Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

Silence.

  That was IT! She had to go investigate, his order notwithstanding. What if he was injured? Killed? Lyra hurried back into the house for her boots, her armband, and switchblade from her backpack. Then casting one of J'Kor's work coats over her shoulders, she ventured fearfully into the black maw of midnight.

  Over the pasture fence and across the field, Lyra picked her way toward the general direction of the former melee. She was afraid to call out for J'Kor. Who knew who or what might still be out there? However, anyone who may be nearby was probably hearing loud and clear her bumbling gait across unknown and unseen terrain.

  Every twenty feet or so she'd stop to listen, but the cries and gunfire had ceased minutes ago. Sheep were flocking together again to bed down for the night. The long, lonely whoop of a ruffed krine echoed mournfully from the trees beyond and Lyra paused to listen again. Surely, she must be getting close—

  Yes! She definitely heard something now. A light shuffling of grass. Ahead and to the left.

  Slinking onward, she approached a small, dark mound that lay about thirty yards from the barely visible back fence demarcating pasture from woods. Whatever it was, its breathing was labored.

  “Ahskr!” Lyra dropped to her knees beside the shepherd and Ahskr's long, whip-like tail clapped feebly on the ground a couple times in response. Ready for a confused retaliation of the animal, Lyra cautiously reached out to him, but Ahskr only whimpered and lifted his head a little. Her hand immediately met with a warm, sticky wetness at his shoulder. “Oh, Ahskr—”

  A voice moaned distantly out of the night air. Crunching footsteps on leaf litter immediately responded, rushing toward it. Lyra gulped and wiped her hand on the grass.

  “I'll be right back, boy,” she whispered. “Okay?”

  Making ready the switchblade in one hand and a razor star in the other, Lyra followed the sound past a broken portion of fence into the woods. The pleasant richness of J'Kor's soft voice soon reached her ears. Oh, thank goodness! And Lyra withdrew her weapons, walking a little faster.

  The soft glow of a lantern cast J'Kor's profile in a green, cell-powered hue. He was on his knees, bent over, talking to something. More moans drifted on the night breeze and … some crying? Lyra paused by a tree and craned her neck to see past forest undergrowth partially concealing a figure that lay on the ground at J'Kor's feet. J'Kor was holding the person's hand and—Oh, blessed God!—he was pressing a knife threateningly under the first knuckle of his captive's pointer finger!

  “I will start with this finger,” J'Kor was murmuring, disturbingly calm and collected, “and move on to the next and the next, until you decide you are ready to give me some names.”

  A violent shudder gripped Lyra. She could just make out the man's face—a boy really, probably only seventeen or eighteen—lying flat on his back, staring up at J'Kor with terror in his eyes. His breathing was dangerously shallow. “I have no names fer you, sir!” he cried. “I was hired with the others. Please do no' kill me!”

  “I do no' believe you.” J'Kor moved the boy's hand with the knife pressed against his finger a little closer to the tear-stained face so every detail of the sharp, glistening blade was his victim's to behold and cherish. The boy began to sob.

  Lyra strode into the light. “What are you doing?” she demanded with all the courage of a mother protecting a child.

  J'Kor's head jerked up in surprise. “Lyra, I told you to stay in the house!”

  “He's just a boy!” she retorted.

  The young man made a pitiful cry of supplication. “Please, my lady, do no' let him hurt me.”

  “Go back to the house, Lyra!” J'Kor barked, but Lyra held her ground, her eyes flashing.

  “What kind of monster—”

  “Go now!” J'Kor thundered. “Or I will start on you next!”

  The unexpected ferocity of the threat hit Lyra like a charging ram. She turned and ran back to the pasture, her heedless, crashing footfalls drowning out the young man's pleas.

  What had come over Lord J'Kor? Maybe they were dealing with livestock rustlers, yes, but he didn't have to be so brutal!

  Tears came dangerously close to the surface as Lyra finally slowed. She had spent their first day and night together wanting so bad to hate him, even through his care and respect, but now that she knew he was her “miracle” and she needed to make peace with him, he starts going psycho on her!

  Briefly, she considered going back. He was torturing that boy.

  But what could she do? Appeal to his, oh, so stable current state of mind? Threaten him, somehow? A derisive snort repealed the welling tears. Yeah. A lot of good that would do all around. Even if she could disarm him, she wouldn't—she couldn't—kill him. Also, the man was able and smart. It would be too risky to try to tie or lock him up somewhere on the property and then hope that he wouldn't get free for the hours she'd need for a head start's fighting chance to run.

  Oh, why did I even step off the stupid porch in the first place? Surely, she was in for some kind of good thrashing when he returned.

  A soft whimper sounded. Ahskr! She'd almost forgotten!

  Lyra quickly found him again, lying as before. It looked like the extent of his injuries was the gash she'd already noticed in his shoulder, but it was deep. It needed cleaning and stitches. As gently as possible, Lyra picked him up and carried him all the way back to the house. Then using a clean tablecloth from the pantry, she made up a hasty surgical area on the dining table. Thankfully the first aid kit she found with the cleaning supplies included a needle and thread and J'Kor's ice box supplied the necessary antiseptic in the form of a rather stout-looking bottle of spirits.

  An hour went by under the yellow glow of the dining table's ceiling fixture as Lyra worked on the dog. Her best guess was that the wound had come from a knife, probably intended for his throat. Ahskr had been lucky. The dog was a good patient, too. Whether because he knew she was trying to help or from sheer weakness due to loss of blood, he held still, only squirming once the first time Lyra stuck the needle through his skin.

  Her usual nursing routine of softly humming favorite, old melodies along with the tranquilizing ticktock of the great room clock and steady buzz of J'Kor's electric ice box made for a strangely soothing nocturne for the furry patient. Every once in a while his tail would stir ever so slightly in response.

  Then the front door burst open.

  Lyra started, but got a firm hand over the dog's eyes to keep him still as she braced herself for— “'Na Lyra, how dare you—!”

  “Will you please lower your voice,” Lyra hissed back, cutting J'Kor off with a brazenness she didn't really feel. “I need him to remain still just a little bit longer and he doesn't need your temper getting him all riled up.”

  The man was stunned. “What are you …?” His eyes answered the question before it was finished.

  Lyra stroked Ahskr's head a few times before returning to her needle and stitch number thirteen. “I imagine you wish to soundly beat me to a pulp, but please consider waiting until after I finish stabilizing the patient.”

  With red-stained fingers she cut another thread and gently pulled together the next section of skin she had shaved. She wondered how long it would take for J'Kor to notice she had borrowed his razor. Ahskr whined a little. He recognized the presence of his alpha partner.

  “Sh, shhhhh,” she crooned to the animal.

  The front door finally closed—more tactfully than how it had opened. “Is he going to be okay?” There was some flustered shuffling as J'Kor fought to regain control of his emotions.

  “I think so. If I can keep infection from setting in.” Her chin nodded toward the empty liquor bottle. “I used it all up washing out the wound. Sorry.”

  Uncomfortable silence followed. Then J'Kor finally made use of the bench by the door to remove his muddy shoes while Lyra tied off stitch number fourteen. Ahskr whined again and tried to move, but Lyra took a moment to calm him again. She felt narrowed eyes on her.

  “
So, were you also a veterinarian in your secret past life?” It wasn't asked nicely.

  “Lord J'Kor,” Lyra said, turning and daring to challenge his festering smolder, “if you must engage in interrogating me right this moment, the least you can do is come over here and help keep your work hand still while I put him back together for you.”

  The smolder flared, but Lyra knew the concern he harbored for his faithful dog. She stared him down, vying for dominance.

  Suddenly he stood, and the nonchalant cock of his eyebrow said, Fine. He would condescend to yield and play along. For now. J'Kor settled himself on the chair nearest Ahskr's head and placed calming hands on the animal. Only then did Lyra concede to answer his question.

  “Hardly,” she told him, carefully reinserting the threaded needle into puffy red flesh. “My grandmother was the local healer and, as a girl, I spent a lot of time assisting her. I thought it was fun—Hand me that rag under your arm, will you?—but, the principles of disinfecting and stitching fascia and skin are the same.” He did as asked and she gave him a quick glance. “You probably already know that, though. I imagine you have to do this sort of thing yourself from time to time.”

  J'Kor only gave a confirming grunt as he watched the animal before him, but when Lyra went back to her work, he muttered, “Your stitches are neater.”

  She let a few minutes go by before venturing to ask, “So how many did you lose tonight … to those men?”

  There were probably other things he wished say to her right now, but after a bit he finally grumbled, “Eighty maybe. Maybe more. It is hard to say, knowing there are likely quite a few wandering around the woods tonight with that fence down.”

  “Are you sure the rustlers are all gone?”

  “Aye. They took off in a few cattle wagons as soon as they heard me coming. This happens a couple times a year.” He gently stroked Ahskr's head who responded with a few small tail claps.

  Lyra's eyes remained glued to the thread she was knotting. “And … is he dead?”

  “Aye.”

  Her involuntary pause lasted only a moment.

  Lyra finished her last stitch and rose to rinse a bloodied rag at the sink, when from his seat, J'Kor suddenly snapped, “I am no' obligated to explain myself to a khar. Do no' judge things you know nothing about, Lyra, and next time, I expect you to bloody well do as you are told!”

  Lyra answered with proper slave humility. “Understood, my lord.”

  She cleaned up the wound site a little better and had J'Kor help her wind a wrap over the stitches. When he left with Ahskr to lay him on some blankets in the bedroom, Lyra started on the wearisome task of post surgical clean-up.

  It wasn't long before the eyes were weighing on her again. J'Kor was leaning against the door frame, watching her. “Why in the world did you think that running out into the darkness was a good idea, anyway?” he said.

  “Well, I … I was worried about you.”

  The words came like a revelation—a revelation Lyra didn't like. If she had remained in the house and J'Kor had gotten himself killed, it would have been the perfectly convenient escape scenario she so needed. So why? Why?

  Could it be that on some level she cared for him? On some deep, obscure level. In some strange way.

  Grrr.

  Like a singer wants laryngitis. Rapidly, Lyra gathered the dirt and blood splotched tablecloth into a ball, as if trying to scrunch and crumple the unsettling idea out of existence. “Do you have a wash basin somewhere?”

  J'Kor didn't answer. It didn't even look like he had heard her question.

  “My lord? Where do you wish me—”

  He finally blinked. “I have a machine,” he said. “I will get this started. You clean yourself up.” He took the tablecloth from her and went down the hall, passing through the end door.

  A vigorous scrub down of her extremities came next. She had blood all the way up her arms.

  I sent him to you, a gentle stirring reminded as she worked. It made Lyra groan. Fine. But she was still going to be helped away from this mess of a life, right?

  No answer.

  When J'Kor returned Lyra stiffened. She'd been able to maintain her nerve when she had a patient in need, but now … How many fingers did he get through before the boy talked? Or died?

  “I am no' a monster,” he stated through tight lips, “but do no' disobey me again.”

  With that, he stalked off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. A familiar heat in Lyra's chest warned she was about to break down again, but she gripped the counter edge hard.

  NO! No more crying! I am sick and tired of crying! You stop it right now, you weakling! she ordered, ferociously swallowing the emotion back down. Then she noticed the closed bedroom door. Great! Was that some kind of signal? To find another bed while her lord was angry with her?

  A dark grimace lined Lyra's face as she finished drying her arms and slapped the dish towel peevishly onto the counter. Whichever way she chose was probably going to be the wrong one. Ugh! This situation was so stupid!

  Resigned, Lyra went to the door and cracked it open. Inside, all was quiet and dark with J'Kor's form already settled in bed. “My lord,” she murmured, “do you wish me to sleep—?”

  “Your place is right here, next to me!” came the bellow from under the comforter.

  Yup. She would have guessed wrong.

  A few minutes later, Lyra was lying tense on her back in the bed, feeling that there wasn't a mattress big enough in the entire world to accommodate her, her owner, and the hulking, rankled beast of distrust wedged between them.

  Night number two: no crying, but even more tension. Darn.

  She was going to have to work even harder now to get him out of this funk. The sun would be up in a few hours. He may still send her back …

  # # #

  “Good morrow, Sunbeam,” Kade said from his breakfast table, a leg propped casually up on the other chair as he leisurely sipped the steaming cup of bean tea he'd made himself. Lyra, finally waking, shot up in the bed in alarm.

  “I'm sorry, my lord!” she exclaimed, hastily rubbing at the sleep clinging to her eyes. “I—I should have been up earlier to make your tea and breakfast for you.” She cast her eyes about, her thick, dark hair all mussed about her face “What time is it?”

  “Half past nine.” Bloody whorlocks, she was still beautiful.

  “Half past nine!” Lyra threw off the covers and hurried to the closet. “Forgive me, my lord! I will make you something right away.”

  “Relax, 'Na Lyra. I ate a while ago.” Kade hid his smirk behind another satisfied sip of tea.

  He had been up for an hour and a half already. Clearly, he had gotten the better night's rest. His time in the army and occasional acquaintance with the realities of war were to be thanked for that. Kade had learned to compartmentalize years ago and, consequently, he'd fallen asleep pretty quickly after she'd joined him in bed. She, on the other hand, pretty little sneaky angel that she was, was obviously still quite disoriented and sleep-stricken from the crazy, late night.

  Part of him felt bad for her. She'd done an amazing job on Ahskr and all her hard work and delicious cooking of the previous day had pleased Kade more than he cared to admit. And he had been hard.

  However, that, in no way, let her off the hook. The debate about whether or not to keep her was still on.

  Kade's time in his office yesterday morning was spent in large part with a hand on his wire receiver and the other poised to punch in the numbers for his lawyer. He had abstained, thinking he'd wait to see what the day brought, but it wasn't the day that ended up being the problem. Her disobedience and brassy bossing him around regarding Ahskr last night—expedient tactic though it was—was not helping to conjure any warm fuzzies in Kade's already raw, disappointed psyche. Who did she think she was, disregarding a clear order, making blind accusations, and … and telling him that she cared? That was the worst part. He had noted her distaste at the thought after the words left those
soft, full lips.

  Well, Kade was supposed to be enjoying his second completely fulfilling morning, sleeping in, with limbs entangled about the inviting warmth of an alluring and eager khar. He was supposed to be basking in the joys of both physical and intellectual intimacy in the perfect union he had envisioned under the joining arch two days ago, and as long as Lyra continued to ruin it all for him, he didn't feel any obligation to be nice. At all.

  Lyra emerged from the closet, wrapping the belt of her robe around her middle. “Oh,” she said, bowing her head. “I'm sorry, my lord. It won't happen again. I will, I will go clean up, I guess, and then get to some chores.”

  “No, 'Na Lyra,” Kade corrected. “I desire you stay with me today.” He took another long, slow slip of his tea. Let her squirm on that for a bit.

  The stout lift of her chin didn't mask the discomfited alarm behind her eyes. “I am at your service, of course, my lord.”

  Kade suppressed a small, vindictive grin. Wow, she was more uptight with the thought of having sex than a four-eyed marmin with the prospect of looking down the barrel of Sal's rifle! Well, as long as she kept making it a sore point, he could, at least, take a little pleasure in poking fun. He stood with his cup. “Good. Get dressed, eat something, and meet me out in the field. We have poofs to round up and a fence to repair.” By the claw, she smells good! he thought as he strode by her. “And after that, we will see what I am in the mood for next.”

  Kade didn't stick around to enjoy watching her imagination chew that one up. Truth be told, he really wasn't sure if it was a tease or not. Since waking up yesterday morning, he had been absolutely winging it from moment to moment.

  He would send her back to the caravan—He would keep her.

  He'd keep his hands to himself—He'd yank that frock right off and caress those nubile endowments into a fevered pitch for all he was worth.

  Was there a customary time frame for mourning a spouse where she was from? Henna's bosom! It had better not be a matter of months. If he did end up keeping her, Kade knew he wasn't willing to wait nearly that long. He would have her start really earning her keep within a week. At most.