortable and sturdy. Lynx had never explained why he wouldn't wear the others— though it was possible that they simply didn't fit him. If that was the case, she thought miserably, he wouldn't be able to wear these, either. She wished he would tell her, because she was tired of trying to figure everything out for herself. Those quiet, uncommunicative types were hard to deal with; they left you guessing their motives at every turn.

  With any other man, Bonnie would have slipped out of her robe and climbed into the shower with him, know­ing that he would understand the gesture and respond in kind. She wasn't sure she could count on that with Lynx, who had undoubtedly seen plenty of unclothed females in his lifetime—what was one more? But if he truly felt differently toward her, perhaps it was worth the risk.