Between Darkness and Light (49 page)

What if his son preferred to sleep rather than talk to him—no matter, Shaidan was only a cub and he probably was tired. As for being unsettled, it was likely because his routine had been broken—cubs liked routine he remembered his mother telling him. That was good, then, if Shaidan saw meeting him every evening at fifteenth hour as a regular part of his life. He was reading too much into it, especially since he knew his son was finally beginning to warm to him.

He stretched his arms, checking the time on his wrist comm, aware of his bandage binding slightly—still early, barely the eighteenth hour yet. What had M'kou said? There'd be someone in the room opposite on call for the sick bay? Perhaps now would be a good time to get a fresh dressing pack and redo his arm. He was curious to see how it was doing as he'd been aware of it itching on and off all day.

Getting to his feet, he padded out into the corridor, stopping to look at the doors opposite, wondering which of the two was the one he wanted. Instinct alerted him to the faint movement of a security cam off down the corridor to his right just as his senses told him the door to his left was about to open.

“Can I help you, Captain?” asked Ghidd'ah as her door slid open. “There's nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Nothing. I just wanted a fresh dressing pack for my injured arm,” he said, smiling wryly to himself about the speed at which his presence in the corridor had alerted the civilian nurse. Kezule might trust him down on this level, alone overnight with his son, but only so far.

“I'll get one for you now,” she said, joining him in the corridor as her own door closed behind her. “Would you like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, I can handle it myself.”

“If you want to go back to your room, I'll only be a few minutes.”

He nodded his thanks and returned, to continue pacing restlessly round the room until he heard a gentle tapping at the door.

“I didn't use the buzzer in case Shaidan is sleeping,” she said quietly, handing him a small metal bowl containing a pair of scissors, a couple of dressings, fresh bandages and a sealed pack of antiseptic wipes. “You'll find everything you need here. Just leave the bowl in the room, I'll see it's collected in the morning. Good night, Captain.”

“Thank you, and good night, Ghidd'ah,” he said, taking it from her.

He set it down on the low table in front of the sofa and, pushing his tunic sleeve out of the way, began cutting off the old bandage. What he found under the dressing surprised him. Each puncture wound was covered by a layer of very pink, new flesh—not healed yet, but well on the way, far further along than he would have expected them to be under normal circumstances. Not only that, but the fur was already growing back. The dressing was really only needed for protection now. No wonder his arm had been feeling itchy.

Thoughtfully, he opened the wipes and went through the motions of making sure the almost healed wounds were sterile again before putting on the fresh dressing and binding it on securely with the bandage. He couldn't squash the uneasiness he felt about the speed at which the wound was healing. Even using Fastheal, it wouldn't have reached this stage in so short a time, and then there was the physical cost of using the drug—it drained one of energy as it used the body's own stored fats to fuel the healing process.

Giyarishis had been the last one to dress it and he'd said something about using the pool water on it for its healing properties. Well, he'd certainly doused it in the pool the night before seeing the TeLaxaudin. He turned his mind away from that thought as he packed up the empty wrappers, putting them into the bowl along with the scissors. He didn't want to remember his evening with Zayshul, especially not now when he was with his son.

He looked at his wrist comm again—just over half an hour had passed and he still felt as unsettled and restless as before. He glanced at the vid unit again but watching the
Zan'droshi
was as interesting as watching grass grow, or paint dry. Maybe trying to sleep wasn't such a bad idea.

Getting up, he shut off the vid unit and headed for the bedroom, putting off the living room light and opening the door slowly so as not to disturb his son. Stumbling a little in the dark, he found the edge of the bed and sat down. Stripping off his tunic, he edged under the covers and lay still, listening to Shaidan's quiet breathing. It was like a balm to him, banishing the loneliness he'd tried to ignore since leaving Shola.

Suddenly he needed to touch him, to feel his warmth, know he was really there. Inching himself farther into the center of the bed, he stopped short when he felt the heat radiating from his son's small body. Tentatively, he reached out, resting his hand on his son's side. Shaidan whimpered in his sleep, flinching away from him briefly before relaxing again. He moved closer, letting his arm encircle the cub. This time, he was rewarded with small animal noises of pleasure as his son began to wriggle backward against him, seeking contact with his body. A small hand grasped his, clutching him tightly until, with a small sigh of contentment, echoed by Kusac, the grip slackened.

“Well, our brave leader is welcome to his night of cub-sitting,” said Dzaou, joining the others at their usual table in the rec lounge. He took a long drink of his ale before setting it down. “I'd rather be here, enjoying my drink. Always knew there was a good reason for never taking out a bonding contract.”

“You did the gene pool a favor, then,” muttered Jayza.

“Stow it,” said Banner automatically as he watched M'kou make his way between the tables to the bar. All the females he passed looked up to greet him, most taking advantage of his nearness to reach out and touch him, their gestures, in Sholan terms, ones of intimate friendship. Something stirred at the edges of his mind—he was observing something important, but he was damned if he could put his claw on what it was.

“I'm glad to see the General is allowing Shaidan more time with us,” said Khadui.

“Yeah, but it isn't with us, it's with him,” said Dzaou.

Jayza thumped his mug down on the table. “Give it a rest!” he said angrily. “You know he's the only one of us with any parenting experience! You said you didn't want to cub-sit. If he wasn't prepared to do it, we'd all have to take turns. Be grateful to him for once in your life!”

When Banner and Khadui began to chuckle, Dzaou's ears flattened and his face creased in anger, but he held his tongue.

Two days sitting alone in the same, small room with Zayshul, hyperaware of her nearness and her scent, had only made Kusac more aware of his physical need for her. By the morning of the third day, he was seriously thinking of requesting to work with the rest of his crew on salvage. Then he remembered the scent marker on him and shuddered, imagining the look on M'kou's face. Compassion from a Prime because he couldn't cope? He could cope with that even less.

 

“So they obviously controlled the aggression and sex drives of the ordinary warrior castes by drugging the drinking water supply with varying quantities of la'quo or feeding them raw meat,” Zayshul was saying.

“And aggressive sports.” He tried again, and failed, to not look at the long legs that showed below the hem of the dress she was wearing.

“That would tie in with them rising through the ranks by attacking any superiors they felt were incompetent,” she agreed, turning aside from her console to look at him. “Kusac, would you please sit down? You've been pacing up and down like a caged beast for the past three hours! You're making it almost impossible for me to concentrate.”

He stopped beside her. “I can't,” he said in a low voice, trying not to look at her. “It's the only way I can control myself when I'm so close to you.” He raised his head, ears folding flat into his hair. “You said the marker affects you. Do you feel nothing?” His need for her was once more threatening to banish sense and reason.

Her skin darkened and she turned away from him, looking back at her screen. “We've work to do.”

Grasping the back of her chair, he swung it—and her—around to face him. “Tell me you feel nothing,” he said harshly. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't need me again!”

“It's not real, it's the scent marker,” she stammered.

“I don't care!” he said, leaning forward to trap her in the chair by grasping the arm rests. “Tell me I'm wrong when I say I can feel your need calling to me—why wear a dress to show off your legs if you don't want me to notice them?”

“I didn't . . . You said you didn't want me near you . . .”

“I lied,” he interrupted, dropping his voice to a whisper as he leaned closer still. He flicked his tongue out, capturing the salt tear that spilled from one eye and rolled down her face. “I lied to myself,” he murmured, touching his lips to her cheek, drinking in her scent and the taste of her skin, letting go of the self-control he'd tried—and failed—to maintain in her presence. He shuddered, closing his eyes briefly, permitting the light-headedness to spread through him, feeling his belly and groin muscles tighten as he allowed his body to respond to hers.

She pulled back, eyes widening in fear as she realized what he was doing. “Kusac, we can't . . . Not here . . . not now . . . This isn't real, Kusac, it's only the marker!” she said frantically, reaching out to push him away.

“Yes here and now,” he said, grasping her hand and pressing it against himself. “Feel me! That is real, and your marker caused it!”

He let her go, pulling her to her feet, one hand reaching for the fastenings on the front of her dress while he continued licking and nipping her face and neck. Beneath his hand, the naked skin of her chest was burning hot.

“No . . . I don't want this,” she moaned, trying to push him away.

“You're lying, but your body can't,” he purred, teeth fastening on her tiny earlobe as he surrendered to the sensations her scent was generating. “I know the signs. You want me—why else would you dress like this?”

“The door . . .”

He reached out with his mind for the mechanism: it took only a thought and it was done.

“Locked,” he murmured, teeth and tongue traveling down her throat to her shoulders as his hands slid her skirt upward.

She moaned softly, leaning against him, reaching down, frantically searching for him. Another, deeper moan escaped her when his hands discovered she was as naked as he beneath the dress.

He laughed, but it turned to a gasp of pleasure as her fingers tightened round his erection.

“Gods,” he whispered, pressing himself against her as he looked round for a clear space they could use. “Don't even try to deny this is what you want, Zayshul!”

It was a pairing born of lust and need, but that mattered not at all to either of them. Her claws raked his back, but he was ready this time and reared up, capturing her hands and pinning them to the desk. With the last shreds of reason, he closed his mind utterly to hers, concentrating only on the sensations coursing through his own body. As he hovered on the brink of orgasm, she fastened her teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard.

He cried out, pain lacing briefly with pleasure, but she stifled him with her lips, kissing him deeply—just as she'd done that night on the
Kz'adul
. Then it was over and they lay locked together, panting and damp with sweat.

Head pillowed on her shoulder, he waited for the pounding of his heart to slow as he allowed her to unlace her hands from his. Despite the warmth of the room, her skin was cooling now, and this combined with his own damp pelt was making him uncomfortable. Though her scent, comingled with his, was still strong, whatever power it had over him had dissipated now that their frantic coupling was over.