“Will you swear it with me?” Kaid had demanded, tightening his grip till his claws began to penetrate Kusac’s skin.
“I will,” he’d said, his voice tense.
“Swear then that from this day onward, my fight will be your fight, in battle you’ll never be more than a sword’s reach from my side, and that my honor you’ll hold as dear as your own.”
As he repeated the oath, his voice had grown firmer.
“Swear also that if I’m killed, you’ll not risk your lives in seeking revenge.”
That had surprised him.
“Swear it!”
“I swear!”
“Swear it in Vartra’s name!” Kaid had said, pulling him closer till their faces were only inches apart.
“I swear it in Vartra’s name, dammit!” Anger had crept into his voice now, and he knew Kaid saw his free hand begin to clench into a fist. “What will you swear in return, Kaid? What do you offer me?” he demanded, suddenly realizing it had to be an equal relationship.
“I swear the same, and offer myself,” Kaid said simply, opening his mind and reaching out with it to him.
The contact had been immediate and totally overwhelming.
He hadn’t been prepared for his mind to merge with Kaid’s, nor for it to waken his Link to Carrie. It had surged through them, awakening in them sexual responses identical to those he and Carrie had shared on their Link days.
Abruptly, he pushed the memory aside, shaking his whole body as if ridding it of water, trying to forget that in the row he’d staged with Kaid, he’d broken that oath by calling his honor into question.
“Are you sure?” demanded Banner, catching him by the arm.
This time, he didn’t pull away. The touch of one of his own kind was reassuring in a world gone mad. “A random memory, nothing more,” he said more gently, letting his Second’s emotions wash over and through him, feeling his concern, and a hint of something more. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moving carefully away.
Showering afterward, he found his ribs tender where Dzaou had hit them and winced as he tried to avoid twisting his body to rub soap on his back.
“Need some help?” asked Jayza.
“I’m done now,” he said, giving up the struggle and just letting the water sluice though his pelt.
“Are you bringing Shaidan to our lounge this evening?” asked Banner, stepping out from his shower stall and stopping in front of him.
“No. Kezule’s given me a room for the night on the Command level,” he said, turning off the water and reaching for his towel.
Dzaou gave a bark of laughter. “From the sound of it, Kezule’s turning you into his pet! You were with him yesterday, too. Soon he’ll have you following him around like Shaidan was!”
Ignoring the gibe, he began toweling himself as he walked over to the bench where his tunic and belt lay. He sensed Banner following him.
“Is there something about this I should know?” his Second asked quietly.
Should he say nothing, or tell him? He decided on the latter. “Shaidan’s spending the night with me once a week, on the Command level.”
“Memorize what you can of the layout—you know the drill, where the exits are, if they’re guarded, then you can sketch it out for us. This is a great opportunity to. . . .”
“Get the cub used to being Sholan,” he interrupted. “What for? They outnumber us by too many. Besides, I gave my word—for all of us.”
“Be realistic, Kusac!” hissed Banner, trying to keep his voice low so as not to attract Dzaou’s notice. “Kezule keeps altering your agreement. If he feels no need to stick to it, why should you? I’m not suggesting we plan a coup, but knowledge of the layout of the Command level could be invaluable one day.”
“Enough plotting,” he growled. “I’ve made my decision. Blame it on my Telepath training if you want, but I, at least, am acting with honor.” Pelt still wet, he threw aside his towel and began pulling his tunic on, anxious to leave Banner and his awkward questions.
Judging by its proximity to the sick bay complex, the small suite on the Command level, almost a carbon copy of his own, was one that was intended for use by medical staff.
“Should you need anything, Captain,” said M’kou, opening the door for him, “someone will be on duty opposite your room all night.”
“Guarding us?” he asked, his ears adopting a cynical slant.
M’kou smiled. “On call for the sick bay, actually,” he replied. “The food replicator has been set with familiar dishes for you. Shaidan has already eaten, but I don’t believe you have.”
“Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “Can you change the day for me for next week? This is the evening when we work out. I’ve been missing practices for too long.”
“Certainly, Captain. Someone will come in the morning to take you back up to the Officers level. I wish you a good night, Captain, Shaidan,” M’kou said, nodding to him, then toward where the cub sat on the sofa.
When they were alone, he turned to his son. “Are you still hungry? I know I was at your age.”
Shaidan shook his head.
“Maybe another dessert?” he suggested, heading over to the dispenser.
The food was bland, much like the meals had been when they’d first arrived, but it was filling. Shaidan played with his dessert while Kusac ate, both of them deep in their own thoughts. He didn’t need his Talent to know his son was unsettled because he didn’t want to be there.
“Where am I to sleep?” Shaidan asked at length, pushing his plate aside.
“In the bedroom with me,” he said, finishing his meal with a swig of the coffeelike drink. “You’re not wanting to go to bed already, are you? I had hoped we could talk.”
“I’m tired,” the cub said, getting up from his stool.
“There’s only one bed,” said Shaidan, eyeing first it then his father nervously.
“We’ll share it,” he said gently, putting a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s quite usual for parents to share beds with their cubs.”
“I’ve never shared a bed.”
“Didn’t you and the other children creep into each other’s beds before you were rescued?”
Shaidan shook his head slowly. “Why would we do that?”
Why, indeed, he sighed to himself. The Directorate programming had ensured they were each secure in their knowledge of the lowly place they occupied in the order of life around them.
“It’s a big bed, Shaidan, there’s plenty of room for us both. You’ll hardly know I’m there,” he said as his son began taking his tunic off. He watched, checking the visible texture of his cub’s pelt, both the long hair on his chest and belly as well as the shorter fur covering the rest of him. He had to give Zayshul her due, at least she appeared to be grooming him reasonably well.
As he took the tunic from him, the light glinted off the metal collar. He frowned, and reached out to touch it briefly. “When we leave here, Shaidan, I swear you’ll never have to wear this again.”
“I don’t mind it,” Shaidan said as he clambered onto the bed and slid down under the covers.
His son settled at one side of the large bed, he returned to the living room where he prowled restlessly round, looking in every drawer and cupboard for he knew not what—maybe some sign of the previous occupant—but they were all empty. The room had obviously not been used since Kezule had arrived at the Outpost.
He sat down at last, flicking aimlessly through the channels on the vid unit, ignoring those playing the few Sholan Storyteller tapes they had, and the couple of ancient rousing Valtegan battle ones, stopping when he came to the one showing Kezule’s derelict ship. Sealed containers, glinting by the light of the distant sun, were strung out like strange jewels in the space between the N’zishok and Kij’ik as they were ferried slowly to the landing bay. Sighing, he leaned back, resting his head against the back of the sofa.
What if his son preferred to sleep rather than talk to him—no matter, Shaidan w
as only a cub and he probably was tired. As for being unsettled, it was likely because his routine had been broken—cubs liked routine he remembered his mother telling him. That was good, then, if Shaidan saw meeting him every evening at fifteenth hour as a regular part of his life. He was reading too much into it, especially since he knew his son was finally beginning to warm to him.
He stretched his arms, checking the time on his wrist comm, aware of his bandage binding slightly—still early, barely the eighteenth hour yet. What had M’kou said? There’d be someone in the room opposite on call for the sick bay? Perhaps now would be a good time to get a fresh dressing pack and redo his arm. He was curious to see how it was doing as he’d been aware of it itching on and off all day.
Getting to his feet, he padded out into the corridor, stopping to look at the doors opposite, wondering which of the two was the one he wanted. Instinct alerted him to the faint movement of a security cam off down the corridor to his right just as his senses told him the door to his left was about to open.
“Can I help you, Captain?” asked Ghidd’ah as her door slid open. “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”
“Nothing. I just wanted a fresh dressing pack for my injured arm,” he said, smiling wryly to himself about the speed at which his presence in the corridor had alerted the civilian nurse. Kezule might trust him down on this level, alone overnight with his son, but only so far.
“I’ll get one for you now,” she said, joining him in the corridor as her own door closed behind her. “Would you like me to do it for you?”
“No thanks, I can handle it myself.”
“If you want to go back to your room, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He nodded his thanks and returned, to continue pacing restlessly round the room until he heard a gentle tapping at the door.
“I didn’t use the buzzer in case Shaidan is sleeping,” she said quietly, handing him a small metal bowl containing a pair of scissors, a couple of dressings, fresh bandages and a sealed pack of antiseptic wipes. “You’ll find everything you need here. Just leave the bowl in the room, I’ll see it’s collected in the morning. Good night, Captain.”
“Thank you, and good night, Ghidd’ah,” he said, taking it from her.
He set it down on the low table in front of the sofa and, pushing his tunic sleeve out of the way, began cutting off the old bandage. What he found under the dressing surprised him. Each puncture wound was covered by a layer of very pink, new flesh—not healed yet, but well on the way, far further along than he would have expected them to be under normal circumstances. Not only that, but the fur was already growing back. The dressing was really only needed for protection now. No wonder his arm had been feeling itchy.
Thoughtfully, he opened the wipes and went through the motions of making sure the almost healed wounds were sterile again before putting on the fresh dressing and binding it on securely with the bandage. He couldn’t squash the uneasiness he felt about the speed at which the wound was healing. Even using Fastheal, it wouldn’t have reached this stage in so short a time, and then there was the physical cost of using the drug—it drained one of energy as it used the body’s own stored fats to fuel the healing process.
Giyarishis had been the last one to dress it and he’d said something about using the pool water on it for its healing properties. Well, he’d certainly doused it in the pool the night before seeing the TeLaxaudin. He turned his mind away from that thought as he packed up the empty wrappers, putting them into the bowl along with the scissors. He didn’t want to remember his evening with Zayshul, especially not now when he was with his son.
He looked at his wrist comm again—just over half an hour had passed and he still felt as unsettled and restless as before. He glanced at the vid unit again but watching the Zan’droshi was as interesting as watching grass grow, or paint dry. Maybe trying to sleep wasn’t such a bad idea.
Getting up, he shut off the vid unit and headed for the bedroom, putting off the living room light and opening the door slowly so as not to disturb his son. Stumbling a little in the dark, he found the edge of the bed and sat down. Stripping off his tunic, he edged under the covers and lay still, listening to Shaidan’s quiet breathing. It was like a balm to him, banishing the loneliness he’d tried to ignore since leaving Shola.
Suddenly he needed to touch him, to feel his warmth, know he was really there. Inching himself farther into the center of the bed, he stopped short when he felt the heat radiating from his son’s small body. Tentatively, he reached out, resting his hand on his son’s side. Shaidan whimpered in his sleep, flinching away from him briefly before relaxing again. He moved closer, letting his arm encircle the cub. This time, he was rewarded with small animal noises of pleasure as his son began to wriggle backward against him, seeking contact with his body. A small hand grasped his, clutching him tightly until, with a small sigh of contentment, echoed by Kusac, the grip slackened.
“Well, our brave leader is welcome to his night of cub-sitting,” said Dzaou, joining the others at their usual table in the rec lounge. He took a long drink of his ale before setting it down. “I’d rather be here, enjoying my drink. Always knew there was a good reason for never taking out a bonding contract.”
“You did the gene pool a favor, then,” muttered Jayza.
“Stow it,” said Banner automatically as he watched M’kou make his way between the tables to the bar. All the females he passed looked up to greet him, most taking advantage of his nearness to reach out and touch him, their gestures, in Sholan terms, ones of intimate friendship. Something stirred at the edges of his mind—he was observing something important, but he was damned if he could put his claw on what it was.
“I’m glad to see the General is allowing Shaidan more time with us,” said Khadui.
“Yeah, but it isn’t with us, it’s with him,” said Dzaou.
Jayza thumped his mug down on the table. “Give it a rest!” he said angrily. “You know he’s the only one of us with any parenting experience! You said you didn’t want to cub-sit. If he wasn’t prepared to do it, we’d all have to take turns. Be grateful to him for once in your life!”
When Banner and Khadui began to chuckle, Dzaou’s ears flattened and his face creased in anger, but he held his tongue.
Zhal-Kuushoi, 30th day (December)
Two days sitting alone in the same, small room with Zayshul, hyperaware of her nearness and her scent, had only made Kusac more aware of his physical need for her. By the morning of the third day, he was seriously thinking of requesting to work with the rest of his crew on salvage. Then he remembered the scent marker on him and shuddered, imagining the look on M’kou’s face. Compassion from a Prime because he couldn’t cope? He could cope with that even less.
“So they obviously controlled the aggression and sex drives of the ordinary warrior castes by drugging the drinking water supply with varying quantities of la’quo or feeding them raw meat,” Zayshul was saying.
“And aggressive sports.” He tried again, and failed, to not look at the long legs that showed below the hem of the dress she was wearing.
“That would tie in with them rising through the ranks by attacking any superiors they felt were incompetent,” she agreed, turning aside from her console to look at him. “Kusac, would you please sit down? You’ve been pacing up and down like a caged beast for the past three hours! You’re making it almost impossible for me to concentrate.”
He stopped beside her. “I can’t,” he said in a low voice, trying not to look at her. “It’s the only way I can control myself when I’m so close to you.” He raised his head, ears folding flat into his hair. “You said the marker affects you. Do you feel nothing?” His need for her was once more threatening to banish sense and reason.
Her skin darkened and she turned away from him, looking back at her screen. “We’ve work to do.”
Grasping the back of her chair, he swung it—and her—around to face him. “Tell me you feel nothing,” he said harshly. “Look me i
n the eyes and tell me you don’t need me again!”
“It’s not real, it’s the scent marker,” she stammered.
“I don’t care!” he said, leaning forward to trap her in the chair by grasping the arm rests. “Tell me I’m wrong when I say I can feel your need calling to me—why wear a dress to show off your legs if you don’t want me to notice them?”
“I didn’t . . . You said you didn’t want me near you . . .”
“I lied,” he interrupted, dropping his voice to a whisper as he leaned closer still. He flicked his tongue out, capturing the salt tear that spilled from one eye and rolled down her face. “I lied to myself,” he murmured, touching his lips to her cheek, drinking in her scent and the taste of her skin, letting go of the self-control he’d tried—and failed—to maintain in her presence. He shuddered, closing his eyes briefly, permitting the light-headedness to spread through him, feeling his belly and groin muscles tighten as he allowed his body to respond to hers.
She pulled back, eyes widening in fear as she realized what he was doing. “Kusac, we can’t . . . Not here . . . not now . . . This isn’t real, Kusac, it’s only the marker!” she said frantically, reaching out to push him away.
“Yes here and now,” he said, grasping her hand and pressing it against himself. “Feel me! That is real, and your marker caused it!”
He let her go, pulling her to her feet, one hand reaching for the fastenings on the front of her dress while he continued licking and nipping her face and neck. Beneath his hand, the naked skin of her chest was burning hot.
“No . . . I don’t want this,” she moaned, trying to push him away.
“You’re lying, but your body can’t,” he purred, teeth fastening on her tiny earlobe as he surrendered to the sensations her scent was generating. “I know the signs. You want me—why else would you dress like this?”
Between Darkness and Light (Sholan Alliance) Page 34
