“It’s an honor I don’t need.”
“That’s your human talking. Remember you are felinus and clan-sister to me. This celebration is to recognize you, and the others who lived and died in that prison.”
“I don’t want to be the center of attention,” Sam replied dryly.
“Ah, then if that is so, you should not have mated with a san-Duran.”
“As if I had a choice.”
“Indeed,” Taren agreed. “Fate is fate.”
“I have to go, but you honor me with your presence.” Sam inclined her head, her left hand over her heart.
“Oh, plllllleasssse,” Taren hissed. “I hate formality.”
Sam smiled. “No you don’t, you thrive on it, especially when it’s you performing it.”
The assassin grinned, his eyes sparking. Sam realized her double entendre had not been lost on him.
“She knows you too well, Tar,” Alesiar said, laughing.
Sam laughed, also, studying them. Alesiar, an Avenor woman, rarely traveled off-world. She had left clan and duty to attend the victory celebration, to stand at her mate’s side. Alesiar was beautiful. Dangerous, dark of hair and eye, cinnamon skin stained with feather-shaped tattoos, as Taren. A knife rested at each hip and probably more weapons were hidden beneath her wings and in her leather jumpsuit.
Sam!
The two Avenor winced. “Our clan-brother is impatient.”
“Yes. Excuse me.” Sam edged past the guests, ignoring calls for her to share a drink or a dance with the revelers.
The Terran Ambassador intercepted her. She bowed to Sam. “I’ve news for you Sher-ean.”
Sam frowned. Sher-ean. Princess. She, now married to John, was part of the Chizan royal family. And that had responsibilities and duties, one of which was being polite to people she wished would warp-speed out of her face.
“And what is that, Madam Ambassador?” Sam asked.
“GTC has offered compensation to those affected by the…the…”
“Starlord?”
The official nodded. “Because a former Director of GTC worked for that creature, using company knowledge to lure captives, GTC is facing massive indictment from the Justiciary. Considering this and the recent events on the Chizan moon…”
“GTC is in damage control, then? Spin doctors working overtime.”
“I understand your scorn, Sher-ean.”
Do you? Sam wanted to scream, but she inclined her head, the felinus gesture of conciliation. “I suppose something good will come out of this.”
“Indeed, yes! GTC is now under control of the Galactic Council’s Environment Department.” Her gaze flicked to the King sitting on his blue velvet cushion watching all proceedings. “Duran Herrall is foremost in the Council and makes a formidable opponent, or ally.”
Sam caught the undercurrent in the ambassador’s voice. The woman was fishing for another Chizan advocate. Who better to engage, but the naïve princess? Sam was done with politics.
“Yes. Can you excuse me, please? I’ve been summoned.”
“Of course.”
Sam threaded her way quickly through the dancers and paused by the open doors, breathing in the fresh air. She clutched the door frame as a wave of dizziness hit her.
Music from a harp drifted through the room. Someone was singing. She glanced over her shoulder to watch the felinus on the musicians’ dais. His voice was haunting and all attention was focused upon him, yet the man could never match Harimal, for beauty of voice, or face.
Sam blinked away the tears, the pain, concentrating instead on the room to distract her memories.
The ballroom was softly illuminated by the light of six mauve crystal chandeliers hanging from the middle of the burnished domed ceiling. It was a breathtaking sight—the felinus men and women in their long, flowing rainbow-hued kaftans moving around one another, smiling, laughing, talking, seducing with eyes and bodies. A lion-sized black cat with a silver ruff paced the room, threading between the dancers. Sam recognized Captain Karev, but why had he morphed to cat, unless he was on duty, as security chief? Her throat constricted with sudden fear. Was there danger, something she should know?
She glanced around.
There were other species in the room: humans, Avenor, dream-weavers and Draconis, but for the most part it was an exclusive gathering of Chizanii. And everyone was at ease. Her gaze intercepted Taren and Alesiar. They nodded to her, smiling. Taren raised his flute to her. Sam released the breath she had been unconsciously holding: if the assassin wasn’t worried, why should she?
Sammi!
She turned, her sandaled feet slapping against the marble tiles, her silk gown swishing around her ankles as she walked forward. She followed John’s scent, leaving the patio and the party far behind.
She found him at the eastern side of the palace, sitting within a pyramid-shaped arbor.
At her approach, he stood up and held out his hand, smiling. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was that wary look she hated, the one she had seen on the faces of many since she had left her sick bed.
“Stop standing like a san-Duran,” Sam said. “You’re off duty now.”
He chuckled. “On Chizan, when is a Prince ever allowed to be a cat? The guests expected a show of felinus arrogance. Did I succeed?” He swept off the brow-band and twirled it around his fingers. “So much for the Prince.” He tossed the band into the garden bed.
Sam laughed. He grasped her hand and drew her against him. His scent wafted around her, cat-musk and human-spice mixed with the pungent ginger tang of the garden. Oh, stars! Her hunger ignited; how she wanted him! And she knew by his perfume, he was also consumed by desire.
John’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her hard against his chest. Sam tried not to flinch. There were still places in her body that hurt, the hidden, deeper wounds that he did not know about, the ones she could not reveal.
His response was to hold her tighter, to rest his chin on her shoulder, so that his spice-scented breath tickled her nape. His body was hot and taut; ready for her. Through the thin silk of his kaftan, she could not fail to notice.
“That party is never going to end,” John said. “My father has indicated a full mutatis celebration. I want to go home and be alone.”
“Duty calls,” Sam whispered.
“Yes.”
A single word, with a multitude of meanings. Now that Harimal was dead, John had obligations for two princes—to the Council, to Chizan, to the King and to his father. Duties that now included her. As Sher-ean. What a laugh—she, a princess.
“Sammi, tomorrow we must perform the Blessed Realm ceremony, for Harimal.”
She twisted away. “I can’t.”
“Kitten, please…”
“I won’t celebrate his death.”
“Then celebrate his life. You were with him in his final moments. You must share them with his family.”
“Must I?” she challenged, turning to him, her eyes brimming with tears.
John’s face blanched. “For Hari’s sake.” He tugged her back against his body.
Sam leaned into him, his arms a comforting weight around her. If only she could stay forever within this moment. She sighed. His scent, his heat, his passion caressed her.
“That’s a very heartfelt sigh, kitten-mine.”
“Mm. I’m tired.” Bone-weary tired, heartsick. Bereft. Uncertain of herself. Uncertain of him.
He had loved her only once since her recovery. She remembered it, a time of desperate coupling for them both. Her fear that it was but another dream, and she would wake up in her prison. John’s horror that she might be a figment of the starlight madness—that she was lost to him forever.
“Let me love you, soothe you, my beloved wife, my fe’ha tu. Let me do this for you. Please.”
She heard the bewildered hurt in his voice and flinched. Had she caused that pain in her denial of him, of the times he had lain beside her, aching for her, and she had rejected him? When she had sai
d no, when she had recoiled from his gentlest of touches... Tentative, wanting to please, to comfort, but not knowing how—for once unsure of himself and his ability to please her. Unforgivable, what she had done to him.
“Sammi?” He lifted her chin and kissed her, then drew away, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve something to show you, come with me. Please.”
She forced a smile, a brave face. “So long as there’s no more speeches.”
“Promise.”
He linked her arm in his, and silently they walked over the patio and entered the palace through a side door. In the narrow confines of the passageway, she rubbed against John. Caught unawares, her stomach did a somersault at the contact, her body flushing, cramping with desire.
If he sensed her reaction, he gave no sign. Instead, John lifted a glow stone in a metal dish from the wall sconce. The light revealed steps and he began to descend. He turned to her.
“C’mon, Sammi.”
She swallowed against the terror welling up inside. The last time she had been in such a setting, the stone steps led down to a dungeon, to dark shadows and even darker horrors.
“There’s nothing to fear, honey-cat, I’m with you.”
She followed him down the steep winding stairwell, her hands sliding against the marble walls on each side to give her stability.
The stairs ended at a small arched landing. John took her hand and gently tugged her forward through the archway.
Her question was extinguished as John held up the lamp. She turned full circle, in stunned disbelief.
They were in a cave formed by the purest Chizan crystals she had ever seen. They sparkled with the colors of their world: silver, green and purple. As John waved the lamp, the crystals glowed and Sam heard a gentle tinkling, like glass against glass.
“They’re singing to you, Sammi.”
“Who?”
“The crystals.” John smiled. “They remember you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He placed the lamp on the crystal floor and turned to her, taking her by the shoulders. “During the journey home, we kept you sleeping. You were ill from the Madness. My father’s physician did what he could, then ordered that you be taken to the crystal chamber to be healed in spirit. You lay here for two days.”
“I…remember…lights and someone singing. I thought it was…” Sam burst into tears, great gulping sobs. She covered her mouth with her hands.
John held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, allowing her to cry out her misery. He rocked her gently, his cheek against her head. And through her grief, Sam heard him crying, too, his body shuddering against her. She held him closer, then pushed away to look up at him, to run her fingers over his wet cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Kuno, my beloved faeth-tul-san. I just couldn’t let you touch me. I mean, I know what I look like. Just skin and bone and then the other things…”
“I know,” he said. “Kareena monitored you en route to Chizan. We, Taren, Len and I initiated healing. We know, Sam.”
She half turned away. “What…what do you know?”
“What you endured. Hari protected you from the worst of it. Your pain was the starlord’s pleasure. It’s over. Let it go, Sammi, all of it.”
Let it go? How could she? She would bear the scars forever.
But only if you allow the wounds to persist… The thought flared in her mind, giving her pause. Was that what she was doing, wallowing in self-pity?
Sam felt her body flush with shame, with realization.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to herself, and to Kuno, because his hurt must be the equal of her own.
“Don’t be sorry,” John said. “Not here.”
In the center of the room, beneath a formation of sparkling crystal stalactites, Sam saw a rug piled with cushions, the style favored by felinus—velvets and embroidered brocades, all multi-tasseled. Beside the rug was a round gold dish, its lid inlaid with crystals.
“Why’ve you brought me here, Kuno?”
He smiled, a finger stroking over her cheek. “There’s a final ceremony between mutatis mates, Sharille-Samantha.”
“Taren was right then.” She smiled at John’s raised brow. “Felinus enjoy ritual, to the exclusion of all things.”
“Not all things, kitten.”
The husky timbre of his voice made her blush, made her nerves spark with a passion she feared had long died.
He stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders and ran a tongue gently over her nape. “Look at the crystals.”
She did as he asked, staring at the ceiling. For a moment all was still, deeply intense. Slowly, a light pierced her mind and in response, her nerves thrummed.
“This is the heart and soul of Chizan, kitten-mine,” John whispered against her neck. His tongue gently caressed. “Before the palace existed, this was our mutatis grove. The first Ronsevaal evoked the crystals and this cave formed. The palace was built upon it. The crystals grow each year and we gift a precious few.”
He moved slightly behind her and Sam heard a rustle of silk. He lifted something over her head.
She saw a silver necklace, a tear-shaped crystal hanging from the bottom of the chain.
John settled the necklace over her, the gem lying in the valley between her breasts.
Sam stared down at the crystal. Its essence caressed, a faint hum in her mind and ears. As she clasped the stone, her fingers prickled, a race of light tingling over her skin.
“This is like the necklace I had before. I gave it to H…Hari.”
“Sammi.” John stepped closer.
One word, with a universe of meanings, and possibilities. She turned to face him and his arms enfolded her. She rested her cheek on his chest and listened to the strong, deep beat of his heart. As her arms locked behind the small of his back, the tempo of his heart increased. He growled low in his throat. Then purred. Pure felinus.
“I’ve never seen you in your cat-shape,” she whispered. “Except…” Except when he had his fangs around Andy’s throat.
“I’ll morph for you in a moment, but first there’s something I must do for you.”
“No, just hold me, John-Kuno.”
He purred, the vibrations rumbling through her, reminding her of earlier times, when all was so simple… When she loved him, and he loved her.
But that had not changed—if anything her love was deeper, stronger, and she knew that his passion for her burned brighter than a thousand suns.
Nothing in the universe mattered in that moment except that she must offer him comfort, her love, no matter the cost to herself. Here and now.
She lifted her head and standing on her toes, kissed him, swirling her tongue over his mouth, dipping inside. Fleetingly, his tongue captured hers. He purred in the back of his throat.
The crystals within the chamber chimed and glowed. As Sam listened, feeling the vibrations of the crystal-song, her horror, her fear and the cold and the dark inside retreated.
What was there to fear? Nothing. She was safe. Capital S, Safe. Before her courage failed her, she touched her mind to his.
Husband-mine, be one with me. Here. Now. Is it allowed?
He laughed, tugging at her robe.
She stilled his hands. “I…”
“You want me to lift your skirt and feegle you like some groping human boy? Forget that! I want to see my wife in all her beauty.”
“Then close your eyes.”
“If I do that, I can’t see you, kitten.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re beautiful to me. Always.” He gently touched the plasti-skin on her arm. “You’ve fought a battle, kitten-mine and what are a few scars to me? Let me love you, every part of you.” His gaze held hers as he teased open the first tie of her kaftan and cast the ribbon aside. Others followed. He parted her gown and slipped it from her shoulders. It fluttered down her body, rustling like a whisper of breeze over dry leaves.
With her kaftan pooled around her feet, Sam
held her ground, her chin raised, when all she wanted to do was run. She glanced down, seeing the bruises marbling her body, the hip bones stark beneath the pale flesh. John cupped her face and kissed her, capturing her mouth and her attention in a fiery caress.
She heard him unlace his robe and it, too, slithered down his body in a delicious, sensual rustle.
With a trembling hand, she reached out to him and ran her palm over his chest, hovering over the place where he had been shot. She frowned. “There’s no scar.”
He cupped her hands between his. “When a felinus morphs, Sam, any injuries are healed. We rarely bear scars.”
She swallowed hard, fighting the tears, the memories. She slipped her hand lower, over the flat smooth plain of his stomach, to his erection. It strained up to her, red, engorged, the ridges splayed. She lifted her gaze.
“Sam,” he whispered. “Let me love you.”
She nodded. He raised her right thigh, draping it around the small of his back and lifted her against him. She crossed her legs and pressed her heels into the base of his spine, finding the meridian that drove him wild.
“Don’t do that, T’serlan! I want to arouse you, love you. My name is Kuno, and I exist for you, only for you. Only for you.”
“What about your pleasure?”
“Your pleasure will be mine. This time is for you.”
“Ah.” She frowned, wary and angry. “You’re going to be the sensualator for me. Counsel me, heal me. No you don’t, cat-boy. You love me as my husband, or you don’t have me at all.”
“But Sam—”
“Don’t you but Sam me, Johnathan Lucas-Ronsevaal, san-Duran and whatever else your titles. Let me love you, soothe you.”
“I wanted this to be special.”
“With you, it’s always special.”
He smiled, his eyes glistening with both passion and tears. “Is it?”
“Oh yeah.” She stroked her knee over his lower back. “Please, Kuno. Please, my faeth-tul-san.”
“Then take me, guide me into you, do what you wish, when, how. I love you.”
Sam rocked back and forth over his erection, while taking the head between her fingers, teasing apart the tip and pressuring the ridges along his length. Since becoming pure felinus, his feena had altered. More ridges, a thicker girth. Longer. She led him to her entrance and rubbed him against her, flesh seducing flesh. Then, she plunged down over him, taking all of him, as far as she could go. He held himself in check, his hands laced beneath her bottom.
StarlightComplete Page 31
