The Healer's Kiss: Book Four of the Forced To Serve Series (18 page)

“He said he was compelled by the Creators to mark me as he did,” Boca said. “He was very convincing. Have I been deceived? Is it the mark of a sex slave or some other offensive symbol for which I must now seek revenge?”

Dorian sputtered on the denial as it exited because he knew the interpretation it would receive was all a matter of perspective.

“Offensive? No—no not—it is not the mark of a sex slave. The symbol is quite beautiful and outlined in silver. There is definitely a blessing from the Creators sealed in it. Are you saying
Malachi
did this? Are you sure?”

“Aye,” Boca said, frowning herself as she felt his doubt of her words. “I have no reason to jest about the demon’s behavior. Malachi did my mark and then asked me not to look at it until the mission. His only justification was that he was compelled.”

Dorian sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was to see Boca still frowning, obviously concerned now because of his reaction. He searched her energy and saw only the most positive of changes taking place. Perhaps intervening was not the best action to take in the matter at this time.

“Honoring Malachi’s—let’s say
divine
guidance—I will refrain from commenting on the mark myself. I do believe he is currently serving a spiritual purpose greater than any in his existence before. And I have always believed you and Chiang are part of his redemption,” Dorian explained.

Boca nodded. “Very well. Your words resonate with the truth I felt the moment Malachi spoke to me after the mark. I pray for grace when it comes time to deal with it.”

“Grace is a wonderful thing to seek about most of life’s unexpected turns. If your meditation proves unsatisfying today, perhaps tomorrow you will allow me to see inside you. I can sometimes get a glimpse of a person’s future,” Dorian said softly. “Perhaps I can give you some peace about what you face—or at least prepare you.”

Boca politely looked away from the now naked Siren while he donned his meditation robe. She briefly wondered again if the commander had any idea how free her very attractive mate was about disrobing in front of everyone. Like a bored bonding partner, she had seen his form so many times now that his exceptional body had ceased to fascinate her. Now it was like looking at a beautiful statue instead of a real male.

She brought her gaze back in time to watch him cover himself, and found herself reflecting on how she might feel about Chiang disrobing in front of another female. The idea of it instantly made her angry. Since they weren’t even a real bonding pair yet, it was alarming how territorial she was becoming about everything concerning the Greggor.

Chiang’s physical form certainly rivaled her Siren teacher’s in masculine perfection.

Not that Ensign Karr’s wasn’t worthy as well, but still—it wasn’t as good as Chiang’s, even with clothes. Without clothes…

Shades of Kellnor, could she think of nothing else but bonding today?

Boca shook her head and closed her eyes, practicing some cleansing breaths as she tried to direct her mind to focus on spiritual purposes. But the back of her eyelids seemed branded with a vision of Chiang’s nude body.
Slaggika,
she supposed she should be grateful it wasn’t Lieutenant Zade’s.

“I fear my good mood has transformed into one of trepidation,” Boca admitted finally, biting her lip at her lustful thoughts.

“Such small shifts rarely matter. Your energy still looks receptive to me. Meditation will take you where it needs to anyway,” Dorian said with a smile. “Just go to the mat and kneel on the pillow. We’ll see what happens.”

Boca did as she was instructed, lifting her robe free of her legs. When her bare knees hit the fine Rylen cloth of the meditation rug, her body moved into her most comfortable pose and her senses suddenly opened in a way they never had before. Perhaps all the work she had been doing was finally paying off.

Looking around, she took in the barren metal walls covered with words written in silver.

“The names of the Creators are on the walls. Why have I never noticed this before?” Boca asked.

Dorian looked at the painted metal that he knew showed nothing to the unseeing eyes of most. How long ago had he written the names and beseechments there in spiritual energy? It was one of the first things he had done to protect the space. No one else even knew. Not even Ania or Gwen.

The ability to mark a space, or a person, had been a gift he had received shortly after his second mate died. Now he could look inside a person and see the Creators’ mark there.

Was Boca now able to see the Creators’ energy as well?

“Explain what you see on the walls, Boca,” Dorian commanded quietly, pacing softly behind the kneeling female who appeared no more than a child wrapped in the modified robe that still dwarfed her frame. “Describe everything as precisely as you can.”

“I see the names of the Creators written in Pleiadian,” Boca said, obediently telling the truth to her teacher without thought. “I recognize the language only because Ania chants them during our training. But I see someone has also added beseechments for each of the three. Those are written in English. My intuition says you put them there.”

“Yes. Your intuition is quite right. I wrote the beseechments in English because it is the common language on this ship. The Creators’ names are in Pleiadian because Ania’s native language is based on the tongue of the First Ones, which I also honor as a Siren,” Dorian said. “Their original power lingers in the utterances of those words, but only for those trained to use them correctly. Ania is the only being I know who has control of the full range of manifesting. I control only the ability given to me during my Khalsa training. To see them on the walls and to know their meaning—this too is a gift—one you now share.”

“The other things I see are strange symbols that I do not understand,” Boca reported.

“I think that is only because you have no need to do so yet,” Dorian admitted, pacing as he considered many options, finally settling on what felt most right. “I suggest you manifest your ability further by reading the names and the beseechments for your meditation today. Substitute yourself for the references to the room. After all, our bodies are merely temporary houses for our spirits, so I am sure most of the beseechments will apply. Begin now, please.”

Boca took a cleansing breath and studied the first one. The first beseechment seemed very familiar somehow, but she had no idea why. Setting aside the awareness, she read the words aloud.

“Solra, creator of light and energy, by the power of calling your name, let—me—be filled with your compassion and impervious to that which does not serve the light which supports all.”

“Well done,” Dorian said quietly, reverent as he contemplated why his pupil was receiving this gift. “Your recitation is quite excellent. Continue.”

“
Kokum, creator of movement and force, by the power of calling your name, let me align with only the best of intentions and manifest the truth that is most helpful to all.”

When Dorian said nothing, Boca swallowed before continuing. She was not sure how sincere she could be when speaking the last beseechment.

After three hundred years of struggling for the right to be what she wanted, her time on the Liberator was the closest she had come to having control of her fate. She could not see more change as a positive thing when all she wanted was to enjoy what little peace she had found.

But fearing destiny was not going to stop it—this she had learned. And some change was destined because she had already agreed to share her body with yet another demanding male.

“Are you struggling with the words?” Dorian asked.

“No,” Boca answered, swallowing her fear and lifting her chin. “I am struggling with myself.”

“As do we all,” Dorian said, smiling at her in sympathy.

Boca took a deep breath.
“Ynati, creator of life and all beings, by the power of calling your name, I ask you to change me to become the sacred space you desire me to be, guide me to the work of the perfect good of all your beloved creatures.”

Boca heard her teacher repeating the beseechments behind her, a sexy male echo falling on her ears.
Slaggika
. She hoped Gwen Jet never found out she thought Dorian Zade was sexy.

Her head sank without her permission to her chest, her eyes suddenly too heavy to stay open.

“I am suddenly very tired, Dorian,” she said softly to her teacher, forgetting not to use his given name. “May I rest now?”

Dorian finished the last beseechment and watched his pupil fall sideways to the mat, her consciousness gone before he could even answer her.

“May you find what you need in your journey, Boca Ador,” Dorian said, bowing his head to the tiny female, even as he took a position of watchfulness over her form.

***

He had been preparing for her visit for hours. Her Sumerian tea awaited only on a single command to the emulator. And he had located a disc of Sumerian love songs to play. The unusual instruments were not displeasing to his Greggor ears, and for this he was grateful.

Chiang prowled around the larger space of his quarters, unable to bear lying down to wait for her. He was nearly mad with anxiety by the time three more revolutions on the ships timekeeper had passed and Boca had still not appeared.

Chiang slapped the com unit on the wall since his wrist unit was already by the bed for the evening.

“Locate Boca Ador,” he barked.

“Boca Ador is in the meditation room,” the com unit answered.

“Locate Dorian Zade,” Chiang ordered, frowning.

“Dorian Zade is in the meditation room,” the com unit replied.

Chiang let go the com unit to pace again. The answers had been the same for the last ten times he had asked the same questions. How long could meditation training take? It had never taken this long before.

He marched back to the com unit and slapped it again. “Connect me to Commander Jet.”

“Connecting. Please wait,” the com unit informed him.

The neutral answers only increased his irritation, but Chiang knew the com unit was totally unmoved by his Greggor angst.

“What’s the problem, Chiang?” Gwen asked sharply. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Shouldn’t meditation training be over? Boca didn’t return to Medical at all this afternoon.”

Gwen’s laughter broke up as it filtered through the com.

“You are hysterical when you’re worried, but you already know that, right? Is this about Boca being alone with Zade so long? I don’t blame you for being jealous about your girlfriend spending so much time with a Siren. I get a little bent over Zade’s allure to other females myself.”

“I don’t know why I even thought you could help me. Forget I contacted you,” Chiang said sourly, releasing the talk button and walking away from the unit.

It immediately buzzed back, with Gwen’s no longer laughing voice ringing loudly in the mostly empty room. “Chiang—don’t be so sensitive. Look, I’m sorry I teased you. Get your pouting Greggor ass over to the com and talk to me. Seriously. What’s the problem?”

He glared at the com as if it were the commander in person and crossed his arms as he planted his feet firmly, resisting the urge to comply.

“Chiang, I said I was sorry. I should try to be more understanding of what you’re going through as you come to terms with your—
situation
—with Boca. Shit, I hate this intuitive crap. Your worry is practically all I feel at the moment. Push the damn com button or put on your freaking wrist unit and talk to me.”

Sighing, Chiang marched back and slapped the com again. “What in Helios is going on? She was supposed to be here hours ago.”

“Boca went into a trance earlier this afternoon. It’s been about four hours so far. But don’t worry, Zade is watching over her. These things happen, Chiang. I’m sure she’ll be coming out of it shortly. You know, for someone who’s not interested in anything permanent, you’re sure acting like a worried mate,” Gwen declared on a laugh that was more forced than genuine.

There was silence as her words fell on what Gwen suddenly knew were no Greggor ears to hear them. Chiang was already out the door and on his way to Boca.

“Chiang? Ah, hell. Zade is going to kill me,” Gwen said to the empty room.

***

Warned by Gwen, Dorian was in the process of working the medical tunic back on over Boca’s limp head when Chiang pressed the buzzer on the door requesting entry. Grinning at the pounding that followed, he pulled the clothing quickly down over the unconscious female’s hygiene straps and buttoned the robe swiftly back around her, straightening it as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Now if the Greggor undressed Boca later, perhaps he would likely be considerate enough to leave her base clothing in place for comfort, which would keep the tracking mark hidden. There was already going to be trouble enough. No need to get into more yet, Dorian decided.

Given his reluctant student’s complete and utter dissent into a full meditation trance, he no longer doubted Malachi had done what he was compelled to do by the Creators. If Chiang came unglued over it, the demon would take the brunt of blame and not even mind, but it still wouldn’t undo what had been done.

Dorian sighed over the Sumerian’s comatose form. It seemed that every passing day lately, he had to adjust his thinking where servants of the Creators were concerned. First it was Malachi, a demon being reformed. Then he met the not so compassionate emissary of the Creators currently living in what once was the form of Rena Trax. Now prickly Boca was reading energy and taking trips to visit the creators.

Arranging the tiny Sumerian gently on her side, Dorian lifted a hand and spoke a word that traveled across the room on his will and clicked open the lock. The mild pain the word caused him in his gut was immediately dwarfed by the thunder of the angry Greggor stomping angrily through the room moments after.

Dorian lifted a finger to his lips, halting the glaring male several steps away. “Relax. Do not disturb her state. As you can see, she is unharmed.”