CAT SHIFTERS OF AAIDAR: ENSNARE: (A Sci-fi Alien Romance, Book 3)

by Christina Wilder

  “You need to eat,” I murmured into her hair.

  “Can’t,” she sighed.

  Shifting her to the crook of my arm, I leaned forward and scooped some of the thick, grey porridge—no doubt high in nutrients, but definitely low in taste—onto a piece of hard, dry, flatbread, and passed it to her. I should be grateful for the regularity of the disgusting food, at least. Gods knew, Lyrie needed it. Already thin, she was exhausting herself with her strenuous regime of shifting and exercising, testing her abilities.

  She only ate a couple of bites before, like the previous couple of days, she fell asleep in my arms.

  And I just sat there holding her, because what the hells else could I do? Neither of us had mentioned our promise to the Regime, our unspoken understanding being that Lyrie learning to shift had to take priority. We’d deal with the other issue when we were forced to.

  Not that it’d be hard to deal with, at least not for me. Because, damn, I ached for her. Cat form or human, I wanted her again.

  But I wanted her properly, this time. All of her. All of me. No holding back.

  And that was part of the reason I didn’t push the issue with her; I wanted her to know that when I took her, when we mated, it was because I wanted to, not because we were drugged, forced or coerced. And how the hells did I tell her that? How could I explain my change of mind to her, when I didn’t understand it myself? I was simply aware that I both needed and wanted her, a deep urge that came from somewhere inside me that I’d never known existed. In any case, what was the point of trying to explain, of burdening her with my unwanted, inexplicable feelings? If she focused on eating, sleeping, and building her strength, there was a chance I could get her out of here before our time was up. Once she could manage and maintain her shift, she’d be able to either run or, where the caverns widened, spread her magnificent wings and cover ground more quickly that way.

  My arms tightened as she moaned in her sleep, and I closed my eyes. Not because I needed to sleep, but to imprint the memory of the feel of her in my mind. Unable to do more than bring forth my claws and fangs, a ripple of muscle across my shoulders and along my forearms, I was damned useless, neither man nor cat enough to deserve to be with her. And that meant I’d soon have to let her go.

  Spike’s plan to break out of the exercise yard wouldn’t work now that we were incarcerated underground. Gods only knew where he’d been locked up, and what the Regime were doing to him, but Lyrie had to be my priority, now. She was dependent on me. Despite her fierce anger and determination, she’d never get out of here without my help. Once I was confident she could manage her shift, I’d draw the guards’ attention, and pick a fight and distract them while she made a break for freedom.

  If she managed to find the hidden exit and get out, she’d be all alone in the desert, defenseless and fending for herself in the wilderness, and the thought of that ripped me apart, seizing my heart and crushing it between the jaws of a great cat.

  But if she didn’t escape, she’d die in here with me.

  #

  My shoulders stiff where I leaned against the jagged wall, forming myself into a cushion to protect and warm Lyrie, I jerked instantly awake as I heard far-distant footsteps in the passage beyond the door at the top of the steps. Although I could see perfectly in the dark, the lack of natural light made it impossible to keep track of time. We had no idea whether it was day or night, and the delivery of meals, accompanied by Smithton’s scrutiny, provided our only measure of the passage of hours.

  Lowering Lyrie onto our single, crumpled blanket, I stood. She didn’t wake, but curled tighter, knees pulled into her stomach, her hand under her cheek. Asleep, she looked younger, less wary. But more vulnerable.

  Maybe I didn’t like her asleep.

  Allowing my feelings for her to grow from concern to caring was risky. Truth was, I only did it because I knew that ultimately it wouldn’t matter a damn to me; I’d be ashes and stardust blowing back to Aaidar, soon enough. But permitting myself to…love?...her if she was vulnerable was nothing short of stupid. Dangerous. Because, to be able to let her go, I had to believe she was strong enough to get out of here.

  My hearing almost as good as when I was shifted, I caught the light metallic chink as metal touched metal. Smithton was fond of the finer things in life. Reeking like he bathed in merspice, despite the expense, he customarily wore a silver lariat decorated with a trio of concentric circles, representing the planets Media, Harang, and Glia. The motif was repeated in his other trinkets; the gem studded bands of zircon on his wrists, and the three interlocking rings he wore like expensive knuckle-dusters on his left hand. I recognized the chime as one of those rings hitting the door latch.

  My lips tightening into a snarl, I turned and loped along the underground tunnels, then bolted up the steep steps leading to the compound’s cells, taking them four at a time. If Smithton thought I’d wake Lyrie just for him to perv at again, he could go fuck himself.

  I reached the top and stood there with my arms folded across my chest, the door still closed.

  It ground open, the thick sirdar grating against the uneven rock floor, and like I’d suspected, Smithton hovered in the opening, flanked by guards.

  And Spike.

  “Where is she?” Smithton demanded.

  “Asleep.” Legs wide, I straddled the opening to make it clear he wasn’t invited in.

  “Worn her out, have you?” he grinned. “Well, lucky it’s not inspection time. Just dropped by to make a delivery.” He jerked his chin toward Spike. One of the guards slammed my brother in the lower back with the butt of his rifle, and Spike stumbled onto the landing, crashing to his knees. As I darted forward, the guards yanked the door shut, the thunder of bolts and locks momentarily deafening.

  “Spike, you okay, man?”

  He winced, clambering to his feet. “Sure. Getting kind of immune to it, y’know? Think my kidneys have hardened over the past few weeks.” He grasped my forearm and threw his other arm around my shoulders, leaning heavily on me. Again, his pupils were oddly blown out, but maybe he had trouble adjusting to the dark. “Good to see you, again. Thought they’d be trying to keep us separated, but looks like they want all their trouble contained in one place.”

  I pounded his back, then stepped away. “I was trying to work out how I’d find you next time they drag us out of here. Problem solved. One of them, at least. Though I guess we’d better talk quick and quiet, in case they change their mind.”

  Spike looked over my shoulder. “Where’s Lyrie?”

  A flock of wints rustled overhead, the air musty with the velvet of their shifting wings. I pointed into the distance and led the way down the steep stairs, my depth perception perfect despite the dark. “Asleep. She’s been practicing shifting, keeps at it till she can’t keep her eyes open.”

  “Ah, yeah, so how’s that going? Bobcat, you said?”

  Unable to contain the grin that split my face, I turned to edge up a narrow passage leading further into the catacombs. I was pretty sure there were no cameras this far into the labyrinth, and we’d made sure to set up our camp well in the depths, but I switched to Aaidarian anyway. “Bobcat nothing. She’s some kind of griffin, man. More dragon than bird, though.”

  “Dragon? Ah, so that’s—” Spike broke off, then snorted with sudden laughter. “That’s a handful, dude. Fangs, claws, and wings, huh? You’ll need to stay on the right side of her. This I’ve gotta see.”

  “Yeah, well maybe not for a while, yet. She’s still trying to get a handle on the whole business. It’s been a pretty screwed-up couple of days.”

  “Couple? Dude, you’ve been down here for most of the week.” Spike grunted as he ducked to follow me through a low opening to the left of the passage.

  “No way, man, I’ve been counting the meals.”

  “Ha. Let me guess. Smithton told you the meals would come regular, along with a welfare check? Mind games, dude. I’ve been there. He likes to fuck us over psychologically, so you�
��ve no idea whether you’re up or down, never mind what day it is. Your meals and checks will be whenever he feels like doing them, nothing like regular. So, tell me you’ve been screwing your brains out, because Lyrie will be getting hauled back up for testing, today. Tina’s due tomorrow. Kind of my last chance to prove myself useful.”

  I whipped around to face him. “Hell, no, Spike, you didn’t!” I’d traded everything to get him off the hook with Tina. None of my brothers would ever do a woman in cat form—but he had been drugged. If Hartlin had forced him after I’d made the deal—

  He held up his hands, grimacing as his fingers touched a centrian’s slime trail on the low ceiling. “No, no, nothing like that. Hartlin backed off, though Smithton was still all for it. Man’s got no honor. But Tina, she’s actually okay. She’s not one of them, just a nurse employed by the Regime. Like Maya.”

  That sure as hells wasn’t the impression I got when she’d been standing outside my cell, telling Smithton what she’d like to be doing with me.

  “After Hartlin let her off, she came looking for me. She knows that if I don’t come up with the goods, I’m screwed. With you and Lyrie giving the Regime what they need, they’ve no reason to take my blood, or whatever the hell it is they’ve been sucking out. So, the only hope for me is to get a woman knocked up as well, hope that Hartlin will be happy with at least a part-shifter. Tina was willing to give me a shot. Like, just the regular way, I mean.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw and flashed me a grin. “Actually, more than one shot. She’s pretty damn fine.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, well you might want to work out her ulterior motive.” She’d certainly been keen to bed a shifter when she stood outside my cell with Smithton, so it was hard to believe her interest now was purely to save Spike. And what woman would willingly breed for the Regime? Not my Lyrie, that was for sure.

  Spike scowled, but then shot me a sharp, appraising look.

  “Anyway, what’s it like doing it with a griffin?”

  “Couldn’t tell you, man.”

  “Sticking to the boring way?”

  Nothing about having sex with Lyrie would ever be boring. Shifted or not, she was a wildcat, and the thought of her stirred my blood. Along with other parts. Gods, I longed to have her again. As we entered a huge cavern, I turned to face Spike. “No, man. I’m not pushing her. She’s…important.”

  He rounded his shoulders, his words an angry hiss in the sibilant Aaidarian tongue. “She reckons she’s too important to fuck? I would’ve thought saving our skins was more important.”

  “Bad choice of words. I mean she’s…special. To me. I’m not gonna do her just because the Regime order it.”

  A snarl rumbled through his chest. “Special? I thought Becka was supposed to be special. You forgotten about her?”

  My hands balled into fists. “Low blow, man. You know Becka was special. But that was a long time ago, we were all kids. Lyrie and me…it’s different. “

  “That’s the moodar.”

  I shook my head, “No drugs.” The realization slammed me in the guts. Hells. I thought my system had been clean for two days, but Spike was telling me it’d been more. And moodar effects were short-lived, anyway. But my attraction to Lyrie wasn’t. In fact, even now, something inside was urging me to end this conversation, to get back to her, not leave her lying naked, unprotected and asleep in the dank cave.

  “What the fuck are you saying, bro?” Always short tempered, Spike’s face was white with inexplicable fury. “You’ve suddenly decided Lyrie’s your mate, that Becka was nothing more than a bit of fun?”

  “Gods, man, Becka was fifteen fucking years ago.” His accusation echoing from the cave walls, I could barely think to form words. What the hells, my mate? That wasn’t what I’d said, nor even meant to intimate. Yet the word coursed awareness through my body. Spike was right. I didn’t need to be touching her to know it; Lyrie was my mate. I’d do anything to protect her. Kill anyone who stood in my way, destroy everything that dared threaten her.

  Spike rolled his shoulders forward, lowering his chin as though he’d charge at me. “Sixteen years, but you think that makes it okay?”

  “It was an accident. Get over it, already!”

  “You obviously have,” Spike spat.

  I was handling this wrong. Fair enough, I’d been too dumb to realize when I was a kid that Spike had a thing for Becka, but I could at least acknowledge it now. “Look, man, I’m sorry about Becka. You’re right, the time makes no difference. It’s not like I don’t still feel guilty as all hell, I’m just learning to deal with it. Compartmentalize the remorse. I know you—”

  “You don’t fucking know a thing.” Face contorted, Spike stalked toward me. Unease prickled my spine as I caught the flash of his unsheathed claws, his voice a low growl of pain and anger. “Becka and me—”

  A flurry of fur and leather whisked past me, dust kicking up from the cave floor. Lyrie’s full-throated roar rolled through the cave, thundering from the walls and loosening rocks from the ceiling. Tail swishing furiously, she came to a stumbling halt in front of me, facing Spike.

  Open-mouthed, he staggered back a couple of steps, and Lyrie shook her unfurled wings, roaring in his face.

  “Lyrie, it’s Spike!” Her shoulders tensed, immense power coiled in her muscles as she readied to pounce, and I didn’t know whether she understood, or if her first blood-rage consumed her reasoning. Shifting did that to cats, a sudden, almost uncontrollable lust for blood that had to be carefully overseen and managed by more experienced shifters.

  Gods only knew what dragons lusted for.

  Her tail whipped from side-to-side, sending plumes of dust into the air, but then she curled it over my shoulders, drawing me close to her haunches as she swung her great head around to look at me, golden eyes puzzled and…hurt?

  Somehow, the emotion communicated itself clearly to me, but I couldn’t understand the reason for it. Unless she was distressed because Spike had been about to land a punch on me? Wouldn’t be the first time that’d happened. “Lyrie, it’s okay. He’s my brother.”

  She swung to face him, her growl rippling through her fur. I stroked a hand over her flank, and jerked my chin at Spike. “Back off, man. Give us some time.”

  “Done, bro.” Spike was always quick to anger, but equally quick to move on. “Give me a yell when you’re done taming the beast.”

  As he headed back up the narrow passage, I moved to Lyrie’s head, level with mine even though she stood on all fours. “Can you shift back?” It was harder to control the surging hormones, the urge to shift and protect, when we were enraged or upset.

  Lyrie huffed and breathed hard, then shook herself, a huge tremble from nose to tail, the leather of her wings rustling. This time she didn’t moan as she shifted, but rounded on me instantly, her eyes spitting fury. “That shifter! He’s the one, Khal. He’s the one who tried to rape me.”

  I smoothed my hands down her upper arms, trying to gentle her, though she quivered with fury.

  “I know, Lyrie. He told me.”

  She jerked back, her intaken breath a harsh gasp. “You know, but you brought him down here? I thought we—”

  “We are, Lyrie.” I knew what she was going to say, the thoughts transmitted through the current vibrating through her arms and into my hands, into me. But we didn’t need words, because it didn’t matter a damn whether we chose to call this a bond, or love, or any other damn thing; I’d never allow anyone to harm her and, as she’d just proven, she’d risk herself to protect me.

  Yet her eyes shone with tears of betrayal, her words an agonized whisper. “You know, yet you call him your brother?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lyrie

  K hal did not believe me about Spike.

  Anger stormed through me with all the fury of a desert aridsca, and I could barely resist the urge to shift, hunt Spike down, and finish what I’d started.

  But I needed to put aside my hurt at Khal’s doubt and make him u
nderstand. It was natural he’d believe his buddy. They’d fought at each other’s sides and stood up for each other for years.

  Yet Khal and I were bondmates.

  Once the drugs wore off, I’d realized that the electric spark arcing between Khal and me had been there all along. The drugs had suppressed it.

  Our bodies knew.

  Our souls knew.

  Months ago, when word reached the Resistance that the Regime had hired a shifter mercenary crew from Aaidar, I’d tracked down whatever material I could about the Aaidarian people. While there was little to be found, I’d located a few research papers written by Dr. Janie Hartlin, who was renowned in the field.

  There were three phases of a bondmate.

  Touch – check.

  A kiss – double check.

  And sex, initiated by the woman. I could check that box off, too. I’d begged Khal to make love to me.

  That’s what it was. Love.

  Never fucking.

  My breath caught. Hold on. Dr. Janie Hartlin? The name sunk through me like molten cryoglass. Any relation to our captor? A wife, perhaps. Or a sister or daughter. Or no relation at all.

  But any spawn of that man would need to be exterminated, like General Hartlin. Especially a doctor, before she continued his legacy.

  Ten years. That was how long I’d carried my hatred for that man inside me. He’d killed my father. My mother. Driven my family into the desert.