by Laney Kaye
And what a challenge that was. The first of many in the new life I’d chosen.
Laughing at their surprise, I started farther down into the hole, descending beneath the surface of the desert, but stopped when I heard Herc speak in a low voice to Jag.
“Will you finalize the bond?”
Jag grunted. “We don’t have twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not sure any of us do,” Herc said, and I could almost imagine him looking into the distance, to where Maya waited for him. The bondmate he must fear he’d never see again.
I should be happy Jag had no intention of completing the Felidaekin bond. But my fingers clenched white where they gripped the ladder.
Shuffling footsteps told me they approached, so I scurried down further in the hole, planting my heels on the hard floor at the base. I looked around, pleased to see this nest unchanged.
After discovering the vipers were loners, and that each preferred to remain in its own nest, the Refugees came up with the idea of rooting a viper from its lair, killing it, then adopting the hidden location as a resting spot. The only problem had been figuring out how to keep the circular hole from filling in with sand. Hence the boulder, plus some reinforcement along the interior walls of the access tunnel.
About twenty steps later, I reached the small cave-like area where the viper had made its home. I’d shivered and been unable to sleep the first time I stayed in one of these dark, dusty dens, but I soon grew used to them. And, after I’d killed my first viper, proudly helped reinforce the channel and covered the entrance with a boulder, and then built the signal on top that all Refugees knew meant shelter, I’d been happy to use them.
“Cool,” Jag said, stepping down beside me. He glanced around, and, while I knew his vision was better than mine and he probably didn’t need it, I pulled a small oil lamp from the rough wooden chest placed along an outer wall and lit the flame.
Taking a pillion hide made for this purpose, I scooted back up the hole and covered the entrance to keep sand from filtering down inside, burying us alive. In moments, I’d returned to Herc and Jag.
“Never been in a viper den,” Herc said with amazement ringing out in his voice. Traveling as much as he had, it would take a lot to impress him. He ran the back of his hand along the smooth outer wall, taking in the circular area with three narrow channels leading away into darkness. “Never wanted to venture into one, either. I’ve had my share of run-ins with them, as Maya might’ve told you.”
From what I’d heard, he’d nearly been dragged into a den. Maya had killed the viper and saved his life.
His hand swept toward one of the tunnels leading away from the cave. “I assume these go somewhere.”
“Part of a vast network, they travel for clicks. But we block them off a short distance inside, with rock piles. To deter uninvited visitors.”
Jag frowned. “You’re saying a viper could sense us here and attack.”
My smile became full. “Not if we avoid stomping around.” After pulling out pillion hide blankets from the chest, I handed one to each of them. “We use these dens for sleeping. With so little movement, only a starving viper would make the effort to bore through the rock walls to attack.”
“But an attack is not unheard of?” Herc said. He spread out his blanket and sat. Lifting his pack, he pulled out dried rations and passed some to Jag and me.
Jag laid his blanket beside mine.
“An attack is rare,” I said. “But we’ll feel them coming long before they get here.”
Jag dropped down, his thigh settling against mine. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows, chewing a piece of his meal.
“How many of these places do you have out here?” Herc asked. “Can’t believe I missed them.”
“Many. Why would you look for them, though?” I asked. “It’s not like you’d expect anyone to kill vipers and conceal their nests underneath boulders, out in the middle of the desert. And I imagine whenever you travel, you take your own gear and sleep wherever you need to stop for the night.” Or, in this case, the day.
“We’ve mostly made reconnaissance trips, in cat form, or been on patrol with the Regime,” Jag said. He finished his meal quickly, washing the dry food down with water from a flask he pulled from his pack, passing it to me to share.
“We’ll leave at dusk,” Herc said after he’d consumed his portion. “And, on that note, I’m beat. I’ll see you both in a few hours.” With a heavy sigh, he dropped onto his side on the blanket, facing away from us.
Jag lowered himself all the way down and tugged me closer, until I lay with my back pressed against his front. I should be hot with his arms wrapped snug around me. If I was wise, I’d pull away.
My yawn slipped out.
“Sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll watch for a while, make sure nothing comes near.”
“You don’t need to. We’re safe here.”
He kissed my cheek. “Still plan to watch out for you.” His gruff voice was heavy with meaning. As if he’d come to a big realization and accepted it was the way things needed to be.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know his thoughts.
This man complicated my life. He made it hard to separate my goals from my emotions. I could not want him, not outside of the satisfaction of my body.
But a huge part of me did. I couldn’t help it.
Unable to hold myself away from him—away from us—I shifted closer, as if we were true bondmates, committed to being together forever.
The feel of him holding me close slid through me, soothed me.
I could almost pretend this man would be with me always.
#
After covering the den, Herc shifted and we set out again as the sun lingered on the horizon, outlining a series of low hills in the distance.
Even though I’d slept, the drum of Herc’s paws on the sand lulled me. He was eating up the clicks faster than an alcoholic with a bottle of benzal.
And Jag’s warmth at my back, now that night had fallen and the heat of the day had fled, only made me sleepier.
I dozed.
We stopped when the moons were high overhead, ate and drank, and, after Herc rested and Jag and I paced around to work out the kinks from riding, we climbed back onto Herc and continued.
As though we had an unspoken rule, Jag and I didn’t kiss again. Maybe he tried to challenge the bond, as much as I did, though the thoughts it planted in my mind drove me crazy.
Come dawn, I directed them to another viper nest, where we spent the day, only to continue moving south at dusk.
I could tell this pace was taking a toll on Herc, because his paws thudded a little slower, and his breathing came heavier, but what could we do? Each second we saved could make the difference for the Resistance under enemy fire.
And I knew he ached to return to Maya, to keep her safe.
We pushed it beyond dawn, chancing drawing in a viper, but only because we were close.
Finally, we stopped at the base of a hill and Herc stooped down to allow us to get off. While he waited, resting, Jag and I crept to the top of the sand dune and dropped to our bellies. The heat scorched through my cloak.
“I never thought I’d be happy to see the gleam of Regime towers again in my life,” I whispered, squinting beyond the sloping dunes we still had to traverse before we’d reach the compound.
“Me, either.” Turning, Jag signaled Herc with a growl, as they’d discussed earlier, indicating this was it, we’d continue from here on foot.
Herc would meet up with Leo, and they’d wait for us to steal the communicator and escape the compound. We’d join them at a pre-arranged location.
Jag would join them, that is.
As far as the Regime guards would know, we’d traveled the entire distance here on foot.
My pulse jumped, because this was it. In no time, we’d have a sense of whether this would work or whether we should’ve remained back with the Resistance, where even a few more of us wielding weapo
ns could make a difference between winning the battle or death. My vengeance on my father could’ve waited while I helped my friends.
Jag laid his arm along my shoulders, and stole my thoughts with his words. “It’s going to work. We’ll make it work. We’ll get back in time.”
“What if Smithton sees through your disguise? Or worse, what if he decides to finish what he started with Tracin?” Fear rose inside me, and I could not tamp it down. “And hands me off to Tennant?”
Jag growled. “Not happening.”
He might not be able to prevent it.
“Also, you’ve forgotten that he tried to kill you.” Let alone succeeded, with my bondmate, that is. “You have a head injury.”
Jag’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. My role as Tracin won’t slip.”
Hopefully, I wouldn’t slip in my role, either. It would not be easy to pretend I was still under my father’s command.
As discussed, we waited until Herc had time to travel some distance away before we crept back down the hill and approached the compound on one of the regular access roads.
Nervous, it wasn’t hard to inject a hint of stagger into my steps. My heart bounded around in my chest like I’d been hit by a guard’s zapper. I leaned on Jag, and he put a supportive arm around my waist.
“Halt,” someone shouted from a tower when we drew close.
I swore, I could feel the bead of their weapons trained on our heads.
A drone zoomed up and over the wall, aiming for us. It buzzed in close enough, I could almost touch it, before it darted away and back over the wall, into the compound.
“I’m here to see…Commander Smithton,” I called out. My hand sought Jag’s and I was grateful he took it and squeezed, even though it was too late to beg for strength.
The guard chuckled. “Two people walk in from the desert and demand to see our commanding officer. You think I’m dumb? Even the Resistance can dream up a better sting operation than this. I should shoot you and be done with it.”
“You’d shoot your C.O.’s daughter?”
A long pause hung in the air. “His daughter’s dead. Been dead for years.”
I lifted my chin. “I was captured by the Resistance. They’ve held me prisoner, but this man—my husband—helped me escape.” I injected a crack into my voice, as if I was beyond weary, at the point of collapse. “Please. We’ve traveled over a week to get here. Don’t turn us away now.”
“Hold on,” the guard hollered, but even I could hear his doubt. He wouldn’t dare take the chance I was lying. Because, as far as he knew, I could be Smithton’s daughter.
He’d be strung up by his heels if he shot his C.O.’s only child.
For whatever reason, I’d hoped Smithton wouldn’t be here, or that we’d be turned away. Maybe because I’d started to have doubts.
I did not like the path life had chosen for me.
When the man appeared at the gate fifteen minutes later, the danger of our situation sank through my bones like the strongest sirdar ever made.
I flinched when my father shouted, “Ara! You live!”
Chapter Nine
Jag
The odors of the compound assailed my nose as we passed between the heavy sirdar gates. A small phalanx of guards formed a tunnel, channeling us toward Smithton who peered at us like an aged broad-winged scree, his shoulders hunched beneath his scarlet veorium cloak. The thick fabric was entirely unsuitable for the temperature, but the luxurious brushed furs no doubt appealed to Smithton’s obscene devotion to opulence.
Even without feline senses, the stench of too many miserable people crowded into too small a space, with an antiquated sewerage system not designed for the crush of humanity, would have been offensive. Aren snatched a corner of her cloak and pressed it across her face. I guess we’d both become accustomed to the harsh, but clean, bite of the desert air.
We stamped to a halt, and I stood tall and thumped my fist against my chest in the traditional Regime salute, although my clenched fingers itched to do serious damage to Smithton’s smug face rather than greet him with honor. For once, though, he looked more stunned than smug. I guess regardless of whether I turned up as a cat or a giant elf, the wind would’ve been knocked out of his sails.
His hand moved to the P220 slung low around his scrawny hips. “You!”
Aren stepped between us, speaking smoothly. “I don’t know if you remember Tracin of Dragar, Father? He was with the Dragarian envoy, who were kidnapped by the Resistance, that awful night.” She put a hand over her mouth, as if she stifled unbearable memories. “I knew, if we managed to escape the Resistance, you’d offer him sanctuary once again. I just can’t-can’t believe—” She injected a theatrical sob into her voice, “That the Resistance murdered all the others, the ones who managed to escape their attack on the compound.”
“Murdered them? What do you mean?” Smithton’s head whipped toward her quicker than a viper.
Aren staggered a little, one hand pressed to her chest. “All of them. Dead. The Resistance accused them of aiding the Regime. Of being true patriots!” She faked moral outrage well. Maybe I should keep her acting ability in mind. “Tracin is the only Dragarian to survive. And that’s only because we…we…” she trailed off artfully.
One of the guards coughed and shuffled his feet, another could be heard to mutter, asking our identity. The interruption seemed to remind Smithton that his focus should be on his prodigal daughter. He glanced toward them, then back at us. “But Ara, tell me, how did you—where have you been? I was informed you’d been murdered. And that…far worse things had happened.”
His tongue flickered out, like the thought excited him. Filthy bastard, this was his daughter. I stepped up closer behind Aren. We could finish this, right now. The gate was still open. If Smithton had the communicator on his person, I could grab it, shift, gut him with one claw, and have Aren safe out of the gate before the guards had finished spreading gossip about the C.O.’s returned daughter.
Aren reached back, her hand closing over my fist in silent warning.
Yeah, okay, maybe I couldn’t accomplish all that in one go. But, damn, I wanted her out of here so bad, the urge was likely to overrule my legendary caution.
As Smithton moved toward her, his arms open in somewhat belated greeting, my hackles rose. At least, they tried to. Instead, my scaled neck rippled, and heat and pain stabbed along my jaw. I shot my hand up at the prickling sensation. Fins flared out from beneath my ears. Fins. Holy hells. The membrane, held erect by hard, spear-pointed spines, ran along the line of my jaw and vertically down my neck on each side of my throat. Without the benefit of a reflection, I could imagine the gills made me look larger, more threatening. No doubt an innate Dragarian reaction to peril.
I squeezed Aren’s hand, not entirely gently. Would’ve been nice to have a little forewarning of this Dragarian feature.
She glanced back at me and, despite our situation, I swear laughter flashed in her eyes. Instantly, I felt something that was entirely Felidaekin—not the least Dragarian—also strive to impress her with its size. Thank the gods for tight leather pants.
As she released my hand and stepped into Smithton’s embrace, a cold rage that I’d never before experienced swept over me. I’d seen the mortification on Aren’s face when she spoke of this man. Worse, I’d seen the crystal tears in the elongated slant of her eyes. Tears he’d put there.
This man would die before my bond with Aren expired.
“I survived, as you see, Father. But it has been so long.”
“Indeed.” He was quick to retreat from her embrace, as though he enjoyed the touch as little as she did. “General Tennant will be much pleased to find you returned.”
“Oh, Father.” Aren stared at the ground, her voice little more than a murmur. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed with me.”
I did a double take, stepping forward to look more closely at Aren. She sounded like a little girl, humble and afraid and apologetic.
Nothing like the strong, kick-ass, cynical woman I’d come to adore.
“The Resistance took me to use as a hostage, to force you to parlay with them. I knew you’d resent having your hand forced, but then I discovered Tracin and three other Dragarians were still alive. When I spoke with them, I realized that, though the others were lowly warriors and unlikely to have been entrusted with any secrets, Tracin might have knowledge that you seek.” She raised her brows, her eyes hopeful. “That’s correct, isn’t it, Father? Only the senior Dragarians could have the information you need?”
“You’re an elder?” Smithton snapped at me.
I tried to remember and imitate the cadence and syntax of Terra’s words. “That be the case, I believing.” My fingers drifted to my forehead, where the witch had placed an artful scar. “Though ill-treated we have been, as your eyes see. Little sleep and less sustenance for many moons affects my memory.”
Smithton scowled darkly, his head swinging between Aren and I, like a pillion bull readying for the charge. “He doesn’t remember? Then what use is he to me?”
Aren patted at his arm, though I was certain I caught a flicker of distaste cross her face. “He remembers nothing of the compound, Father, nothing of ever having visited here. But each week, a little more comes back to him. With food and the right treatment, I’m sure he will be valuable to you. That’s why I…I…” Again, she trailed off.
Smithton was apparently all out of patience. “For goodness sake, girl, don’t snivel. Out with it.”
She sighed. Then, despite knowing it was among the half-dozen different languages I’d mastered, she switched from the common tongue to Median, as though confiding in her father. “I know you wished for me to make an advantageous marriage, Father. But, to save the Dragarian for you, I had to…was forced to take him as my husband.” She shuddered and managed to inject such loathing in her voice, I actually felt sorry for Tracin. “I let them kill the other fool Dragarians while I…I did what I had to do to form the pair-blade, Father. For you, you understand?”
