Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (23 page)

“And he did not hit you like you were one!” he snarls. “I am sick of your complaining. You are a weak sift!”

I think my mouth’s hanging open. I’m not sure what to be indignant about first: that he thinks Onegin was righteous, or that he’s disappointed to be lumped with such a weak sift.

Okay. Calm down. You don’t care what his people do to little innocent boys, or what he or this Horde thinks, Cassiel, because you’re getting off of this ship, as soon as fucking possible!

When Seth sees us, he drops what he’s doing and walks quickly over to me.
Wow.
Sickbay’s full. I never asked how many Thell’eon were wounded by the Aeon, just how many died.

Seth takes real good care of me, silently, leaving Kell’an to wait. I’ve surmised that getting medical treatment is some form of shame to Thell’eons. I recall Or’ic saying he had to order Onegin to be treated after he was nearly killed by the Aeon. Now Kell’an’s shame has just been prolonged
. Good on ya, Seth
.

Doc Kindness heals all my cuts and bruises with RISH. My eye will take the full day to return to normal but the puffiness is completely gone. The only thing missing, that I really want when he’s done, is a hug.

I rest there while he tends to Kell’an. I suspect his deep wound will take longer than mine to heal, as I watch him wrestle into a weapon-clad shirt, eager to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Come,” he barks without looking at me. “We will eat and then meet our Prime in the
tyl’mek
.”

Hooray!
I have to assume this word mean hangar bay. I follow Kell’an to the mess, knowing the way well now.

We’re shadowed by my Thell’eon guards who are never too far behind. The one grace I was granted was the refusal of a new Cinarie aid. Perhaps Or’ic recognized the danger I pose.

When we enter, I hesitate, focusing on the spot where Zeke lost his life. The mess has been somewhat put back together.

Kell’an grabs my arm and pulls me gently forward.

“You must eat. You do not eat enough,” he adds.

Says who? I eat plenty. I sit with my back to where the rift was and the exit, staring out the window. Kell’an plants himself far enough that we don’t have to converse, though no one here speaks while they eat anyway.

I get to work on a plate of long, spiky crisps, a sticky gamey meat and a sweet thing that tastes fruity and utterly fantastic. I’m surprised to realize that I prefer meals not to be interrupted with formalities like conversation as I lick the scoop, savoring the last bite of my dessert while trying hard not to notice the angst nibbling away at my insides.

Oh. I know why I don’t enjoy eating here: it’s the only daily activity that reminds me of home.

Kell’an motions to a Cinarian, who brings me another. I ask for torn, heart beating wildly, instead, and Kell’an indulges me by nodding to the Cinarian. I manage to snatch and pocket a handful of torn unnoticed.

But, how do I leave a trail to the docking bay?

We walk for some distance, and I follow Kell’an, sticking close to the walls, discretely dropping a tiny nut every 30 feet or so, fewer where there are sharp turns, hoping I won’t run out. I’m vibrating with nerves over getting caught and worry I might barf up my lunch.

I’m recovered physically from the fight with Onegin, thanks to RISH, but mentally, I’m carnage.
You just need to keep it together long enough to fly.

We head toward the practice arena, but turn left before we reach it and continue some distance before taking a few more turns. I’m concentrating so hard on keeping track of the direction that I ram right into Kell’an, who has stopped and turned to face me.

“Oh sorry!” He’s annoyed. But when I look over his shoulder I don’t care. A whole hangar of incredible ships! Or’ic’s waiting with a few undersized Thell’eon. I’m about to head for him when Kell’an grabs my chin, hard, drawing my eyes toward his glare, threatening to ruin my newly found good mood.

“Do not even think of attempting escape.”

My stomach drops. Is he on to the torn? I must give something away, because his eyebrows raise in suspicion, then furrow with menace.

“Even if you somehow overtake the greatest fighters in the Thell’eon galaxy,” he says, his nostrils flaring, “us” he has to clarify when I look confused, “the ship you will pilot is programmed to remain within an easily reached distance of our vessel. There is also limited oxygen and fuel.”

Phew. Good.
He’s not on to the torn.

“And, even if you manage to defy those odds,” he adds, real close to my face now, “I would hunt you to the ends of all of the universes.”

“I get it,” I mutter, annoyed and mildly discouraged by his threat. I jerk away from his hold on my chin.

Yeah, well you won’t get very far without a sifter, will you?
I scream silently at his back as I take two for every one of his long strides across the hangar floor.

The ship they’ve chosen for me to prove my piloting skills is perfect. Really. I already want to give it a name. Light, super speedy, and by the sound of it incredibly agile. A Thell’eon engineer and Or’ic run through the technical specs. Everyone’s surprised when I ask pertinent questions, and the engineer has to look up a few answers on his com-tab, or what looks like a com-tab, to get them.

The really neat part is how the ship interfaces with the pilot. The engineers don’t explain the ‘how’ very well, though. Hathaway would be whacked right now! But I gather the flight instruments and controls are connected to my mind through a special nano-size particle or some such that they plant just under my skin, near my cortex. Before I can ask how they plan to do that, one of the Thell’eon steps forward with a large medical-like gun. I step back.

Or’ic grabs my hand. “The injection is painless.”

I don’t have a choice so I stay still while the cool instrument presses on the back of my neck. He’s right. I feel nothing. Only Or’ic’s large, rough hand clasped firmly around mine.

We clamber into the narrow pilot compartment. He lets go of my hand, but it feels branded by his warmth. I rub it to get rid of the sensation.
Focus!
There are three rotating ‘S’ chairs, and the wall of the round ship forms a tight circle around them. Kell’an motions to my seat, and they plant themselves across from me.

“Prime Or’ic, does this chip allow me to fly any ship?” I ask casually, sliding into the too-big com chair.

Kell’an and Or’ic glance at each other. They ignore my question.

“I only ask because by the sound of the momentum flow, I would fly much faster in one-man ship.”

“Yes,” offers Or’ic after a moment. “You would fly a Kittra at the Candidacy, if you can fly.”

I ignore his last remark.

I guess a Kittra is a one-person vessel. And I can’t imagine they take out and reinsert chips all the time, which means I’m officially cleared for take-off in any Thell’eon ship!
Hooray!
I could laugh. And I kind of do. They both look at me, surprised.

I sigh with pleasure. “All ready?” I ask, barely able to contain myself.

Kell’an and Or’ic exchange glances. Seemingly resigned, each one takes one of my hands, placing them up on what I think is thin air, until I encounter some invisible objects.
Ah
, there are some kind of handholds. Both of them keep their hands on my hands, explaining how one control activates the ship, the other lands the ship. The real connection with the vessel’s made through the chip near my cortex; the handholds are merely psychological. I suspect Thell’eons just couldn’t lose the need to fly using their hands, something I get.

They finish each other’s sentences, sometimes repeating themselves as they explain how I need to open up my mind to the connection. They rapidly throw bits of wisdom about maintaining velocity, managing momentum, and the like at me. I listen carefully, secretly annoyed that they think I need such rudimentary information. I close my eyes and relax, at their suggestion, and instantly experience a phenomenal event. I’m completely in tune with the ship. It’s like
I am
the ship.
Holy stars!

“Now turn it on,” says Or’ic, squeezing my hand gently.

Instantly, I’m humming. We start up, lifting off the ground.
Wow.

“Good,” I hear Or’ic say.

It’s as though
I
am floating. I take a moment or two to get used to the motion. The Thell’eon engineer explained how internal gravity is compensated to allow for comfortable interfacing with the ship and flying, though the inertial dampening only affects those interfaced, which is why I was nearly killed being abducted. To be honest, I have never, ever, felt so good.

“How do we open the hangar?” I ask, more ready than ever.

“No. First turn it off,” says Or’ic.

I comply.

“Again,” he says.

When I’ve had enough of this, I say, “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

I’m so absorbed in feeling and sensing the ship, how subtly it moves to my every move and thought, that I almost miss how the hangar doors open. Or’ic presses his hand into the panel on the wall and the hangar doors slowly begin to open.
Oh, that’s going to be a problem for my escape. A big problem.
The ship hits the hangar floor. We are all jolted, hard. Shit.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Concentrate,” barks Kell’an.

With my eyes closed again, everything’s visible through the interface, including the freedom that awaits beyond this hangar. Amazement isn’t nearly adequate a description. Big, beautiful, haunting, wide-open space. And I’m about to fly in it. I mean really fly, like a meteor. I have never felt so powerful.

I decide right then and there not to follow their flight maneuvers. I need to impress them and that’s what I intend to do.

Buckle up!
Daz used to say that to me just before he accelerated.

I let my mind go, and we shoot out of the hangar before the doors have finished opening.

Chapter 22

I land the shuttle as lightly as possible to counter the force with which I entered the docking bay as a final homage to some of the best flying I’ve ever done.

“That was awesome! Did you see that? I didn’t miss one!” I exclaim, referring to the asteroid belt I’d just used as an obstacle course, simultaneously firing and dodging the rocks at record speed. “It would have been even better without all the dead weight!”

I attempt to release my palms from the controls but both Or’ic and Kell’an still have their hands clenched around mine. When I finally open my eyes, they look stunned. Or’ic’s actually ashen.

“So?” I ask when they both finally remove their hands.

Kell’an is staring at me strangely.

Still no recognition of my skill. What gives? No way can they think I’m not good. Are they angry I didn’t stick with the plan?

“Look, you don’t fly a fast ship slow,” I start, but Or’ic stands up quickly, almost hitting his head on the sloped ceiling. He avoids making eye contact.

“Explain the
Bon’mi
to her. I would put in the request,” he commands Kell’an, quickly departing.

“I told you!” I shout at his back. “Wow, these ships are unbelievable,” I add to myself. Flying revived my spirit. I relive every moment of careening through space, truly free. I’m so happy I could almost forget my circumstance.

Kell’an seems to have recovered somewhat. Staring at my hand, he mutters something. Glancing up, he says louder, “You are an excellent pilot.”

Why must I blush over every compliment, even one from a stinking Thell’eon?
I don’t care what he thinks.

His face squishes up momentarily. “You think I have, what is the concept?, complimented you.”

“Uh, no. No. Whatever.” I say quickly, confused and doubly embarrassed.

He irons out those big perfectly symmetrical features. “I have merely stated the truth. If you were a bad pilot, I would tell you.”

He would, too.

“Unlike humans, Thell’eons do not conflate egos. That would be dangerous.”

I roll my eyes inside. Of course.

I don’t know if it’s the “flier high” or the look Kell’an just gave me, when he clearly complimented me, or the fact that I’m truly, totally alone with one Thell’eon in an enclosed space for the first time, but all at once I decide to go against everyone’s better judgment, including Cora Smith’s.

I mean, Kell’an
was
fascinated with me when we first met on this ship. His eyes flicker sometimes when we’re together. Maybe his anger around me is a defensive mechanism. It strikes me that of all the Kirs, Kell’an is the one most susceptible to manipulation by female charms.

As Kell’an explains the
Bon’mi
, basically a space obstacle course race, I try my best to look interested, hanging on his every word. He glances at my hands twice—why the fascination?—and when he shows me another panel where the booster drive’s located between our seats, I make a big deal of putting my hands in his line of sight. When I ‘accidentally’ brush his, I pick up on a flicker in his eyes.

I’m nervous, but oddly calculated. I know better than to try a coy approach, especially with Kell’an.

“Kell’an?”
Ahem.
My throat feels dry all of a sudden. “Why do you keep staring at my hands?”

He doesn’t answer.

A moment passes. I think he might get up to leave, as he’s already told me everything I could imagine there’s to know about the contest I must race in for the Candidacy and the Kittra I will fly in. But he remains seated, drilling a hole in the ground with his eyes.

My flight bravado’s disappearing, and I need to do this now if I’m going to. I slowly reach out and softly touch his hand. My pulse is racing, fired up on adrenaline. He yanks it back as though I have lasered him. He glances at me, surprised, and then looks away stony-faced.

Still, he does not leave. I half wish he would. He’s not making this easy.

“Of course, you’re curious.”

He fixes those almost animal-like eyes on me. I can’t get a read on him at all but those gems are flickering like crazy now.

“I will . . . kiss you if you like?”
There.

Why doesn’t he respond? I assumed he would jump at the chance since I got the impression through symbiosis with Or’ic that kissing’s not on the Thell’eon menu.

Would he give me a signal or something? Maybe silence means ‘yes, please’. The stress or nerves or giddiness is making me lightheaded.

Maybe this is a mistake. But I can’t go back now, can I? What harm is there in a kiss? And if it works, maybe I can convince him to help me.

Since he remains completely motionless, I slide forward in my seat, expecting him to push me back, or storm out. Nothing.

In one gentle movement, I slide onto his lap. Am I crazy? His scent, his hard body, that time he carried me across the ship when they first took me, come rushing back to me.

He stares straight ahead. Like a statue. So I sit very still, too, doubting my next move. He must not know what to do.

Come on. Be brave
.

Gently, I touch his face with my hand and rest my free hand on his other, gazing up at him, questioning him with my eyes, attempting what I hope is a needy look. He’s as stony as ever, but I think I can feel his heart against me, pounding.

Nope. That’s mine
.

Part of me doesn’t want to go through with this. I’m exhausted, actually. But it’s too late now. I glance at his full lips set in his square chin. I lick my lips involuntarily. His eyes are so bright they’re glowing. I think how lovely his markings are, how I would like to trace those on his chin with my tongue.
Cassiel!
Instead, I lightly follow one up his neck with my fingertip. Slowly I stretch up until I’m nearly touching his lips with mine, and still no reaction.

I brush mine tremulously against his. Warm. Softer than I imagined. I’m taking such shallow breaths, so uncertain.

But . . . nothing. Why’s he not responding? I give it another try, kissing him tenderly but harder, grasping his face with both my hands. He slackens and shifts, every so slightly.

More out of desire than calculation, I taste his mouth with my tongue.

He reacts with a flurry. His big hands comb and twine in my hair and his mouth opens my mouth, his tongue darting in fast.

Holy stars!

He’s done this before!
How can that be?

Before I can think to pull away, still clasping my head, he presses me down onto him. I barely begin to panic when he’s flipped me up into his arms, then down onto the ship floor in record speed, separating my legs with his. His knees are pressing so hard into mine to keep them spread it hurts. Shocked, I try to push him off but his face is firmly attached to mine, his tongue probing my mouth with expertise I’ve never experienced before. In a second, my hands are pinned down above my head with one of his. Then I realize he’s hoisting up my skirt with his other hand.

No!
He’s misunderstood,
I realize with terror.

I scream “Stop!” and “No!” and push against his hold in hopes he will realize a kiss is not a four-course dinner. But his greedy mouth muffles my protests. My skirt’s all the way up and he rubs and grabs my bare butt. His free hand climbs up my shirt, grasps my breast, and squeezes my nipple hard. He groans.

I can’t believe what’s happening so quickly!
Struggle against him!
I try but he won’t stop. Fear that he plans to take me mixes with ardent shame. I begin to cry in earnest.

Frenzied, I wrench against his grip, tearing my triceps in the process. I cry out in genuine pain.

He freezes.

We remain there, breathing heavy, him pressed between my legs, his face attached to mine. I’m trembling and near hysterical with panic. Finally he releases my mouth, covering my sobs with his hand.

I strike at him with my newly freed hands, but I’m shocked to see how this brand new kind of fear has drained me of strength. It’s like I’m swatting at a fly. When he places his entire body weight down on mine, I struggle to breathe.

He pauses there, and leans over by my ear. “I could be inside you quicker than you could shout out my name in ecstasy,” he rasps.

My stomach drops with fear again and I wriggle uselessly.

He props up just enough to stare into my eyes, his so stormy and bright I think wildly that they might rain down green.

“Perhaps that would be just punishment for tempting me,” he growls.

“No,” I squeak out. I fear he really will teach me a lesson.

“Since you did not understand your first lesson today, let me spell this second one out for you,” he says nastily. “Do not confuse your ability to be pleasured with our desire to take pleasure from you. Any other Thell’eon would have taken what he could because you invited him to do so, and there would be nothing that anyone, not even our Prime, could do to prevent it. Fucking, as you humans call it, is always a woman’s choice, and once that choice is made, there’s no turning back.”

He releases me for a second, and then thinks better of it, pressing down on me even harder.

“One more consideration: we have been warned against human sex weapons. But even if we had not, no Thell’eon would ever betray one of his own for a
katantz
. . . ” He pauses, looking at my face without looking in my eyes, “. . . even with you.”

All at once he lifts up, leaps off of me, and departs the shuttle. I curl up on my side, pulling my skirt down, actually feeling grateful to him.

Grateful!

Fucking bastard.

I breathe deeply to settle myself. I can’t believe how badly I’m shaking. Combined with Onegin’s beating and now this . . . humiliation . . . I’m done. I just need to take a nap. I sit up, dizzy. I take a long moment. Recovering my senses, which are literally vibrating from fatigue and loss. Just plain loss. And I have nothing left to lose.

Calm down.

I smooth my hair and my top, noticing the tingling where that, that barbarian pinched my nipple and cringing with humiliation and anger all over again. How dare he take such liberties, even if he was pretending to violate me to scare me.
Oh, I can’t believe how stupid I am.

Stop it! Calm down.

I try to relax my features into a blank expression. It occurs to me to channel the idea of Shadon’s surge, and I’m surprised to find a store of positive energy. Maybe that’s how it works. I rise, channeling grace, and slowly walk out, legs shaky, not even looking at the giant jerk I know is him, and certainly not the others who follow me. When we reach the exit of the hangar, I wait for Kell’an to take up the lead and follow him submissively. I focus on the route and I give myself credit for remembering it correctly. I even drop a few torn when the path veers from the mess to ‘my space.’ So I have that going for me.

When we arrive, my hopes of having a few moments alone are dashed when I remember that Or’ic insisted a Kir be with me at all times. I think I could have a fit over the lack of privacy as Kell’an leans against the downcore while a Cinarian helps him remove his boots. But then I channel the surge stores again. No need to waste any of my already dwindling supply of dignity.

I use the privy, untie my own boots, and then lie down on my downcore with my back to Kell’an who’s sitting on the extra downcore in my space occupied on a com-tab-like device.

I want to fall asleep and never wake up.

Instead, I lie there, focusing on my breathing, going over the route to and from the hangar bay at least a dozen times. A disturbing question pops into my mind.
Should I ask? Why not?
He’s already done the worst.
“Kell’an, are there human women on Thell’eon?” I ask without turning to face him.

Silence.

How else would he know how to kiss like that? I don’t know a ton about Thell’eon mating, but what was passed along made it sound about as intimate and intricate as well, animals rutting in a pen. So how would Kell’an know how to do all that? I imagine a great number of scenarios, the worst being a whole group of human women used as sex slaves.

“There may be,” he answers finally, quietly.

I’m surprised he’s actually conversing with me.

I roll over and look at him questioningly.

“I knew only of one,” he adds. “She was translocated from deep space mission as a child and raised as Thell’eon.”

This is beyond upsetting to me. What kind of horrible life must she have had? Forced to give away her sons when they turned six.

“What happened to her?”

For the briefest of moments, a look of utter sadness haunts Kell’an’s face. Does he care for her? I try a new tactic. “How do you know her?”

What surprises me the most is how much he appears to want to talk about her.

“I mated with her, when I was much younger.”

I blush at his forthright confession.

“Before I was a Kir. A Kir only mates within our own class,” he adds, clearly remembering those occasions with fondness by the unexpected softening in his eyes.

So humans were too lowly for a Kir.
I focus on the more important point.

“And where is she now?” I ask?

A look of rage sours his features.

“Dead?” I whisper.

He turns to me. “Worry not, human. She is being avenged every day, even as we speak.” His face is twisted from emotion, like the day he told me about Lor.

Avenged every day. Whoa!
It makes total sense. Could Lor have had something to do with this human woman dying?

“Why is she being avenged? What happened to her?” I ask urgently, but he has shut down. Back to doing work on his com-tab.

No matter. What I’ve learned is huge. Kell’an clearly has some attachment to this woman beyond what I gather they feel toward Thell’eon mates. Could it have something to do with her being human? Being a sifter gives me some leverage, but nothing compares to affection. Maybe I was not wrong to tempt a Thell’eon.

Maybe I just tempted the wrong Thell’eon.

Exhausted at the prospect, I close my eyes and pretend I’m back at ESE.
Move beyond the buzzing in your head.
Those noises around you; pretend they’re from Jordanna up late studying.
That you’re meeting King for lunch the next day, and that Daz is home safe and sound.