Starlight Rapture [Starlight Ecstasy Book 1] Page 6

  "In the hands of someone evil, this knowledge of killing points and stuff ... It's one helluva felinus secret you're giving me."

  "I have many secrets and I might allow you to coax each one from me—slowly, of course, over time. One thousand and one nights."

  "Our nights are going to be very busy then?"

  Laughing, John pulled her into his arms, drawing her down on top of him. He crossed his legs at the back of her thighs.

  "Kuno?"

  "Mnnn?"

  "What is the felinus word for...?

  He raised his brow. “For what, honey-cat?"

  Sam wet her lips with her tongue. “For penis?"

  "The word you seek is feena."

  Sam mouthed the word; soon she'd mouth him properly. “And the word for sex?"

  He laughed. “Honey-cat, now that is complicated! It depends on who is doing it to whom, when, where and their relationship, and which position. We use the human word—fuck—because it's more convenient, especially when dealing with other species."

  "You gotta have a simple, ordinary word for sex."

  John rolled his eyes and growled. “For felinus, sex is neither simple nor ordinary. Haven't I proved that? Or maybe you need reminding?"

  She felt him pressing the tip of a finger into the hollow at the base of her spine. Instead of stars she saw whole constellations spinning before her eyes. and John's voice urging her into a deeper climax.

  * * * *

  Hours later, they ate the meal Golden had brought, but it had little taste to Samantha. The shovan drink and John's feena had spoiled her tastebuds.

  "It smells of sex in here. That's all I can taste,” she said after they had eaten. “I smell felinus."

  "Very good, kitten-mine. You like the scent?"

  "Mmm.” She toyed with the tassel on the cushion. Did she like the scent? If she told him what she felt, wanted ... stars! Tell him that? Nope. She had to keep a few secrets. “Do you think anyone can smell it, or heard us...?"

  John put his hand over hers. “The alcove is screened, Sam. Nothing gets in or out without our permission. I'd like to tease the whole room with your scream because it would turn them inside out."

  "My screams are private. For you only."

  "Thank you.” His gaze searched hers. “Are you tired?"

  "No. That shovan has stimulated me. I won't be able to sit still for days."

  He rested his cheek on his hand, smiling. “Certain it's the drink that's doing that? I've had you five times and I'm not an easy lover to accommodate."

  "I can handle you. And it's six times."

  "You're keeping tally?"

  "I'll put a notch in my belt for every time I've made you scream, Kuno-John."

  "You'll have to make a big belt then, honey-cat. I've got a lot of screaming inside me."

  Samantha laughed and after a moment's hesitation, he joined in.

  John stroked her ankle, running his finger along the inside of her foot. “There's a special entertainment planned for tonight. It's for you."

  "For me?"

  "To welcome you to Rendezvous. Most of the misfits like me, come here."

  "Don't call yourself that."

  "I'm proud of who and what I am. Besides, who wants to be a conformist? It's too much fun being a reprobate. Or do you want me domesticated? A tame kitty?"

  The idea of John both domesticated and tamed made her smile. She pushed herself to her knees and then stood unsteadily. Her legs were wobbly. Too much shovan ... nope, too much sex. John grinned up at her.

  "I'm going to freshen up. Is there a ladies’ room here?"

  "Just follow the servitor. Wait.” He tapped into the dispenser and a few moments later a package arrived. “For you."

  "You're spoiling me,” she said, taking up the parcel.

  "Honey, I haven't begun to spoil you.” He rolled his eyes for emphasis.

  "Another double entendre, Kuno!"

  "Make of it what you will. Hurry back."

  Samantha stepped towards the shimmer-screen.

  "Honey-cat?"

  "Mm?” She turned.

  "You might want to wear this.” He hurled the caftan at her and reflex made her catch it. “I don't want you walking through Rendezvous in your skin. Others will appreciate the sight, but your body is not for the sharing."

  She blushed. “I forgot about clothes."

  John grinned, eyes alight as she dressed.

  Sam followed the servitor to the refresher room. The droid was a copper orb, studded with flashing gems. It cast an amber light onto the ground and Sam followed it through the maze of tables and alcoves.

  Inside the rest room, she spent minutes under the pulsing laser shower, choosing rose of attar as the scent. But when the warm breeze began to waft around her, drying her, all she smelt was sex, John's scent clinging to her.

  Waving aside the dress-servitors, she combed her own hair and fluffed it into its bob. She added a little color to her lips and eyelids and then leaned forward studying her reflection in the mirror.

  A stranger looked back at her: a stranger with dark eyes, a flush to her cheeks, a smile: a woman with secrets, a woman replete. John...

  Then she remembered what he had told her.

  His father was a King.

  Despite that he insisted he was mongrel and of little account in the scheme of things, she had her doubts. Blood royal mated with blood royal. Always.

  What was it John had told her?

  You've never known felinus love. If a felinus finds his or her soul-mate, no matter what, it's a compulsion, a joy, that cannot be denied.

  Remembering his words brought a stab to her heart. She had known him for over eighteen months, but only through the chat room. She had kept her secrets as he had done.

  Secrets that would eventually part them.

  She had no illusions about that.

  One day he must do his duty for himself and his kind—achieve the levels of felinus love with his mate. But his father had mated with a human. Why could she not?

  John hadn't asked her. In all their whispered promises, not once had he told her he loved her. And for Sam, love was everything.

  She had entered this with her eyes wide shut. All she could do now was enjoy the moment, because a future for them would never exist. He was sensualator, felinus and human, an exotic, potent cocktail of genes that would take him, forever, beyond her reach. He would go where she could never follow.

  She turned away from the mirror as her eyes misted with tears. Tearing open the package she shook out the diaphanous garment, and as the light caught the fabric, it gleamed like an opal, muted colors threaded with fiery red and cobalt. For a moment she was too shocked to think.

  This garment was made from quefram, the rarest of fabrics, not often seen outside the shifter homeworld.

  And John had gifted it to her. A king's son bestowing a kingly gift, and she would treasure it forever.

  Sam carefully eased herself into it and pressed each diamante fastener closed. She studied herself again in the mirror and twirled. The robe floated around her like a translucent cloud. She smoothed the fabric over her body, blushing to remember how John had teased and touched her.

  Turning away, she followed the servitor back to the alcove and stepped through the shielding.

  He was reclining on the cushions, frowning his gaze upon some distant memory—he certainly was far away from reality.

  In her absence, John, too, had changed—she smelt the clean man smell combined with his own musk. She cleared her throat.

  He sat upright, a blur of speed. Then, realizing it was her, he relaxed.

  Sam swallowed nervously. She had heard about the felinus and their faster-than-human reflexes. And because of it, some humans were afraid of the felinus, of other shifters; why some had urged licenses and restrictions that had—so far—been over-ruled by the United Planets Equal Rights Tribunal.

  "You're beautiful, Sammi,” he purred.

  "Thankyou, but it's o
nly me in a garment fit for...” Fit for a queen. Not really appropriate for her...

  John's narrowed gaze fastened on her. He went to speak, but thought better of it. He inclined his head. “Sit beside me and have some more shovan. The entertainment is about to begin."

  The lights dimmed and on the raised platform in the center of the room a man, his head bowed, sat cross-legged on a velvet cushion, holding a lyre. His long fingers strummed the strings, commanding instant silence, instant attention.

  A hush fell over the room and he slowly lifted his head.

  He was felinus. Sam could see his eyes—sapphire blue, glowing. His black hair hung past his waist, trailing behind him onto the cushion like a cape. He was shockingly beautiful.

  He glanced her way and smiled, his gaze catching hers, holding her immobile. He smiled again, running his tongue-tip over his lips.

  "Who is he?” she asked, her mouth desert-dry.

  "Harimal, my brother."

  "That's Hari?"

  "Yes."

  Harimal flicked his hair back with a shake of his head and Sam heard the gasps of all the females—and some of the males in the audience. Sam tasted blood on her lip where she had bitten...

  His long fingers stroked the strings of the lyre, sending vibrations to every part of the room. The pulsations matched the rush of blood in her veins, the flush of arousal within her. John's fingers stroked her thigh. His scent coiled in her nostrils.

  Harimal's fingers moved faster over the strings, before suddenly changing tempo.

  She recognized the music from Tosca.

  Then Harimal sang: “And you unknown beauty are crowned with fair hair! Your eyes are blue..."

  Hari's tenor voice was so rich, textured; inhumanly, impossibly beautiful. As he sang he kept his attention upon her, because he sang for her—only for her.

  She returned that look, but it took all her willpower not to drop her gaze, to fight the urge to run and hide.

  Then the song drifted away, he smiled, inclined his head and commenced another tune.

  The words were felinus, but the meaning needed no interpretation: Love. Erotic love. Denial. Sorrow. Loneliness. Finding love. Denial. Sorrow. Consummation. Convergence.

  The tempo changed, now it was languid. Slowly a silver halo grew around him, and in it Sam saw stars and moons and planets. Then comets streaked through the mist, supernovae, a galaxy, a nebula, all orbiting him as if he were the center of the universe—and for that moment he was: all attention in the bar was upon him.

  Within the room, the silence was absolute. She hardly dared to breathe.

  The music altered. It became sensual—something to be felt and tasted and touched, rather than simply heard. Again, the music resonated with the inhuman. Sam's blood thrummed in time with it. Absently, she stroked John's ankle. The halo around Harimal parted and more stars were revealed, glowing amber and green and blue.

  An illusion formed beside him: like a hologram, but so real! Sam saw a man and woman—both felinus—dancing. They were naked, their bodies glowing gold with the starlight ecstasy. They joined, parted, joined, an intimate dance of retreat, chase, confrontation—moving in time with the music and the song.

  Sam swallowed against her tight dry throat. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, blood racing through her body in a heated tide. She wanted that dance, that touch. She clenched her eyelids, struggling for control.

  As the last strum of his fingers over the lyre strings drifted to silence, the image dissipated.

  When Sam opened her eyes she saw that the dais was empty, save for the lyre left lying on the cushion.

  The breath that she had been holding was slowly released. Behind her, she heard John's slow, deep intake of breath.

  "Ah, thank you, honey-cat, for your scent-gift.” John purred behind her.

  "W ... what was that I just saw?” Be calm my quaking heart. Sam put a hand to her chest.

  "That was the felinus love-song, at its basic level,” John whispered. “Only Hari can do it justice.'

  "His voice is to die for."

  "Some humans have. That's why he never performs anywhere but here, and only the digest version.” John smiled. “Felinus can take the full rendition, most humans can't. How you feeling?"

  "You've got your hand up my dress, John-Kuno, do you really need to ask?"

  He smiled and lifted her onto his lap, his cock teasing into her. She angled her body so that he took the first pleasure point in one thrust. Convergence and Ecstasy. She was beyond screaming.

  When she could think again, she found herself lying on John, her body stretched over his length.

  "I told you I make a very soft mattress.” His grin was crooked; his eyes danced mischief.

  "You told him my name was Tosca?"

  "Yes.” His gaze searched her face. “I trust Hari with my life, with everything, Sam."

  "Everything?"

  "It is the felinus way.” He smiled. “Hari knows how we met, that you refused to speak to me alone for months, and only then in the anonymity of a chat-room provided there were no holo-images or other sensory enhancers. Just digital communication with pseudonyms."

  "Kuno and Tosca—what a pair we make.” Sam did not know whether to laugh or cry. “I recognized Hari's voice."

  John lifted a brow. “Explain."

  "When he sang just now, I caught a shadow—I can't explain it any better. I know he was one of the performers at the Starwatch charity opera."

  "It is rare for any human to identify a felinus voice—when they want to remain anonymous you can't distinguish them."

  "And why some of the performers were screened? They were felinus?"

  "Naturally. Starwatch is my special project."

  "Yours?” Sam asked.

  "I'm one of the directors."

  "But—"

  "Sammi you talk too much."

  "I have so many questions."

  "And you want them all answered now? You must learn patience."

  "OK. One last question."

  "Very well, just one."

  "Starwatch hosted the opera from Broome and beamed it around the seven systems. Now I know it was all your doing. After the show, you called in the singers for an on-line chat with members of the audience. I was one of them. Was that a set-up, too?"

  "No. Fate. Karma. Kismet. Destiny.” He winked.

  "I don't believe you. Because I think ... I actually don't know what to think."

  "Good, because I'm through with talking and I'm through with thinking.” He nudged her over onto her back and covered her body with his, planting kisses from her head to her heels.

  * * * *

  Later, the crystal on the table flashed, indicating that someone outside wished to enter. John leaned forward, across Sam, and waved his hand over the sensor.

  The laser-curtain parted and Harimal stepped inside.

  With a gasp of alarm, Sam sat upright, dragging the gown to her body. John reclined, naked against the cushions. He raised a brow at his brother.

  Harimal inclined his head.

  Sam looked from one man to the other, noticing the similarities, the subtle—and not so subtle—differences. Harimal was dressed in a blue caftan to match his eyes.

  With one fluid movement he sat down on the cushions, folding his long legs beneath himself. He poured a glass of shovan and sipped it, his eyes dancing mischief over the rim of his glass as he studied Sam and John.

  "You will introduce me sometime this century, Kuno?” His voice was a purr.

  John sniffed. “Samantha needs no introduction."

  "I prefer the formalities.” Harimal inclined his head, his long hair sliding over the silk of his gown. “Kuno has told me so much about you ... and so little...” He reached out his hand palm up.

  "The felinus greeting, Sam. Palm to palm."

  "I'm sorry. Forgive my ignorance.” She touched her palm to Hari's. His warmth and strength flowed into her as his gaze held her captive. His eyes probed, his felinus senses
delved. His was a testing on all levels and she stood her ground when her every instinct was to run.

  He smiled. “It's about time, Kuno. Now maybe you'll give us some peace. Your temper has been terrible for months. Welcome, Samantha. Or should I call you Tosca? It's good to meet you—finally.” He bent forward and kissed her palm, then licked. He bit the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrist.

  "Harimal!” John's voice was cold.

  Laughing, Hari slid his palm away, a sultry caress.

  "You didn't exaggerate, brother-mine."

  Samantha glanced at John. His face was closed, but his eyes were afire.

  The two brothers were locked in a silent measuring that excluded her. Were they talking mind to mind? She waited many minutes, trying not to fidget.

  "She is no longer Tosca,” John said aloud.

  Harimal inclined his head—he had done it so often, Sam now realized it was probably a felinus gesture. And as with all felinus traits it probably had a myriad of implications.

  "Your music was wonderful,” Sam said.

  Harimal smiled. “Thank you. You should hear John sing—now that is what I call wonderful."

  She turned to John. “You can sing?"

  "He seems to think so."

  "Will you sing for me?"

  "Mmmm."

  "Kuno-maer'shaen."

  While Hari's voice was soft, Sam caught the subtle nuance. Immediately John was sitting upright. The atmosphere in the alcove was thick with tension and cat scents. That was a surprise. She thought scents were exuded only during loving. This perfume around her tasted hard, cold, like metal.

  "I'm sorry, Sammi, we've got business to discuss."

  "You want me to leave?"

  "No, honey-cat.” John gently stroked her neck with his thumb, a gesture to soothe. “Just Hari and I have to talk. Felinus. Forgive us our secrets."

  Samantha shrugged herself into her robe and turned away as Hari and John-Kuno sat facing each other, hands on their knees, heads bowed.

  They spoke at first so she could hear, then gradually the words became disjointed, less and less before silence when they spoke telepathically.