Rogue (20 page)

When consulted, Tychar couldn't remember having ever heard of anything similar to their own particular situation before, either, but thought that perhaps, without a woman nearby to stimulate them, Zetithian males didn't produce any sperm.

"That's interesting," I commented. "Human males produce sperm all the time, and when it builds up, they have wet dreams or just get themselves off if there aren't any women around."

Tychar shook his head. "I just don't understand how that's possible!" he said. "Sex without a woman would be like trying to—" He paused there, as he attempted to come up with something similarly impossible.

"Eat rocks?" Trag suggested.

Laughing, I said, "Well, if that's the case, Trag, maybe you should stay away from me instead of hanging around all the time. Doesn't Scalia have anything for you to do?"

"Aw, we never did much in the way of work anyway," he said. "Mostly, we were just bored out of our minds."

"So, is that all I am? A diversion?"

Trag appeared to consider this for a moment. "Well, you're much more than that, obviously, but I'll have to admit, things have been a lot more interesting since you showed up." He put an arm around me and squeezed.

"Thanks for coming, by the way."

"Must have been fate," I replied. "But I'm glad I came, too."

Then I got this vivid mental picture of me lying in bed with two purring, naked tigers and nearly had another orgasm. Why, oh, why, didn't Tychar tell his brother to get lost before I gave in to him? He'd let me kiss Trag but probably drew the line at group sex. Whoa! It hit me then—hard.

"Hey, are you all right?" Trag asked worriedly as I doubled over.

"She's fine," Tychar stated firmly. "She's thinking about having us together."

"And just
how
did you know that?" I demanded hoarsely. "Another vision?"

He smiled seductively. "I know one of your orgasms when I see it."

Trag let out a sort of whimper. "That was an orgasm?

Oh, fuck! Do it again!"

"You only know
what
it was," I said to Tychar, "not what caused it!"

"Perhaps," he admitted, "But isn't it logical that you would be thinking such a thing at this time?"

"Does that mean you wouldn't mind if I did?"

Tychar regarded me with a steady gaze from his luminous blue eyes. "You love me, don't you?"

"Well, yeah!" I replied. "That's what this whole thing is about! If I didn't love you, it wouldn't matter that your brother was giving me fits. I'd do you both and never think a thing about it." Which wasn't entirely true, but
still...

Trag's response to that was a long, tortured groan.

"And you care for my brother as well?" Tychar went on.

"Well... yes," I replied cautiously. "But it's not quite the same way that I care for you. It's hard to explain."

Tychar nodded as though he understood. "On Zetith it would have been very rare for two men to have the same woman," he said. "But the situation is different here."

I was feeling less and less special by the second. "Do you mean that Trag's only interested in me due to a lack of options?"

"No," Trag said firmly. "That's not it at all. It's just that on Zetith, we could be as enticing as we wanted toward a woman we liked—and I
do
like you, Kyra!— but most of the time, they just didn't care—no matter how many of us were after them! Eventually, a man would find a woman who would take him, but finding one woman who would actually want both of us would be—" He paused there, running a hand through his curly locks, trying to come up with an apt simile "—a fuckin' miracle."

"You're kidding," I said seriously. "You have to be.

You guys are irresistible."

"To you, perhaps," Tychar admitted. "But not to our females. We were all alike to them."

"Your... um... fluids didn't work on them?"

"Sure they did," Trag replied. "It's just that we all had the same equipment, so they could be as choosy as they liked, and if they weren't in the mood—which they hardly ever were!—they just didn't smell right." I was now being gazed at with luminous
green
eyes, which were every bit as attractive as the blue ones. "You, on the other hand, smell just exactly right
all the time."

Which explained quite a bit. "Trag," I said gently, "this is a big palace. Why don't you just keep away from me?"

"I should," he muttered. "And I tried! Believe me, I tried! But the scent of you is just so compelling... and that's aside from the fact that I'd like you, whether you smelled good or not." He stopped there, throwing up his hands in despair. "I just plain can't help it."

"Do I leave my scent on Tychar?"

Trag nodded. "Yes. If you've had sex recently, I can smell you on him." He let out a deep sigh. "And you must be doing it an awful lot."

Which was true. If we were alone, Tychar and I were in each other's arms. We must have been feeding off one another's desires; he being enticing and me smelling like sex personified. We must have been driving Trag up the wall—constantly.

My head started to spin as the strength of my emotions and confusion threatened to overwhelm me. I might have had a better understanding of the problem, but the pressure was getting to me. I needed time alone to think without the two of them clouding my mind with desire.

Excusing myself, I got up from the piano and pushed past Tychar and, before I knew it, I was practically running from the room. Passing through the doorway to my bedroom, I began running in earnest; out the door into the corridor and continuing nearly the full length of the palace until the stitch in my side became so severe that it forced me to stop.

Leaning out a nearby window, I gulped in the air, which at that hour was hot and oppressive. I would probably faint dead away in another moment or two, thus paying for my headlong flight, which had probably been pointless anyway. Sure, it might have given me a little breathing room, but at best, it had only postponed my inevitable decision. The dilemma I faced was a difficult one; I cared for them both, and being true to the one I loved meant that I would have to deny the other, who I was convinced needed me—which also meant that I would wind up feeling guilty no matter what I did. At that moment, it became almost too much for me to bear, and all I could think of was that I needed to get off of this world and never come back.

Dissolving into tears, I sank to the smooth stone floor, leaning up against the wall. I would tell Scalia to keep her tigers away from me. If I needed a personal attendant, the guy with the octopus fingers would do nicely. I would have to find out what his name was, though, because I couldn't very well call him "Octopus Fingers" forever, and I hoped that he had a name I could at least pronounce—or I could call him Fingerpuss, which sounded a bit kinky, really.

Running a hand through my hair, I felt something I'd rarely felt since I arrived—sweat—and if I was sweating enough to feel it, I was losing way too much water! I was wondering if I could even make it back to my room when Wazak rounded the corner.

Stopping short when he saw me there, he demanded, "You are ill?"

"Nope, just needed to run," I gasped. "Probably ran too far."

Bending down, he scooped me up in his arms without ceremony. "I will return you to your quarters," he said.

"Do not run anymore." Having solved any problems I might have had with those few short sentences, he set off down the corridor with his curious, tail-swinging swagger.

"If only it were that simple," I sighed.

"It is not?"

"No." I hesitated a long moment before asking, "Ever been in love, Wazak?"

I didn't think he would ever reply, but, after a bit, he did. "Yes," he said shortly.

"Ever been in love and, at the same time, felt very strongly about someone else, too? Not instead of the first one, but in addition to them?"

"No," he replied. "I have loved only one."

Trust Wazak to keep even something as complex as love simple and straight to the point. "Then I guess you can't help me," I said hopelessly. "Oh, shit! What am I gonna do?"

"You are in love with the Zetithian slaves," he said, correctly interpreting my dilemma.

I looked up at his stoic, impassive face. If he'd ever loved anyone, it certainly didn't show, but perhaps I didn't know the signs. "That's a pretty good guess, Wazak. What was your first clue?"

"You do not appear to love me," he said, as though the slaves were my only other options. This wasn't quite true, because I'd gotten to know a few of the guards, particularly my own and the ones who were posted at The Shrine. However, aside from them and the children I was teaching, I really didn't know very many of the other people who lived and worked in the palace. Perhaps I should try to get on good terms with some of the women, because if I stayed away from the tigers, I'd need someone to talk to.

Thinking back, I decided that Cernada could probably relate to my problem better than anyone. I wondered if she liked Trag, too—of course, she might have had a thing for Wazak—who was turning out to be a pretty decent guy, despite my initial impression of him.

"No, I don't love you, Wazak," I said with a sigh, "though it might be easier if I did."

"No, it would not," he said. "Our species are too dis-similar. It is best that you love the Zetithians."

Suppressing a chuckle, I said earnestly: "Yes, but at least there's only one of you! There are
two
of them, and they're driving me crazy!"

"Your kind does not often have two mates?"

"Well, no, not really—hardly ever, in fact. I mean, I wouldn't mind it myself, but I doubt if they'd see it that way! I have to choose—and I already have, actually— it's just that Trag is so..."

"So—what?" Wazak prompted.

"Well, if I'd never met Tychar, I probably would have been just as taken with Trag, but the fact remains that Tychar is the one I love. The trouble is, Trag wants me, too, and while I'd like to say yes, I know that it would hurt Tychar. But if I deny Trag, then he's going to be hurt, too—and I don't want to hurt either of them!

It could be that I'm feeling sorry for Trag, because he's been without a mate for so long, but I honestly don't think that's the only reason for the way I feel."

If Wazak had any difficulty following my little rant, it didn't show. "So, you would take each of them as your mate if it was acceptable to them?"

"Yes," I said decisively. "Yes, I believe I would." It would probably be the death of me, but I would certainly give it a try.

"You are quite a woman, Kyra Aramis," he remarked.

"Not really," I said miserably. "I'm a big, fat wuss, is what I am." He didn't respond, so I translated it for him.

"Coward. I'm a big, fat coward."

Wazak didn't appear to agree with my assessment.

"To come alone to this world required great courage,"

he said. "There are not many who would do so."

He had a point. "But you scared the piss out of me the day I arrived."

"It was not apparent," he said firmly. "You possess more courage than you know."

"Well, I certainly don't feel very courageous," I grumbled. "I feel more like a coward." Yellow-bellied and lily-livered as the saying goes—though what those things have to do with courage is something I've never understood.

"That is often the case with those who possess the most courage."

Eyeing him curiously, I asked, "And just
where
did you hear that?"

It was the first time I'd ever seen Wazak smile. "My first commander," he replied. "I did not believe that I was courageous then." Smiling more broadly, he added, "But I was wrong."

I couldn't imagine Wazak being afraid of anything—ever. "Went toe-to-toe with him, did you?" I prompted.

"With
her,"
he corrected me. "My first commander was the Princess Scalia."

"Princess
Scalia?" I echoed. "So it was before she was made queen, then?"

Wazak nodded.

"So, does Zealon command the guards now? That's funny, I thought
you
did."

"I do," he replied. "The Princess Zealon is still too young, but she will take command when she is of age."

And I'd had no idea. "Well, obviously I need to hang around with you more," I declared. "I've learned more in the past five minutes than I have in all the weeks I've been here."

"The Princess has not been instructing you?"

"Well, yes," I admitted. "But I'd learn more if I asked more questions. The trouble is, I'm never sure what to ask until something comes up. What I mean is, I need to know
everything,
not just little bits and pieces. I need to know your history, politics, geography, culture—all those things."

"I will... speak with the Princess," he said, and I was certain he would. "But I believe you already understand something of politics."

"Really?" I said curiously. "What makes you think that?"

"When you spoke to Dobraton," he said. "You handled her very well."

I grinned at him. "I did, didn't I?"

"You showed courage then," he said. "You were alone among strangers who were at odds with one another, and yet you were able to make your point without being openly antagonistic."

"Thankyou, Wazak," I said warmly. "I needed that." I almost felt like hugging him, but he was too big to get my arms around. "You can put me down, now. I'm feeling much better."

He smiled again. "But I wish to intimidate the Zetithians."

I chuckled wickedly. "Gonna march right in there with me in your arms, demanding to know who made me run off like that?"

"Yes," he replied. "It will make them think about what they have done."

"They're probably
thinking
already," I pointed out.

"What I want them to do is
talk
about it—with each other."

"I will... suggest it to them."

We were approaching the door to my quarters, which was still standing wide open. I could hear Trag and Tychar talking from the other room.

"It is
not
my fault," Trag was saying. "You could have said something, but you just sat there and let it happen! She's probably gone to tell Scalia to lock us up again."