Clan and Conviction (Clan Beginnings)

by Tracy St. John

  “I don’t feel desperate at all. I like him. Sometimes he looks at me like I’m going to eat him up, and he almost wants me to.” Gelan’s grin turned lascivious. “What will it hurt to get to know him personally? It’s not like we’ve got Imdikos knocking down our door to join us.”

  Wynhod looked nowhere near convinced. “If he’s our age and not clanned, there’s something wrong there, something beyond clumsiness and the inability to dress himself properly. Imdikos don’t roam around unclanned that late in life unless no one wants them.”

  He sat down at his desk and began tapping on his computer. He looked grouchy as hell now.

  Wynhod’s mood failed to bother Gelan. He thought about that sweet face hidden under the hair that kept flopping over it. The thought of Krijero’s long, lithe body divested of its wrinkled clothing presented pretty good incentive too. He’d noticed the Imdiko before, but never as much as he had only moments ago. When the man laughed, he was utterly gorgeous. And there was that sense about him of jumble and confusion, something a decent leader could put to rights. A Dramok like Gelan.

  He kept right on musing out loud despite Wynhod’s stubborn silence. “Maybe he’s the one holding out. I’ve known of a few Imdikos who didn’t want to clan for some reason or another. Come on, Wynhod, there has to be something you like about Krijero.”

  The Nobek scowled. “Fine. I’ll admit he’s helped out a lot with several of our cases, starting with Delir. And he is a nice guy, always willing to drop everything else he’s working on when you ask him for help. But to court? To maybe clan? I don’t know, Gelan.”

  Something came up on Wynhod’s vid. He sat back, looking triumphantly vindicated. With an almost violent gesture, he indicated what he’d found. “See? Imdiko Krijero, son of Clan Tasja. Not Imdiko Krijero, belonging to Clan whoever. He’s a year older than me and never clanned. That’s a red flag.”

  Gelan wasn’t swayed by his clanmate’s findings. “If he was clanned, we wouldn’t have any reason to bother with him. You’ve just shown we should bother with him. Thanks for proving my case.”

  “Gelan, no one wants him, or he’s determined to remain single. There’s no point.”

  “I think there is. We should find out what has kept him unattached. You’re not the least bit curious?”

  Wynhod stared at him. He slowly shook his head. “And all those Imdikos say you and I are completely alike. I’m going to take that as an insult from now on.”

  Gelan simply looked at his Nobek and waited.

  After a few seconds of that, Wynhod threw his hands up in the air. “You won’t let this go, will you? You just can’t stand to have questions with no answers. That’s also the real reason you’re going to re-open the Delir issue.”

  “It bothers me,” Gelan admitted. “It always has, and Krijero coming up with the Frenzy angle only makes me want to find those answers once and for all.”

  Wynhod sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. I can see your point. It would be good to either clear Amik’s name or find out he really was on the take.”

  The Dramok gave him a knowing grin. “You’re not distracting me from checking out Krijero.”

  Wynhod growled and rolled his eyes. He gave in with bad grace, getting to his feet and glaring at Gelan. “Fine. Let’s go ask him out to dinner. The sooner we find out what’s wrong with him, the sooner you’ll let this nonsense go.”

  Gelan tried not to be smug at his victory. “Just make sure you give him a chance, all right?”

  “Are you going to lecture me or are we going to talk to the man?”

  Biting his lips to keep back the smile that wanted to burst forth, Gelan stood. He led the way out of the department, going in search of Krijero.

  * * * *

  Wynhod reluctantly followed Gelan down the corridor towards the Criminal Psychology Department. His Dramok hurried, apparently wanting to catch Krijero before he got to his desk. Wynhod shook his head. When Gelan got an idea the man just couldn’t let it go, no matter how ludicrous.

  Yeah, Krijero had an attractive face and a shrewd mind. Yes, he also had long legs that had made Wynhod think rude thoughts only minutes before when the psych had shown up at their desks. He’d considered how nice those legs would be slung over his shoulders as he drove into that cute little ass. But Krijero was too old an Imdiko to not belong to someone or a couple of someones. That was the long and short of it. Something had to be really wrong with the psych for him to still be running around unclanned.

  They saw him just as he was about to walk into his department. Gelan called, “Dr. Krijero! A moment, please?”

  Krijero jerked to a stop and turned, apparently startled. The movement was clumsy, and for a moment Wynhod thought he would fall. The Nobek put on a burst of speed, hoping to catch him before he could hit the floor. Fortunately, Krijero caught his balance on his own.

  Gelan had apparently had the same idea of breaking the Imdiko’s fall, because he managed to get to Krijero just a breath ahead of Wynhod. Krijero peered at them through the tumble of hair that always obscured his appealing face. Damn, the man was a mess. Was Gelan really serious about pursuing this guy?

  Krijero’s sweet smile flashed through those coal-black locks. “Yes, Investigator?”

  Gelan returned the smile with the most charming one in his own arsenal. It softened the naturally imperious features, and for a moment Wynhod couldn’t help but stare at his clanmate in admiration. The last ten years had been the happiest of his life. Suddenly he wasn’t so put out with his Dramok’s crazy notion of getting to know Krijero. He’d do just about anything for Gelan.

  Gelan took the psych by the elbow. “Will you walk with us for a bit? My clanmate and I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.” Krijero didn’t seem to pick up on the mention of ‘clanmate’ and not ‘partner’. He did stare at the hand on his arm, however.

  They kept walking down the hall. This part of the headquarters was less congested than the rest since it dead ended at the supply department. Wynhod and Gelan flanked Krijero on either side, Wynhod to Krijero’s right where his ever-present cowlick kept more of that side bare. The Nobek noticed that though Krijero was his own age, he looked younger. His face was smoother, hardly lined. Of course, the Imdiko didn’t go around scowling and intimidating suspected criminals either. His one and only concession to slightly advancing maturity seemed to be the worry line etched between his eyebrows. Hell, he could have been younger than Gelan by five years based on looks alone.

  Gelan’s voice warmed as he asked, “First of all, do you have plans for tonight, Imdiko?”

  The one bright purple eye Wynhod could see blinked slowly. “No, nothing.”

  “Good. Why don’t you let us take you out to dinner?”

  Wynhod started to see a flash of fear blaze across Krijero’s features. He even edged slightly away from Gelan towards the Nobek. Damn if the man didn’t nearly cringe.

  Wynhod heard Krijero’s swallow, and the Imdiko’s voice came out pitched slightly higher than usual. “You want to talk about the Frenzy case off the clock? I can understand that.”

  Gelan exchanged a look with Wynhod. He’d caught that burst of concern as well. The Dramok’s eyes narrowed, and he said in his most careful tone, “No, not the case. Just dinner. Talk. I’m asking you out for a purely social outing to get to know each other better.”

  Krijero’s shoulders hunched, and this time the alarm in his expression was blatant. Panic and – hurt. Pain. The Imdiko stopped walking and stared at them. A tremor ran through his body.

  He took a step back, moving away from them. His voice didn’t reflect the agony on his face; instead it was cold and brittle. “I’d rather not. Thanks.”

  With that, he turned and started back towards his department. Gelan gave Wynhod a shocked look. The Nobek was also stunned by the abrupt change in Krijero’s usually gentle demeanor.

  Wynhod needed to know why Krijero found dinner with them so terrifying, why it had been met wit
h obvious anguish. He moved so fast that Krijero hadn’t gone two steps before the Nobek stood right in front of him, blocking him from going any farther.

  Searching the bits of Krijero’s tormented face he could see, Wynhod asked, “Why don’t you want to have dinner with us? You’re not clanned.”

  “And I won’t be—” Krijero stopped himself. He backed up, nearly bumping into Gelan before he realized the Dramok stood just behind him. He jerked away so that his back pressed against the wall. Krijero looked at them both like a trapped animal. Now his expression showed a confusion of grief and something else. Something that looked to Wynhod like want.

  His voice miserable, Krijero answered, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to see people from work in a personal capacity.”

  Gelan looked at Krijero like he did the beasts he stalked on their vacations. Wynhod knew his Dramok’s hunting instinct was aroused. The Imdiko’s flight response had excited Gelan’s need to catch prey. He’d only been curious before, but Wynhod’s clanmate was fascinated now. The pursuit had just become an all-out chase for Gelan.

  The Dramok’s tone still managed to be calm and reasonable. “It worked pretty well for Wynhod and me.”

  Krijero shrank deeper into himself. “So it did. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me though.” He glanced at Wynhod, who still blocked his route to the psych department. “Excuse me. I have work to do.”

  Wynhod wasn’t sure why he did what he did next, especially when there were others close by to witness the exchange. So far, no one had seemed to pay any attention to the trio clustered against the wall of the corridor, talking in low voices. All it would take was a shout from Krijero, and there would be questions he and Gelan might have a hard time answering.

  Yet Wynhod couldn’t help himself. He reached over and shoved Krijero’s hair back from his face so he could get a good look at him. What he saw drove the air from his lungs.

  The Imdiko’s expression was one of naked vulnerability. No longer hidden behind that swath of hair, Krijero flinched, his startled gaze skittering away to keep from looking at Wynhod and Gelan. That sweet-natured face, almost soft enough to render Krijero more lovely than handsome, held too much torment to be borne.

  Wynhod suddenly knew Krijero wasn’t clanned because he feared being clanned. Someone had seriously fucked with the man’s head and heart, leading him to reject the companionship that he should have been enjoying for the last twenty years.

  His voice gentle, Wynhod asked, “Who hurt you, Imdiko?”

  Krijero’s eyes widened, and he gasped as he looked at Wynhod. He jerked violently away, knocking into Gelan and losing his balance. Gelan caught him. Out of Wynhod’s grip, Krijero’s hair fell over his face again, sheltering him from their stares.

  The Imdiko twisted his long body hard to get away from the pair, but his unreliable balance made him stumble. They both grabbed at the flailing man, setting him on his feet and holding him to keep him stable.

  Gelan said in a low but intense tone, “Calm down, Krijero. It’s just a dinner date I’m asking for.”

  “I don’t want to.” The Imdiko sounded on the verge of sobbing, but he’d stopped struggling. He simply stood there between them, shaking, keeping his head down.

  Wynhod’s protective instincts rose full force. The angst in Krijero made him want to keep the Imdiko safe, to not allow him to be hurt again. He wanted to know who had harmed him in the first place so he could find the man and beat him into a coma.

  It took effort to calm the natural Nobek reaction to shield someone as susceptible to harm as Krijero seemed to be. But this was not Wynhod’s Imdiko. He had no cause to try to rescue him from whatever suffering he’d endured.

  Gelan’s gaze flicked to the half dozen officers who were now watching them. He patted Krijero’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he soothed the Imdiko. “Let him go back to work, Wynhod.”

  Wynhod still found it hard to step aside and let Krijero go. He found it even harder to not touch him as he walked past him, to not offer some kind of support before letting the psych out of his sight.

  Apparently convinced nothing untoward was going on, the onlookers dispersed, going about their business once again. It was a police station, after all. Drama was a given, especially with so many strong-willed Nobeks and Dramoks butting heads on a regular basis.

  Before Krijero could get out of hearing range, Gelan said to him, “We’ll talk about going some other time, Imdiko.” Despite the mild tone, there was the strong thread of command in his voice, the one that said Gelan would not take no for an answer. It gave Wynhod a thrill up his spine.

  Krijero heard it too. He shot them a wide-eyed look over his shoulder and hurried faster to the door that opened to his department. They watched until he disappeared into its interior.

  Wynhod exchanged a look with Gelan. No words were needed between the two. It might not have been the same instinct that drove his Dramok to want to pursue Krijero, but that need was now present in Wynhod as well. It was essential to know what had happened to the Imdiko and why he was so reluctant to entertain a relationship that might get him clanned. The faster Krijero ran to escape, the harder Wynhod would chase him.

  After all, he was a Nobek, a natural-born predator. Nothing excited the predator instinct more than prey in flight.

  Chapter 3

  Krijero trembled in the dark, eager anticipation and fear crowding his wits. The blindfold tied over his eyes couldn’t shut out the other senses. The smell of leather whips and tails surrounded him, as did the musk of masculine bodies and the spicy sting of their arousal. Underlying it all wafted the agreeable aroma of old sweat and blood, dim remnants of those who had been here before him.

  Sound remained as well. The low mutterings and excited growls of those watching him filled his ears. The two Nobeks in the room with him were absolutely silent, as only Nobeks could be, letting him hear the approving noises of the others who readied for the show. Soon the only sounds he would hear would be the snap of leather against his flesh and his own cries.

  He was acutely aware of touch too. The metal manacles on his wrists and ankles trapped his nude body over a low padded bench. His legs splayed wide, holding him open for the men should they choose to sink their iron into his ass. He thought the big, broad Nobek probably would, the one who bore a passing resemblance to Wynhod. The man had told him he would go mad if he didn’t feel Krijero’s warmth around his cock. That was a pretty good indication he would be in for an assfuck, the Imdiko believed.

  Krijero felt most aware of the lack of something familiar touching him. Once they had Krijero bound helpless, one of them had pulled his hair back and tied it out of the way. “Aren’t you sweet,” said a rough voice, belonging to the man who looked nothing like Wynhod. “Such a cute Imdiko. Everyone will definitely enjoy seeing this face respond to our lashes.”

  The blindfold helped calm some of Krijero’s nerves about being too exposed. He couldn’t see the audience or the men who had asked him to play with them. He remained hidden for the most part, unlike how he’d been when Wynhod and Gelan had stared into his eyes earlier today at work. Damn it, they’d seen everything, picking up on things he didn’t want to think about, much less discuss.

  It was much better here in the pleasure club with nameless men and soon-forgotten faces. Here, they only wished to enjoy his body. They didn’t care about the bullshit in his head.

  He felt a slight hint of movement that would have been enough to rock Krijero’s chancy balance had he been on his feet. His companions for the next few minutes had started the revolving floor in the mirrored playroom, allowing the spectators in the viewing area to see every part of him from every angle. He didn’t care if they saw his ass or his wet, hard cocks. As long as they couldn’t see into his eyes, past the barriers so carefully constructed over the years, he was still safe. Still hidden.

  The first splash of pain dug stinging trails across his buttocks. Krijero cried out and jerked. A pleased sigh rose from t
he audience. Another blow landed across his shoulders. They were using floggers on him, the ends of the thin leather straps knotted to produce more sensation. Lances of sparkling agony thudded his flesh and kept coming.

  Krijero writhed beneath the continuous splatter of hurt that rained down on his shoulders, back, ass, and thighs. The strikes gradually built in strength until his cries were continuous, drowning out the appreciative growls and encouragements of the crowd.

  He liked the pain. It drove out all thought, eclipsed all fears and regrets. Under the lashing of the two practiced Nobeks, he could forget. Now he was not only hidden from everyone else; he was also hidden from himself.

  The growing throb also triggered calming endorphins through his system, robbing Krijero of angst. Little by little, he began to float in his head. His body still struggled in the instinctive drive to escape punishment, his howls of pain still resounded, but he was the closest to peace that he ever came. Krijero often thought he was every bit an addict as anyone who had fallen under the spell of Delir. The drifting pleasure of giving himself over to the solace of physical torment made up his drug of choice.

  It was the second time he’d visited a pleasure club this week. Krijero usually didn’t play more than once a month, but his earlier encounter with Gelan and Wynhod had driven him to find release. The offer of dinner and the bald interest in first the Dramok and then the Nobek’s eyes had made Krijero contemplate an encounter he knew he couldn’t have. Being cornered by the two strong men had replayed in his head over and over throughout the day. He’d felt their strength. He’d seen their determination. Krijero knew if he gave them the least opportunity, he’d crumble before it. They were that overwhelming to him.

  That couldn’t happen, especially with Gelan. Gelan was a Dramok. Krijero didn’t play with Dramoks, not even anonymous encounters in the pleasure club.

  Krijero felt none of those worries right now. For the moment there was only the steady thrash of leather, the hateful emotional pain eclipsed by the lovelier physical challenge.