CAT SHIFTERS OF AAIDAR: ENDINGS

by Laney Kaye

  Yet now Aren touched me, and the flare of the first bond once again surged through me.

  Except, it was more.

  The first bond should be of the body, an almost undeniable lust for one another.

  But that wasn’t what I felt. Or not only what I felt.

  Aren nodded, her eyes large and liquid. “I know, it’s been more than seventy-two hours, and we didn’t… But I reignite the bond, Jag. I choose our Felidaekin bond. Just…” She mashed her lips together for a moment. “It’s only for now. Do you understand? I’ll…try. But I’m not sure I can offer anything more than now.”

  No, I didn’t understand. Nothing beyond what I needed to know, anyway; free of the hormonal rush of the bondmating, still Aren chose me. “You’re mine, Aren.”

  She nodded, but then she stiffened her spine, wrapping her robe close to her wiry frame, her eyes cold as she stared down at the weeping, huddled figure of her father. “And he is mine.”

  I was surprised she’d claim him, but her gaze snapped up, flashing with anger. With vengeance. “To do with what I will.”

  Her arms, her clothes, even her face, were smeared with blood. She lifted one hand toward my cheek, hesitated for a moment as it glistened wetly red, then shrugged. “The blood of my true father,” she said. “The father I never knew I had, yet now must mourn.” She ran her fingers through my hair, an odd, sad smile playing around the corner of her lips. “And yet, it is you who surprises me even more.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “Somehow, despite your skin and hair, despite the missions we’ve done together, I hadn’t realized you’d be a black jaguar. So…magnificent.”

  Calm and collected, she slid her gaze to her friend. “Leo, let me know as soon as you’ve done the retinal scan. I need Smithton.” She bent and picked up her blade, testing the edge against her thumb, seeming not to notice as it drew blood. “My blade thirsts.”

  Yet, even as she spoke, I realized she was scared, the giveaway in the catch of her breath, the erratic pulse in her throat. I was beginning to see beneath Aren’s layers. Like the rare sylala flower, the bud furled tightly closed, layer upon layer of armored petals protected a fragile, delicate core.

  I closed my hand around hers. “Let me do it, Aren. I will slake your blade’s thirst.”

  Her lips trembled as she gazed up at me. “I can’t let you. I owe Tracin. If I’d avenged him quickly, Quelir would live.” She held up her empty hand, palm out, her expression beyond sad. “Now I have more blood on my hands for all to see.”

  I nodded slowly. Hells, even though Smithton was lying slime, I reckoned it’d be hard for Aren to kill a man she’d known all her life. But, if that’s what she needed for closure, I’d stand by her. Lend my strength, my shoulder, my empathy. Anything she needed.

  “Got it,” Leo grunted, his focus entirely on the black box in his large hands. “Easy as stealing eggs from a turgurken nest.”

  “You’re kidding.” Herc tossed me my pants and crossed to drop to his haunches alongside Leo. “I thought you needed a retinal scan to get in.”

  Leo grimaced. “Sorry, Herc, didn’t intend to get you overexcited. I meant, I got past the first firewall. Not even up to the part where I need the retinal scan, yet. I’m just trying to break into the mainframe storage.”

  “Ah.” Herc grimaced toward where Smithton lay blubbering at our feet. Then he squinted into the distance, in the opposite direction to where the two moons hung low on the horizon. “Well, I suggest we get underground, before we’re either fried, fired on, or fodder.”

  “We don’t want him to know, though?” I buttoned my pants and jerked my head at Smithton. The Refugees use of the viper tunnels should remain a secret.

  Herc shot a long look at Aren. “One way or another, I don’t think he’s going to live long enough to tell any tales.”

  Aren spun around, striding quickly back toward Quelir’s fallen body.

  I instinctively moved to follow her, but then remembered my duty and scowled down at Smithton. I reached to jerk him to his feet, but Herc stopped me. “You go after your bondmate. I’ll take care of…this.”

  In my anger, I’d almost forgotten that, like all of us, Herc had a history with Smithton. I had no reason to worry the Cap would go easy on him. Quite the opposite, in fact. “He’s Aren’s, remember.”

  “There’s a queue.”

  “And she’s first. Right, Cap?” It wasn’t really a question.

  Although the steady rise of the sun meant we should seek shelter, Aren and I dug through the rocky desert floor, scraping a grave deep enough to keep her friend safe from the night vultrexes, who had a taste for carrion. I shifted back to my new, hybrid-cat form, my paws and claws tackling the stony ground more effectively than hands.

  Although she knew I could understand, even in my shifted form, Aren didn’t speak to me. Occasionally I caught her muffled sob as she scraped at the stones with her bleeding, bruised hands. She had to realize the task was pointless; even if we succeeded in protecting Quelir’s body from the birds, the vipers would tunnel through the sand to steal his carcass. But it was clearly important to her that we pay this last respect to the man who was, according to the information Herc had hastily shared with me before he hustled Smithton to our camp, her true father.

  As Aren stroked Quelir’s white face one last time, then covered it with her scarf, I shifted back and tugged on the spare pair of trousers from my pack.

  Together, we piled sand onto Quelir’s still form, filling the pit. Then I mounded rocks, as large as I could heft, over the grave, creating a cairn. It wouldn’t protect the Dragarian; hells, he was beyond the protection of even the gods—but it would, however briefly, give Aren somewhere to mourn.

  Still, she’d not shed a tear. Though this was the Aren I knew, the stoic, silent, unfathomable woman, I worried for her. Surely the dam had to break.

  She stared at the monument for a long moment. Sighed. Nodded, as though she communed without words. Then she turned to me. “It’s time.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t sure whether I was agreeing that we’d head for shelter, or whether Smithton’s time was up. “Aren. I know you’re set on this, but let me help. You said you chose me, right? Then I’m your bondmate, and we’re in this together.”

  Her lips thinned, and I knew she bit them together. “I have to do this, Jag. It’s a requirement of the blade-bonding. I—” her voice quavered. “I hoped we’d have more time together.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean? I get that you feel you owe Tracin, that you have to revenge him by quenching the blade. But we’ll still be together.”

  “Not unless…” The voice crackled from the gloom of a rocky outcrop, and I whirled toward it. Hells, the Dragarian witch had managed to sneak up on us without triggering any of my senses.

  “Terra!” Aren gasped. “What are you doing here? How in the hells did you get here?”

  “Leo bring me. Like I tells him.”

  “But why?” Despite her chiding tone, Aren strode across the sand and threw her arms around the diminutive, stooped woman. “I told you it would be dangerous for you out here.”

  “Is more danger for you, child.” Terra’s callused thumb traced across Aren’s cheeks, as though she could remove the marks of sorrow. “You is carrying burden not yours.”

  Aren stepped back, her face hardening. “You know the burden is mine, Terra. You know what I must do.”

  “You is wrong. I sees it.” Terra tapped her temple. “I sees it here.” She pointed a gnarled finger at my blade, then at Aren’s. “And the blade knows it.”

  “No!” Aren’s hand flashed to the lorgar hilt of her knife. “Terra, you swore that the operation would get me close enough to Smithton to allow the bloodthirsting. The blade can’t know we tried to fool it.”

  “Terra swear many things.” The old woman shrugged dismissively. “But this time is true. Blade can be thirsted.”

  “Then you’re not going to stop me?” Aren actually
sounded uncertain. As though maybe she hoped Terra would prevent her from killing Smithton.

  I growled, angry that my offer to crush the seraroach had been rejected, when it was clear that Aren had no true desire to commit the act herself. “Aren, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Jag, enough! You don’t understand. I must do this. Not only for Tracin, but now for Quelir, as well.”

  “Quelir?” Terra frowned, shifting her slight weight to one side and squinting at us. “Why you must pay for his death?”

  “He died to save me, Terra. He died on my blade. He was my blood, and now I must avenge him.”

  Terra waved a hand as though she shooed a teezter fly. “All this I knows. I sees. You is wrong.” She turned away.

  “Terra, wait.” Frustration hardened Aren’s voice. “I don’t understand.”

  Terra heaved a sigh, like a mother tested to the end of her patience. “Not everything you must be understanding, child. Sometimes just be accepting.”

  Aren shook her head. “But you’re the one who taught me about the blood-blade thirsting.”

  Terra pinched at the bridge of her nose. “Is right. And what I teach you? If true bondmate dies, blade requires thirsting, yes?”

  “Exactly.” Aren darted a look at me, as though imploring me to weigh in on her side.

  “So, what’s the argument?” I shrugged. “Smithton deserves to die. There are plenty of us who will do the job.”

  Terra hissed at me. “I sees you lost brains when you lost improvements.” She waved a hand at my non-Dragarian form. “You takes a life so easy? You nots think on if right?”

  “Kind of goes with the job.” I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, even though I lied. Never had I taken a life without thought. Nor without consequence, the unknown faces haunting my sleep.

  Aren took a few steps across the sand, leaning her narrow butt against the rocky outcrop. Her shoulders drooped, and she looked exhausted, sorrow finally taking a toll. “Terra, I don’t understand. I…have to thirst the blade. You know how. And that will be an end to it.”

  “That be end to everything.” Terra snorted.

  “Exactly.” Aren sounded dispirited, her voice flat.

  “Child, you not owe bloodthirsting for Quelir. His life not taken.”

  “He died in my arms, Terra,” Aren shouted, her words cracking like a whiplash across the empty desert.

  Terra shook her head. “Pluvar dragaris”—she pointed at the blue, glowing blade—“is Ender of the Future. This is as should be. Quelir’s future was ending. He knows is dying. This why he don’t follow you to desert. He stay to guard Smithton. Not keep Smithton safe; keep Smithton from you, see?”

  Aren shook her head. “I don’t understand—”

  I did. “Quelir was ill. He knew he was dying and sacrificed himself. Therefore, no one caused his death, his life wasn’t taken.”

  “Is right,” Terra actually looked pleased with me. “Life is given, not taken. So, no bloodthirsting needed.”

  Aren raked both hands through her hair, then dragged them down her face, her fingertips leaving white lines in the dirt. “But Tracin. I must avenge him.”

  “You know you not feel thirst same now,” Terra said.

  “I don’t,” Aren replied, confusion lacing her voice. A line furrowed between her dark brows, her chin dimpling as she held in tears. “I try to. I promise, Terra, I try.”

  “Should not feel same.”

  “Why?” The word was laden with agony and shame.

  “Can only avenge bonded dead.”

  “I know.”

  “But Tracin not dead.” Terra turned slowly, dramatically flinging her arm wide. Her crooked finger pointed at me. “Tracin lives. In him. In his bloods. Remember?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aren

  Smithton spit, aiming for Leo. Missing by at least three feet.

  “You’re not getting anywhere with that,” he said with a sneer, nodding toward the Regime tech Leo studied intently. False bravado. His clenched fists gave him away. “All our equipment is hack-proof. If you were wise, you’d bring me back to the compound immediately. If you do, I might be persuaded to offer leniency.”

  Leo lifted his eyes from the communicator he’d been working on for hours. We’d traveled until dawn, then sought shelter to escape the heat of day, and to give Leo a chance to hack into the com. Leo’s gaze skimmed down Smithton’s scrunched up form. “You say something, asshole?”

  Smithton huffed and turned to present Leo his back. It wasn’t an easy move for him, with his wrists tied and secured snug to his ankles. I doubted he’d be able to stand upright, let alone run. “I really don’t know what you hope to accomplish. Even if you somehow find a way to reach them, the Aaidarian government will not intervene on your behalf.”

  Only a dim-witted narlol would’ve mistaken our intentions. Although, Smithton did vaguely resemble a narlol.

  Herc continued flipping his laser pistol into the air, over and over, catching it with a finger through the trigger guard before it hit the ground.

  Leo chewed on his thumbnail while tweaking the com’s programming, still seeking a way past the firewall.

  Jag and I exchanged raised eyebrow looks, because neither of us was eager to confirm Smithton’s assumption.

  “I’m not stupid,” Smithton said with that superior twist I’d wanted to smack off his face on more than one occasion while growing up in his household.

  Now, I just wanted to remove his head from his body, so he could no longer make expressions.

  When I set out on this mission, I’d known the chances were good I’d wind up an orphan. I’d never imagined the parent I’d lose was Quelir.

  My sigh eked out of me. I felt as if a limb had been severed from my body. As if he knew that sadness had grabbed hold of me again, Jag shifted closer and put his arm around my shoulders.

  How could I have overlooked the signs of my parents’ bond? The whispered conversations between Mother and Quelir when they met up in the hall. The long walks they’d taken in the gardens. And their hushed laughter in the kitchen late at night.

  Their friendship must’ve risen from their shared heritage and grown from there.

  They’d blade-bond mated, entwined their hearts. How could she bear to be with Smithton after that?

  “I’m hot,” Smithton whined. “With my hands like this, I can’t wipe the sweat off my face. And I’m thirsty. Hungry.”

  We sat in the shade of a stone overhang, on the eastern side of a large cluster of boulders, waiting for Leo to crack the com, after which, we’d race overnight for the Resistance stronghold, rest briefly tomorrow during the hottest of the daylight hours and hope to arrive while we could still make a difference.

  “Sweat be least of concern,” Terra said. Rising up onto her bony knees and slithering close to Smithton, she poked his chest with a dragonstone blade I hadn’t realized she carried. He shuddered, and I could swear the smell of piss filled the air. “Soon, I slice flesh from bones. Yank organs from belly.”

  “Take a number,” Herc said, before I could speak up about my own rights to this man’s carcass.

  The moment he’d seen Terra earlier, Smithton had squealed like a baby wint caught in the clutches of a vultrex.

  Terra’s white hair and glacial-blue eyes hinted at her ancestry. But the gills she’d flared, making her resemble a raptor from the jungles of Glia’s ancient past, proved she was pure Dragarian.

  Bellowing for help, Smithton had tried to run away, stumbling as his booted feet bogged down in sand.

  This time, I’d been the one to go after and tackle him, and drag him by his collar back to the others, who’d tied him up. I’d wanted more than anything to pull my blade and gut him, leave him with his intestines collecting sand and his shrieks drawing vipers.

  But I couldn’t end this until we no longer needed his com access.

  “Shut up, witch.” A tremor rippled through Smithton’s voice. Reinforcing his arroga
nce, he drew himself up and lifted his nose toward the dry vegetation creeping along the bottom side of the ledge above. “Leave me alone.” He tilted his head toward Herc and Leo conferring over the communicator. “You can’t touch me. They need me too much to let you do a damn thing.”

  “Don’t need you. Just your right eyeball, dude,” Jag said dryly. He picked up a small stone and tossed it out into the desert, where it was swallowed by sand. “Maybe we’ll let Terra carve it from your face before we take care of you like Lyrie did Hartlin, huh?”

  From the whispers I’d overheard, Hartlin had planned to steal a child from Lyrie and Khal. During their escape from the compound, and in griffin form, Lyrie had ripped off Captain Hartlin’s head.

  “This is a direct violation of the Galaxy Living and Welfare Agreements Treaty,” Smithton said. “I intend to notify our ambassador of your threats immediately.”

  “Think your Galaxy Living and Welfare ambassador would be interested in learning about your DNA project?” Leo asked, looking up from the com. “I happen to know quite a bit about the project from my bondmate, Doctor Janie Hartlin, who, I might add, would be happy to testify. As would Lyrie and Khal, plus all the other Glians you’ve used for your experiments.”

  Smithton’s lips twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You want dragonstone,” I said. “A blade.”

  “Yes, the bones of dragons. Can you imagine,” he said with glee. “Being able to recreate dragons in…” With a blink, he cut off, stiffening, probably realizing he was about to convict himself with his words.

  “Don’t you realize it doesn’t contain the marrow? The Dragarians magically alter the blade. It’s no longer pure pluvar dragaris.”

  Smithton blinked. “W-what?”

  “Ender of future,” Terra shrieked out. “Ender of you!” She darted the blade toward Smithton again, who dove sideways, his cheek and arm biting into the sand.