In this illusion, she came to a quick stop and her gaze met his. The dark amber eyes flashed with green flecks. Wulfe swept an imaginary, exploring glance over her body. His manhood swelled and pounded heavily in immediate response. Catherine smiled. The gesture made her face even more gorgeous and stole the breath from him.
"Wulfe?" In his vision, she held stone-still, stared at him. Her falchion wavered ever so slightly and the smile melted away. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Wulfe answered, gulping in air. "I never before realized how vivid my imagination can be."
"What do you see?" Her voice shook on the last word.
Without thinking, he described his fantasy vision in detail, right down to the green trim on her ivory leathers. The same vibrant green as the flecks in her eyes.
Catherine's falchion--her falchion?--slipped from her grasp, came to rest on the ground at her feet. Feet encased in soft-grained leather, a perfect match to her leather trousers and vest. Bellon leathers, if he had a drop of Bellon blood in him!
Wait a minute. Wulfe shook his head. "This can't be right."
With a slow, careful movement, she reached for the comm tag attached to her vest. Catherine watched him follow the movement. She shivered. "Culver to sickbay."
`Moira here,' the Syllogian doctor responded within seconds.
"Do you have time to examine the captain?"
`I will make the time. What's happened?'
"He can see. By the gods, Moira, he can see me!"
Wulfe uttered a soft curse. "What man with a breath of life in him wouldn't want to see you, Cat?"
She stared at him, her dark amber eyes gone wide with what looked to be shock. "What did you just say?"
Puzzled by her reaction, he thought about what he'd said, relaxed when he found the obvious answer. "I meant no offense. After all, you are not unpleasant to look upon, Commander. Most men would want to see you."
She shook her head. "What did you call me?"
"Oh." Now he truly understood. Earthers could never comprehend the importance of traditional Bellon names. For example, one of his ancestors had commanded a group of soldiers known as Wulfe Squadron, but Earthers wouldn't understand the significance. "Cat would be the Bellon form of your name. I didn't use it as an insult."
"That's all, then?"
"Why would there be anything more?" Wulfe looked around the clearing, absorbed true-to-life colors and familiar shapes, and appreciated them more than at any other time in his life. By the gods! He really could see! And he owed it all to one defiant little Earther. "Catherine, I--"
"Show your appreciation by reporting to sickbay."
For just one moment, he had the eerie feeling she knew him better than he knew himself.
Chapter 7
CAT FLIPPED her stiletto, caught it by the hilt, repeated the motion for what must be the five-hundredth time. Moira still held Wulfe captive in her exam room. What in the six levels of the Underworld made the Syllogian take so long? Cat believed in thoroughness as much as the next officer, but Moira defined the process.
The door finally opened and Moira emerged. "I'll need a few minutes to correlate data, Commander. Perhaps you'd care to spend that time with the captain? He seems quite jubilant."
"Can't imagine why. Sure, I'll keep him company." Cat sheathed the dagger. Her hand shook from a mixture of nervousness and eagerness. Her legs trembled, too, as she walked into the exam room, uncertain of her welcome.
Wulfe turned from studying the bio readouts against one wall. His slow smile, sexily familiar, spread across his face. "Commander. I forgot to mention, that's quite an outfit you have on." Devilment flashed in his dark eyes. "From which poor Bellon child did you purloin those leathers?"
Cat ran a hand across her hip, down her thigh in a self-conscious gesture. The creamy feel of the leather reassured her. "Do these look as though they were made for a child?"
"Good point." Wulfe studied her with typical Bellon boldness and grinned. "They look like a child's in length, perhaps, but unless you've made special alterations to conform to your attributes, I'd guess not."
Attributes, was it? She'd heard her curves referred to as many things, but `attributes' ranked as a new one. Still, a slow tingle spread through her body, stoked by the heat in his expression. "I don't know whether to be flattered or flustered."
"I don't flatter, Commander, and somehow, I can't see you flustered. Ivory isn't a common color for our leathers, but in this case, the shade and cut perfect the already pleasing image."
"They were chosen for me by someone very special."
"I can see that." Wulfe laughed. "Literally as well as figuratively. Whoever he is, the man knows what suits you."
"Are you so certain a `he' did the choosing?"
"Aye, there's no room in my mind for dispute."
His good humor lulled her into a sense of well-being. A false sense, Cat discovered the instant she reached out to him mentally and found nothing with which to connect. The failure left the taste of dry ashes in her mouth. "So your vision is completely normal?"
"Evidently. Moira plans to remove the sensors and processing unit, so I'm on my own."
"Well, that's good news."
"Good news we might not be celebrating without your, uh, unique method of instruction. Are you always so direct?"
"My technique is effective, is it not?" Cat worked hard to maintain the same bantering tone Wulfe used when all she wanted was to walk into his embrace and stay there.
"Commander, you could give lessons." Wulfe looked around the exam room, shook his head. "I dislike being indebted to anyone, but I do owe you for doing your best to restore my sight." His gaze moved over her body, returned to her face. "What may I do for you in return? I would pay my debt in full, whether in hard credits or..."
A heat moved through her, so palpable she felt the tendrils coil deep inside and her face flush. Cat considered a plethora of possible responses, chose the one she thought would do the most good. "I claim the right..."
Wulfe moved closer, until the fire from his body melded with the fever from hers. "Yes?" His voice deepened, roughened. "What do you claim?"
Cat retreated one jerky step, then another, cleared her throat. "...the right to demonstrate and prove why I'm the best choice for your first officer."
"Ah." He scanned her face, looked into her eyes. "You obviously are not a stranger to Bellon custom any more than you are to our clothing, and you are clever. If you had asked for the opportunity, I may have denied you."
"I know. Consider my claim as part of the wager I won."
"Won? Commander, we never finished our exercise! But, I agree to your claim. For now. Give me one reason to regret my generosity, and I will deny what has been granted. I won't be easy on you, but I will be fair."
"Understood, Captain. I expect nothing else. For now." Cat wheeled around and left sick bay, unwilling to trust herself in his presence any further. She must decide how to treat him now. Breezy and offhand? Direct and official? Neither seemed the right tack. Perhaps a blend. Bah! Unimportant for the moment--he could see again and that's all that mattered!
"YOU CAN'T MAKE me drink that," Cat heard Nora declare. "Oh, God's stars, I've been poisoned." A muffled groan followed on the heels of the doctor's croaked assertion.
In her sleeping chamber, Cat grinned to herself, clipped the comm tag to the collar of her clean uniform. Little tingles of excitement coursed through her--Wulfe's vision had been restored! Their lives would return to normal soon. Assuming nothing else crazy happened. Before she walked into the living area of her quarters, she considered her stiletto. No, too Bellon. She felt naked without the traditional dagger, but the family crests--Burnelle and Kincade interwoven--worked into its hilt could generate too many awkward questions from Wulfe.
She almost danced into the common area of her quarters. Wulfe could see. The turn of events thrilled her. He'd called her Cat--then went on as if he didn't know her from the First Ones. That thought dampened her en
thusiasm.
What disaster would today bring? Better to be prepared than to blindly expect progress. She put the thought from her mind.
Morgan held a steaming mug of jeela in her hand, offering the brew to Albright. The girl's little foot tapped with impatience while she waited for Albright to accept.
"Another life lesson for you, Daughter Morgan." Cat rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Doctors are among the worst of patients. Drink the jeela, Nora. I know of only two other remedies for a wildfire hangover."
"What's another one," Albright asked, her voice muffled by the blanket she'd pulled over her head. "Because my stomach can't handle that vile Bellon tea."
"Bellon coffee then, strong and black."
"Ugh. Even worse. The third?"
Cat glanced at Morgan. "Some other time when young, impressionable minds aren't around."
Albright pulled the blanket down and rubbed her forehead. Her eyes squinted against the light. "With a pounder like this? You've got to be kidding. Please tell me you're joking."
"I never joke about that. Believe me, it's more fun than drinking some brew. Really gets that blood pumping." Cat finished her own Bellon coffee, then fought a yawn because the stimulant effect hadn't kicked in yet. A few seconds more and, with luck, the jolt would hit. It better. If she didn't manage some bunk time soon, she'd be out on her feet.
Albright peered up at her, holding a hand over one eye. "Did you get any sleep last night?"
"Not a wink. I've been busy." Who could sleep after what had happened? About the time she'd unwound enough to even consider closing her eyes, Garrett demanded to be fed.
Morgan offered the mug again. "Take the tea, Doctor Nora. I have lessons to do this morning and Fallon's waiting for me."
Albright took the mug, shuddered after she swallowed a mouthful. "I fail to believe poison will counteract poison."
Morgan giggled, returned Cat's hug, skipped from the room.
Albright tried to focus on Cat. "For not sleeping, you look obscenely healthy this morning. I think I may have to hate you."
"Do you good to sweat out the effects of the brandy." Cat sat on the arm of the lounger, swung her feet up to rest on the seat cushion. "Exercise will clear your head. How about it?"
"No way. Right now, thinking even makes my hair hurt." Albright forced more of the tea down. With most of the jeela in her stomach now, her red-rimmed eyes finally opened all the way. "The pounding's down to a thud, but I couldn't face any form of exercise and survive." She yawned hugely. "Yuck. Some furred creature died in my mouth. Anything exciting happen overnight?"
"Well, let's see. The flight deck is almost completed, which is good, because the pilots should be here in an hour or so. The Mallochons raided another mining camp, this one on Dannon Four." Cat sobered. "The miners got off lucky, I'd say. They reported no deaths, though most have injuries to one degree or another." She looked in the general direction of the large sleeping chamber Fallon shared with Morgan and Garrett, stiffened her spine against the quick, sharp wave of desolation. "The children will be leaving for Bellona soon."
"Morgan and Garrett are the last to go, right?"
"Right. All the other children have been shipped out." Cat kept a close eye on Albright now, waiting for her reaction to the news she'd impart next. "Oh, and Wulfe regained his sight."
Albright tried to swallow the last of the cooling tea and speak at the same time, ended up sputtering. "How did that happen? I mean, not that I'm anything but elated, you understand, but how? When?"
Cat gave her an abridged version of the combat exercise and its result. Maybe Albright could offer her some insight, once the hangover abated enough for the Earther to think clearly. "And before you ask, no, he hasn't overcome the amnesia yet, but Moira says his vision is once again perfect. I'm thrilled and disappointed, all at the same time." Two understatements in one sentence; a new record. "I don't know if I should jump with joy or curse from frustration."
"I can understand that. How's the captain doing now that his vision has been restored?"
"Well, apparently, and keeping busy. According to ship logs, he never returned to his quarters last night once we sealed our deal."
Albright's red-rimmed eyes stretched open. "Deal? What deal? Ooh, I bet this is going to be good."
"Not that good. He'll allow me to try my hand with the Bellon pilots."
"Excuse me? That was a given, anyway. Some deal. Say, if the captain didn't return to his quarters, what was he doing?"
"I believe he spent the time in his office going over the computer logs."
"You think he suspects something?"
Cat shrugged, half-hoping he did suspect things weren't right, because an investigation by Wulfe could lead to him remembering. "Hard to say. He's been accessing a diverse spread of information files."
"You still have that personal file of yours in the system? The one protected with the nursery rhyme the captain hates so?"
"Sure. Why?"
"If he remembers something, he could get into it, find out every detail there is about you, the two of you, the children."
"If Wulfe remembers enough to repeat that rhyme, he's remembered everything else, too, and it won't matter. He barely recalled the words when my very life depended on it a few months ago! If Wulfe hadn't pulled that verse out of his memory so he could access my files, you never would have found my medical data."
"Don't remind me. We damn near lost you." Albright threw the blanket aside and sat up in a determined motion. She groaned and clutched her forehead. "Oh, boy, was that stupid. Word to the unsuspecting: No sudden moves when you have a wildfire hangover."
"Nora, I think you might be right."
"I know I am. No quick moves. Oh. I'm right about what?"
"I'm--it's possible Wulfe doesn't want to remember me or the children. I've been asking myself if that's conceivable. Nora, do you really think Wulfe didn't want to see?" The question nearly ripped out her heart.
"Oh, stars. When did I say something so stupid? Last night? Remind me not to touch that devil's poison again, will you?" She pushed fingers through her matted hair. "I don't know, Catherine. I'd like to think not, but all I can say for certain is neither Moira nor I could find a physical reason for the blindness."
"Do you think it's the same with his memory?"
"Anything's pos--give me one good reason Captain Kincade wouldn't want to remember you or the children!"
"How do you want the reasons indexed, Nora? How about randomly? He regrets not taking a Fullblood as his mate. I didn't tell him Danelle had his child. Think about poor Morgan. I'm the reason that demented Mallochon murdered Danelle. She mistook Danelle for me."
"Catherine, you're not at fault."
"It sure feels like I am sometimes. Need some more? I'm still a member of the Covert Corps, despite Wulfe's objections. Maybe he regrets the fact that I birthed his son."
"You know that is ridiculous! Ouch. Please don't make me yell--it hurts my head too much."
"Perhaps now that he has a son, Wulfe has decided he doesn't need me anymore. Face it, I'm the least traditional Bellon female the Sweet Creator ever made. I refuse to back down from him. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside, Wulfe still blames me for the death of his first son." Every reason she listed filled her with cold dread. Fear and self-doubt held amazing power.
"I don't believe any of this. That first baby would have died no matter what anyone did, or didn't do. You've gone too long without a good, sound sleep, so you're not thinking rationally."
"I hope that's all it is," Cat choked out, "because I'm starting to get scared."
Terrified, she amended. Unfounded fears could be another sign she'd lost a tight grip on reasoning. Without the strength and reassurance of their now nonexistent bonding link, she slipped closer to the edge of madness. It approached her on stealthy little feet, but her inability to remain focused and her emotional weakness only confirmed her fears.
WULFE STOOD on the upper level of the Falchion
's new flight deck and watched the squadron of flight crews file in. Watched them, by the gods, courtesy of Catherine. When Moira removed the sensors, he'd had the wildest urge to kiss the physician. The Syllogian doctor would have been mortified. He sure as narg should have kissed Catherine when he had the chance.
Wulfe considered the newest members of his crew to arrive as they lined up below. Fullbloods with rebellion in their hearts. Halfbloods with attitude. Bellon descendants with a point to prove. Lyon could hold his own with the flight crews, but this group would chew up Catherine and spit her out in little bloody pieces.
He supposed he'd have to be the one to protect her, considering she'd been the one to somehow spark the return of his vision. He'd promised her the chance to work with the pilots, and he'd give her that. Then, when she failed, Catherine would have no one to blame.
Lyon walked down the rows of pilots and flight technicians, stopping here and there to ask a question or make a comment. Each member of the squadron stood at parade rest. The ones addressed by Lyon responded with guarded civility. As expected, Lyon needed to earn their total respect.
The lower level side entry opposite Wulfe's vantage point whooshed open. Catherine stepped into the flight bay, paused for a few seconds. Her gaze swept down the columns of squadron members. She crossed the deck, her steps firm, unhurried, the light impact of her boots on the deck plates the only sound.
The teal and gray of her Corps uniform drew Wulfe's attention. No standard issue there; top and bottom both had been tailored to perfection. The material made love to Catherine's lithe little body with every move she made. First damn time he could remember envying a piece of cloth.
Wulfe leaned a shoulder against the nearest reinforcement strut, prepared to watch the show in comfort. As close as he could get to comfort for the moment, at any rate. His body had come to painful attention since Catherine's arrival.
Devoted Deceptions, A 4th Millennium Adventure, Book 3 Page 10
