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His hands contracted. “You misunderstand.” His tongue caressed her throat again, producing exquisite sensations. “I have not finished.”
Her mind was fuzzy. “But...?”
“Do you think I wish to go through the rest of my life with a memory so brutal and unfeeling as what we just shared?” he asked at her ear. “You will forget. I will not.” He stilled. “Heal the damage.”
She hesitated, but only for an instant. She was curious about what he meant to do. She used the wrist scanner and activated its drug banks. For an instant, when the screen lit to calculate the dosage of nanocells, she got a glimpse of a huge hand with broad fingers which looked nothing like the commander’s.
He put his hand over the screen, shielding the light. “You will not look at me,” he said firmly. “And you will not touch me, regardless of what happens.”
Now she was truly curious. She deactivated the unit. “Why?”
He moved down against her. His tongue rasped against softer flesh, creating sensations that overwhelmed her. She gasped and her fingernails bit into his muscular arms. Involuntarily her hands slid to his back and encountered a long, soft line of fur over his spinal column...
He pulled her hands away and smoothed them over his broad, hair-covered chest. “You will not touch me, except here,” he whispered again.
“O...okay,” she whispered back. She was barely capable of rational thought, awash on a wave of delight so intense that she shivered.
“Our first encounter did not produce a child,” he said huskily. “This one will.”
“How can you know...?”
He laughed softly as he felt her shocked reaction. His tongue slid down her throat, over her collarbone. His teeth bit in, gently, and she shivered again.
“This is how we mark our mates,” he whispered. “It is a ritual older than time. But I promise you, there will be no pain from it.”
She felt thick, soft hair against her skin; more like fur than hair. His mouth opened. She felt his teeth. But at the same moment they bit down, explosive sensations blinded her mind and her body to anything except a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that she gasped and then sobbed helplessly.
“What are you...doing?” she cried out.
He laughed deep in his throat. “Something that you will never learn from falsified black market vids,” he whispered.
Her nails bit into his chest. “You wouldn’t tell me, and there was no other way to find out,” she accused shakily. She groaned and caught her breath. “Dtimun!” she exclaimed.
It was the first time she’d ever used his name. The effect it had on him was explosive. His reaction drew sounds from her that she’d never heard herself make. She hoped the doors were tightly closed.
He heard that thought and chuckled. “The room is soundproof,” he whispered.
She cried out, a sound that was almost primeval, piercing and poignant.
He put his mouth over hers and pressed down, hard, a Cehn-Tahr mating custom that they shared with humans. Her cries most likely would not penetrate the walls. But, just in case...
* * *
SHE CAME BACK to consciousness very slowly. She was aware of movement. The air stirred around her. A wisp of fabric was draped around her, just before the lights activated.
Dtimun was wearing a red pant-skirt like the one that comprised the Kahn-Bo fighting garment that martial art enthusiasts wore in matches aboard ship. His chest was bare, muscular and covered with thick black hair. He pulled her up so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed and as the fabric dipped, momentarily; his eyes found the unique mark of bonding that he had placed just below her collarbone. The marks reflected ancient hieroglyphs for certain words, whose meanings were an indication of the male’s feelings for his mate. There were also other lacerations, deep and painful. Most of them would be on her back. The court physicians should not comment on them; however, the eldest, a female whom Dtimun did not like, might be so bold. He did not want Madeline upset. She was shivering. The vulnerability, even briefly, of such a strong and independent spirit touched him.
His fingers brushed her cheek. “The physicians are waiting. You must be examined. It is the law.”
She nodded. Her eyes met his and searched them with silent awe. The experience was beyond anything she’d ever encountered. And now she knew, most certainly, that he was far different than he appeared. He must use a sensor net to disguise his true face, one which would be weakened under emotional stress. Hence, the darkness in the mating chamber.
She knew he saw that thought in her mind, but he ignored it.
He turned away and activated the door. Five female physicians in gray robes, headed by a taller gray-haired one, walked stoically into the room. The gray-haired one stood in front of Madeline and looked at her with blatant distaste. She said something in Cehn-Tahr, in the holy tongue, in a harsh, cold tone.
Dtimun had started to leave, as custom dictated, when he felt the sudden sense of unease, of embarrassment, that rushed into Madeline’s mind as the haughty physician looked at her. For the first time in almost three years, he saw her vulnerable, sensitive. It was such a rare reaction for her that all his protective instincts rallied and bristled. He turned, frowning when he saw the way the head physician was studying her. He felt a surge of possession stronger than anything he’d ever experienced in his life, mingled with anger. His jaw tautened and he walked back to stand beside her. He was defying convention, and he did not care. It disturbed him that Madeline was being denigrated by this smug physician. He would not tolerate it in his own house.
The eldest female physician gasped. She made a haughty remark. Dtimun snapped at her in his own tongue. Shocked, she moved back, bowed and abruptly turned to Madeline and reached out, removing the fabric that covered her and dropping it to her waist.
Madeline was puzzled at the physician’s behavior. She looked up and saw Dtimun’s eyes on her, lingering where his teeth had marked her. But they were appreciative of her soft skin, the delicate form of her body.
The female physician examined the lacerations on Madeline’s back with growing distaste. She used her instruments abruptly, without kindness, and then spoke to Dtimun in Cehn-Tahr. Madeline didn’t understand the words, but they sounded quite indignant.
He exploded with anger, his tone so cutting, his eyes making such a threat, that the elderly female actually backed away. She lowered her eyes and spoke in a respectful tone, almost toadying.
Dtimun didn’t unbend one inch. He gave a curt command. The physician looked shocked, and started to argue. He cut her off and made an imperious gesture toward the door. The female regained her composure, bowed again, paler than when she entered the chamber, and left, very quickly. A younger physician moved forward, bowing to him, smiling gently, and speaking softly. He nodded, obviously still preoccupied and angry.
The young physician treated the wounds on Madeline’s back and hips and used a disinfectant only on the scar of bonding. Then she, and the remaining three physicians, bowed, smiling, and started to leave the chamber.
“Could you tell me what that was all about...?” Madeline started to ask the question when she was suddenly sick all over the floor. She fell to her knees, shivering.
“Get Hahnson!” Dtimun called in Cehn-Tahr to the young physician. “Now! Bring him here!”
* * *
THE NEXT FEW minutes went by in a blur. Hahnson came running. Dtimun held the fabric around Madeline’s nudity and growled furiously at Hahnson when he approached her.
Hahnson stopped in his tracks. A man confronted by a charging galot couldn’t have felt more threatened. The alien’s posture, barely altered, added to the black of his eyes and the growl would have stopped a decorated combat soldier in his tracks.
“I will not harm you. You must ignore the threat. I cannot help it,” Dtimun said tersely, wincing at his own frustrating lack of control even now.
Hahnson smiled. “I know. It’s all right. Maddie, can you tell me the symptoms?”
“You can see them...on the floor, Strick,” she said with black humor. “I feel so nauseated! My stomach hurts. It’s like a knife...!”
“It is the child,” Dtimun said huskily. “The growth is immediate, and exponential.”
Hahnson grimaced as he looked at the small screen of his wrist unit. “We have to slow the growth. I’m not prepared for this.”
“Caneese has a preparation,” Madeline said weakly. “She told me about it.”
Dtimun called the young physician back into the chamber and rapped out an order. “She will bring it,” he told Madeline.
“Can’t Caneese...?” she asked, confused.
“Caneese is not allowed to see us,” he replied curtly. “It is a breach of protocol.”
“Oh.” She was confused, but much too sick to argue.
Hahnson injected a drug into the artery at Madeline’s neck. “That will help the nausea. But it’s only treating symptoms right now. I have no experience with Cehn-Tahr/human babies,” he added with a wry smile. “I think this is going to be on-the-job training.”
“No doubt,” she managed. She was stunned by the notion that she was pregnant. Despite their earlier discussions, even with Komak’s assurances, she hadn’t really expected it to happen. Her knowledge of pregnancy was limited to a rare assistance at childbirth, but this was far more personal. The physical manifestations were new and startling.
Hahnson looked from one of them to the other. “I don’t suppose either of you would like to explain what the hell you think you’re doing? I mean, we’re talking capital punishment...”
“Chacon is in grave danger. The princess has gone to Benaski Port to warn him,” Dtimun told him. “Komak has traveled in time and knows the future. He said that Chacon’s death will create a disastrous timeline. Madeline and I must go to Benaski Port in an attempt to save them both, but the masquerade can only work if she carries my child.”
“They’ll space you both, if you’re caught,” Hahnson said worriedly.
“That’s why you aren’t telling anyone, old dear,” Madeline told him. “Not even Edris.”
Before he could reply, the young physician was back with a cup of what looked like herbal tea. She offered it to Madeline and left the room. Madeline’s hands shook as she held the beverage.
“You must drink it all,” Dtimun told her, steadying the cup with his own hand. “It will retard the growth of the fetus.”
Fetus. The fetus. The baby. She sipped tea and tried to wrap her spinning mind around the fact that she was pregnant. When she and Dtimun had discussed this possibility, she had asked what they would do with a baby. She was a soldier, she had said, she had no place for a child in her life. But now, with the reality of it, she felt a connection with the baby that overwhelmed her. She was carrying a child in her body. She touched her stomach with a sense of awe and fascination. It wasn’t, she thought, anything like she’d expected.
Hahnson examined her again, and nodded when he saw the readouts. “You’ll do,” he told Madeline. “I’ll compound some of this for you in Caneese’s lab, in a laserdot. She and I will confer on a regimen as well, for your trip.” He looked from one stoic, impassive face to the other. “This is very risky.”
“We know,” Madeline told him. “But the future is at stake.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll hope for good results.” He got up and forced a smile. “Good fortune.”
Dtimun locked forearms with him. “In my lifetime, I have had very few friends. I have always considered you one of them.”
“Same here. Take care of each other.”
He nodded.
Hahnson left, and Madeline began to feel better. She got her second wind and looked up at Dtimun.
“Sir, do you think you might consider telling me what the devil happened with the physicians?”
His lips made a thin line. “The elder one made a remark I did not like.”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“She pointed out that your wounds were in the wrong place. Then she referred to the length of time we spent in the mating chamber.”
She cocked her head. She didn’t understand.
“Madeline, our mates are subjugated, as female galots are subjugated. The process is brief, and brutal, and it leaves wounds on the chest and abdomen, not on the back. Also it is a breach of protocol to enjoy it.”
“It is?” she asked, and mischief suddenly sparkled in her green eyes.
He glared at her expression. “You will never speak of this,” he said abruptly.
“Would I do that, sir?” she murmured innocently. “As you know, I always obey your every order.”
“You never listen to an order unless it suits you,” he correctly curtly. “But if you ignore this one, you will pay for it.”
She gave him a wry look. “I’m not in the habit of discussing intimate things,” she replied. “Besides, people may speculate, but no one will ever know what happened in here, anyway.”
He lifted an eyebrow haughtily. All at once his own eyes went green with amusement. “For which we are obliged to the architect who soundproofed the chamber,” he said with the straightest face she’d ever seen.
He had rarely seen her speechless. It was amusing. Her face was almost as red as her hair. She averted her eyes with obvious embarrassment.
“You fought me,” he mused.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, thinking it was probably another breach of protocol.
“You need not apologize,” he chuckled. “I quite enjoyed it, once the shock wore off.” He knelt beside her and touched her long, damp hair. His eyes met hers. They gleamed like pure gold. It was a color she’d only seen in them once before. “I do not like submission,” he said in a husky, deep voice. His hand gripped her hair, hard, and pulled her face under his so that he could see directly into her eyes. He looked down his long, aristocratic nose at her with blatant possession. Her breath caught. The sensations the action aroused were new and shocking.
“That’s a good thing,” she said unsteadily, “because you’ll never get it from me.”
He smiled. He rubbed his head against hers in an oddly feline way, making a caress of it. His hand relaxed and speared through her long hair, savoring its softness. “We mated only to produce a child, to enhance a covert mission...or so it began.” His hand contracted again and he growled softly as the contact with the soft skin at her nape produced delicious sensations. She felt them, too. “It is strange, to find such compatibility between two such different species.”
She touched his chiseled mouth with her fingertips. She lowered her eyes to his bare chest. She fought a laugh. “The physicians seemed quite shocked.”
He laughed, deep in his throat, and rubbed his cheek against hers affectionately. “So was I. I have never taken so much pleasure from a female,” he said bluntly. His hands pulled her gently to him and enfolded her. “I deeply regret the violence at the beginning. But I did tell you once, did I not, that passion is always violent.”
She slid her arms around his neck and held on tight, closing her eyes. “You did, but I didn’t understand what you meant until now. Despite those—” she pulled back and stared at him suspiciously “—those dreams I had, that you said you weren’t responsible for.”
“I lied. The discomfort began to affect my ability to think rationally.” His hands smoothed her shoulders gently. “The ‘dreams’ are one of several coping strategies we employ in order to survive the long abstinences,” he told her. “Each time we mate, a child is created. One is dangerous. Two at once is a death sentence, even for a Cehn-Tahr woman.”
He was explaining something, very discreetly. “You mate only to have children?”
“The customs and culture of our society dictate that,” he agreed.
She cocked her head and her eyes twinkled. “Dictate it. But do people really abstain between children?” she asked. “Komak said they didn’t.”
“Since we do not discuss such intimate behaviors openly, the question is not easily answered.”
That brought to mind something that had piqued her curiosity before. She sketched his face with soft eyes. “Those holovid generators at Kolmankash,” she murmured. “Are they really used for vid games?”
He smoothed back her damp hair affectionately. “When we are separated from our mates,” he said, “they permit an intimacy which is almost indistinguishable from reality,” he said after a minute. He looked at her sternly. “This is another thing you will never share with an outworlder.”
She saluted him.
He glared at her.
She laughed. “We agreed a long time ago that I’m discreet,” she reminded him. “I never tell anything I know.”
He sighed. “No. You never do.” He looked down at her body in its thin covering. “How does it feel?” he asked suddenly.
“Feel?” she repeated curiously.
“My child lies in your womb,” he said slowly, as if the idea, the concept, was a source of awe. His eyes, softly gold, met hers. “How does it feel?”
