Where in the Seven Hells is she going? Thorn dodged into another doorway, making sure to keep his Mistress from seeing him even as he followed her on her mysterious errand.
Whatever it was, it certainly had her preoccupied. She was walking with her head down, barely looking where she was going as she led him on what appeared to be a tour of all the darkest alleys and seediest backstreets in all of Opulex. As before, she was wearing the dark gray cloak that covered her face and hair, making her just another shadow in the deepening shadows.
But that still doesn’t mean it’s safe for her to be out by herself like this, unprotected and alone, Thorn thought, angrily. What was Neh’sa thinking, going off into this dangerous part of the city by herself? Why hadn’t she taken him with her?
Maybe it was you she was trying to get away from, whispered a little voice in his head. Remembering the tears in her eyes before she’d sent him away to fetch tea which she hadn’t touched, Thorn thought it might be so. But whether she wanted him by her side or not, he had been determined to follow her when she left. He’d had a feeling she might be going someplace dangerous—maybe the same place she’d come back from so depleted on their first night together.
Accordingly, he’d waited until the private lift returned from her departure and got in, intending to find out where she was going and why—and to protect her at all costs if necessary.
On the long ride down to street level, Thorn had been afraid he would lose her since he had to wait for the private lift to come back to the one thousand and first floor before he could go after her. Luckily, though, her sweet, feminine scent was burned into his brain and Kindred were good trackers. He picked up her trail in no time and now he was keeping out of sight as he followed her through the narrow, dark streets.
Despite his size, going unrecognized wasn’t difficult. There were plenty of males on the streets who didn’t appear to belong to anyone. Plus, he’d thought to grab a gray cloak of his own from the storage unit by the door so his big form was mostly hidden.
After several twists and turns, they came to a crumbling brick wall that hid a warped wooden door. Thorn watched carefully, and when Neh’sa opened the door, he caught a quick glimpse of what looked like some kind of waiting area. There were rows of benches with males sitting on them looking expectantly towards the back of the room. Some of them threw unfriendly looks at Neh’sa as she stepped inside but this didn’t seem to deter her. She shut the door firmly behind her and Thorn could see no more.
He waited for a count of ten, although it was killing him to leave her alone in a room full of strange males, and then walked into the place himself. He wasn’t sure where Neh’sa had gone but he’d be damned if he’d leave her there with no protection.
A dozen pairs of hostile eyes greeted him. The men sitting on the benches look tired and worn down and Thorn couldn’t help noticing that most of them appeared to be injured in one way or another.
A male with thinning red hair and stooped shoulders hurried up to him.
“Now then, what can we do for you, Brother? What seems to be your problem?”
“What is this place?” Thorn growled. “What’s going on in here?”
“Don’t you know, Brother?” asked one of the men sitting on the benches nearest to him. “It’s a free Mercy clinic – run for those of us as don’t have Mistresses—or don’t have ones who cares enough to treat us when we’re ill.”
“And for those of us as have Mistresses that like pain play and don’t care to treat the injuries afterwards,” growled another male. “See?” He turned around showing the marks of what appeared to be a savage beating on his narrow back. Perfectly parallel bloody marks marched in neat orderly rows from the top of the shoulders, just below the thick black pain collar he wore, all the way down to the small of his back.
Thorn was taken aback. “Your Mistress did that to you?”
“Aye, that she did,” snapped the other male. “Mistress likes the cane. And if I could but get this Gods’ damned pain collar off, I’d take that same cane and lay it across her pretty face. Then we’d see who needed medical attention.”
“No point thinking about that,” the male beside him pointed out. “You’d be captured and have your balls cut off before you could even lay a hand on her.” He winced and shifted uncomfortably on the bench he was sitting on. “Now my lady, she favors the rod for her dirty work. Fucked me for nigh on in hour t’other night, using bigger and bigger rods to do it until I thought I’d split in two. I’m still fucking sore.”
“Now then. now then…” The male with thinning red hair, who had first approached Thorn, said nervously. “You lads know well enough we’re not meant to speak ill of our Mistresses here. The Mercy clinic is a place for healing, not fomenting rebellion.”
“And why is that, Perchin?” the male with the bloody back demanded. “Because some rich Mistress runs it? She doesn’t give a damn for us—she just wants to soothe her conscience.”
“Because the whole clinic could be shut down if you’re heard talking like you’ve been against your Mistresses,” the man with red hair who was apparently named Perchin said sharply. “We’re beneath the notice of the Yonnite Magistrates for one reason only—nothing but healing comes out of here. No bombs or blasters or rebellions. But if that changed—if even one plot could be traced back to our waiting room, well…” He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “We’d be shut down in a heartbeat and then where would you go for chill packs and soothing salves and healing when your Mistress gives you the rod or gets too happy with the cane?”
The two males muttered angrily at this but Thorn could see they saw the sense of Perchin’s words. There was no more open talk of rebellion although he could tell why there had been in the first place. What in the Seven Hells was wrong with some of the females here, using and abusing their slaves in this way?
To be honest, it was no more than what he had expected when he had first volunteered to be sold as a slave on Yonnie Six. But after days spent with Neh’sa, who could be strict but was always careful to treat him with respect, the apparent abuses and cruelties perpetrated by some of the other Mistresses on their slaves couldn’t help but shock him.
Speaking of his Mistress, where was she?
“I’m looking for Mistress Neh’sanna,” he told the red-haired Perchin. “I think she went in the back. I’m her body-slave,” he added before the other male could ask.
Perchin frowned. “Her body-slave? But Mistress Neh’sanna never brings her slaves here.”
“I brought myself,” Thorn snapped. “This neighborhood isn’t very fucking safe and I didn’t like the idea of her being out here alone. Now are you going to take me to her or am I going to go find her myself?”
The male raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Very well, I’ll take you but you must be quiet. She and Doctor Matmon have just started a very long and complicated surgery. A group of resistance fighters set off a bomb and injured a great many innocent bystanders.”
“I’ll be quiet—just take me to her,” Thorn said.
“This way.” Perchin took him through a doorway that led to a much larger treatment area. Everywhere Thorn saw curtained off areas and males being treated for injuries, large and small. Then they came to a smaller area which was more enclosed.
“These are the surgical suites,” Perchin told him. “You can’t cross the sterile field but you can watch through the viewing window as Doctor Matmon operates.”
He took Thorn into a small, dark room which held several industrial sized sinks with foot pedals to work them and some hand irradiators as well. There was a long rectangular window on one wall and through it Thorn could see the same male with long dark hair who had called Neh’sa on the viewscreen during Thorn’s first night at her domicile.
The male, who must be Doctor Matmon, was draped in a pale green surgical gown and his long hair was held neatly in place in a club at the back of his neck. He was wearing a mask over his face and working busily on a patient who lay stretched out on the table.
Neh’sa, dressed in a similar outfit, was standing across the table from the male with a look of intense concentration on her lovely face. Thorn saw the same pale pink glow he’d observed several times before emanating from her hands.
The healing touch, whispered a voice in his brain and he understood that she was helping to heal the patient on the table as surely as the male surgeon was.
“Many of our patients wouldn’t survive without the Lady Neh’sanna’s touch,” Perchin remarked, his voice soft and reverent as he watched through the window. “She founded and funds this entire clinic and she comes in as often as she can to help, too.” He looked up at Thorn. “You’re lucky indeed to have her as your Mistress.”
“Yes…” Thorn cleared his throat. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“The only difficulty is in keeping her from doing too much.” Perchin sounded worried. “She pours so much of herself into this place and sometimes at the end of the night, she looks so tired—all used up, almost. Especially if it’s been a heavy surgery night.”
Thorn didn’t like the sound of that. He well remembered the gray cast to Neh’sa’s face and her extreme weariness that first night when she’d come home to him.
“Why does she do it?” he asked. “Do you know?”
Perchin shrugged.
“Not really. Some say it’s to salve a guilty conscience but I don’t believe that’s true. Lady Neh’sanna is a just and fair Mistress and doesn’t mistreat her slaves—well, I’m sure you could tell more about that than I can.” He looked up at Thorn expectantly.
“Yes, she’s fair,” he said shortly. Though Neh’sa had steadily pushed his limits past anything he would have believed would be possible for him, he didn’t feel she had treated him cruelly. It was more like she was opening a door to a part of him—a part he hadn’t even known existed before she bought him.
Thorn still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about discovering this new part of himself but he couldn’t wholly blame Neh’sa for it. After all, if it hadn’t been inside him in the first place, she wouldn’t have been able to make him aware of it.
“Anyway,” Perchin went on, “some also say she funds the clinic as a memorial to a former body-slave who died tragically.”
Thorn felt his heart lurch.
“A body-slave that died? She must have cared for him a whole hell of a lot to dedicate an entire clinic to his memory.”
“Some say she didn’t just care for him as a kind Mistress, though.” Perchin looked mysterious. He dropped his voice to an almost whisper, as though afraid his words might be overheard. “Some say she loved him—as females love males on other planets. Other planets where there are no Mistresses and everyone is equal. If you know what I mean.” He gave Thorn a significant look and raised his eyebrows.
“You mean he was her lover, not just her slave,” Thorn said bluntly but the red-haired male was quick to shush him.
“Not so loud! It’s only a rumor though I must say it would make sense. The Mercy clinic is a labor of love and no mistake. Mistress Neh’sanna pours all of her resources into it. Some say she spent most of her fortune on it and she’s generally here as many nights a week as she can manage. Well…” He coughed. “I need to get back to the front but you’re welcome to stay here and watch the surgery as long as you don’t interrupt.”
“I thank you,” Thorn said, really meaning it. Not only had the little male given him valuable information, he had also given Thorn some interesting insight into his Mistress’s character.
As Perchin bustled out importantly to get back to his business of minding the front of the clinic, Thorn turned to the large rectangular window and studied Neh’sa.
His Mistress’s lovely face was tight with concentration and the steady pinkish glow coming from her hands seemed to bathe the areas with the worst wounds as the surgeon worked.
Who are you, Neh’sa? he wondered as he watched her. Who are you, really?
* * * * *
It was a long and draining surgery—even longer than the one for the little boy who’d had his legs crushed by the caryall earlier that week. By the end of the fourth hour, Neh’sa began to feel weary and weakness crept through her bones like an insidious invisible foe.
If only the patient’s injuries weren’t so extensive she might be able to catch her breath. But he’d been the one surviving victim of a male resistance terrorist bomb that had gone off in a public square. The blast had blown off a leg and badly damaged his internal organs. Matmon was working as hard as he could just to save his life.
The details of his injuries hurt Neh’sa’s heart. It reminded her too much of Heloth and thinking of Heloth made her think of Thorn and his refusal to touch another female.
Could he really care so much for me that he wants nothing to do with another Mistress? Even one younger and slimmer than me like Leeh’Lah? she wondered as she strove to keep the healing energy flowing steadily from her hands. And if so, is it just a cultural thing—something to do with being Kindred? Or does he truly have genuine emotions for me?
It was a foolish line of thought and she knew it. Thorn wasn’t hers to keep—she was just training him so she could find him a home with a suitable Mistress.
But how could she find him a Mistress if he refused any female but her? Of course there were some Mistresses, like Lady Wraith’neck, who would slap a pain collar on him and force him to service them. But the idea of selling the big Kindred to such a cruel Mistress made Neh’sa cringe.
In fact, if she was honest with herself, the thought of placing him with any other Mistress—even a kind and loving one like Lady Tandy—made her feel like someone had hollowed out her heart.
Don’t be foolish, she lectured herself. You’ve only had him a single solar week. There’s no way you could have become so attached to him in that short time.
Except somehow she had. And now the thought of letting him go was almost more than she could bear…
The strident beeping of the cardiac monitor broke her concentration and she looked up to see a grim expression on Matmon’s face.
“We’re losing him.” He nodded at the monitor where the steady blip, blip, blip had become a steady, ominous, droning. “My Lady, can you try to give him a little more of your power?”
“I…I’ll try,” Neh’sa replied faintly. Her heart fluttered and she felt tears prick her eyes.
Those words…We’re losing him—he’s fading fast. I’m sorry, my Lady—there’s nothing we can do… They echoed in her head, bringing back a past so painful she’d spent years trying to forget it. Oh, Heloth…
She began to feel dizzy and the surgical lights set up around the room doubled and then trebled in her vision. The ground began to feel unsteady under her feet.
No—I have to hold on! He’ll die otherwise. Die just like Heloth!
Though she knew she was reaching her limit, she took a deep breath and redoubled her efforts, pouring her healing power into the dying patient… willing him to pull back from the edge…willing him to live…
“No, damn it! He’s going! Gods damn it all to Hell!” Matmon’s usually dispassionate nature turned fiery when he started to lose a patient. Neh’sa suspected the surgeon had his own reasons for personally resenting every life that was stolen from under his hands.
Through her blurred vision, she saw him bent over the patient, working frantically to try and halt the inevitable. He was far too engrossed in his work to see that she was at the end of her strength, to notice that she was falling…
A pair of strong, muscular arms caught her before she could hit the floor.
“Wha…who?” Neh’sa looked up into a familiar pair of mismatched eyes filled with dancing sparks of fire. “Thorn,” she whispered faintly. “What…what are you doing here?”
“Taking you home,” he said and his deep voice sounded angry. “Before you kill yourself trying to save a dead man.”
“He’s not dead,” Neh’sa insisted, hardly knowing what she was saying. “Heloth isn’t dead—I won’t let him be!”
“Heloth?” Thorn frowned. “Name on his medi-chart says Gager. Who’s Heloth?”
“No one. No one…anymore,” Neh’sa whispered and felt her eyes fill with tears. Goddess, she was so tired. If only she could close her eyes and rest for just a minute…
“Who are you? And what in the hell are you doing in my operating theater?” she heard Matmon demanding. “Put Lady Neh’sanna down at once!”
“So you can try to kill her again, having her use herself up on a patient you can’t save?” Thorn demanded. “I don’t think so. She’s coming home with me.”
“You can’t just take her,” Matmon snapped. “We’re in the middle of a surgery.”
“No, you’re in the middle of a funeral. And I’m not going to let you make it Neh’sa’s funeral too,” Thorn said firmly.
Neh’sa wanted to protest again that Heloth wasn’t dead—that she could save him. But just as she had on that awful night, she heard the steady drone of the cardiac monitor signaling that there was no heartbeat and the dull thrum of the brain wave observer telling the sad fact that the patient brain activity had ceased completely.
No! she thought frantically. No, I can save him—I have to!
With the very last bit of her strength, she reached out a hand, trying to send just one more wave of healing into the patient, into her beloved, into Heloth…
“Time of death—” she heard Matmon begin and then the world went gray and fuzzy and she couldn’t hear anything anymore.