Dara Joy - Matrix 04 (16 page)

Outside, an old woman slowly gathers sticks of firewood from the forest floor. She pauses a moment to lean against
a tree.

This woman has a great gift of healing; however, this task might be beyond her talents. Each day that passes, wounds stitch, but darkness grows.

Although no sound comes from inside the hut, she knows that her strange guest is suffering untold torment. Since the day she found him
- more dead than alive
- he has vocalized only once.

She will never forget that sound; an anguish that will mark her for the rest of her days. The wrenching cry of utter agony that tore from the depths of his soul was the audible stain of torment.

He had been tossed onto a refuse pile behind Lord Karpon's keep with the other used goods and garbage. The guards had left him for dead for good reason. They had been long in finishing him.

He should be dead.

She had never seen a man live with such injuries!

His will to survive was strong. He must be young, just entering his prime...

Mores the pity.

After the one outburst, he remained silent.
Silent as the forest before the storm hits.

Better he screamed out his pain.

Many a day she rode by Karpon's keep
- especially when the storerooms were cleaned out.
Useful things could often be found; if one were willing to risk looking for them.
On that particular day she had found a man who was barely alive; a man who had been tossed out like castle refuse.

She wonders how useful he will ultimately prove to be.

On her last trip to the keep
- while her guest remained in the hut, shuddering on the bed
- she had inadvertently
come across some of the palace guards. Karpon's men were cruel and she always tried to avoid them.

As expected, they taunted her, throwing mud just for their sport; laughing as she tried to quickly turn her cart around.

The
safir
beast who pulled the cart pivoted smartly away at her command but the guards still attempted to knock her from her seat. Thankfully, they only used clumps of mud. In the past, they had thrown stones.

As she fled, she noted that both guards were sporting long streamers of what looked to be
hair.
The strands had been knotted to their waistbands.

The locks were not ordinary hair.

The skeins were like nothing she had ever seen before. Silky, long, luxurious. ..

The color was most unusual, as well.

Her guest had come to her nearly scalped; his head bleeding and raw. In the weeks since he had been in the hut, small tufts of hair had started to grow back. The color was so uniquely beautiful that, even now, with its cropped length, it took her breath away.

There could be no other match for
that
hair.

It was the very same strands that the burly guards wore fastened to their waists as a perverted prize. A token of degradation.

They had taken unnatural delight in his destruction!

She swallows down the bile that rises in her throat as the recent memory surfaces.
It must be Familiar hair!
Nothing is said to be as beautiful.
Could he possibly be..
. ?

Familiars had dual colored eyes. On a few occasions, her guest had tried to open his, but one remained scarred shut.

He probably will never be able to open it.

She wonders if he will ever speak again.
If he can bring himself to speak again.

Each day she asks him his name; yet each day he remains silent.

The odd thing is that in spite of all of his scars and all his wounds, there are still hints of exceptional
comeliness
to him. It is in the elegant shape of his hands. His impressive height. His overall stature. The glimpses of hair regrowth.

The lush shape of his lips.

In time, most of his physical injuries will heal. But will
he
heal?

The wounds that are visible
- horrible though they are
-are not as horrible as the wounds the man received to his soul.

She sighs and wipes the sweat from her brow. Would her forest be enough to heal him? She clutches her healing herbs in a tight grip. The pain of such destruction never lessens!

She knows that first hand.

A tear slips down her weathered cheek.

It pains to see such natural beauty
- rare enough on
all
worlds
- so blithely destroyed.

On a certain level, this old woman can well appreciate
the concept
of Familiar beauty. It depicts a connection to nature's promise that life, ultimately, is a holy, perfect thing. The natural beauty of the Familiar race is intrinsically a gift of the wild.

But like a light-blade, it comes with two edges.

It reminds some of everything they hope life will encompass: the grace, the splendor, the sensual. Yet, to others, it is a blatant declaration of all they will never
have.

Throughout the planets, Familiars were sought after for as many reasons as there were stars in the sky.

And all of these myriad reasons mattered not to these shapeshifters. Steadfastly, they followed paths they alone chose; reminding all
- by their very way of life
- that true resplendence lies not in their appearance, but in the freedom of their souls.

It is a difficult route for any race to maintain in these troubled times, the old woman acknowledges. She prays she can heal this wounded man for only then will he be free in life to make his own choices.

But. . . how do you heal a man from wounds you can not see?

The loss of the Familiar known as Dariq is greatly mourned on the planet M'yan.

He was a well-loved member of the Mist. A youth on his first adventure. He had held much promise.

But there are many victims these days. Victims of slavers and of Karpon.

The King ordered all Familiar home. The King believes Dariq dead.

No Charl has sensed him. No one will be sent to look for him.

There will be no incarnations for this Familiar. No love. No mate.

Still in his youth, he had not had time to make his true mark upon his people.

Sadly, in time, his name and his existence will fade away much like ink on an ancient page. His memory will be
lost inside the complex framework of the life-death struggle all Familiar face.

Nevertheless, the day would come when Dariq's people would surely know his name again.

And the wrath that will come with it.

XX'VX'V'X'X'XX'N'V'VXX'VX'XXX'V'X'V

SPECIAL FEATURES

DELETED SCENES

Soosha's palms slid down her gown.

"My thanks to you for lending me this beautiful gown. It is very rich to the touch." She grinned at him like a cat that has found a particularly comfortable and pleasing coverlet to claim.

The reaction charmed him. "It is yours to keep."

Soosha gasped. "No, I could not!" She bit her lip then peeked up at him. "Could I?"

She was very engaging.

"Yes, you can." Daxan grinned at her, showcasing two dimples.

Of course she wanted the gown. And of course she would end up having it- all the while entrancing him as she got her way.

"Well, if I
must."
Her laugh was the kind that made one want to laugh with her.

Her laughter almost made him
beg
to know her.

He was wearing a sleeveless
white tunic that was belted
snugly at his waist.

His feet were bare.

Most Spoltami men dressed in such a way. It seemed most comfortable. For some reason it reminded Soosha of lazy days spent stretching contentedly in the sun.

His golden skin made the contrast
purr-able.

Daxan Sahain had a quality she had seen in but a few men. She always called it "the warm, stroking touch". When she looked at a man like him, she wanted to go into his arms and feel them come about her. A sultry warmth that would comfort and arouse always went with such a touch.

It was unfortunate for this Spoltam man that female Familiars loved to tease- because Soosha saw no reason to change her behavior.

In fact there might be the thrill of danger in teasing.

Reason enough for her.

When a male challenged her, Soosha considered it an invitation to go ahead and 'try it'. Familiar's often made turnabout decisions; especially at times when others would never act in such a manner. Generally speaking, Familiar behavior was impossible to predict.

In addition to this, they were highly skilled at interpreting their opponents.

It surprised Soosha that this Spoltam male's reactions were so difficult to decipher. He was a worthy match.

Daxan walked out on the balcony.

Leaning on the railing, he scrutinized at the city below. For an instant, Soosha sensed that he viewed the city like a man wanting out. His eyelids were half-closed and there was a dissatisfied look on his face.

As
if he were forced to wait upon a particularly slow-moving prey.

Why would he feel that way about his own people?

Mayhap he did not approve of the Spoltam ways as much as he wanted her to believe?

"All of Aghni is at your feet, my lady Familiar." His tone was droll. "You should come outside and get a better view of it."

"Are you not concerned your neighbors will see a strange woman in your home?"

He gave her a slanted look. The edges of his lips curled. "That would not be such an unusual occurrence," he assured
her.

Soosha arched her brows. At least he was honest. "I see." She joined him on the balcony, standing beside him at
the railing.

Familiar males generally
loved to bite, although, a few
preferred licking.

Some favored both.

In the throes of passion, her mate was partial to sliding his chin against her cheek in a nudge-caress. And he was definitely a biter.

Mastering of the Familiar love bite was considered an art form.

There were countless techniques and styles; all designed for one purpose- to bring forth the highest peaks of pleasure. The ancient skill had few "regal masters".

There were rumors that her brother, Brygar, was one of those elite masters, endowed with a legendary skill for the sensual bite. At least, that is what she had once overheard from a group of gossiping females attending the same festival as her.

But women had always said strange things about her
brother. One had even claimed that he became as addictive as spun honey.

Her brother?

If these women saw his impossible, stubborn male/cat ways, they would think differently!

Yaniff had the Sight.

There were those in the chamber who wondered what level of Sight he had actually attained.