Beyond the Rain (7 page)

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Authors: Jess Granger

BOOK: Beyond the Rain
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Half limping, half hopping on his good leg, he struggled over the ripped soil to the largest hunk of fuselage.
“Vicca!” he called as loudly as he could. A desperate bark echoed inside the ship.
Soren squeezed through a tear in the hull, and blinked in the shadowy darkness of the wrecked ship.
“Vicca, come,” he called.
The fox whined in pain.
Using the sound to guide him, he lifted a large sheet of metal beneath a mangled control panel.
The fox struggled toward him, but one of her front legs was badly broken, the bone pushing through the skin. She collapsed, yowling in pain. Blood stained her fur pink, and her bright eyes looked glassy and distant.
“Easy girl,” he murmured to her, scooping her up out of the wreckage. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”
She whimpered as she struggled to lick his face then settled on licking his bloody hand. Holding her as gingerly as he could, he fought his way out of the wreckage and limped back to the place where he left Cyani.
She remained unconscious.
Feeling his heart drop into his stomach, he placed the fox next to her master.
A shadow rippled over the golden grasses. Soren looked up. Large black birds circled overhead.
What was he going to do?
Stumbling away from Cyani and Vicca, he cried out to the endlther like him. Another Makkolen. The man was another Makkolen.
“Help her, she’s dying,” Soren gasped.
“Who?” he demanded.
“At the ship.”
Pain exploded in his head as a hard blow crashed into the back of his head, and the world turned black once more.
 
 
SOREN WOKE SLOWLY. HIS HEAD SPUN, AND HE COULDN’T MAKE OUT HIS SURROUNDINGS through his blurred vision. He was someplace cool, not dark, but shaded and sheltered. He felt the heavy influence of calm in the room. Every thought came slowly, carefully into his mind. He was not alone.
“Ah, you wake,” a deep voice commented. Soren tried to make out the speaker, but could barely lift his head. “Drink this, as much as you can bear.”
He felt a hand lift his head and cool liquid spill over his parched lips. Soren drank deeply before he could fight the powerful influence enough to be suspicious. The tangy drink unfurled within him. His body began to heat from the inside out. His vision cleared, and much of the pain lifted.
Sitting beside him was a man with a broad, kind face and patient sienna eyes.
“Cyani,” Soren choked out. “What did you do to her?”
“Drink, regain your strength.” The man tipped the bowl again to force Soren to drink. “Your woman is sleeping in the hammock above you. Our animal healer is taking care of your strange dog-cat. She was badly injured. And my son is taking care of the bites on his hands, for he was also injured by your dog-cat.” The man chuckled. “She is very willful, quite difficult to influence, and my son did not approach any of you in the most compassionate manner. He apologizes. This is a place of peace. We will not harm you.”
Soren took the bowl and struggled to his knees. He couldn’t think of anything until he saw Cyani. He pulled himself up to the edge of the hammock from the soft bed of blankets and pillows on the ground beside it.
Cyani slept peacefully with her dark green hair spilling around her bare shoulders. Soren reached out and stroked her hair, then let his hand trail over a dark bruise on her jaw. She sighed, but did not stir.
A translucent sheet of cloth draped haphazardly over her creamy flesh, barely masking her nudity. His gaze swept over each smooth curve of muscle, lingering on the soft rosy shadows of her nipples.
The hair rose on the back of Soren’s neck as the hormones in his blood raged with sudden fire. He turned on the other man in the room, his instincts demanding he drive him from her.
The man stood to an imposing height as the room suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of ease and peace. Soren’s possessive instincts didn’t put up much of a fight against the influence of the telepath. The man within him didn’t want to.
“Easy,” the Makkolen murmured as if he were talking to a feral predator. “We have not harmed your woman, and I have not touched her. Lai,” he called.
A woman stepped into the small room. Tall and regal, her long copper and gold hair fell in waves of fire around her proud, spotted shoulders. She wore a gauzy dress that clung to matronly curves and left little to the imagination. Around her neck hung an intricate web of a necklace composed of tiny carved beads. A bonding necklace, Lakal had described them to him. The necklace was far more beautiful than he had imagined.
T in your debt. What is your name, brother?”
“Soren,” he said, spreading his hands in greeting, then touching his fist to his heart, mouth, then forehead in the way of the Makkolen. His mind was reeling. How was this possible? Unless . . .
He’d continued to feel Lakal’s presence after his friend’s murder. Lakal insisted it wasn’t the end with his dying breath. What force brought Vicca to his dark prison and kept her there? Why had Cyani decided to try to land here? Had Lakal’s spirit guided all of these things?
He shook his head in wonder and disbelief as he looked up at the ceiling. The heavy weight of his guilt for Lakal’s death eased, replaced by the bittersweet longing of missing his friend. He could bear that ache.
“About your woman,” the king mentioned, changing the subject. “Her injuries were severe. You must force her to drink as much of the kiltii water as you can through the night until she wakes.”
“She’s not my woman,” Soren tried to explain, but the king waved a dismissive hand.
“I’ve had purple eyes myself,” he chuckled, leaning forward and kissing his mate on the hair. “My daughter has agreed to stay with her sister for a time so you and your woman who is not your woman may remain in this home until you are well.”
“What role will we play here then?” he asked, trying not to let his suspicion darken his voice. He knew these people had no means of contacting the Union. They were stuck here, for better or worse. Their only
chance for survival rested in the hands of the king.
“We shall see.” The king stood and motioned to clothing left on a bench near the door. “These are for you. Bear them with honor and strength. You are welcome here as one of my family.” The king pushed the heavy cloth hanging over the door aside and stepped out into the burning sunlight beyond. The queen followed, leaving him alone with Cyani.
He turned to her and brushed his hand over her silky hair.
She was all he had left. He’d care for her until she was well, then they’d do what they’d always done—find a way to survive.
Gratitude mixed with his fear as he dipped a small bowl into a squat, carved vessel filled with the kiltii water. Easing down on the hammock next to Cyani, he surveyed the contents of a large wooden platter laden with roasted meat, fruit, and crumbling flat bread. The hammock swayed with his added weight, rocking them gently.
He cradled her head in the cup of his hand so he could tip water past her full lips. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus with the violet spreading through his blood. He could feel it, the bright fire. His heart raced as he tried to fight back the beast it stirred within him.
The water dribbled over Cyani’s lips as she remained limp and still.
There was nothing hard or cold about her now. He held his breath as he let his gaze wander over her body. The sheet had fallen away from one of her soft breasts. He stared, unable to stop himself. The violet rush of arousal coursed through his blood. His head throbbed with it while his muscles felt loose and tight at the same time. Great glory, his fascination consumed him. Like an addict, he couldn’t stop staring at her. Before he was taken, he had lived alone in his new garden. The only women he’d ever seen were his younger sister and his mother, and he’d never seen a woman nched the thatched grass roof above her swing back and forth as she pulled herself up again. She was in a hammock? Where were they? What happened?
Soren leapt up from the corner of the small red-clay hut. He dropped a plank of food and scooped up Vicca.
“Vicca!”
Oh, thank the glorious Matriarchs she’s alive.
Cyani grasped for her scout, her relief pounding in her aching heart. A hard clay cast wrapped around Vicca’s front leg, but she was alive. How could Cyani ever make it without her? With furious energy, her fox licked her nose. Cyani buried her face in her little girl’s fur, so desperately grateful that she had survived.
“Careful of her hip,” Soren cautioned as Vicca curled up on her chest and purred so loudly, Cyani could feel the vibration of it in her toes. “We were all soundly beaten in the crash, but she’s healing fast.”
“What happened? Where are we?” She fought to remember, but the last thing she could recall was coming in hard for a landing on the wastelands of Makko. How did she end up clean, sheltered, and—oh merciful Creator, she was naked.
She clutched at the thin sheet wrapped around her bare flesh and tried to sit up in the hammock without losing her only protection from Soren’s smoldering blue violet eyes.
Soren rose slowly. She barely recognized him. The thick streaks of color in his hair gleamed in the warm light seeping through a small window. The front had been twisted and intricately braided to hold his hair from his face. No longer covered with filth, his golden skin glowed, his stripes rippling over powerful muscles beneath a woven red vest. His scabs and wounds from the shackles and bands had disappeared, leaving pale pink scars in their wake.
Her eyes followed the smooth muscles of his abdomen down to the waistline of a loose leather kilt slung low around his lean hips. It fell to just above his knees. A bandage wrapped around one strong calf, but it didn’t seem to hurt him as he pulled a stool carved into the shape of some sort of ape to the edge of the hammock. He sat next to her, placing the tray of food on his lap.
“How are you feeling?” his low voice rumbled. It sent a shiver down her spine as an uneasy tingling raced over her skin. He tenderly placed his palm on her forehead then slid it back over her hair.
“I . . . uh,” she stuttered, sinking back down into the hammock. He was potent before. Now he was beautiful, beautiful and dangerous as the Xalen tiger he reminded her of. “I feel fine.”
No, she wasn’t fine. Keeping her distance from him had been hard enough when he had reminded her of a wounded soldier. Now he looked like some pagan god. She felt her control slipping away, like sand between her fingers.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
“The energy converter exploded, but I managed to steer the stingship to Makko. We crashed in the middle of nowhere.”
“Not exactly.” Soren smiled as green sparkled in his dark eyes. “As it turned out, we landed near this village. Lakal was from this planet. The tribe has welcomed us here as their guests.”
Cyani adjusted her ear set. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she couldn’t find her eyepiece. She needed it. It was a small barrier, but a barrier all the same. “You speak their language?”
“Yes. You must be hungry. The plant they use to heal works miraculously fast, but it stimulates the body into using massive energy and resources. I’ve done nothing bher When injured, she had to tend her own wounds. The reverent way he met her needs made her feel so humble, and no longer alone.
He chuckled as he turned his glowing gaze back to her. It had dimmed, but not by much. “I don’t think the Makkolen have a word for
undergarments
.”
“How are we going to get out of here?” she asked, her head still reeling. At least the iridescent colors had faded from the room. She looked around the small, comfortable space. A rumpled bed of furs and pillows rested on the floor. Soren must have slept there. The thought comforted her. He had respected her space while she was unconscious.
Near the bed, a lush vine grew up and into the red-clay wall by the door. It bloomed with white star-shaped flowers, very similar to the ciera vines tattooed on her arms and legs. Several tendrils of the vine grew up toward the roof on one side, but on the other reached down toward Soren’s bed. On that side, the blossoms coated the vine, bursting from every centimeter of the dark foliage.
“We’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re completely healed,” he said as he brought her a bowl full of water. He picked a couple of blossoms and dropped them onto the surface before handing her the bowl. “Drink this,” he insisted. “This vine has extraordinary healing properties. You’ll feel hot and hungry, but the last of those bruises should fade away.” He reached out and touched her jaw with the tips of his fingers then let his hand drop.
Cyani drank the cool, flavorful water. The more she drank, the more she craved, as wave after wave of soothing heat rushed through her body. She felt stronger, her head clearer, but ravenously hungry again. Choosing a round yellow fruit from the plank of food, she took a hasty bite straight through the rind. As she choked on her mistake, she pulled the rind out through her teeth.
“What was the condition of the ship?” she mumbled with her mouth full. Her com didn’t have enough power to transmit to the nearby base, but if the power supply to the central communication system was still intact, she might be able to send a distress code. If that failed, perhaps she could integrate her com signal into a beacon, but she wasn’t sure if that signal was strong enough to reach the Union forces either.

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