Cat Star 04 - Outcast

by Cheryl Brooks

  Putting my fingertips to my temples, I wished for per­haps the millionth time that I could read the thoughts of humans as well as those of animals. My grandmother had had that gift. My mother had had both, though to a lesser degree, but I could read only the beasts of the forest and farm. It was a useful skill, for very few others could ask their horse which foot was hurting them, or if the girth was pulled too tight. I always knew where to find the juiciest berries and the lushest patches of wild rosemary, because the rabbits knew, and their minds were much occupied with these matters. Animals had a feel for weather, too, and were a much more reliable source of information than your typical village sage.

  Still, with sick or injured humans, you can ask what the trouble is—if they're conscious enough to reply—

  but it's a given that they will sometimes embellish upon the truth. Rafe had lied to me—many times. I sometimes let him think I believed him, but I wasn't fooled.

  Taking a deep breath, I put my thoughts of Rafe firmly aside. I couldn't afford to let them, or anything else, interfere, because I knew this one would require all of my concentration.

  From

  ROGUE

  "I will not keep you much longer." SHE paused,

  calling out to a servant in the next room before taking another delicate sip of her wine and continuing, "But before you go, you must see my cats." "Your cats?"

  Nodding, she said, "I'd like your opinion of them."

  That sounded odd. What did it matter what I thought of her pets? The little toad creature was told to fetch the cats, so I had a little time to think. Okay, if this was a desert planet with intelligent life forms that looked for all the world like dinosaurs, what kind of cats would they have here? Saber-toothed tigers?

  On that thought, the door opened again, and the two cats entered—but they weren't cats, at least, not in the ordinary sense. They were tall male humanoids— undoubtedly more of Scalia's "exotic slaves"—and they certainly were exotic! Separately, each one would have been stunning, but together, they took my breath away—would have taken anyone s breath away, even Nindala's. For myself, I was just glad I happened to be sitting down when I saw them for the first time. Star­ing back at them in awe, I had barely managed to take

  another breath when one of them turned his startlingly blue eyes on me and, no doubt noting my open-mouthed expression, lowered his eyelids ever so slightly and sent a roguish smile in my direction. And I had an orgasm.

  Scalia probably thought I'd choked on my wine, but that wasn't it at all! I felt a fire begin to burn deep inside me when I first laid eyes on him, and his smile sent me over the edge. I'd never felt anything quite like it before in my life—nor had I ever seen anything to compare with him.

  "They are my most prized possessions," Scalia said. "Very beautiful, are they not?"

  I'm not entirely sure what I said in reply, but it was affirmative, though undoubtedly inarticulate.

  Scalia smiled. "I hoped you would like them."

  I took another sip of my wine—actually, it was more of a gulp than a sip—and asked, "W—where did you find them?"

  "The slave traders in this region know of my pen­chant for interesting specimens and brought them to me," she replied. "You would not believe what I had to pay for them! The trader said that there had been a bounty placed on them, which, of course, meant that I was required to pay about twenty times that amount in order to get them—and also to keep him quiet as to their whereabouts! Apparently, someone holds a grudge against their kind and set out to exterminate them en­tirely—which would have been most unfortunate, as I am certain you will agree."

  I think I nodded, but sitting there trying to imag­ine a whole planet full of these guys nearly made my uterus go into another spasm. I decided that a group of jealous men must have gotten an army together and plotted against them, for certainly no female in the known universe would have gone along with such a scheme. I mean, Scalia was a lizard, and even she liked them!

  "But they are safe here," she added firmly. "They are kept under lock and key at night, and no one beyond the palace walls knows they exist. And, unlike my other slaves, even my daughter has never seen them."

  The fact that they were both entirely nude except for jeweled collars around their necks and genitals might have been one reason Zealon had never been permitted to see them. She was much too young for such things, though I didn't think that anyone under the age of—oh, I don't know, a hundred, perhaps?—could look at them and not be affected.

  "These two are brothers," Scalia went on, as though she were truly talking about a pair of pet cats who hap­pened to be littermates. "I would dearly love to breed more of them, but they are a mammalian species and will not cross with our kind. Nor are they... aroused... by our females."

  Which, of course, made me wonder whether or not they liked humans. I, for one, certainly liked them, espe­cially the one who'd smiled at me. The other one didn't seem terribly pleased to see me—not quite scowling, but certainly not smiling.

  As they had positioned themselves on either side of Scalia's chair, across the table from me, I had an excel­lent view of them both. They didn't seem particularly shy, either, not minding a bit that I couldn't take my eyes off them. The blue-eyed one was fair-skinned with the most spectacular hair—jet black with a thick streak of white running through it near his temple—hanging to his waist in perfect spirals. The other also had black hair which curled to his waist, but with a similarly placed orange stripe, green eyes, and more tawny skin. They both possessed upswept eyebrows and pointed ears, as well as vertical pupils that seemed to glow slightly. The green-eyed one yawned just then, revealing a mouthful of sharp white teeth with canines that looked downright dangerous. All in all, they put me in mind of Earth's ti­gers—the one Bengal, and the other Siberian—but they had body hair more like that of human males, not the fur you would expect to find on a cat. Neither of them had beards, but I wasn't close enough to determine whether or not this was natural. Both were tall, broad-chested, and lean, with smooth, rippling muscles and perfectly proportioned limbs. It was no wonder Scalia had paid a fortune for them!

  All of this possibly wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't had one other notable attribute: they were both hung like horses. A crass description, perhaps, but it was accurate, nonetheless. Unfortunately, they were not, as Scalia had mentioned before, aroused. The mere thought of what they might look like if they were aroused made my mouth go dry, and I attempted to take another sip from an empty glass.

  "My guest needs more wine," Scalia said, crooking a finger toward the Siberian tiger.

  Nodding, he collected a flask from the sideboard and came around the table. When he leaned over to pour the wine, his cock was just below my eye level, but as my eyes were slightly downcast, I had an excellent view of it. Among other things, I noted that the jewels on his genital cuff were every bit as blue as his eyes. Scalia, it seemed, was not the slightest bit color-blind and had paid attention to detail when decorating her slaves. "Thank you," I said hoarsely.

  "You are very welcome," he replied. "It is my plea­sure to serve you."

  His deep voice was like melted butter and, even though polite, his choice of words had me envisioning all manner of pleasurable things—none of them having anything to do with food or drink. I couldn't help but look up at him, and, when our eyes met, he smiled again and blinked slowly. Then I watched, fascinated, as his nostrils flared with a deep inhalation—and his smile in­tensified, as did the hot blue of his eyes.

  "Oh, excellent!" Scalia said in hushed tones.

  Yes, he is! Excellent, perfect, amazing, unbeliev­able—and just about any other superlative you'd care to use. Still gazing up at him, I felt as though I were about to melt into a puddle and slide off my chair. Honestly, if I'd ever felt a more overwhelming sense of desire for any other man in the galaxy, this one would have made me forget it.

  I felt something wet drop onto my hand. Glancing down to see if I was, indeed, melting, I saw what Sc
alia had undoubtedly been referring to, for the tiger's penis was now fully erect. As thick and long as a well-endowed human's would have been, it also had a wide, scalloped corona at the base of the head that was ob­viously there for one reason only: to give the greatest possible pleasure to any woman fortunate enough to be penetrated by it. Looking closer, I noted that the clear fluid that had fallen on my hand appeared to be coming, not from the opening at the apex, but from the starlike points of the corona.

  I tried to swallow and couldn't. I looked up at him again with what must have been an expression of raw hunger mingled with guilt written clearly upon my face. In return, what I saw on his face was the most open invitation to partake of anything I'd ever seen. His mesmerizing eyes beckoned, his full lips promised sensuous delights beyond my wildest imaginings, and his provocative smile assured me of his knowledge of every possible way to drive a woman wild. He was offering himself to me—completely—without saying a word.

  Unfortunately, just as I was about to take a taste of him, I suddenly remembered where I was. We were not alone, and he was a slave who belonged to the liz­ard queen sitting across the table from me. Reaching awkwardly for my wineglass, my sleeve slid across the head of his cock, soaking it with his fluid and drawing a barely audible groan from him.

  Trying desperately to ignore his reaction, I looked away from him and saw that Scalia was watching us in­tently, but she had her hand on the Bengal tiger's thigh, stroking him, though without any erotic response on his part whatsoever. I would have thought that such a porno­graphic vision right across the table from him would have been enough to stimulate him, but apparently, it wasn't.

  Then I remembered the blue-eyed tiger inhaling as though he was taking a whiff of me. It was something to do with scent, then—though it was surprising that I was clearheaded enough to figure that out at the time. What was also surprising was the fact that my "scent" hadn't reached the other man, because if the way I was feeling was any indication, it had to have been pretty heavy on the sex pheromones.

  Breaking the silence, the Queen's voice was now brisk and businesslike. "You will require a personal at­tendant during your stay with us," Scalia said. "I believe he will suit you very nicely."

  "Who, him?" I gasped. As I sat staring at his cock, I decided that if anyone could "suit me," it would have been him, but he was far more... man... than I'd ever so much as touched in my life! He could turn me to mush in a heartbeat—and, of course, in that state, I'd never play piano again... "Oh, but I don't really need—" I protested, before she cut me off with an imperious wave of her hand.

  "Yes, you do," she said firmly. "You are new to this world, Kyra. He will be able to help you... adjust."

  Adjust. What an interesting choice of words! He prob­ably could have helped me adjust to just about anything— even daily torture—if only he were to hold my hand for the duration. And speaking of hands, I wondered if I'd be able to keep mine off of him when we were alone together. Having been within a hairbreadth of licking his cock just moments before—and in full view of two other people, I might add—I thought I'd probably have some difficulty with that. I also wondered if he'd go running to Scalia to complain if I did something of that nature—or what he would do if I didn't.

  To be honest, I doubted that I needed a servant of any kind, though due to the scarcity of water and fab­rics, it was a given that there wouldn't be any easy way to wash my clothes. I wondered if my bed would have sheets on it, or if I'd be sleeping on a bed of stones or sand. Hopefully, Zealon had done some homework in that area as well.

  My tiger was still standing next to me, flanking my chair just as his counterpart did for Scalia—quite slave­like behavior, despite his persistent erection—and it occurred to me that he might like to have some say in the matter.

  "What about you?" I asked, looking up at him curi­ously. "Do you think I need a personal attendant?"

  "Absolutely," he replied, his luscious lips curling in a smile. "There are a great many things I can do for you."

  I'll just bet you can, I thought grimly. "But do you want to?" I said aloud. For some reason, I felt it was important that his service to me be voluntary. Not that he wouldn't have done whatever he was told to do by his owner; after all, he was a slave, though a very valu­able one. What would happen if he refused? I doubted that Scalia would punish him—doubted that she ever had, for neither of them had a mark on him, nor did they have the cowed expressions of people who were habitually abused or bullied. In fact, they appeared to have been well cared for, if not cosseted, by their owner—truly more like cherished pets than slaves.

  "I can think of nothing I would like more," he assured me.

  "Because you have been told to." I said this not as a question, but as a statement.

  He seemed uncertain about how to reply to that, glancing at Scalia out of the corner of his eye as if for direction, but she gave him none that I could see.

  "Because you smell of desire," he said finally. "Being near you pleases me... and I have no doubt that I can please you."

  "An honest answer," Scalia asserted. "You may be­lieve what he tells you. They are both very truthful."

  I nodded. "Yes, I can believe that much," I said. This man undoubtedly could please the most stone-cold woman imaginable, but I secretly wondered if it was my desire which pleased him, or if any woman's desire would do.

  Sighing deeply, I relented, knowing that while I might regret my decision in the end, if I refused, I'd regret it even more.

  "It is settled, then," Scalia said to my tiger. "You may escort Kyra to her rooms." Turning to me, she added, "Your quarters have been adapted to suit human needs. I believe you will find them to your liking."

  "I'm sure I will," I replied, "but, if you don't mind my asking, how are you going to keep him a secret if he's with me? The Princess, or someone else, may see him."

  "We will take that risk," Scalia said with conviction. "I believe it to be worthwhile."

  And her word was law. After all, she was the queen.

  About the Author

  Cheryl Brooks has been a critical care nurse since 1977, graduating from the Kentucky Baptist Hospital School of Nursing in 1976, and earning a BSN from Indiana University in 1986. Cheryl is an avid reader of romance novels and has been a fan of science fiction ever since watching that first episode of Star Trek. Always in need of a creative outlet, she has writ­ten numerous novels, with The Cat Star Chronicles: Outcast being her fourth published work. She lives on a farm near Bloomfield, Indiana, with her husband, two sons, four horses, and five cats. You can visit her web­site at: http://cherylbrooksonline.com, or email her at: cheryl.brooks52@yahoo.com.