Light of Kaska (21 page)

Stryker couldn’t resist. “So if I walk out the front door?”

Harle gave him a hard stare. “I know what the dragon would say about it, but you got trouble all over you. I’m thinkin’ peace and trouble don’t mix, so if I wake up tomorrow and find you gone I won’t cry about it.”

That wasn’t the answer Stryker had been expecting. He kept his expression immobile but studied the big man out of the corner of his eye. A sham? From the grim set of the other man’s jaw, it didn’t look like it.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a tantalizing smell. It teased his senses before wafting away, leaving him to lift his head after it like a starving dog. Harle led him through an archway and into an open courtyard filled with tables and crisscrossed with hanging lanterns and flowering plants. The lanterns weren’t lit—the sun was a disconcerting, fiery ball of light and heat, whitewashing the stone pavers of the courtyard and casting black shadows in the buildings around it.

Harle didn’t pause, leading Stryker on a winding path through the tables. The scent came to him again, a rich, hot, welcoming smell that made his mouth water and his stomach clench in a gnarled fist of hunger. It grew thicker and more inviting the closer they got to a low building with lots of windows, ledges, and an exaggerated doorway. The sounds coming from within proclaimed this place to be a huge kitchen and the source of that amazing odor.

“Kessu,
tell me it tastes as good as it smells,” Stryker muttered to Harle when they passed over the threshold.

“Nope,” the big man said with a grin. “Tastes better. Nade’s the best cook this side of the galaxy.”

Stryker noticed that there was more than one cook in the place, but as soon as he saw the tall, willowy blond, he knew she was the head chef and Harle’s mate. She moved with a quiet command that was downright impressive in the chaotic din of the hot kitchen, her mat mark glimmering on the underside of her forearm in an underline of her authority. When she saw them, her amber eyes lit with delight, a wide, easy smile transforming her features into warm beauty.

“There you are!” she said, looking from one to the other as she approached. She didn’t sound at all angry or prone to violence.

Stryker gave Harle a pointed look but the big man ignored him, grinning while he swept his mate into what looked like a bone-crushing hug and a loud kiss.

She returned it with a laugh then wiggled in his hold. “Behave, Harle. I’ve got work to do. Chase, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said from inside the circle of her mate’s arms as he lowered her back to her feet. “I’m Rolanade bet Marish, Keza’s sister. But I know the look of a starving man when I see one. Can I get you something to eat and drink? You are welcome to sit anywhere you like, but I’d like it better if you sat inside where I could talk with you a little.”

“I’d kill for some food,” he answered with a wry twitch of his mouth. “But I’m still waiting for the show.”

“Show?” Rolanade lifted her eyebrows and glanced at Harle.

“You’re supposed to beat me for being slow about bringin’ him,” Harle supplied, his eyes twinkling down at her.

“And for calling your mother a dragon.” Stryker threw Harle to the wolves without mercy.

Nade only rolled her eyes and smiled, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “I might get more worked up over Harle calling my mother names if she didn’t preen every time she overheard them. Sit down, Chase. I’ll be right back.”

Stryker sat at a tall workbench before he realized that he’d just been given an order—and he’d followed it like a trained soldier. Damn, she was good. Or maybe he was just that hungry. He felt weak in the knees when she brought him a bowl full of pasta.
“Brecaria?”

His knowledge of the dish earned him a brilliant smile, but he only saw it peripherally since he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the spiced noodles, lightly grilled meat, and bright vegetables. He was pretty sure he was drooling.

“My mother’s recipe, the best on Kaska. Which means it’s the best anywhere,” she said with appropriate smugness, handing him a drink and cutlery. “I thought it was only right to have Keza’s favorite dish for her welcome-home dinner.”

“Kessu’s
ghost,” he mumbled around a mouthful of the most delicious
‘caria
he’d ever tasted. He couldn’t look up from the dish to save his life, even when he heard Nade laugh softly and felt her give him a gentle pat on his shoulder. He should have tensed or reacted in some way to her touch, but he was too damned enchanted by the orgasmic flavors on his tongue.

“I could eat,” Harle said plaintively.

“You can wait for dinner,” Nade responded without sympathy and moved away.

Harle gave a morose sigh and sank down on a stool next to Stryker. “She’s heartless,” he said. “You gonna share?”

Stryker gave him the most hostile look he could muster under the circumstances and hunched over his bowl. “No fuckin’ way. Get your own,” he growled.

Harle tipped back on his stool and laughed, the sound rolling through the kitchen like bright thunder. “All right, maybe I will like you,” the big man chuckled, giving Stryker a not quite painful punch to the shoulder. “Anybody who likes Nade’s
‘caria
that much can’t be all bad.”

Stryker didn’t dignify that with a response since his mouth was too full to answer, but he did give Harle a flinty-eyed stare and edged his bowl further away. This brought on a fresh round of chuckles.

When Stryker finished his food moments later, Nade appeared as if by magic at his elbow with a second bowl. He made a sound of ecstasy and took the dish reverently from her.

“Try to slow down and savor it this time, Chase,” she said with a thread of laughter in her tone. “I’ve seen starving wolves eat slower than you.”

He tried, but not very hard. The second helping disappeared much like the first one, with speed and enthusiasm.

“Well, hell,” Harle said, watching Stryker scrape the bowl clean. “I was hoping you’d leave me some.”

“Guess you’re shit outta luck,” Stryker said in smug satiation, chasing the delicious meal with what turned out to be a very tasty wine.

Nade reappeared with a dimpled smile. “More?” she asked in a mild tone.

Stryker dredged up a vague memory of manners and said, “No thanks. That was enough for now.”

Her eyebrows rose and her smile deepened. “For now?”

“When’s dinner?” he asked and was rewarded by her sparkling laughter.

“Keza didn’t tell me you were charming,” she said with a teasing twinkle in her amber eyes.

Stryker nearly choked on his wine. “I’ve been called lots of things but never charming.”

“Hmm.” Her smile faded a bit, eyes turning speculative while she studied him. “Well, I’ve always said Kaska brings out the best in people.”

“Or the worst,” Harle muttered from Stryker’s other side, earning a censorious look from his mate.

“Ignore him, Chase. He’s pouting because he didn’t get anything to eat.” She winked at him and moved away with the empty bowls.

“I’m a man—I don’t pout,” Harle blustered after her but she didn’t glance back, laughing as she merged with the other cooks. The big man subsided on his stool with a disgruntled look. “So anyway, now that you’re all fed up, want a tour?”

Know where the exits are.
The thought flashed through Stryker’s mind, followed by a disconcerting reluctance to move. He was full of the kind of food that made ambrosia look like dog dung and the wine had eased his taut muscles. The heat of the kitchen was working on him, loosening tension and suggesting a nap. But mainly he was reluctant to leave because of the atmosphere. Everyone was so damned—happy. He’d been subtly drawn in by the warm welcome of the place, by the easy chatter of the cooks and comfortable chaos of sound and motion. Nade’s welcome had been more overt and potent, her open smile and soothing, gentle manner inviting him to let down his guard. She didn’t look much like her sister except for the color of her eyes and mat mark, but there was something about her that reminded him of Keza all the same. In her presence, in this warm place, he felt almost…content.

Alarm shot him to his feet. “Tour,” he said briskly when Harle raised his thick eyebrows. “Sounds good.”

In what was probably supposed to be Harle’s version of subtle irony, he showed Stryker the exits first. There were quite a few. Then he showed Stryker the rest of the compound. That was how Stryker came to think of it, even though Harle insisted on calling the sprawling conglomeration of buildings the “house.” The main building was clearly the House with a capital H, a several story mansion with fascinating stair-step levels and a breathtaking view of the ocean as it perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the beach. This main house was home for the Mater and her immediate relatives. The courtyard lay in front of that structure like an offering, surrounded by low buildings that had various functions, the most prominent being the main kitchen. From these buildings branched other structures that housed the extended members of the Marish family, as well as foster members and guests.

It was a haphazard maze that confused Stryker’s sense of direction and proportion until he saw it from above out of a tower window on the top floor of the main house. It was still haphazard, but with that perspective he could see why. Buildings had been added on as the family grew in size. Strangely, the effect wasn’t so much messy as it was artful, with a joyous kind of architectural abandon. Maybe it was the materials used, evoking light, warmth, and open spaces.

Stryker mused on this for longer than he realized, studying the structures and the patterns that emerged with absorbed concentration, until Harle passed a hand in front of his face to get his attention. Stryker was almost as disturbed by his reaction to the architecture as he had been to the warm welcome of the kitchen. He did not need to get drawn into this place, into these people. He didn’t fit in here any more than a wolf fit in with sheep.

Harle continued the tour until it was nearly dark, though they hadn’t been through the entire compound. Stryker had a good working knowledge of the place by then, though. Enough to know how to leave. He would have to wait until he wouldn’t be seen, which meant nighttime when the place had less bustle. A large number of people lived in the Marish compound, but he didn’t realize how many until Harle led him back to the courtyard.

“Ah, dinnertime,” Harle said with relish, grinning at the filled courtyard.

Stryker paused to stare and do a quick calculation. It looked like over two hundred people were in attendance and that was just the people he could see.
Family?
It was more like a small city-state. “Damn,” he muttered.

Harle caught his look and snickered. “And this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he boasted with a sweep of his hand. “We got Marish clan all over Kaska.”

Keza was going to rule
this?
Stryker couldn’t picture it. Harle moved forward but Stryker balked at going into the middle of the crowd. His survival instincts told him it was a bad idea. He waved Harle away when the big man turned back to him. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry yet.”

Harle’s face lost expression and he studied Stryker with cool eyes for a long moment before tipping his sandy head in acknowledgement. The former badge figured he was using this gathering as an opportunity to bolt. Harle moved away without another word.

Stryker settled against a pale column and thought about it. With most of the members of the family gathered here, the hallways would be decently empty, the exits clear. With Harle’s dubious blessing, he shouldn’t be stopped by anyone even if he was seen. The only thing he didn’t have was a working knowledge of Kaska to smooth out any mistakes he might make on his way off this rock, but he didn’t think that was too large an obstacle. This was a mid-tech planet, so finding info should be simple. He was a survivor, the only profession he hadn’t given up—if he couldn’t get off this rock than no one could.

Everyone began to settle onto benches along the tables and Stryker had made up his mind to go when he saw her. His Keza. And that need reasserted itself, locking him into place.

His eyes ran over her greedily, absorbing the changes in her appearance with more single-minded intensity than he’d shown the
brecaria.
Her hair was down, dark waves framing her face and brushing her shoulders, making his fingers itch to touch and stroke. She was wearing a simple, white, sleeveless dress, and by the lantern light her sun-kissed skin took on a satiny quality that made his breath hitch in his throat and his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth.

He wanted, wanted…
needed…

Then she smiled and the ground fell away from under his feet.

He’d never seen her smile like that before. He hadn’t known what he was missing. He had touched her everywhere, had seen her face transformed by passion, by aching need and sweet gratification, but he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the smile she gave so easily to the child who raced up to her. Her eyes glowed bright amber, her face became radiant, and he suddenly realized why she smelled like sunshine. It wasn’t because some distant, hot star kissed her skin—she carried the damn stuff inside. When she smiled, she let it peek out like a glimpse of glory.

“Hungry?” asked an amused masculine voice.

The pointed humor in that tone crawled a warning down Stryker’s spine and he forced his gaze away from Keza. The young man next to him grinned with easy challenge, the Marish family resemblance unmistakable in the dark hair, crisp features, and mahogany hue of his eyes. “Rogue,” he stated.

Stryker lifted his eyebrows. “Are you?” he asked flatly.

The young man’s grin sharpened. “Every day of my life. But it takes one to know one, pal. You gonna take my sister somewhere private before you do all the things you were just thinking about?”

Stryker ignored the question. “How many of you are there?”

Rogue glanced down at himself and back up with a wicked curl of his mouth. “Depends on the woman I’m with. Or women.”

“Siblings,” Stryker clarified mildly. “How many?”

“Oh, that,” Rogue murmured with a twinkle in his eye. “Five all together. Keza, Joy, Nade, me, and Liss, chronologically speaking. Joy’s on her Guidance cycle, though.”