Encouraged, Sam pressed harder, twirling her finger around his ankle. She gripped his foot with her other hand, her fingers splayed. She went to press again.
“No!” John said. “You’ll kill me.”
“The little death, John-Kuno. Be brave!”
“No, honey-cat, you don’t understand. The ankle point is also a death meridian.”
“What?” She snatched her hands away.
John sat upright and placed a finger on his ankle, another finger hovering above his skin a few centimeters away. “If I were to press both these places at the same time, it would set off a reaction and every nerve in my body would be fried. I’d be dead within hours.”
“Why was this death-touch developed by the felinus?”
“Our greatest gift to another is the pleasure, and we have been held captive by creatures who want that gratification. It’s our protection: we can kill with a touch. Kill another, or kill ourselves—captivity for a felinus is a death sentence.”
“You like to roam free?”
“Always.” John shrugged. “During the wars, some felinus were assassins; we aren’t killers by choice, Sam, but we will if our home or kin are threatened. We’ll destroy without compunction any threat to our mate—no matter who or what. We’re lovers, not fighters, Sam, but when we have to kill we are efficient and absolutely ruthless. Trust me in that!”
“In the hands of someone evil, this knowledge of killing points and stuff… Oh…is this how your mother died? You said something about a heart touch. A felinus killed her?”
John’s steady gaze held hers. “I don’t know.”
“To kill by a simple stroking touch? It’s one helluva felinus secret you’re giving me.”
“I have many secrets and I might allow you to coax each one from me—slowly, of course, over time. One thousand and one nights.”
“Our nights are going to be very busy then?”
Laughing, John pulled her into his arms, drawing her down on top of him. He crossed his legs at the back of her thighs.
“Kuno?”
“Mm?”
“What is the felinus word for sex?
He laughed. “Honey-cat, now that is complicated! It depends on who is doing it to whom, when, where and their relationship, and which position. We use the human word—fuck—because it’s more convenient, especially when dealing with other species.”
“You gotta have a simple, ordinary word for sex.”
John rolled his eyes and growled. “For felinus, sex is neither simple nor ordinary. Haven’t I proved that? Or maybe you need reminding?”
She felt him pressing the tip of a finger into the hollow at the base of her spine. Instead of stars she saw whole constellations spinning before her eyes and heard John’s voice urging her into a deeper climax.
Hours later, they ate the meal Golden delivered, but it had little taste to Samantha. The shovan drink and John’s feena had spoiled her taste buds.
“It smells of sex in here. That’s all I can taste,” she said after they had eaten. “I smell felinus.”
“Very good, kitten-mine. You like the scent?”
“Mm.” She toyed with the tassel on the cushion. Did she like the scent? If she told him what she felt, wanted…stars! Tell him that? Nope. She had to keep a few secrets. “Do you think anyone can smell it, or heard us…?”
John put his hand over hers. “The alcove is screened, Sam. Nothing gets in or out without our permission. I’d like to tease the whole room with your screams because it would turn them inside out.”
“My screams are private. For you only.”
“Thank you.” His gaze searched hers. “Are you tired?”
“No. That shovan has stimulated me. I won’t be able to sit still for days.”
He rested his cheek on his hand, smiling. “Certain it’s the drink that’s doing that? I’ve had you five times and I’m not an easy lover to accommodate.”
“I can handle you. And it’s six times.”
“You’re keeping tally?”
“I’ll put a notch in my belt for every time I’ve made you scream, Kuno-John.”
“You’ll have to make a big belt then, honey-cat. I’ve got a lot of screaming inside me.”
Samantha laughed and after a moment’s hesitation, he joined in.
John stroked her ankle, running his finger along the inside of her foot. “There’s a special entertainment planned for tonight, just for you.”
“For me?”
“To welcome you to Rendezvous. Most of the misfits like me, come here.”
“Don’t call yourself that.”
“I’m proud of who and what I am. Besides, who wants to be a conformist? It’s too much fun being a reprobate. Or do you want me domesticated? A tame kitty?”
The idea of John both domesticated and tamed made her smile. She pushed herself to her knees and then stood unsteadily. Her legs were wobbly. Too much shovan…nope, too much sex. John grinned up at her.
“I’m going to freshen up. Is there a ladies’ room here?”
“Just follow the servitor. Wait.” He tapped into the dispenser and a few moments later a package arrived. “For you.”
“You’re spoiling me,” she said, taking up the parcel.
“Honey, I haven’t begun to spoil you.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.
“Another double entendre, Kuno!”
“Make of it what you will. Hurry back.”
Samantha stepped towards the shimmer-screen.
“Honey-cat?”
“Mm?” She turned.
“You might want to wear this.” He dangled the kaftan from his hand and then hurled it at her; reflex made her catch it. “I don’t want you walking through Rendezvous in your skin. Others will appreciate the sight, but your body is not for the sharing.”
She blushed. “I forgot about clothes.”
John grinned, eyes alight as she dressed.
Sam followed the servitor to the refresher room. The droid was a copper orb, studded with flashing gems. It cast an amber light onto the ground and Sam followed it through the maze of tables and alcoves.
Inside the rest room, she spent minutes under the pulsing laser shower, choosing rose of attar as the scent. But when the warm breeze began to waft around her, drying her, all she smelled was sex, John’s scent clinging to her.
Waving aside the dress-servitors, she combed her own hair and fluffed it into its bob. She added a little color to her lips and eyelids and then leaned forward studying her reflection in the mirror.
A stranger looked back at her: a stranger with dark eyes, a flush to her cheeks, a smile: a woman with secrets, a woman replete. John…
Then she remembered what he had told her.
His father was a King.
Despite that John insisted he was mongrel and of little account in the scheme of things, she had her doubts. Blood royal mated with blood royal. Always.
What was it John had told her?
You’ve never known felinus love. If a felinus finds his or her soul-mate, no matter what, it’s a compulsion, a joy, that cannot be denied.
Remembering his words brought a stab to her heart. She had known him for over eighteen months, but only through the chat room. She had kept her secrets as he, also.
Now, some of those secrets had been shattered, but others remained, and they were the ones that would eventually part them.
She had no illusions about that.
One day he must do his duty for himself and his kind—achieve the levels of felinus love with his mate. But his father had mated with a human. Why couldn’t he? He made whispered promises in the height of passion and he hinted at futures and possibilities, but that was all. And that felinus pledge—what did it really mean? A lifetime of commitment, or a moment of pleasure, given and received?
She had entered this with her eyes wide shut. All she could do now was enjoy the moment, because a future for them would never exist. He was sensualator, felinus and human, an exotic, potent cocktail of genes t
hat would take him, forever, beyond her reach. He would go where she could never follow.
She turned away from the mirror as her eyes misted with tears. Opening the package he had given her, she shook out the diaphanous garment, and as the light caught the mauve fabric, it gleamed like an opal, muted colors threaded with fiery red and cobalt.
This garment was made from quefram, the rarest of fabrics, not often seen outside the shifter homeworld.
And John had gifted it to her. A king’s son bestowing a kingly gift, and she would treasure it forever.
Sam carefully eased herself into it and pressed each diamante fastener closed. She studied herself again in the mirror and twirled. The robe floated around her like a translucent cloud. She smoothed the fabric over her body, blushing to remember how John had teased and touched her.
Turning away, she followed the servitor back to the bar and halted beside the exit.
She could save herself the inevitable heartache and leave now. Behind her she heard laughter and purring and a growl rising above the other sounds. With John, she had entered a world where few humans had ever walked—literally and figuratively. She was out of her depth. You’re a strong woman, he had said. Perhaps she was. Perhaps she could walk away, return to her place in the galaxy, one that did not include shifters.
She glanced back to the alcove where he awaited her.
A coward would walk away. You would break my heart if you left me—John’s words echoed in her mind. But when it came time for him to leave her…
She took a step forward and paused. Jinjo was sitting in his alcove playing with a ginger kitten. The feline batted at his fingers, purring. Jinjo laughed.
Open-mouthed Sam stared.
The robot saw her and snatching up his kitten, he slowly approached her, holding the creature to his neck.
“Mistress Samantha. You wish to leave?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I will have you escorted to your residence. The lower levels are not safe for a woman alone. It is regrettable, but the truth! This station does house some low-life riff raff, human and otherwise.”
Sam almost laughed until she saw that the avatar was in earnest. She watched him carefully stroking the kitten’s head. The tiny creature pressed into his hand, a pink tongue licking Jinjo’s metal skin. She had avoided robots for years, remembering Andy’s automatons, but maybe she was wrong to condemn all for the actions of a few—they were only following human orders. It was the human programmer at fault, not the machine.
Jinjo’s silver eyes flickered. “You wish for me to arrange escort, Mistress Samantha?”
“No, thank you, Jinjo.”
The avatar bowed. “It is my pleasure to serve.”
“What is your kitten’s name?”
“I have called her Gin-ja.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, she tells me I am too.”
“What?”
“Gin-ja is an AI, like myself. I am not permitted to own sentient life.”
“Why?”
“I am a machine, mistress.”
“You are? I hadn’t noticed.”
Jinjo’s eyes sparked. “Ah, you are making a joke with me.” He laughed.
“No, I meant it, Jinjo. I just don’t see you as a machine.”
“My Mistress Kareena says the same. I am honored.” He bowed. “Perhaps you should return to Maer Kuno. I know he must be missing you.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll see you again.”
“It would give me much pleasure.”
Samantha found her alcove and stepped through the shielding.
John was reclining on the cushions, frowning, his gaze glassy, preoccupied with his thoughts.
In her absence, John, too, had changed—she smelled the clean man smell combined with his own musk. She cleared her throat.
He sat upright, a blur of speed. Then, realizing it was her, he relaxed.
Sam swallowed nervously. She had heard about the felinus and their faster-than-human reflexes. And because of it, some humans were afraid of the felinus, of other shifters; why some had urged licenses and restrictions that had—so far—been over-ruled by the Galactic Equal Rights Tribunal.
“You’re beautiful, Sammi,” he purred.
“Thank you, but it’s only me in a garment fit for…” Fit for a queen. Not really appropriate for me…
John’s narrowed gaze fastened on her. He went to speak, but thought better of it. He inclined his head. “Sit beside me and have some more shovan. The entertainment is about to begin. I’m glad you didn’t run away.”
“You knew?”
“I sensed your indecision.”
“That bloody telepathy again.”
“It comes in handy, kitten, as you know.” He stroked the cushions beside him and Sam saw that his fingers were trembling. It would break my heart if you were to leave me…
“I’m not leaving you,” she said and meant it, as she folded down beside him.
“Even if I move in shifter circles?” He smiled.
“I can handle a few cats.”
“There’s just one cat I want you to handle. Me… Oh—it’s starting.”
The lights dimmed and on the raised platform in the center of the room a man, dressed in black silk, his head bowed, sat cross-legged on a gold velvet cushion, holding a lyre. His long fingers strummed the strings, commanding instant silence, instant attention.
A hush fell over the room and he slowly lifted his head.
He was felinus. Sam could see his eyes—sapphire blue, glowing. His black hair hung past his waist, trailing behind him onto the cushion like a cape. He was shockingly beautiful.
He glanced her way and smiled, his gaze catching hers, holding her immobile. He smiled again, running his tongue over his lips.
“Who is he?” she asked, her mouth desert-dry.
“Harimal, my brother.”
Sam stared.
Harimal flicked his hair back with a shake of his head and Sam heard the gasps of all the females—and some of the males in the audience. Sam tasted blood on her lip where she had bitten…
His long fingers stroked the strings of the lyre, sending vibrations to every part of the room. The pulsations matched the rush of blood in her veins, the flush of arousal within her. John’s fingers stroked her thigh. His scent coiled in her nostrils.
Harimal’s fingers moved faster over the strings, before suddenly changing tempo.
She recognized the music from Tosca.
Then Harimal sang: “And you unknown beauty are crowned with fair hair…”
Hari’s tenor voice was so rich, textured; inhumanly, impossibly beautiful. As he sang he kept his attention upon her, because he sang for her—only for her.
She returned that look, but it took all her willpower not to drop her gaze, to fight the urge to run and hide.
Then the song drifted away, he smiled, inclined his head and commenced another tune.
The words were felinus, but the meaning needed no interpretation: Love. Erotic love. Denial. Sorrow. Loneliness. Finding love. Denial. Sorrow. Consummation. Convergence.
The tempo changed, now it was languid. Slowly a silver halo grew around him, and in it Sam saw stars and moons and planets. Then comets streaked through the mist, supernovae, a galaxy, a nebula, all orbiting him as if he were the center of the universe—and for that moment he was: all attention in the bar was upon him.
Within the room, the silence was absolute. She hardly dared to breathe.
The music altered. It became sensual—something to be felt and tasted and touched, rather than simply heard. Again, the music resonated with the inhuman. Sam’s blood thrummed in time with it. Absently, she stroked John’s ankle. The halo around Harimal parted and more stars were revealed, glowing amber and green and blue.
An illusion formed beside him: like a hologram, but so real! Sam saw a man and woman—both felinus—dancing. They were naked, their bodies glowing golden-blue with the starlight ecstasy. They joi
ned, parted, joined, an intimate dance of retreat, chase, confrontation—moving in time with the music and the song.
Sam swallowed against her tight dry throat. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, blood racing through her body in a heated tide. She wanted that dance, that touch. She clenched her eyelids, struggling for control.
As the last strum of his fingers over the lyre drifted to silence, the erotic tension dissipated.
When Sam opened her eyes she saw that the dais was empty, save for the lyre left lying on the cushion.
The breath that she had been holding was slowly released. Behind her, she heard John’s slow, deep inhalation.
“Ah, thank you, honey-cat, for your scent-gift.” John purred behind her.
“W…what was that I just saw?” Be calm my quaking heart. Sam put a hand to her chest.
“That was the felinus love-song, at its basic level,” John whispered. “Only Hari can do it justice.’
“His voice is to die for.”
“Some humans have. That’s why he never performs it anywhere off-world but here, and only the digest version.” John smiled. “Felinus can take the full rendition, most humans can’t. How you feeling?”
“You’ve got your hand up my dress, John-Kuno, do you really need to ask?”
He smiled and lifted her onto his lap, his feena teasing into her. She angled her body so that he took the first pleasure point in one thrust. Ecstasy. She was beyond screaming.
When she could think again, she found herself lying on John, her body stretched over his length.
“I told you I make a very soft mattress.” His grin was crooked; his eyes danced mischief.
“You told him my name was Tosca?”
“Yes.” His gaze searched her face. “I trust Hari with my life, with everything, Sam.”
“Everything?”
“It’s the felinus way.” He smiled. “Hari knows how we met, that you refused to speak to me for months, and only then in the anonymity of a chat-room provided there were no holo-images or other sensory enhancers. Just digital communication with pseudonyms.”
“Kuno and Tosca—what a pair we make.” Sam did not know whether to laugh or cry. “I recognized Hari’s voice.”
John lifted a brow. “Explain.”
“When he sang just now, I caught a shadow—I can’t explain it any better. I know he was one of the performers at the Starwatch charity opera.”
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