Fugitive (14 page)

   A few stork-like birds waded quietly in the shallow water, searching for fish. Mesmerized by their beauty, Drusilla was so focused on them that she didn't notice the dark shape entering the water further along the shore until it cut across her line of vision, swimming steadily through the still water.

   For a moment, Drusilla suspected it was Zef and crouched behind the railing to avoid being seen. She was in no mood for a shouted conversation with him, which would not only spoil the mood, but would also undoubtedly frighten away the birds.

   She waited impatiently, hoping he would move on, but something about the way it swam made her realize that this was not the eltran out for an evening swim. It was Manx.

***

Manx loved swimming at night. The air was still, the water smooth and silky, caressing his skin like a lover. Of all the places he'd been while on the run, he liked this one the best. It was peaceful and quiet—unless Zef was around—and though he enjoyed the serenity of Barada, he was beginning to crave conversation with Drusilla. He didn't even care what they talked about. He just wanted to hear her voice while he looked into her eyes, perhaps touching her hair, or the warmth of her hand.

   Observing her wasn't enough anymore—if, indeed, it ever had been—and though peering through the window made him feel like he was invading her privacy, it did have its rewards. He'd seen that she'd added him into her painting; she must have felt something for him, or she wouldn't have done that.

   Manx swam on toward the dock, bypassing the boat as it rocked gently at its moorings, his mind still on Drusilla. She had looked so lovely that afternoon. Those little scraps of dark green fabric she had tied around her chest and hips hadn't hidden very much, and his arms were beginning to ache with the need to hold her. Diving deeply, he swam beneath the surface until he passed the dock, only emerging from the water when he reached the middle of the lake.

***

Peering through the railing, Drusilla watched breath lessly as Manx swam lazily by, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was being observed. As his arms cut through the water, his hair trailed out behind him, and the wake of his passing sparkled in the moonlight. He was so dream-like that she feared if she moved or said a word, he was sure to disappear.

   The thin cotton of her gown was all that stood between her and the night breeze that slid between her thighs, teasing her sensitive skin, forcing her to imagine his hot, wet body sliding into hers. She bit her lip in an effort to keep from calling out to him, but was completely unaware that her body was already shouting at him in a language he understood better than any.

   She saw him pause, his head going up like a predator catching the scent of its prey before laying back in the water to gaze up at the house as he took long strokes in the opposite direction. Fully exposed to her now, she could see the moonlight shining on his chest, could clearly see the trail of hair growing down from his chest, across his belly to his groin. She hadn't been imagining the size and shape of him; his long, thick cock was right there for her to see. The sight of him lit a fire in her and she wanted to touch him, kiss him, and lick him all over, starting right there…

   As if he could hear her thoughts, Manx suddenly reversed his direction and swam back toward the house. Reaching the shallows, he stood, revealing his stunningly male body as he waded to the water's edge, gazing unerringly in her direction.

   Instinctively, Drusilla began to draw back even further out of sight, but then realized that she was hidden in the shadows cast by the moon. She was sure he couldn't see her there—and just as sure that he
would
see her if she moved.

   Drusilla shivered as the breeze touched her again, sending thrills coursing along her bare arms as Manx stretched upward, his head dropping back as his cock began to rise. She stared at it unblinkingly, and though she tried to tear her eyes away, they were drawn back. She'd never seen anyone so unabashedly aroused… so totally and completely
male…

   As his hands reached down to grip his stiff shaft, Drusilla became envious. He could do that any time he liked, while she was beginning to believe she would never get the chance. If only he wasn't so elusive—but perhaps his reticence was her fault. She made herself a promise to tell Zef that she'd changed her mind—though she knew she'd been lying from the start. But perhaps the eltran already suspected the truth—that, despite her protest, she was dying to meet Manx face-to-face, to see his smile up close, to feel his heat…

   Spellbound, Drusilla held her breath to better hear his soft groans of pleasure, wanting nothing more than to caress him and make him moan. She wanted to spread her legs and let him impale her with that luscious dick while he licked nipples that were already tight and tingling with anticipation. Her clitoris began to swell with desire and she ached for him, her own creamy wetness spilling down her legs.

   As she watched, he turned his profile toward her, enabling her to see his actions more clearly. His attrac tion was potent and intoxicating; she'd been aroused the previous evening just from hearing him purr and now her entire body tensed in anticipation of his release. His rising passion was mirrored in Drusilla's body—so much so that when his semen finally burst from him, it set off her own climax, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Then the thought that he might have been doing the same thing the night before sent another wave of ecstasy rippling through her—and another, and another…

   When she looked down at him again, their eyes seemed to meet and Manx smiled. But why? She knew he couldn't possibly have seen her, and she hadn't made a sound. Was it from sexual satisfaction or was there some other reason?

   Or
could
he see her? His feline eyes seemed to glow in the darkness; perhaps his night vision was keener than hers. Cats were known for that ability—at least those on Earth were. Drusilla knew nothing of Manx's origins but was already longing to visit that world.

   Just how he knew she was watching him was a mystery, but the sound of his purr and the sensuous swipe of his tongue across his lips made her absolutely certain. She waited anxiously for him to speak, but he didn't say a word as he disappeared beneath the shadow of the house.

Chapter 9

AS SOON AS HE WAS OUT OF SIGHT, DRUSILLA SOUGHT REFUGE inside the house, her mind in turmoil. Where had he gone? The beach room, perhaps? And if he had, would he then try to come up the back stairs? Did the house recognize him as friendly? Was he only remaining outside as a courtesy to her? Drusilla was torn between the desire to invite him in or bar the doors. She had the choice to believe Klog and Zef's assessment of his character, or what Lester had said about him being a dangerous beast. She was beginning to wish she didn't have a choice, that he would come inside without being asked—even forcing his way in if neces sary—then she wouldn't have to make that decision.

   "I need another drink," she muttered. "At least the tequila was willing to give me some advice." She glanced around at Klog who was now tidying up the living room. "Can Manx be trusted?" she asked. "I mean, he's trespassing—and even though you're handing it out, he's essentially stealing food from the house. That's not very honest behavior."

   Klog didn't reply. Perhaps he didn't like the idea of being suspected of aiding and abetting a criminal.

   "That wasn't a rhetorical question, Klog," Drusilla said irritably. "I want an answer. Can I trust him?"

   Klog chirped as he straightened a cushion on the sofa. Drusilla thought there was a certain studied nonchalance in the way he did it.

   "You aren't just saying that because you like him, are you?" she went on. Then the absurdity of her questions struck her forcibly. "Oh, God! Here I am, asking the damn house droid if the cat-man of the jungle is trust worthy! I must be losing my mind."

   Addressing the house computer, she said, "Don't let anyone in unless I tell you to. Is that clear?"

   "Yes," the computer replied. Having given only direct orders prior to this, Drusilla had yet to hear it speak, but it sounded musical and masculine—very much like the Baradan male voices. "No admittance to unfriendly species."

   "That's
not
what I said," Drusilla said, sorely tempted to lose her temper completely. Telling off a computer might provide her with a satisfying outlet for her frustration, but she also knew from experience that they didn't always listen. Some of them developed minds of their own, just as Klog seemed to have done, and when that happened, they could become dangerous. Whether this was true or not, what had apparently happened was that the computer and the droid had both become accustomed to Manx's presence and accepted him as "friendly."

   Drusilla considered this for a moment. Manx had obviously been around long enough to have ingratiated himself with the computer, the droid, and Zef. Lester talked as though this wild beast of his had only recently been sighted.

   "Doesn't add up, does it?" she said to no one in particular. Besides, Manx had never made a move to harm her—and he could have. He wasn't attacking, he was… what was he doing, anyway? Was this cat and mouse game a courtship ritual? Or was it just his way of getting fed regularly?

   No, that demonstration of his manly attributes out there on the beach just now had
not
been a request for a late-night snack! He wanted a lot more than food.

   "Why doesn't he just knock on the door and introduce himself? For that matter, why doesn't Zef introduce us? This is just too weird!"

   None of those questions registered with Klog as anything he could answer, but the computer chimed in. "Are you addressing me?"

   "Not unless you know the answer to those questions," Drusilla replied.

   "The behavior of sentients does not follow any set pattern," the computer replied.

   "I suppose not," Drusilla agreed, then suddenly real izing that she
did
have someone to talk to after all, she asked, "Do you have a name?"

   "I am Dwell-Com Ten," the computer replied. "And thank you for asking."

   "Sorry I haven't asked before now," Drusilla said, somewhat taken aback. This computer had more personality than most—or perhaps it had simply been programmed with knowledge of etiquette. "You must have been very expensive too."

   "Possibly," Dwell-Com replied. "When installed, I was state-of-the-art, but I am already obsolete."

   "I feel that way sometimes myself," Drusilla said with a sigh. "So, Dwell—is it okay if I call you that? Sounds better than calling you 'Computer.'"

   "Yes, you may call me Dwell," the computer replied. "It is the name I prefer."

"Okay then, Dwell, tell me what you know about Manx."

   Dwell apparently knew him by name because the response was immediate. "Male humanoid, planet of origin: Zetith."

   "Zetith," Drusilla repeated. "Where's that?"

   "It was very remote and no longer exists," Dwell replied. "Zetith was destroyed approximately twenty five solar cycles in the past."

   "You seem to know a lot," Drusilla observed. "Why is he here?"

   "He is a fugitive."

   "From what?"

   "Persecution."

   "Not a dangerous criminal?"

   "No."

   "Is that what he told you?"

   Dwell seemed to hesitate. "This information is contained in my database."

   "But he had to have told you some of it!" Drusilla protested.

   "The information is in my database," Dwell repeated.

   "And you don't know who put it there, do you?"

   The computer seemed to consider this for a moment before replying: "No."

   Was Manx capable of programming a computer? If he had simply
told
the computer about himself, Dwell would have remembered it. But why would Manx have done that? Wouldn't it be better not to tell the computer anything if he was, indeed, a fugitive? Perhaps Manx told Dwell about his past in order to gain his support, and then instructed him not to reveal the source of his information.

   "Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't it be kept a secret?"

   "You are not an unfriendly species," Dwell said promptly. "Nor are you one who will report his presence."

   "Perhaps, but how do you know that?"

   Drusilla could have sworn the computer snickered. This was obviously true, if for no other reason than the fact that she hadn't already done so.

   "Okay, you're right," she admitted. "I won't rat on him." Klog seemed to know what she liked to eat, and it was just possible that he'd already sized her up as trustworthy and had communicated this to the computer. It was also possible that Dwell hadn't volunteered any information regarding Manx until it was deemed safe to tell her. Then it occurred to her that Manx could be down there in the beach room right now, talking to Dwell and telling him what to say.

   "Did Manx tell you it was safe to talk to me about him?"

   "Yes."

   "What else can you tell me about him?"

   As long as it took him to reply, Drusilla was now convinced that Manx was downstairs exchanging views with the computer.

   "He likes you," Dwell said at last.

   "He's never said a word to me!" Drusilla said. "How could he possibly know whether he likes me or not?"

   Again, the computer hesitated. "He likes the way you smell."

   It was Drusilla's turn to snicker. "Anyone could smell like me if they used the same soap!"

   "It isn't the soap," Dwell said after a moment. "It's the scent of
you."

   Drusilla swallowed hard. He could smell her! That was how he'd known she'd been watching him! "He must have a very sensitive nose," she commented, trying to keep her tone light and casual—when she was feeling
anything but calm. Her mind was racing and the ach
e between her thighs was nagging at her like a toothache, despite the orgasm she'd just experienced.

   Drusilla took a deep breath and a moment to consider her options. If he was like most other males, the fact that Manx had just ejaculated would rule out the possibility of having any sort of intimate relations anytime soon, so it would be safe—at least from a sexual standpoint—to go downstairs and talk with him without having to use the computer as a go-between. She was already getting tired of hearing everything secondhand and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be "safe" from him anyway.