“No! Why would they do that? Do you think one of those radicals who want to oust Lynx and Shiloh managed to get on board?” She had her innocent tone down pat but her right ear twitched again.
Definitely guilty.
“I don’t know,” Shiloh snapped. “But if I catch the culprits, I’ll toss them in the dungeon without a trial. Ellard and Gweneth could have died.” He shot a glance at his older brother, some of his anger dropping to the level of a worried frown. “Ellard needs a medic.”
“How are Sheera and Leeam? Has Niran woken?” Gweneth asked.
“They managed to shimmer from the ship,” Ransom said from the end of the corridor. “You are welcome to rest and recuperate at my home.”
“Thank you,” Ry said. “But my mate is about to deliver our child. We’ll fly back to Viros. Mogens can treat Ellard and Gweneth on the flight back to Viros.”
Kaya eyed Ransom and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Pity we’re not staying longer.”
“What about my ship?” Shiloh asked.
“It is repaired and ready for you,” Ransom said. “Ellard, I will arrange for your luggage delivery to the spaceport. It won’t take long.”
Gweneth went to Ransom and hugged him. “Thank you. We will contact you with more details about the festival.”
Ellard growled and Ransom smiled and placed some distance between him and Gweneth. “I would like that. We will enjoy our visit to Viros.”
Shiloh offered his hand to Ransom. “The king of Viros bid me to extend an invitation to stay with us at the castle during your visit. We can place a suite of rooms at your disposal.”
“And the other dragons in my party?”
“We can discuss that, but most of the other visitors will stay at the Feline Inn, which is not far from the castle. You are welcome to have guards at the castle if you wish.”
The tenseness in Ransom dissipated. “That is acceptable. Thank you. I will escort you to your ship.”
“Everyone to the Indy,” Ry said. “We’ll depart as soon as the luggage arrives.”
“The males on this planet are prime,” Kaya said.
“We don’t have time for you to play with them,” Ry informed her. “I want to get back to Camryn.”
Less than a cycle portion later, the green-and-blue planet grew smaller and smaller and disappeared from vision with the naked eye.
Gweneth unstrapped her safety harness and stood. “I’m going to my cabin to sanitize and change.”
Mogens stood too, his face a pearly gray, an indication his mood hovered midway between happy and angry or disturbed. “Do you require any medical attention?”
“I have a few scratches and grazes. Nothing serious. Ellard is the one who requires your aid,” she said.
Mogens regarded her and tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Come with me,” he said to Ellard. “You can sanitize in my cabin.”
“I don’t—”
“I can smell your blood. You wear a wound on your side. Go with him,” Ry said and his voice held a snap of tension. “Mogens is skilled and will help.”
“Ellard, Mogens will help you,” Gweneth said, her tone imperious. “Don’t make me hold you down for him.”
Kaya coughed, her head cocking like a curious bird.
“Check on Gweneth first,” Ellard said after a lengthy silence.
“My cabin is near Gweneth’s,” Mogens said, a ribbon of black dissecting his face. “I don’t need to read the clouds to learn of your stubbornness.” Mogens issued a heavy sigh. “All felines are stubborn.” He glanced at Gweneth. “Half-felines too.”
“Very well.” Ellard stood and followed her and Mogens off the bridge.
“I wonder what happened between them.” Kaya’s nosiness trailed them, as did Ry’s comment about this being none of their business. Gweneth and Ellard would tell them what they wished them to know.
“But aren’t you curious?” Kaya demanded.
“No, I want to get back to—”
Gweneth didn’t hear any more but guessed Ry wanted to be with his mate. They passed their mess room and the galley and headed into the accommodation corridor where they all had cabins. Their corridor wasn’t gray. She and the others had painted a colorful mural of the different things they’d seen during their travels and her residual tension seeped away. Home.
“I am not badly injured.” Gweneth came to a halt outside her cabin door. “Please, I’m telling the truth. I have bruises from when the ship jumped around. A couple of shallow cuts. Nothing is painful, and I’m healing rapidly.”
“Go and sanitize, child,” Mogens said. “I will deal with this stubborn feline first.”
Gweneth pressed her palm to a decoder. Her cabin door slid open. “I’ll come to your cabin once I’m finished.”
Alone in her cabin, Gweneth sighed, feeling more tired than she’d ever felt before. Although she’d told the truth about her injuries, her body ached. Bone-deep. For a sec, she studied her image in a looking glass. A wild woman stared back. Hair loose and fluffy. A scratch on her cheek and a dirty smudge on the other. Her tunic bore three rips and her trews had a hole in the knee. Her mud-splattered boots needed a good cleaning.
She forced her arms upward and managed to pull off her tunic. A big bruise covered her left side plus a few minor scratches. The faint bruises on the upper curves of her breasts made her smile. Ellard. She didn’t mind those ones.
Gweneth turned away, tugged off her boots and trews. Her underwear hit the floor and she stepped into her sanitizer. Warm spray pummeled her aching torso, and she sighed again. Luxury. The scents of lime and basil filled the air, and her mind shifted to Ellard again.
He’d become quiet, his thoughts turning inward. He’d decided he wasn’t worthy of her or some such idiocy. Maybe he worried about his handicap, but she refused to let him get away with a retreat. They were good together, and she wanted him. She loved the big idiot. She, more than anyone, knew what it was like to get judged on appearance, so that excuse meant nothing to her.
Gweneth turned on the drying function and let the warm air soothe her aching muscles while she formulated a plan.
Two cycles. She’d give him two cycles to clear his thinking before she acted.
She’d beat down his objections once.
She could do it again.
Chapter 15
Mogens led Ellard into a large cabin. The gel-bed sat against the far wall, bolted in place in case of space mayhem. An herbal scent perfumed the cabin, no doubt wafting from the bunches of dried flowers and plants hanging from a drying rack. A series of cupboards and drawers—of different sizes—covered the other wall, all fixed and guarded against movement from the ship.
Ellard knew his arm was bad. Yes, the stump had healed after the plant incident, thanks to the rapid healing powers that came from his feline heritage but it appeared ugly. He knew they couldn’t attach another Stores and had doubts about alternatives too. Then he needed to consider the cost. The installation of his Stores had wiped out his savings.
“Sanitize first,” Mogens instructed.
Ellard gave a clipped nod. He’d become friends with Ry Coppersmith’s crew since their arrival, but Mogens always held himself aloof. He spent his cycles in his medical lab or out in the forest collecting herbs and berries and visiting Kelvin, the tremin shifter in mourning and stasis, not far from Jarlath and Keira’s farm. And when necessary, he treated Ry’s crew and more recently the castle residents, both royal and staff.
“Hurry or I will bite you.” A ribbon of white twirled across Mogens face, dissolving into the dove-gray.
Ellard felt his mouth dropping open as he gaped at Mogens. “Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to do real damage.”
Mogens chuckled, the sound resembling a fly-mo in need of maintenance. “You should see your face. Please sanitize, and I will do my best to aid you.”
“I should be used to Ry’s crew by now.”
“We do our best to entertain.” Another streak of white
turned Mogens’s face paler. Ellard recalled Gweneth telling him a pale Mogens indicated happiness. If his face turned charcoal gray or black, things in his world had taken a turn for the worse.
Ellard stripped off the tunic he’d pilfered on the reiver ship, awkward and resigned. He’d allowed himself to believe he could have a life with Gweneth, but he hadn’t been able to deal with Malasses. Gweneth had managed to save them all. His lack of an arm presented difficulties in his everyday life. He couldn’t…
He broke off the thought to struggle from his boots and the rest of his clothing. He stepped into the sanitizer, the warmth and pressure from the cleanser nozzles easing the tenseness in his muscles. He stood there for several mins, let his mind drift while he enjoyed the sensation of clean and safe. Then, aware Mogens waited for him, he switched on the drying function.
“Finished?” Mogens called.
“Yes.” Naked, Ellard padded into the main cabin and came to a halt in the middle of the floor space. A satchel sat on the corner of the gel-bed, the contents open to his view. Small vials and bottles glinted under the light.
“Ah,” Mogens said and he circled Ellard. “Bruises. This cut appears infected.” He traced the cut along Ellard’s ribs, one Malasses inflicted with his horns.
“The Kiraxes attempted to gore me.”
“Their horns have poison. I can treat that. Sit on the corner of my gel-bed. I’ll treat the cut then take a look at your stump.”
“It’s not good.”
Mogens met his gaze. “No, the arm will be problematical.”
Ellard dipped his head in acknowledgment, glad the medic didn’t attempt to lie. The foul-smelling salve Mogens placed on the cut made him sneeze, but the instant it made contact with his skin, the faint burning that had plagued him ceased.
“Your feline genes will heal the rest,” Mogens said. “Now let me take a look at your arm.”
Ellard gritted his teeth while the medic probed his stump.
“Fascinating,” Mogens said. “I can see the attachments the replacement medics used but your feline has healed over them. They sit below the skin. How did this happen?”
“I got caught in a plant. It attempted to eat me and between that and my shift to feline, I lost my Stores. The plant produced this sap stuff that burned skin and my Stores didn’t stand up well to it either. The sap pitted the surface from what I saw.”
“Your feline genes saved your life,” Mogens said. “If the dissolving had continued upward as far as the stump, you might have died.”
“They told me the chances of the Stores failing were low.”
“And the installation could never be duplicated,” Mogens added. “I did some research.”
“No, it’s something to do with the way they fit the arm.” A lump grew in his throat and he had to swallow when he wanted to hit something. The Stores had given him mobility and made him feel more normal. Once he’d had the Stores installed, most people didn’t notice his lack of an arm. Now, he’d have an empty sleeve, and for the rest of his life, he’d have to struggle with his handicap.
“I will do more research,” Mogens promised. “There must be something we can do for you. Meanwhile, I can make a salve for your stump. Although it has healed over, the surface is jagged and I suspect it is tender.”
Ellard nodded at his questioning look.
“My salve will help with that. Apply each eve before you retire.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have trews that will fit you, but I can give you a robe.”
“Thanks,” Ellard said.
A tap sounded on the door and it opened.
Ry stuck his head inside the cabin. “Shiloh commed. Said he had some clothes in Jannike’s cabin.” He handed over a pile of clothes.
“Thanks.” Ellard stepped closer and awkwardly accepted the pile of clothing.
Ry hesitated then nodded and retreated, the door closing with a faint click.
“Do you require my help?” Mogens asked.
“No.” Ellard regretted his sharp tone the instant he uttered the word, but Mogens didn’t react.
“I will blend the salve. We’ll apply some before we arrive at Viros.”
Ellard struggled with the clothes, dressing taking him much longer than usual—a return to his time before the Stores installation. A heavy pressure slumped his shoulders and pushed against his mind. He’d been fooling himself. This was his future and he couldn’t inflict it on Gweneth.
Castle, Viros City
Gweneth strode into the castle with Ry, Nanu, Kaya and Mogens, her mood one of anger and frustration. Ellard had ignored her once the Indy landed, and it had hurt. His stiff attitude had hurled her back to the horrid days at her father’s mansion on Ornum. The pain. The confusion. The humiliation.
Except this time, she didn’t have to accept the behavior.
No, she’d give him space, recuperate herself since her bones ached still and she craved sleep. The next cycle, she’d run him to ground and give the stubborn, mule-headed male an ultimatum. She was not a toy or a convenience. Nor was she promiscuous or an idiot. She was, however, pissed and once she felt more herself, she’d hunt down the stubborn feline and give him her version of the truth.
Jannike hurried up to them, her hand cupped over her rounded stomach. Gweneth smiled inwardly at the protective gesture. Jannike might stomp and mutter about her pregnancy but she wanted this child. “Hurry,” she gasped out. “Camryn is having her baby.”
Ry cursed, went Incorporeal white. “Where?”
“The medical suite.”
Ry took off at a sprint, the rest of them hurrying after him.
“Why didn’t someone contact us?” Ry demanded.
“Camryn knew you were on the way, said it would take a while and threatened to bite anyone who told you before you stepped foot in the castle,” Jannike said, her words coming out between puffs.
Gweneth forced herself to follow, excited about the impending arrival yet her aching body, her extreme fatigue, stopped her from enjoying the occasion. The winding corridors, lined with tapestries and artwork blurred, her focus on each footstep, the slap, slap, slap of her boots the one thing keeping her moving.
Finally, they arrived at the medical suite, a modern affair with pristine white walls. To the right, a small reception room, full of comfortable gel-chairs, a com unit and a meal station waited for friends and relatives—in this case the royal family or staff now that Lynx had stepped into the shoes of king. To the left, several males and females surrounded a surgical gel-bed.
A scream rippled through the air. Gweneth felt the pain, the anguish in the sound. Her nostrils flared, and she smelled the acrid scent of cleanser and medicines. She smelled fear and frowned at the unfamiliar scent—the heavy metallic weight of it as it coated her senses.
“Camryn,” Ry said and he strode to the bed, pushing past the medical staff.
As one, they squawked, pointing at his clothes and their pristine masks and apparel.
Mogens hustled over to Ry, spoke in an undertone and Ry reluctantly retreated. Both he and Mogens disappeared into a small alcove.
Unable to stand an instant longer, Gweneth wobbled to the nearest gel-chair and dropped onto it.
“Tired?” Jannike asked.
“Yes.”
Jannike sat with a heavy sigh. “Me too.”
Mogens and Ry reappeared, appropriately gowned in medical white. Ry pushed past the medical staff to get to Camryn while Mogens approached them. A stripe of black raced across his face when his gaze came to rest on Jannike.
“Gweneth, please escort Jannike to her suite. Both of you look exhausted. The babies will not arrive before morn.”
“Babies?” Gweneth demanded, her words echoed by her friends.
“Two,” Mogens said. “I have seen the signs in the clouds, and the medic has just confirmed. Jannike, you require your rest. Gweneth, you will see she gets back to her suite, com either Lynx or Shiloh and once they arrive
, you will sleep too.”
“All right,” Jannike said without argument. “I am tired.” She rubbed her belly. “The babe likes to kick.”
Gweneth forced herself to stand, wincing at the sharp aches in her bones. Yes, she required sleep. “Call us if the babies arrive.”
“I promise,” Mogens said.
With nothing but willpower, Gweneth walked Jannike to the royal suite, thankful of Shiloh’s presence when they arrived.
“Camryn is having two babies,” Jannike said. “By Jupo’s teeth, I’m glad I am only having one. She bounces and kicks inside me. Never still. I need to pee.”
Shiloh smiled after his mate. “Thank you for saving my brother.”
“We saved each other.” Gweneth’s mouth opened in a yawn she couldn’t control. “Sorry. Mogens will contact us when the babies arrive.”
Shiloh nodded. “Go. You need rest.”
“Yes,” she said and with a tired wave, she pushed her feet into motion.
The short journey down another corridor—the castle layout confused many visitors and Camryn called it a rabbit warren—past a suit of Peravian battle armor that glinted an unlikely pink under a spotlight and around a corner, she arrived at her suite. The door slid open to her palm print and Gweneth headed directly to her gel-bed. As she passed a looking glass, she paused to study her face. The cuts had almost healed, but that wasn’t what made her stare. She leaned closer to peer through blurry eyes. The cat tattoo that had caused so many problems with her father had disappeared, leaving her cheek bare.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
The tattoo didn’t reappear.
She shrugged, the lift and fall of her shoulders squeezing a groan free. Grata, that had hurt. Deciding to ponder the peculiarity the next cycle, she dropped onto the corner of her gel-bed and struggled to remove her boots.
Each boot clumped to the floor, followed by her inner linings. Too exhausted to remove her clothes, she crawled into the middle of her gel-bed and sighed at the relief of not having to hold her body upright. Her eyes closed and she sank into sleep.
She dreamed of a cat. A lone black leopard—a male—stepped his way confidently through a forest. Gweneth didn’t know how she knew the leopard was a male, but she sensed it, smelled it and accepted the instinctive knowledge.
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