He'd seen Cat's initial reluctance, her obvious fear of committing herself to the ordeal of helping the Erosians, and had wondered why. Then he'd witnessed her overcome the panic, and the arduous result.
He'd observed Cat and her perseverence, awed by her drive to help every victim she touched. He watched her grow paler after every session, appear frailer and more vulnerable with each death, until she'd given everything she had. Still, she offered more, draining her own energy until, too weak to stand, she literally crawled from patient to patient. Spellbound, he'd begun to comprehend some small part of the fear she had surmounted.
Many times during those long hours, he'd struggled against the compulsion to go to Cat, stop her ministrations, but deep inside his heart, Wulfe understood she'd never forgive him if he did.
The physicians not trained in Erosian techniques did whatever they could, but they didn't have the skills required for these patients. When every casualty had been tended, he blessed the Creator. Some inner knowledge or fear told him that even one more wounded Erosian would have been too much for Cat. One more attempt to save a life would have stolen the last of her life energy.
That's when, despite the anger and resentment toward Cat and her deceptions, he'd known the final truth. Somehow, he'd lost days, weeks, months, possibly years with Cat, his ma'ten. Time he couldn't remember. The waste filled him with a profound regret, a grief so deep he couldn't put the pain into words, wouldn't know how, wouldn't dare try.
With that revelation, he'd scooped Cat into his arms and brought her back here to his--their--bed.
Wulfe studied the woman lying next to him. The dimness of the room emphasized the hollows under her cheekbones. He'd bet his last credit she hadn't managed more than an hour or two of sleep since the Mallochon attack on the Falchion. So dedicated to duty--a thought that should be positive, but for some baffling reason left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Cat shifted her position, moved closer to him. Even buried in her exhaustion, she sought contact with him. The last place she should be looking for comfort or protection. She'd be safer far away from him, beyond his reach.
The temptation to claim his right as her husband seethed through him. The confusing urge to avenge himself for her deceptions simmered inside. The only question remaining was which wrong to address first: her failure to tell him they'd bonded or her neglect to inform him of his fatherhood status. Or had she wronged him? He found it difficult for his fuzzy mind to reconcile intentional wrongdoing with the dedication he'd witnessed in the triage.
Cat draped one slim arm over his waist, a shapely leg over his thighs, then sighed softly. Wulfe's sigh echoed hers; his stemmed from resignation. No, Cat wasn't safe from him, not the way his body instinctively responded to her, but he'd tear apart anyone else who might try to harm her. The ultimate paradox, not without a bizarre twist of humor--the hand of Sister Fate?
As though from a great distance, Wulfe considered the truths he'd discovered in the last hours, striving to view them with objectiveness. An effect of Cat's presence, perhaps? After all, Bellons weren't exactly known for their impartiality.
Sheer common sense dictated an intelligent woman such as this would have valid reasons for not telling him the truth. He only needed to find those explanations. Rationale versus justification. Logic versus action. Right. Traditionally, Bellons stressed action, not always the wisest course. The more he learned, the more he felt he'd forgotten, which in turn only increased his confusion and frustration.
Cat's spicy scent, as much a part of her as the silky hair or honeyed skin, floated around him. She burrowed against him. The movement sent ripples of sensation and chaotic emotional reaction through him.
When she brought her leg up to cover his groin, everything in him shifted again. His body instinctively reacted to Cat's nearness and touch, heating, hardening beneath her thigh--his mate's thigh. That's when it hit him. The perfume that aroused him beyond endurance egressed from her tender skin rather than from some vial. No wonder he had believed he'd lost his sanity. His blood pounded more heavily with the knowledge that only he, as her bonded mate, could treasure the glorious scent so completely.
Cat's thigh moved away. Her hand cupped around him. Her touch seared through uniform fabric right to the sensitive skin. Wulfe gulped in a breath meant to fortify his resistance to her, but the inhalation only embedded her scent deeper in him, aroused him to another level, fanned the wildfire incinerating him. He caught her hand, eased it away.
Cat stirred against him. "No," she murmured, and slipped her hand around his arousal again.
His manhood all but leapt into her grasp. Wulfe grinned through the roaring in his ears, nuzzled his lips to her temple. "You're exhausted. You need sleep, ma'ten."
"Need you more." She stroked him while a throaty purr of Bellon invitation came from the back of her throat.
Garesh! He'd never have the strength to ignore the inducement! Groaning, he clenched his teeth and tried to shut off the sensations to his body and completely failed.
The groan of someone in pain pulled her to awareness. Cat came awake to find herself embraced in arms of flame, her bones already languid from the heat, while tension coiled deep in her belly. Something hard and hot and thick filled her hand. It took her a second and a half to realize what she held. She surged up and over, straddled Wulfe before he could stop her.
Cat brushed the fingers of her right hand against his temple, hoping beyond hope--he'd just called her his ma'ten! "Do you remember me as your mate?"
"No," he answered hoarsely. His hands encircled her waist, his fingers pressed into her spine, his thumbs rested in the indentation of her navel. "I only know that you are."
"Then rediscover me. Reclaim me." Her pulse raced while she awaited his response.
Wulfe's hands glided up her rib cage, his fingers working cleverly to release the closures of her shirt until they found the undersides of her breasts. He cupped them, tested the weight and texture. Bit by bit, he eased her uniform top back until he could follow her collarbone with his tongue, nip her shoulders while he pushed the fabric down her arms.
Cat moaned, unable to contain the growing sound. She worked Wulfe's shirt open until she could bury her fingers in his chest hair, scrape her nails down his ribs. The muscles in his drum-tight stomach vibrated beneath her palms. Cat leaned forward, rubbed herself against his rigid arousal. She nipped his hardened nipples. "Remember me yet?"
"No." Wulfe grasped the waist of her trousers and ripped them away, shredding seams and fastenings. "But I will," he growled, "that I vow. Aah," his breath caught on a sound of wonder and rough desire, "you wear my bonding chains."
Cat revelled in the savage she'd released. She gloried in the way his hands and mouth and tongue traced the contours of her arms, her torso. She rejoiced in how he licked each individual rib with devoted attention. Wulfe clasped his hands around her waist, lifted her up and forward until he kissed the inside of her thighs. Centimeter by centimeter, he lowered her to him. He licked and nipped his way upward along a scalding trail until his tongue plunged into her wet heat.
A shimmer began deep inside her. The scintillation coiled, heated, vibrated ever outward, until she transformed into an exploding pinwheel and careened through space.
With a rush of possessive joy, Wulfe supported her slight weight when she collapsed onto his chest. He stroked her back to still the trembling that coursed through her sweet body. When he'd discovered the bonding chains around her waist and thighs--an exact match to his necklace--the golden links had been the final confirmation needed. He and Cat were bonded, stronger together than apart. Now if only his mind could remember what his body clearly knew, for he ached for her until he thought he'd go mad.
Cat's breathing slowed to normal. "Mmhm," she murmured against his neck. "For not remembering, you sure know what buttons to push...and tease." She reached down between their bodies, undid his waistband. "Your turn, my Lord."
He growled a warning in her ear. "I
want nothing more than to bury myself in you, but--"
"I'm not tired," Cat argued while she worked his trousers down with feverish jerks. She moved against him until the slickness between her legs glided against his aching hardness. "I insist."
He fought to master himself, control his laboring heart. "I need to bury myself in you," he ran his hands over her body, cupped her bottom, kneaded, lifted, pulled her against him, "hard and slow and deep until you scream my name."
"Oh, yes! Yes!"
"Gods," he groaned with painful frustration, "I'm--you're so tiny--I can't."
"Damn!" Cat nipped his bottom lip. "Hear me! I am Bellon! I've taken you--all of you--more times than the Creator has made stars, and I want you again. Now! Would you have me beg?"
With a guttural cry, Wulfe rolled them over. Cat wrapped her legs around his hips. He drove into her, almost the way he'd promised--hard and deep, but fast and frenzied. She met and matched his pounding rhythm until she screamed his name, and together, they spiraled through the Celestial Glory.
Minutes--hours--it could have been eons later--Wulfe stretched, one weakened limb at a time, so he wouldn't wake Cat, and adjusted the pillows behind him. Such a glorious union. How had he ever forgotten such bliss? He couldn't believe this had been a fluke, but had every joining been so blazingly passionate?
One reaching hand discovered something small, hard and oval beneath one of the cushions. He pulled out the object. Bellon wulfenite, the dark amber crystal faceted to catch and reflect the merest hint of light. A memory stone.
Wulfe scowled. Memory stone? From where had that notion originated? To whom did the crystal belong and how had the stone found its way into his bed? He would never lay claim to something so useless, even if the memory stone lore came directly from the First Ones. He half-suspected the myth originated in an adulterated story involving ancient data crystals.
In reality, a person stored memories worth keeping in the heart, treasured them in the soul. A wise man simply discarded memories of no value. Some unidentified emotion twisted within his chest, made him look at Cat's peaceful face. One must always assume a vast difference between discarding and losing. Which had he done?
The questions remained unanswered, but the crystal in some way instilled a sense of...familiarity, of...rightness. Wulfe squeezed his fist around the stone. Memories retained in the heart and soul could explain some of the feelings coursing through him, but remembering them with his mind would go a long way to making him more comfortable. Had he lost memories or wantonly and cruelly discarded them? Intentionally tossed away tokens of his yesterdays?
Wulfe closed his eyes, pressed his head into the pillow and willed himself to sleep. His mind drifted, grew hazier. Images floated. Blackwood's seduction attempt...Cat taking on Blackwood...the glimmer of bonding chains...Cat speaking to the babe...the babe...darkness claimed him.
CAT GRADUALLY came out of her light sleep as she lay next to Wulfe. Her head rested on his chest, and she listened to his breath reach the tempo of deep sleep. She moved enough to see his face relax, then felt his body go limp beside her. Cat maneuvered her way out of his arms with slow cautious movements. Even in sleep, he reached for her. She placed a pillow carrying her scent against his side and whispered assurances until his arm uneasily accepted the replacement.
If he awoke now, would he welcome her presence or regret it? She couldn't face the last shattering blow to her pride if his eyes held anything but warmth. Not now, not yet.
She needed something to cover herself for the short walk to her own quarters. Cat deliberately chose a shirt Wulfe wore when off duty, taking it from the back of the chair. The white fabric encased her in softness down to her calves, surrounded her with his masculine scent. She rolled the sleeves back a good six times to have use of her hands. Then she left him dreaming.
Cat hesitated in front of the shower in her private quarters, reluctant to wash Wulfe's scent from her body. The musky scent so uniquely Wulfe elated her and tormented her at the same time. Even after the glorious union of their bodies, their minds still did not touch. Grief cut through her, moved her to step into the sonic stream.
Cat stepped out of the shower, pulled on her robe. The exhilaration of their lovemaking left her body feeling pleasantly sated, but now completely exhausted, especially on top of little sleep and then the healing sessions among the horror of the Erosian survivors. Her body demanded food to replenish energy reserves.
The weight of depression began to weigh her down now, too. She'd said goodbye to the children hours ago, minutes before Albright summoned her to sickbay to tell her of the Erosian ship and the plight of the unfortunate crew. Those hours already seemed a lifetime away. Her arms ached to hold Garrett. She longed to see Morgan's sparkling eyes, hear her infectious giggle. Only knowing she'd entrusted her children to Cass and Hawke kept her from dropping everything to rush after them.
It was hard to keep Albright's warnings in her mind. Only complete trust in the doctor kept her from telling Wulfe everything about the children in a selfish attempt to ease the load of the burden she carried. Albright's directive that Wulfe must remember on his own had to be based in sound medical reasoning. The chief medical officer rarely took chances with the lives of others, and then only if she believed in the risk.
Cat paused. Emotions emanated from the hundreds of people around her on the ship, hummed about the periphery of awareness. The subliminal perception felt right and comfortable. The return of the ability was more than welcome, even if it meant the extra work and energy required to keep her mental shields raised. The bizarre psychic silence she'd experienced beginning with the Mallochon attack had unnerved and disoriented her, made her edgy and uncertain.
Now, if only she could reform that deep, emotional link with Wulfe. She'd hoped their lovemaking would cross the barrier, but that void still loomed like an uncrossable chasm.
Cat moved into the living area, retrieved a serving of fruits, breads and Bellon coffee from the dispenser, took the tray to her desk. Better to keep busy than to dwell on what couldn't be repaired at the moment. One leg curled under her in the chair, she scrolled through the waiting messages before she braided her hair. All but one of the treated Erosian crew members survived. Cat offered silent blessings for those recovering, then a remembrance for the horribly burned woman who had passed during the night.
Her stomach gave a sick little lurch when thoughts of the burned Erosian woman reminded Cat of being caught in the Falchion's exploding science lab last year. Her own burns and shattered bones, as well as the tragic death of her young assistant, had been compliments of a Mallochon agent. The Mallochons! Their foulness corrupted everything with which they came into contact. They destroyed what they couldn't possess.
Another message informed her Xiang--the pilot who'd taunted Blackwood--had finished the teardown and rebuild of his fighter and waited for her orders to target the furies. Hmm. Incredibly fast work. She'd believe the status when she saw the tech's verifying mark. Cat decided Xiang could wait until the start of day watch. Less than three hours until oh-six-hundred.
The coffee and food got her through several inconsequential log entries, notations and standard reports. Then, when the messages had been answered or logged, she allowed herself the absolute luxury of remembering the sensation of Wulfe's arms around her, his fiery touch, their wondrous joining, lying next to him. Finally seeing the lines of worry slip from his handsome face as he sank even further into slumber, she'd known she could relax, too, if only for a bit.
Cat hugged the feelings to herself. Perhaps she'd been cowardly to slip away while he slept, but the prospect of seeing Wulfe wake and possibly seeing regret darken his face had driven her away. Right now, she preferred to hold fast to the illusion that their physical union would set things right. In a perfect universe, Wulfe would be thrilled to have her there after making love, but she'd learned the universe to be anything but perfect. Until he remembered everything, his reactions could be devastatingly invers
e to what they should be.
A shiver, rudely cold, took her by surprise, rippled through her. With deliberate care, Cat lifted a corner of her mental barriers, as though dipping a toe in to test heating waters. Varied emotions leaked in, all dominated by one in particular--even without the link, her empathic ability couldn't miss these hot emotions. Volatile, towering rage. Familiar, scorching fury. Holy Creator! Wulfe on the warpath, bent on vengeance. The waters had come to a full boil.
WULFE STIFFENED; the chills that sprinted over his body wrestled his groggy mind from sleep. The haunting nightmare image stayed with him and struck him like a backhanded blow to the face. Cat in an infirmary bed, battered, unconscious, stripped of the life her womb had carried. The treacherous little deli' had gambled with the life of his unborn son and lost the dishonorable wager without so much as a discernable glimmer of remorse. Now he knew why he'd Abandoned her!
He closed a vengeful arm around empty air. Gone while he slept! Wulfe bellowed his fury, tore from the bed. He jerked on his trousers, charged out of his rooms and down the corridor. He hammered on the door to Cat's quarters. The door whisked open and he stormed inside.
"Wulfe!" She stared wide-eyed just long enough.
She moved to dash around him. He snared Cat by the back of her robe. The lightweight silk split and tore in his maddened grasp. He got a firm grip on her. "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you."
Cat fought to escape him like the she-devil he now knew her to be. "Let go of me! Are you crazy?" She aimed a kick at his knee that he barely avoided. "What the bloody hell's wrong with you?"
He shook her, clamped her flailing arms to her sides. "I remember, Garesh take you. I know!"
Cat went boneless in his grip, sank to the floor. She slid out of the torn robe until only the wild mass of hair covered her. That and the bonding chains she had the gall to still wear around her narrow waist and strong thighs.
Devoted Deceptions, A 4th Millennium Adventure, Book 3 Page 16
