Rebel (The Cat Star Chronicles)

by Cheryl Brooks

  “Okay. This is really freaking me out now,” Kim murmured to her new husband. “How the hell would anyone know we talked about that?” She glanced at Anara. “Is she a witch?”

  “No,” Anara said—although her fiendish expression seemed to contradict that assertion. “But I am observant. I caught him practicing his signature a few days ago.”

  Onca threw up his hands in protest. “I was just trying it out. You know, to see what it would be like to have two names.”

  Kim grinned. “How did it feel?”

  “Fabulous.”

  ***

  Kim gave Onca a kiss that melted his bones, closely followed by a hug that stole what was left of his breath.

  “So, what do we do now?” she asked.

  Onca shrugged. “You got me by the short hairs—for real, now that I think of it. I dunno, live happily ever after?”

  “I doubt we’ll always be happy,” Kim said. “Shit happens, you know.”

  Onca certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, like rescuing damsels in distress and getting shot at by Racks.” Then again, perhaps they had already faced the worst that life intended to throw at them. “I’m hoping for smooth sailing from here on out.”

  “I wish we knew where Dalmet was,” Kim said. “This won’t be over until we find her.”

  “I know where she is,” Val said. “At least, I know where those other brothels are. I’ll fly over and get her.”

  Onca snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right, Wings. Like she’s gonna trust you. Those eyes of yours will probably freak her out.”

  “Maybe I should go with you,” Kim suggested. “We need to get all those girls to the Palace as soon as possible.”

  “Good idea,” Jatki said. “How about if I go with Val?” She winked at Kim. “I’m sure you’d rather stay here with Onca.”

  “I know what I’m gonna do,” Jack declared. “I’m going back to that Markelian deli—you know, the one next to where we ditched the ambulance? Never ate any Markelian food before, but I want to try it.”

  Onca never had, either. “Sounds good.”

  “Maybe we should invite the judge,” Roncas said. “She’s probably hungry after such a long day.”

  He glanced at Salaxine, who was still sorting through the pages Anara had given her. “Nah, she’s busy. I’ll, um, send her a thank you note when we get home.”

  Roncas blinked, her blue eyes blending nicely with her Val-enhanced purple skin. “You know…she seems kinda familiar.”

  Onca shrugged. “Seen one judge, you’ve seen them all.” He arched a brow. “Spent much time in courtrooms, Roncas?”

  “No,” the Zuteran replied. “Maybe I’ve seen her at the market or something.”

  “Do judges really do their own shopping?” Kim asked. “Seems like she’d have a droid or someone to do it for her.”

  “Maybe,” Onca said. “But there are some things you have to do for yourself.”

  “That’s it!” Roncas exclaimed. “I’ve seen her at the—”

  “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Taking Kim by the hand, Onca headed toward the exit. “I hear the Markelians make a great sandwich. Slow-roasted meat, aged cheese, fresh bread—that sort of thing—and they have this secret sauce that makes your hair grow really fast.”

  Kim ran a hand through her short curls. “Cool. My hair needs all the help it can get to catch up with yours.”

  “No worries.” He pulled her into his arms for a kiss that left behind a lingering sweetness, a flavor he knew he would never grow tired of. “You’ve got the rest of your life for that.” If he was lucky, he would be there for all of it—every single joyous moment.

  She tapped his nose with a gentle fingertip. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Onca’s vision altered slightly, revealing an older version of Kim surrounded by laughing children—her own along with dozens of others of every species imaginable. Clearly the gods had a happy life in store for her—and him.

  “Lead on.”

  ***

  By the time they had all finished dinner, word came that the police, led by Officer Lembic, had raided the three brothels implicated in the records Val had discovered. True to his word, Val brought Dalmet and Jatki back, although he had to make two trips.

  Kim embraced her friend, who seemed as shaken by the rapid turn of events as she had been by being kidnapped and enslaved.

  “I could hardly believe it when the police came and let us out,” the Levitian girl exclaimed as she returned Kim’s hug. “I was beginning to think I’d never see you again.”

  “Same here,” Kim said. “When you weren’t in the Den, we were afraid you might’ve been sold.”

  “They threatened me with that,” Dalmet said, shuddering. “Said they’d sell me to a Scorillian if I didn’t cooperate. Have you ever seen a Scorillian’s dick? It looks like a long, pointed crystal—not like a Levitian’s at all.”

  “At least it wasn’t a Norludian,” Jack said, turning slightly pale. “Damn things make me sick to look at them.”

  “You’ve been saying that forever,” Tisana snapped. “But you’ve never told us why.”

  “That’s because it makes me want to puke just thinking about it.”

  “Maybe it’s time to get it off your chest,” Onca suggested. “You know, venting your feelings and all that psychobabble bullshit.”

  “You might be right.” Taking a quick swig of Markelian ale, Jack leaned back in her chair. “One of those weird little shits sucked his fingers onto my cheeks and tried to stick his tongue down my throat once.” With a sharp exhale, she lurched forward as though about to lose her dinner. Snatching up a napkin, she pressed it to her lips.

  Momentarily stricken with macabre fascination, Kim asked, “What did you do then?”

  “Bit him.” Jack shivered. “Believe me, Norludian blood tastes worse than anything you can imagine. Couldn’t keep food down for a week.”

  Onca cleared his throat as though recalling something equally distasteful. “Sorry I asked.” With a slight shudder, he turned to Dalmet. “Speaking of Levitians, Lembic wondered why you were living on the street. He seemed to think it strange that you wouldn’t have been taken in by other Levitians when you were orphaned.”

  “I was a runaway, not an orphan.” An expression of chagrin tightened Dalmet’s jaw, emphasizing the bony ridges. “A stupid runaway. I wanted freedom, and look where that got me.”

  “Well, you’re free now,” Kim said. “Are you hungry?”

  Dalmet rubbed her flat belly. “Starving.”

  “You’ve come to the right place.” Onca waved at a waitress. “You can order anything you like, but those jharic sandwiches are damn good.”

  Kim nodded. “As soon as I get my share of the Zetithian trust fund, Onca and I will make sure none of the street kids in this city go hungry again. We’re gonna start a school too.” She glanced at Rashe. “Think the brothel owners would donate to the cause?”

  “I guess so,” Rashe replied. “I can donate a free fuck once a week or so. Not sure about the Statzeelians—they’re kinda tightfisted—but the others would probably chip in.”

  “Great,” Kim said. “So we can put you down for—how much did you say you charged your clients?”

  “Four hundred credits.” He shrugged. “I know it isn’t anywhere near what Onca used to charge, but, hey, I’m only human.”

  Jack let out an appreciative whistle. “Ooh, you’re good, Kim. At this rate, you’ll be hosting charity balls in no time. I could probably cough up a few credits myself.”

  “I shall speak to the restaurant owners,” Shemlak said. “A great deal of food goes to waste on this world while children go hungry. We can do better.”

  “And we will,” Onca said. “Amelyana only raised Zetithians. Kim and I will have children of all kinds, including our own.” Enfolding Kim’s hand in his, he gazed into her eyes, sending waves of warm contentment washing over her. “You’ve given my life purpose and filled it with love. I’
ll spend the rest of my days giving it back.”

  She smiled, her mind touching the lives deep inside her womb with the strength of her love for their father. “You already have.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s only the beginning.” Leaning closer, his lips met hers in the softest of kisses. “I promise to give you joy unlike any you have ever known—every day of my life.”

  Her vision altered, transforming his image to the man he would become, foretelling their long and happy future together. “I know you will.”

  Acknowledgments

  When it comes to acknowledgments, I’ve never been terribly chatty. Lots of authors will tell you this, that, or the other about all the research they’ve done and where their ideas came from. I’ve never done that, and since Rebel is the tenth book in this series, I see no point in starting now.

  Therefore, my sincere thanks go out to:

  My loving husband, Budley

  My handsome sons, Mike & Sam

  My talented critique partners, Sandy James & Nan Reinhardt

  My keen-eyed beta reader, Mellanie Szereto

  My supportive agent, Melissa Jeglinski

  My longtime editor, Deb Werksman

  My amazing blog followers

  My fellow IRWA members

  My insane cats, Kate & Allie

  My normal cat, Jade

  My barn cat, Kitty Cat

  My trusty horses, Kes & Jadzia

  My peachy little dog, Peaches

  But most of all, I’d like to thank my wonderful readers.

  This Rebel is for you.

  Escape to the world of the Cat Star Chronicles by Cheryl Brooks

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  Dax had no idea why discovering the color of her eyes should have affected him so strongly, but he’d never purred for a woman in his life. He’d finally gotten a good whiff of her; she smelled so damn good, he’d reacted before he had time to think.

  The sound of a scuffle behind him diverted his attention and, turning around, he saw Lars headed their way with scratches all over him and a branch clinging to the seat of his pants. Blood covered at least half of his face, but he was still waving his pistol at Dax.

  “You Zetithian scum!” he roared as he approached. “She’s mine!”

  “Not anymore, pal,” Dax said. “So back off!”

  “You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you?” Lars yelled. “I tell you I won’t let—”

  Dax didn’t often lose his temper, but he’d had just about enough of Lars. “I haven’t fucked anybody,” he shot back. “She’s leaving because she doesn’t like getting beat up. So why don’t you just shut up and go home!”

  Lars ignored him and continued to advance. Realizing that talking wasn’t getting him anywhere, Dax grabbed Ava’s hand, flipped the setting on her pistol to heavy stun, and squeezed the trigger.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Waroun said as Lars fell in a heap. “You actually hit him.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Dax said with a sardonic laugh. “Let’s get going before he wakes up again.”

  “Which won’t be long,” Ava warned. “The frying pan does a better job.”

  “Anyone that hardheaded must have a little Herpatronian in his bloodline,” Waroun mused, still staring at Lars’s inert form. “Or a touch of Darconian—though I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Have you ever considered that hitting him in the head might be making things worse?” Dax said. “I mean, shit like that is bound to scramble his brains eventually.”

  “I’ve been hoping it would give him a lobotomy,” Ava said. “But it hasn’t worked so far.” She tipped her head to one side, adding thoughtfully, “Maybe I wasn’t hitting him in the right spot.”

  “Remind me not to let her anywhere near the galley,” Waroun muttered. “We might all be lobotomized before we get her to Rutara.”

  “Hey, it was your idea to bring her along,” Dax pointed out. “If anyone gets conked over the head, it should be you.”

  “Aw, come on, you guys!” Ava said. “I won’t need to hit either one of you—unless you hit me first.”

  “I don’t plan on it,” Dax snapped. Actually, hitting her was the farthest thing from his mind at that point. Another moment spent gazing into her eyes and he would have kissed her! Striding off in the direction of his speeder and his other passengers, Dax made an interesting discovery. She’d not only made him purr; she’d made his dick hard.

  And, not only that, it was also slick with the orgasm-inducing fluid for which Zetithians were famous. Dax had been around lots of women, but very few of them had ever given him an erection—not that they hadn’t tried—and none had made him want to purr. He hadn’t done it intentionally this time; it had simply happened. It was all wrong, though—it was very clear that she wasn’t interested in him. But if that was the case, then why had she smelled so good?

  Anyway, it was supposed to be the other way around: When males saw a woman they were attracted to, first they purred and then they were aroused by her scent. At least, that’s what he’d always been told. The fact that a woman’s scent could be arousing whether he’d purred or not surprised him. Then it occurred to him that drowning in her eyes might have been the reason. After all, he’d had to get pretty close to her to do that.

  Proximity, pure and simple. As tall as he was, looking right into a woman’s face didn’t happen very often. Most females only came up to his chest, and some only to his waist. Drells were somewhere around his knees—not that he’d ever been able to figure out which of them was female. One of his passengers was a Drell this time, so he’d have to make a point of asking. The other two passengers were Kitnocks, and though they were nearly as tall as he, Dax had long since decided that the only way you could tell the sexes apart was by the color of the body stockings they wore to cover their spindly limbs; females wore blue, and males wore red. Always.

  As they approached, Dax spotted three scantily clad Davordian hookers waiting with his motley trio of passengers. Except for their luminous blue eyes, Davordians looked essentially human, but Kitnocks and Drells were humanoid only in the respect that they each had two legs, two arms, and a head. If those girls had provided the necessary services, they were either the toughest hookers ever born or the most desperate.

  One of the Kitnocks, Teke, inclined his tall, cylindrical head as he waved a hand in greeting. “These ladies heard we were shipping out with a Zetithian and wanted to know if you’d be interested—”

  “I’m not,” Dax said, not bothering to wait for the rest of it.

  “But they wanted to see if you had an aversion to blue eyes,” Teke said. “Apparently they’ve come to believe that this is a trait among Zetithians.”

  “It’s not,” said Dax. “That’s Trag’s problem, not mine.”

  “No, his problem is that he doesn’t like to fuck,” Waroun said, aiming a sucker-tipped thumb toward Dax. “I, on the other hand, would be happy to partake of anything you ladies have to offer.”

  It might have been the light, but Dax could have sworn the hookers lost what little color they had in their fair-skinned faces.

  “We have, um, other clients waiting,” one of the Davordians said, averting her eyes.

  “That’s right,” the others chorused.

  “Works every time,” Dax said under his breath as the hookers quickly withdrew.

  ***

  Still recovering from her reaction to Dax, Ava barely registered this exchange. No one, not Russ or Lars or anyone else, had ever made her melt. She made herself a promise not to get that close to him again, but she also knew that on a long space voyage this might prove difficult—especially if it was a small ship. With no more passengers than he took on—not to mention their apparent lack of class and, at least in her case, funds—the odds were against him being the captain o
f a luxury space cruiser.

  “We’ll make introductions later,” Waroun said. “Now, if you’ll all climb into the speeder, we’ll be on our way.”

  Following Waroun’s gesture, Ava climbed into the backseat of the sleek speeder to sit next to the Drell. They were rude little rats as a rule, but she knew how to handle them. All you had to do was swear at a Drell, and they backed down instantly. Kitnocks were another problem altogether. These two were obviously male, and though she’d waited on plenty of them, she didn’t care for them at all. Their huge mouths made them look like caricatures drawn by children, and they had some very odd habits. Cracking their knuckles was the most annoying of these and was something they did constantly, unless they were holding something in their hands.

  She’d heard that the knuckle cracking was a secret language among Kitnocks—and the fact that they mostly seemed to do this while among others of their kind made the rumor seem likely—but Ava had never been able to confirm this. Not that she cared. She’d always tried to avoid them in the past, but the best she could hope for in this instance was that their destination was nearby, because she was pretty sure that Rutara would be the last stop.

  The Drell shifted over as Ava sat down—not away from her, but toward her, barely leaving her a place to sit, let alone allowing room for her sack. Obviously, the swearing would have to begin immediately. “Move the fuck over.”

  The Drell screeched like a scalded cat and scrambled to the far side of the seat. “I merely wanted to—”

  “I don’t give a damn.” She was watching Dax climb into the driver’s seat, noting that he looked as fabulous from the back as he did from the front. She briefly considered what he might have thought if their positions were reversed—though, given his aversion to “fucking,” she doubted that the sentiment would be mutual. She sat up straighter and gazed pointedly in another direction. She didn’t need to be getting the hots for a Zetithian. She’d heard about them. They were like highly addictive drugs; one hit and you were hooked. And besides, she’d had enough trouble with bad boys; there was no need to get hung up on another one.