Empress Hiding Page 17

  And dug in until she felt the puncturing of lungs.

  Blood poured from the wounds as he growled in agony – his face eerily shifting back and forth between cognate and bear-like form – an indication that both were dying. As his grip on Shelvana’s neck loosened, she forcefully kneed his weakening form at almost the exact point through which the blade had entered – causing him to stumble backwards a few steps before landing on his back before her.

  And a blood-thirsty hiss escaped from between her sabers.

  Shelvana took a moment to taste the blood that dripped from both of her hands as she looked down at the dying assassin – once again, she cocked her head in defiance before dropping to her other set of legs to straddle him. Slowly, as she felt her fangs withdraw and her back legs actually fall to now-cognate knees, she lowered her face into his.

  “You win, puta,” the male’s voice trembled and gurgled with the blood filling his insides, “Just kill me and sate your iblis – I have served my Khedive well.”

  A godsfallen grin kissed Shelvana’s face as she reveled in his use of her fabled title among the natives of the Barrens.

  “You failed, assassin,” she bit his cheek and tore a chunk of flesh out of it as he screamed in agony – blood spewing from his mouth, “My babies live.”

  The blood dripped from Shelvana’s mouth onto the assassin’s face. And, even through the pain and death that now consumed his face, the assassin’s eyes widened in surprise and shock.

  “S-S-Som-dech?” he coughed what would surely be his last, “Gods help us all….”

  And he died.

  Shelvana immediately bared her talons and ripped the clothing from the male’s chest as she ordered the nearby Red Guard in a voice that was neither cognate nor marabilla.

  “Guard!”

  Shelvana found the insertion scar on the male’s upper right chest area and ripped the skin open there – stopping once again to lick her hands and snarl incoherently at the dead male that dared threaten her sons.

  Good. So good. Need more. Need to rub in it. To taste it and to breathe it. To know that he is dead. Really dead. Fresh Crimson blood …

  The marabilla knew she should be looking for the identi-chip the Khedive embedded in all of the animals in his service, but the bloodlust in which she was lost was one she had not felt since before she and Hondo were bonded. In fact, she was having trouble focusing on Hondo at the moment – it was all she could do to keep from eating the flesh from the bones of the animal beneath her – the Perce animal that dared target her young.

  Shelvana willed her fangs to transition once again in anticipation of the feast, and she breathed a heavy breath of violence as she felt them slide across her lower lip.

  Kill him. Devour him. The blood will empower us to shred the Khedive. He dies next at our hand.

  Another snarl escaped her as she leaned into the assassin’s lifeless face, the other four guards arriving only to stop short of the macabre scene in front of them and not approach. Shelvana’s talons dug deeper into the male’s chest and wrapped around a few ribs there – ready to completely disembowel the assassin – as an even more feral and deadly growl rose threateningly from Shelvana to everyone in the vicinity.

  Suddenly, a soft, flowing dark green cloth fell across Shelvana’s shoulders and pooled around her knees, and Hondo’s scent completely surrounded her. The action and texture and aroma so out-of-place that the marabilla had to catch her breath and look up at the bestower.

  The newest of the upper tier of Hondo’s Red Guard smiled lovingly down at her Somdech – the dark-skinned female’s hard features immediately softening in Shelvana’s wild and feral gaze. Unisha gently bowed her head as she lowered herself to eye level with Shelvana and softly whispered, “Your servant, Somdech,” her voice was low and just the least bit soothing, “What is your bidding, mate of our Prince?”

  Unisha held Shelvana’s gaze until the wildness therein slowly abated and Shelvana grabbed hold of this anchor in reality.

  Yes, here was Shelvana’s – the marabilla’s – life now; they belonged to Prince Hondo Sadid. He was their life and she was his.

  Yes. This, Somdech Shelvana, was who the marabilla was.

  Shelvana closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath of Hondo’s scent and let it permeate her being before opening them again.

  “Your sample bag,” Shelvana’s voice was definitely fully cognate now – no snarling, no fangs, no animal likeness to be heard – as she reached her blood-drenched hand out to Unisha.

  The female guard quickly unshouldered her small pack and retrieved that for which her Somdech asked and handed it to her.

  Shelvana gingerly retracted her talons and opened the small bag to insert the chip she had managed to separate from the assassin’s flesh into which it had been embedded. She then ripped the Khedive’s embroidered symbol from the assassin’s uniform and shoved it in the bag. Finally, she extended her talons and reached up to extricate an eyeball from the dead male’s face and placed it in the bag as well.

  Every action so graceful. So refined.

  Just like the Somdech that she was.

  Shelvana looked directly back up to Unisha.

  “Who is the fastest?”

  Unisha pointed at the group of the four who still had not approached to the proximity of Unisha – the sight of the bloodied Shelvana standing over the Perce Assassin still too over-whelming at the moment.

  “Teyman Johanneston,” Unisha raised her voice in answer as she motioned toward the four, “Without question.”

  Shelvana stood, holding the dark green cloth regally around her nude body, as she held out the bag to the medium-build male guard wearing the red-lense glare-glasses that had stepped forward.

  “This is to go to Captain Marid as fast as possible with a message,” Shelvana paused as the guard dropped his gear and hopped behind a tree only to reappear momentarily in prime hydenna form – his finely- and sharply-toothed snout reaching past Shelvana’s waist, “Tell him this assassin had the Prince’s sons in his sights.”

  The hair stood up along the hydenna’s back in fresh anger at the audacity of the dead assassin as he gently took the pouch from his Somdech and bowed his head before disappearing almost as fast as the wind over the rise.

  Shelvana turned to the remaining guards including Unisha.

  “Sweep the rest of the area while I rinse,” she looked back once again knowingly at Unisha, “We depart immediately for home.”

  “Yes, Somdech,” Unisha acknowledged her Somdech with only a brief nod of recognition as she began to gather the weapons and other belongings from the Perce Assassin’s body.

  Captain Marid and Prince Sadid would want to see all of the items.

  Rafal checked his appearance in the speculum for the fiftieth time as he issued a final list of instructions for Dalis.

  And Dalis hid his amusement at Rafal’s nervousness well although Mischief could not stop mumbling about his theories on the appearance of this “special female” the Prince had met – what would she have to actually look like to not be afraid of the Prime Magistrate? Or the stories of his horrid beast?

  Dalis chided his Mischief even as the elder steward obediently acknowledged his Magistrate’s directives – the Prince could certainly enjoy himself even though the prophecy of every auger and every prophet had held true: Prince Rafal was certainly beyond the age when most beings in their society mated.

  Yes, Rafal may never have a Crimson mate, but perhaps he could find some much deserved liberation in the arms of a caring female. Dalis certainly prayed for such – he knew first-hand how a female could change a male’s complete disposition and even mend some flaws here and there. Mischief huffed and reminded Dalis that Margreet (with her graceful felnoturnian altare, Cheo) was their mate and not just a caring female with whom to find some ‘liberation’.

 
Dalis mentally poked his Mischief in the eye and subsequently ignored him for the moment.

  “And finally,” Rafal looked at his timepiece for the fifty-fifth time as he headed toward the door, “Do not let that esholeshek, Jaylis, in here for any reason.”

  Dalis grinned in spite of himself as Mischief flipped and cheered at the Prime Magistrate’s designation of Jaylis as such.

  “Yes, my Lord,” he paused and took a deep breath, “And should I have your bed chamber prepared for the evening?”

  The Prime Magistrate stopped – his hand held just off the palm pad access as he contemplated Dalis’ question. He took a deep breath and looked upward – his back to Dalis.

  “No, Dalis,” Rafal still did not turn to face his steward, “As much as my beast and I want that, this will be handled as it should be. Even though she belongs to us, her innocence will not be maligned over the newscomms – our mate deserves better.”

  Rafal palmed the access panel, keyed the exit code, and stepped through the hatchway. Pausing, he stopped himself by grabbing hold of the doorframe before turning out into the passageway, he looked over his shoulder to see the more-than-surprised face of his Dalis as he spoke.

  “But she will accompany us home in two days when we arrive planetside,” another of those rare but oh-so-welcomed grins spread across his face, “There is no other acceptable scenario.”

  Rafal heard a solid “thud” just before the hatchway closed behind him, and he knew for a fact that it had been his Dalis wilting in disbelief.

  Rafal grinned again as he cracked his knuckles to burn more nervous energy – both he and his beast almost floating on a cloud of anticipation as they purposefully took a route that did not bring them past the quarters that housed the Black Guards.

  Shortly he would hold his dangerous yet alluring Chiyoto again.

  Their mate …both he and his beast could feel that rightness through all that they were … even though she did not realize it yet.

  And Rafal felt his beast claw and growl in feral agreement.

  Chapter 11

  At Yearlan’s behest, the three guards that had descended on their position held at a distance from the twins and the steward. Yearlan had not the desire in him to see what Erol and Matin would try if the guards approached as the two would not even let their steward out to see what the feral cry had been that had brought the guards running toward them.

  Both solid young males had growled quite threateningly at him, and, even though it was yet unknown the predator that lurked under each of their skins, Yearlan knew now they would both be dangerous. And the manner in which each of those sure little hands had grabbed his clothing with each little commanding voice demanding that he “REMAIN” – well, it was evident that Shelvana and Hondo were going to have their hands very full in a few years.

  A shudder ran through both Yearlan and his Shadow at the all-too-recent memory even though the lechtneu was surprisingly comforted by the uncharacteristic behavior of the twins – it was what the altare expected from a predator family it served loyally, and, thus, simply accepted it. To Shadow, it did not matter that those predators were but four cycles of age: an altare physically matured much faster than its cognate so, in Shadow’s logical assessment, all was as it should be.

  Yearlan shook his head, wishing things were as black-and-white to him as they always seemed to be for his Shadow.

  Yearlan saw both Erol and Matin tense – at least that was the interpretation of the muscles in their calves he had from the ground-level vantage point under the lip of the boulder where the twins had shoved him – as he also heard the sound of approaching splashes from the lake.

  Then, the Somdech’s voice.

  “Bring mamè her robe, Erol,” a gentle yet firm command, “Matin, help Yearlan out.”

  One of the little muscular bodies dropped to hands and knees as the other pair of legs took off. Matin’s bright eyes and handsome little face appeared as he offered a hand toward Yearlan.

  The steward accepted the offer, even though he and Shadow managed most of the extrication on their own – not that it mattered, they were both just very glad to not be lying on the damp ground with a large boulder looming immediately overhead.

  Yearlan brushed himself off as he and Matin walked to where the Somdech stood with Erol. Shelvana finished hooking her robe completely and squatted down to pull the twins tightly to her – a feral yet non-threatening growl escaping her chest as she possessively licked each of them on their cheek nearest her and nipped their ear – a nip that was quite hard if their reaction was any indication. Then she simply pulled their faces into hers and inhaled deeply a few times returning to lightly lick the small drop of blood that had appeared on each ear from her bite.

  The twins responded with whimpers as they hugged their mamè as tightly as they could as Shelvana whispered phrases of approval and pride for her young sons and their actions.

  And Yearlan tried to keep his tears of joy from falling at the show of love and tenderness between the three of them although Shadow was a complete sobbing puddle inside of him.

  But then the Somdech looked up at him with the twins heads still cradled in her neck, and Yearlan knew from her glare that everything here was not love and tenderness.

  At all.

  “We leave immediately, Yearlan,” her eyes glowed and quickly subsided as the twins started to pull away from her – their hug complete, “Only bring the essentials.”

  A cold shiver ran through Yearlan – there had been something or someone out there – as he bowed obediently to his Somdech.

  “Yes, Somdech,” his steward’s brain went into high gear as he reached into the bag at his feet and retrieved Shelvana’s hairbrush and jeweled hair clasp – a gentle smile spreading across his older face, “For your reunion with Prince Hondo.”

  Any other female may have been offended at Yearlan’s gesture, but Shelvana appreciated any and all gestures the steward offered to help her stay grounded in this civilization into which her choice to mate had thrust her. Too many to count were the times that even Hondo had neglected or forgotten to remind her of matters of decorum and correctness but that Yearlan had gently and – treating her more like his own offspring than his Somdech – almost chidingly put her on the proper path or told her the proper words to use or handed her the proper jewelry or clothing to adorn her ears or hair or sash or arm or only the Gods or Makers knew what else!

  Shelvana felt a small smile grace her face as she received the brush and slipped back into normalcy – a normalcy she hoped the guards would note and quickly forget the spectacle she must have been earlier.

  “Thank you, Yearlan.”

  Yearlan simply nodded and quickly gathered the necessities as he again corralled the twins to the vehicle – the complete reversal of their roles not even registering to him or the twins apparently.

  And that was as it should be.

  Shelvana sighed and turned to the familiar set of approaching footsteps from behind her – Unisha’s ebony skin a stark contrast against the pale of the rocks and sand surrounding the lake. Shelvana was relieved to note that they stood eye-to-eye rather than her towering over the guard as she tended to do with most of the other females in Hondo’s service.

  The female guard bowed.

  “The area is clear, Somdech,” she held out a medium-sized drawstring pouch to Shelvana and smiled a friendly, open smile, “This is my change of clothing for after sparring – I have no doubt it will fit you even though the pants may be a little short due to the differences in our torso length.”

  Shelvana cocked her head trying to discern a reason for the offer, but Unisha did not cower or even melt in the stare – she actually let her smile fade gently as she slowly lowered the bag back her side and nodded her head slowly.

  “I meant nothing by the offer, Somdech,” she seemed almost hurt that Shelvana did not respo
nd or maybe she had thought there was a possibility for such a response, but had hoped it would not materialize, “I just see that your robe had been in the mud from your hasty exit earlier. I should not have approached,” she bowed her head in respectful acknowledgement and turned to leave.

  Shelvana growled in threat and Unisha froze in her steps – the female guard dared not move knowing the state in which her Somdech had been less than half an hur ago.

  And now knowing the true identity of that Somdech.

  Testy puta, our Somdech is, yes, sevgilim?

  Unisha ignored her querulous altare, Tempt.

  Because Unisha could sense, even with her Tempt’s colorful observation, that Shelvana was not angry or even annoyed.

  Unbeknownst to Unisha, Shelvana was trying to figure out a situation with which she had not heretofore been presented: the only beings that actually approached her for anything other than matters of state had been Hondo and Yearlan and, as the cycles had progressed, Hondo’s best friend, Kilgar.

  Shelvana walked toward Unisha’s back – sensing nothing of danger or threat from the female guard. The marabilla ran her claws through Unisha’s thick hair – uniquely black highlighted throughout with tinges of the slightest orange – as she breathed deeply of the scent around Unisha’s neck – slowly circling the guard completely. She felt the guard’s altare tense as did the guard, but that was to be expected.

  There was no threat here.

  Unisha raised her chin in open display of submission as Shelvana sniffed curiously at the area connecting her neck to her torso – the marabilla remembered the gift of the green cloth and the help it had provided – she stepped back and, once again, cocked her head in thought. Finally, the Somdech spoke – no animosity in her voice.

  “Your names?”

  Unisha actually breathed for what seemed like the first time since Shelvana had growled at her to halt.

  “I am Unisha, Somdech,” her voice was steady and her eye connection with Shelvana a constant, “And my altare is Tempt, a reticulated hantung.”