Healer's Choice g-3

by Jory Strong

  The Jaguar’s growl rumbled through Aryck as he placed Rebekka on the bedding. There would have been a fight for dominance had the blankets and pelts smelled of another male. But Nahuatl had seen to them. They smelled of sunshine and rye grass.

  Phaedra set the basin down after filling it with water from a bucket left ready. “I’ll tend her now,” she said, her hands going to the front of Rebekka’s shirt, efficiently undoing the first several buttons.

  Aryck couldn’t look away as the material of the shirt parted in a small revelation of flesh. The sight of it was enough to make his cock harden, and in his mind he continued freeing the buttons, peeling the sweat-soaked fabric away and stripping Rebekka of it completely so his hands could take over the task of bathing her, turning it from impersonal service to sensual exploration.

  Phaedra glanced up then, spearing him with knowing eyes. He turned and left, as much to keep from exposing the battle he was waging with himself as to avoid her ordering him to go.

  Outside a flash of red drew his eye to a cardinal taking flight. He smiled at seeing it. The bright color of its feathers reminded him of the beads on Rebekka’s necklace.

  The amulet was a barely discernable weight in his pocket, yet the satisfaction that purred through him with the feel of it there was immense.

  The Jaguar’s—at having something of hers while they were separated, at having a reason to return to her side as soon as possible.

  The man’s—at having been entrusted with the necklace in the first place.

  Aryck took the first step toward the alpha’s home. Reluctant in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a child summoned for a misdeed.

  The smell of cooking meat greeted him. Pork, Aryck thought, following the scent of it to the fire pit in back of the cabin.

  His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered, both reminding him of how long he’d gone without food. Koren gestured to a log carved vaguely into the shape of a chair. “Sit.”

  It wasn’t quite a command and yet it wasn’t an invitation either. Aryck sat as his father turned a slab of meat over on a salvaged piece of metal grate.

  Grease hit the fire underneath and sizzled. Hunger pangs, a much less painful version of the Jaguar’s clawed insistence, raked through Aryck’s belly.

  “The healer?” Koren asked.

  Aryck tensed despite himself, silently cursed at reacting when he realized his father had been surreptitiously watching for it. “She sleeps. Phaedra bathes her.”

  He put indifference into his voice, though heat throbbed through his cock as he imagined Rebekka naked on the furs, her eyes beckoning him to join her. Her body a temptation he couldn’t resist when she rolled to her hands and knees, calling him to her with a sultry glance over her shoulder.

  Aryck nearly rose to pace. Would have if not for his father.

  This time there was no mistaking the origin of desire. The fantasy of Rebekka wanting him to cover her wasn’t an image forced on him by the Jaguar.

  Koren prodded the meat, letting the silence build between them. Aryck clenched his jaw to keep from filling the space between them with words, grateful his father intended to hold this conversation orally instead of mentally, where suppressing the Jaguar might become impossible.

  Koren transferred slabs of pork to metal plates, handing one of them, along with a knife and fork, to Aryck. They ate, the silence continuing, moving into a comfortable lull until all the meat had disappeared and the plates were set aside.

  “The healer is not what I expected,” Koren finally said, leaning forward and placing his forearms on his thighs in a relaxed pose, though the air between them was laced with edges. “For all her human frailty there is strength at her core.”

  Aryck acknowledged the comment with a shrug, as if neither the strength nor the weakness mattered to him. By the narrowing of his father’s eyes, he knew it was the wrong gesture to make.

  Koren stood, abruptly shedding the feign of casualness. He paced, as Aryck had wanted to earlier. Ten steps forward, then back again to reclaim his seat and shock Aryck by saying, “She reminds me of your mother.”

  Their eyes met. His father’s expression hardened. “I understand the attraction of a female who needs a strong male to keep her safe. Your mother preferred the human form but even when she wore fur, she was no fighter. Her nature was too gentle. If she’d been pure animal instead of Were, she would never have survived to breeding age.”

  He rose again. Paced. Ten steps forward, then back to his seat.

  “I knew I should stay away from her. I knew she was not the right mate for an alpha. But dominance is bred into our line and submission attracts us. One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.”

  His shrug mimicked Aryck’s earlier one, as if the past wasn’t unimportant. But the seriousness in his voice and the fact he’d never taken another mate gave lie to it.

  “In the end my lack of control and my choice cost me. The man might desire a soft mate, but the Jaguar needs a strong one, an equal in both will and form.”

  Aryck nearly laughed at his father’s erroneous assumption. But he had no desire to reveal the battle that had raged since the Jaguar encountered Rebekka.

  The silence descended once again. It grew heavier when Aryck didn’t rush to reassure his father that he understood the warning and planned to stay away from the healer.

  Koren’s eyes darkened and his mouth firmed. Aryck braced himself for the strike of his father’s verbal claws. “As soon as the cubs have successfully shifted between forms, and the healer has rested and eaten, I will assign others to escort her to the Lion camp so she can return to Oakland and the outcast brothels.”

  The Jaguar screamed denial, animal soul unraveling into a nearly separate entity and trying to take its true shape in order to offer a direct challenge to the alpha. Aryck turned his head quickly, hoping his father hadn’t seen the beast looking through human eyes.

  He wrestled to remain in control, a small part of his rational mind welcoming his father’s plan. If he could hold out until she was gone, then the threat she represented would lessen immediately and, over time, fade completely.

  His earlier fantasy flashed through his mind, of her naked and welcoming him. He pushed it away. Another female, a Jaguar, would come along and—

  Searing pain raked through him, the kind preceding a change of form.

  His father rose and shed his clothes in preparation for shifting.

  It was enough warning for Aryck to accept a truth he still didn’t want. It wasn’t just the Jaguar who saw Rebekka as a potential mate, who needed to spend time in her company. “I promised to personally see to her protection while she was on our lands.”

  The words settled the Jaguar enough so Aryck dared to look at his father. Koren’s face showed nothing of what he was thinking, but his voice was little more than a growl. “Guard the cabin if you wish, but stay away from her until she wakes.”

  Caphriel’s Pawn

  RADEK rolled off the prostitute and stared at the ceiling as she slid the used condom off his semiflaccid cock. He spared her a glance as she padded naked across the room to drop it into a twisted piece of salvaged metal serving as a trash can.

  The sight of her swaying breasts and round buttocks didn’t hold his interest. His mind raced, and despite the release of sex he could feel the restless tension building in his chest, the uncertainty gnawing at him.

  By now there should have been some evidence the smart-virus he’d poured into the pond was working. There hadn’t been, and because of it irritation sizzled through him.

  His leaving the compound several times a day was drawing too much attention from his brother’s lapdog, Nagy. But he could hardly send men out and order them to look for signs of dead wolves or elk.

  Having to handle this himself was wasting valuable time. Time better spent analyzing the recovered files and determining which of them could be turned into the wealth that was now only part of his nightly dream.

  Rade
k closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the imagined cheering of the crowds would soothe him. It didn’t. If anything it increased his restlessness, made him feel as though he were in a race against some unseen opponent and victory was far from assured.

  The bed dipped as the whore returned. She took his cock into her mouth.

  Radek kept his eyes closed. He shifted his concentration to the feel of the prostitute’s lips and tongue, hoping to use physical pleasure to recapture the golden glory he experienced in his dreams. It didn’t work.

  His frustration grew, taking on an ugly edge as his penis softened further and the whore released him to ask, “Should I leave now?”

  Radek’s eyes snapped opened. Worthless slut! To imply with her tone that her failure to provide a distraction was somehow his fault and she’d just as soon go service the convicts and dregs of society.

  He rolled off the bed and stalked to his desk, opening a drawer with a jerk. He’d intended to retrieve the bottle of brandy he kept there, to soothe himself with a glass of it, but the sight of the canister with the picture of a hyena scratched into its surface turned frustration and irritation into giddy exhilaration.

  Epiphany struck, explaining his uncharacteristic desire for one of the camp whores. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to the prostitute’s tattoo, the garish black circle with a red P in its center.

  He’d nearly sent her away when he saw it, not wanting to think about the terrorist-created disease that had led to prostitutes being marked during The Last War. He was glad now he hadn’t. It had given birth to divine inspiration, a call to action that replaced his worries of failure.

  There were hyenas nearby. Their whooping calls and laughs made the hair rise on his arms each time he heard them.

  Radek smiled as a plan took form. He could hardly ask someone to deliver the carcass of a goat or cow to a hyena’s den, but the corpse of a whore was a different matter.

  He knew just the man to do what needed to be done. One who frequented the red zone brothels and had more than once been required to pay for extensive damages to the prostitutes there.

  A comment to Gregor, something to the effect that this particular whore was a spy and he, Radek, wouldn’t mind paying the penalty if she disappeared while he held her contract. Another, about hyenas leaving no trace of their prey—

  Delicious. Too bad he couldn’t invite Captain Orst to his quarters for a drink. Now there was a whore of a totally different kind, a true spy, though Radek doubted he’d ever be able to prove the guardsman was owned by the Iberás.

  Radek suppressed a giggle as he imagined Orst meeting with an unfortunate accident and becoming a feast for hyenas, animals that would spread the smart-virus to Weres of the same form. If only—

  First things first, Radek thought, interrupting his fantasy and pouring two glasses of brandy, filling one to the top and the other halfway.

  If he’d truly thought ahead, he would have diluted the contents of the canister, but … He shrugged it off. Inspiration had struck when he was in the perfect position to act on it.

  Careful to keep his back to the bed and the waiting prostitute, he matched the level of liquid in the second glass by adding the concentrated solution of smart-virus.

  The whore was sitting at the edge of the bed when he closed the drawer and turned. Boredom changed to interest at the sight of the two glasses in his hand.

  Radek nearly laughed when she licked her lips. “I see I don’t have to ask if you’ll share a drink with me before you leave.”

  She sent him a coquettish look, repositioning herself so she was once again fully on the bed. “I won’t leave at all unless you send me away,” she said, thrusting her chest forward, her fingers playing with a pale pink nipple as she spread her thighs to give him a good look.

  Radek suppressed a shudder, hoping she didn’t notice his cock had softened further at the prospect of intimate contact with a virus-ridden slut.

  She took the glass he offered and tossed it back quickly, as if she hoped doing it would lead to a hasty refill.

  Good. She won’t notice the taste of the concentrate if there is one.

  Her hand slid down to her cunt, playing there as she held out her arm in a silent request for more.

  He tipped his hand, pouring a portion of brandy into her empty glass. Why not? He could afford to be generous.

  Her smile held the promise of a sexual romp he had no intention of participating in. She drew her arm back, raised the drink toward her mouth.

  Liquid sloshed onto her chest as the glass touched her lips. She had time for a tiny gasp before a seizure took her and she went over backward, heels drumming, pounding the mattress violently.

  Shock held Radek motionless, clearing his mind of all thought until the smell of urine and released bowels brought him back to himself.

  Terror threatened to grip him. He combatted it by turning away and going to his computer, passing through the multitude of password-protected gates before reaching the information left by the scientists along with the canisters.

  Rereading it calmed him. The smart-virus wasn’t keyed to a particular delivery host—that, he’d remembered when inspiration struck. What he’d failed to remember was that it was designed to weaken prey, making them natural targets for predators and scavengers like hyenas.

  Properly mixed it wouldn’t have killed the prostitute outright. The whore would have met her end in a different manner, in Gregor’s hands.

  Radek shrugged. It was done now.

  He closed the file, having gotten what he needed from it. Already a new plan was forming, a modification of his original one. It would be distasteful to have his father’s militiaman think the two of them shared the same sick passion, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Radek picked up a pair of work gloves before moving to the hook where his formal clothing hung, the dark suit and pristine white shirt his father insisted be worn in his presence. With a tug he freed the silk tie.

  He snapped it between his hands, testing its strength. It will do, he thought, and the Ivanov family crest embroidered onto it would serve as a reminder to Gregor of who owned his loyalties.

  Radek returned to the side of the bed. The worst of the seizure had passed.

  The whore no longer drummed the mattress with her heels but she continued to flail weakly, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes rolling around, reminding him of a fish.

  Foam flecked her lips. He shuddered and slipped his gloves on, not wanting any contact with her bodily fluids despite what he’d read in the file.

  He looped the tie around her neck before grabbing one of her wrists and securing an end there with a knot. He did the same at the other wrist.

  Deviant sex held no interest for him, though so many of those he’d grown up among seemed drawn to it, a reflection of their boredom as much as a flexing of their power. The thought of actually playing with death in the pursuit of pleasure, of risking it with erotic asphyxia, was revolting.

  Radek shuddered again as he grasped the silken tie on either side of the whore’s neck. I do what I must, he told himself, grateful she’d finally stopped moving and was already well on her way to expiring.

  He pulled, tightening the loop wrapped around her throat in order to leave telltale marks, the illusion of sex play gone wrong. She struggled at the very last, so weakly it was barely noticeable.

  Radek used the sheet to wipe the foam from her mouth, then stepped back, gauging the position of her body. Not optimal. But acceptable. Good enough.

  He turned away from the scene, shedding the gloves and dropping them on a rarely used chair. He’d deal with them, and the mattress, later. The soiled sheets and the whore’s clothing could be burned in the trash barrel at the back of his quarters.

  Radek took a few minutes for a sponge bath, being sure to dampen the edges of his hair. He dressed—Gregor would hardly expect to find him standing naked and wringing his hands while waiting for help to arrive—then stepped out of his quarters long enough to fla
g down a worker and send for the militiaman.

  Gregor arrived moments later. He took in the scene and turned sly eyes toward Radek.

  Radek’s mouth soured. “There are hyenas nearby. Find where they gather and dump the body. Remain within sight of it until you see them start feeding.”

  “It could take a while, especially if I stay long enough to make certain there’s nothing left for the guardsmen to find if they decide to go looking for a missing prostitute. Probably be good if someone saw her leave your quarters and slip into the one housing the convicts.”

  “You’re right on both counts.”

  Gregor’s smile turned as hard as his eyes. “After doing a stretch in Were-infested woods, I’d sure like to unwind by having the same kind of fun you had here. I wouldn’t have guessed you enjoyed it like this, not with your reputation, but now I can see for myself you do. Coming up with the cash to pay the penalty money has always been a stretch for me. Maybe you could help me out there, since you own all the contracts.”

  Radek’s stomach churned, both at the blackmail demand and Gregor’s likening the two of them. He glanced in the direction of the bed but instead of a corpse he saw himself riding in an open-topped jeep through the wealthiest section of Oakland, his father next to him, witnessing the adulation.

  “You’ll have your fun,” Radek said. “But you’ll wait until I tell you another whore can go missing.”

  Fifteen

  THE sound of chattering teeth dragged Rebekka from the depths of sleep. My teeth, she realized vaguely, still caught in the fog left by utter exhaustion.

  She shivered, slowly becoming aware of how cold she was. Tasted the bitterness then. It coated her tongue and instinctively her mind sought to identify it, to link it to the reason she was so cold.

  Memory flickered, of repeatedly accepting the wooden cup from Phaedra, drinking the stimulant. Foolish. She was lucky it hadn’t killed her, shutting down her nervous system or causing her heart to fail.

  She reached out, finding fur-soft pelts and pulling them over her, snuggling into the warmth they promised as she breathed in the scent of sunshine and rye grass. A hint of fear edged in when the cold deepened and her teeth continued to chatter, but exhaustion was a heavy weight, clouding her mind. Her body’s need for sleep was an anchor she willingly followed, expecting oblivion and gaining it for a time, until images from the healer’s journal came to life, lifting from the pages and becoming real.