A Double Edged Wish (A Cat Among Dragons Book 3)

by Alma Boykin

  Since Rrahsh did not understand Wanderer, only Trader-talk, she answered in Tobashto, “Law-breaking bastard,” while projecting respect for an equal and mild puzzlement at what his words might have meant. Da Peerlan gave a small bow and continued on his way, satisfied at having insulted the ignorant felinoid. Rrahsh continued around two corners, pleased to remain on the ground floor. She stopped at the door to a private suite. Someone or something anticipated her arrival, because the wooden panel opened for her. “Come in, please, Gentlema’am,” Lyonel’s cultivated tones invited.

  She stepped into, well, not quite hell but close enough. What seemed to be a light meal in metallic and glass dishes sat on a sideboard, next to a table set for two. Lyonel stood between her and the table, wearing another long, tooroi-fleece vest and loose trousers, the vest open to reveal his chest and very toned abdominal muscles. “I hope you are hungry?” The meaning under his words set Rada’s teeth on edge, but Rrahsh welcomed the invitation.

  “Yes, quite. Do you mind if I remove my traveling gear? I do not wish to cause offense at the table,” and she started undoing the buckle on her belt as she waited for his answer.

  “No, please, be comfortable. You may set your things there,” and he pointed to a small table by the door, well away from the dining area and the rest of the room. Rrahsh took off her vest as well, draping it over the blaster and belt. Lyonel pulled a chair out for her as she walked the ten steps necessary to reach the table. After she sat, he stroked her shoulder before sitting down beside her, where he could easily reach the items on the sidebar. He poured water for them and then placed three oysters on her plate, inquiring about her stay. Rrahsh danced to Lyonel’s tune, taking what he offered after he pushed her slightly, never fully agreeing but following his lead if he insisted. “No, you must try one bite of this,” and he held out the bit of vegetable on the end of the fork. She leaned forward and ate, chewing thoughtfully as he watched, his eyes slightly dilated with desire.

  “Do you have any plans for this afternoon?” he asked after they finished, leaning back to give her a clear view of his muscles.

  “Not yet. Is there a demonstration that you recommend?” He got up and she mirrored him, following as he walked over to a display terminal.

  “Not on the floor, Rrahsh, at least,” he grabbed her wrist, “not on that floor.” He stepped close, his free hand cupping her breast through her blouse fabric. “I know what those cords mean, First Claw,” he managed in Tobashto, mangling the accent.

  “And what do they mean?” Rrahsh challenged, enunciating her words for his benefit and curving her body so her hip touched his.

  “That if someone outranks you, you are willing to be taken,” and he released her breast to reach around and pull on the blue cord, loosening it.

  She resisted him, breaking his grip but not fighting too hard. Lyonel lunged for her, seizing her lower arm and spinning her around, pinning the arm behind her with a grip that left bruises. She kicked back and he caught her leg, tripping her and knocking her to the ground, kneeling on her before she could get to her knee. Lyonel tried to grab her hair but the short fur offered no purchase and she twisted her head away, slapping at him with her free hand. The man pushed his knee into the small of her back and taking a firmer grip on her arm, dug his fingers into the muscle. Sure that he’d overpowered her, the man pulled back, forcing the exotic to her feet despite her struggles.

  He held her, wrenching and lifting her arm enough to hurt her as he untied the cord, ripping her tail fur as he worked. Reaching around and waving the braid so she could see it, the human growled in Trader, “Do you yield to your superior?” as he twisted her arm tighter.

  The female hissed with pain and tried to break his grip, but failed. She hung her head and her tail sagged as she whispered, “I yield.” Lyonel spun her around, keeping her off balance as he slid his hand under her shirt, his arousal obvious as he pressed against her.

  “Good. Prove it, female. Open your breeches.” As he spoke he wrapped the thick blue cord around her wrist, obviously planning to take his pleasure only when she couldn’t resist. “Now,” he hissed.

  Heart pounding, Rrahsh did as commanded, reaching down and starting to undo the buckle at her waist. Lyonel didn’t wait, shoving a hand into her breeches and jamming long, strong fingers into her. The defeated female finished undoing the fasteners and then slid her hand back along her waistband as if to loosen it further.

  Before Lyonel could do anything more, Rada drew something out of her waistband pocket, whipped her hand up and slammed it against his bare chest, snarling, “Vengeance and justice!” She pushed her gifts through the crystal as hard as she could, stripping his mind and stopping his heart with a twisted version of a healer’s touch. His confusion and fear surged to nearly overwhelming, then collapsed as his body sagged to the floor. Rada followed it down, locking his heart muscles so they could not beat and holding them for several minutes. She moaned and called loudly, as if in the throes of passion or something similar.

  Professional that she was, Rada didn’t waste any time once she determined that he was dead. She fastened her clothes, shuddering a little as she shook off the cord still looped around her wrist. Not now, she fought herself, not now. Finish the mission, that’s all that matters. Calling on centuries of discipline, she formed a pocket in her mind and jammed her fear and panic into it. Rada rumpled her hair a little more, all the while continuing to carry on loudly enough to convince anyone that she was in the throes of lust. Rada looked around and spotted some of his “toys” laid out for the afternoon’s assignation. Disgusted, she used a napkin to cover her hand and grabbed one of the milder ones, putting it near the deceased’s out-flung hand after closing his fingers on it to leave prints. That done, Rada took the expensive vest and tossed it onto a chair, then undid his pants and arranged his anatomy “just so.” The female gave one last cry and helped herself to a shot of Tirbali bitters before grabbing a pair of gloves, her vest, and re-arming as she examined the scene to make sure everything looked right.

  Satisfied with her work, she tapped the stolen memories for anything about Sarpas IV. Two images from Lyonel’s memory stood out and Rada hunted quickly and quietly until she found a locked delivery case. She popped the simple mechanical lock, skimmed the manifests, and removed four sealed vials along with the appropriate manifest, adding them to her belt pouch.

  The Wanderer mentally scanned for anyone outside the suite’s door who might hamper her departure. She sensed no other minds and so she eased out of the room, down the short hall, and outside into the landscaped area surrounding the VIP wing. Rada slunk through the bushes and made her way back to the main garden terrace entrance of the hotel. With a very relaxed and satisfied expression on her face, First Claw Foe-gutter sauntered into the lobby, quite unconcerned about her appearance and ignoring the several loungers who cast appreciative glances at her open vest and exposed charms.

  Rada didn’t stop until she was in her room. She quickly rearranged her clothes to provide more coverage and so they stopped threatening to pop open when she took a deep breath. She grinned as she locked the front door and slipped out the window with her travel bag, past a temporarily de-activated security sensor. She’d pre-paid her and Zabet’s bills from an account that would automatically close one day after all the charges cleared, so she had no guilt about not checking out properly.

  Krsst had a vehicle waiting and the Tobashto female slid into the front seat. “You get it?” the Sarpasig grated through his translator. In reply she handed him the four drug vials and their documents. He squealed, stowed them in a padded case, and guided the vehicle out the gates. They cruised through light afternoon traffic and Rada crossed her fingers that she’d not been double-crossed, a hand on her blaster just in case. The enemy of her enemy was not always her ally.

  This time she got lucky. Krsst stopped half a kilometer from the outer edge of the spaceport’s sensor screen. Rada grabbed her bag, bailed out and hid, watching until the
vehicle disappeared before she found a back way into the main landing and parking area. This was not the safest way in and she mentally held her breath as she trotted from shadow to shade, hoping that no one would lift off or try to shoot at her. She managed to avoid one departing craft, running hard to put two other ships between her and the down blast. The whine and throbbing pulse of the atmospheric engines drowned out the sound of her boots on the pavers as she worked her way toward the area where timeships parked. Soon she reached the Dark Hart, but she didn’t approach. Instead she crouched down behind the Rowfow ship and watched for half a time-mark or so. Then she charged for the entrance and dove in.

  «Do you have to be so melodramatic?» Zabet groused, lowering her blaster.

  Rada bared her teeth in what was not a smile. “Yes.” She stripped the last ribbons off her tail, slid her bag into a small gap beside the entry panel and strapped into the pilot’s seat. The woman leaned back and began humming. The symbiote inside the main processor matched her tone, then shifted to a harmony as the lights inside the ship dimmed. Zabet watched carefully, worried about how her Pet’s mental state might effect her navigation. Apparently not at all, because the song rose into inaudibility and Rada “woke” from her trance with a shake and a smile. “I want to stop at Yrlak before going back to Drakon IV. Anywhere you need or want to go, Boss?”

  «Yes. We are going to New Hokkaido. I am going to spend a week in pure sybaritic luxury, being pampered and spoiled while you get your hair restored,» the reptile informed her pilot.

  “Uh, on whose ticket, Boss? I can’t afford it, not after the little purchases I just made.”

  Zabet tapped the computer screen with her talon. «You can too afford it. We now own a quarter of what’s left of the Karoo Cartel’s assets.»

  “Wha?!?” Rada unstrapped and eased over the short distance to where Zabet sat. She looked at the computer screen, then at the smug True-dragon. “By the Bookkeeper’s tally, how in the name of gravity did that happen?”

  «Someone leaked the cartel’s little legal evasions to the Kartom and Rooskwi governments. And a naughty hacker somehow broke into the cartel director’s personal accounts, which got sent to the authorities along with information on a certain illegal communication with Tarqi da Peerlan about assisting a future-time attack on Sarpas IV. Would you be surprised to find out that some Kishon Biologics and Filtak Genetics customers got blackmailed?»

  Rada shook her head. “Let me guess. They paid and got their bio-weapons or creatures, used them, and then someone pointed out that the former customer had broken the Karoo Cartel’s laws. Since no member of the Cartel ever breaks the rules, no one would believe the ‘victim’ if they complained, and they’d get the blame if they failed to pay.”

  «Preeeeecisely. The most recent blackmail payments missed their destinations and hit our tertiary accounts instead. The next ones, if there are any, will rebound to the sender.» Zabet stroked her whiskers and looked innocent as Rada covered her eye with her hand. «After all, First Claw Foe-gutter would have done the same after fending off his unwanted advances, wouldn’t she?»

  “She would have left him dead, which is what she did,” Rada said.

  Zabet’s lower jaw dropped open. «You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,» the True-dragon pled, whiskers limp and eyes wide.

  “I’m deadly serious. He’s just dead. Had a heart attack while finding out if it was true what they say about Tobashtorak females. Apparently it is,” Rada grinned evilly. “The First Claw was a little disappointed in his lack of stamina.” Now it was Zabet’s turn to cover her eyes with her forefeet and shake her head.

  «I really need to teach you moderation, Rada Ni Drako. And what about the Trader? He’ll know something funny happened!»

  “First, ramming the power surge through your focus fuzzed any signature that might have been on my attack, assuming someone were to look soon enough after the time of death.

  “Second, Master da Peerlan is going to be very busy explaining to the tarqi da Peerlan Elders’ Council why he permitted his contract partner to engage in illegal activities. Not just Cartel illegal, but Trader illegal. If Jiwal has a milligram of matter in his brainpan he’s already arranging the most convincing way to frame Gentlesir mer Olbaak. If not, well, his days as Trademaster are over, likely forever.” Rada’s not-smile returned and her silvery eye glittered coldly as she flexed her claws. Zabet shivered a little as the mammal resumed her seat and closed her eye. “Justice was served.”

  Zabet looked at her pilot’s still-shaking hands. But at what price, Pet? She wondered behind hard shields. At what price?

  12: Juniors All in a Row

  “You want me to do what?” Commander Rada Lord Ni Drako, daimyo of Singing Pines and Burnt Mountain, blinked at the new priest of Singing Pines village.

  He repeated, “I want you to participate in this year-turn’s junior dedication ceremony. Yes, Lord Mammal,” he held up a forestalling forefoot, “the King-Emperor is the estate lord. But the juniors see you, they know you, and I think it would be good for them if you participated in the ceremony.” The tan and brown striped reptile patted the wooden planks of her office floor with his tail, with a determined look in his yellow eyes that suggested “no” was not an acceptable response.

  Rada ran a hand over her hair and rubbed behind one ear, her tail swishing. “You are aware that I do not follow your religion?”

  He did not exactly sigh, “Yes, Lord Mammal.”

  Well, that didn’t work. Rada shrugged her tail, Azdhag-style. He’s gotten a bright idea and no force short of the Ancestors appearing in person is going to stop him. She knew the type all too well. “I’ll participate, then.”

  He bowed a little. “Thank you, Lord Mammal. I’ll speak to you in more detail closer to the time of the ceremony. Good day,” and he saw himself out before she could do more than start to get out of her chair.

  Rada blinked some more and shrugged her tail again. Then she turned her attention back to the computer display and the seemingly endless list of paperwork that she needed to at least pretend she’d glanced at. She’d been gone from Drakon IV for twenty Azdhagi year-turns. She had stayed in contact with Defender Shai and his successor Defender Kleer, but had done no more than support their decisions and electronically sign the most important documents. I had so hoped they’d become more independent, but no. Dratted pack predators’ genetic wiring. As soon as she’d returned, everyone turned back to her for approval, confirmation, and support for every major decision (and a number of minor ones.) I don’t need to approve changing our winter uniforms to make them two shades darker, do I? Apparently I do. She tapped the projection with one finger, set her signet stone in the verification receiver, and “signed” her approval. And so it went for an hour before she stopped to stretch.

  And then there’d been the usual challenges by the younger nobles. Rada leaned back in the chair and rubbed under her blind eye, then stood up and twisted this way and that, grumbling silently, every damn generation has to see if I’m as tough and as good as rumor has it. Well, she was, and she hadn’t pulled her punches and cuts this time. Young Lord Kirlin especially earned her ire and she’d left his tail a vertebra shorter. His sire had then beaten his heir almost into the consistency of sausage filling for having dared to honor challenge the Lord Defender without even a pretext of a reasonable cause. Rada bared her teeth in a feral snarl. Yes, I took my anger and frustration out on young Kirlin—no, I should not have done it. But damn, it felt good to give instead of getting for once.

  It was just as she’d exploded to Master Thomas, when he’d demanded to know how she could bring herself to use her Healer’s Gift to kill Lyonel mer Olbaak. “Because I had to! He would have raped me, sir, and I needed information and medicines that he had. Stopping his heart accomplished the task without causing him anything close to the amount of pain he wished to inflict on me, or that he had inflicted on others. Not again, Master Thomas, sir, I will not be anyone’s victim.�
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  For the first time since she’d met him, the black-coated equine humanoid had had nothing to say. Oh, he’d had plenty to say later, some of which she’d deserved for being so reckless, but to that declaration he’d found no reply, aside from suggesting that she not do it again. He’d also agreed, with great reluctance and only after a thorough examination of her mind, that she’d likely never be free from nightmares. “If you were strictly a telepath, Miss Ni Drako, you would not have this difficulty. However, you are not, and the emotional imprint tied in so closely with your memories and conditioning that I see no way to sever the connection. Unless we strip all conditioning from your mind and attempt to rebuild from the beginning, which I do not believe you desire to do.” He’d allowed himself a slight smile at her response: she’d shaken her head so hard that a few of the hair extensions had flown out of her now shoulder-length mane.

  “Well, memories won’t get the rest of these signed,” she growled at the holographic display floating above her desk.

  Dealing with the accumulated bureaucratic detritus of two decades kept Rada occupied for nearly a sixt. The night she finished, to celebrate completing the last bit of budgetary business, she went hunting, wreaking havoc on the fuzzy-tails, snap-lizards, and other nocturnal pests. She returned from the woods well fed and dragging a sack filled to overflowing with skinned carcasses for the manor house’s cooks to work with. Since it was high summer, Rada didn’t bother trying to save the pelts and hides. She limped up to her quarters tired, bruised, and very content, at least for the moment.

  Rada flopped onto her sleeping platform and stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling, fingers laced behind her head. Her hair had regrown enough that, without extensions, it reached below her shoulders. In another three or four years it should reach her waist once more, and she basked in the glow of having long hair again. If she absolutely had to cut it off again at some point she would, but the reason had better be very, very close to life-or-death for her to do it.