by Y. M. Roger
Rafal turned and exited the bridge, leaving the hakim to recover himself under the condemning gaze of Commander Westrungis.
It had only been a brief encounter, but the commander now knew one thing was certain: the current Khedive of the Bohrean Empire could not die soon enough.
Kilgar absolutely despised being immobile – his beast clawed impatiently at nothing in particular – both of them feeling like the caged animals that they were. They had reviewed and re-reviewed the vids from the fight that had placed them in this gods-forsaken position and had determined that all had performed with peak proficiency given the circumstances; however, they had also picked out two of their surviving soldiers who definitely needed extra work on their hand-to-hand combat skills. After having placed the orders for such, they were currently working on a new training schedule for everyone that allowed for more such practice on a regular basis.
Kilgar had paused the production of the schedule to watch the realtime feeds of Hondo and Guyanni making final preps and departing – a wave of anger and longing painting both of their moods as they watched the small transport rise into the moonless night.
Kilgar kicked the control board in frustration – sending a series of incoherent images flashing across the screen followed closely behind by the yellow screen of death, as Hondo had always dubbed it.
Temper rising, Kilgar growled low in his throat as he kicked the reboot switch on his control board – baring his teeth as the stabbing pain in his ear canals returned. It was in this current state of self-induced madness that Balstir found his Captain as he quietly opened the door to the isolated room.
The Teyman quickly leapt forward to take hold of the board and pull it quickly out of Kilgar’s angry kicking reach. Sensing his friend’s high level of frustration and understanding it completely, Balstir tried to make light of the situation as he scrawled quickly on a piece of paper and attached it to the yellow screen.
I have come to rescue the electronics and, perhaps find your sanity for you?
Kilgar only glared at his Teyman – his sense of humor apparently not having made it through the fight with the rest of him – as Balstir silently and quickly worked to restore the connection Kilgar had broken. The Teyman felt as though he were targeted prey – his hydenna crouched and waiting for a pounce – even though both of them knew Kilgar and the demercriere would be doing nothing of the sort. But that is not what the waves of animosity and frustration rolling off the embittered Captain were telegraphing. So, the hydenna remained wary as Balstir casually finished reprogramming the digital link and brought the screen back online.
Kilgar’s eyes continued to glow their angry red and still had not broken their contact with Balstir’s neck as the Teyman picked up the VTS mic, removed the piece of paper from the screen, and began to speak in low tones.
There.
He ran his hand as much as permissible by the head restraints through Kilgar’s hair – the action necessarily rough and soothing to their riled Captain and his beast.
They have been saved and soundly reprimanded, Captain.
Balstir let the hydenna growl a greeting as well – a greeting that the screen recorded simply as RRRrrrooorreeerrrrr.
And, despite his best effort to maintain his bad humor, Kilgar had to chuff and grin if only in the slightest at his top Teyman.
Still stroking Kilgar’s hair until the red finally faded in his commanding officer’s irises, Balstir continued.
I have a proposal I want you to think about while I reconnect this board that Ornico worked his ass off to make for you.
Balstir shot a look of reprimand at his Captain, the latter almost childishly grinning as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But he got the message.
I would like to call my sister, Mysstree, and have her come sit with you for two reasons: first, with the three soldiers we lost and you out of commission, I need Verisse, and, second, you could use the constant companionship to keep you both under control.
Balstir fisted his hand in the front of Kilgar’s hair – rubbing the thumb across the deeply creased forehead – as he grinned affectionately in completing his statement.
Kilgar huffed and flexed and closed his fists once again in frustration – he had never met Balstir’s sister and knew little to nothing about her. He had seen her stillvid in Balstir’s quarters, and, even though she was not homely or anything like that, she was certainly nothing to throw a party over. In fact, from the image, it seemed she might even be a little young and definitely top-heavy in the breast department – which could be a good thing if they were not simply fat canisters or if they did not have the same freckles that were lightly distributed on the female’s face. But, hey, maybe she could press those tits to his face and relieve some of his tensions.
His demercriere growled in warning at him – the beast apparently not happy with his line of thinking. Yes, the frequent casual sex was certainly a need that Kilgar had – it was certainly not one of his beast. In fact, the demercriere simply remained disinterested during his sexual sessions, knowing somehow that Kilgar needed the sessions to keep a rein on his volatile temper that grew harder to control without periodic sparring or sexual outlets.
Then Kilgar glanced down the bed at Balstir who was finishing up the connection for and re-positioning of the control board.
Not their sister.
Yeah, Kilgar knew the beast was right. But it did not stop the visions of the tawny skinned, definitely lemack – or was it tombul? They would have to wait and see – if not more, blue-eyed female with the snow-white hair sitting atop him right here in this bed as he watched those overly-abundant breasts bounce …
Kilgar blinked his eyes to clear that visual register – best to not even entertain the thought at all. But he could certainly do with a hand job – no! hand maid – and someone soft to take care of his needs – no! take care of them.
His beast growled another warning at his dirty mind’s wanderings – this one more pronounced and guttural than the last.
Kilgar grinned leeringly up at his Teyman whose face promptly hardened.
N-O Kilgar! Absolutely not!
Balstir and his hydenna both growled again into the mic.
She can read to you, write for you, make things for you, cook for you, even rub your kahrolasi head for you. But there will be no kizişma with my sister.
Then Balstir grinned wryly down at his captain and friend.
Besides, Mysstree is so much younger than you are and so far from your usual tastes that I am not even worried. It will be just like she is your brat baby sister or something, especially in that she will not take any of your usual saçmalik you try to dish out at other females.
Kilgar frowned as he watched Balstir’s chest rumble and face lighten with his apparent laughter – even though neither he nor the demercriere could hear a kahrolasi thing.
Kilgar hesitated, and Balstir continued.
Tell you what, if it does not work, I will bring her right back home – no hard feelings, no questions asked. What do you say? She is so gentle and easy going, she would be happy to help and then happy to leave – it is just how they are.
Kilgar rolled his eyes – all hope of any female contact for the next three or more days fading quickly.
And sparring was right out.
Heavy sigh.
The Red Captain blinked in compliance as he simultaneously gave a thumbs up on his pinned hands – he might as well accept his fate and just get through it. At least this way, he would not be a burden on the rest of the household, allowing Balstir to continue with the weapons and other preparations for the upcoming “Celebration”.
Balstir smiled and nodded his head as he touched Kilgar’s forehead one last time in parting – internally, the demercriere seemed much chipper and actually quite lively as he comfortingly rubbed against Kilgar’s skin inside.
Well, Kilgar was glad at least some of them seemed happy with the current situation.
Too bad he was not one of them.
He huffed again and closed his eyes.
Chiyoto heard Runa grumbling about their energy level, but she could no more deny her own subjects her healing blood than she could the air they breathed – both were necessary for the weakened beings’ survival now.
And she knew Runa could protect them no matter what.
Gnysue Bweldon had made it very clear upon their arrival here in the kyoukai that the hakim had pronounced a death sentence for most of them – saying that only source nourishment would save them and he had none to offer.
I would drain the fated hakim to nourish them for he has much blood to offer under his pretentious garments.
Runa had snarled within her at the time – it was clear that something needed to be done to sate her powerful altre’s anger long before they arrived back home – Chiyoto just had not figured out what it was yet. And Chiyoto also knew that she could not allow herself to get much weaker, or the Keeper would be useless in its containment of the exercised Dragoness. So, instead, the wise Heiress tried the approach of appealing to her Runa’s love of the uniqueness of the many beings that surrounded them.
Gnysue Bweldon, his altre a large thaintarr aptly named Zeki, had approached them upon their initial entry with Grundeihl – the older priest’s time-worn walk and determination aimed solely at dismissing “the meddling young female.”
Even now his words and conviction made them both grin.
Chiyoto had surmised his initial distrust of them must have been because of Sila’s Black Guard uniform – in fact, Bweldon’s had been close to the most aggressive attitude either she or Runa had ever observed in one of their priesthood. But his gentle features – which had looked almost comical to them both as he had tried to force a contemptuous aire – fell into complete embarrassment and apology when realization had dawned as to their identity. The deep maroon of his face and the regret that ebbed from him were sufficient to make Runa simmer down enough to breathe in his respect and adulations – his worship helping to calm the dragoness’ temper.
And Bweldon’s never-ending dialogue with Zeki was quite amusing – could even get annoying to one not so patient as it seemed to an outward observer – especially a Crimson who did not share a relationship with his alter-being – that the gnysue was talking to himself constantly. So, it was even entertaining to watch the reactions of those around him as the elder busied himself with caring for everyone.
Even his Zeki is tombul such as he is, my Treasure, Runa had flippantly commented, although Chiyoto could feel the amusement in her voice and is speaking just as frequently and clearly back to him.
There, that had been Chioyoto’s aim as she felt Runa’s ire dial back a notch or two – to find an interest in things other than anger toward the ignorant hakim.
Then there was Grundeihl’s son – his young eyes so full of wonder that they did not leave Chiyoto’s face even the short while that he drank from her wrist – his innocence a breath of fresh air for the Heiress and dragoness. And Runa had shared that the cantankerous adolescent fedai that was the young male’s altre was going to be quite a handful upon his presentation. But that was something they would keep between the two of them – to take that discovery away from Grundeihl and his mate would be wrong. It would certainly be a challenge, though, that they would face together because – and this, too, according to her Runa – the fedai was already quite arsiz. They had both chuckled internally and agreed that young male would live, and that was the important thing.
Their interaction with the young male had not only served to calm Runa a bit more but had also warmed a part of Chiyoto such that she could now see to the injured with less concentration on containing Runa and keeping up a staunch front, and actually began to enjoy them. All of this interaction – even though mandated by an unfortunate event borne of the oppressive nature of the Khedive himself – called strongly into question the isolation in which she and Runa had existed almost since their birth. They both thoroughly enjoyed being with everyone – even Sila had become less of a hindrance – not that he ever was, it was simply Chiyoto’s perception of him as such because he was right there.
All. The. Time.
Oh, but your precious Rafal has to make sure his female is safe.
Runa sharpened her talons and sent Chiyoto one of her more acerbic expressions – Chiyoto tried to stifle a giggle and the warm currents that ran through her entire being at just the thought of her Rafal.
Runa huffed in a very nonplused manner and rolled her large, serpentine eyes as Chiyoto sighed in contentment.
Chiyoto brushed the hair back from the current young female patient’s forehead and rubbed her thumb there in comfort as she rose to move on to the last patient, Sila shadowing her as always. She smiled at the Black Guard as she had her Runa focus on the many volunteers – both Crimson and Blood-borne that were helping here with the injured and back at the original place where they had been working – such cooperation was a good focus for the dragoness.
Oh, but the subject of your Rafal could be so much more entertaining …
Chiyoto smiled and bit back a retort to her Runa as they arrived at the last injured Blood- borne, Nyurito, as the Heiress summarily dismissed her aggravating dragoness’ dig. The aged and beautiful female lying before them – whose gentle altre was an even older bierabon with a never-ending spark of mischief in both their eyes – sighed shakily as Chiyoto knelt beside her, running her fingers up and down the side of her face and neck as reassurance to both her and Shelless, the frightened bierabon inside. Chiyoto bared the slightest tip of Runa’s talon and gently sliced open her vein for the seventh time, raising her wrist to Nyurito’s trembling lips as she whispered an ancient lullaby that Junko used to sing to her when she had been but a youth. The light of reverence in Nyurito’s and Shelless’ eyes as she sang made both she and Runa smile back – as a quiet recognition passed over the female’s face with the passing of Chiyoto’s blood into her injured body. Removing her wrist as the female’s lips released it – a much needed and healing sleep claiming them both – Chiyoto quietly stood to find Gnysue Bweldon.
But between the standing and turning in addition to trying to unroll her sleeve, Chiyoto found herself more than a little off-balance – the loss of blood, although freely given, was not something to which they were accustomed.
We must not show weakness, my Treasure.
Chiyoto felt her Runa holding her – the knowledge that the dragoness would have taken control any other time not lost on her searching mind. She looked around the small chapel area, sensing Sila’s presence immediately back and to their right, and then glanced at the Keeper on her hand.
Runa chuckled inside.
Go ahead – goaded the wary Dragoness -- I would see us safely to the quarters of your choice – but ours has no nourishment within …
Chiyoto chuckled back – both of them knowing she would not be removing the Keeper – as she tried to non-chalantly reach for Sila’s arm for balance and spoke their destination in a pained whisper to him only.
“Rafal’s.”
Instinctively, Sila moved as if to support her with his other hand – an action which elicited an immediate and, although low, extremely fierce growl from Chiyoto. The Black Guard instantly withdrew the second hand – his much larger body becoming rigid to support her weight in whatever way necessary without actually holding onto her.
Sila surmised that Chiyoto’s reaction was so that no one would know of her weakened state, and the less public pathways toward the inside of the ship would be perfect for such.
Sila watched his Mistress with a protectiveness neither he nor Hiroto had experienced before now – he admired her courage and determination, but he could not quite discern how she was even able to hold her posture so regally and he
r head so straight knowing how much blood she had just distributed among the injured. He knew they were not yet enthroned and needed true nourishment more than they would once the reigning – if that was what their existence could be called up until now – Empress had passed. Sila raised his other arm to get the attention of the quirky gnysue who seemed to be in charge of the kyoukai – he simply wanted to let him know they were leaving by the back exit.
Bweldon gave some last moment instructions to the tall, hooded male who was helping and walked over to them.
“You will see them each safely away when we reach planetside, yes, Bweldon and Zeki?” both Sila and Hiroto noted the ease with which Chiyoto commanded others – her eyes and tone almost bewitching – but Sila also gritted his teeth unnoticeably because of how tightly she gripped his elbow where she steadied herself. She was sorely in need of nourishment.
Bweldon bowed his head gracefully.
“You have our vow, Hanımefendi,” the gnysue’s eyes twinkled, “We will see you in Capital City?”
Chiyoto released a long, tired sigh, and Sila felt her now partially-present talons dig into his arms as he sensed a gentle wave of power roll off of her.
Our Empress sustains her, my Sila, but we need to get her nourishment.
Sila agreed with his Hiroto. Bweldon’s not-quite question was best left unanswered for now.
“Thank you for everything, Gnysue,” he began to turn the two of them toward the small back door, “We depart through the sacristy to minimize our encounters with all of the emergency procedures in place.”
Bweldon nodded his understanding, the smile never wavering from his peaceful face.
“Well, of course she is magnificent, Zeki,” the gnysue had turned to continue his work – his continuing dialogue uninterrupted, “Oh, I think the black ink was a good touch, why would you …?”
The closing of the small door shut off the amusing diatribe as Sila felt more of Chiyoto’s weight leaning on his arm.