Invictus

by Diana Palmer

  In a heartbeat, the ceremony was over and Caneese was smiling at them. She nodded.

  Dtimun glanced at Madeline and indicated the back of the room. She followed him, aware of the silence as they left the guests behind.

  He didn’t look at her as they approached a door guarded by two Cehn-Tahr soldiers in full dress uniform. The guards stared straight ahead, their eyes never deviating to the bonded pair.

  One guard touched a switch and the door to the suite opened. Madeline went in, followed by Dtimun, and the door closed behind them. It was pitch-black inside. The only sound was a sudden, deep growl emanating from her companion. It was reminiscent of the cry Cehn-Tahr made when in battle, the death cry called the decaliphe. But this one had a more bass pitch.

  She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but the growl was slowly escalating. She felt hands suddenly grasp her from behind. She felt his teeth on her shoulder, his claws digging into her rib cage. His teeth moved to the back of her neck. She recalled, with growing unease, his comment that if she bent her neck to his teeth he would make her pay for it. Her heart jumped into her throat. He was her commander. She’d known him for three years. But this creature was alien in a way she’d never expected and as threatening as a charging galot.

  He felt taller and more massive than he appeared. The growls and the brutal grip of his hands would have been enough to frighten any woman not battle-hardened. She wasn’t certain whether or not to fight at this point. He wasn’t really hurting her.

  While she was considering her options, he suddenly lifted her and literally tossed her across the room.

  Gasping at the shock of movement, and the raw strength that had propelled her such a distance, she landed on her back, thankfully on a soft surface. The impact still knocked the breath out of her. Before she could catch it, Dtimun had pinned her, facedown, so that she could not escape. There was a cry, much more like the decaliphe, that chilled her to the bone. Behind her, the growl grew louder. She felt a crushing weight as sharp teeth bit into the back of her neck. To that pain was added, quite suddenly, another pain. Shocking. Humiliating. Infuriating! She clenched her teeth in fury.

  “Like...hell...you...do!” she raged at him. Her head whipped around and she caught the muscular forearm beside her and bit it as hard as she could. She tasted blood.

  He growled again, and his teeth bit in harder.

  She cried out furiously, struggling as the pain increased. She lashed out with one leg and connected with his shin. While he was reacting to that attack, she launched another on his arm with her teeth. He pinned her with ridiculous ease and brought his teeth to her neck again, pushing her down with his formidable weight in a surge of pure aggression.

  “How dare you!” she rasped indignantly. All her imagining hadn’t prepared her for this sort of domination. When she got her hands free, she was going to pay him back royally!

  There was a louder growl, unrelated to her resistance, and then a brief lessening of aggression.

  She increased her struggles, sensing weakness, but with all her combat training, she couldn’t budge him. She groaned furiously, all her resentments combined in the angry sound. Pain intruded on her anger and she moaned, furious at her own helplessness even as her companion growled again and finally relaxed.

  He whipped her onto her back. His fingers locked into hers. In the darkness, she could see only the green glow of his eyes as he looked down at her.

  “This is not as I wished it,” he said in a voice that sounded odd, different, as if the Standard words were being formed in a throat unaccustomed to making the sounds. “The violence is our shame, the penalty we pay for daring to experiment with our own genetic structure. I would not hurt you for any reason, if the choice were mine. It is not. This is my nature,” he ground out. “This violent, animal ferocity.”

  She was still trying to reconcile her anger with his guilt and find a balance. She had rarely been bested in combat, even by an adversary so superior. She swallowed, hard, and struggled for breath.

  His head bent and he brushed his face against hers, tenderly. “Now you can understand why Komak’s genetic mix was necessary,” he whispered. “Without it, I would have killed you.”

  There was torment in his deep voice. She realized that he wasn’t exaggerating. His claws would have punctured her lungs, as they had on Lagana even when he was in control of himself. His strength was so superior, even with her modifications, that she would have bruises. She recalled hearing him talk about Hahnson’s broken back from only the preliminaries of his mating with an exiled Cehn-Tahr woman. Dtimun had said that no method ever discovered by science could lessen the aggression. As she had been three years ago, she could not have survived this.

  She was realizing something more, as well. Her mental neutering was supposed to cause excruciating pain if she attempted to mate. It had not. Although, there had been another sort of pain...

  “That could not be helped,” he said at her ear. His voice was calmer now. “Something a physician should know.”

  There was almost a teasing note in his voice. She felt herself begin to relax, despite the discomfort. She would never admit that he had frightened her, of course.

  “Of course,” he murmured drily.

  “You stop that,” she said firmly. “My thoughts are my own.”

  He drank in the scent of her. “My father said that my mother attempted to jump out a window at their first mating,” he whispered.

  That surprised a laugh out of her. “A window?”

  “Yes, on the top floor of a very tall building.” His tongue brushed her throat as he inhaled the floral scent of her hair. “My father was quick. He caught her as she fell.”

  His fingers felt odd. Thicker than they appeared. He was incredibly heavy. She also had the impression of massive physical presence, strength, raw power. He seemed much taller, broader, than he appeared. Despite her reengineered bone mass, he was many times her superior in strength. Was the darkness to hide him from her eyes, she wondered, so that she couldn’t see what he really looked like?

  “An astute guess,” he said huskily. His fingers, strong and thick, speared into hers, sliding in between them. “We do not mate as humans do, but as the great galots do. Males dominate by pinning the female at the back of the neck. An undignified, shameful process, which we hide from outworlders. I told you that you might learn things about us which you would not like.”

  His deep voice was harsh with regret. She began to understand why the Cehn-Tahr were so secretive about their behaviors. Her body slowly began to relax. It wasn’t fair to blame him for something that was inborn in him, in all his species. She had agreed to this. It was not against her will. Securing the timeline required sacrifice. Certainly, this episode was as difficult for him as it was for her.

  “Yes,” he answered the unspoken question somberly. “Intimacy requires a lowering of barriers which is difficult for me. I have always been alone, apart.”

  “So have I, really,” she confessed. She moved and winced. There was a lot of discomfort.

  “You must heal the damage, Madeline,” he said softly.

  “You said the physicians would have to examine me. Couldn’t they...?”

  His hands contracted. “You misunderstand.” His tongue caressed her throat again, producing exquisite sensations. “I have not finished.”

  Her mind was fuzzy. “But...?”

  “Do you think I wish to go through the rest of my life with a memory so brutal and unfeeling as what we just shared?” he asked at her ear. “You will forget. I will not.” He stilled. “Heal the damage.”

  She hesitated, but only for an instant. She was curious about what he meant to do. She used the wrist scanner and activated its drug banks. For an instant, when the screen lit to calculate the dosage of nanocells, she got a glimpse of a huge hand with broad fingers which looke
d nothing like the commander’s.

  He put his hand over the screen, shielding the light. “You will not look at me,” he said firmly. “And you will not touch me, regardless of what happens.”

  Now she was truly curious. She deactivated the unit. “Why?”

  He moved down against her. His tongue rasped against softer flesh, creating sensations that overwhelmed her. She gasped and her fingernails bit into his muscular arms. Involuntarily her hands slid to his back and encountered a long, soft line of fur over his spinal column...

  He pulled her hands away and smoothed them over his broad, hair-covered chest. “You will not touch me, except here,” he whispered again.

  “O...okay,” she whispered back. She was barely capable of rational thought, awash on a wave of delight so intense that she shivered.

  “Our first encounter did not produce a child,” he said huskily. “This one will.”

  “How can you know...?”

  He laughed softly as he felt her shocked reaction. His tongue slid down her throat, over her collarbone. His teeth bit in, gently, and she shivered again.

  “This is how we mark our mates,” he whispered. “It is a ritual older than time. But I promise you, there will be no pain from it.”

  She felt thick, soft hair against her skin; more like fur than hair. His mouth opened. She felt his teeth. But at the same moment they bit down, explosive sensations blinded her mind and her body to anything except a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that she gasped and then sobbed helplessly.

  “What are you...doing?” she cried out.

  He laughed deep in his throat. “Something that you will never learn from falsified black market vids,” he whispered.

  Her nails bit into his chest. “You wouldn’t tell me, and there was no other way to find out,” she accused shakily. She groaned and caught her breath. “Dtimun!” she exclaimed.

  It was the first time she’d ever used his name. The effect it had on him was explosive. His reaction drew sounds from her that she’d never heard herself make. She hoped the doors were tightly closed.

  He heard that thought and chuckled. “The room is soundproof,” he whispered.

  She cried out, a sound that was almost primeval, piercing and poignant.

  He put his mouth over hers and pressed down, hard, a Cehn-Tahr mating custom that they shared with humans. Her cries most likely would not penetrate the walls. But, just in case...

  * * *

  SHE CAME BACK to consciousness very slowly. She was aware of movement. The air stirred around her. A wisp of fabric was draped around her, just before the lights activated.

  Dtimun was wearing a red pant-skirt like the one that comprised the Kahn-Bo fighting garment that martial art enthusiasts wore in matches aboard ship. His chest was bare, muscular and covered with thick black hair. He pulled her up so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed and as the fabric dipped, momentarily; his eyes found the unique mark of bonding that he had placed just below her collarbone. The marks reflected ancient hieroglyphs for certain words, whose meanings were an indication of the male’s feelings for his mate. There were also other lacerations, deep and painful. Most of them would be on her back. The court physicians should not comment on them; however, the eldest, a female whom Dtimun did not like, might be so bold. He did not want Madeline upset. She was shivering. The vulnerability, even briefly, of such a strong and independent spirit touched him.

  His fingers brushed her cheek. “The physicians are waiting. You must be examined. It is the law.”

  She nodded. Her eyes met his and searched them with silent awe. The experience was beyond anything she’d ever encountered. And now she knew, most certainly, that he was far different than he appeared. He must use a sensor net to disguise his true face, one which would be weakened under emotional stress. Hence, the darkness in the mating chamber.

  She knew he saw that thought in her mind, but he ignored it.

  He turned away and activated the door. Five female physicians in gray robes, headed by a taller gray-haired one, walked stoically into the room. The gray-haired one stood in front of Madeline and looked at her with blatant distaste. She said something in Cehn-Tahr, in the holy tongue, in a harsh, cold tone.

  Dtimun had started to leave, as custom dictated, when he felt the sudden sense of unease, of embarrassment, that rushed into Madeline’s mind as the haughty physician looked at her. For the first time in almost three years, he saw her vulnerable, sensitive. It was such a rare reaction for her that all his protective instincts rallied and bristled. He turned, frowning when he saw the way the head physician was studying her. He felt a surge of possession stronger than anything he’d ever experienced in his life, mingled with anger. His jaw tautened and he walked back to stand beside her. He was defying convention, and he did not care. It disturbed him that Madeline was being denigrated by this smug physician. He would not tolerate it in his own house.

  The eldest female physician gasped. She made a haughty remark. Dtimun snapped at her in his own tongue. Shocked, she moved back, bowed and abruptly turned to Madeline and reached out, removing the fabric that covered her and dropping it to her waist.

  Madeline was puzzled at the physician’s behavior. She looked up and saw Dtimun’s eyes on her, lingering where his teeth had marked her. But they were appreciative of her soft skin, the delicate form of her body.

  The female physician examined the lacerations on Madeline’s back with growing distaste. She used her instruments abruptly, without kindness, and then spoke to Dtimun in Cehn-Tahr. Madeline didn’t understand the words, but they sounded quite indignant.

  He exploded with anger, his tone so cutting, his eyes making such a threat, that the elderly female actually backed away. She lowered her eyes and spoke in a respectful tone, almost toadying.

  Dtimun didn’t unbend one inch. He gave a curt command. The physician looked shocked, and started to argue. He cut her off and made an imperious gesture toward the door. The female regained her composure, bowed again, paler than when she entered the chamber, and left, very quickly. A younger physician moved forward, bowing to him, smiling gently, and speaking softly. He nodded, obviously still preoccupied and angry.

  The young physician treated the wounds on Madeline’s back and hips and used a disinfectant only on the scar of bonding. Then she, and the remaining three physicians, bowed, smiling, and started to leave the chamber.

  “Could you tell me what that was all about...?” Madeline started to ask the question when she was suddenly sick all over the floor. She fell to her knees, shivering.

  “Get Hahnson!” Dtimun called in Cehn-Tahr to the young physician. “Now! Bring him here!”

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW minutes went by in a blur. Hahnson came running. Dtimun held the fabric around Madeline’s nudity and growled furiously at Hahnson when he approached her.

  Hahnson stopped in his tracks. A man confronted by a charging galot couldn’t have felt more threatened. The alien’s posture, barely altered, added to the black of his eyes and the growl would have stopped a decorated combat soldier in his tracks.

  “I will not harm you. You must ignore the threat. I cannot help it,” Dtimun said tersely, wincing at his own frustrating lack of control even now.

  Hahnson smiled. “I know. It’s all right. Maddie, can you tell me the symptoms?”

  “You can see them...on the floor, Strick,” she said with black humor. “I feel so nauseated! My stomach hurts. It’s like a knife...!”

  “It is the child,” Dtimun said huskily. “The growth is immediate, and exponential.”

  Hahnson grimaced as he looked at the small screen of his wrist unit. “We have to slow the growth. I’m not prepared for this.”

  “Caneese has a preparation,” Madeline said weakly. “She told me about it.”

  Dtimun called the young
physician back into the chamber and rapped out an order. “She will bring it,” he told Madeline.

  “Can’t Caneese...?” she asked, confused.

  “Caneese is not allowed to see us,” he replied curtly. “It is a breach of protocol.”

  “Oh.” She was confused, but much too sick to argue.

  Hahnson injected a drug into the artery at Madeline’s neck. “That will help the nausea. But it’s only treating symptoms right now. I have no experience with Cehn-Tahr/human babies,” he added with a wry smile. “I think this is going to be on-the-job training.”

  “No doubt,” she managed. She was stunned by the notion that she was pregnant. Despite their earlier discussions, even with Komak’s assurances, she hadn’t really expected it to happen. Her knowledge of pregnancy was limited to a rare assistance at childbirth, but this was far more personal. The physical manifestations were new and startling.

  Hahnson looked from one of them to the other. “I don’t suppose either of you would like to explain what the hell you think you’re doing? I mean, we’re talking capital punishment...”

  “Chacon is in grave danger. The princess has gone to Benaski Port to warn him,” Dtimun told him. “Komak has traveled in time and knows the future. He said that Chacon’s death will create a disastrous timeline. Madeline and I must go to Benaski Port in an attempt to save them both, but the masquerade can only work if she carries my child.”

  “They’ll space you both, if you’re caught,” Hahnson said worriedly.

  “That’s why you aren’t telling anyone, old dear,” Madeline told him. “Not even Edris.”

  Before he could reply, the young physician was back with a cup of what looked like herbal tea. She offered it to Madeline and left the room. Madeline’s hands shook as she held the beverage.

  “You must drink it all,” Dtimun told her, steadying the cup with his own hand. “It will retard the growth of the fetus.”