by Thom Reese
And so, as Tresset leaped at the rabbit, a simple feat, a near-mindless kill, his legs betrayed him. He fell far short of his mark as the frightened creature bolted from view, never to be found again. Tresset cursed and rolled onto his back. His stomach growled in protest. It had been six days since last he’d tasted meat. He thought again of Dolnaraq. Why had they not yet connected? Why was he not here in Tresset’s time of need?
The molt’s eyes fluttered in a vain attempt at focus. He sought to rise from his grassy bed, but found his limbs too weak. Better to rest. Later, food. Later, essence. Later, Dolnaraq.
* * * *
Tresset awoke to the smell of roasted boar over a crackling campfire. There were voices, laughter, the clanking of pots and pans, the mingled odors of both human and reyaqc.
Gypsies, or, Romani as they often liked to be called.
Tresset blinked.
The sky wavered.
Blink, blink. No, not the sky, canvass. A tent.
A lantern sat at the far end, its flame dancing about, creating spirit-like shadows upon the uneven fabric.
Now there was a face before him—young, female, dark of eyes and hair. Human. The young woman turned to her right. “He wakes,” she said with a suppressed giggle. The girl could not have seen more than seventeen winters.
Another form appeared beyond the girl. Male, nearly elderly. Clothed in colorful gypsy garb. His milk white eyes glowed eerily in the flickering lamplight. A reyaqc.
“I am called Jisch.” He spoke in the Russian tongue, one much more familiar to Tresset than German, though why this one did not utter the reyaqc’s own language, Tresset could only guess.
“Human…lover,” managed Tresset, though still he was weak from lack of food and essence. Even the simple act of forming syllables seemed an effort.
Jisch chuckled. “Perhaps. But this human lover is likely the sole reason you yet live.” The reyaqc moved closer as the young woman scooted slightly to her left. “You are well depleted, young one. Far too much animal essence. How long since last you drew from a human source?”
Tresset stared at him, contempt in his gaze. He remained silent.
Jisch sighed. “I suppose that is an unnecessary question. The point is, if you are to live, you must infuse. And this you must do quickly.” The senior reyaqc turned to his right, signaled to a young human male who had just entered the tent: tall, lean, a wry grin and intelligent eyes. “This is Carman. He is a willing giver.”
“No,” managed Tresset.
But Jisch paid him no mind. The young human stepped forward, kneeling beside Tresset. Jisch lifted Tresset’s right arm. The young molt struggled against him, but all strength had fled. He had no recourse. Jisch placed Tresset’s palm at the back of Carman’s neck. The process was instinctual. Tresset could not will the needlelike spines to remain hidden within his palm. Not when the need was so great. There was a surge of heat as the young gypsy’s essence flowed through Tresset’s hand, down his arm, and into his core. Tresset’s eyes went wide. His vision blurred. And unconsciousness took him yet again.
* * * *
The young human girl was there when he awoke. Her name was Lyuba, and she had volunteered to minister to the ailing reyaqc.
“It was I who discovered you,” she said with a playful smile. “You seemed as dead, but Jisch concluded you could yet be saved.” She dipped a rough cloth in a basin of water, withdrew it, and squeezed the excess fluid away. “Such a handsome one. It would have been a shame to lose you.”
“Dol…naraq,” muttered Tresset. “Have you found Dolnaraq?”
The girl seemed perplexed. “Dolnaraq? Is this another of your kind? Is he of your pack?”
“He is…my pack.”
Lyuba nodded and patted Tresset’s forehead with the damp cloth. “This one, we have not seen. Was he with you before you fell ill?”
Tresset shook his head. Already the human stench threatened to overcome him. “No. Have not seen in…long while. Lost. Separated.”
Lyuba pushed a wavy lock from before her deep brown eyes. “I will ask Jisch and the others of your kind. If there is word of this Dolnaraq, I will let you know.”
With that, she leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the forehead. Revulsion welled up within him as she rose, saying, “Now, rest, precious one. Rest and recover.”
* * * *
Lyuba became Tresset’s constant companion. Though her presence repulsed him, he found a certain comfort in her tender care, in her willingness to nurse him back to health. He was weak, much weaker than he first realized. And only after two weeks with the gypsy clan did he acknowledge how close to death he had come. The girl, though, concerned him at a deeper level. She was attracted to him. Tresset could tell this, not only by her constant and nonsensical attentions toward him, but also by the distinct odor of her sex as she became aroused. True, some reyaqc coupled with humans. The practice was not common, but neither was it forbidden. Offspring could not be produced, and for some reason this attracted certain human females. Still, Tresset wanted nothing of the humans, least of all further intimacies beyond the already degrading need for essence. And thus, he did his best to avoid the girl whenever he sensed the scent of her arousal on the evening breeze.
“You brood,” said Lyuba one day as she came upon Tresset sitting atop a large boulder and staring out over the green expanse.
Tresset nodded and grunted. He’d hoped to avoid her by venturing away from the camp.
“I’m not quite as agile as you. May I have a hand up?”
The girl stood at the base of the stone, smiling up at him as she extended her hand. Tresset silently cursed as he reached down to draw her up. Could he never be rid of this one?
Lyuba scrambled up the rock and then seated herself to Tresset’s right, nearly so close as to touch him, but not quite. “It’s a nice view,” she offered.
“I suppose,” agreed the reyaqc.
“I paint landscapes. I think I’ll paint this one. It’s pretty.”
Tresset did not respond.
“You’re a quiet one.”
Tresset glanced at her, still annoyed at the intrusion. “I have nothing to say.”
“I was engaged to be married, you know. But the boy’s family ran into problems with a town official. There was some trouble. It seemed best that they separate from the clan in order that suspicion not fall over our entire community.”
Tresset snorted. “Gypsies always have trouble with law. What’s so different about this one?”
Lyuba stiffened, perhaps taking some offence. “The Romani are good people, only misunderstood—like the reyaqc.”
“You are not like the reyaqc.”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe no. Maybe yes. And you, do you have a mate?”
“The reyaqc do not mate for life. It is…a different arrangement.”
“But, have you mated? Is there a reyaqc woman who bares you children?”
Tresset rose. He’d grown tired of the conversation. “No woman. No children. My pack was decimated when I was a pup. Only Dolnaraq and I remain.” With that he leaped from the stone and made his way into the brush, the scent of Lyuba’s arousal lingering in his nostrils.
* * * *
The rape occurred four weeks into Tresset’s stay with the gypsy clan.
Tresset could not say why he intervened. The human girl meant nothing to him. At best, he tolerated her, at worst she repulsed him. But despite his hatred of humans, Lyuba had been kind to him, had tended his needs, had even cleaned him when, in the first days, he’d fouled himself.
The clan had settled on the outskirts of a small German village where they would remain for five or six days, selling their wares, entertaining with song and dance, reading palms, and generally profiting from the townsfolk. Three young human males, each perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, found their way into the camp on the third evening. The air was brisk and clear, a three-quarter moon illuminated the ground. Lyuba, despite Tresset’s revulsion, was stun
ningly beautiful and habitually flirtatious.
They cornered her toward the eastern edge of the camp and, when she spurned their gross and overt advances, dragged her beyond the tree line. Tresset had just excused himself from the campfire where he’d discussed with Jisch and two young reyaqc females, the missing Dolnaraq. He was in a state of turmoil. His lifelong companion had seemingly vanished and here he sat among humans and human-loving reyaqc, both of which he despised. And yet they had each, human and reyaqc, shown him a kindness he’d never encountered among those more like himself. Worse, he’d come to realize that he could become complacent here, perhaps even comfortable. Tresset kicked the dusty ground. Cursed. Growled. He did not belong here, and yet he found himself unwilling to disappear into the night as he knew he should.
The scent assaulted him like boiling water splashed his face—adrenaline, testosterone, lust, fear. Lyuba’s cry was stifled, but Tresset’s catlike ears were keen. Instinctively, he loped toward the tree line.
Why?
She was a human. Miserable. Repulsive. By all logic he should let her be. What was she to him? Cattle. Nothing more.
But she had cared for him, nursed him back to health. She had stroked his face, brought him water. She’d shown him affection unlike any he’d yet known on this earth.
Foolish thoughts. She was human. Nothing more mattered.
Yet still, heedless of all logic, he moved to intervene.
Tresset found Lyuba pinned to the uneven ground, a dirty cloth shoved deep into her mouth, one assailant holding her arms, another her legs, her dress torn away, heaving breasts exposed, her legs spread wide to allow the third male access to her most private parts. Tresset extended his retractable claws, first pulling the lanky youth from between the girl’s quivering legs and castrating him with two deft swipes before opening his belly and turning to the dying lad’s startled companions. These, he disposed of with brutal finality.
In all, the strike lasted less than a minute. It took far longer to disengage the hysterical Lyuba as she clung to him, arms wrapped tightly about his neck, her face buried in his chest, her tears dripping onto his taut and bloodied belly.
“You came for me.” Her words were broken by sobs as her form shuddered in the aftermath of the horror. “You came.” She kissed him on the chest once, twice, pressing herself into him. Tresset sought to pull away—her human stench was near overpowering—but she clung to him all the more. At some point, he relented, hesitantly wrapping his arms about her shuddering form, attempting to comfort her. This was not affection, but rather a realization that only in this way could he calm her sufficiently that she would eventually release him.
“Tresset, Thank you. Thank you.”
Another kiss, this one on the cheek. Tresset suppressed the bile rising in his throat.
The gypsy clan was forced to pick up camp and move along quickly. They could not risk the village’s scrutiny once the three lads were discovered missing.
If Lyuba had pestered Tresset before, she now harassed him tirelessly. Her injuries had been minor, but the rape had been consummated. Tresset had saved her life but not her honor. The young reyaqc had never understood the human fixation with sexual protocol. Sex was the most basic of biological functions and necessary for the continuation of the species, and yet complex rules and traditions clouded the simple issue. As to the Romani, they value virginity in a young woman above all else. Lyuba was now marked. It was unlikely that any amongst the clan would allow a son to marry one so defiled. This, despite the fact that she was a healthy specimen from good stock, and likely capable of producing multiple offspring.
“We could be married, you and I,” she said one night as she found Tresset returning from a romp in the woods.
“You know well, reyaqc do not marry,” he said, turning away from her.
“But, you care for me. I can see it. You may not know it yourself, but you do.”
Tresset remained silent. There was no use arguing this nonsensical point.
“You are alone, your one companion gone from you. I am now tainted in the eyes of my people. But we have each other.”
Tresset turned toward her, anger rising in his veins. “We do not have each other. You at least have a family and I have…myself.”
“Family?” the girl suddenly became furious. “Family? My father was too drunk to prevent the rape, and now he scorns me as if it was I who committed the act. My mother won’t even meet my gaze. Everywhere I go, whispers, smirks. But, you…” She grabbed his arm, cradling it, hugging him even as he fought the urge to rip her face from her head. “You cared enough to come for me. No one else cared, but you. And now that I am unclean, it seems you are the only one to care.”
“I…do not care.”
She gazed at him at length, a peculiar twist to her lips. “Of course you do,” she said finally. “I think it’s time I prove it to you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be in my tent—alone—soon after sunset. Come to me.”
A firm hug, a wane smile, and she moved back toward the camp.
The smell of her sex lingered on the subtle breeze.
* * * *
Tresset did not go to Lyuba’s tent that evening, but as had become his habit, bedded down amidst the trees at the outskirt of the camp. He did not feel comfortable indoors. Even the thin canvas tents incited some small claustrophobia in the often endless nights. And sleep was now deep, near deathlike, since he’d foolishly allowed himself to become so depleted. No more was he so attuned to his surroundings as he’d once been. No longer did the wisp of a scent invade his dreams and wake him to impending danger. True, these traits would return—with time, with multiple infusions—but at this point, on this clear star-filled night, he slept as the dead.
At first it seemed a dream. Lyuba’s scent. Her arousal. But then, still dreamlike, it became something more. There was a tension in his loins, a tingling. Pleasant. Stirring. An unfamiliar warmth. Moist. Enticing. There was a subtle friction, rhythmic, pure. A building of glorious pressure.
Then he was awake.
And she was there, atop him, naked, straddling his pelvis, her hips in constant motion.
She giggled. “We are now mated, you and I. You the husband, I the wife. We’ll have a ceremony. There will be no shame. No…”
The realization that she was defiling him came as a rush of anger and revulsion. Hissing deep within his throat, he released his claws, swiping right to left with such ferocity that he nearly detached the girl’s head from her form. Enraged, he allowed the corpse to fall to the grassy ground as he leaped to his feet, screeching, scraping at invisible sores, his entire form itching and burning anew. Diseased. Diseased! The human contact had ruined him, damned him.
Hearing the commotion, someone moved forward from the camp proper, Jisch, the elderly reyaqc. Tresset’s claws found his belly, twisted, pressed deeper. Jisch fell with a bewildered gaze in his salt-colored eyes. Another form in the shadows—human. Tresset did not hesitate, but bounded forward, slashing, growling, hissing. In all, seven members of the clan would fall before finally Tresset loped off into the forest where he would spend two weeks lying in a narrow river, scraping at sores that could not be seen. Only one thought held him to within a hair’s width of sanity—Dolnaraq. Out there somewhere, Dolnaraq.
CHAPTER SIX
When Dolnaraq awoke, Oskar was gone but the cat remained. The reyaqc’s muscles were of knots and twists and his stomach protested in waves of nausea. But Dolnaraq’s mind was clear. He remembered the incident, the taking of essence, the shocked and fearful expression on the little man’s face, an expression aghast at the betrayal of a friend. Dolnaraq felt glum, but couldn’t fathom quite why this mood had overtaken him. The man meant nothing to him. If he truly respected Dolnaraq at all, he would have freed him weeks ago. There was no bond, no friendship, regardless of how the simple man chose to address him.
The skinny young man who had accompanied Wilhelm on the day of Dolnaraq’s capture brought his f
ood dish for the next several days. The young lad, his dark brown hair perpetually flopping before his eyes, would rush forward in a hunched trot, slip the metal tray into the slot with a quick push, and then race away before Dolnaraq could move to within reach. More than once the young man became tangled in his own lengthy limbs and stumbled to the ground during the process, once spilling Dolnaraq’s dish. The reyaqc went hungry that day.
The cat remained. He would nestle with Dolnaraq and then stroll away to a corner of the cage he’d claimed for his own. Dolnaraq allowed it this freedom and twice actually petted the thing. Its fur was soft, silky, much like the thinning fox hair that Dolnaraq bore in tufts about his own form. Dolnaraq considered infusing from the cat, but knew the danger of introducing yet another species into his mix. Human and one animal breed—that was the limit. Others had attempted drawing from an additional species. Most had perished for their efforts. The few who survived had become as imbeciles and lunatics, babbling and pawing, losing all power of reason and purpose.
* * * *
Oskar returned the day Dolnaraq slew the cat. The creature had been irritable that day. Dolnaraq understood very little of feline behavior and only knew that the thing had become a pest. It raced back and forth across the cage, sometimes lunging at the flies that populated the space. It screeched for no apparent reason and would not leave Dolnaraq to peace or solitude. Finally, the slim creature leaped into Dolnaraq’s lap, and, seeming to settle, curled up as if to sleep. The bemused reyaqc gazed down at the huddled ball of fur, the hint of a smile on his narrow lips. Just as he stroked the silky fur for the first time, the cat hissed and scratched Dolnaraq’s forearm with its extended claws. Dolnaraq was quick, snatching the cat up and biting deeply into its neck. Blood splattered into Dolnaraq’s left eye and oozed down his chest. Dolnaraq had not planned on slaying the little nuisance, but had acted on instinct alone. Now the thing was dead and there was nothing else to do but to consume the carcass. It had been long weeks since Dolnaraq had had truly fresh meat and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to devour the cat sooner.
