Targeted
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Tragar finished leveling out the shuttle and started at her, amazed.
“Your Kit’tara is part of you, Emily—not some enemy trying to take over.”
“That’s exactly what she is—the enemy!” She looked at him, wild eyed with worry. “Tell me how to get rid of her—tell me how to stop this if you know so much!”
“I don’t know about stopping it but you might want to avoid getting upset,” he said, frowning. “Extreme stress brings the Kit’tara forward and speeds up the stages of Tenrah.”
“Great.” She sank back into her seat with a groan and put a hand over her eyes. “There are stages now?”
“Four stages to be exact.” Tragar threw a glance at her. “I am hoping very much that you are still in the first stage—Kalor.”
“And if I’m not?” She looked at him. “How would I even know?”
“You’d be able to tell.” He frowned. “Are your breasts swollen and tender?”
“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. “My breasts are…are just fine. What are you talking about?”
“Just trying to answer your question.” And his own question as well. Clearly she was able to touch her breasts with ease and there was no pain on her face as she hugged herself tightly. Also, he had seen no tell-tale stains across the front of her chest. Obviously she was not moving from Kalor to Scintil just yet. Thank the Goddess for small favors.
“So if I’m still in kajor—”
“Kalor,” he corrected, setting a flight path through the blackness of space towards his ship which was in deep orbit around the Earth.
“Okay, so Kalor. How do I get out of it? How do I stop it?” Emily demanded.
“Again, I do not believe there is any stopping it. But it is said that Kalor can be held off for a time. There are…ways.”
“What ways?” Emily demanded but Tragar only shook his head. The methods he had been taught were theory only—nothing he had ever expected to actually have to practice. And even if he was called upon to implement them, he didn’t know if he could. It was not for such as him to treat a Khalla in those ways—not unless it was a dire emergency.
* * * * *
“Tell me how to stop it, please!” Emily begged again but the big Kindred remained obstinately silent. He piloted the small car which had somehow become a spacecraft and looked straight ahead, staring at the complicated array of instruments in front of him.
Emily sighed in frustration and crossed her arms over her chest. Was it possible—could she really be this Khalla thing he was talking about? And if so, was that the reason someone wanted to kill her?
Even a month ago the idea would have been preposterous. But a month ago she hadn’t known she was adopted. And the heat waves, the dreams, the flashes of the other in the mirror had been far back in her past—easy to forget, easy to sweep under the rug along with the memory of what Grayson had done to her. Now they weren’t so easy to deny.
But that wasn’t the first thing the big Kindred—Tragar, he said his name was Tragar—had noted when he said she was a female of his kind. He said I smell! Emily thought indignantly. Which was clearly ridiculous—she took a shower every morning and a bubble bath every night before bed to relax. She was a very clean person.
She shifted away from him and ducked her head a little, pretending to stare out the window at the velvety blackness of space. Earth was no more than a large blue marble in the sky now—a frightening prospect if she let herself think about it. Emily didn’t let herself. Instead she ducked her head further and inhaled surreptitiously, trying to see if she could smell what he was talking about.
A scent did come to her nose but it clearly wasn’t hers. Warm and enticing, it smelled like leather and spice and coffee and smoke. Not cigarette smoke, though—it was the scent of a campfire at night out under the clear, icy sky when the stars look as bright as stolen diamonds.
It was a dark, dangerous scent—more of a warning than an invitation and yet it drew her. Drew her deeply to its source.
A male, whispered the voice of the other, just as it had so many years ago. A male—we need a male.
Yes. Emily turned to the big Kindred, feeling the heated waves wash over her, the liquid warmth between her thighs. Her eyes were burning and her nipples were suddenly tight with desire.
“Tragar?” she murmured.
“Yes?” He spared her a quick glance and then his eyes widened. “Khalla, your eyes—remember I told you to stay calm.”
“I’m calm.” Emily leaned towards him and inhaled deeply, pulling in breaths of his dark, dangerous scent. “You asked me if I had any dreams,” she murmured, looking up at him. “Well, I think I had a dream about you. I’m only remembering it just now but I think I saw you in the mirror—long black hair…golden eyes.”
“You cannot have dreamed of me,” he protested, frowning. “That would mean—” he stopped abruptly.
“It would mean what?” Emily leaned closer to him, deliberately invading his space. She never would have done such a thing normally but the other was coming forward, urging her, riding her, filling her with lust and every breath of his warm, masculine scent only fed the fire burning inside her.
Her proximity seemed to disturb him for he turned his gaze back to the viewscreen at the front of the shuttle and stared fixedly ahead at the sleek silver spaceship they were fast approaching.
“Never mind. It means nothing.”
“Seems to mean something.” She slid one hand up his thigh, clad in tight black leather trousers, and felt his muscles go rock hard under her touch. Somewhere inside herself, Emily wondered where she had gotten the nerve to do such a thing—it wasn’t like her at all to come on to a complete stranger like this. But somehow the impulse was too strong to deny. She slid her hand higher, enjoying the feel of his big, muscular body.
“Don’t,” he growled, taking her hand and putting it firmly back in her own lap. “You must not. Your scent makes being in close proximity difficult enough as it is.”
“You smell pretty good yourself,” Emily purred, leaning close to him again and taking a deep breath. “Damn good.”
He gave a sort of frustrated growl and she saw a muscle in the side of his jaw clench as though he was holding himself back.
“You must stop. This kind of…of stress will cause you to move from Kalor to Scintil. It is dangerous…wrong.”
“What’s so wrong about it?” They were docking with the big silver ship now but she barely noticed the vibration as metal kissed metal. The other was in full control of her now, just as she had been that fateful night in the bar with Grayson. It was urging her onward, telling her she wanted this…needed this…
“We’ve arrived.” The big Kindred sounded immensely relieved as he got up quickly and walked to the back of the shuttle. An airlock was already irising open to show the clean, metal and glass utilitarian interior of his ship.
Emily rose and followed him, her fingers itching to touch his broad back and shoulders, not to mention the tight, muscular ass she saw working beneath his leather flight trousers.
“The air inside the shuttle is close and not very well filtered,” he said, stepping up to get from the shuttle to the ship. He turned and offered a hand to Emily. “You should feel better here—there is much more efficient filtration so scents are not so…strong. So distracting.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her palm tingled again as they touched and she felt the waves of heat intensifying as his big hand engulfed hers. He pulled her up and into the ship but somehow the momentum carried her forward and she wound up in his arms which was exactly where the other wanted them to be.
Emily stood on tiptoes to wind her fingers through his long black hair. She could feel his hard chest pressed against her breasts and further down, something else that was long and hard and hot was branding her thigh. Hmm, so she wasn’t the only one feeling this.
“Stop!” The Kindred’s low growl carried a depth of warning Emily knew she shouldn’t ignore. But the other
didn’t give a damn about that—she wanted the huge, hard male in front of them. Wanted the dark stranger who would have scared Emily to death if she hadn’t had the other inside her, urging her on. “Stop,” he growled again, more urgently.
“Don’t want to stop.” Emily reached even higher, dragging his head down, her fingers tangled in his hair which smelled like leather and smoke and warm, aroused male. She pressed her mouth to his and felt a low growl vibrate through him as she licked delicately along the seam of his sensual lips.
Somewhere deep inside the real Emily was screaming that this was wrong—was begging to know what was going on, what she was doing for heaven’s sake. But the touch of his big body and the taste of his lips—salt and wild, dark spice—were like a drug that drove the other higher, made her want more and even more…
And for a moment it seemed he would give her more. Taking her in his arms, he pulled her close, molding her to him and deepening the kiss, opening his lips and sucking her tongue into his mouth, tasting her with abandon.
Emily felt herself melting against him. Right…oh God, this felt so right. It was like water in the desert—like food to a starving man. Like the answer she’d been seeking to a question she hadn’t even known she was asking all her life.
Then, suddenly, he pulled away, breaking the kiss.
“Please,” Emily whispered, standing on tiptoes, trying to get to him again. She had to have more…more. The other demanded it.
“No.” He cupped her face in his big hands and pulled away, studying her closely. “Your eyes are pure gold. Your Kit’tara is close.”
“Don’t want to talk about that. I just want more.” Emily pressed close to him but he held her at a distance.
“Khalla, this is dangerous,” he rumbled, eyeing her earnestly. “You must not allow yourself to be overcome or the Tenrah will be greatly accelerated and that must not happen—not now.”
“It doesn’t feel dangerous—feels wonderful.” Emily rubbed against him like a cat, shamelessly begging for what she needed—for what the other told her they had to have.
“It…feels good to me too. But we must not give in to temptation. I am Verrak—fallen from the ways of our people. I do not deserve to service a Khalla and besides to service you now would be dangerous. We must get you to Rageron where you can have your pick of suitable males.”
“I pick you,” Emily purred, pressing closer. Reaching between them, she cupped the long, hard ridge of flesh between his legs. “Please, Tragar, take me. Fuck me.”
He drew in a deep breath, as though trying to regain control, and pulled her hand away.
“No! You must not speak so—you must not act so.” He shook his head. “This isn’t right or safe.”
“Why should I care about right or safe?” Emily rubbed against him again. God, she was acting so shameless. Somewhere buried deep inside the real Emily was mortified at the way she was behaving. Yet, with the other riding her, she seemed helpless to stop.
“Very well. You leave me no choice.”
Tragar took her by the hand and turned, leading her down a long metal corridor.
Emily followed without complaint. All she could think of was his mouth on hers and the exotic dark-spice taste of his lips. All she could do was what the other demanded and give herself completely.
It didn’t occur to her that this idea would have been repugnant to her just a few minutes before. She’d had no sexual encounters at all after what Grayson had done to her and hadn’t wanted any either. But for some reason, she was willing and eager to do anything and everything with the big Kindred. She was ready to throw away any caution she might have felt if only he would promise to take her to his bed and make her his—completely his. Her entire body ached for him—longed to be filled with the thick, throbbing shaft she’d touched so briefly earlier.
It was as though he’d read her mind. When they got to the end of the corridor, he pressed a button on the wall and a door slid open to reveal what was clearly a bedroom.
Emily had a blurred impression of a warm red carpet and a red and gold bedspread that matched on the large, broad bed which dominated one end of the room. There was a small fireplace with a fire blazing at the other end, with some kind of couch in front of it, but she had eyes only for the bed.
Yes, whispered the other in her head. Yes, finally we’ll get what we need from a male who can give it to us. A male who is right. Who knows what we need and can fulfill our every desire. Finally!
Tragar went to sit on the end of the bed and Emily followed him eagerly, coming to stand between his knees. Though he was sitting and she was standing their height difference meant she was still looking him in the eyes.
“Khalla,” he said softly. “Emily, you are driving yourself into a very dangerous situation. I can give you one more chance to calm down. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to do as my training dictates.”
“Ooo.” Emily smiled and ran one finger teasingly over his high cheekbone. “And what exactly does it dictate you should do to me?”
“You won’t like it,” he said shortly, capturing her hand and putting it firmly back by her side. “Will you try to calm down and stop this or not?”
Emily felt naughty laughter bubble up in her throat—the other was amused by this turn of events.
“I choose…not,” she said, reaching for him again. “I think I want to keep being bad. It’s fun.”
“You might think differently after this.”
Quick as lightning, the big Kindred grabbed her by the wrist and twisted her around. Then he bent her over one leather-clad knee and before Emily knew it she was face down with her bottom high in the air.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Some of the naughty pleasure seemed to leave her and she looked around, trying to catch his golden eyes and find out what he was planning. “What are you—”
“I am doing the only thing I can do.” To her shock and dismay, he was pulling up the pale blue lace nighty.
“Hey!” Emily protested as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her matching pale blue panties and tugged them down, baring her ass. “Hey!” She struggled against him and part of her knew this would have been terrifying if not for the presence of the other. After what Grayson had done to her, a strange man pushing up her night dress and pulling down her panties ought to send her into a full blown panic attack. But somehow instead she was still hot—still deep in need and longing for what the other insisted they needed—a male—the right kind of male—this male. “Please!” she begged, struggling against him.
The big Kindred held her down effortlessly with one hand and when Emily caught a glimpse of his face, she saw a stoic kind of shame stamped on his strong features. It was as though he was preparing to do a task he knew was wrong but necessary.
“Forgive me, Khalla,” he growled. “But this is the only way.”
And then he began to spank her.
* * * * *
The little female wiggled and squirmed in his lap, crying and begging as blow after blow fell on her soft, rounded buttocks. Tragar steeled himself against her cries and tried not to notice how good her lush body felt when she struggled against him.
Truthfully this wasn’t at all what he wanted to do to her. What he wanted to do was take her up on her invitation and make love to her. To roll that sweet, curvy body under his and press deep between her thighs to fill her with his shaft. The delicious, heady scent of her heat, the aroma of desire rising from between her full thighs, was like a drug—maddening…intoxicating. Only knowing how dangerous their situation was enabled him to keep from taking her.
Instead, he concentrated on trying to drive back the Kalor, to keep her from slipping into the second stage or Scintil as her Kit’tara emerged. His hand rose and fell as he held her down, turning her pale, innocent buttocks a rosy red. He didn’t know if what he was doing would help or not but he had to try it—it was either this or give in to the lust and the breeding madness which could kill her if it came on too soon.
“Why not, Master?” one of the young males had asked respectfully. “Isn’t that the desired achievement of the Tenrah, for the female’s true self to take form and a bond to be formed to the male of her choice?”
“It is indeed.” Xen’dex had nodded his grizzled head. “But it must be done properly or death, not bonding will be the result. To begin with there are four stages of Tenrah—Kalor, Scintil, Vlammen, and Hel. Some stages may be delayed but none must be skipped entirely. A Khalla may die if she breeds before going through the stages in the proper order. At the very least her Tenrah will be delayed—sometimes for years—and she will have intolerable pain, especially if she is bred by a wrong or incompatible male.”
“But I thought you said the Kit’tara coming forward causes uncontrollable lust,” one of the other males protested. “What can you do if that starts happening? How can you keep it from overtaking her?”
“There are ways—some stages are easier to control than others. With Kalor, the simplest way is pain.”
“Hurt her?” There had been a horrified murmur from the assembled males. Kindred held females in the highest regard and would rather die than raise a hand against them. And a Khalla was the rarest and most esteemed female of all—some said each was, in a way, the Goddess taking corporeal form to come among them. To hurt or wound such a female was not just wrong—it was blasphemy.
“This is the only time—the only time—when such an action is acceptable,” Xen’dex had said, raising his voice to be heard above the angry protests. “And it must be done properly with love and respect. You must punish her—treat her as a youngling who has disobeyed. Take her over your knee and apply only such force as is necessary to drive the Kit’tara back.”