“Did Gwen tell you I was coming to check on Boca?” Chiang asked finally, trying to ask the question with the least amount of resentment he could manage.
“She is our commander. Of course she informed me,” Dorian said lightly, not really seeing any benefit to sharing in detail what his mate had said about pissy Greggors and temper tantrums. But he did let himself fully savor the self-righteous pleasure of being right about Chiang. The resistant Greggor male suffering with worry for the female his spirit had chosen as mate.
Beyond that small allowance, Dorian felt only genuine compassion for Chiang’s plight. Nothing would have stopped him from coming to check on Gwen if she had been the one unconscious in a trance state. And the last time he’d gone into a trance, he had awakened to find his head cradled lovingly in his mate’s lap.
Since Rena Trax had returned some of his missing memories, he could now instantly recall Gwen’s extreme relief to see him with all the fondness of a happily committed Siren to the female that adored him. Though he certainly hadn’t handled it well, Dorian realized now that moment had been one of the first times Gwen had offered him her full compassion without any limits.
With that memory activating his heart chakra, Dorian looked at the Greggor, head in hands, and then at the quiet body of the meditating Sumerian. Perhaps this moment was an opportunity to promote compassion and caring between two of the most stubborn-without-cause creatures he had ever met, with the exception of Liam Synar, who still exceeded all others.
Dorian quickly offered up quiet thanks for the inspiration and asked for a blessing on his efforts to intervene for the greater good.
“Would you like to wait with Boca’s body until her spirit returns to it? Nothing is needed. Just reassure her on her return that all is well. She might be a bit disoriented. Most do not immediately remember what they went to learn,” Dorian said. “You can always call me in my quarters if she needs my help.”
“You know I am glad to wait with her, but I left my wrist com in my haste to come here,” Chiang said bitterly, hating the wider obligations of his new commitment to the ship. “I am under obligation to be available at all times.”
“We went two years without a full healer, Doctor. I’m sure the senior medics can handle things until all is well with Boca again,” Dorian said with a smile. “Consider her your patient if you must. I will inform someone in Medical of your situation.”
Dorian rose and watched Chiang scoot closer to Boca, obviously eager to put his hands on her body and assure himself that life remained within it. The depth of Chiang’s concern brought a smile to his face.
Removing his meditation robe as he contemplated reporting Chiang’s misery to his mate, he hung it without thought on its usual peg. Hearing a growl just as he was feeling the Greggor’s glaring gaze on him, Dorian turned back with as innocent a look as he could manage for a nude male.
“Something wrong, Chiang?”
“You wear nothing under your robe,” Chiang observed harshly, frowning at the Siren’s perfect body.
“No. I wear only what the Creators gave me when I commune with them,” Dorian said with a pleased smile as he pulled on his slacks and tied them loosely. “Is that a problem for you, Doctor? I would find that surprising for someone in your profession.”
“What does Boca wear under her robe when she meditates?” Chiang demanded, having to restrain his itching hands from checking. Zade’s laughing gaze was all that stopped him from doing so.
“Isn’t what she wears under her robe Boca’s business?” Dorian countered, shrugging his shirt over his head, glad that it hid part of his smile.
“There are no privacy screens in this room. Do you undress in front of her each day?” Chiang demanded.
“I’m not sure I understand your question. I conduct my spiritual training as I was trained. What is the purpose of your inquiry?” Dorian asked, putting great effort into making sure his expression was neutral.
“You’re evading. I want to know the answer,” Chiang demanded.
“If you came to group meditation regularly, you would know this answer for yourself,” Dorian said firmly, working hard to keep his laughter from erupting over the Greggor’s jealousy.
Chiang narrowed his gaze. “Do not undress in front of her again.”
Dorian felt one eyebrow arching. “Really? Or what?”
“Or I will turn you into a Siren pretzel first chance I get. All the Khalsa training in the world won’t stop me,” Chiang warned, his hand now resting on Boca’s cheek.
Dorian laughed softly. “You should meditate on what your ownership feelings imply about your relationship. I go now to be with the only female that holds my attention in that manner. You know it. And I know it.”
“Gwen is worldly. Boca is not Gwen. She is more innocent. Boca is vulnerable to. . .visual stimulation,” Chiang said sharply.
Dorian laughed at the remark even though it was unkind of him to do so. Gwen was the youngest creature on the ship, though perhaps the “worldly” comment might apply to her. Boca was an experienced female more than twice Chiang’s age, yet it was obvious that the Greggor saw how innocent Boca was about emotional connections.
His Sumerian pupil had never experienced male friendship, much less true male compassion. Yet if Chiang’s uncommon jealousy over a female was a sign of anything, it was that the Greggor planned to change at least one of those conditions as soon as she let him.
“Vulnerable to visual stimulation? Well, I will certainly keep that advice in mind for future interactions with my pupil,” Dorian said softly. “Guard her vulnerability if you can, but look in the mirror if you want to see Boca’s greatest temptation.”
“Where is your legendary compassion now, Siren?” Chiang asked.
“My compassion resides with you and Boca, where it has always been,” Dorian said firmly, bowing his head. “You have been chosen by the Creators to be together for some greater good. I suggest you honor that and set aside your fears of committing yourself to her. Whether you fully accept her as your mate or not, until the day your spirit returns to the source of all, the deepest part of you will long to meet her needs and be her strength.”
“I will keep your advice in mind for future interactions with her,” Chiang said sarcastically, sending the haunting words right back to their source.
“Fine. Stay in denial then,” Dorian stated flatly, shaking his head as he left the room.
Chanting prayers for Boca’s spirit to safely return to her physical body, Chiang quickly forgot his debate with her openly exhibitionist teacher. Instead, he made quick work of removing the pins from her hair to make her more comfortable. He gently pulled the length of it down her back and over the side of her, frowning at how much smaller and vulnerable she looked afterwards in the ill-fitting robe. He was going to have a word with the Bursar about clothing that fit the smaller female. It should not be assumed that all on the ship were the same size.
Finally, he was satisfied that she was as comfortable as he could make her. Not knowing what else to do, Chiang lay down and put an arm under her head, curving his large body around her smaller one, warming her as he did when they slept together. It at least felt familiar and brought him some measure of peace as her body breathed softly in his arms.
Seconds after his spirit finally accepted she was safe, Chiang drifted into a deep sleep.
Chapter 12
When she became aware of herself again, Boca’s first thought was that the extreme tiredness she had felt while meditating had indeed claimed her. The thought of contacting the Creators had slipped away the moment her body refused to support her alertness.
But now she was awake—awake and suddenly walking, she decided, looking at the ground moving beneath her bare feet as she strode across it. Feeling the front of her body, Boca was relieved to find the meditation robe still in place, and some clothes beneath it.
Pulled along by some urge she couldn’t seem to resist, she kept walking slowly forward until she fina
lly realized where she was. Boca looked around the familiar yet dreaded landscape, wondering why she was walking around unguarded in this place.
People walked quickly by her on both sides, females hustling to keep up with the males they accompanied. She placed a hand on her stomach, felt it churning with fear of being seen, even though no one was even looking her way.
Compelled further by an urging she couldn’t identify, Boca walked into what once was Fener Sel’s meeting hall, passing by guards who blessedly seemed not to notice her presence. Her footsteps made no sound as she walked into the large open room.
Her captor, the term she now used to describe her Lotharian mate, stood to the side with a female she didn’t recognize who was dressed in the exact clothes she had once worn. Clothes that she had not been the first to wear either. All slave mates were expendable and easily replaced. Clothes were passed along with little thought of comfort, fit, or convenience, unless one’s mate wanted a certain appearance to be maintained.
Seeing the new female, the same question she’d always had rose in her mind. What source supplied new females to these abusive males so frequently?
Her hand went to her throat, shocked to feel the Xendrin collar there. Feeling it made her wonder what exactly was dream and what was reality. Had she and Chiang already gone on the mission? Had something happened to her to cause her current state?
“This experience is both reality and dream, Boca Thaiten Ador,” a soft voice said behind her.
Boca turned swiftly to see a tall female with a broad forehead, kind eyes, and hair only on the back of her head. She was dressed in a long blue robe that fell to feet covered in matching shoes that poked out from beneath the folds.
“Have I returned to the source? Are you one of the Creators come to greet me?” Boca asked.
“No Che’ta,” the female answered softly. “I am merely an emissary sent to deliver a message to you.”
“Che’ta. That is Sumerian. It was my sire’s fondness name for me,” Boca said.
“Yes. Your sire, Thaiten Ret Ador, willed his warrior energy to you before he returned to the source of all,” she said kindly. “I share his name and legacy with you now to gain your trust. You carry his abilities. The Creators are pleased that you have found a way to use them for the greater good.”
“Is my sire well?” Boca asked.
“The journey of his energy is not known to me,” she said.
Boca studied the female who remained serene under her gaze.
“Let us say that for the moment I choose to trust your words, regardless of my dreaming state. What is your message for me?” Boca asked, looking around her again.
She saw her former captor lift the chin of the new female and kiss her on the mouth against her will. The urge to kill him rose before she could stop it. She turned back to the emissary, hoping her desire for his death was not obvious to the female.
“I cannot deliver the message yet. Look again to the mirror of your former life here,” the emissary directed, lifting her hand and one long finger to point.
Boca turned and saw the Lotharian who had once owned her squeeze his hand into a fist. The female facing him fell to her knees, crying out in pain.
“She is newly his and still resistant to her fate. The cycle continues, Boca Ador. Be reminded of the pain,” she said firmly.
Suddenly, Boca felt pain shooting unchecked through her arms and legs. It was not enough to take her down, but it definitely got her attention. If this was a dream, it was not a pleasant one. The emissary evidently had as much power over her as anyone else ever had.
“You torture me for no gain. I will never forget,” Boca stated coldly as she nodded.
Then there was a bright flash surrounding everything that had Boca covering her eyes. Pulling her arm down when the light receded, Boca saw the emissary still beside her. They were no longer in Fener Sel’s meeting hall. Instead, they were standing in a place that was cold and dark, with metal cages obviously meant for prisoners. A short distance away in one of them, a female was quietly weeping while another sought to comfort her.
“The pain will recede in a few days, Kefira. More importantly, you must come to terms with your destiny as Orem Sel’s mate. He is not a wholly unkind male and provides well for his females. At the moment, he favors your chaste condition and looks forward to changing your celibate state. Just do not fight him or he will punish you. I suggest you use your first bonding to gain his full favor if you can,” the soother said.
“My father will not leave me here to be violated by the likes of Orem Sel. I serve the Creators, Maire. I see the future, and what you describe is not mine. Regardless of these wires in my body, I will not be used as a slave mate,” Kefira answered.
Boca watched the second female stand and press a spot on her gold armband. Moments later a guard with a laser weapon trotted from somewhere to open the cage door to let her out.
“If you will not take my advice, then I cannot help you. Drag yourself to meet your needs. There is no one coming to free you. You are not better than any of the rest of us,” Maire said, following the guard out.
Boca took a step forward, fully intending to follow them and see where the dark stairs they took led, but a hand on her arm halted her.
“No. You cannot follow today. It is not your destiny,” the emissary said.
“Then what is my destiny?” Boca demanded, rounding on the female who restrained her.
“Your journey to find Kefira cannot be shortened. There is much for all to learn,” the emissary said. “You will require the help of others to succeed. Remember this. No warrior fights alone and wins against a man who has strayed so far from his spirit.”
Boca looked at the weeping young female in the cage, heart hurting as she watched her rub her freshly wired legs trying to ease the discomfort. It was all she could do not to reach under her robe and rub her own scars.
She walked to the cage and wrapped her fingers around the bars. The metal of them was cold in the palms of her hands. “I do not understand why I see her and cannot help. This place feels so real to me.”
“This place is real. But you are only here in spirit. Kefira cannot hear you because it is not her destiny to know you yet. All you have endured was to prepare you to help the Lotharians begin their redemption,” the emissary said. “This is your true purpose. Your actions will begin the change.”
Boca snarled at the information. Wait. Suffer. Let it go for now. How she hated all those who had control of others. Were the Creators any different? Sometimes she doubted it.
“Look at her pain, Emissary. How can any of this be divine will? To be wired is trauma enough. To be controlled is an evil that should be punished. The Lotharians are not worthy of life. Why not just kill them all?” Boca demanded, turning her gaze away from the weeping female’s pain.
“Some Lotharian males will die, but some will be saved. It is for the greater good to save as many as can be turned from this kind of evil,” the emissary said. “All futures on all planets are linked. One born on this planet will save a life on another. This is the way all beings are connected to each other.”
“I will not say that I understand because I do not,” Boca said with a frown. “But I can thank you for the message and will try to use the information to save Kefira.”
“Your understanding will come in time. This,” the emissary lifted a hand to the weeping female, “was to show you one who is meant for a much higher purpose. Some of those who have harmed her directly will be returned to the Creators to begin again. Others will be spared. Some of this lies in your destiny to decide.”
“It will not grieve my spirit to end her captor’s life. Do not expect me to offer mercy to those who do not understand or practice it,” Boca said fiercely, daring to argue since it was just a dream.
“Release your anger over what I have told you because it will do you no good. Now, before you return, be silent once more so I can deliver the Creators’ personal message for you,” the
emissary said.
Boca stared at the too stoic female, frowning harder. “Is this not enough torture? You have yet more news to tell me.”
“Aye,” the emissary said. “Estu benata via aligo Chiang the Greggor.”
At hearing the simple Sumerian blessing for a life joining, Boca laughed at the incredulous idea that supreme deities could possibly care about whether or not she and Chiang ever fully bonded.
“You expect me to believe the most important message you have for me from the Creators is about mating Chiang the Greggor?”
Boca watched the emissary bow her head and close her eyes in respect before turning irreverently away to swear in Sumerian. Respect forgotten, she answered from her gut, hoping to end the dream. “We will do what must be done. Is that not enough to please those who think they control my destiny and his?”
“Your understanding is incorrect. The connection the Greggor offers you will bring you much joy in your current incarnation. You have not met any male in this life, or the ones before, who has as pure a compassion for you. The Greggor is a gift. I advise you not to refuse him,” the emissary said, her expression never changing.
Having had much practice at politely saying yes when she didn’t intend to take advice, Boca nodded. “Fine. I will keep your words in mind. Thank you, Emissary.”
The emissary bowed her head again. “Know that he would give you all his strength to keep you safe. Does this mean nothing to your spirit?”
“Chiang would do so without mating me,” Boca argued.
“Indeed,” the emissary said. “But his destiny is linked to yours. The Greggor needs your courage to face the darkness within himself and be free of his past. You both have many trials ahead.”
“I would help Chiang in any way I could without asking for anything in return either,” Boca said, throat tight because she knew it was the truth.
“What you fear so greatly has already happened, Che’ta. You already are his mate in spirit,” the emissary said flatly.
Boca opened her mouth to deny the pronouncement again, thinking to explain that she wanted a life free of that kind of connection, but no words came out. Instead, there was a rushing wind, and suddenly she was blinking her eyes and opening them to see a familiar arm under her head and another wrapped possessively around her waist.
The Healer's Kiss: Book Four of the Forced To Serve Series Page 15
