15 Targeted (65 page)

Nothing to say and now, nothing to do. No way to serve the female he loved, even by his death.

She’s gone,
he thought bleakly.
Gone beyond my reach and I cannot even sacrifice myself for her. I do not even have an honorable reason to end my own miserable existence.

Closing his eyes, he saw her lovely face twisted with sorrow, her eyes glowing gold with pain.

“
Fight for me!”
she’s said.
“Why don’t you fight for me?”

The memory stirred something in his brain—something under all the guilt and self-recrimination.
Fight for me…
It made him wonder. Hadn’t his old Master once told them of a law…? But no—what good would it do to even think of such a thing? Emily was with the male she deserved…and one who truly deserved her. He would never see her again.

Tragar studied the energy knife in his hand again and thumbed on the blue, humming blade. Maybe he didn’t need an honorable reason to take his own life after all…

Suddenly the indicator light to the viewscreen started blinking urgently. Tragar almost decided to ignore it but then it occurred to him that the call might have to do with Emily in some way. What if she was ill or hurt or in danger? He doubted very much anyone at the Temple would contact him in such a case but he supposed there was an outside chance…

He hit the button and the viewscreen sprang to life revealing the face of the very male he had been thinking about moments before.

“Master!” Tragar looked at him in surprise.

“Tragar.” Xen’dex’s eyes dropped to the glowing blue energy knife in Tragar’s hand. “What are you doing? Where is your
Khalla?”

“She is not my
Khalla
any more—she never was.” Tragar tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but could not. “She has been given to another—not that it is very surprising considering my past.”

“Yes, your past.” Xen’dex was frowning. “What of it?”

“What do you mean, what of it? You know what I am. You know what I have done.”

“And I know why you did it.” His old Master nodded. “You had a terrible tragedy, my student, but you cannot allow it to define you.”

“It already has.” Tragar contemplated the knife again. “There is no point in pretending otherwise.” He started to raise the blade.

“No!” Xen’dex’s voice was a roar. “No—you cannot do this, Tragar! Not now when the Goddess has given you a second chance.”

“What do you know of the Goddess?” Tragar growled, lowering the knife.

“I know she still loves you, despite the fact that you turned your back on her. I know she grieves for your pain and loss as deeply as you do yourself.”

“Then why did she let it happen in the first place?” Tragar demanded. “Why did she take Landra and Jalex away from me?”

Xen’dex shook his head. “I do not know. We live in a broken universe, my student. It is not perfect and the Goddess cannot always keep us from loss and harm and sorrow. But she still loves us and grieves with us. And there are some things that are beyond our understanding—things we will not know the reason for until after we have passed from this life to the next and we stand in her glory.”

“I am contemplating such a passing right now,” Tragar admitted. “Emily is with another—a chosen mate who truly deserves her. There is no reason for me to continue.”

“And is she happy?” Xen’dex’s sharp gaze bored into him. “Is she truly happy being given to this other male?”

“Well…” Tragar frowned. “No. No, but he is a fine, upstanding male and he deserves her.”

“More than you? More than the male who rescued her from certain death?” Xen’dex demanded. “If you had not found her, she would be passing through the stages of
Tenrah
alone and unaided—doomed to die because she had no male of her own kind to breed her once her
Kit’tara
comes forth.”

“To
breed
her…” Tragar’s jaw clenched and his teeth ground together as he imagined Emily being taken by some other male. No matter how worthy this Daro might be, the thought of his hands and mouth on Emily’s body made Tragar want to kill the son-of-a-bitch.

“You don’t like the idea of another male breeding her…guiding her through the mating lust, do you?” Xen’dex’s eyes flashed. “Nor should you. The Goddess gave Emily into
your
hands and that is where she needs to stay all the way through her
Tenrah
and beyond.”

“How can you say that? Why would the Goddess trust me with one of her most precious females when I failed to protect the ones she gave me to love before?” Tragar demanded.

“Tragar…” Xen’dex sighed. “My student, you cannot keep blaming yourself for their deaths. You did all that you could to protect them and afterwards, you avenged them. It was a terrible tragedy but it’s time to let go of the past and look to the future—your future with Emily.”

“She is out of my hands now,” Tragar said dully. “It wasn’t just my past the High Priestess objected to. She also saw the truth—that I spanked Emily to keep her
Kit’tara
in line and that I…” He cleared his throat. “I sucked her peaks and drew the nectar from them.”

“I told you that might be necessary,” Xen’dex remarked.

“Yes, but you told me not to swallow any of it. I…” Tragar sighed. “I swallowed every drop. I couldn’t bear not to. It was so sweet…and I could not dishonor her by expelling it from my mouth.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” his old Master said sympathetically. “Didn’t I tell you that in the past chosen mates always partook of their
Khalla’s
nectar?”

“We are not in the distant past—we are in the present and my actions were
not
approved of by the High Priestess, Mother Chundra. In fact, she called me a blasphemer and had me driven from the Temple.”

“Then you must go back,” Xen’dex directed. “Has the Bonding Ceremony taken place yet?”

“No.” Tragar shook his head. “I believe it’s scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Good. There is still a way you may win your
Khalla’s
hand—a very old law that even the High Priestess and Mouth of the Goddess cannot circumvent. Listen carefully, Tragar…”

* * * * *

“…visit the Deep Blue sometimes. My people would love to meet you,” Lit’aal was saying as she walked side by side with Daro in the flowering, ornamental garden. It was, as she had promised, filled with exotic herbs and flowers. Their mingled fragrances were heavy and rich—a melody of alien scents in the deepening twilight.

“I am certain that would be fascinating,” Daro murmured, his eyes shining as he looked down at the little priestess. “I have always wanted to go into the Deep Blue.”

Emily allowed herself to drop further and further along behind the pair until she was almost in another part of the garden. She didn’t worry about them noticing her quiet defection—it was clear to her that Lit’aal and Daro were completely infatuated. They had eyes only for each other which meant she had a chance to find exactly what she needed.

“
You can tell the flower by the fact that it’s all black—root and stem, petal and piston—as black as night without another color in sight,”
whispered Grandy See-er’s voice in her head. It sounded so real that Emily could almost believe the old woman was standing right over her shoulder, telling her what to do. For a moment she seemed to see her—hunched over a fire in the dark hovel she’d called her home, feeding pieces of long brownish-blonde hair—Emily’s hair—into a strange, green fire.
“Take it, child, so you must,”
she was whispering.
“Drink deeply of the Black Milk and all your trials will be over forever.”

Emily shook her head and the vision faded. Could it be that Grandy See-er was really whispering to her, from so many light years away? But no—surely not. She pushed the ridiculous thought to the back of her mind. The Black Milk was all her own idea. It was the only thing that could halt her
Tenrah
in its tracks—permanently.

“
What if it doesn’t just stop the Tenrah…what if it stops us?”
whispered the voice of the
other
in her head.
“What if it
kills
us?”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Emily muttered fiercely. If she could find that damn plant that was…

“Well,
Khalla-to-be,
it has been a lovely walk. Should we be getting back to the Temple?”

Emily’s head jerked up and she realized that Lit’aal and Daro had turned and were looking at her. Just then, she saw what she needed—a thick stalk of pure black with a silky black bloom growing from it was just by the little priestess’s foot.

“Well, sure—I guess,” she said casually, going to meet them. “Don’t come back—I’ll come to you. I haven’t seen that part of the garden yet.”

“Of course, my
Khalla.
We will wait for you.” Daro nodded his head respectfully.

“No, go ahead.” Emily made a shooing gesture. “You two go on to the gate—I’m right behind you.”

“As my
Khalla
wishes,” Lit’aal said. Turning back to Daro, she said something else and the two of them moved slowly towards the elaborately wrought metal gate at the far end of the garden.

Emily took the opportunity to get to the stalk of the Bitter Sorrow plant and then she leaned over for a moment, as though smelling a flower next to it. As casually as she could, she broke off the thick stem and hid it in the flowing white robe of her sleeve.

A pungent smell that reminded her of some kind of industrial cleaner immediately assaulted her nose. Emily nearly choked.
Ugh—what a horrible stink!
She just hoped the fabric of her robe would mute it somewhat. Looking down, she saw that an inky black stain was growing on the white fabric. Hastily, she hid it with her other hand.

“
The Black Milk,”
whispered the voice of Grandy See-er in her head.
“The Black Milk, it is the only way.”

“Yes,” whispered Emily, hurrying to catch up with the other two. “Yes, the only way.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“Hurry, my
Khalla—
you don’t want to be late for your own bonding ceremony.”

“No, I certainly don’t. Just a minute, I’m almost ready.” Emily looked in the viewer, taking stock of herself one final time. Her hair was put up in a curly updo that Lit’aal had worked all morning on and she was wearing the traditional bonding robes of a
Khalla
which looked kind of like a deep red kimono with golden patterns embroidered all over it. There was a gauzy white slip that went under it which Lit’aal told her was meant to be torn open by her bonded mate before they began the breeding cycle, whatever the Hell
that
was. Emily didn’t know and didn’t care and she wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.

She had other plans.

Carefully, she checked that the stalk of Bitter Sorrow was still concealed in her long red sleeve. She’d almost taken it last night, as soon as she got back from the garden. In fact, she had stood right here, in front of the mirror and lifted the thick, pungent stalk to her mouth, ready to drink the inky liquid that dripped from it like oil.