The strangest thing about the entire situation was that he’d understood the man -- or beast -- or whatever the hell he’d been. What were the odds?
He heard a guttural bark in some utterly foreign language, and the men stopped abruptly and lowered him to the ground. It was a relief to have the world stop swaying around him. Something tugged at the thongs binding his legs, cutting them loose, and the pole was removed from between his wrists, leaving him lying on the ground with his hands still tied in front of him.
Squinting against the pounding in his skull, Andrew attempted to focus on his surroundings. He was in the center of what looked like a ring of huts made of grass and dried mud, grouped loosely around a large central space which had been worn to bare dirt. Nearby was a fire pit, over which the carcass of a devi was lashed to a spit, hissing above the dancing flames. The set-up reminded him far too closely of the way he’d been trussed.
I don’t suppose they believe in fattening the livestock before they eat it here.
A ripple of hard, amused laughter echoed around him, and Andrew turned his head awkwardly. Seven -- no, eight -- men stood or squatted around him. Three of them were easily as large as he was, and Andrew, used to dominating a crowd merely by his size, felt the first real pang of alarm. Well, if it’s a fight they want, I’m more than happy to oblige them. Several of the men grinned broadly in response, as if relishing the possibility.
They were naked, all of them, their gloriously muscled bodies gleaming in the firelight. Their hair was long, shaggy, and oddly colored -- it almost looked striped, the shades of it ranging from brown to tawny gold to a rich, russet orange which was nothing like anything he’d ever seen on a human. Even through his anger, Andrew could appreciate the sheer aggressive masculinity they radiated, the sinewy grace of their powerful warrior’s bodies.
Then a ninth man walked into the firelight, and Andrew stared, recognizing his interrogator. Jesus Christ. He swallowed. For the first time, he was able to credit the notion that this man and the huge cat which had attacked him were one and the same.
He was huge -- he had to be a good two inches taller than Andrew himself. Unlike the others, he wore a rough loincloth around his powerful flanks. His skin was tanned the same deep golden brown, though, his shaggy, sun-streaked hair falling almost to his ass. His features were both regal and utterly wild -- high brow, broad cheekbones which looked carved of granite, and a wide, sensuous mouth which was the only sign of softness in that implacable face. His nostrils flared as he studied Andrew, as if scent conveyed as much or more to him than sight.
God, what would it be like to fuck someone like him?
The thought, completely unbidden, shocked him. Sure, it had been months since he’d slept with a man -- one simply didn’t indulge oneself with one’s crew on a space journey. Inevitably it made for bad feelings, and he hadn’t been about to risk the mission’s success over a quick tumble no matter how many longing glances Jory Steiner sent his way. The slim, boyish nav tech wasn’t his type, anyhow. In fact, in all his thirty-three years, Andrew Hunt, senior captain in the CEC Reconnaissance Space Fleet, had never been able to figure out exactly what his type was.
Maybe him.
Across the fire, the stranger smiled, a hard, speculative curve of his lips, and Andrew swallowed in a throat so dry it felt coated with sand. He’d met senators and presidentes, prime ministers and mullahs, all the varied types of representatives to the Combined Earth Council -- but never in his life had he felt such a force of personality from one single man.
If these things have a chieftain, he’s it.
No.
Holy shit, Andrew thought, I didn’t imagine that part of it, either. He watched warily as the man hunkered down directly across the fire pit from him. The glow of his amber eyes was both utterly alien and strangely compelling. Overhead, the sky was darkening rapidly to a dusky purple, and the sparks flying up from the fire danced around him, illuminating the hard, rolling muscle of his coiled body. Above the flames, the roasting devi sizzled, sending out a rich, charred aroma which made Andrew instantly aware of the gnawing emptiness inside his belly.
Awkwardly, getting his hands beneath him, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “What do you mean, no? You’re not their leader?”
No and yes. They are my sharra-va, my pack. But it is Sharra who rules us.
“So where is he?”
The man’s nostrils flared, as if Andrew had said something repugnant. She -- he emphasized the word heavily -- is wherever she chooses.
Great, thought Andrew. That’s a big help. “What happened to Zheri?”
The female? She was unharmed. But females are not allowed here.
Andrew glanced around the compound, only then registering what was missing -- no women. No bare-bottomed babies toddling between the grass huts. Indeed, the entire place had more the feel of a military compound than a village.
What are you, that you do not know this? You’re not An’Rath. Are you An’Tari?
Whatever the hell that was. “Nope. ‘Fraid not. What are you?”
The man straightened, drawing back his broad shoulders, his mental tone heavy with an arrogance which came only, in Andrew’s experience, from the utter conviction of one’s own nobility. I am Rav An’Shar el Sharra.
“Yeah, and I’m the fucking king of Siam.”
Rav An’Shar stared at him, his nostrils flaring haughtily. Then, unexpectedly, he rose and crossed around the fire pit to hunker in front of him, reaching out to finger the blond bangs covering Andrew’s forehead. What happened to your mane?
This close, the scent of the man was spicy, wild, almost dizzying. It was as potent in its own way as the smell of roasting meat. Andrew averted his eyes, far too aware of his nearness. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat hurriedly. “I cut it.”
Rav’s fingernails were more like talons -- or claws, Andrew thought, swallowing against the tightness in his throat as those sharp points trailed lightly down the side of his neck. His balls throbbed at the tingling touch, and he felt his cock thicken inside his shorts. Gritting his teeth, Andrew ignored the sensation.
It is strange, but not unattractive, Rav commented, tilting Andrew’s head as if he were a doll.
Unceremoniously, Andrew yanked back from his grasp. “Yeah. Great. I’ll tell my stylist you like it.”
Why do you pull away?
“Because I’m not that crazy about guys with claws the size of kitchen knives touching me, all right?”
Then why does it arouse you?
Holy shit. Automatically, Andrew bit his tongue -- as if that would help. Can you hear everything I’m thinking?
No. Normally, I hear only what is directed at me. Rav studied Andrew narrowly. What sort of creature are you that you cannot control your thoughts?
I… My, uh, my people don’t communicate this way.
You are like a cub with no discipline. You broadcast everything.
Andrew flushed, acutely aware of his semi-erect cock. That doesn’t mean you have to listen.
If you did not think so loud, I would not hear. Why are you embarrassed?
“I’m not,” Andrew snapped.
You are. Your arousal confuses you. You find me exotic and attractive. You are attracted to strength. Where is the embarrassment in this?
“Wow, you sure don’t waste time on social niceties, do you?” Andrew glared, feeling both furious and unpleasantly exposed. “Look, what do you want, Rav An’Shar el whatever?”
El Sharra. And the question is, what do you want?
Oh, Andrew snarled silently, only to steal your planet, annihilate your kind, and shoot me a couple devis for dinner. He must have managed to keep that thought private, thankfully, because Rav made no response.
Or maybe he already knows. Now there was a disturbing idea. “Got any aspirin?”
The other man grinned, picking up the gist of his words at least, if not their exact meaning. “Ashra!” he called aloud in that strange, growling langu
age which was apparently their spoken tongue. One of the men squatting around the fire pit rose and disappeared into one of the small, flimsy huts, reappearing a moment later with what looked like a waterskin, dropping it on the ground before Andrew. Far too thirsty for niceties, Andrew seized it up, tugged the wooden stopper out with his teeth and gulped greedily, sputtering when he found his mouth flooded with a strong, potent wine.
He choked and gasped as Rav thumped him between the shoulder blades. I’d go easy on that, friend.
“Yeah, now you tell me. And I’m not your damn friend.” More cautiously, he took another swallow, grimacing as the fiery liquid seared through the dryness in his throat.
It will ease your hurts -- but it is very strong.
“Well, right now getting drunk doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.”
Rav’s gaze grew cooler. Is that how you honor your gods, among your people?
Gods? Oh, hell. Just what he needed -- a shapeshifting tiger who was also a religious fanatic. Might be a good time to show a little circumspection, Andrew. Taking a deep breath, he managed at least a semblance of contrition. “I apologize. I wasn’t aware I was disrespecting your gods.”
Goddess. And you have not given me your name in return for mine, which we consider rude.
Now the bastard was lecturing him on manners! “It’s Andrew,” he snapped. “Captain Andrew Hunt. And among my people it’s considered rude to hold a man captive and not even tell him why.”
Rav eyed him for a moment. Then he jerked his head sharply and two of the others lifted the devi from over the flames, laying it on a flat nearby rock which apparently served as a rudimentary table. Rising, Rav strode to it and tore off a hunk of meat, his claw-like nails as effective as a knife. Returning to Andrew, he squatted, holding out the still-sizzling meat. Take it. Eat.
Awkwardly, Andrew took it between his bound hands. Immediately he hissed as it singed his palms, and dropped it. Again, the An’Shar burst out laughing around him, but at a stern glance from Rav they stopped, rising one by one to help themselves to the food.
You have courage, An’Ru Hunt. Rav’s tone was neither grudging nor admiring -- it was merely a statement of fact. Reaching out, he took Andrew’s wrist, slicing easily through the leather bonds with one claw-like nail. I kept you bound because I did not trust the word of Sharra that you were safe. Settling himself on the ground next to Andrew, he folded his corded forearms across his knees and gazed toward the horizon.
Andrew stretched his hands, slowly working the blood back into his stiffened fingers. “Safe? Your goddess told you I was safe?” Boy, is that one naive deity, he added privately.
Rav merely nodded. Eat. We can eat and converse at the same time.
Ravenously, Andrew tore into the meat. Its juices flooded his mouth, and his tongue was in raptures at the rich, charcoal taste. He closed his eyes a moment, savoring it. Nothing he’d tasted in his entire life -- not even the one real steak he’d had once, at a formal CEC dinner -- came close. “So Sharra talks to you, huh?” he managed around a second bite.
Of course.
“In visions?”
No. As I am talking to you now.
Andrew checked at what Rav’s words implied, mentally reshuffling a number of assumptions. Obviously, there was more going on here than he knew about. So it was your goddess who told you to bring me here tonight?
Another slow, measuring nod.
Why?
Because tonight is An’Sharrat, Rav replied.
Andrew fought down a surge of annoyance. Christ, this was like playing twenty questions! Raking an arm over his juice-smeared mouth, he demanded, “And what exactly is that?”
Rav eyed him silently a moment, then raised an arm, pointing. Look. Low on the horizon a fat orange moon hung in the purple-washed sky. Below it, the bright radiance of Terrana III’s second moon, not yet risen, gleamed behind the hills like a hidden lantern. When the second moon rises, An’Sharrat begins. Then he cocked his head, gazing at Andrew sidelong.
For the first time Andrew noticed that, in contrast to his hair, Rav’s lashes were so black they almost made him appear to be wearing eyeliner. His amber eyes gleamed beneath the fall of his multicolored hair like an animal’s -- blunt and untamed, full of a hot expectancy which sent an inexplicable throb of anticipation through Andrew’s groin.
Or maybe it wasn’t so inexplicable, after all.
An’Sharrat is the night of mating, Rav said, his tone as low and intimate as a lover’s murmur inside Andrew’s head. And I, too, am attracted to strength, Captain An’Ru Hunt.
Chapter Three
The erotic promise in Rav’s eyes was unmistakable. Andrew Hunt, senior captain in the CEC Reconnaissance Space Fleet, stared at him, feeling desire and apprehension twine together in his gut as his balls grew taut and heavy at the mere thought of Rav’s long, muscled body pressed tight against his own. Hell, now what? he thought, almost panicked. There sure wasn’t an entry in the Space Fleet Regulations Book about this!
Why are you so disturbed?
Andrew threw his head back and laughed incredulously. Exactly how was he supposed to explain to a half-wild shapeshifting tiger-man exactly how weird this whole situation was? He was a military man, as the dog tags dangling against his naked chest, catching the moonlight, attested -- he wasn’t about to betray his purpose here on Terrana III. The very idea of giving his adversary the advantage of forewarning was unthinkable.
As unthinkable as having sex with a man whom his job demanded he betray.
Oh, he knew enough of history to know how common it was for invaders to take lovers, willing or no, among the indigenous population. But Andrew Hunt, for all his apparent callousness, simply wasn’t cut from the same sort of cloth. Whatever Zheri might think of him -- and, grimacing to himself, he admitted he had a damn good idea what the astrozoologist’s opinion of him was -- he was neither that callous nor that good at self-deception.
Nor could he pretend to himself that he didn’t want Rav. Badly. He glanced sidelong, studying Rav’s profile -- the strong nose which tapered out to those flaring nostrils, the high forehead and broad cheekbones, the wild mane of hair tumbling over shoulders which gleamed in the moonlight as if oiled. There was something about him which was more than primal -- it was almost elemental. Like a rock or an ocean, Rav simply was. How could he possibly understand the complexities Andrew found himself confronted with?
Then those molten-gold eyes turned toward him, and Andrew had to swallow at the smoky heat within them. His cock jerked inside his shorts. Yeah, well, dicks aren’t much on complexities either, he thought wryly. But what truly took his breath away was the intelligence in those alien eyes.
You think we are too different, Rav startled him by saying. You believe there are too many barriers between us for it to be possible to find pleasure with each other.
Andrew could only clear his throat and reply gruffly, “Something like that.”
A silence fell between them then. In it, the crackle of the fire seemed very loud. Its orange glow flickered across the tiny huts and illuminated the features of the men who hunkered companionably around it, eating, their faces flashing in unexpected smiles as they conversed without words. The one Rav had called Ashra laughed aloud, apparently at someone’s joke.
A longing filled Andrew unexpectedly, a yearning toward the clean, simple life these men led. Uncluttered by orders and protocols and missions, they moved as the devi moved, following and protecting them on their slow migrations across the wide, rolling savanna. It was the same yearning which had propelled him into the military and then into space, the same urge which had sent the American settlers westward and the Australians spreading far across that wild continent.
It must be a good life, he thought almost wistfully.
Yes, Rav answered quietly. Close your eyes. Listen.
Skeptically, Andrew wrinkled his forehead, but did so, at first hearing nothing but the night sounds of the savanna -- the soft, cool breeze bru
shing along the tall grass, the high, throaty call of some night bird in the distance, the hissing of the fire. Then, low and murmurous, almost like the sound of far-off thunder, he heard a soft rumbling. He strained his attention toward it, both eager and unbelieving.
…your turn next if you think you can do better, Harn. Though as I recall, last time you went after a strayed devi, we had to pull the both of you from a swamp before it was over.
Laughter rang, clear and audible, in his mind -- and with that it was as if someone had turned up an invisible dial in Andrew’s head.
Yeah, Shev? What about the time you traded milking rights to an An’Rath for one of their special flowers, and spent the next two days in your hut yanking your dick?
Andrew smiled at the chuckles which rumbled around the fire. It was regular, ordinary, good-natured slagging, the kind of camaraderie which came only from long association between men who trusted each other with their lives.
The kind of camaraderie he’d never found, even as a rank recruit in the CEC’s boot camps.
He opened his eyes to find Rav regarding him steadily. It must be lonely among your kind. Never to hear one another’s thoughts across the savanna, never to feel what is in another’s heart…
Gritting his jaw, Andrew looked away.
Come, Rav said. Standing, he looked down at Andrew, his sharp, wild features shadowed by the fall of his hair. Firelight gleamed along the bulging muscles of his legs, the powerful thighs, the strong, rounded calves. Looking up at him, Andrew felt a renewed pulse of desire.
God, he’s beautiful. It was a strange word to think about another man, but he was. All firm, corded muscle and flowing grace, Rav lifted his head, scenting the night air.
Come where? Andrew asked.
Rav glanced at the first moon, now risen higher. It had shrunk to a round golden ball against the velvety sky, spilling its warm liquid light across the savanna. Below it, the glow from the second moon had grown brighter. It was just below the horizon, painting the sky with a silver glow.
Cat Tales 2: Eye of the Tiger Page 2