Outcast (3 page)

The enocks were busy eating, and the chicken was strutting around as if it had no idea it was in mortal peril. I'm going to eat that chicken myself, Bonnie thought grimly. Damn thing is too stupid to live and reproduce. She needed smarter chickens than that if they were going to stay alive long enough to lay eggs.

Slipping quietly through the gate so as not to startle any of the birds, Bonnie inched her way toward the chicken, noting that there was an enock egg there as well. The egg was worth far more than the chicken — and was less mobile — so she retrieved it first and set it outside the gate.

Returning quickly, she saw that the chicken was now even farther from the gate, but the enocks still hadn't spotted it. Moving along the fence, she managed to trap the chicken, but it squawked loudly, arousing the interest of the big male enock. She had no choice now but to make a dash for it and took off running, but tripped on the net and fell. Cursing, she stumbled to her feet and ran, flinging the chicken over the fence, net and all. She would have climbed it herself, but Sylor had modified the fence to prevent the enocks from getting a toehold in the lower third of it, and, therefore, neither could she.

Bonnie was still a good three meters from the gate when she felt the enock's beak sink into her shoulder. She'd been bitten many times, but had never been caught. They were amazingly strong, and, as if to prove it, the bird flung her to the ground as though she weighed no more than the chicken she'd rescued. Screaming loudly, she fought off his attack, punching him in the head with her fist in desperation, but nothing stopped him for long. Then, to her horror, she saw that the others were now headed toward her, looking as though they'd like a piece of her too.

Scrambling to her feet, regardless of the bites she was taking, Bonnie ran for her life, but the enock was faster, this time catching her by the forearm. She tried in vain to work her way toward the gate, but not only did the bird outweigh her, he had also dug in his heels, making him impossible to budge. With a bloodcurdling chill, she realized that his intention was not to kill her outright, but simply to hold her there until the others caught up — then they would kill her. In desperation, Bonnie fought back the only way she could think of, grabbing the giant bird by the throat with her free hand and trying to choke him into letting go. It wasn't enough, because her hand wasn't large enough to encircle his neck, nor was it strong enough to do any damage.

The pain she felt was indescribable, and her vision was growing misty when, seemingly from out of nowhere, two large hands gripped the bird's neck beneath her own and squeezed. The enock gagged and opened his mouth just enough to set her free.

"Run, you fool!" someone shouted.

Barely able to stand, much less run, Bonnie staggered toward the gate. Moments later she was seized by those same hands and was half carried, half dragged to safety. Slamming the gate shut behind them, her rescuer snarled, "You stupid female! They might have killed you!"

Gazing up at him with eyes that could barely focus and taking note of his blazing yellow eyes, pointed ears, and fangs, she said, "Well, hello to you too," and promptly fainted.

Lynx's heart was pounding like a drum; he'd heard her screams and had run to her rescue. The horrifying scene he'd found was enough to make him fear he was too late, but now that he had her safe, his fear gave way to anger, and as Lynx gathered Bonnie up in his arms and headed toward the house, his irritation with his predicament grew. He had come so far and had such plans. Now he found himself not only working on a farm, but for a woman — and a very stupid woman, at that!

All the jibes and laughter of the men he'd worked alongside in the diamond mines of Paemay came back to him. "You'll wind up a slave again," they had jeered. "You wait and see." Lynx had sworn to prove them wrong, but so far, his plans had all gone awry. What money he had left after paying his passage had been stolen from him, and he'd landed on Terra Minor without a single credit; at the mercy of a system of government that looked upon the homeless and unemployed as little better than vermin. With nothing but a few meager possessions and the clothes on his back, he'd had no choice but to take the job Drummond had offered or be deported.

His only consolation was that at least it would be quiet here. The chatter of voices — particularly female — disturbed him. The deafening clang of hammers in the mines wasn't much better, but didn't torment him nearly as much as words whispered behind his back or screamed in his face.

But now he had this woman bleeding all over the place, and he focused on the task at hand.

Carrying her into the house, he dropped her in a chair and grabbed the first thing he could find to wrap around her arm in an effort to staunch the bleeding. She was a small woman, too, and no match for the huge birds. What an idiotic thing for a woman alone to have been doing! It was a wonder she hadn't been killed.

But Lynx had heard her screams and come running, saving her from certain death. He wondered if she would acknowledge that fact or find some way of putting him in his place. Lynx was so accustomed to having even his best efforts laughed at by women that he expected nothing less. He would leave this place just as soon as he possibly could. He would not remain here to be treated as a worthless slave by another woman — no matter how beautiful she was.

Because she was beautiful — and so different from the women he'd known before, who had been all allure and seductive sexuality. This woman was small and delicately made, and even with her roughly cropped hair, there was no hiding the fact that she had the face of an angel. Not that he cared about that sort of thing anymore.. . not that he ever would again...

Bonnie was not one to faint easily, but when an enock all but bites off your arm, it's hard to do much else. When she came to, she was in her kitchen, and her rescuer was binding up her arm. Blood was splattered everywhere — though she knew that spilled blood always looked like more than it really was, especially when it happened to be your own.

His first words to her were not a comforting, "Hello, my name is George, and don't worry, you're not going to lose your arm," but instead were a half-shouted, "What were you doing in there?"

"Rescuing a chicken," Bonnie replied weakly. "And an egg," she added as an afterthought.

"A chicken," he repeated. Lynx had never heard the term before. "And what is a chicken?"

"It's a kind of bird," she replied. "You probably saw some of them on your way up from the road."

"The small, feathered creatures?"

"Yeah."

"They are very valuable?" he inquired curiously, hoping that this, at least, was the case. "Not really,"

she admitted.

"Then why would you risk your life to save one?"

"Just didn't want the enocks to get it, that's all," Bonnie muttered.

Lynx had seen much loss of life in his time, and the thought of anyone putting themselves in danger for such a pointless reason was enough to feed his anger. "It was not worth the risk," he said fiercely.

"Maybe not to you," she conceded, "but at the time, I thought it was."

His eyebrows rose with an emotional significance Bonnie couldn't identify, but the gesture drew her attention to the small black tufts at the upswept tips of a pair of light brown brows that matched his short cap of curls. The vertical pupils of his large yellow eyes were glowing with anger, and while there could be no doubt that he was of the same species as Cat and Leo, the similarities ended there.

Cat and Leo were both good-natured and friendly; this man was not.

Bonnie looked down at her bloody hand and experimentally moved her fingers. It hurt like hell, but she could move all of them, which was a good sign. "It's not too bad," she commented.

This time only one of Lynx's eyebrows went up. He'd seen the deep gash in her arm, and how crushed the surrounding tissue was. She was nothing but a pretty little fool.

"No, really, I've been hurt a lot worse," she lied, not wanting him to see her as weak and defenseless. "All I need is some of Captain Jack's Derivian ointment, and I'll be just fine."

Lynx eyed her skeptically, thinking that she was either intoxicated or a raving lunatic. "Your arm needs to be stitched," he said bluntly. "There is nothing that will heal so deep a cut."

"Well, you just go right ahead and stitch it then," Bonnie said roundly, though she considered this form of treatment to be a bit outmoded. "Don't think I can sew with my left hand." Another treatment option flitted through her mind, but she couldn't quite bring it to the forefront of her brain, and, instead, giggled, "Did you drug me with something?"

"No," he replied. "The pain has affected your senses."

"Is that right?" she muttered. "What pain?" She giggled again, thinking that he had to have poured a half a liter of whiskey down her throat. "God, I feel weird."

"It is also from the shock and loss of blood," Lynx said, applying pressure to the bandage.

"I'm bleeding to death then?" Bonnie said as her eyes drifted shut. "That's funny; I'd have thought it would hurt more."

"You need to lie down." Lifting her from the chair, Lynx carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed. His gaze took in her rounded abdomen and his eyes widened. "You are with child?"

"Give the man a prize," Bonnie mumbled. "Get another prize for guessing when it's due."

"In three months," Lynx replied. He said it so automatically that Bonnie thought he must have chosen a number at random, but, as it happened, he was correct.

"Ooo, that's two for two!" she said admiringly. "Care to go double or nothing and tell me whose it is?"

"I have no way of knowing that," he said stiffly. The only thing Lynx could be certain of was that it wasn't his — after all, they never were.

"Yeah, well, his name is Sylor," Bonnie said informatively. "Sylor Halen. Long gone Sylor... caught the enocks... but took the money and ran." She paused for a moment before giggling again. "There's a song in that somewhere, I think." Her voice trailed off as she nearly slipped into slumber again, but roused up when she remembered that she didn't even know this man's name. "And what should I call you — besides 'my hero,' that is?"

"My name is Lynxsander Dackelov," he replied.

"Lynxsander Dackelov," she echoed. "Hmm, it'll sound pretty strange hollering that out when I call you in for dinner. How about just Lynx? You do sort of look like one, you know."

Lynx had no idea what a lynx was beyond the fact that it was the first four letters of his own name, but he didn't bother to comment, focusing, instead, on things that he did understand. "And you are Bonnie Neurath."

"Mmmhmm. That's me." She knew she was mumbling again and tried to remember what else might help someone who'd lost a lot of blood. She had donated blood one time and had felt perfectly awful afterwards, but for the life of her, she couldn't seem to remember what they'd done for her. "Fluids!"

she blurted out. "I need something to drink." She thought a moment longer and added, "Something salty... or sweet... or something..."

Taking this as an order, Lynx pulled a sheet up over her and went back out to the kitchen. He felt strange prowling around her house, looking for what she'd requested. Not only did he feel out of place, but her disturbing female scent was everywhere, and the smell of her blood was even more unsettling to him. It brought back too many memories — unpleasant memories — that he never wanted to revisit. His only consolation was that she didn't wear perfume, the scent of which was guaranteed to make him feel ill.

Lynx found some sort of liquid in a container and looked for salt and sugar to add to it. He didn't care how it tasted to her; he was just doing as he was told. It was still so automatic to him that he had to continually remind himself that he did, indeed, have a will of his own.

Returning to the bedroom where she lay, he lifted her up and held the glass to her lips. How many times had he done this for a woman in the past? He couldn't remember, but he knew it was too many times for one man's life.

Bonnie took a sip. He'd mixed apple juice with a little salt and extra sugar, which didn't taste too bad, and she drank every drop.

Despite the fact that Lynx was doing his best to help her, Bonnie didn't think he was being very nice about it, and the tone of his next question proved that. "You risked your child for a chicken?" he snapped contemptuously.

"And an egg," she reminded him. "Don't forget the egg — but I guess you did. It's still out by the gate, and, unlike the chicken, it is somewhat valuable. Why don't you go get it, and we'll eat it."

That was the other thing they'd done when she'd felt faint; made her drink juice and eat something.

"Should be good for me to eat a really big egg, now, don't you think?"

Bonnie didn't understand his reply since it was in another language, but she was fairly certain that it wasn't very nice — at least it didn't sound that way to her. She was getting the distinct impression that Lynx didn't like her — which was fine, because she didn't want him to like her. All she wanted him to do was to work hard... and feed her.

"Actually, those eggs are so big, they're a full meal for a family of six," she added informatively, "

— and they taste really good, too, which is why people are willing to pay so much for them." She looked up at him curiously. "Are you hungry?"

Lynx didn't answer that at all — in any language. Bonnie recalled Drummond saying that he wasn't very talkative, but it had never occurred to her that he wouldn't even answer a direct question, which she considered to be very rude.

"I don't usually eat them myself," she went on, trying to fill the gap in the conversation, though her speech was still slurred, "but I think this time I should make an exception. Can you cook, or should I get up and do it myself?" Since this seemed to be the obvious answer to her question, she attempted to sit up, but lay back down as her head began swimming again.

"Do not get up," Lynx said curtly. "You need a healer."

"Don't have one — well, not handy, anyway. Vladen's the only one we've got, and he's in Wasaba this month — long way from here. He... travels."