Empress Hiding

  The taller, hooded male with whom Bweldon had been working to treat and comfort the injured approached, running his hand through the unmoved gnysue’s hair to calm and comfort him and his animal as he interrupted Bweldon and calmly addressed Rafal.

  “Bir, my lord,” the male bowed his head in reverence to Rafal who immediately sensed a Blood-borne predator before him.

  But it was one of his himitsu savaşçi that had sworn loyalty to him alone.

  The hooded male leaned down and whispered words of comfort and dismissal to Bweldon and Zeki – the gnysue eyeing the much more muscular and much younger male with obvious questions of concern regarding the topic at hand, but the savaşçi continued his dismissal by nudging Bweldon on his way.

  He then stood and removed his hood to meet Rafal’s gaze – his nearly white-blond hair and white with blonde beard a wonderful compliment to his light chocolate skin and blazing blue eyes – together they were an easy ident for the demercriere that growled in obvious reverence.

  “Gnysue Bweldon means well, my lord,” the savaşçi’s voice was deep yet humble and obedient, “But they are very protective souls, and old wounds are sometimes difficult to heal.”

  Rafal felt his beast growl in both agreement with and approval of the savaşçi’s statement and aura, and he nodded at the young male who exhaled in relief at his Prime Magistrate’s understanding. A small smile of welcome even tried to breech the young male’s lips.

  “And how may we be of service today, my lord?”

  Rafal’s first question may have seemed odd to most.

  “The ICT matter handled?”

  A slight nod on the savaşçi’s part.

  “Aye, my lord,” his voice never changing tone or surprise at the different subject, “Safely delivered.”

  Rafal’s nod the only further acknowledgement the “matter” would receive before he continued his quest for Chiyoto.

  “We are here for Hanfendi Chiyoto,” Rafal and his beast would leave no room for excuses as he demonstrably inhaled deeply through his nose, “We do not see her.”

  The clear implication that he knew her to be there was unspoken, but his undoubtedly loyal savaşçi did not look convinced.

  “My lord?” those blue eyes becoming even more scrutinizing as the demercriere stirred restlessly behind them, “Hanfendi Chiyoto did help tend the more seriously injured, but she left with her male shortly bef …”

  Rafal could not help nor control the jealousy that arose from the savaşçi’s misinterpretation.

  “He is not her male!” Rafal’s voice never reached above a threatening whisper, but the weight of his beast in them could actually be felt in the air, but then he added to calm himself and, perhaps the conversational tone as it seemed their exchange had begun to attract some attention, “My Black Guard watches over her for me. Now, which way …”

  And the young male was obviously affected by the emotions conveyed in Rafal’s words – there was a brief silence between the two as both Rafal and his beast sensed more than a bit of unease developing in their savaşçi, but, to his credit, the brave young male continued even as a spark of mischief? challenge? hope? appeared in those burning blue irises.

  “You scent Hanfendi Chiyoto because she is your female, my lord?”

  Just as Rafal nodded in response, both he and the silver-blond male turned to see Bweldon’s stoutly build hit the floor. Rafal’s beast growled in concern as he turned to take a step in that direction, but was caught mid-step by the alert on his wrist comm.

  “What is it, Dalis?” Rafal growled into the comm as he silently motioned between the savaşçi and the fallen gnysue, but the young male waved him off, mouthing the words “Exhaustion. He will be fine.”

  Rafal nodded almost absently at the large young male that now looked as though he would fall prostrate before him at any moment as Dalis’ words penetrated Rafal’s confusion and increasing aggravation.

  “You need to get back here, my Lord,” Rafal could tell that, although his Dalis’ voice was calm, there was a worried animal dimension to his voice that many could not detect if they did not know the loyal steward as Rafal did, “Beyfendi Sila has asked that I contact you.”

  His beast growled and pushed Rafal hard – not that the Prime Magistrate needed it.

  He had already dismissed the seemingly suddenly star-struck – and what was up with that anyway? – savaşçi to check on the gnysue as he hastily exited the kilise and took off running to the Royal Suite.

  There was something not right with his Chiyoto, and he needed to be there.

  Tazirr closed off the air flow for the forge and dipped the new pair of blade-edge bolas into the water bath as he wiped his brow with the other large, smut covered hand. It was definitely time for a food break – and then a good rest – as this was the third set of the newly-designed weapons he had completed this late in the evening. He held up his handiwork, admiring the uniqueness of the weapon that would practically slice through whatever limb or neck around which it was thrust as he walked it to its rightful place on the wall amidst other bolas of his own design.

  As with all of his work over the past day or more since the deadly encounter in the hangar, this new model was borne out of the attack by the Perse sircakerkele Assassin that had arrived under the guise of being a nanny for Erol and Matin from the Khedive – Tazirr laughed out loud to himself at the irony of anything as deadly as a sircakerkele being a nanny. By the Makers, neither he nor anyone else had even heard of a cognate of either Crimson or Blood-borne ever having the pairing of the unpredictable and extremely dangerous yilans.

  And Neşeli agreed with him – it was unbelievable that the Makers would have even created such a being. It was bad enough the likes of themselves had been created, yes? Both he and Neşeli snorted at their self-deprecating joke.

  Having lived for their first forty-five cycles in the Barrens and the remainder of their fifty some odd cycles here in service to Prince Hondo (Neşeli preferred not to talk about their age as a specific number – not that it bothered Tazirr), they had never met a cognate with a more dangerous alter-being than Neşeli – except, of course, the rumored Crowned Prince, but they had never actually met him – much less another zehirakre like themself. Perhaps such was why they had never mated because, seriously, as the much more eloquent Neşeli had put it, what creature other than another zehirakre would wish to mate with a zehirakre?

  Not that Tazirr had ever hungered for more – he and Neşeli found complete fulfillment in the thrill of the hunt and in their study of and design of new weapons for such. Before Prince Hondo’s forces had infiltrated their homeland in the Barrens – because neither ‘invaded’ nor ‘subjugated’ were the proper terms for the Prince’s benevolent yet undeniably strong and compelling hold on all of the territories – Tazirr had been a Territory Peacekeeper: they were good with all weapons and none had challenged their authority based on their sheer size and demeanor, and, so, the peace had been kept.

  But when Prince Hondo with his wartrige had befriended them and offered them the position of Huntmaster for the Royal household which ruled over all of the Southern Provinces, there was no way they would turn down such an opportunity. And, even with instances of the unknown such as the conflict with the Perse Assassin yesterday, he and Neşeli had never regretted their decision – not even for a moment.

  The accommodations they were afforded as Huntmaster were more than they could have ever dreamed of: all the metallurgy and authority that Tazirr craved along with every bit and more of the interaction and socializing on which Neşeli thrived – present or not. Not to mention the stone play-yard for Neşeli to exercise and simply enjoy himself without the gawking and mostly fearful eyes of others.

  Tazirr turned to head down the darkened passage that joined to their living quarters to their work area when Neşeli pulled back on his forward motion.

  A very sma
ll someone is just outside our workroom door, Tazirr.

  Tazirr stopped and frowned … they were not expecting anyone, especially not this late in the evening, and he had heard no scratching when he had extinguished the fires. Not one to ever doubt his bond with his altre, however, the large, burly huntmaster headed toward the door and swung it wide inward to see …

  No one was there.

  Tazirr growled at his Neşeli’s desire for company apparently taking over his good sense of reality as his muscular arms went to slam the door and turn away … when a tiny head of blonde hair atop a dirty face with sparkling deep maroon-almost-brown eyes peeked around the corner.

  The little being was not very high off the ground, mind you, especially compared to Tazirr’s towering height.

  Tazirr caught the door just in time before it slammed shut.

  Told you so, you hulking brute.

  Tazirr huffed at Neşeli’s accusatory tone as he slowly re-opened the door just in time for the little head to be pulled back and disappear, apparently startled by Tazirr’s abrupt movements. The huntmaster stepped outside the door as a tiny hand grabbed the corner followed by somewhat less blonde hair and only one eye this time trying to peek at them.

  Be gentle, Tazirr, she is curious and quite unsure.

  Frowning inwardly, Tazirr chastised Neşeli wondering if his altre expected him to be anything but gentle with such a tiny being.

  “He-e-e-e-ey,” the brawny huntmaster tried his best to whisper ‘gently’ to satisfy Neşeli even as he questioned internally how his altre knew it was a female hiding there, “Come out and say something.”

  How thoroughly inviting of you, beyfendi hospitality.

  Tazirr growled inwardly at Neşeli’s criticism of his handling of the entirely awkward situation as he held out his over-sized hand to the diminutive being that still peered at him from beyond the door’s alcove.

  Just as he was about to ask his altre again about his identification of the eyes and hair as female, the teensy body stepped fully around the corner to reveal that she was indeed a female.

  A very dirty, very nude little female who could not have been more than three cycles in age.

  Her reddish-brown eyes shown wide with wonder as they gazed at Tazirr – her little nose and olfactory obviously working double-time to identify any and all scents about him. She was quite the sight, to be sure, especially when that beautiful, ear-to-ear grin spread eagerly across her completely soiled face as she reached for his outstretched hand.

  We need to protect her, Tazirr.

  “Protect her from what?” Tazirr spoke gruffly as he started to stand, the tiny female lunging for his receding hand, “She must belong to one of the fema … Oow!” Tazirr’s exclamation was neither gentle nor tempered as he gritted he teeth, “You little …”

  The puny female had latched onto his finger with her teeth, and she had not just taken a nibble.

  She bit him.

  Hard.

  Tazirr no! She is simply hungry!

  Leaning over, Tazirr reached toward her face with his other hand and squeezed both sides of her face with his thumb and forefinger to force her jaws apart.

  “NO!” Tazirr said loudly and firmly right in her face.

  The little female completely lost her grin and her jaw went slack as Tazirr removed his bleeding finger from her mouth and proceeded to wipe it on his rough leathers.

  Tazirr! Do not yell at her like that!

  But Tazirr growled inwardly at his Neşeli as he let instinct take him forward.

  “You DO. NOT. Bite!” Tazirr was still in her face and spoke through clenched teeth – his hand still firmly holding her face immobile and even shaking it slightly with each word – as a growl from Neşeli rolled up from inside him.

  The growl was actually directed at Tazirr, but, upon hearing the threatening noise, the tiny female’s grin returned, and she leaned forward and began to lick Tazirr’s face.

  Not just once, but over and over again.

  And Tazirr’s angry mood melted instantaneously. He actually felt a chuckle rumble through his immense chest as the female’s tiny hands reached forward and wrapped themselves in the huntmaster’s thick, unruly hair that more resembled a maalchie’s nest than a male’s head of hair.

  She likes us, Tazirr. Now, we must feed her and protect her.

  “You think feeding someone is the solution to everything, Neşeli,” but even as he spoke chastisingly to his altre, the bitsy female’s scent infiltrated Tazirr’s olfactory and calmed him in a way he could not understand, and he sighed deeply in satisfaction. He instinctively let his hand fall from her face as he brought the other one with the bitten finger forward to lift her minute frame up to sit her on his forearm as he stood, “But we should also get a shirt on her,” he put his large face next to hers to inhale her deeply and even nipped her ear to her squealing delight.

  You see, Tazirr. She is ours to protect.

  And she nipped him back and giggled – only it truly was a simple nibble this time, and not a bite.

  Tazirr could not believe his actions as he actually latched the door behind him and headed down the dark passageway to their living quarters with the tiny female held tightly in his arms.

  “And just what in the realm of godsfall are we going to do with her?”

  He spoke as much to Neşeli as to the little female as he grabbed a meat chop out of the cooler in passing and handed it to her as he marched toward the comm console – his intention to put out an all-call to the palace grounds to see if anyone was missing her.

  At the moment his hands flipped on the transmit power on switch, the female opened her mouth to bite the chop but then stopped herself, closed her mouth, and swallowed hard. She proceeded to simply stick her little tongue out to lick the meat repeatedly, a slight growl emanating from her small frame as she tried to eat the food using her tongue only.

  Tazirr watched her with confused wonder.

  You commanded her not to bite, you brute.

  Neşeli was right.

  He had.

  She learned fast, he had to give the dirty little afacan that much. He felt Neşeli growl at his use of the usually derogatory term regarding the youngster and smiled at them both. Then he put his large hand over the female’s teeny one that held the chop as he leaned forward and pronouncedly bared his teeth in acting like he was taking a large bite of it and, subsequently, mimicking an obvious chewing motion as he released her hand.

  Tazirr watched as those deep burgundy eyes grew almost squinted with her consternation as she slowly opened her mouth and planted her teeth on the chop – not biting through it, only holding it there – her little eyes so very full of question and uncertainty as she simply froze and stared at Tazirr.

  Acting only on instinct again, Tazirr reached up and grabbed her by the nape and brought her forehead to meet his own – their eyes locked beyond the possibility of focus – as he growled long and low before whispering, “Yes, my Afacan – you bite that.”

  He pulled away slightly and snapped his teeth immediately in front of her face.

  Her entire face lit up as she wrinkled her nose and growled back at him – just before she bit viciously into the chop and ripped a big chunk from it and shoved it into her mouth with the help of her other little hand.

  All this while she continued to smile and to giggle at the humongous Huntmaster that she had just unknowingly tamed as none other had done before.

  You see? Feeding does fix everything.

  Neşeli was quite smug, but Tazirr growled his reluctant concession.

  She is ours, Tazirr.

  Now, that he could not have said better himself.

  Tazirr turned to shut off the comm console he had just activated – he dared anyone to claim the tiny female now.

  But you can not call her Afacan.

 
Tazirr pulled a somewhat clean shirt from his clothing stack and slipped it over her tiny body as she devoured the meat chop and extended her hand to him through the shirt sleeve in search of more food – another meat chop.

  “I will call her whatever I like,” he carried her now covered little body – the shirt actually barely hung around her with the neck hole threatening to slide completely over her shoulders and off again – to the cooler and handed her another chop, “She belongs to us now.”

  The little female on his arm growled in satisfaction as she practically inhaled most of the second chop as well. But she stopped short when there was a single bite remaining and held it out in offering to Tazirr – a beautiful grin on her still-dirty little face as she leaned in to lick his cheeks repeatedly, one of her little greasy hands grabbing hold of his mess of hair again.

  Tazirr took the bite she offered and, chewing it quickly while smiling tremendously at her, tossed the bone in the trash on top of the other one. He then held her to him to inhale her scent again, the hug allowing her to very quickly nuzzle into his neck – tiny body splayed against his unusually broad chest – as a soft yet very high-pitched whine began to emanate from her. Tazirr smiled at no one in particular as he felt her breathing slow into what must be a sleep state even though her dirty arm lay poised above her head, her bitsy hand still tightly fisted his hair.

  You are getting soft in our old age, you know?

  Tazirr growled at Neşeli – the ‘soft’ was something to which he would always object, but, for some odd reason, he felt anything but ‘old’ at the moment.

  His Neşeli had to agree with him.

  Which was a really good thing because it was clear that their little Afacan had a lot to learn.

  Margreet lithely moved through the two guest rooms the prince had selected – she pulled covers from the furniture, filled water basins, set out fresh towels in the bilis, and turned down the beds for the two males. She had always enjoyed having Hondo come visit, even when some of those visits had not been fully his choice – the Prince had always been such an enigma that he intrigued both her and Cheo. The wartrige was so very daunting and lethal yet stayed so very docile and removed around them that all they ever truly sensed was Hondo himself – the strong and extremely protective younger brother of Crowned Prince Rafal. Only more recently when the younger Prince visited with his mate, Somdech Shelvana, had they even slightly perceived the wartrige as the terrifying presence that they knew it to be – the wartrige obviously much closer to the surface with their female to protect.