Cat Star 03 - Rogue

by Brooks, Cheryl - Cat Star 03

  Dobraton hissed at me, undoubtedly wishing she could breathe fire like a dragon, though to be honest, I wasn't altogether sure she didn't exhale a faint puff of smoke. I'd have to remember to ask Tychar if that was possible. I'd have imagined that Scalia had probably hissed at him a few times when she found it impossible to get his dick hard—which made me wonder briefly what methods she'd tried. However, having made my point, I kept quiet and essentially ignored Dobraton after that, thinking that being locked in with the slaves would have been a lot more fun than dinner with the council. In fact, the next time I was invited, I decided to feign some sort of obscure illness. The Darconians couldn't know very much about the maladies which might inflict humans; I could invent all sorts of things, and they'd never know I was lying.

  I was toying with the idea of faking one just then, but, unfortunately, Scalia had other ideas and suggested that we all go into the Great Hall for our after dinner enter­tainment—which, as I might have guessed, was me.

  Arriving in the Great Hall, this truth became more evident when I saw that, while we were at dinner, some enterprising servants had moved the Steinway. It was quite dark by then, and an intricately carved candelabrum, which illuminated the entire stage, had been set upon the piano. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that "candelabrum" was a misnomer, because there were no candles; having been carved out of glowstone, it emitted its own light.

  I'd never enjoyed performing in front of large audi­ences, but, deciding that outright refusal was unwise, I sat down and played the "Moonlight Sonata." Somber, but beautiful, I've met very few who didn't like it, and the Darconians were no exception. Taking their seats in the hall—some grumbling, some restless—they became silent with rapt attention once I began. Even Dobraton seemed to be paying attention.

  Following a round of enthusiastic applause, I played a few of my other personal favorites, and, as the saying goes, brought down the house—except that this time, it was nearly literal. I discovered that when Darconians are truly excited, they thump their tails on the floor as well as clap their hands—which, as you might imagine, was something along the lines of a hall full of humans jump­ing up and down. I will also point out at this juncture that Darconian chairs were essentially benches or stools with no backs to them, such as we humans use, which allowed for much freer tail movement.

  At the end of my performance, I took a quick bow, hop­ing I'd done my part to demonstrate that having visitors from other planets wasn't such a horrible thing after all. If the enthusiasm of the audience was any indication, I'd made a few converts—which was quite possibly Scalia's intention all along. She was a tricky old girl...

  An odd thing happened after that, though, because Dobraton asked to see The Shrine. Scalia never batted an eyelash—or eyelid, I should say, since Darconians ap­peared to have only a nictitating membrane to protect their eyes instead of lashes—and led the way. If she' d sent word ahead that we were coming and that the slaves needed to vacate immediately, I sure couldn't tell it. Arriving at the entrance, my heart took a plunge toward my feet as the guard pushed the door open; it was not even locked.

  The Shrine was quite beautiful by moonlight— Darconia has three moons, by the way—and the sparkling waterfall looked cool and silvery, as did the glistening leaves. No one spoke aloud, but, instead, kept their voices hushed and reverent, as though enter­ing a place of worship—and perhaps that is truly what it was. To the people of this hot, dry land, this was not only the source of the life-giving water, but was also a source of spiritual beauty.

  Tychar had said that the slaves slept on pallets wherever they liked, but I didn't see a single one of them anywhere. Apparendy, having anticipated Dobraton's request, Scalia had already made a point of sending her slaves elsewhere. Either way, Dobraton seemed rather disappointed— almost as if she'd expected to find the slaves there and would, therefore, be able to criticize Scalia for keeping them in such a holy place. Given this attitude toward the room, it surprised me even more that Scalia would use it to house her slaves, but perhaps it was an indication of just how high the slaves were in her esteem.

  The party broke up after that, and I suddenly found myself walking alone down a strange corridor with absolutely no clue how to get back to my room. Com­pletely lost, the triumphant events of the evening now seemed remote, reminding me once again that I was nothing more than a defenseless woman on a strange planet. I'd rarely been one to panic, but I could feel it rising up inside me now, and my chest constricted as I choked back the nausea and quickened my pace. Where was my tiger when I needed him? Tychar had said that even the lizards liked to sleep with something warm, and I would have given an awful lot to be able to check him out of the slave quarters for the night. But if he wasn't in the Shrine, I had no idea where to find him. For all I knew, the slaves might have been locked in the dungeons whenever outsiders visited the holy place.

  I tore down one corridor after another as though the hounds of hell were at my heels. My fear was unrea­sonable, but nonetheless real, and, it being nighttime, doors that might have been open during the day were now closed, with no hint as to what terrors might lurk behind them. Fortunately, the glowstones were listen­ing to me as I silently requested as much light as they could dish out. Taking a left turn at random, I finally found what looked like the doors to my suite, but there was a guard posted at the door, so it couldn't have been mine—unless Scalia thought that Dobraton might be a danger to me, as well as to her slaves. This idea was even more frightening, because I'd probably made an enemy of her now; first, by being an offworlder, and second, by putting her in her place.

  I didn't want to talk with another lizard as long as I lived, but this guard was the only one I'd seen, and I figured I could at least ask him for directions. However, as I approached, he gave me no opportunity to speak but promptly unlocked the door and gestured me inside.

  And I ran straight into Tychar's waiting arms.

  Even in the pale moonlight I could see that they were, indeed, my rooms and not the dungeons. Not even both­ering to ask why he was there, I threw my arms around his neck with a sob and then proceeded to break down completely. I hadn't fallen apart like that in a very long time—if, indeed, I ever had—but I knew that out of all the souls in the entire universe who could comfort me, he was the one I wanted most.

  "Kyra!" he said with some surprise as I buried my face in his hair. "You're trembling."

  I couldn't speak but held on tightly, as though he were my only lifeline in a raging sea.

  "Something has frightened you?"

  I nodded, though I was feeling better by the sec­ond. His warm, strong presence was rapidly dissolving the tension.

  "You're safe now," he said, echoing my thoughts. "There is nothing to fear."

  He was right about that, because now that I was in his arms, my fear quickly began to evaporate. "I was lost," I said with a shudder. "All alone in a maze of corridors on a planet full of dinosaurs. I know it sounds silly, but—" And it did sound silly, especially now that I was safe, but at the time, it had been terrifying.

  "No, it doesn't," he murmured, his deep voice acting like a balm to soothe my frazzled nerves. "It is under­standable that you would feel strange. I remember that feeling quite well."

  Just the fact that he was a slave made his situation so much worse than mine could ever be, and that knowl­edge made my fears seem even more ridiculous. "You know, it never ceases to amaze me that no matter how bad I might feel, there's always someone else who's a lot worse off than I am," I said with a sigh. "It always puts things in their proper perspective."

  "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "Your feel­ings are just as real as mine—and my life here is not so bad."

  "But you're a slave, Tychar! Most people would see that as the worst fate imaginable."

  He smiled. "But I have you to care for now," he said. "What more could I want?"

  I could think of about a million things he might want, but didn't bother to list them. My fears had d
issipated— laid to rest by a few simple words. I had no idea how to reply, so I asked the next question on my mind: "What are you doing in my room?"

  "We have to leave The Shrine when outsiders ask to visit. These rooms have always been one of the al­ternate locations."

  "You mean the others are here, too?"

  He nodded toward the music room, "In there."

  Not quite believing it, I pulled away from him and peeped through the door to the adjoining room. The piano had been returned from the hall and stood on the dais, gleaming in the moonlight, as always, but the rest of the floor was now littered with Scalia's sleeping slave boys. With their pallets scattered all around the room, they looked like a troop of Boy Scouts on a campout. The only thing missing was the campfire.

  "Guess the Queen didn't see any reason to change the routine, just because I'm here," I grumbled. "I wish someone had told me."

  "The guard didn't tell you?"

  "He didn't say a word, and I was so glad to have found my room again, I didn't think to ask what he was doing there." I paused, running nervous fingers through my hair. "You know, that's half of my problem; Wazak made me so leery of asking too many questions, I've ne­glected to ask anywhere near as many as I should have. I've got to get over that and start asking tons of them! Like to start with, what are you doing in here when the others are all camped out in the music room?"

  I saw his fangs flash briefly in the moonlight as he smiled.

  "Thought you might get lucky, didn't you?"

  His response to that was to begin purring. The stones in his collar sparkled as he moved closer, and his purring grew even louder.

  "Oh, trying to entice me, huh? Well, it won't work, so you can just go sleep with the other slave boys." When he didn't move, I added, "Go on, now, Tychar. Go."

  "I will go," he said. "But have you had water to drink before bed?"

  "What?—no—well, maybe a little bit," I said, mo­mentarily thrown off balance by this abrupt change in tactics.

  Turning, he poured water from a carafe on the night-stand. "Drink this, and then I will go." It was dark enough that I missed what he was doing, but as soon as I took a long sip and doubled over with an orgasm, I realized what the rascal had done. That fancy cock of his must have been dripping like a leaky faucet, and he'd put some of his joy juice in my water.

  "No fair!" I protested, straightening up to stare into his glowing eyes. "If you want me, you're gonna have to do better than that."

  He seemed to consider this, blinking a few times, and I watched, oddly fascinated with the way his glowing pupils altered in response to the changing light. As he stood there, his perfect body bathed in moonlight, I felt my anger dissipating even before he spoke. He took a deep breath which came out again in a loud purr.

  "Please, Kyra," he whispered. "I need you, and I want you—more than my freedom; more, even, than my life."

  How could I possibly refuse him? No one had ever said such a thing to me—not even in jest. Surely even a silver-tongued rogue like Tychar would think twice before telling such a lie—wouldn't he? Tears stinging my eyes, I slipped past him, set the glass on the table, and landed heavily on the bed. Running down the list of the reasons why I shouldn't, I realized that they were all overshadowed by the one reason why I should, which was that I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anyone, but getting what I wanted—well, asking for it, anyway— was something I'd been unable to do my whole life.

  "You can do whatever you want," I whispered. "Just don't make me tell you what to do. I—I have a problem with asking for things."

  "And why is that?" he asked. Reaching out, he gently traced the line of my cheek with a fingertip.

  I'd been wrestling with the answer to that for most of my life and still hadn't come up with a good reason why. I had theories, of course, but nothing solid. "I don't know," I replied. "Maybe it's because I don't think I de­serve anything; that asking for anything, no matter how small, is too much."

  "But you are very deserving," he countered. "You are kind and good—you should have all that you wish for, and I, I will give you everything I can."

  He was a slave; he had nothing—not even himself to give me. "But you can't—"

  "I can give you joy," he said, cutting off my protest. "It's the only thing I have to give and is something I can't even give to the Queen—no matter how much she might wish for it."

  My tears were flowing freely by this time, and my heart was aching like never before.

  "Will you take it?" he asked.

  I didn't deserve it. There were countless others throughout the galaxy who did—women who were more worthy of him, more beautiful, more talented, more ev­erything that I wasn't. But they weren't there—I was— and he needed someone. I didn't have to think hard to understand how alone he felt, either, for I was in exactly the same situation myself. The only difference was that I could leave if I chose. He couldn't.

  I don't remember nodding, or saying yes, or anything, but I must have, because the next moment I was in his arms, falling back onto the bed, and his kiss was melt­ing me like the searing heat of the desert. I felt it all in his kiss—his need, his desire, and, yes, his love—every­thing I'd ever wanted from a man. I couldn't believe it was all there. Nothing was wrong, everything was right, and nothing was missing—not one single thing. I didn't care if he was lying, didn't care if he was pretending, because it felt more real than anything ever had before.

  His hands caressed my skin as though I were the most precious thing he'd ever touched. He, who belonged to a queen, who was adorned with gemstones, and who lived in The Shrine of the Desert, thought that I was precious! But he was beyond price, and I held tightly to him, never wanting to let go.

  Aching with need and wet to my knees, I wanted to beg him to plunge his cock into me. But he didn't even take off my dress, instead caressing my breasts through the thin fabric and leaving a trail of wet kisses down my neck to my nipples. The sound of his purr­ing filled my head, driving out all rational thought as he kissed and sucked them until they were as hard as his cock.

  "Mmm," he purred. "I haven't removed a woman's clothing for many years. I'd nearly forgotten how delight­ful it could be." Skimming his fingertips over my hip, sending waves of warm delight over my skin, he went on to inquire: "There is nothing beneath this dress?"

  "Just me," I replied. Okay, so I'd known I wasn't the first—Tychar had "Ladies' Man" written all over him. He might not have been able to get it up for a Darconian, but I had a feeling that he'd been enormously popular on Zetith.

  He said nothing further, but began a slow, sensuous striptease with the skirt of my gown. To my surprise, I found that he was moving much too slowly for me. The searing heat between my thighs felt like a wildfire— unquenchable and completely out of control—making me want to rip off my dress and pounce on him.

  Lowering his head, he began kissing each place he exposed: the side of my leg, the rise of my hip, the dip of my waist, and the fullness of my breast. By the time he reached my lips, I couldn't stand the wait any longer—if he didn't do something soon, I was going to have another orgasm without him.

  "Tell me you love me, Kyra," he whispered against my lips. "Lie to me if you must, but tell me. Let me dream."

  Of all the things he could have said, this was not what I expected. That was a woman's line, wasn't it? I'd never heard of a man saying anything of the kind, and for that matter, why would I need to lie, when it was so close to being the truth?

  "You want me to lie?"

  "If you must," he said. As he kissed me again, I felt not only the heat of his desires and his ravenous hunger, but also an intense longing to have a thing he'd never had before. "But I would prefer that you did not."

  "I'd rather not lie to you, either," I said. "Especially about something like that."

  "Pretend, then," he persisted. "Make me believe it... for a little while." The kiss he followed that up with was enough to make me shove him back and blurt it out. Maybe I wasn't su
re how true love was supposed to feel, but I knew one thing for sure: no one had ever made me feel the way he did—and that was even without the orgasmic joy juice.

  "I love you," I gasped. And I wasn't lying; I meant every word.

  He must have been very anxious to hear my reply, because I felt the tension drain out of him. "So, Kyra," he whispered, "you have given me your love and now, I will give you joy."

  If I thought anything about it being an even trade or an odd ritual, I wouldn't have been able to think it for long, because the things he did after that sent all rational thought straight into oblivion.

  My hands were on his shoulders, feeling the strength of his muscles, the perfect symmetry of his body, and the heat of his passion as he nudged my thighs apart. Wrapping my legs around him, I pulled him close, his hot skin soothing the ache, but at the same time, increas­ing the intensity of my desire for him.

  Purring, he kissed me; the taste and feel of him as deliciously creamy as chocolate. His thick cock swept between my thighs, just as his tongue swept my mouth, both teasing and tantalizing, but at the same time, prom­ising even greater delights. When his cockhead found my clitoris, he let out a groan before circling it with his hot, wet heat. Nothing I'd ever felt before in my life could compare as he raked the ruffled edge back and forth across my sensitive flesh.