by Jean Johnson
If Viktor hadn’t been muzzy from the surgery drugs, he would have growled at the other man. Allowing himself to fall back asleep instead, he saved pondering the implications hidden in the defense liaison’s statements for later. He hurt too much right now, inside and out, to do anything but sleep.
It wasn’t until he returned to his own quarters the next day and had the chance to catch up on the news feeds that he saw part of the reason why Cameron had been so upset. Journalists were still talking about the near-fight that had happened outside the theater . . . and soliciting opinions on the thought of an Haguaro trying to date a Normal. Some of the average citizens’ reactions were positive, but many more started with something along the lines of “Well, he is a hero and all, and we’re very grateful, of course . . . ,” only to end with a variant of “he really should stick to his own kind, for her sake” or “just to be safe.”
It didn’t take long for him to hear what his fellow Haguaro thought of the matter, either. While he was debating watching a boring football match or yet more gossiping vid journalists trashing his attempt at a love life, Keisia knocked on his door. He knew it was her because she entered a moment later, bearing two bags of food. From the smell of it, one bag contained a roasted chicken, the other stir-fried vegetables.
“I figured you’d be ready for lunch by the time they let you out,” she stated, carrying everything over to the lounger where he had settled to watch the news. “Hospital food always tastes wrong to me, like they’re trying too hard.”
Her left ear twitched back and forth as she set the bags on the table and started extracting the contents. There were even two slices of cheesecake in little plexi boxes, he noted. Finally, something much more interesting than the news.
Keisia smiled slightly, seeing his ears prick up at the sight of his dessert. “I’ll go fetch the plates. And a glass of milk?”
She paused, and her ear twitched again. Viktor sighed. “Spit it out, Keisia. I know you have something to say; your ears never lie.”
Sighing roughly, she dropped to a crouch on the other side of his coffee table. Elbows on knees, with the pleats of her red kilt draped between them, she met his gaze steadily. “You shouldn’t be pursuing a Normal, Viktor. You are an Haguaro. Nothing you do, nothing you try, will ever change that. We are what we are, and we will always be it.”
He returned her steady stare. “What I am is a human being. First and foremost.”
“You aren’t a human! You’re an Haguaro!” she shot back.
“I am a genetically engineered human!” Viktor argued firmly, ears flattening against his skull. “Genetically engineered, but still a human. We know for a fact that Haguaros and Normals can interbreed, because they were still doing it to us when our ancestors escaped!”
“Yes, and most of the time, the Haguaro side breeds true!” Keisia snapped, tail thumping on the carpet as she lashed it. “Do you think the Normals want to hear that? Do you think she will want to hear it? Do you think she would want to bear your children, knowing that? Do you think she’d do it willingly, if she knew three out of four of her kids would end up furry, with teeth?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked. Yet,” he added daringly.
She narrowed her eyes, blinked slowly, and let out a sigh of disgust. “She’s only going to disappoint you. And you’re going to piss off your superiors. They won’t stand for you dallying with a Normal.”
“That!” Viktor exclaimed, pouncing verbally on her statement. Keisia jumped, started. “That is what bothered me yesterday!”
“What bothered you?” she asked, frowning. “The truth?”
“The attitude that we’re supposed to keep to ourselves, breed with ourselves, and continue to propagate a perfect warrior species! Don’t you see it?” he demanded, hoping that she did see it. Keisia was his friend. He hoped the intelligence he knew she possessed would connect the dots. “This is exactly what we were bred for.”
“I know! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Haguaro stick to our own kind!” she repeated, flipping up her hands.
Groaning, Viktor sagged back onto the cushions of the lounger. “Stars give me strength . . . Keisia, our ancestors were bred to be warriors, and kept as warriors . . . but our ancestors knew that we were still human beings! We have the same rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as the ancients did back on Earth! It is wrong to demand that we stick to our own kind. It is wrong to demand that we take mates only among each other! If we restrict ourselves, we are no better than the Gengin-crafting bastards who made us, because they wanted to enslave us!
“They created us because they wanted an army of genetically modified beasts they could command! They forced us to breed more of our kind, to concentrate our genome and strengthen it by breeding with each other. They only used Normals because it still takes an Haguaro woman nine months to carry her child to term, and they wanted to increase their breeding stock exponentially—but they still wanted us to be Haguaro.
“They culled the non-fuzzy, non-toothy babies, Keisia! How is that any different from the idea that the Haguaro of here and now are ‘supposed ’ to stick solely to our own kind, and not risk breeding Normal children with Normal mates? Is that what you want? To be forced to stick to our own kind? In another damned breeding program?”
Expecting a counterargument, he waited, ears flat and eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t say anything. Prying open one eye, Viktor peered at her. Keisia still crouched on the other side of the low table, and her ears were flat, but her whiskers were pulled down in unhappiness. Only the tip of her tail twitched, echoing the subdued restlessness of her thoughts.
Sighing, he relaxed a little.
“You know I’m right. And you can’t argue that it’s just about me gone over my head for some Normal woman. Cameron and the others may have the best of intentions toward ensuring there are always Haguaro to defend this land, but those attitudes are paving a road right back to the genetic captivity our progenitors fought so hard to escape. They and we are still human beneath all this fur. When our great-plus-grandparents crashed here, they signed a charter that guaranteed that they and their descendants would be free to choose their path in life. Which includes who they would mate with, and when, and how often.
“That each generation has agreed to use our strengths and skills to protect Sullipin is a testament to our continued honoring of that pact for freedom of choice. Not an indictment of our willingness to return to being warrior-slaves.” He fell quiet for a few moments, letting her think, then flicked his hand in the direction of his kitchen. “And yes, I would like a glass of milk.”
Her ears flicked back at his peremptory order, but she wrinkled her muzzle more in a grin than in a grimace. “I should make you get it yourself, you lazy tail . . .”
Pursing his lips in an attempt to avoid a grin of his own, Viktor draped his wrist over his forehead. “My injuries have left me so weakened, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk—have pity on me, Keisia; I’m dying, here! Dying of thirst . . .”
“Dying of overacting, maybe,” she muttered, but pushed herself upright. Padding toward the kitchen, she stopped as his comm unit chimed. “You want me to get that?”
“Yes, please.” It was probably a call from someone at Headquarters, though it could be one of his parents; his mother and father were stationed on the Kessepin border, now that all their cubs . . . all their children were fully grown. He’d get up for the latter, but not the former. Viktor was officially on medical leave for the next week, to make sure the newly regenerated tissues weren’t strained by the rigors of combat . . . and right now, if it was the defense liaison, he would probably say several things that should wait for a much more formal and politely worded draft.
Besides, leaving Keisia to catch the call meant he could investigate the delicious smells wafting out of the carry-out containers she had so generously brought. He might not love her as a mate, but there were several reasons he loved her as a friend.
�
��Hello, you’ve reached Viktor Ragerip’s . . . Oh. It’s you.”
Viktor looked up. Keisia quickly swiveled the comm unit, which sat on the end of the counter dividing his living room from the kitchen and dining areas, so that it faced into the kitchen. She looked over at him as she did so, but rather than chiding him for getting into the plexi container holding the roasted chicken without waiting for her, she dipped her ears and returned her gaze to the screen.
“Look . . . forget everything I said to you last night when I took you home,” she told the caller on the other end of the screen. “Drop everything and get over here . . . because even I’m not going to go against the wishes of a dying man.”
“A what?” he heard Raisa’s voice exclaim through the comm unit’s speakers.
Viktor, caught in the act of nibbling on one juicy drumstick, froze. A what? he echoed silently. A dying man? Who is she . . . ? Ohhh . . .
Hope made his heart pound in his chest. He knew this could turn out to be a very dangerous ploy if it backfired, but he also knew he had his best friend firmly on his side. If nothing else, he knew he could let her take all the blame and she’d do it. He’d owe her majorly—what else were best friends for but blackmail opportunities and owing giant favors, anyway—but she’d do it.
I’ll have to help her when it comes time to bag her own mate, of course . . .
“Please, drive carefully,” he heard Keisia cautioning his caller. “It would be far too tragic if anything happened to you before . . .” She paused, glanced his way, and lowered her whiskers. “Anyway, I’ll let Security know you’re on your way. Here, let me pass you a map to his home address, in case you haven’t been here yet. If you haven’t, I’m sure you’ll recognize it anyway, since it’s the only house covered in roses . . .”
A few murmured words later, she ended the call. Fetching two glasses of milk and two sets of tableware, she set them on the coffee table and snagged a cushion from a nearby chair. Settling onto it, she smirked. “You totally owe me for that.”
“You’re right, I do. If she gets upset at the trick you’ve just played, I’ll point out that you played it. Here I was, minding my own business as I recuperated from a minor combat injury, totally innocent of your machinations,” he said mockingly.
“Minor, like hell; I saw the scans they took of your spleen,” Keisia snorted. “And don’t eat all the chicken. Have some vegetables, too—not the stuff with garlic! If she smells garlic on your breath, it’ll give the game away.”
“I like garlic. I’ll gargle with mouthwash.” He reached for the container of garlic beef again, only to have his hand slapped.
“Seriously, stay away from the garlic! You can’t kiss someone unless they’ve eaten it, too, and mouthwash only goes so far in masking it,” Keisia argued. “Garlic burps are not romantic.”
“Fine. But I get to keep both slices of cheesecake.” Viktor ignored her mock growl and her mock flattened ears. Her tail wasn’t lashing. “I’ll need something to sweeten her mood after she’s discovered your little trick, and I know she likes cheesecake. If I lay off the garlic . . . well, with any luck, we’ll be eating our dessert in bed.”
Keisia rolled her eyes. “Please, I don’t need to hear about your sexual exploits.”
“We haven’t had any, yet. I was thinking more along the lines that I should be lying in my bed like a good little invalid, to further your little illusion,” Viktor told her. “I’d also better make sure my sheets are clean and that I don’t have any dirty kilts lying around . . .”
“That reminds me, they threw your vest into the recycler since it was too cut up to salvage, but your kilt and loincloth were cleaned. I left the package in my car,” she told him, licking a bit of garlic beef sauce from her lips. “You owe me for picking up your laundry, too.”
“You’re a very good friend, Keisia,” Viktor murmured.
She wrinkled her nose. “You know, I used to wonder if we’d ever make a go of it together. But now I realize I think of you more like a brother. A little brother.”
“Careful, or I’ll dip your tail into the nearest inkwell,” he teased. He had a couple of brothers and sisters already, and was happy to number her as an honorary member of his family, but it was a distinct relief to know she felt the same way about him.
Keisia snorted and poked at the carton in his hands. “Eat your vegetable delight.”
THE muffled sound of Raisa arriving, audible over the low, ongoing drone of whatever entertainment show Keisia had been watching while she waited, threatened to make his heart pound all over again. It had been a race to finish tidying his bedroom on top of making sure the scent of his lunch had been scrubbed and gargled away, and a struggle to make himself calm down so that he could appear to be fast asleep. Focusing on breathing slowly and calmly, he relaxed into the bedding.
The door opened. Viktor stilled the urge to twitch his uppermost ear; thankfully his tail was already weighed down by the bedcovers.
“There he is,” he heard Keisia whisper.
“Oh, Viktor . . .” Raisa breathed, her voice trembling with grief. Viktor felt an ambivalent mix of guilt for deceiving her and joy that she cared so much.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” his friend murmured, and he heard the door close again. Raisa’s scent filled the air-conditioned room, wafted his way by the ventilation currents. Manfully, he resisted the urge to breathe deeply. As much as he loved her scent, he was supposed to be playing the part of an invalid.
“Oh, Viktor . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I thought we had time, that I could find the . . . the right moment to tell you how I felt about you,” Raisa murmured.
And how do you feel about me? he wondered, listening to her slowly cross the room. The bed dipped as she eased onto it, prickling his nerves with anticipation. His whiskers thrummed, sensing the proximity and heat of her hand moments before she gingerly touched his forehead.
“Now you’re dying,” she whispered, stroking his mane back from his face. “And I never had the chance to admit how much I’ve fallen in love with you.”
YES!! His tail twitched under the covers, and his whiskers trembled, but he managed to keep his ears relaxed. She stroked his mane again, dipping low enough that he could feel her breath on his face. He could smell a hint of tea in it, but nothing of lunch. He could also smell hints of saline in her scent, and knew she was crying, or at least struggling with her tears.
“And now . . . now you’re so far gone . . . I don’t even think you can hear me.” Her voice broke.
He couldn’t bear it anymore, but before he could open his eyes, before he could confess he would live, she kissed him. His Raisa kissed him of her own volition, entirely of her own free will. All it took was a slight tilt of his head and he kissed her back. Sliding his left hand free of the pillows, he cupped the back of her neck, burying his fingers in the soft waves of her strawberry, sun-streaked hair.
One moment, their tongues were tangling; the next, she shoved back, breaking the kiss. “Viktor! You’re alive! You’re awake!”
Opening his eyes, he smiled. Not too much; he didn’t want to seem smug. “After a kiss like that,” he murmured, “how could I be anything less?”
Apparently, he hadn’t tried hard enough.
“You . . . Oh! You! ” She shoved at his shoulder, twisting him onto his back. Viktor grunted, but she didn’t give him any sympathy. “I honestly thought you were dying!”
“That was Keisia’s idea. While my spleen wasn’t too happy for a while, it’s all been safely regrown—it’s just tender right now,” he warned her, catching her wrist as she tried to shove him again. She shoved him with her other hand, so he caught that wrist, too. Grinning, he pulled her down so that she had to lie on top of him. She dug her elbows into his chest, lifting up her head so that she could glare at him, but he wasn’t fazed by it. “I missed you, yesterday. I asked you to stay with me, but when I woke up, you weren’t there.”
“I was told to go home, that there was
nothing more I could do. And then Keisia told me . . .” Raisa broke off and shook her head. “No. No, I won’t listen to those words. Nor to any of the nonsense they’ve been blaring on the news nets.” Lifting her chin, she stared him in the eye almost defiantly. “I love you, and . . . I hope you love me, too.”
“I do. Very much so,” he agreed, all but purring at her declaration.
Releasing her wrists, he let her settle more comfortably on his chest. Then, because she was simply too beautiful, and he loved her too much not to seize this moment, Viktor threaded his fingers through her wavy, red locks and pulled her mouth firmly down to his. They had kissed a few times over the course of their dates, but never for long, and never in such an intimate setting as this. Always before, he had let her set the pace in such things. This time, he hoped she would let him not only set the pace, but go a lot further.
It was a shock when he felt her not only pull back from his kiss, but tug and shove at the blanket and sheet between them. Her voice low and a little breathless, Raisa growled, “I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”
Viktor grinned. Completely willing to be examined by her, he helped her shove the bedding down past his feet. Only when it was too late did he remember that he had decided to leave off even a loincloth under the sheets. There was no way to hide his growing excitement, no undergarment to restrain his eagerness and no loose kilt pleats to conceal anything.
Raisa stared. “Oh . . . wow.”
A corner of Viktor’s mind marveled how he could feel both embarrassed and smug at the same time.
“You’re very, um, large,” she observed, her hand reaching out and hovering near his half-aroused shaft, though she didn’t quite touch him. Not that it stopped his flesh from twitching upward in excitement at the thought she might.
“I am over two meters tall,” he reminded her. “Everything is perfectly proportionate. And within Normal parameters. It won’t kill you. I won’t kill you. I promise.”
She shook her head, but not in a denial. “I still need to see your wounds, to make sure you’re all right. Turn onto your stomach, please.”
