Dom closed his eyes and retraced every coolant line and gear in the main compartment in his mind. He was missing something. With a start, he opened his eyes and reached for his knife, until he noticed the firelight reflecting off his leader’s waist-length blond hair.
“Damn it, Navarro, don’t sneak up on me like that!” he exhaled as he propped himself up with his elbows. His shoulders cracked loudly with the strain.
Navarro laughed and hunkered down beside his second-in-command and chief engineer. “Still worried about the myth?”
Domaroc twisted his head to the side until his neck popped and released some of the strain he felt. “There’s no proof that it’s a myth.”
“There’s no proof it’s true either,” Navarro said with a shake of his head. “Try and sleep. I have guards on patrol with four rotations throughout the night. I’ve ordered that you are not to be disturbed unless we’re under attack.”
“If we are attacked by the Clans, it is unlikely we’ll see them until after we’re dead.”
Navarro placed a hand on Domaroc’s shoulder as he stood. “Forever the optimist. It’s no wonder you won Carialis over with such a cheerful disposition.”
“For her sake, you better be right about the clans,” Dom warned.
Navarro chuckled. “Get some rest, Dom. I need you to get that ship flying tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. The smoke should clear out by morning so I can actually see what I’m doing.” He settled back down. “Night, sir.”
“Good night, Dom,” replied Navarro as he walked away.
Domaroc settled down and took a deep breath; trying to calm his mind enough for sleep. His lungs burned with each breath he took. He must have breathed in more smoke than he remembered. The jungle air was heavily perfumed, but the exotic scents were pleasant. The spicy aroma reminded him of past lovers.
He turned to his side, buried his head in his rucksack, and breathed in the metallic scent of engine grease. He had Carialis, the others hardly mattered. He sighed and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Dom tried to sit up and open his eyes. His body rebelled against any movement, but his mind refused to return to sleep. Something didn’t seem right, the camp was too quiet. The pressure in his bladder indicated he had slept longer than his standard two rotations. Domaroc realized the pressure could be because he was lying on his stomach, but when he tried to shift to his back, pain in his shoulders increased and he felt bonds on his wrists tighten behind his back. The sensation was enough to rouse him fully from his stupor.
He continued to struggle against his restraints until he felt a fur-covered hand caress his neck before grabbing his hair. It raised his head out of the dirt. Hot breath blew into his face, followed by the overwhelming scent of jungle flowers. The grip on his hair loosened, and he fell back to the ground. A flash of light seared across his vision followed by complete darkness as his head rested on the hard-packed earth.
“Wake up, Kitten,” purred a soft voice in his ear.
The bitter scent of vinegar flooded his lungs, and Domaroc began to float closer to the surface of reality. He moaned as a throbbing sensation pulsed through his head. He opened his eyes slightly. The light was harsh despite the haziness caused by a film over his eyes.
A shadow appeared over him. A moment passed before the full form registered in his mind. It was a feline female. Her tail swished over her orange thigh and came to rest on Domaroc’s naked stomach as she curled around him. A small vial in her paw, near his nose was the source of the reviving smell.
As he tried to figure out where he was, he realized that he was propped against her ample breasts, the rough material of her halter scratching his cheek. He could feel her pressed against his entire length, and when he tried to raise himself, she kept him in place with a strong, black furred hand.
“No, Kitten, stay put,” she whispered. Her green, slitted eyes glowed in the dim light of the makeshift shelter. “You’ve been a long time in waking.” She brought a water skin to his lips and tilted a few drops into his mouth.
He swallowed a couple of times before his mouth and throat were moist enough for speech. “Where am I?”
“You are among the Ranar clan.” The woman slid so she lay beside him, moving a folded blanket to cushion his head. She ran a hand over his exposed chest; her claws slicing the skin as she neared the end of the motion, causing him to inhale sharply. “Do you like that, Kitten?”
The pain in his chest allowed him to focus on his surroundings. He was in a brush hut on a bed of moss and leaves, naked except for bandages wrapped around his wrists. He wished for some other cover as the cat woman continued to stoke his chest, but the jungle was too humid to use blankets as they were intended.
A slight pressure around his forehead caused him to put a hand to his brow. Before he could reach it, she took his hand in hers and moved it away. She placed a bandage over the bloody claw marks and made him hold it in place.
Sounds began to filter through the thin walls of the hut. Fires were hissing as the contents of pots boiled over and wood was being chopped a short distance from them. An occasional scream pierced the normal encampment sounds followed by growls and hisses, and sporadically, a feral laughter that put Domaroc’s hair on end.
The cat beside him smiled. “I claimed you, Kitten, and it wasn’t easy.” Her fangs flashed as she shifted position. “You are prime prey. I nearly fought Lady Supreme for you.”
“Lady Supreme?” Domaroc asked as he raised himself on his elbows.
She allowed him the movement, handing him the water again. “Our queen. If you hadn’t been so injured, she would have fought. Even though she had already claimed the pretty one with gold hair, she wanted you.”
“Navarro?” Domaroc asked with widened eyes. He hadn’t even thought of his crew until that moment.
“I believe that is what his name is. Is he your Lord Supreme?”
He shook his head. “My commander.”
“Is there a difference?” she asked with a shrug. “He fought bravely when he awoke. Lady Supreme taught him it is best to obey. Although, he is no longer as pretty, he is now tame.” She gave a sharp laugh. “Actually, you look better than any of them now. Be glad you hit your head. I can be determined master if not obey.” She ran her tongue across her upper lip, almost nervously. “Are you hungry?”
“Thirsty,” was all he could say. He tipped the water flask, but no more dripped out. His head felt cloudy again and his vision blurred the outlines of her delicately boned face.
She nodded. Her long, black mane fell forward, covering her face. “Ndim!” she called.
A young, brown cat-girl scampered into the hut on all fours. She crouched in submission before Domaroc’s captor. “Yes, Mistress?”
“More water.”
The kit rose and backed out of the hut.
“Who are you?” he asked as he forced himself to sit up.
“Quanda, Second of Lady Supreme.” She ran her hand over the bandage on his forehead. “How does your head feel?”
“Heavy,” he replied, letting his head bow. The blood rushed to his ears and he could hear the pounding of his own heart. He straightened himself. “What happened?”
“One of the young ones overdosed you on the sleeping herb and didn’t watch your fall. Her oversight has been punished. The Ranar do not take kindly to negligence.” She unwrapped the bandage and looked at the wound. Forcing him to sit forward, she examined him closely. A frown threatened the corners of her mouth as she took a fresh strip of cloth from the pile beside them. “You hit your head harder than I thought.”
The kit retuned with a pitcher of water, which she placed beside Quanda.
“More water will help,” Quanda said as she dampened the bandage before cleaning the wound.
“How long have I been here?” Domaroc knew that questioning her was safer than trying to fight his way out of the camp in his weakened state. He would hardly defeat the cat-girl in the corner, mu
ch less his battle-experienced captor, and she knew that. And where would he go? He was naked in the middle of a cat clan somewhere in the Ruus jungles unsure where his broken airship was. No, better to bide his time and find out who remained of his crew.
“A few sun cycles. We do not keep track of time here.” Her fingers combed through his tangled, black hair, snagging on dried blood. “Ndim, bring food.”
He barely heard the kit leave.
My crew?” Domaroc asked as he closed his eyes, enjoying the motion of her hands along his bruised scalp.
The sound of a cup dipping into the pitcher was an inviting sound to his ears. The lip of met his mouth, and he gratefully accepted the cool water. She tilted the cup away, allowing him to swallow.
“Thank you,” he said, feeling for the first time that his voice was his own.
“You are welcome, Kitten. Now let me finish tending your wound. A poultice has been prepared, but I wanted to wait for you to be stronger before I applied it.”
“Why?”
“It draws all impurities from the body and the body doesn’t always give them up willfully,” She replied and let him hold the cup while she reached for a bowl on the other side of the bandages. “We will apply it once you have eaten.”
Domaroc relaxed his shoulders, resting his eyes as he slouched closer to her. “You didn’t answer me about my crew.”
“Do they matter?”
He opened his eyes and firmly answered. “Yes.”
“Honorable,” she dismissed his words and returned to combing his hair.
He reached up and held her wrist, surprised at the softness of her fur. “You said you were second-in-command of the clan.”
“I am,” she snarled, her body tensing, the tip of her tail fluffing slightly.
He stared into the slits that were her pupils. “Then you know why they are important to me.”
Before she could respond, Ndim returned with a tray of fruit and a couple hunks of bread. Quanda took it and gestured for the kit to leave. She set the food down beside the pitchers and took some bread, softening it in the water before giving it to him. “Eat slowly, there’s nothing in you.”
He let her feed him, but his stomach filled after only a quarter of the saturated bread and a few slices of fruit.
“That should do for now.” She guided him back to a reclined position before pressing a mossy, grainy poultice over the wound and wrapping his head in a fresh bandage. She stood, her loose halter shifting to allow Domaroc a full view of her breasts. Her skirt was short and slit high on her thigh to allow her freedom of movement with little modesty. She was tall, having to duck to avoid the ceiling of the hut.
“Quanda,” he pleaded, following her with his green eyes.
“I do not know why you are attached to your men. If one of my warriors falls, then they don’t deserve to be remembered. If they die, they were not strong enough. The same is true if they are captured. As for your crew, some live, some died. When you are well, you can see who lived. Now, rest.” She left the hut.
Domaroc closed his eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep. The poultice had a hallucinogenic effect on his dreams. He was plagued with twisted and macabre nightmares. The faces of the past filtered forward from the hidden corners of his mind to haunt him. This time there was no grease stained rucksack to make them go away.
Every life he had taken was multiplied, and his body felt every wound he had inflicted. His closed wounds ripped open to gush his life’s blood to the ground. His mouth opened in silent screams as invisible blades sliced deep into his flesh. Every jilted lover took her revenge on him. Blood stained lips covered his mouth and sucked the cries from his lungs until he felt empty and broken. Rain fell on him, trying to cool his suffering, but it burned and blinded instead.
Domaroc jerked forward with ragged breaths. His eyes, wide, tried to register where he was. The hut was no longer surrounding him and there were no sounds other than those belonging to the jungle. He was in uniform with his shirt unbuttoned. He began to believe it all a dream until gentle furred hands pulled him back down into the embrace of an orange fur-covered body.
His breathing slowed to match that of the woman holding him, and his eyes closed as he tried to refocus his mind. The smell of burnt brush reached his nose. A gentle purring issued from the woman beside him, and he knew it hadn’t been a dream. He was still a prisoner. He reached to pull away the nightmare-inducing poultice, but his hand came away with only a damp cloth.
“I removed it once the dreams began,” Quanda whispered, her voice thick with sleep. She kept him tightly wrapped in her arms. “I did not expect such a horrific reaction.” She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
Domaroc allowed himself to relax. Despite the dreams, his body felt purified, the wound on his head had healed and the pain ceased. His heartbeat held the same rhythm as Quanda’s and he granted himself a moment of worry.
“You’ll be able to travel in a day or two,” she said.
“Travel where?” he asked and turned to face her, his unused muscles protesting the slight motion.
“Back to your ship.” Domaroc brought a hand to her face and traced deep, fresh claw marks that marred her features. They shone with thick salve.
“What happened?”
“Another set of prey was brought in; fresher, stronger than your crew. Your Navarro joined them in a revolt against the Ranar. My clan is no more. I was spared to care for you. In the condition you were in, you could not be moved far and your medicine men wanted nothing to do with clan medicine.”
Dom tensed in her arms. “Navarro is back at the airship?”
“Yes,” she replied. She pulled away and started to get up. “I should get him. You could be carried back now.”
Snapping branches drew their attention to the other side of the clearing. Navarro stepped forward. “No need. Quanda, give us a moment.”
She pushed herself away from Domaroc and scrambled into the submissive posture the kit had exhibited to her, on all fours with her forehead to the ground. “As you wish,” she replied, before standing. She held her head high with her shoulders back, but her eyes showed her defeat as she turned and left.
Navarro sat beside Domaroc. He was nearly unrecognizable. His once long locks were hacked short and a purple hued bruise covered his left eye. He smiled, and a new gap was present on his lower jaw. “I am glad you are well.”
Domaroc shook his head. “I failed you.”
“Not your fault you cracked your head open. I should have listened to you in the first place and made the crew sleep in the ship despite the smoke. Didn’t expect an air-born sleeping drug. Just count yourself lucky for having Quanda as your mistress. That cat has class, unlike the Lady Supreme.” Navarro ran his right hand through his short hair.
Domaroc watched the motion but turned away when he caught himself staring.
Navarro noticed and held his hand out. “Real nice, don’t you think?” The second and third fingers were bandaged with a splint, but they remained crooked. “She broke them at the first sign of rebellion to keep me from using a sword.”
“Too bad for her, you fight with your left hand.”
Navarro grinned and looked at his good hand. “Yeah, she needed me to be able to work.”
“While I lay on my back doing nothing,” Domaroc said, turning his head away so he did not see the ruined face of his commander.
“Lay off it, Dom. I saw the wound you had. Your fight was worse than ours. I don’t think Quanda told you the half of it. Plus, by the time you get back to the ship, you’ll be the most able-bodied crewman I got.” Navarro clapped Domaroc on the back.
“Are all her clan dead?”
Navarro shook his head. “The clan’s dead because their Lady Supreme is dead. Several slunk away during the fight, but they are leaderless.”
“How’d she get the claw marks on her face?”
The grin widened and Navarro let out a chuckle. “Defending you.”
>
Domaroc flinched at the thought. “How?”
“Some of the one’s that got away came back wanting revenge. You were the target, and she would have none of that,” the commander replied soberly.
Domaroc opened his mouth to speak, but Navarro held up his hand for silence.
“Now you want to know why I let her stay and take care of you. Dom, if you saw the state of the crew you’d understand. We could hardly nurse ourselves, much less a delusional crewmate. We don’t know what was in the mixture she put on your head. She offered to be your caretaker, and she was never cruel to anyone, outside of warrior discipline. Saw no reason she shouldn’t finish her work. She actually fixed up a lot of the wounded. Might even ask her to be ship’s doctor.”
“You can’t do that,” said Domaroc.
Navarro was taken aback. “Why not?”
“She doesn’t belong to our world. The Cat Clans are thought to be a myth. We take her out of the jungle and she’ll never know a moment’s peace. She’ll be gawked at and laughed at. You said it before, she’s got class and that would kill her. She is a proud woman.”
Navarro laughed. “I’d almost think you’d fallen for her if I didn’t know you better. Don’t worry; she’s already declined the offer. Once we leave, she plans to form her own clan. Many who ran will follow her, and there are plenty of young kits looking for a clan.
“You’re a bastard, Navarro,” Domaroc muttered.
“True, but I am your leader, and I will see you in two days’ time. That should be enough time for you to recover.” Navarro stood, and after scanning the clearing one last time he left.
Domaroc shook his head and laid back down. He felt, rather than heard, Quanda return and curl up beside him. Her body lending the extra warmth he suddenly needed. Only two days before he’d be home.
Cogs in Time Anthology (The Steamworks Series Book 1) Page 15