Watcher's Web (30 page)

Damn. She
yanked her hand free and continued to scratch. “I think I’ve got
something—some sort of disease.” Even her voice sounded funny, all
hoarse and husky.

“No. You’re
flushing.”

“I’m—what?”

“Flushing.
Coldi women flush, too. It seems your race is related to them. It’s
the first time this has happened to you?”

She nodded.
“What does it mean?”

“It means, my
Lady, that you are now a woman, ready to be married and have your
first child. Your body knows it’s ready. This . . .
flushing is how it responds to . . . your desires.” He
cleared his throat.

“But
. . . I can’t have children.” The doctors had always said
so. The hormone levels in her blood were too low and didn’t vary
enough to produce a menstrual cycle . . . for a normal
human . . . “Or does this mean I can?”

“Maybe, but
who will know? You will need to find a male survivor of your race
to find out.”

Double holy shit. Daya.
“How often does this happen? How does it
work?”

“Coldi women
can flush every ten days or so. They’re fertile for a day
afterwards.”

Ten
days. If her skin flushed now, it couldn’t have done so yesterday.
Phew. “Does that mean that every ten days I’ll go like this?”
Jessica scratched red patches on the inside of her arms. That would
be
so
embarrassing.

He grabbed her
wrist. “Don’t scratch. I told you—you’ll make it worse.” He met her
eyes briefly, then looked away.

His mouth
worked. “No, you don’t flush every ten days. You’ll only flush when
you’re near a man you . . . feel attracted to.” He pushed
himself up, putting the lute back in its case. Patches of red had
appeared on his cheeks. “I’ll leave now. This isn’t right.”

Looking at her
with every step, he walked to the door.

Jessica
continued to meet his eyes. He was so gentle, so proper. She was
still unsure of his motives, but he’d done a lot for her that he
hadn’t needed to do, including this explanation of what was clearly
an embarrassing subject for him.

She rose.
“Please stay.” Her head was throbbing. Damn, she wasn’t going to
faint, was she?

“But you’re in
a scandalous state.”

“It scares
me.”

He stared at
her, his hand on the doorknob.

“Just to play
music. I’ll sit over there.” She gestured at the bed, at a safe
distance from the couch.

He hesitated.
“You’re certain?”

Jessica
nodded.

*     *     *

Of course
“playing music” was only the beginning. He told her that women of
the Coldi race could control the flush of heat and she tried very
hard. But then their discussion got to family and the harder she
tried to push Daya away, the more he invaded her mind and repeated
over and over again,

Come
with me. You’re in danger.

How could she
be in danger with someone who cared for her while nothing required
him to do this?

Come
back to me. You’re in danger.

She shouted,
“Shut the fuck up!”

Iztho jumped
up and held her to calm her down. Their eyes met. He was so close
that she could see the peachy hairs on his chin. Her cheeks felt
like they were lighting up like a glow-worm’s butt. She was long
past the itchiness and gone to a state where every touch on her
skin felt much more sensitive than normal. Her heart was pounding
and to be honest, she had enough of fighting the flush. It was not
going away unless she gave in to it.

Through
the watering of her eyes and huskiness of her voice, she said,
“Please. Sit next to me.” To Daya, she said,
That will teach you to eavesdrop on me.
You don’t own me.

Her intention
was to spite Daya, but the evening turned into something
luxuriously relaxing and lazy. They had a meal brought up to the
room, they bathed. He washed and touched her in all her private
places and the next step seemed only natural. He assured her many
times that she could back out if the wanted.

But, no. It
was relaxed, gentle and pleasant.

Very
pleasant.

Chapter
25

D
AYA PACED
across cracked and dusty pavement, lifting up broken tiles with
strands of energy and smashing them against walls and
floors.

Shadows
of Pengali hid in the corners of the room, or in the corridor.
Sometimes they whispered. When Daya tried to talk to them, they
scurried away, but always returned. Watching, observing him.
Whispers of her name echoed in the empty rooms.
Anmi, Anmi.

Why did they
want her?

Ask
them, and you might find out.

There
was a shout outside, and Daya ran to the door, hoping against hope
to see Anmi’s tall figure. He stared into the darkness of the yard.
A group of Pengali ran out the gate. Where were they going? Did
they know something he didn’t? She was at the guesthouse, in
bed
with the Mirani
Trader.

The thought
burned, ate at him. Yesterday, she had coerced him into doing what
he hadn’t intended to do. It had been good, but he suffered for it;
she suffered for it. And now . . .

*     *     *

Jessica lay
awake, staring at the ceiling. The patter of rain was only
disturbed by the sound of Iztho’s breathing. He lay on his side
facing the door, his hair fanned out over the mattress. Strands of
it stuck to the sweaty skin on her stomach.

Jessica peeled
it off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Heat washed
over her in waves. In her chest, in her cheeks and face. Her skin
had stopped itching, but now glowed and throbbed as if it was some
sort of aftereffect of the flushing.

She staggered
to the bathroom, where she scooped handfuls of sulphur-scented
water over her naked skin. Goosebumps spread from her arms to her
stomach, but underneath, she still felt hot.

Damn that
flushing. Coldi women controlled it, Iztho had said, but she wasn’t
Coldi. More and more, she worried about it. Was yesterday afternoon
really the first time it had happened to her? She had felt hot
right from the moment she had met Daya. She sat down on the edge of
the bath, rough stone on her naked buttocks.

Stay
calm.

She pressed
her hands together in front of her face. The flow of energy came
easily and no longer hurt. Bright light flooded the bathroom.

*     *     *

In the
darkness of the alley, Daya stumbled amongst a throng of Pengali.
Lithe bodies squeezed past him into a square ahead. Floodlights
cast their ghostly glow over a sea of people, dancing, moving,
writhing; many with wreaths of white flowers on their heads. Heavy
drum beats reverberated in his chest. Whistles, shouts, patterned
skin gleaming with oil. Rain hissed down, but no one took any
notice.

Daya leaned
back against the rough trunk of a tree, contemplating how he was
going to cross the square without being dragged into some dance. If
one more of those leering female creatures touched him with any
part of her body . . .  He shuddered.

Anmi was in
the guesthouse; he could feel her. Except he couldn’t go that far;
there were Mirani guards at the entrance, far too many for him to
overpower by himself.

Everywhere he went the natives spoke her name
Anmi, Anmi.
Questions hovered in their
eyes. Where was she? Why wasn’t she with him?

Because
I stuffed up.

He had
failed, and he didn’t understand why.
You have no idea how to relate to
people.
Ennai had
said that, in the fight that led to their break-up. His
relationship with Ennai had been a mistake from the beginning, but
living amongst the Coldi at Hedron, he had once entertained the
illusion that he could be like them, that he could be
normal,
accepted.

Wrong. He had
never been like them. He would never be like them. His life
belonged not to his parents who had cast him out, not to his
uncle’s business, but to the girl, to Anmi. It was his task to
protect her, to keep her safe, so she didn’t end up like Ivedra.
And he had failed.

Daya pushed
forward, shivering from sweaty bodies pressed against him. The
females brushed up to him, stroking him, giving him suggestive
smiles. Their body odour hurt his nose.

*     *     *

It’s
called peppermint,
Jessica told him.

And it was the
male Pengali who stank, not the females.

She
shivered with that statement: Daya’s
life
belonged to her? She didn’t belong to anyone, didn’t want
to own anyone either.

But you
already do.

The
ghost of Daya’s scent wafted through her memories, making her
shiver, making her want to run out and look for him, to complete
that part of her that was missing. Something had happened that
night.
Pheromones,
her analytical self said. An involuntary, uncontrolled
response; something that made no rational sense. Like falling in
love, but worse.

She had
started that sexual fight. Daya had been trying to hold back. It
wasn’t that he had hurt her; she had hurt him, too.

“Are you all
right, Lady?”

Iztho had
raised himself onto one elbow; his other hand shielded his eyes
against the brightness of the light. He swung his feet over the
side and came into the bathroom.

“I feel so
hot.”

He remained at
the door, looking up at the light. “I never believed this when I
first heard of it.”

Jessica
inclined her head, unsure how to respond to the tone of awe in his
voice, unsure if she liked it, or if she liked him being here. It
might be dangerous.
She
was
dangerous to him.

He smiled and
entered the room. “Once everything has settled, your future will be
bright. Once we are in Miran . . . Lady, I can see you
doing very well in business. Very well indeed.” He closed her in
his arms. “I’ll help you through your citizenship exams and then
I’ll sponsor you to get your Trading certificate. You can work
under the Andrahar licence.”

There
was a dreamy look in his eyes that brought a twinge of discomfort.
Whatever happened to
going home?

He cradled her
face in his hands and bent forward for a kiss, but Jessica found
the prospect of that and maintaining the light at the same time too
much. She called the light back before meeting his lips and when
she did, she saw a pair of dark eyes.

Do you
have to look into every part of my private life?

Daya just
blinked. Light flashed over his face. A Pengali female sidled up to
him. One of the servants, tailless, wearing only the shortest of
short skirts. She rocked her hips, rubbing the curve of her thigh
against his. He shuddered.

Iztho’s hand
slid over Jessica’s stomach. “Yes, you are right, you do feel hot.
Come under the window.”

He led her
back into the bedroom. The thin cover whispered over her as she
settled back on the pillow, her head on his shoulder.

Soon Iztho was
fast asleep, his heavy breathing deep and regular, but Jessica lay
staring at the ceiling. Damn, she was still hot and the lingering
scent of Daya’s skin would not go away.

Pheromones.
A physiological response, like a stallion smelling mares.
Not a bloody thing she could do about it. At least she didn’t do
the weird lip thing.

No, they only
scratched each other to bits when they had sex.

It
scared her.
The man
is a monster. I am a monster.

*     *     *

Jessica was
back with Daya in the crowded street.

There was a
bark of a voice on the other side of the square. The square emptied
with amazing speed. Pengali-shaped shadows jumped onto walls, in
trees, abandoning the drums.

Four figures
came into the middle of the square. A Mirani patrol, hands on their
crossbows.

Daya pressed
himself against the trunk of one of the trees that lined the alley.
All the natives around him sank into a silence that . . .
tickled.

Jessica
prodded him.
Go
ahead, connect with them.
He could see for himself why she couldn’t leave the
Pengali.

But Daya just
stood there.

Ahead, the
barking voice spoke. “You are sheltering a dangerous criminal. Give
him up, and none of you will be harmed.”

In the
shadows, a voice yelled,
“Kusi.”

Two of
the soldiers raised their crossbows. Jessica didn’t know
what
kusi
meant, but guessed it was
nothing good.

“You are
showing disrespect to officers in uniform.”

More
Pengali took up the call.
Kusi, kusi, kusi.
It came out of the trees, the yards, the alleys surrounding
the square.

The crossbows
went up, the soldiers trying to take aim, but shadows flitted
through trees; leaves rustled.

Kusi,
kusi, kusi.

The patrol
leader was now speaking into his receiver, asking for backup no
doubt. Daya grabbed the arm of the closest Pengali, a young
male.

“Come. You
can’t win this; they’ll kill you. Get out of here.”

Kusi,
kusi, kusi.