Unleashed by the Defender: A Kindred Tales Novel

by Anderson, Evangeline

  Imani was just stooping to pick up the harness when something whooshed over her head and J’are’s growl turned into an angry roar.

  “Oh!” she gasped and overbalanced, falling back onto the rough walkway on her behind.

  J’are was grappling with someone or something in the darkness. It was difficult to see what it was but Imani thought the dim lights from the traffic below illuminated huge, insectile eyes. She caught blurred impressions of snapping mandibles and multiple long limbs flashing in and out of the shadows. Whatever it was, she realized, it was trying to get to her. But J’are was holding it back.

  The attacker—whoever or whatever it was—fought in perfect silence punctuated only by the occasional grunts and growls of effort and anger from the big Kindred. Suddenly he gave a roar and there was a wet ripping sound like thick flesh being torn.

  The assailant finally made a sound—it let out a high-pitched, unearthly shriek which set Imani’s teeth on edge as a cold finger of fear skittered down her spine. Then, whatever it was, scrambled away into the darkness.

  “J’are?” Imani got shakily to her feet. The big Nightwalker was standing there, breathing heavily and still growling fiercely under his breath. In one hand he was clutching something long and stiff which still twitched and jerked spasmodically.

  “J’are? What’s that you have?” Imani heard the quiver in her own voice and she tried to make it sound steadier. “What is it?” she asked him again, coming closer.

  In the dim light from the traffic below, she saw what he was holding was some kind of a leg—an insect leg—but a huge one. It had long, chitinous spines along its underside and wickedly sharp claws on one end. The other end was a bleeding stump, leaking black ichor.

  “Ugh!” Imani took several big steps back in disgust. “Get rid of it, J’are!” The thing he was holding looked like it had been pulled off a giant roach!

  Or maybe a giant praying mantis, whispered a little voice in her head. A praying mantis like the ones she kept seeing everywhere including her hotel, the ride services she’d tried to call, and in the courtroom besides Lady Bittlebum!

  Something was going on here—but what?

  “Wait,” she told J’are. “Wait, don’t—”

  But it was too late—he had already tossed the grizzly souvenir of his battle off the bridge into the darkness below.

  Luckily, it didn’t hit any of the cars that were whizzing by—or at least, Imani didn’t see any evidence that it had. But the evidence of J’are’s midnight battle had been lost and along with it, any chance she had to bring it before the court. Not that Imani knew what she would say even if she did.

  “Excuse me, your honor, but ever since I got to Yonnie Six I’ve been seeing these giant pink praying mantises everywhere and one attacked me on my way home from court.”

  What could Judge Thoughtgood do about that? And what did it even mean? Did it have anything to do with whoever had tried to frame J’are for the murder of his old Mistress?

  Imani didn’t have any answers and suddenly she was bone weary. She’d had a long, long day which had started in a whole different part of the galaxy, light years away. Right now she just wanted to get back to the Luxx, kick back and relax.

  “Come on, J’are,” she muttered, pulling at the leash which was still attached to his pain collar. “Is it safe to go now?”

  He looked down at her and nodded once.

  “Safe.”

  “Okay, good.” Imani nodded wearily towards the end of the bridge. “Then come on—we have to go.”

  She was just wondering if they would be able to catch a ride at the place she’d been dropped off that afternoon, when one of the flying shuttle-cars which normally flew high above the ground traffic swooped down and hovered alongside of the bridge.

  The window slid down to reveal a round, curious face.

  “Hello there, little Mistress,” the driver said, frowning. “And what might you and your bodyslave be doing out here so late at night?”

  “Trying to get home—or at least, back to my hotel,” Imani said warily. “Are you a ride service?” she asked. She knew there were a few free males living and working on Yonnie Six, though not many of them.

  “That I am, but I’m none too sure about taking on a fellow as big as that.” The man nodded at J’are who was standing protectively close to Imani, looking ready to fight if the other male tried to encroach on his territory.

  “Who, J’are? He’s a sweetheart!” Imani said quickly. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

  “He wouldn’t, eh?” The cabbie—if that was what he was—didn’t look convinced. “Well what’s that black stuff all over his skin?”

  “I don’t know,” Imani said desperately. “But it won’t rub off on your seats, I promise. See?” She rubbed her thumb over the big Kindred’s forearm and then showed her hand to the cabbie who looked at it thoughtfully.

  “Hmm. Well, where are you headed, Mistress?”

  “The Luxx,” Imani told him. “Can you take us there?”

  “The Luxx, eh?” His eyes widened. “Well, if you’re staying there you can certainly afford to pay.”

  “Yes, I can,” Imani said. She was thankful she had the no-limit cred chip Commander Sylvan had given her. “In fact, I’ll pay you twice the going rate. Only please, just take us home.”

  “Twice you say?” This offer seemed to make up the cabbie’s mind. “All right—hop in, Mistress. Only mind that big bodyslave of yours doesn’t mess up my upholstery.”

  “He’ll be as quiet as a lamb,” Imani promised. She looked at J’are. “You’ll be good for me—right, J’are?”

  He nodded stiffly once and repeated, “Good,” in that deep, hoarse voice of his.

  “All right—climb in then.”

  The cabbie slid open the back compartment of the shuttle, which meant Imani had to climb over the waist-high railing of the bridge to get in. She was just about to do so when a pair of big hands took her by the waist and simply lifted her into the flying shuttle-cab.

  “Oh!” she barely had time to gasp before J’are was climbing in after her.

  “All settled back there?” the cabbie asked, looking at them from behind a thick plasti-glass shield which separated the front and the back of the cab. When Imani nodded, he said, “All right then—off we go!”

  Twelve

  The shocked looks Imani got leading J’are through the lobby of the Luxx would have made her blush with embarrassment at another time. But at the moment she was so tired and worn out, she honestly just didn’t even care.

  She walked with her head down, intent only on getting to her room and refused to notice the whispered remarks about how “filthy” her bodyslave was or snobbish references to people who didn’t belong on the planet in the first place.

  At last they reached her suite and she was able to bring him inside. She wanted to collapse on the bed but one look at the shiny black paint stuff all over him made her reconsider. Clearly her job wasn’t done yet.

  She considered putting him in the shower but she wasn’t sure the black paint would wash off easily. Maybe it was better to give him a good soak in the tub—she might have better luck getting it off him that way.

  “J’are, what is this stuff?” she asked, picking at the black paint on one arm after she had gotten the water running in the huge marble tub in the center of the bathroom.

  He frowned.

  “Makes safe. Need to keep safe in the dark.”

  “You do?” Imani asked, puzzled. “Is it…very dark in the Yonnite holding jail then?”

  He nodded.

  “In the hole it is.”

  “The hole?” Imani shook her head. “Do you mean solitary? Solitary confinement?”

  But J’are shook his head vigorously.

  “Not solitary. Not…alone. Other inmates in the hole. And…things. Biters…crushers…bad things.” He shook his head again. “Not alone. Never alone.”

  “Oh, you poor thing!”

  Imani�
��s heart went out to him. He must have been fighting for his very existence for months! And it sounded like the Yonnite jail was worse than even the worst prisons on Earth.

  “Well,” she told J’are. “You don’t need this anymore, so we’re going to wash it off. Okay?”

  He drew away from her, frowning mistrustfully.

  “Need it to keep safe! Safe in the dark!”

  “But I’ll keep you safe now,” Imani promised him. “I mean, I won’t let you get put back in jail. You’re mine—remember? I Claimed you,” she added, hoping this would help him relent and get into the bath. She couldn’t take him everywhere with her as he was now, covered in the shiny black paint.

  “I’m yours.” Slowly J’are nodded. Since the fight on the bridge, he had regressed even more into his feral state but this seemed to get through to him. “You’ll keep me safe?” he said, looking at Imani hopefully.

  She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The fact that a seven-foot-tall, huge, muscular Kindred warrior was asking for her protection seemed like a joke. But until she could get him completely free of the Yonnite court system, she was actually his best bet for safety.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” she repeated. “So how about getting into the nice warm tub and washing this stuff off. Would that be okay?”

  J’are appeared to think about it for a moment.

  “You wash me because you Claimed me?” he asked.

  “Yes, exactly.” Imani nodded her head vigorously.

  “All right.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling.

  “Good.” Imani led him into the bathing area. “Okay now, take off your clothes and get in,” she said, showing him the big marble tub filled with steaming water and pink foamy bubbles.

  Without waiting for her to turn her head away, J’are began stripping down the black trousers he’d been wearing. It was impossible to say if they were meant to be black or if they’d been painted with the same stuff that covered his skin but Imani could at least see that where they had covered him, he wasn’t painted. A firm, tan, muscular ass came into view before she could look away as J’are finished undressing and climbed into the tub.

  “Warm,” he remarked as he sank into the pink bubbles. “No warm water in the hole. All cold all the time.”

  “That sounds terrible,” Imani said. She tried to hand him a sponge. “Do you think you can wash that stuff off yourself?”

  But J’are leaned away from the sponge.

  “What’s that? Don’t like!”

  Imani sighed.

  “It’s just a sponge. It will help get you clean—see?” She knelt by the side of the tub and reached both arms into the tub herself. Then she made a show of scrubbing one hand with the sponge while J’are watched. “It’s soft—it doesn’t hurt,” she told him.

  His suspicious frown lessened and he held out his own arm to her.

  “Make clean,” he said, nodding.

  Oh, so he was willing to get scrubbed as long as Imani was the one doing the scrubbing. Well, she didn’t really mind if it made him feel better about getting cleaned up.

  “Here we go,” she said, taking his huge hand in her much smaller one and beginning to scrub his arm in long strokes. The black paint stuff seemed stubborn at first, but then it finally began flaking and peeling off in long strips.

  As she worked, Imani was reminded again of her friend from high school and how the two of them had spent days on her dad’s farm. She wasn’t thinking of the wolfdogs this time, however, but of the horses. They had spent hours grooming their favorite mounts, currying and brushing the big animals. That was a little like cleaning J’are, because he was so big.

  Not that I’d ever want to “mount” him, Imani thought and felt her cheeks get hot with a blush. Now where had that idea come from?

  Pushing it out of her head, she continued to peel away the paint. But along with his firm, tan skin, she found something else under the thick, shiny layer.

  At first she thought the lines she saw were more paint but they weren’t shiny and they didn’t come off, no matter how hard she scrubbed. J’are watched her trying for some time. Finally he said,

  “You scrub hard.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Imani apologized. “It’s just…I can’t get this other stuff off your arm. See?” She pointed to the thick, black marks on his skin. “Is this some other kind of paint?”

  J’are shook his head.

  “No paint. Those are k’dra—my markings.”

  Imani stopped scrubbing at once.

  “Oh, so they’re supposed to be there?”

  He nodded again. “My k’dra.”

  “I see. I’m sorry,” Imani said. She couldn’t tell if the thick black markings were some kind of tribal tattoos or maybe just natural skin colorations but she didn’t think she could get the big Kindred to understand her question, so she didn’t ask.

  “Let’s move on to the other arm then,” she said briskly.

  Obligingly, J’are gave her his other arm and she scrubbed it free of paint as well. This was a bit easier, since it had been soaking for some time.

  Imani did his chest and back as well, noting that the thick black markings—which looked very much like tattoos to her—ran up both arms and across his back and his broad, muscular chest as well. She wondered if they had some special meaning to him or the family he had been taken from as a boy.

  There were so many questions she wanted to ask but she didn’t think now was the time to try to get through to the big Kindred. He was letting her scrub him, but he still looked rather wary. He especially didn’t like it when she washed his face and hair.

  Remembering the long, flowing hair she’d seen on the evidence vid that had been recorded on the tiny drive, she wondered—as she scrubbed the short stubble that remained—who had cut it. Had he been shorn before he entered the Yonnite jail or was that something that had been done to him down in ‘the hole’ as he had put it? She wondered what else had been done to him there and felt a surge of pity.

  At last his face and scalp were free of the black paint. To finish the bath, Imani had the big Kindred lean back and stick his feet out of the water. She noted, as she scrubbed, that he would probably wear a size fourteen or sixteen shoe—he was really just huge all over.

  “There,” she said at last, throwing the sponge into the tub, which was now filled with floating strips and scraps of the shiny black paint. “All done.”

  J’are shook his head.

  “Not done.”

  “Really?” Imani wiped her forehead with the back of her hand tiredly. “Do you have paint someplace else?”

  “Not done,” J’are insisted. Then he stood up in the tub, naked and dripping wet.

  Imani bit her lip.

  “Well…all right,” she said.

  Picking up the sponge again, she stood and went around to wash his lower back, where there were still a few patches of paint she had missed earlier. The markings he had called his k’dra extended all the way down to the top of his buttocks, she saw.

  “There—I think I got all the paint off now,” she told him at last.

  J’are twisted halfway around to frown at her.

  “Wash more,” he said. “Wash everywhere.”

  “What…you mean here?” Imani took a tentative swipe with the sponge over his round, firm ass which didn’t have any paint on it at all. This seemed to make J’are happy, however because he nodded.

  “Keep washing.”

  Bemused at the weirdness of actually giving her client a bath, Imani dipped the sponge in the water and washed some more, running it over the big Kindred’s muscular ass and the backs of his upper thighs until J’are seemed satisfied.

  “There, finished,” she said and was about to throw the sponge in the water when J’are turned around to face her.

  “Not done,” he said, frowning and pointed between his legs. “Not done—wash everywhere.”

  “What?” Imani stared at the shaft between his muscular thighs.
Even only half hard, it was absolutely huge.

  He really is like one of the stallions I used to groom back at the farm, she thought and shook her head.

  “No, J’are—not there,” she said firmly.

  The big Nightwalker got a stubborn look on his face.

  “You Claimed me,” he pointed out. “You wash me!”

  “But I can’t…I shouldn’t…” Words failed Imani. How could she explain to him in a way he would understand that she was just his attorney and that she had already done much more for him than was strictly ethical? How could she make him understand that she really shouldn’t be washing him there?

  “You wash me,” J’are said again, frowning. “Or you don’t Claim me.”

  “I didn’t know that was part of the bargain!” Imani protested. But his pale green eyes were looking more and more upset and his fangs were beginning to show. She didn’t think he would bite her, but she didn’t want him to feel like she was rejecting him, either.

  Telling herself this was a necessary action in a difficult situation, Imani finally gave in.

  “All right,” she said, wringing out the sponge and getting some fresh water. “I’ll wash you everywhere.”

  She reached for him but J’are flinched away at first contact with the sponge.

  “Too rough!” he exclaimed, frowning. “Wash better.”

  “With what?” Imani protested. She looked around for something—anything else—she could use but there was nothing. Not even a washcloth or a face cloth. What kind of fancy hotel didn’t provide a washcloth?

  At last, in desperation, she scooped up a handful of bubbles and reached for his shaft.

  J’are seemed to approve of this. He made a soft, humming growl in the back of his throat as she stroked up and down his shaft with the bubbles.

  “You like that?” Imani asked him and her voice came out sounding strangely breathless. She found that she was no longer washing his shaft so much as just stroking it. It had gotten much harder and bigger now—so much so that she couldn’t fit her fingers all the way around it. God, how could he use something like this on anyone? How could any woman possibly accommodate such length and girth?