Beyond the Next Star

by Melody Johnson

  Imagine, all the time they’d wasted not doing this. She should have revealed herself eons ago.

  “Yes, you should have,” he breathed, but his voice didn’t sound accusing. His voice didn’t sound anything but lazy with exhausted satisfaction.

  “I not meaning to say that out loud,” she murmured. Heat swept over her skin in a full-body blush. “I not in my right mind.”

  “Good, then I’m not alone in this insanity.”

  She huffed out an exhausted laugh. “No, not at all. Have you—” she began, then bit her tongue against the words and what they would reveal about herself and her feelings for him.

  He glanced down at her, his brown eye so velvet and kind and his blue eye so sharp and seeing. His upper lip had caught on his fang, exposing its sharp tip. His hair was mussed; a hank of it was flopped in the wrong direction and tangled in his left horn.

  She smoothed the lock into place, and Torek closed his eyes on a viurr.

  “You ever feel this way before?”

  He opened his eyes and met her gaze.

  “I mean, I know you love your wife. You feel this with her, but is it this, this…” Her body glowed with embarrassment, and she lost the courage to finish her question.

  “This powerful? This moving?” He turned his head and nuzzled into her hair. “I did love Zana. She was my first and best friend. The first lorok who shared my heart. The only lorok who shared my heart until now.” Another deep breath and a lick.

  Delaney stroked his smooth cheek and focused on breathing through the sudden contraction in her chest.

  “But Zana was often ill, weak, or thinking she was about to become ill. She was sweet and wonderful, but she wasn’t physically or constitutionally strong. She never would’ve survived an intergalactic kidnapping.”

  Delaney let loose a chuckle, the pressure in her chest easing slightly.

  “I was always careful with Zana. We were intimate and loving, but very careful. I couldn’t lose myself in her for fear of hurting her.”

  Delaney reached up and combed her fingers over the base of his horn. “You careful with me too, when it unnecessary. Maybe—”

  “You communicated my unnecessary caution and your displeasure with it,” Torek said ruefully. “Zana communicated the opposite. Her frailty was a concern she shared as well. With good reason.” He sighed. “So yes, I loved Zana, but I couldn’t be my full self with her. I never felt the lack, until—” He breathed in sharply and buried his face in Delaney’s neck.

  “Until?”

  “Until today.” He ducked his head and whispered into the shell of her ear. His beard scratched the side of her neck and puckered her breasts. “Until you.”

  The pressure around her chest broke, and something wild sprang free and soared.

  “I not know it could be this way,” she whispered. “I think maybe our caring and respecting—our hearts beating as one—made it different.”

  “I cared for Zana. More than cared. I cherished her. But I hadn’t known it could be like this either.”

  “Torek, I—”

  A siren blared over the intercom, drowning the rest of her sentence. Dread poured ice through her veins.

  Not again.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Third quadrant. Zone forty. Point three, two, seven, nine, four, two, two…”

  Torek stiffened. That couldn’t be right. They’d just reinforced that quadrant.

  Delaney relaxed her hands from over her ears, still cringing. “Again? You say it too early for a zorel attack.”

  He plucked her up from his body, nuzzled one last breath from her neck, and stood. “It is too early.”

  “But this the second early breach.” She scrambled to the edge of the bed, pulling one of the furs around her body.

  He walked into his closet and dug his yenok and fur-lined coverings out of storage. He’d need to find his fur-lined pants too. Rak, if he still had them after last season. He’d never shed this early in Genai in his life. Then again, the zorel had never come out of hibernation this early either. He yanked a yenok over his head, shrugged into his jacket, and emerged from the storage closet only to collide with Delaney.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He nearly tripped over her. As it was, he had to steady himself on the closet wall to prevent himself from tipping over and crushing her beneath him. He opened his mouth to berate her—he didn’t have time for chitchat and idle questions!— but then he caught the look on her face.

  He blew out his anger on a weary sigh. The dim emergency lights shadowed her wide, frightened eyes. Her lips were trembling. Her entire body was trembling. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the furs around her boney, narrow shoulders, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fed her. He’d known from the start, from that first look at her in that cage, that she was high maintenance, exotic, delicate, and temperamental. Rak, she was a heavy burden, more so now that he knew she was a lorok, not an animal.

  More so now that she was his lorok.

  He knelt on one knee before her, putting his eyes at chest level. “What would you have of me, Delaney?”

  She wrapped her arms around his head and drew him close. He let himself be drawn—let, ha!—and nuzzled the fragrant, plump mounds of her breasts as she massaged his scalp.

  “Stay with me,” she whispered.

  He enveloped her in his embrace and smoothed his hand over her back, trying and failing to soothe her tremors. “I’ll be back.”

  “You have a second-in-command. Filuk Renaar.”

  “How do you—”

  “Let him take lead. He ready.”

  “She probably is, actually.” He leaned back slightly to see her face. “What do you know of her?”

  “Nothing.”

  Torek shuffed. “You know her name.”

  “I know you. You would never choose a second who not ready to lead.”

  He stood to press his lips against her forehead. “You’re amazing.”

  She stared at him, and the hope in her gaze was crushing.

  “But I can’t stay. I have a duty to Onik.” He stepped back, retreating into the storage closet for the fur-lined pants that must be there if they were anywhere.

  She followed him in. “Please. You can—”

  The zorel alarm pierced the room. Delaney’s face collapsed into itself, and she slapped both hands over her ears.

  By the time the alarm cut to the recitation of coordinates, Torek had found his fur-lined pants, smoothed his hair back into order, and donned his boots. Delaney’s concern had escalated from worried to panic.

  She grabbed his hand just as he was attempting to clip his weapon’s holster, and his RG-800 nearly unbuckled.

  “Careful,” he chided gently. He didn’t dare chide ungently; she looked about ready to lose her mind. And not in a good way.

  “Stay,” she begged, picking up right where she’d left off as if the alarm hadn’t interrupted her a full minute ago.

  Before she could drop to her knees, Torek did. One last time, he pulled her close, burying his face deep in her chest. She clung to him. He didn’t like the desperation in her hold—the trembling of her breath, her shaking arms, the little half-moons she dug into his neck with her clawlike grip—but he couldn’t shirk his duty. Not to his country and certainly not to her.

  “Lives are at stake, Delaney,” he murmured into the valley of her breasts.

  “What about me?” she tried.

  “Who do you think I protect when I leave to reinforce the ice, hmmm?”

  She fisted her hands in his jacket and shook him. “Nikiok kill Keil. If something happen to you, she kill me next.”

  “I protect all of Onik: the civilians, my guard”—he stretched up and stroked the side of her cheek with his knuckles—“and you.”

  “Someone else protect Onik seasons before you, and when you leave, someone else protect Onik seasons after you.” Delaney released her grip from his jacket to cup his face. “Let someone else pr
otect Onik now.”

  “I’m their commander. I must—”

  “You not their commander. You still on leave.”

  Torek pinned her with what should have been a quelling look. “I’m not discussing this again. I was cleared for active duty by the Lore’Lorien herself.”

  “She not have your best interests in heart! When you dying with fever, she allow you to remain ill with no one to tend you.”

  “That was a mistake, as you well know. I’d commanded Petreok to—”

  “And now she force you into battle. As always, she gets her way, no matter the cost.”

  “What possible motivation could she have for ‘allowing’ me to remain ill? Or for ‘forcing’ me into battle? I am her captain of the guard. Where else would my best interests lie but in her heart?” Torek shrugged from her grip, stood, and took both her hands in his own. “We must agree to disagree on the matter of Dorai Nikiok.”

  “I not agree. She is wrong. She is selfish. She is a mur—”

  Torek tugged her forward and buried his muzzle into the soft, sweet curve of her neck. “Stay in my living quarters this time.”

  “—derer.” Her muffled voice finished into his shoulder.

  “Don’t overeat, and don’t climb out the window.”

  She wrenched herself out of his arms. “Do not treat me like an animal.”

  “Then don’t act like one.”

  Her expression crumpled. “Ofukyoo.”

  He tried to reel her back into his embrace, but she braced her arms against his chest.

  “Come now. I know you’re upset, but I’m leaving for battle. Give me a proper goodbye.”

  “Just go. Lives are at stake,” she mocked. “Go protect us. Onik needs you.”

  Torek tamped down his hackles before they could rise. “And I need you.”

  She crossed her arms. “Obviously not as much as Nikiok need you.”

  “Delaney, don’t—”

  The zorel alarm wailed.

  Torek growled in frustration.

  Delaney pointed at her ear and shrugged. A strange twisted grin slashed across her pale face.

  He considered waiting for the alarm to cut back to coordinates, but he’d delayed long enough. He needed to leave now, or he needed to send Filuk in his stead. She was ready—Delaney was correct about that—but she was also correct that this was a second early zorel breach, and on reinforced ice. Something wasn’t quite right, and with that uncertainty hanging in the balance, the weight of responsibility tipped solidly onto Torek’s shoulders. Delaney would still be here after he returned from battling the zorel. If he stayed, he didn’t have the same confidence regarding the citizens of Onik.

  Against the ache in his heart, he listened to logic and left.

  Delaney stared at the closed door and shook her head. Torek was never going to believe her account of who had murdered Keil. Not so long as it implicated his high-and-mighty Lore’Lorien.

  She slapped her hands over her face and groaned. Torek cared for her, as deeply as she was horrified to realize she’d come to care for him, but his loyalty to Nikiok was as much a part of his identity as his rank and many property titles. She’d need proof. Maybe Torek was right: requesting an autopsy and reopening the investigation into Keil’s death might provide Torek with the evidence he’d need to finally believe her. But could their investigation be discreet enough to pass beneath Nikiok’s notice?

  “Are you all right, Reshna?”

  Delaney’s head snapped up. Dorai Nikiok Lore’Lorien was standing in the doorway as if the ferocity of Delaney’s thoughts had summoned her.

  Fuck!

  Nikiok stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

  Anger froze instantly to quaking terror. Delaney stared a moment, let loose a low whine, then looked away, forcing her attention to wander.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  “Oh, poor little Reshna. Are you still frightened of me?” Nikiok reached out a fisted hand toward Delaney’s nose.

  Delaney leaned in, sniffing obligingly, and, when Nikiok threaded her fingers into Delaney’s hair, Delaney forced herself not to cringe.

  “Good girl.” She massaged Delaney’s scalp with her talons, pressing just a little too hard with her too-sharp claws. “Of all the animal companions to choose from, I can see why he purchased you.”

  Delaney forced out a pathetic-sounding viurr.

  Nikiok released a long, weighted sigh. “For all our sakes, I just wish he hadn’t, Delaney.”

  Delaney jerked back at her words, but Nikiok lunged forward, locked her arm around Delaney’s head, and jabbed something sharp into her neck.

  Delaney attempted to struggle. She cocked her fist back, but it fell limply to her side. She braced to leap away, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her neck was on fire, and the burn spread in a heady rush through her chest. In the time it took for her to inhale a scream, her entire body numbed. Her vision blurred. Her heart gave one final lethargic throb, and her head floated off her shoulders, the scream forgotten.

  The room flopped sideways. Something heavy clunked against the stone floor, and Nikiok’s grim face swam past—Delaney’s last image before she succumbed to darkness.

  Twenty-Eight

  The incessant jackhammer throbbing through Delaney’s skull woke her from a heavy sleep. She couldn’t find the energy to open her eyes, and she suspected she didn’t want to. The air was frigid, the floor she was lying on ice. Her body ached, her head was in agony, her mind was sluggish—not that the jackhammer was helping—and the smell…Wherever she was, it wasn’t Torek’s living quarters anymore.

  Delaney opened her eyes. God, she hated being right.

  She was confined in one of a long line of glass cages, but the occupants in the adjacent cages weren’t animal companions. They were lorienok. And they didn’t look particularly well-off. They were scarily emaciated. What little fur some of them still had was matted. Many were missing teeth. All were bruised and bleeding.

  The smell was their feces.

  Based on that telltale sign alone, it appeared as if the cages hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. Considering their gaunt bodies, maybe the cages hadn’t been cleaned all Rorak.

  Their eyes were dulled by hopeless dejection, but oddly focused.

  Delaney turned her attention in the direction of their unified gaze, but she moved too fast. The throbbing jackhammer drilling through her temple hit a nerve, and the room spun out into dark starbursts. Saliva flooded her mouth. Her stomach turned. If she vomited now, her brain would rupture, even without that hitherto prayed-for aneurism.

  She closed her eyes, let the jackhammer do its worst, and focused on breathing through the nausea. In and out. After a long moment, the pain eased enough that her vision cleared. Her stomach settled. She reached up to clutch her aching head. Her numb fingertips were heaven against the goose egg swelling on her forehead. A sticky river of blood poured from it and down half her face.

  Another few, foggy breaths later, she tried again. She looked up, squinting through her shaking fingers.

  More glass lined the far wall, floor to ceiling. She suspected, however, that whatever the material, her prison wasn’t actually made of glass. The wall was clear and smooth, but had it been glass, it likely would have shattered from the pressure. This prison, wherever it was, was underground—more precisely, underwater—and circling just inches on the other side of that too-thin not-glass wall, was a zorel.

  Her breath caught. The creature was so gigantic that this close, she couldn’t see its entire body. She couldn’t even see its entire face. The floor-to-ceiling not-glass wall was at least ten feet high, but that only revealed the zorel’s massive, jutting teeth protruding from its underbite, part of one scaly mane, and half its shoulder.

  Where was she? How had she—

  And then the person standing just outside her cage came into focus, the person all the other prisoners had been staring at—not the zorel.

  Dorai Nikiok Lore’Lorien
.

  Her visit to Torek’s room. The stabbing pain in Delaney’s neck. Her subsequent collapse into unconsciousness. Everything came rushing back with brutal clarity.

  Nikiok knew Delaney wasn’t an animal companion.

  Delaney inhaled sharply at the realization, and Nikiok glanced away from her conversation to look at Delaney. Her expression didn’t alter. Her eyes didn’t register any emotion except a cold determination that constricted Delaney’s throat.

  I told you so, Delaney thought to Torek, and then a subsequent realization sank cold and killing deep into her heart. I might never see him again to tell him so.

  “I’m not accustomed to repeating my orders, Petreok,” Nikiok said, still staring at Delaney.

  Petreok? Delaney’s gaze darted sideways to stare at the lor next to Nikiok. His fur had shed, revealing a deeply cleft chin, wide dimples framing his muzzle, and a mole high on his left cheek. But his other features were just as she remembered: the curled black ram horns of an adult lor, the alert, expressive ears of a boy, and those large, round doe eyes. She wasn’t sure she would have recognized him on her own, but now that she knew who he was, the resemblance was startling, like gazing into a mirror and seeing someone else’s face staring back.

  “Open the release chamber,” Nikiok ordered. “Now.”

  Petreok blushed a bright, painful fuchsia. His ears tucked tight to his head and quivered. “I can’t, Dorai. Per judgment law #73625 approved and signed by Dorai Niki—well, you—I can’t open the release chamber without a writ of release signed by both you and the sentencing judge.” His ears sprang out and forward. “Who’s the sentencing judge? We could—”

  “I’m the sentencing judge,” she ground out.

  “But you’re Dorai Nikiok. The Lore’Lorien.” He blinked. “Are you a judge now too?” His ears leaned tentatively forward, hopeful again. “Do you have the writ with your signature in both places?”

  Nikiok rubbed a hand down her face. “No wonder Torek buried you down here.”

  His chest puffed. “It’s an honor to serve Onik.”

  Nikiok pulled something from her belt, held it at arm’s length, and aimed the cylindrical end of it at Petreok’s proud, dimpled face.