Between Darkness and Light (41 page)

“Yes,” she said quietly. “What can I say or do to make you believe it wasn't me, Kusac?”

“Nothing,” he said shortly, blotting the worst of the water from his hair. “I thank you for removing the marker, but that's it. I want nothing more to do with you, Zayshul, except on a professional level.” He threw the towel at her and headed back to the cushions for his tunic.

As he bent to pick it up, both their scents, heavy with pheromones, rose from the cushions to greet him. With shaking hands, he snatched his tunic and belt up, keeping his thoughts firmly locked behind the strongest mental shields he could erect. Without looking back, he hurried from the clearing onto the path that led off the island.

ZAYSHUL watched him leave, tears still slowly rolling down her pale cheeks. She'd tried to act honorably toward him—the risk she'd taken in meeting him here was considerable, even with Kezule off-station. She rubbed her hands across her face then took off her robe, folding it over the topmost handrail of the ladder. At least she'd done the right thing and turned off the scent marker, even if he hated her for doing it.

The water surrounded her, warming and caressing her naked skin the way her body had surrounded Kusac's when they coupled. She treaded water, reliving the sensations until it suddenly occurred to her to wonder how she knew what he'd been experiencing. Shivering, she sank under the water, trying to dismiss the notion as her overactive imagination. A rogue part of her mind acknowledged to herself that the late N'koshoh hadn't been wrong on one level when she'd scent-marked Kusac. His skills as a lover were beyond anything she'd encountered—the silky feel of his long fur against her skin, the way he seemed to know from moment to moment what would please her—all marked him apart from the Prime males she'd known.

She surfaced, realizing from the first she'd sensed his innate sensuality. Knowing he had an alien wife, she'd been curious about him—a curiosity admittedly enhanced by the scent marker. Tears sprang to her eyes again as she remembered his accusations of betrayal. It hurt that he should turn away from her in anger and disgust. She wanted—needed—his belief in her innocence, but had no idea how she was going to achieve it.

“My message you get. Too late is now for talking,” a voice out of the darkness accosted Kusac. It was the TeLaxaudin, Giyarishis.

“I was in the shower,” he said lamely, slowing down as his eyes picked out the faint form of the alien from the darkness at the end of the corridor. “I got lost in the dark,” he added.

“Tomorrow we talk. Come, Sholan. Go down elevator your level.” One thin hand beckoned him forward before Giyarishis turned back toward his office and the elevator beyond.

He followed the TeLaxaudin, thankful only that Giyarishis hadn't asked more and had inadvertently provided him with an alibi for being on this level at that time of night.

Giyarishis left him at the junction of his corridor and stalked off without another word. Though he could see no curious Primes or Sholans about, Kusac padded quickly along the dimly lit passageway toward his quarters. The first thing he saw was the message-waiting light on the vid com blinking at him.

He stood under the shower, saturating himself and his tunic until he was sure it no longer held her scent, then he stripped it off and let it fall to the cubicle floor. Never before had he paired with anyone out of pure lust: always there had been some gentler feeling for his partner. But he felt nothing for Zayshul, nor she for him he was sure—and he'd debased himself, and her, by meeting her in the full knowledge of what he wanted to happen. It mattered not at all that he'd been drawn to her by the scent marker, nor that she was willing, he'd still gone. They had merely used each other to satisfy their own personal needs. Angrily, he reached for the soap and his washing brush.

Three times he scrubbed himself all over, but he couldn't wash away his guilt—he felt soiled inside and out on a level he couldn't clean. The chemicals in the soap, designed to prevent vermin infesting his pelt, stung his injured arm as well as the scratches and bites she'd inflicted on him in her passion. He winced, feeling it was at least a form of penance for what he'd done. As he scrubbed, he tried to forget how she'd obsessed his thoughts and dreams, how he'd searched daily for her scent whenever he entered a public area. Instead he kept telling himself that the nightmare was over and that he could finally get on with his life and build a meaningful relationship with his son. Unless someone was purposely looking for Prime DNA in Shaidan's blood, they wouldn't find it, masked as it was by the unique hybridized Sholan/Human genetic codes. If he could accept Shaidan as his son, so could everyone else, Carrie and Kaid included.

At the thought of them, his hand seemed to lose its grip and he dropped the brush. Bending to pick it up, he saw with shock that there was a tinge of pink in the water pooling round his feet. Now the chemicals really began to bite and sting as he realized he'd rubbed himself raw in several places.

Turning the water pressure higher, he sucked in his breath as the needles of water pounded against his body, beating the chemicals out of his pelt. He suffered it for several minutes, but finally it became too painful even for him and he had to turn the shower off.

Drying was as much of a problem as his roughened skin couldn't take even the gentle abrasion of the towel. Still dripping, he padded into his bedroom, dabbing gently at himself until he found his toweling robe in one of the drawers. Wrapping it around him, he tied the belt loosely and lay down on top of his bed, purposely turning his mind away from all thoughts but those of his son.

For the first time, he was in no rush to leave Kij'ik. While they were here, he had time to put his energies into building on the tenuous relationship he and Shaidan were beginning to form. He wanted no outside interference, and that would be impossible at home under not only the watchful eyes of the rest of his family, but the distraction to Shaidan of meeting his sisters and triad parents for the first time.

The other cubs would be settled on his estate by now. Shaidan would fit in as well as they no doubt did. Everyone would assume the cub had the same background as the others—there was no need to tell anyone the true story. Let her think Shaidan was just one of the hybrids created by the Directorate. After all, one of the other five was her cub, and another was Kaid's. If he locked his knowledge of Shaidan's true parentage deep in his subconscious, no one need ever know the truth. All it would take was ensuring he never thought of Zayshul and Shaidan in the same breath. Then, gradually, even the memories of what had happened tonight would fade.

He winced as he rolled over and reached for the covers to pull across himself. The bandage round his injured forearm was soaking wet and uncomfortable but he was too tired to do anything about it even if he'd had the necessary dressings. Closing his eyes, he began planning a future on Shola for himself and Shaidan, one that included no repercussions between himself and his family over the way he'd had to leave.

Vartra watched with satisfaction, just a little tinged with concern, as Kusac began to build a wall of dreams around himself. At least he was moving away from the Camarilla's web of deceit. Even if his view of reality was idealistic, Kusac felt no sense of shared parenthood with the Prime female, and therefore no responsibility toward her. He began to relax, turning his mind to other matters though still keeping a portion of it on Kusac and his son.

The insistent buzzing of his wrist comm finally roused Kusac from sleep; until he began to sit up, it refused to be silenced. He'd spent the night tossing and turning and now tiredness clung to him like ice in his pelt in winter. Banner's face looked back at him from the tiny screen.

“It's third hour, Captain,” said Banner formally. “We're in the mess now. Had you forgotten we're meeting in the temple in an hour to start decorating it for the festival tomorrow?”

“Ah,” he said. “Be there in ten minutes.”

Banner acknowledged him with a flick of an ear then the comm went dead.

He had forgotten, he realized, as he pushed himself stiffly out of bed. Grimacing, he pulled his still damp robe off and staggered over to the drawers for his black one.

Dousing his face in a basin of cold water helped him wake up. He felt like death warmed over—served him right for falling asleep while his pelt was still soaking wet, he thought wryly as he pulled his brush through his long hair. Despite what he tried, it rose, crackling with static, around his face like a full U'Churian mane. Sighing, he gave up and put the brush down on the shelf. As he did, the glint of the jewel in his ear caught his eye. Reaching up for it, he hesitated briefly, then resolutely removed it, leaving it lying on the shelf. That belonged to her and the night before—it had no place in tomorrow's celebrations.

 

Banner kept nudging him throughout the meal, drawing his attention back to the ongoing conversation about the preparations for the festival.

“You decide, Jayza,” Kusac said finally as the discussion moved to the choice of candles they should use. He couldn't keep his mind on the matter at all—his thoughts kept drifting off in irrelevant and unimportant directions. “You've been running the temple for us, your decisions should count for more than mine in this. I have no preferences.”