Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (14 page)

Or is that mine? Intoxicating and powerful and magnetic. I let the last vestige of my wall down and receive whatever he’s trying to share. I swallow it up, let it stream through my body and stoke my own with his. Or is he taking mine? It’s hard to tell. We feel like one. He grabs my head. My arms land on either side of his head. I’m straddling him without touching him. He wants something from me.

Show me
, he says.

What, kissing?
I laugh and slowly lean over, tracing his full, shapely bottom lip with my tongue, then his top one, his perfect, softly pointed peaks.
Since when did I become the expert?

Since now.
He’s watching me with so much desire.

So handsome. I relish my control over him. He places his hands on my waist and I experience a frisson all over my skin. I like his control over me. I respond by kissing him hard. Again and again. When I stick my tongue into his mouth, he tenses but quickly responds by opening his. His excitement courses through me.
You taste so good
.

He inhales deeply. His hands rub up and down my bare skin on my back and hips. Soon he’s taking over the kissing, tugging at my tongue, pulling me back down when I lift up for gasps of air. His big hand holds my head tight, twined in my hair. The other gropes my hip, roams up and cups my breast, gently squeezing it creating ripples of pleasure. It’s not enough. I’m aching for him. I want to know if he’s aching for me. Yes, he is, I sense. I want to feel closer to him, I want to feel the extent of his desire in my hand, first and then in my mouth. . . .
But, wait, what’s happening?

I’m being torn away from him! I look at him, shocked and angry. He’s very angry, too, but then . . . knowing.

No! Don’t let it end! I need more!
Something’s lifting me right off of him and I fight it, reaching out for him with my hand. He grabs my hand, and we hover there for a second. A burst of intense longing is cut short with loneliness.
Well, don’t let me go if you don’t want to!

But he closes his eyes and lets go. I’m back in the floaty space where we started. Raw. Vulnerable. And alone.

Chapter 15

Betrayal
. That’s what I brood on lying here in what appears to be a rudimentary sickbay on what I assume is the Thell’eon warship while pretending to be unconscious. I’ve betrayed King with that, that alien. How could I? I mean, does mind kissing even count? Dark Eyes clearly took advantage of me. Didn’t he? A flash of me undressing him, begging him to lie down with me, pops into view.

Oh! What kind of horn-dog am I?
It was that state I was in. What did he call it? Symbiosis.
Humpf
. More like Sexbiosis.
So it is his fault!
And even, in this very moment, I wrestle with longing to go back there. I swear, I’ve never felt freer than I did in that field of feather reeds. Liberated. I could be who I needed to be without question. Need what I needed. Take what I needed. Give back so easily. It was,
magnificent
.

Yeah, if you weren’t suffering a dangerous concussion and trapped on a warship full of affection-starved alien thugs!
Get a grip, Cassiel!

I could cry. Really. I mean if ever there was a reasonable time to cry it would be now. Kidnapped by aliens through no small fault of my own. Why did I take that stupid fucking device off of Dark Eyes? Tricked into a lusty intimate episode with one of them. Far, far away from any help. Will ESE figure out what happened to me? Hathaway! He will have to tell them about the device now.
Oh, it’s all my fault!
I try to swallow.
Okay. Just breathe. No. Don’t cry.

If you cry, the Thell’eon who keeps checking on you will know you’re conscious. Too late. A sob bursts out me, and then, a waterfall. The downcore shifts upright. Someone passes me a thin type of material. I use it to blow my nose and raise my head.

This Thell’eon’s not like the others. He’s shorter, which means he’s as fit as a human ESE soldier. He sports fewer markings and he has very short
hair
. Blond. His eyes are stunning like a Thell’eon’s. Golden, with speckles of bright green. He’s wearing a high-necked light gray top made of an unusual fabric, like a knit, but shiny. He seems confused and very disturbed at my tears.

I try to move, to get out of the downcore but I’m strapped in at the chest and thighs. What the . . .?

“Let me out! Now!” I sob while struggling.

“Remain calm. Please. I would remove these,” he says, straining to hold my shoulders down, “but I am not permitted.” He glances meaningfully at the door where two Thell’eons stand alert and enthused with guns.

My guards, I presume.

“Please. You are safe here. I am what your people call a ‘doctor.’ I am—” The name sounds strange, something like Chrysanthemum. “You would not draw their attention. You would make your situation worse.”

I’m surprised he knows what a doctor is. And he makes a valid point, I guess. I stop pulling against his grip. My head is killing me anyway.

“When you are healed, in another day of your time, the Prime and his Kirs would see you. You must wait, and mend. You would need your strength.”

I lean back against the pillow. I don’t like the sound of that last bit, needing my strength to see this Prime and his Kirs. Does he mean Dark Eyes? Is he a Prime?

Focus! Get information
. That’s what Lt. Lazarus would tell you to do.

“The Prime? What are Kirs?”

Chrysanthemum scans me with a device, probably checking my status.

“A Prime is the master of his Kirs.”

“Oh, well, that explains things,” I mumble.

As the hours pass, while lying in wait, suffering a gnawing state of uncertainty, I make some gains. Doc Chrysanthemum isn’t very forthcoming at first, but with persistence, I piece together what I can. He’s most candid after we share a meal, of nebula knows what, together. Perhaps he’s just tired of my asking.

He tells me that ‘Kir’ stands for a unique type of unbreakable bond that’s formed by years of individual and group contests among Thell’eon males. As you win cumulatively, you rise in the ranks. But it’s not just about being the smartest, strongest, or the toughest, it’s about being the wisest. As you move up, you save and defend others strategically, thus forming unbreakable indebtedness among those who will be your Kirs. The very best of the Kirs becomes the Prime.

Seth (the nickname I give him since Chrysanthemum’s a mouthful) revealed that Thell’eon contests get more difficult with age. I’m shocked that this process begins when they’re young boys, and that often lives are at stake. In this way, the best of the best form mini-armies or brotherhoods that can never be broken. Kir One, Kir Two, Kir Three, and Kir Four form the Prime’s Counsel.

Hmm, a pretty good power structure, actually. Kirs probably wouldn’t try to overtake their Prime because they feel genuine gratitude and respect developed over years of winning together. Plus, others would know and then where would that Kir be left? An outcast. When I ask Seth whether the Primes themselves get along, he wouldn’t answer. Could this be a chink in the armor?

I’m brooding on this, and the emotional cycle that being a prisoner elicits (psychotic rage followed by self-pity followed by an irrational belief in hatching a successful escape plan) when another patient’s brought into the sickbay by four Thell’eons, dressed lightly, sweating heavily, and bloodied. The long hair and lack of markings on the limp body lead me to believe the man is not Thell’eon. Plus, they dump him on a stretcher, beside me, without any care for his injuries, which, given the trail of blood, are probably quite severe. My heart instantly goes out to the stranger and rage simmers at my helplessness to help him. Seth moves over to treat him, further blocking my view.

Meanwhile the four Thell’eons who brought him in stand there gawking at me.
Okay, really?
They won’t hurt me, I figure, since they haven’t. They just stare.
Metatabulous
. I’m wearing nothing but a thin smock. “Howdy,” I say, raising my hand from where it remains strapped down thinking,
Anything to break the tension
. These aliens have, like, no social skills.

Seth finally notices, gets the guards’ attention, and barks for them to move on.

Growing groggy again (I think Seth is drugging me!), I try to peer around the doctor.
Please, sweet shooting stars, let the man be human!
But I can’t see him. Just before I go under again, I wonder why the sickbay is so inefficient, and why none of the four injured Thell’eon bothered to get medical treatment.

When I come to again, it is clearly nighttime. The lights are dim. But I can make out a pair of eyes staring at me from the downcore beside me.

He lives. His injuries seem extreme, and that’s in poor light. Why would they do this to someone? He must be a prisoner because he, too, is strapped down. Sizing up the damage, my heart goes out to him. His one eye is so swollen he can barely open it. A big chunk of flesh is missing. I try not to cringe. Hopefully, Seth’s giving him something to repair the damage but it takes days to achieve RISH, Rapid Internal Stimulated Healing.

I raise my hand as best I can in my restraints. “Hi,” I whisper.

Slowly he glances over at Seth, then settles back on me. I assume he prefers not to speak, given his swollen mouth. The plains of his face remind me of pictures I’ve seen, of tribal races now extinct on Earth. Even with the swollen parts, I can tell he’s nice to look on. Oddly triangular eyebrows add to his exotic intrigue. But something I can’t put my finger on tells me he’s not human, and it’s not the wild animal look in his eye. Oh. The rapid rising and lowering of his bare, flat abdomen . . . his breathing’s unusual.

My own breath pauses upon returning to his stare and he glances at my guards, and fixes back on me with empathy—am I imagining that?
Uh, have you looked in the mirror, buddy?
While I’m thinking this, the trickle of a big fat tear rolls down my cheek. I turn away. How could he feel sorry for me? Clearly he has it worse!
Yeah, so far, Cassiel. Oh no. Don’t go there. If they were going to hurt you, they would have by now.

Get a grip! It’s going to be okay. When you first infiltrated their ship, and Dark Eyes thought he had you, he said you wouldn’t be harmed
. Green Eyes had said it this time. A flash: helpless in his arms, a tantalizing curiosity, to know where their alien markings, which flow down around their necks, and straight down their torsos, lead to.
What is wrong with you?
Be careful! They are evolved to attract women. It’s not your fault. It’s their weapon! They’ll use it against you!

I have to believe they don’t mean me harm. Well, clearly not immediate harm. Increasingly, I’m aware that the real danger is my own biological attraction to them.
But you won’t let that happen
. But, but why am I here? Oh, not knowing what will happen to me . . . it’s unbearable!

I can’t wait until tomorrow, when Seth told me that I’ll meet the Prime.
I wonder if it is Dark Eyes
, a.k.a. the seducer, and my stomach sloshes around the weird food I ate earlier.

What do they want with me? Will they even tell me? I swallow a big lump in my throat. Of course it has something to do with the sift!
Quit ignoring the facts!

Anyway, once you know for sure why you’re here, you’ll have something to work with, to get out of this predicament
. One thing’s for sure, I’m not leaving without Friend here beside me.

There. That’s all very positive thinking!
I’m pretty sure Lesson No. 1 in a course at ESE,
Being Held Captive by Alien Race,
would be stay positive.

I sniffle a little, try breathing deeply, and close my eyes, willing the morning to come quicker.

Shortly after waking, surprisingly rested, Seth unstraps me. My first instinct is to run, but where? The guards, who, oddly, never make a noise, despite being armed to a hilt, watch me closely. So, I do what Seth says, which is to use the privy, eat, take a bath, and get dressed. The bath part—they set up a deep basin with freshwater (there must be an abundance on Thell’eon, unlike Earth) with a curtain for privacy, which I have to demand—is oddly enjoyable. I panic when my fingers get all puckered, and quickly dry off, though my hair’s sopping and cold. Weird. Not sure I like the sensation. I reach for the garment Seth put out for me, ever aware that all that’s between naked me, the other Thell’eons, and the prisoner, is a thin curtain.

Crumb bum
. It’s a dress. Seriously? I haven’t worn a dress since my parents’ funeral. I insisted on wearing one of my mom’s, oversized and all. The Thell’eon dress appears to be made of a unique kind of metal but light, soft, and luxurious like silk. I wonder what other elements they have that differ from Earth’s, or what chemistry they used to make it so sleek. Once on, the dress shapes itself to my body, falling three-quarters of the way down my arms, and scooping too low at the neckline for my comfort. The dark purple fabric melds and lifts my boobs slightly, making them more prominent and exposed than usual, which is saying a lot.

Isn’t this just grand?
Back on the downcore, the dress is so light I have to keep looking down to make sure I’m clothed. I can’t remember the last time I pranced around in bare legs.

I finger comb my wet hair, waiting for my escort, who Seth says is on its way. I focus on trying not to vomit, and not looking at the prisoner, whose eyes I sense on me. I won’t cry again! Not in front of this Prime and his idiot council.

I hear shuffling and sense a change in energy. My stomach drops at the formidable sight of Green Eyes walking in with at least four other Thell’eons in tow. His eyes are focused right on me, and I’m reminded of our first encounter, when my hair set on end. He takes in my dress and,
whoa
, his emerald eyes flicker diamond momentarily. He’s wearing a plain top with short sleeves and those tight pants again. No weapons, but I can’t say the same of his companions. Straps of shiny metal devices with very sharp edges buckle around their thighs, chest, and arms. I don’t want to know what they are for. Plus, they all sport devices that look like guns, which based on my previous experience, I can’t operate, and rope-like things with very sharp tiny tips twined neatly and hanging off their sides.

Green Eyes doesn’t slow down those machine-like thighs as he nears, and I lean back, but he grabs my arm, hauling me off the downcore and forward to the door.
Well, good morning to you!
I can’t help but look back at the prisoner. Wished I hadn’t. The look on his face, as he stares silently back at me, scares me more than my own worst imagination.
Fuck
.

“I can walk, you know,” I say, trying to tug away.

Green Eyes glares at me, easing down the lids on those cat-like eyes and, squeezing his grip, bruises my arm.

“You would not speak!”

Okay then!
Perhaps growing tired of my resistance, he does let go of my arm after a few steps. I’m forced to follow along anyway.

The guards beside me, and probably those behind too, are stealing eyefuls. I wallow in self-pity for a few minutes,
because it consoles so bloody well!
, trying to keep up, before I get enough sense to try to take in my surroundings.
Come on, Cassiel. Focus on the escaping part. At least, try to keep track of where they are taking you. That way, when you somehow sneak past the 350 or so armed, giant, and terrifying Thell’eons on this ship, you can find your way around.
I could laugh. No. Not really.

After a while, corridors merge into more corridors, and I lose track.
Fuck
. It’s definitely a ship of mirrors. We pass groups of Thell’eons who also openly gawk at me. Good thing I’m used to being a minority.

We stop short, having arrived at a dark vestibule of some kind. Glancing upwards, the partition in front of me is only about nine feet. Above and beyond it, the ceiling rises up into a circular dome, much like the one on the tiny ship they kidnapped me in, except this one’s much bigger and emits an unusual light. We stand at the end of the long partition, which lines a long curved hallway. I imagine this Prime and his Kirs await me just around the corner. My heart’s up in my throat and I fear for my safety like never before. What are they going to do with me? What do they want?

I surprise myself by gripping Green Eyes’ solid arm and moving close to the partition. His markings above his eyebrows jumble together. He’s confused.

My brain feels fuzzy. I think I know what’s happening.
It will pass. It will pass
. My grip loosens on his arm and I lean back against the partition, and slowly slide down it.

Green Eyes grabs me under my armpits before I reach the ground. I want to sit, so he lets me. I notice his hands linger for a moment, and then move down and rest at my waist. He crouches in front of me.

“What is wrong?” he asks, clearly annoyed. He lifts my face up and searches it. “Are you still sick?”