Nine
“It’s okay.” Tara assured. “Come on.”
Ki’san hesitated at the conservatory door. “You are certain your servants have left these lands?”
“They’re halfway to the beach.” She held up her phone. “See? I texted Hannah, asking if she was still in town and she says they just turned onto four-forty near Raleigh.”
“They may return.”
“Even if they turned around this instant they couldn’t be back for over four hours. And they aren’t coming back, not for a week at least. I told her to let me know they arrived safely and when they’re leaving the Outer Banks. We’ll know way ahead of time.” Tara indicated the garden, the sky turning pink as the sun dipped lower. “There’s no one here but us.”
“Another may come. This is not without risk.”
“You could smell someone, hear them, long before they got close enough to spot you, right?” Tara raised her eyebrows. “Can you detect anyone else?”
Ki’san ventured a few paces onto the slate terrace, all the while scanning the area. He paused the top of the steps, breathing in deeply.
“Nobody but us, right? So come on.” She walked backwards, her hands spread wide. “It’s gorgeous out here and I’m going stir-crazy in the house. Aren’t you?”
“I could not tolerate space travel if I found a dwelling as large as this unbearable.” He descended the stairs and joined her on the path. “We may take a short walk.”
“Would you feel better if we headed into the woods and took a walk there instead? There’s a lovely tree-lined drive that winds through the estate. I walked part of it the other day.”
“There are beasts in these woods.”
“You mean deer? Yeah, I almost hit one the other day.” Tara kicked at the ground, sending one of the path’s gravel stones bouncing away. “But they’re not dangerous—as long as you aren’t hurtling toward them at fifty miles an hour, anyway.”
“Are ‘deer’ clawed creatures?”
“They have hooves, not claws. Are you sure you mean an animal that’s on Earth?”
“Yes. The creatures are large, powerful beasts with black or brown fur and long claws. Females attack to protect their young—”
“You’re talking about bears! God, I never even thought about coming across a bear out here.” Tara turned her gaze toward the forest. “I guess we shouldn’t go running around the woods after all.”
“We may walk there if you like.”
“Didn’t you just say a second ago you were worried about running into a bear?”
“I will safeguard you.” His rumble sounded affronted. “But you should not walk the forests without me.”
“Now that would be ironic.” She gave a short laugh. “If my cause of death turned out to be ‘bear attack’.”
“I do not think this amusing.” He stopped. “You have neither the speed nor strength to defend yourself, were you to encounter such a creature.”
“Of all the things you should be fussing about it, Ki’san, that really shouldn’t be one of them.” His scowl didn’t budge, and she held up her hand. “Fine. I solemnly swear that I will only walk in the woods if you’re with me to act as my bear-bodyguard.” She paused. “Or is it bodyguard against bears? Either way, you have my word not to wander the wilderness by myself.”
“I do not like that your servants would leave you alone so willingly.”
“Hey, what do I have to worry about? I have someone right here willing to take on a grizzly for me.”
“They do not know that.” He glanced back at the château. “These servants do not hold the loyalty of the clanhall.”
“You keep using ‘clanhall’ in different ways. I’m guessing it’s more than just a house?”
“It is home to all that claim a common bloodline, it is what binds them to one another. Many live within its walls. Others honor the ways of our ancients and travel the forest of our enclosure. But the clanhall is home. It is where we return every year for the winter gathering.”
Tara lifted her face toward the setting sun, soaking in the scents of flowers and pine, the lazy hum of bees. “How long until winter on your world? Does it snow there?”
“Not all of my world sees winter—or snow—at the same time.”
“I do know a planet tilts on its axis, Ki’san,” she chided lightly. “That its spring here but autumn in the southern hemisphere.”
His face flushed. “I did not intend to imply your understanding was lacking.”
“Just our technology?” She shook her head, smiling. “I’m sure humans must seem very backward to you.”
“The clanhall of my family is in the high north, in the Atali mountains, and it snows much there. So much that it is said those of our region possess blood that is part ice.” His fangs flashed in a quick smile. “The g’hir who dwell in the capital city consider us to be backward and uncivilized.”
“Really? Why?”
“Our lands are remote, difficult to reach. Our ways seem antiquated, unsophisticated.” He shrugged. “As those of the city so often regard those reared far from its centers.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Probably a little guilty of that city-snobbery myself.”
“Even though your home is here?” he indicated the quiet woods beyond the formal garden.
“Actually Heatherbell—that’s the name of the estate—was considered a summer home. A country retreat for weekends away.”
“You have others?” He was surprised. “Other houses such as this?”
“My brother and I jointly own six.” Tara sat down on one of the wooden benches set around the bronze fountain of Diana, the water at the goddess’s feet sparkling in the late afternoon light. “But Brice—my brother—considers this one to be a Gilded Age eyesore.”
“No family of the high north has a clanhall of such opulence.” Ki’san sat beside her. “How can he not wish to reside within its walls?”
“Brice? Buried out here in the boondocks? No way, he’s back in civilization making sure he stays connected with other people on The Social Register. But he’s better at that sort of thing anyway. My brother is very, very charming.”
“But you—” He shifted forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs, his gaze on the goddess’s serene face. “Do you not think yourself so gifted?”
“We both got silver spoons but I got a matching calculator.” At his puzzled look Tara lifted one shoulder. “I manage the money. Brice knows how to pick out a car, how to make a suit look sharp, and he ‘runs’ a business that loses money every year without fail. If it weren’t for me handling the finances we’d be lucky to be sleeping on a bench in Central Park. In fact, we’d be lucky to get a bench in Queens.”
“Then you are clanmother.”
“Clanmother?”
“The female who is leader of her bloodline.”
“If you mean, am I the grown-up twin? Why yes, I am. And even when I couldn’t . . . Well, it’s something I was always good at, a way I could always contribute.”
His gaze was solemn. “I am sure you do you great honor to your line.”
“Well,” she gave a wry smile. “considering my line includes a name-stealing Scotsman and his first wife’s maid, that’s probably not hard to do. What’s—” she shifted on the bench to face him. “What’s your family like?”
“Like the land of our blood—demanding, relentless.” His mouth took on a fond curve. “And still, much like our clanhall, an enclave of safety and warmth from the harshness outside.”
“You sound homesick.”
“It is nearly the gathering time. The snow is already falling in the high north. We will assemble at the clanhall as one blood, give thanks to the All Mother, feast, tell our tales of the year.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I trained to be a warrior until I reached seventeen summers, as all g’hir males do. I was capable of a warrior’s tasks but the All Mother guided me to healing. I do not regret my choice but . . .” He huffed. “It was not a welcome one to the clanfather.”
“Are you saying—” Her brow knitted. “Your family doesn’t approve of you being a doctor?”
“It is not so among humans? The healing arts are held in greater regard on your world?”
“Doctors do tend to be pretty well thought of here, yes. Not to disparage warriors—”
“But you,” His golden eyes met hers. “You said healers were something you were ‘done with’.”
“I didn’t mean” —her cheeks heated—“friends.”
“So we are . . . friends?”
“Yes, of course we are.”
Ki’san looked away, toward the lengthening shadows.
“I am honored,” he said finally. “Honored to be your friend.”
“After your people come for you—do you think you might come back? To Earth, I mean.”
“No,” he rumbled softly. “I will never come back.”
“Then—” Tara gripped the edge of the bench. “Then tell me more about Hir. What’s your world like?”
“In many ways like your own. There are oceans and forests, snow and deserts. Beasts of the forests and seas.”
“But what are your people like? You’re so different from humans.”
“Not so different,” he rumbled quietly. “We have dreams and sorrows, things for which we long.”
“You’re much stronger, much faster than we are. You can see, smell and hear better than humans can. And we’re primitive compared to you.”
“Yet many g’hir eschew our technology. They hunt the land, move from place to place within the forest. We are driven to explore, to challenge ourselves. City life, even the exploration of space, does not suit our kind well for long.”
“Why do I have the feeling we’re talking about one g’hir in particular?”
“I do not hide my thoughts well from you.” He offered another smile. “Yes, I find myself less and less suited to the confinement space travel demands. It has been too long since I felt one with the forest, since I slept under the stars.”
“We could do that. Right here in the garden. I’ve never slept outside.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “Never?”
“Not the best idea in Manhattan. Trust me.”
“There are supplies at my ship, many sticks among the trees still dry enough to make kindling for a fire . . .” He shook his head. “It is too open here, too dangerous.”
“Well, what about the woods then? The forest should give us plenty of cover. I’d really like to.” Her hands clasped together. “I don’t know that I’ll get another chance.”
“Very well. If sleeping in the forest tonight would please you.” A smile softened his face. “Then that is what we shall do.”
“This doesn’t seem much like roughing it,” Tara observed as she straightened inside the geodesic dome. Tall enough for even Ki’san to stand comfortably, the wide bed was piled high with pillows and soft white furs, the gray floor lightly padded under her feet. Lights, as golden as Ki’san’s eyes, hung from the walls and filled the space with a soothing glow. It was warm too; the floor was insulated from the hard-packed earth and radiated heat. “This is more like what the Four Seasons would set up. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a concierge hiding behind one of the nearby trees ready to score us tickets to a show.”
“The camp is arranged according to g’hir tradition. But if you wish, I can change—”
“No, it’s lovely. It’s just . . . not what I expected. When you said, ‘sleeping under the stars’ I thought you meant really sleeping under the stars.”
“Ah.” He gave a huffing laugh and invited her to sit. “I will show you.”
Tara perched on the bed, impressed with the soft-firm feel of it, the lush softness of the furs under her palms. He pulled closed the door flap of the dome and, one by one, extinguished the lights.
When the last one went out, Tara’s mouth parted.
“Wow,” she breathed, her gaze fixed on the now clear ceiling panels of the dome. The walls remained opaque but the treetops soared above, the glow of the fire Ki’san built against their bark, and in the darkening sky were visible the first, faint points of starlight. “It changes transparency with the light level?”
In response, he lit one of the lamps. And the sky, while still visible, now seemed to have a veil over it.
“What about daytime?” she asked.
“The outer material of the higher panels becomes opaque with UV light waves.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to have it transparent during the day?” She raised her eyebrows. “So you could see around inside?”
“It would become very hot in the warmer months, stiflingly so. The interior is for the comfort of one’s mate and young, all of whom may need rest—and dark—during the day.”
“So you and . . . so you live in one of these domes, on your world?”
“It has been a while since I constructed one.” Ki’san flashed a smile. “You must not tell other g’hir how long the task took me to complete. It would be the shame of my clanhall.”
“Cross my heart.” Tara craned her neck. “Can anyone above us see in?”
“No.” His face tilted upward. “But even if this dome were not concealed they would have to be perched high above to do so.”
“What do you mean ‘concealed’?”
“From the outside.”
“Sorry, you lost me there.”
Ki’san lifted the door flap, and stepped out, waving to her to follow. She did, stepping into the clearing. He’d insisted on travelling deep into the woods, so far that the trees had long since concealed the château from sight.
“Okay now that”—she took a few steps back as the dome seemed to vanish, blending perfectly into the clearing—“is fucking weird.”
“Fucking.” He tilted his head. “You often use that word in ways I would not expect by how your reference books define it. It is another term for mating, is it not?”
“Jeez, Ki’san,” she managed. “Which dictionary did you read last night?”
“Merriam-Webster. But there were many visual representations of humans mating avail—”
“So is this thing reflective from every angle?” she broke in, circling the dome and avoiding his bright gaze. “How do you even find it?”
“I could locate it by scent. But this is an emergency dwelling. One meant for longer habitation, one set within one’s own lands would be larger and not have this precaution.” He paused. “A human would have no difficulty finding a structure built to forest on Hir.”
“‘Forest’?”
“To seek the shelter of the woods.” He indicated the trees. “And live within them.”
“So your people live in these long term?”
“Not as we once did. Our ancients lived in such structures, moving from place to place to hunt with their mates and young, until the winter gathering called them home. All g’hir warriors learn these skills but most . . . Most no longer have need of them.”
“So this is what you’re going to do when you get back to your world? Give up space travel and wander around your world living in a dome?”
He turned abruptly, bending to nudge the fire, his shoulders tight.
“Damn it, I’m sorry, Ki’san. I wasn’t making light of your tradi—”
“It is already growing dark.” By the light of the flames his expression was taut. “I should have begun the evening meal by now.”
“Can I help?” She took a timid step closer. “I mean, I’ve never cooked over an open fire—take-out is my usual culinary default—but maybe there’s something I could do?”
“This is a warrior’s task. Or it would be,” he muttered, seasoning the chicken that Hannah had left in the fridge. “If I had hunted for the meat.”
“So what do the women do, while the man is cooking?”
“A female would have her own tasks. To make alliances with other enclosures, negotiate trade—”
“Are there any women warriors?”
The shocked look on his face drew a surprised giggle from her.
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “I guess not. Are there other things g’hir women aren’t allowed to do?”
“It is not a question of ‘allowed’, a female may choose any trade she pleases.”
“Except ‘warrior’.”
“That is not a trade, not a profession. It is more than fighter, more than hunter, more than protector. A female cannot do this anymore than I could be one of your winged gods.”
“But females can fight?”
“They could be trained to, yes,” he said reluctantly. “I do not know of any g’hir females known to do so.”
“They can hunt, at least technically?” She glanced at the chicken that he now stirred in a sizzling pan over the fire. “And they can cook?”
“Yes.”
“So why can’t a woman be a warrior? Our history—human history—has female warriors. Boudicca, Fu Hao, Khutulun—”
“We are not human. And the Hironian word has no equal translation in your language. To be a ‘warrior’ is not a question of skills or of training. It is more.”
“So if being a warrior is so great, why did you decide to be a doctor?”
Ki’san looked into the fire. “On our land there is a cavern, one sacred to the All Mother. When a male of my clanhall reaches seventeen summers, he goes there to hear the Her voice, to know the task the Goddess has chosen for him. I went too, expecting to return with my feet on the warrior’s path. But that was not Her will. She put it in my heart to serve as a healer.”
“And then,” Tara sat on one of the low chairs he’d set out near the fire as he sprinkled seasonings over the pan, “you had to go home and break the news to everyone?”
He added slices of some purple fleshy plant to the pan, his mouth a wry curl. “It was not the most joyous day within my clanhall.”
“I admire your courage. It’s not easy, feeling like you’ve disappointed your family.”
“To be certain you could not have done so. You offer great service to your enclosure by your labors.”
“Oh, disappointments come in a lot of ways.” She leaned her elbows on her knees to peer into the dish. “When do we eat? That smells amazing.”
“It must cool for a time.” He took the pan off the fire. “To allow the sauce to thicken.”
He offered her a collapsible cup filled with cool water.
“Wow,” she looked into the cup. “This is great. It doesn’t taste like tap water.”
“There is a spring not far from here.” He scooped the chicken dish next to a pancake that looked a lot like fried polenta. “And I have purified it so it is safe to drink.”
She put the cup down as he placed the plate on her lap and offered her a spoon.
“So,” she asked, looking at the arrangement. “How is this supposed to be eaten?”
Ki’san took the spoon from her and, using its side, cut off a small slice of the pancake. He scooped some of the stew along with it and offered it to her.
She barely got a sense of the complexity of flavors—savory and sweet, salty with a smooth creaminess—before—
“Hot!” She fanned her mouth with her hand. “Hot!”
Quickly he took up the cup and handed it to her. The cold water helped a lot but her tongue still stung a bit.
“I am sorry.” He looked distressed. “I did not realize it had not cooled enough to be eaten.”
“It’s okay.”
With frowning concentration, Ki’san took the cup from her and scooped a smaller bite of the stew and pancake. He waved his hand at it, cooling the spoon, then offered it to her again.
“It’s wonderful, but I’m okay to handle my own cup.” She smiled, holding out her hand for the spoon. “You don’t have to feed me anymore either.”
“As you will.” Ki’san ducked his head, handing the implement over.
“This really is delicious. It reminds me a little of sweet and sour chicken. What’s the purple stuff?”
“Cali fruit. Brought from the ship’s stores.”
“And you’re sure it’s safe for humans?”
“I would not have offered it to you if it were not.”
Tara smiled. “So I’m actually eating something from another planet?”
“Many things, since the spices were carried off my world and the pancake is made from grains grown near my family home.”
At meal’s end, he traded her plate for a mug of sweet, spicy tea. Tara sipped the warm cup, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, the crackling fire, lulling her into a deep sense of contentment as he quickly and efficiently tended to the camp.
She stood, handling him her cup. “Thank you.”
“It is only tea,” he said as he put the cup aside.
“No, for all of it. Dinner.” She indicated the dome beside her. “Setting all this up so we could stay out here. Everything. It means a lot to me.”
“It is I who must thank you. If it were not for you, I would be dead.”
“Hardly. You got yourself to the infirmary. I just broke the elevator.”
Her breath caught as his warm hand cupped her cheek.
“I should have died of my injuries. For you,” his voice was like low thunder, “I lived.”
Captured by the warmth of his body, his shimmering gold eyes, made more luminous by the twilight, Tara swayed toward him.
His fingers were gentle under her chin and he leaned down, brushing his nose up one side of hers and down the other. A soft sound, deep as a purr rose from within his chest washing over her, leaving every nerve alight.
Then his mouth was on hers, gentle, almost shy, before his tongue parted her lips. He tasted cinnamon-sweet, pulling her closer, as he deepened the kiss. Her head was spinning as that rumbling sound thrummed through her.
Tara head fell back, melting into him as his mouth trailed down her throat. “We shouldn’t . . .”
“I do not care.” He pressed his face to where her neck and shoulder met and breathed in deeply, a hardness pressed against her belly. “This— now—is all that matters.”
“I can’t.” She forced herself to step back, out of his embrace. “I can’t do this.”
“Why do you deny this wanting?” His eyes were heavy lidded with desire. “I can scent your arousal.”
“You have someone, remember?”
“Someone?”
“Your—whoever she is. That woman, back on your world.”
Ki’san shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“The woman in the hologram.” Her voice rose. “The one you showed me on your ship.”
In an instant he was in and back out of the shelter again, his pack in hand. He knelt, carelessly shoving aside the contents. He seized on the familiar cloth wrapped one. Tossing the fabric aside, Ki’san stood, holding the crystal in his palm, its surface sparkling by the firelight. In a brilliant flash the woman’s image sprang to life in his hand.
“This one?” he held the crystal out to Tara, the tiny image smiling, waving. “Is this the female you speak of?”
“I mean, I get it. She’s beautiful. She’s your own kind so—”
“She was my mother.”
“She—Wait, what?”
“She was my mother.” He cradled the crystal, the image’s glow lighting his face. “My father destroyed everything of her when she died—all but this. I discovered this crystal, overlooked, when I was eleven summers.” Ki’san’s luminous gaze rested on the figure. “I have nothing else of her, save this. Not even a memory. I was but two summers when she died. I should have liked to have more of her. To know more of her.”
“I—” She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I understand what that’s like. Wanting to know who your mother was, who you are . . .” Her mind flashed back to the hours she’d spent as a little girl pouring over photos of her own mother, begging Papa to tell her more. How her father’s stories dazzled her, painted Mommy as part fairy princess and part Nobel-prize winning genius . . .
“But why would your father do something like that? Destroy everything?”
“The elders say madness overcame him when the Scourge took her. Once I felt great anger at him for doing so,” Ki’san closed his eyes briefly. “But now . . .”
“The Scourge?”
“A disease unleashed on us by our enemies. A biological weapon of utter horror. One designed to kill the females of my kind.”
“But you’re all right, aren’t you?” Tara touched his arm. “If it only kills women, then—?”
“Not women. Females. Old, young, little ones as well.”
“God, that’s terrible.” Something about his face, about what he’d said the other day in Rose’s bedroom. “Wait—how many did it kill? Females, I mean.”
He regarded her with haunted eyes. “One, perhaps two, in ten survived.”
“But that’s what, an almost ninety percent fatality rate! How can your people survive?”
“We cannot.”
“Ki’san . . .” Her hand fell away from his arm. “Why have your people been coming here? To Earth?”
“Males come here,” his inhuman eyes fixed on her, “to hunt a mate.”