Thirteen
A healer must have compassion—S’tal’s gravelly voice still echoed in his mind—but one who does not maintain detachment fails the patient.
The elderly g’hir who oversaw Ki’san’s training had once borne witness to the horror of the Scourge, the deaths of millions of females. Somehow S’tal had kept both his sanity and his detachment.
But there can be no detachment from my own lifemate.
He could not fault S’tal for his teachings; likely the elder never imagined that any of the healers he instructed would ever take a mate at all.
But she is better. With every treatment, she grows stronger.
Detachment evaporated in the splendor of hope.
But hope could blind him as easily as fear, make him over-treat, or not treat enough . . .
He had not altered the automatic shut off when he modified the regenerator. Once it reached full power, the recalibration cycle should stop automatically to prevent a burnout. It should—but this cobbled-together tool was too precious to risk.
Certainly, that venerable healing master could never have foreseen one of his students stranded lightyears from Hir with only such rough tools as these to treat a beloved, human female. Or the strain of returning daily to the wreckage of a cruiser to recalibrate an improvised regeneration sequencer, each time fearing he would find the power drained off completely.
Ki’san rubbed his forehead, his gaze fixed on the sequencer, trying to quell his uneasiness until he could complete his task. He was agitated whenever he was not with her, when he could not scent her nearby. He had felt her absence keenly even before he was lifemated to her, and now . . .
The ship was much too far from the bedroom where she now rested. Nor did he leave her alone there with any ease of heart. Her clanhall, dark with spirits and silence, with lies and twisted, clandestine passages, raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
At least when he was with her, he could protect her from the threats of this world and from those of the unseen one as well.
In the past days, he shunted power between the distress beacon and the infirmary, using no power other than the locator signal and energy to recalibrate the sequencer, trying to draw out the duration of both.
We are overdue now. Soon the council must send a vessel in search of us. The warship will scan this area, detect the beacon, the wreckage, and—
Just the thought of having her onboard, in a fully equipped medical bay made him breathe a little easier.
His scans showed that, bolstered by the regeneration process, her own immune system was holding the illness at bay. Her dark eyes, a thousand shades of gold and green and russet, were clear and bright now. Her color was good, already he could see her too-slender form filling out.
But her soaring energy made it difficult to constrain her to the boundaries of her rooms. He had returned yesterday to find her in the library of the house instead of their bed. And he had erred this morning in allowing her to walk in the garden rather than simply sit in the sunshine. He could hardly keep her from running, so elated was she with her newfound vigor.
The sequencer stopped and Ki’san’s hand shot out, swiftly disconnecting it from its power feed, unwilling to waste the smallest amount of energy. He stood, slipping the tool into his pocket, and made for what remained of the bridge.
He climbed the ladder quickly and re-engaged the locator beacon. Part of the viewport had smashed in on impact, allowing the scents of this world—and right now light rain—onto the bridge. He sent a worried glance at the feeds. Hardy enough for space travel, they were not designed with water damage in mind.
His understanding of shipboard operations was mostly limited to the workings of equipment in the infirmary. He was an adequate pilot, but it was Be’tan who possessed the engineering expertise. Son of one of the council members, he had worked harder than any in the competition to prove his place there was due to his own abilities, not the influence of his enclosure. Be’tan had had an easy laugh and a warm heart, one eager for the lifemate he longed to have.
Ki’san had counted him a friend; one who deserved justice.
He made a test of the beacon, making sure it was functioning before he descended back to the lower levels of the ship. He moved through the dark hallways with a sure, quick step. Only when he reached the storage room and the rupture in the ship’s side did he pause.
The rain, light though it was, blunted the scents. He edged closer, keeping clear of the sharp edges, using the dimness as cover.
Two of the larger beasts—‘deer’—were nearby. Smaller creatures too populated these woods, both in the trees and on the ground, but he detected no humans. Careful not to cut himself on the wreckage, Ki’san stepped out, his feet sinking a bit into the mud as he started for Tara’s clanhall.
He was of the A’rahan, a mountain enclosure, he had long known weather far worse than this gentle rainfall. The rain did not bother him but running was easier on dry earth should he have need of quickness. The air was sweet but he kept a brisk pace, eager to return to her, careful to keep aware of his surroundings.
Above all he could not be detected by her kind.
His hand rested on the weapon at his hip. He wore it always now. In every encounter with the Zerar his place had been in the medical bay and, while he was a good shot, he had never taken a life.
He had come very close to using it on those peacekeepers. The male with his wild eyes, his hand on a weapon when Tara stood an arm’s length from him—
Ki’san quickened his steps, stopping when he reached the hill’s crest, remaining concealed by the forest as his gaze scanned the land and buildings below. He breathed in deeply, and again, but he scented no other human, nor the presence of their foul-smelling vehicles.
Still, he was careful to keep to the cover of the woods as he drew closer to the main structure. With one last evaluation of the area, he burst from the treeline, reaching the inside of her clanhall in moments.
Ki’san paused, filtering through the scents and sounds, then huffed.
He was careful to scrape the mud off his boots before turning off into the center gallery, taking the short cut through the house.
“You’re all wet.” She looked at him innocently from her place at the kitchen counter, the fork halfway to her mouth.
“And you are supposed to be resting.” Ki’san folded his arms. “Upstairs.”
“I got hungry.”
“I would have prepared the midday meal for you when I returned.” He gave the contents of her plate a glance. “And I am certain that confection is lacking in nearly all nutrition.”
“Cheesecake isn’t about nutrition.” She offered him a forkful. “It’s more like a religious experience.”
The flavors melded into in sweet richness, filling his nostrils with a warm scent that had him closing his eyes for a moment to savor it . . .
She gave him an impish smile. “Better than sex?”
“No!” He hestitated. “You do not think—?”
She burst out laughing, a human’s musical chuckle. “No. Absolutely not.” She took a quick bite. “Although since you won’t make love to me, I’m glad there’s cheesecake at least.”
Just the thought of joining with her had a tingling running through his groin that brought his penis to standing.
He twisted away, his hands on the counter.
“Hey.” Her arms wrapped around his waist, her softness against his back. “I was just kidding around. Kind of.”
“I want to.” He shut his eyes, breathing her in, leaning into her. “You cannot know how much I want to”
“I certainly know how much I want to,” she said against his back. “I don’t know how I’ve gone this long.”
“We”—he turned in her embrace— “should talk of something else.”
“Hmm,” she pressed herself against his hardness, battering his resolve. “We don’t have to talk at all. . . “
Her scent was intoxicating, the blood hummed in his veins, the mating purr starting in his chest—
“Tara.” With the tattered remains of his determination, Ki’san took her gently by the shoulders and held her away.
“I know.” She dropped her head back. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”
“Go, rest,” he urged. “I will prepare a meal for you.”
“Okay.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “But bring the cheesecake along too.”
As she left the kitchen, his gaze ran up the back of her thighs to the rolling movement of her buttocks—
Detachment. Ki’san gripped the edge of the stone counter. Detachment . . .
“You’re spoiling me,” Tara said using the napkin to dab her mouth. “I’ve never eaten this much in my life. I mean that. My whole life put together.”
His mouth curved as he took the tray away, setting it on one of the nearby tables. “I am glad my cooking pleases you.”
“Your cooking is wonderful.” She settled more comfortably on the chaise. “But I’ve never had this much of an appetite either. I can’t get over how good everything tastes. How easy it is to go up the stairs.”
“You should not have gone down the stairs.” He gave her a stern look. “How many times must I tell you, you are to rest?”
“I have been resting, all my life. For the first time ever I feel alive, really alive.”
“The scans are encouraging.” He offered his hand to her. “It is time.”
“Already?” She winced. “Can’t we skip a day?”
His bright gaze held hers.
She didn’t need his help to get up. She could have jumped up. She could have run up those stairs—
And from the look on his face, this was one alien who wasn’t having it.
“All right.” She put her hand in his. “Let’s get it over with.”
She flopped down on the bed, ignoring his reproachful look. If it were up to him she would treat herself like he did—as if she were as fragile as a china teacup.
He powered up the regenerator, doing her the kindness of starting at her scalp. He didn’t particularly like it when she scratched at the treated areas as he made his way down—in his opinion she was doing nothing more than ‘causing irritation to the epidermis’—but as long as she didn’t break the skin, he allowed it. And it sure made the whole thing more tolerable.
“I will try to work quickly,” he promised.
“I’m fine,” she said, gritting her teeth.
The tickling itch of the regenerator ran down her right arm.
“Why were you so concerned about your sexual inexperience?”
“Wow, that question came out of nowhere.” Her brow creased. “Weren’t you nervous?”
“Nervous. Excited. But g’hir males have one sexual partner.” He gave her a quick, tender look. “To whom we bond for life.”
“So . . . g’hir males can’t ever have sex without becoming bonded to that person?”
“We can enjoy release without bonding. It is sexual joining that causes that biological shift. I know humans—males and females—can explore many partners. I am curious as to why you did not.”
“Oh, boy.” She took a deep breath. “This is really awkward.”
“I am a physician. And your lifemate.” He paused. “Were you afraid to couple?”
“No . . . Look, I really don’t want you to think badly of me.”
His glance was startled. “I will not think ‘badly’ of you.”
“The truth is . . .The truth is I couldn’t wait to! I mean, I really, really wanted to have sex before I—A lot of sex. But being terminally ill has a way of eating into your dating life. It scared most guys off, and the ones it didn’t . . . sometimes I would get sick, for weeks. By the time I was well again, they’d have moved on. Last year I was literally on my way over to Kip’s house, condoms shoved in my purse, when I collapsed in the lobby of my building. The doorman had to call an ambulance. And, clean up all those damn condoms.” She covered her face with her hands. “I bought him a bottle of Hine Triomphe cognac for Christmas, hoping he’d get so smashed he’d forget about picking up all those little packets of Trojans. I forgot you don’t even—look, condoms are—”
“I know what they are.” Ki’san moved the regenerator lower. “So why would I think ‘badly’ of you for wanting to mate? Do you think my urge to fuck was any less?”
“Because I didn’t just want to fuck, I couldn’t wait to fuck. And because in twenty-six years I failed utterly at getting anyone—even armed with multi-colored flavored condoms—to fuck me.”
His brow creased. “Why are they flavored?”
“I guess you missed that particular video.”
“It is possible. They were repetitive, featuring unlikely scenarios, females of too-similar proportions with unrealistic sexual responses.” He huffed. “Someone should organize them better.”
“I’ll make sure to forward the suggestion. So, do you?” Her throat was tight. “Think I’m weird, or awful? That not only was I eager lose my virtue but willing to lose it to someone who wasn’t just a ‘Kip’ but a ‘Kip the fourth’?”
He shut off the regenerator and laid it down on the bedside table, his hand resting on her belly.
“I am honored,” he rumbled, “to have been the first to join with you. But if you had known the comfort of others before, I would love you just the same.”
“What—” Her heart thumped and she pushed herself up to sitting. “What did you just say?”
“I love you.” His brilliant gaze softened. “Beyond words, beyond measure.” He huffed again. “Why do so many things I say make your eyes water?”
“These are happy tears. And—” She gave a choked laugh, wiping at her eyes. “I love you too.”
“I ache to join with you.” Ki’san smoothed her hair away from her forehead. “But we must not use your strength.”
“I feel fine. And, God, I really want to.”
“You should rest.”
“I bet the endorphins would be good for me.” Sensing a chink in the armor she scooted closer. “Just once? If I let you do all the work?”
“To join with you,” a smile tugged at his mouth, “is hardly ‘work’.”
“Exactly,” Tara brushed her lips to his, “what I was saying.”
“And I have your vow”—his gaze was molten gold— “you will not exert yourself?”
“Only to applaud.”
He rid himself of his own clothes in short order, his cock already at full stand, but he undressed her gently, scarcely letting her do more than raise her arms to ease the shirt over her head. His lucent gaze traced the curves of her bare body, his breath quickening.
“You are so lovely.” His purr sent a shiver of pleasure through her as he knelt between her legs. He cupped the back of her thighs, urging her knees to bend, her feet flat on the bed. Ki’san bent to press his mouth to one knee, making a trail of kisses to the inside of her thigh. “So very lovely . . .”
Tara arched as his hot mouth closed over her clit. The vibration of his rumbling added to the flicking of his tongue. Her fingers threaded through his hair as his purr deepened, and she gasped as the waves of pleasure swiftly brought her to climax.
But his rumbling never stopped, even as he kissed his way to her mouth, sliding inside her easily.
His fangs scraped lightly against her neck as he moved inside her, sending her arousal higher. Tara held onto his shoulders as his speed quickened, crying out as he brought her to climax again. He bent his head as her release brought on his own, trembling as he came.
His breath was still quick, his chest slick with sweat as he raised his head to look at her. Whatever he saw in her eyes reassured him, and his fangs flashed in a quick grin. He brushed his nose against hers, then shifted to lie beside her.
He settled the blankets over her, cradling her, his body warm against her back.
“Now.” He pressed a quick kiss to her ear. “You must rest.”
But he hardly let her rest at all; in a few short moments his hand was on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake.
“Ki’san,” she complained as he shook her again, a little harder this time. “I just fell asleep.”
She rolled onto her back and gasped, clutching the covers to her chest.
“Who are you talking to?” Brice stood beside the bed, his expression stormy. “Who the hell is Ki’san?”