Rogue (13 page)

All at once I became aware that Zealon had stopped talking and was now looking at me expectantly. She'd obviously asked me something and was just as obviously expecting an answer—and I had no idea what the question was.

"Forgive me," I said quickly. "My mind must have wandered—crazy from the heat, I guess. What did you say?"

"I said, how long before I can play a real song?" she repeated.

"Sooner than you might think," I replied. "There are lots of short little songs that will help you learn."

"What about the one you played this morning?"

"I hate to disappoint you, but you won't be playing that one anytime soon. Sorry."

"Oh, I'm not," she said, actually seeming to be rather pleased by this. "That just means you'll have to stay here until I do."

Like I said before, she was lonely.

We talked for a while, and she told me I'd be having dinner with the Queen again. But they had other guests, so it wouldn't be just the family.

"Who is it?" I inquired. "Do you know?"

"Oh, just some government people," she said dismissively. "Nobody special."

Nobody special. That may have been true, but they were undoubtedly people who weren't supposed to know about Scalia's harem, so we probably wouldn't be served by any of the slave boys—at least not the two tigers, since their existence seemed to be one of the more closely guarded palace secrets. Scalia probably had other Darconian servants on hand for such occasions, which meant that I'd be the only offworlder in a room full of Darconians—and they all looked pretty much alike. So far Wazak, Scalia, Zealon, and maybe Cernada were the only ones I could identify on sight. There were always some about, of course, but if I'd ever seen the same ones twice, you couldn't have proved it by me. I'd have to start paying more attention to them and look for differences in size, coloring, speech patterns,
etc.
Of course, if none of them ever introduced themselves, I might have to come up with my own names for them. The best I could tell, most of them weren't what you'd call gregar-ious—unless they were flirting with Tychar. It was no wonder Scalia liked her slaves so much.

Zealon left us then, promising to see me at dinner, and I was alone with Tychar again. Fortunately, he wasn't smiling, because if he had smiled at me again— or made a move of any kind, I think I would have been on him like white on rice. At least that would give me something to do with my time, but I really did need to get in some piano practice. I was only speculating, of course, but Tychar looked as if he could keep me busy for hours on end—days, even. I wondered just how I would go about asking him to do that—I was such a wuss, after all. Getting him to sing for me was going to be tricky enough.

I left him to his work and went into the adjoining room and sat down at the piano, playing little melodies at random and thinking that perhaps I could try my hand at composing again. I'd done a little bit over the years, but hadn't finished anything as yet—nothing good, anyway.

Pulling my music tablet out of my bag, I set it up for a blank score. I thought I'd start off with a song or two, work up to a sonata, and then I might even attempt a symphony. God knows I'd have plenty of time...

I'd been playing for a short while, but was no closer to coming up with anything worth saving than I'd been when I began. I needed some inspiration, though the piano itself should have been enough. How many worlds had it been to, how many different species had played it, and in what style? If only it could speak...

It was rather dusty, I noticed. Besides rocks, dust was another thing they had in abundance on Darconia. Even in the middle of an oasis, there was dust. I suppose it blew in from the desert all the time, because there always seemed to be a breeze through the windows, which was nice, but it must have carried a lot of desert along with it. The piano must have been cleaned right before I'd arrived, because it had been gleaming that morning, but was now coated with a thin, slightly gritty film.

Tychar came in and began to work on cleaning the music room. Using a dust mop made of scrail cloth, he went over the floor quickly—like he'd done it a million times. After twenty years of doing light housework and not much else, he must have been bored stiff! He'd said he wanted love, but did he also long for adventure?

Tychar might have claimed to have adjusted better to being Scalia's slave than Trag had, but just living out your life with nothing much happening had to wear on you after a while, and I began to see why he'd thought being assigned to me would be such a good thing. I was simply something new, a new person to be around and get to know. I was a diversion to him—he'd said being near me pleased him—and the reason for that was fairly obvious. Being sexually aroused after a twenty-year dry spell had to be a noteworthy event.

Having finished with the floor, he asked, "This will not disturb you?" before he began cleaning the piano.

"No," I said ruefully. "It won't bother me a bit. I'm just fiddling around anyway. I thought I might try to write something new, but so far, I haven't come up with a damn thing! You go right ahead—you can even whistle while you work if you like, I don't care. Actually, that might even help."

"Whistle?"

"Yeah," I replied. "You know—" I didn't know the Stantongue word for it, so I had to demonstrate, whistling the first few bars of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy."

"That is very interesting," he remarked. "I don't believe I've ever heard anyone make such a sound."

"Oh, come on!" I protested. "Surely you can whistle, Tychar! Anyone can do that!"

"Can you purr?" he countered with a wry smile.

"Well, no," I admitted, "but you've got—let me see your tongue. Open your mouth."

He did as I asked, sticking out his tongue. He was nothing if not good at following orders. Unfortunately, the words "lick me" ran through my mind just then, and I gasped as a bolt of desire hit me full force.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, noting my odd reaction.

Swallowing hard, I shook my head. "Well, it looks just like mine," I said, trying to regain my composure, "and you can purse your lips. I bet you could do it if you tried. It just takes practice."

"Perhaps you could purr if you tried," he murmured.

"It's done with the muscles of the throat and neck."

I watched him carefully, but when I tried it, I couldn't even begin to make the same sound. Chuckling softly, he ran his fingers down the side of my throat. "It is done here," he said. "And it only requires
practice."

His touch was gentle but sent waves of delight coursing throughout my body.

"You have such lovely skin, Kyra," he purred. "Soft, beautiful..." As he leaned closer, his lips brushed my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and his purring grew louder. "I will try again," he said.

"To do what?" I asked hoarsely.

He held his reply until his hot tongue had blazed a trail from the base of my neck to my ear, pausing to tease the lobe with the tip of his tongue before blowing gently.

"Whistle."

I'd never known teaching someone to whistle could have such erotic consequences. "You aren't really whistling," I argued, trying to push him away but failing miserably. "You're just blowing. I think you need to practice more."

"I believe I would rather make you purr," he said. "It is more... pleasing than whistling."

"Well, maybe. But you still haven't taught me how,"

I reminded him.

Tychar shook his head slowly. "I said I would
make
you purr, not teach you how."

Being unable to phrase an articulate reply, my "Oh,"

came out as more of a moan.

"You would like this?" he asked. The purring sound deepened along with his voice. "I will give you joy."

Which no doubt translated to "I will fuck you senseless"

in any other language—something that I wasn't sure I was quite ready for. I shook my head in an attempt to clear his "essence" from my senses. "Okay, so you can't whistie,"

I said briskly, pushing him away with a surprisingly firm hand, "but I know you can hum! You were humming while Zealon was playing. So hum something."

"You are very persistent," he observed, but complied with my request.

It was an interesting sort of hum, because he was still purring, which added a bass note to accompany the melody. It was an interesting melody, too—one I was sure I'd never heard before. Touching the intake pad on the tablet, I managed to catch part of it. "That's a very pretty song," I said when he stopped. "Would you mind going through it again?"

He didn't reply but began the song again. This time, I got all of it. "Tell me if this is right," I said, playing it back from the notes on the pad.

"Yes," he replied. "That is correct."

"Are there words to it?"

"Yes," he said. "But they are Zetithian. You wouldn't understand them."

"Would you sing it, anyway?" His reluctance was almost palpable, and I wondered if he was put out because I'd pushed him away, or because I was insisting that he do something he preferred not to do. "I could give you something to make it worthwhile, I suppose. Would you mind? Please?"

"As you wish," he said with a sigh. He seemed resigned to the idea, but when his expression changed from a show of reluctance to something more devious, I thought I'd better be careful. "But what will you give me?"

"Oh, I don't know," I muttered. "What do you want?—that I can give you, that is. I haven't got much, you know. Just some clothes, my music, and—"

Catching a glimpse of that provocative smile of his, I realized I'd fallen right into a trap, and it was perfectly obvious what he was going to say even before his lips opened to speak.

"Kiss me," he said. "I will sing every song I know if you will do that—one kiss for each of them," he added with another lip-curling smile.

Remembering the last time I'd kissed him, I had an idea that if I were to do it again, we might never get to the songs—which was possibly his intention.

"You drive a hard bargain for a slave boy," I grumbled.

"You're sure you wouldn't rather have something else?"

His smile broadened. "There are many things I would like from you," he said. "But I believe they are worth more than songs."

It didn't take a space engineer to figure
that
one out!

"Kisses will do, then," I said, capitulating before the bargain became any more complex. "Do you want payment in advance?"

Tychar looked puzzled. "In advance?"

"I mean before or after the song?" If he asked for it before, like I said, he might never have to sing a note.

"After," he replied, though the way he said it made me think that he still might be taking advantage of me somehow, but I couldn't see it.

Slightly suspicious, I ran through a short intro, and he began. His singing voice was a rich baritone, even more arresting than his speech, but the words were strange. Despite the fact that the Standard Tongue was essentially a mish-mash of words compiled from many different languages throughout the galaxy, I didn't recognize a single one in the song he sang. Obviously, Zetith had been too remote to contribute anything as the common language had developed over the past several centuries. It was small wonder that he had such an odd accent.

Improvising an accompaniment, I let him continue— apparently, there was more than one verse—and his voice seemed to grow stronger and more confident as he went on. I enjoyed listening to him. He might have been singing about anything at all, but not knowing what the words meant didn't seem to matter to me, and I felt myself becoming more drawn to him than ever. Perhaps it was a love song, and he was telling me about a lost love, a love he'd found, or the one he hoped to find. I might never know, because I was sure that a translation would have cost me more, and I already owed him a kiss...

That he was anticipating said event was quite evident, because his cock seemed to get bigger and harder as he went on with the song. When he sang the final note, more of that fluid began dripping from the ruffled corona. I watched out of the corner of my eye as it slid from him and stretched, gleaming, to the floor. My mouth went dry once again, and this time, it had nothing to do with a need for water, because I could feel exactly where all the moisture had gone; I was sitting on it.

"That was beautiful," I whispered.

"So are you," he said.

I raised my face to give him his due, but he had other ideas. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he moved closer, positioning that dripping cock mere centimeters from my lips.

"Kiss me," he said, pulling me closer.

"Why, you sneaky little—!" I exclaimed. "I
knew
there had to be a catch!" Not really, though, because at the time, I couldn't think of many things I'd rather do than to kiss him there—perhaps it would be sweet, just as he'd said.

Pressing my lips to his hot shaft, I found that it wasn't sweet at all, but was slightly salty, and I couldn't help it; I licked him quite thoroughly, just to be sure. If his soft sighs of pleasure meant anything, he was obviously enjoying the kiss, but his reaction was
nothing
compared to mine. Everything below my navel caught fire, and I was immediately wet enough to douse a flaming building. I felt him send out a little jet of fluid against my tongue and was about to suck him into my mouth when an orgasm hit me as suddenly as if I'd been shot with a pulse rifle. Letting go of him, I doubled over, gasping and groaning in an ecstasy I'd never even imagined. Honestly, the climax I'd experienced when I first saw him smile was a little blip in comparison.

I couldn't imagine how it had happened and stared up at him, quite breathless and completely bewildered by it.

"Joy," he whispered. "Unlike any you have ever known?"

"Yes," I gasped. Then I realized what must have happened. "It's a—a hormone or chemical of some kind in that fluid, isn't it?"

He nodded. "This ability was our greatest gift, but it was also our downfall," he said. "It is how we were able to entice our women, but I believe it was also the reason our race was destroyed."

"Once you go cat, you never go back," I murmured—and it was true. I'd never even been penetrated with that fancy cock of his, but I knew in the depths of my soul that no one—with the possible exception of Trag—could ever even begin to compare. I tried to imagine an entire planet full of these guys let loose on an unsuspecting galaxy, and I knew that their species would have spread, stamping out every other mammalian humanoid variety in the known universe in favor of themselves, simply because, once they'd gotten a taste, the women of any world wouldn't have wanted anyone but them. Someone had obviously decided not to let that happen...