Shadow Dancer

SHADOW DANCER

Stephanie Burke

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex, mild violence).

Shadow Dancer Stephanie Burke This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © October 2006 by Stephanie Burke All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-237-0 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editors: Irene Williams and Karen W. Williams Cover Artist: P. L. Nunn

Prologue

Zactch awoke lying comfortably on his back in a small grass hut. Outside were the sounds of birds and the leaves blowing in the wind, and of children laughing. He tried to force his eyes open, but the throbbing in his head ensured that he didn’t want to open them too quickly. So he lay there and took a mental inventory of his body. His arms felt fine, if a bit sore. His back was actually feeling better than usual, and he decided that had something to do with the semi-hard surface he was lying on. His head was pounding, but that was to be expected after a blow to the head. His stomach was amazingly not upset, just empty. And there was light flowing across his face -- warm, bright sunlight that made the world behind his eyelids a warm, glowing orange. He inhaled and smelled nothing but the scent of fresh air and some smoke from a fire. There were faint traces of what smelled like cooking meat, but he was not too sure. His lips were dry, and he automatically licked at them, trying to find moisture where there was almost none.

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Okay, he decided. Time to open my eyes. His first peek at his new world made him slam his eyes shut, and he groaned as the bright light seemed to attack his brain. His eyes watered, and he turned his head to the side. He would look again, as soon as the fire in his brain settled. After a few seconds of waiting, he cautiously opened his eyes again and gasped. Not only was he staring up at a ceiling of tangled leaves, but there was someone there. Zactch’s mouth opened up and his heart tried to leap from his chest. There, standing over him, he saw ... his destiny.

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Chapter One

Zactch groaned, the sound of his own voice making him wince as he closed his eyes tightly. No, he hadn’t seen what he thought he had -- those deep, dark eyes and a glimpse of a face that was far too beautiful for any mere mortal to possess. He was going insane. But he had to be sure. The comforting warmth and familiarity he felt when he stared into that face ... He had to be sure. Bracing himself for the pain the bright light would bring, he forced his eyes open and searched for that exquisite creature again. But when his eyes finally focused on the spot where he was sure his destiny lay, he discovered that he was alone. He blinked again, as if trying to force that vision of loveliness back, trying to make what he had obviously imagined real, but when he looked again, he discovered he was alone. Again. He was always alone.

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Sighing, he slumped back into the soft stuff he was lying on -- fur, he decided from the soft feel of it on his neck -- and tried to recall the last thing he’d experienced before waking up here.

He was by the tent, and that bitch of a naturalist had just finished torturing -- she called it experimenting, but he called it torture -- that female cat-person. He had been so angry that he went back and promised to help her escape. Later, as he walked along the timberline, trying to stop himself from inventing new ways of destroying the madwoman’s expedition, he’d heard a sound behind him and then ... nothing. Everything else after that was a complete blank, and he didn’t like it one little bit. “Where am I?” he asked himself, as he struggled to force down fears both imagined and real, the sound of his own voice calming him a bit. He was used to talking to himself, after all. Most of his contact with humans had been with either doctors or scientists, and they had only been interested in how the latest round of drugs and surgeries affected his body. He’d learned at a young age that talking to himself was sometimes the only way to prevent insanity from taking over. It was a habit he kept to this day, and again, the softly spoken words lent some comfort to the man stuck in this odd situation. “Who has taken me and why?” But there were no answers. He silently went over the list of medications he was supposed to take every morning, the physical exercise that he should be doing to his legs, the many different ways someone might torture him for information about his many businesses or for money, the fact that his bladder was filled to bursting ... Well, maybe it was best not to contemplate that, but there were a million things he could be doing while lying here and waiting to see what would happen next. But he found himself unable to do anything.

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So, he lay there and watched as the shadows grew long, watched as the day slowly began to ebb away, and wondered what had happened to that poor female. He hoped that she had gotten away. He hated to see people suffer.

***** “The male is awake.” Gwire met He-o and Fayline outside of the hut they had prepared for the human. “And how is he?” Fayline asked, the healer in her coming to the forefront as she faced the quiet male. She had been there when the male of the Others was brought in, insensible and totally limp in Gwire’s arms. His scent had been so fragile, so weak, so filled with sickness, that Fayline had to fight to keep her energies under control. Her magic wanted to heal that male, but her common sense told her to wait. Now that he was awake, she wanted to learn more about the male, his sickness, his personality, in order to aid him in healing. She looked over at the male, her ears up and curious as she awaited his answer. “He is awake,” Gwire said again, feeling uncomfortable under the steady gaze of this mated couple.

They smelled like sex. He wrinkled his nose at the scent and tried to concentrate on what they were saying. He was not used to being around such happiness. Their scent was odd to him, and he didn’t understand the feeling it created, an almost queasy feeling. “Has he spoken?” Fayline asked, one of her delicate hands pressed against her chest, almost over her heart. “Has he requested anything? The drugs and the bola flowers didn’t hurt him?”

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“I have no idea,” Gwire answered, looking around for a way to escape. Thoughts of the weak, sickly male created another uneasy feeling in his stomach. Hell, everything about this situation made him uneasy. Maybe it was because he was the one who had suggested they take him, or maybe it was because of the Others and the cruelty they were capable of, or maybe it was fear that his was not the best plan, that his idea would bring the wrath of the Others down on the pride. Either way, he wanted to get back into the field, to continue to spy on the Others and help his pride the way that he had been taught, the way that all Shadow Dancers were taught since They had come. “Don’t disappear on us, Gwire,” He-o softly commanded, no doubt seeing his desire to flee, Gwire imagined. “Kobaye will be ... occupied for a few days, and I am sure he will want your input.” Sighing, Gwire nodded once and turned away, going back to his seldom-used hut to escape the bright daylight and the people -- his people -- who now seemed so odd to him. “Thank you, Gwire,” He-o called to the back of the retreating male. “Because of what you have done, our people stand a chance of surviving this invasion.” “Thanks are not necessary, Alpha.” Gwire turned to face his Alpha, his face as blank as it ever was. “I am doing my duty as a member of Pride Talon and as one of the few remaining Shadow Dancers.” “Understood.” He-o added, “But all the same, you have the thanks of both the Alpha Prime and myself.” Nodding, Gwire turned again, pausing for a moment to assimilate the warm feelings that flashed through his heart. Since when did a simple show of appreciation mean so much to him? He was growing weak, he decided to himself, as he made his way to his hut buried in the trees near the edge of the pride. He needed to be back in the field where he could retrain these feelings, confusing and unusual, out of his system.

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Until then, he would spend his time in meditation, cleansing his soul and shoring up his shields that kept his emotions at bay. An emotional spy was a dead spy, and Gwire knew he had years to go before he started training replacements, if ever. There seemed to be no longer a need for his kind. More likely, it was time for him to start to prepare for the final ritual, though that was still some time off. One could never slack when it came to that duty. But as he made his way into the shadows of his hut, a final thought flashed through his mind -- the memory of the blue eyes of the male he had captured. His eyes were of the deepest blue, like the sky after a storm. They were such pretty eyes.

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Chapter Two

Zactch opened his eyes again when he heard the creaking of the thatch door that blocked his freedom from this straw prison -- not that he could leave it, anyway. Since his awakening, he had been just lying there, contemplating life and wondering what this new odd turn of events would lead to. Zactch was used to having his life take unexpected turns. Hell, he was used to rapid change of situation and environment. It had started when he was lying safe and secure in his bed one night, and awakened the next morning in some type of medical facility, his doctors staring lustfully at his medical charts, his parents nowhere in sight. Since then, he had grown used to being shuffled around, shipped from place to place, and heavens forbid it happen again, misplaced. He remembered spending two days in a storage facility without food or water when the shipping number on his reclining bed was misplaced. He had started talking to himself while lying there, alone in the dark, with nothing but the eerie sounds of the muffled outside world for company. He recalled awakening in total darkness and thinking the meds they had given him before shipping him to the research facility had made him blind.

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Even though the thought of being blind terrified him, he had warily accepted it, along with so many other things that had happened to him during the previous years. He knew two days had passed because when the doctors finally found him, they’d discovered that they were two days behind schedule and that his recovery would take another three days at least, due to the degree of his dehydration. Not to mention the feces and urine that he’d been forced to lie in, which had irritated the already inflamed bedsores, causing infection to set in. It was one of the lower points of his life, but not the lowest, he recalled with a sigh. The lowest had been when a well-meaning doctor had decided to give him a welldeserved natal-day present. He had presented the then sixteen-year-old Zactch with his very own specially purchased female sex-dealer. The young woman in question took one look at his too-thin body, the scars that riddled his skin, and the look of total shock on his skinny, gangly face and promptly threw up in a corner. After she had recovered, she’d tried to pretend that nothing was wrong and assured the stricken young man that she was used to dealing with all sorts of cripples. Getting it up then would have been next to impossible, even if Zactch had been inclined towards females. She’d given up after a third failed attempt to get him erect by mouth. She’d closed her eyes and held her breath, as if the touch of his diseased body would infect her in some way. The sex-dealer had been paid, and Zactch was left with a burning determination to never be put in that position again. Never again would he be the object of disgust or ridicule. He would find his own way in the world, with or without the help of those damned doctors who’d used him like a living experiment. He’d demanded answers for his questions and had begun research of his own.

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His neural stimulator had given new hope to millions of bedridden patients everywhere, giving them a sense of dignity and respect, even if the process was never quite perfected for him. Millions of people were walking, thanks to his work, few, if any, having to rely on some type of apparatus ... while the Creator still needed a damn metal exoskeleton to even move upright. He didn’t know if his life was clever irony at its best or if it was the world’s worst joke. But his thoughts shifted once more as a sound had him turning towards the thatch doors. There, surrounded by a nimbus of light, stood a figure. It looked like an Earthian angel for a moment as it stood there in a backdrop of gold that totally obscured its face. Then it was moving towards him, slowly, as if frightened by what it saw or too timid to approach. As it stepped further inside the hut, Zactch could make out small, delicate facial features and a feminine form. Like an aura, the long gold-and-silver hair framed a body wrapped in what appeared to be leather. Then she dropped to her knees beside him, and the mystery came to an end. He was very familiar with the female from all of the imaging and photographs the Naturalist had been all too happy to show him when she’d started this crazy hunt of hers. It was the Queen’s missing female.

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Chapter Three

“Um, hello.” He spoke softly, as if afraid to spook her. “I would rise to my feet to properly greet you, but I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage.” She just blinked huge gold eyes at him, and Zactch sighed heavily. “I am not even sure that you can understand me.” He ran his hands across his face, once again disgusted by his own lack of bodily functions. He couldn’t even sit up to see what was really going on without some sort of support, so he lay there on his back, trying to talk to a strange female. “I understand,” Fayline whispered, her empathetic heart burning to try and heal this man. “Are you ... well?” “Hmm.” Zactch grinned. “At least I know that the other female wasn’t a coincidence.” “Coincidence?” Fayline cautiously crawled closer to the man of the Others. He was so unlike the Others that she had come across, and he fascinated her. “She spoke, as well,” he explained, running his hands over his hair, hoping that it was in some semblance of order. “We are not animals!” Fayline hissed, sitting back suddenly as if his words delivered a great insult to her.

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“I didn’t say you were,” Zactch was quick to explain. “I only thought that there might be a language barrier.” Fayline tilted her head to the side as she mentally examined the man’s words. He was using words she understood, but using them in a descriptive way. Language barrier, spoken words, and a wall. She tilted her head to the side as she pictured that. You can’t get over a

wall ... Oh! Unable to understand the spoken word! “You speak funny,” she informed him, her ears tilting forward a bit, but a small smile was on her lips. “But I understand you.” “Well, for that, I am glad.” He grinned. “So ... now can you tell me where I am?” “You are safe.” “That still doesn’t tell me where I am,” he insisted. “Or why I was brought here.” “We will explain.” Fayline smiled. “But for now, would you care for some food?” “I would care for information, but food is more than welcome.” And a container to

relieve my bladder, he thought to himself. After being in so many adverse situations, Zactch had learned to endure any situation and accept any kindness that was offered. Fayline looked at the male again, her mind categorizing all that ailed him. The list was extensive. His lungs were damaged, his limbs all but useless. His spine had all sorts of ... foreign things embedded in it, all putting out a weird type of energy that seemed to counteract the energy signals in his muscles. And even worse, his body was slowly failing. “What?” Zactch asked, aware of the female’s close scrutiny. “Not all what you were looking for in a man? Not appealing, I know.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “But I assure you, my mind is quite sound.” “As is your spirit,” Fayline agreed. “Your soul seems hale and hearty.” “Comes from a good diet ...” Zactch looked at her pointedly and Fayline smiled.

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“Diet, yes. Food. I shall return with your required meal ... man of the Others.” “Man of the Others ...” Zactch raised an eyebrow at the odd name. “Is that how your people really see mine?” “Well, you are something like males, but your behavior is so odd.” “Odd?” Zactch looked around his prison cell. “Odd, you say?” “Well, your behavior is almost like pride,” she explained, totally missing his sarcastic gesture. “You talk and you wear skins and you seem to bond to one another, but you kill needlessly.” Fayline sighed as her mind carried her back to the place of her youth, the pain and the destruction she’d witnessed firsthand. “You kill when you do not need to eat or protect. You are only to kill when you are hungry or in danger. But your people, they came in great numbers, killing everything in sight.” She ran an agitated hand through her hair, her gold stripes slowly starting to emerge against her pale skin. “You kill and you take, when all you need to do is ask, and most would gladly share. You have this magic technology that you use, and you pay no heed to the magic in life around you. You are something like our males, but when you compare the two, you are like wild, savage creatures.” Zactch didn’t know what to say to that. After all, for most of his life he’d been treated like an inhuman specimen, so how could he defend the people who had dehumanized him? “Yeah,” he breathed, nodding his head in agreement. “My people do seem quite animalistic.” “Mad animals, like they have brain fever ...” Fayline added. “Yes, mad animals ...”

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“And they are vindictive! Even a mad animal, after being run off, stays away!” “And vindictive,” Zactch agreed. “And evil!” Fayline shivered, remembering the sight of her slaughtered family, the bodies of the Ligers strewn across the scorched forest floor. “Okay,” Zactch snapped, drawing Fayline from her memories and back to the present. “Okay, my people are inhuman, evil monsters.” He paused, breathing heavily after his outburst. “Yet you haven’t killed me yet for being a mad dog.” “Dog?” “For a man with brain fever! You are the ones who took me and brought me here, and I still am waiting to learn why.” He stared pointedly at the female as she blushed a deep shade of pink. “I beg forgiveness,” she finally pulled herself in enough control to say. “It was not my intent to lay the whole of your people’s problems on your frail shoulders.” “Frail.” Zactch rolled his eyes as he snorted at her description. Again, Fayline flushed in embarrassment. “Is that not a correct word?” “No tact.” Zactch sighed as he let his head flop back onto the fur-covered mat. “Frail man of the Others, are you not well?” she asked at his strange reaction. “Zactch.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hoping for patience and for temper control. “Call me Zactch. That is my name and less insulting than ‘frail human.’” “But that is what you are ...” “And I do so love being reminded of my deficiencies,” he snapped, finally losing a bit of his legendary cool. “Leave me with some pride, feline female.” Pride, Fayline understood. And now she realized that she had angered the man by her descriptions of him.

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“Again, I beg forgiveness.” She smiled in his face as she offered him what atonement she could. “My name is Fayline. I am a healer.” “Good.” Zactch groaned as a throbbing began behind his eyes. “Can you get me some herbs or something for a really bad pain in my head?” He didn’t expect her reactions, but nevertheless gasped as she began to glow. He twitched, wide-eyed, unable to move as a golden light flowed from her body to strike him in the middle of his forehead. “It tingles,” he heard his shocked voice comment. But after so many years of ongoing experiments when he was expected to give feedback no matter the pain involved, it was almost like second nature. But within seconds of muttering his statement, the pain vanished. “Um ...” “Tingles?” Fayline giggled. “I have never asked before. That is good to know ... tingles.” She rose to her feet and turned to exit the hut. “I shall return with food for you, Zactch, male of the Others.” Before he could respond, she was gone, leaving behind a healing tingle and a bemused Zactch. “Zactch,” he called out. “Just Zactch.” But his headache was gone! And his people had tried to annihilate these beings who had the amazing ability to heal headaches? His people truly were mad! Zactch was curious, the scientist in him itching to ask questions and gather data ... but first he had to find some way of walking around ... and to make them talk. If this healing could be used for more than minor aches and pains ... the applications were astronomical, if they agreed to help.

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“We are animals,” Zactch breathed, thinking of all the healers who were probably dead now. Such a deep loss, such a blow to humankind -- all of it was sobering. “We are animals, mad animals.” He sighed, as he lay on his back in a strange hut, and contemplated loss.

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Chapter Four

Gwire walked by the borders of his people’s land, seeking solace. His guilt weighed heavily on his soul, and he knew that there was something different about the male of the Others that he had brought back. There was a certain kindness in his eyes and a gentleness in his manner that he was not used to seeing in the males of his tribe. Then again, he rarely spent time among his own people, so he could be mistaken -- but he doubted it. After hearing so many stories about the Others and the horrendous things that they had done, he’d really expected something different, something more warrior-like and aggressive, despite the weak, pitiful body. But he had watched as the man offered comfort to Tarza, the arrogant female, something that was unexpectedly kind. This man was truly different, an enigma that fascinated him. But that fascination could be dangerous. It was not in his make-up to feel anything! He was by nature and design a cautious observer.

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He was a spy, he had sacrificed everything for his people, and all compassion should have been trained out of him. His training was failing him, he decided. Snorting softly, Gwire stopped his rambling walk and searched for a sunny spot suitable for meditation. Meditation was key to his existence and something he had always found solace in. Meditation helped balance him out, settle his emotions, and ease the oddness he felt when among his people. It eased the loneliness. In recent years, he had never felt as alone as he did now. Where his brethren had gone, he hadn’t a clue, and having no one around to understand him ... “Best not dwell on it,” he said to himself, as he settled in the usual posture of meditation -- his legs crossed, his tail around his waist, his ears up and alert. He deepened his breathing until he could enter into a state where he could ignore everything around him yet remain aware. Once he reached this point, he bent over at the waist, touching his forehead to the ground, his arms wide at his side, inviting in the universe, becoming one with it. But he still could not shake the guilt that followed him. If the man of the Others had been violent and hurtful, he would have felt no remorse in bringing him to his village and educating him -- forcing him to see that his people were not animals and deserved to be left alone. Instead, the man he’d retrieved seemed to already know that. It was like teaching the already taught. But this man seemed to hold power, and they needed someone with alpha tendencies. Gwire growled in frustration as his contemplative state melted in the face of the chaos going through his mind.

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Maybe his time was near? Could he perform the ceremony ...? No. He sighed as he tried to force his mind into calm. Now was not the time. He still had duties to his people. But when his obligations were met, maybe it would be time. And one of those obligations was seeing to the weak male whom he had brought into this war. After he returned the male to his people, then maybe ... That settled for now, Gwire decided to go and see to the male, just to ensure that he was safe and unafraid. He uncurled his body and rolled to his feet, a lithe, dark shadow even in the bright sunlight. With his tail wrapped around his waist, he walked away, melding into the shadows as it was second nature to him, not even leaving a bent blade of grass in his wake.

***** “That male is strange.” Those were the first words out of Fayline’s mouth as she walked over to her mate near the cook fire. “How so?” He-o asked, alert to any distress in his mate. It was unlike Fayline to come right out and comment on such things without using their mental bond. “He seems trainable.” “Trainable?” “Yes, my mate. Trainable. He has intelligence that I wouldn’t expect of one of the Others.”

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“Gwire chose well.” He-o nodded, a contemplative look on his face. “But his body is ... it’s ... failing.” It was the closest Fayline could come to describing the wasting sickness that was slowly stealing the man’s mobility and his very life. “It is wrong, my mate,” she said sadly. “My energy wants to heal him.” That made He-o pause. Fayline had never reported wanting to heal one of the Others, and in the past skirmishes they’d had, she’d had more than ample opportunity. “You want to heal him?” “That is what I said, mate.” Fayline rolled her eyes as she took her seat beside He-o and pouted. “My energies want to heal him. There is something odd about him.” “How?” He-o was extremely curious about his mate’s impressions of the male of the Others. He would gather all the information he could so that he could report back to Kobaye when he was over his heat rut. Besides, he valued his mate’s opinion. After all, she was the one who had spent the most time around the Others, and she had more insight than their most trusted spy. “Well ...” She ran her hand across her eyes. “There are things in his body. Things that have energy, yet are not helping him. His muscles are not getting the energy to move, and it seems it has always been that way. His mind is sharp, my mate, and he is wise, but his heart and lungs ... He is dying, my mate. He is dying, and I believe he knows it.” “Poor male,” He-o breathed, a shaft of compassion going through his heart. He could not contemplate what it must be like knowing that you were dying and that nothing you did could change that fact. As a man of Pride Talon, it was deep within him to want to live! The desire to survive almost outweighed everything in his world! But to know that you were going to die ...

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“Can you help him?” He-o asked. Unnecessary death was to be avoided. It was in his nature to see to it that everyone who fell under his protection lived and thrived, even that strange man of the Others that they had brought into their tribe. “He cannot walk, He-o,” Fayline continued. “He needs to be able to move around, and there is nothing there that can help his limbs to move!” “Can you heal him?” “And his spine is wrong, He-o! It is weak and twisted. He will never attain his full measure of height and stature!”

Fayline! He-o resorted to mind-speak to snap his mate out of whatever funk she had descended into. Fayline! Can you heal him? “I—I don’t know!” Then she too began to use the mind-speak. I don’t want him to die,

He-o. I don’t know why, but there is something special about that male! And I don’t know if I can heal him. But he had an ache in his head, and I eased that. When I did, I had to fight to rein in the energies, my mate. They wanted to heal his whole being, but I don’t know if I will do more harm than good. “You are compassionate, my mate.” He-o wrapped his arms around Fayline and pulled her into a hard hug. “You are almost too good for this earth, but just perfect for me.” Fayline smiled at the pretty compliment her mate paid her. No matter how many times she heard that she was attractive or beautiful, it never meant a thing to her unless those words were uttered by her mate. He had proven that he loved her time and time again. “Is there anything the male requires?” He-o asked as he pulled away after delivering a small kiss to the tip of her cool nose. “Food,” Fayline remembered. “He requires food and may have the need to empty his bladder. But he is so weak, my mate. He will need assistance.”

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“Very well.” He-o rose to his feet. “You bring some toasted tubers and fruit, and we will feed our captive before we seek to show him our way of life.” Fayline nodded as her mate rose to his feet and went to the male of the Others. “There is still something about him,” Fayline breathed, eyes worried as she watched her mate disappear towards the Other’s hut. “Something I feel that will change all of us.” Then she shook her head, mentally chastising herself for her fanciful thoughts and moved to prepare the required food.

***** How odd, He-o thought to himself as he made his way to the hut where they had stashed the man of the Others. Odd that my mate would react so to the male, showing

concern about his well-being. Hoping to get to the bottom of that mystery, He-o determinedly made his way towards the man, and hopefully some answers. As he walked through his village, watching as the women and men went about their daily activities, he vowed to do whatever her could to ensure the way of life his people had come to know. He rounded a corner and paused as he saw Gwire moving towards the hut. He also watched as his people shied away from the compact dark male. He sighed as he thought about their Shadow Dancer. Gwire had been acting odd recently -- well, more odd than usual for the quiet male. As an alpha of Pride Talon, He-o understood the role of the Shadow Dancer in their society, but he could never begin to understand what it was like to live so apart while still a member of the whole.

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People told horror stories about Shadow Dancers; mothers told tales to force their children to behave, and the mystique of the society had always been a source of speculation for his people. And now that the closed society had all but disappeared, he was aware that Gwire was more than alone and that his level of mystery had increased. Absently, He-o wondered if there were any more Shadow Dancers, or if Gwire was the last of his breed. He found it sad that no one would be left to carry on the traditions and beliefs of the group of people that had saved their lives more than once. But his ears lifted as he felt curiosity fill him. Where was Gwire going? Was he going to the male of the Others? Odd. Even odder was the fact that Gwire paused outside the door of the hut, as if gathering his courage, before he politely scratched at the door then made his way inside. He-o shrugged, knowing that his curiosity would soon be appeased and quickly followed the dark male.

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Chapter Five

Zactch turned his head towards the door as he heard a faint scratching sound. He wondered if the female had come back, but blinked in shock as he stared at a dark face and a pair of black eyes that looked solemnly at him. Blue eyes met black, and for a moment, silence reigned. “I believe I remember you.” Zactch finally broke the silence. “I mean, I think I remember your eyes.” The male said nothing, causing Zactch to raise one eyebrow. “You are the one who brought me here, are you not?” Silence. “Well, you could have at least brought my walking frame. It leaves me at a disadvantage to lie around here all day, not being able to move around or even go and relieve my bladder. Accidents are unforgivable on the host’s furniture.” Zactch was feeling a bit uncomfortable by more than his full bladder. Why was this strange male staring at him, and even more importantly, why had he been brought here at all? “You ... you are different.”

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Zactch raised his eyebrow again at the softly spoken words. For a moment, he looked around to see if anyone had sneaked in and uttered the words, but it was just the two of them in the hut. “Yes.” Zactch sighed, used to what he called the jock reaction. The jock reaction usually involved one of two things -- pity or bullying. With these people and the way they had behaved so far, he expected pity. “My legs don’t work and my spine is twisted. I would say that makes me different.” There was some bite to his words, as if he could already feel the pity rolling off of the male. He hated being pitied! It diminished everything he had worked so hard to accomplish. “No,” the male continued as he tilted his head to the side, examining Zactch, his eyes never straying to the wasted body beneath the furs. “The body is inconsequential. It is only a shell that will house the spirit of the male. It is your spirit that is different.” Zactch felt his eyes widen as he took in the male’s words. He was amazed that the male never even looked at his body before making that pronouncement, and absolutely mystified that he stared straight into his eyes as he spoke. Not too many were able to look him in the face without displaying some version of the jock syndrome. “My spirit?” Zactch was intrigued. “You can see my spirit?” Gwire rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I have been accused of a lot of things, but I have never been gifted with the energy to see a person’s spirit and pronounce judgment. I mean that you do not behave as the Others that I have observed.” Again he tilted his head to the side, examining him. “So, I am a curiosity.” Okay, maybe the jock response was wrong. It was turning into the scientific reaction that he so often had sought to avoid. He sighed, resigned to his fate as the male continued to stare at him.

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“Curiosity?” the male asked as he seemed to mentally replay their conversation. “No, I only meant to comment that you were not like those I have observed in the past. You are more ... open?” He struggled to organize his thoughts. Zactch got the notion that the dark male didn’t speak much and that Zactch should feel privileged that the male chose to share his words with him. Before the male could comment, there was another discreet scratch and the hut door opened again. “He-o,” the dark male whispered without turning around, proving that he knew the other male was there before he’d even opened the door. “Gwire,” the taller of the two acknowledged. Zactch took this time to examine the pair of males, wondering which was the norm for this race of people. The one named Gwire seemed small, compact, and wiry. If he had to describe him in his people’s terms, he would have to say that Gwire had the build of an ancient martial artist. His lithe, powerful frame was wrapped in hard, tight muscle that showed a flexibility he was sure the other striped male lacked. Then again, there were the stripes. The one called He-o’s left hemisphere was covered in the things. They started at his face and ended at his feet, while the shorter male was a dark color overall, like rich, black, newly turned earth. It was an odd contrast, yet they both seemed to be people of the same species, complete with tails and fangs. “He-o.” Gwire nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Checking up on our guest?” He-o inquired, respectful yet dominant. “It is my fault that he is here,” Gwire reminded him, before turning to leave.

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“And I am still waiting to find out why,” Zactch interjected, losing patience with his observations and wanting to get his bladder emptied, his stomach filled, and some answers to pressing questions, like why he was there! The one named Gwire took that moment to slip soundlessly out the door while the one named He-o turned to face him. “I apologize,” he began, giving a slight bow, a major concession, Zactch deduced. “I am He-o. Welcome to Pride Talon.” “While I wasn’t given a chance to turn down your gracious hospitality, I thank you for the welcome and for the conveniences that you have allotted me.” He had to hold in a laugh as the male tilted his head to the side and stared at him, confusion written plainly on his face. “Okay, you speak standard, but you have issues with idiom.” “Idiom?” He-o asked, wrinkling his eyebrows. “My people’s way of using descriptive words.” He-o nodded, then began to break down the words the male of the Others had used. “Ah! You never had a chance to refuse because he took you, and you thank us for what we have given you, and for possibly not killing you.” “That was, um, direct,” Zactch acknowledged, grinning at the male, who grinned back in return. “Indeed.” He-o nodded. “Our way, the direct way, takes fewer words and still displays the annoyance that you feel.” Zactch exploded in laughter and then groaned as he gripped his belly. “Um, if it is not too much trouble, is there anyway I can ...” He blushed a bit as he tried to make his needs known.

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“You need to relieve your bladder,” He-o said in understanding. “Forgive me for taking so long to come to you. It seems that your people are like my people in that respect.” “Glad to hear it.” Zactch snorted, trying to put anatomical similarities aside for the moment. “But ...” “And still I prattle. My mate says I speak too much.” Then he crossed the floor, reached down, and slipped his hands under Zactch’s slim body. Before Zactch could voice a protest, he was easily lifted and cradled against a massive chest. Zactch felt a blush fill his face as the male -- He-o -- turned and carried him, fur and all, out of the hut. Zactch blinked as the sunlight burned his eyes. He blinked back reflexive tears and tried to adjust his vision to the sudden light. As the world slowly came into focus, Zactch suddenly forgot about his embarrassment and his aching bladder. Right before his eyes was a vision that the Naturist would give her left arm to see. There were cat people, living, working, breathing, existing -- proof positive that they were not mimicking the invaders who’d landed on this planet! Women sang to children as they taught them to sew tanned hides. Others were organizing a cooking area while men brought in a steady supply of fresh game. People were making weapons and showing others to do the same. Some sat in groups, scratching what looked like some type of numerical system in the dirt, while others added their opinions on the matter. This was a living, breathing village! To him, it was the most extraordinary proof that these people were not animals. To them, it was just life as normal.

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“There are so many of you,” he breathed as he watched a few children race through the village, laughing and playing as their elders looked on indulgently. “Not so very many,” He-o growled, anger tingeing his voice. “Not anymore.” “What happened to ...?” Zactch broke off as he realized what had happened. These people were being hunted into extinction. “I am so sorry,” he said, sadness settling in his heart. “Did you use your magical energy weapons to kill my kind?” He-o asked, shuddering as his muscles relaxed and the anger disappeared from his voice. “Did you slaughter my kin? Were you the one to give the orders to come here and bring death?” “Of course not!” Zactch’s voice was indignant as he thought of all the senseless destruction that had befallen these people. “Then why are you apologizing, male of the Others? You were not the instrument of our destruction, but you may be the tool for our salvation.”

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Chapter Six

Zactch sighed as he settled himself back onto the mound of furs in what he was beginning to call his hut. It had been embarrassing enough being taken to a latrine, but to have the male He-o use his scientifically impossible magical stripes to hold him up while he relieved himself was mind-blowing and nerve-wracking. He had not wanted the other male to see his body; not that he was ashamed of it -- he knew what he looked like -- but it was a matter of male pride to be able to pee standing up. As if reading his thoughts, the male had closed his eyes, and suddenly, black ribbons materialized around him, ribbons that felt weightless and like nothing that he had ever experienced, but carried body heat. Those odd black ribbons had lifted Zactch into a standing position. Then the male had turned his back, allowing Zactch the freedom of handling his own cock as he relieved his bladder. Though the embarrassment factor had been cut in half, it was still a bit of a shock to hear the male comment as Zactch tucked himself back into his sleep pants, “I do not know why you are hiding such an endowment. You should be strutting proud.”

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So, Zactch was well endowed, very well endowed, in fact, if the medical books were correct. It was another joke Nature had played on him -- a wasted body and the dick of death. The flush was still bright on his cheeks as He-o tucked him neatly back into his bed for his promised meal. “My mate is bringing tubers and fruits to break your nightly fast. She should be here soon.” Then the male -- no, He-o -- closed his eyes and seemed to have a mental conversation with himself. Then he smiled as the door opened and the same grinning, pale female entered. “My mate, Fayline,” He-o introduced. “Fayline, this is ...” He paused as he tilted his head, as if thinking. “I believe I never asked for your name, male of the Others.” He finished, looking a bit sheepish and kittenish at the same time, odd for such a big and powerful male. For if Gwire was a martial artist, He-o was a battle-trained warrior. His muscles bulged as he moved, showing off impressive musculature that even the heartiest athlete would be hard-pressed to copy. His eyes were deep and expressive, and his ears -- that was still an amusing shock -- twisted and flattened with his emotions. His tail was another indicator of his emotions, either swaying behind him or tucked securely around his waist. These were a fascinating people! “Zactch,” he responded, grinning at He-o’s actions in spite of himself. By no means did he take the big male for anything less than a powerful and possibly dangerous being. But his reactions were so catlike! It was amazing! “My name is Zactch.” “What an odd name,” He-o murmured, then shrugged as if the naming of the male was none of his concern. “My mate has brought food. Enjoy, and then we will try to give you the answers you seek.”

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Fayline, the pale female, smiled shyly as she walked over and helped Zactch to sit up, mounding the furs behind his back to give him more support. “How is the pain in your head?” she asked in her soft, hesitant voice. Now that the anger that seemed to fill her earlier was gone, Zactch was faced with quite a pretty female. No wonder the Queen prized her so. “Gone, healer,” he responded with a grin. “Never have I had pain disappear so quickly.” “Good,” she said, placing a plate in his lap before stepping back to stand with her mate. “Please enjoy what I have brought.” He-o nodded and Zactch examined the plate. There were several sliced starchy-looking vegetables that had been grilled, as well as a few peeled purple fruits he had come to appreciate while on this planet. Inhaling deeply, he dug in, using his fingers as there were no utensils given to him. “Delicious,” he managed around a mouthful of food, then smiled at the shocked look on He-o’s face. “What? If you were trying to kill me, I would be dead already. Since you have shown me nothing but kindness, I feel I have nothing to fear. Besides, my instincts tell me that I’m safe.” With that he took another bite of the tuber that tasted like, of all things, sweet potatoes. He-o nodded, not finding fault with the male’s reasoning. “You have a quick and decisive mind,” he offered as he settled near the male’s wasted legs. “To make up for the awful body.” Zactch sighed, but continued eating. No one here offered platitudes, and Zactch felt that he was comfortable with that, with them, more comfortable, in fact, than with his own people. “Balance.” He-o nodded. “We understand balance. Balance between nature and yourself, between your mate and yourself. When balance is disturbed, then chaos reigns.”

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Zactch cocked his eyebrow at that bit of philosophy and decided that these people had their own religious beliefs as well. Definitely not animals. “Must not upset balance,” he agreed. “In your form, chaos reigns,” Fayline stated and grinned as Zactch paused in his eating. “There are things that don’t belong in your body. Your mind is great, yet your body needs to ... to grow.” From a healer’s point of view, Fayline was perfectly correct. There was a major imbalance in his physical make-up. But it was fascinating to hear it from the point of view of a whole new group of people. Zactch had given up on any illusions he might have had about his own body a long time ago. Discussing it in general, like this, didn’t bother him ... much. “I would say heal,” Zactch offered instead. “But at this point, I have accepted the inevitable.” Wishing to change the subject, he placed his plate aside and wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt, a serious look filling his eyes. “Okay, now that the captive has been fed, will you explain to me how I came to be a captive?” He-o smiled at the male -- Zactch, he reminded himself -- and nodded in agreement. “You were brought here so that we can teach you to tell the Others what I believe you already know.” He arched one eyebrow and waited to see if Zactch had figured it out. Zactch stared at the large, striped male, then at the pale female, as a million ideas zinged through his head. Revenge was a good guess, but unless these people were particularly taken with torture, there was no way they would take care of him, feed him, attempt to respect his pride in all matters that involved his wasted body, and then kill him.

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And they didn’t want to torture him for answers about the Naturalist and her movements, unless again, good food and interesting conversation was considered torture by these people. They might want to learn from him, study him for the weaknesses and the strengths in those they considered an enemy ... but they hadn’t put him through his paces, as it were. Of course, they might want to tell him off and then send orders back to his people ... Of course! “You want me to take back a message.” He grinned at the nod from the alpha male. “You appear to me a male of great importance.” He-o nodded to him. “Therefore, you are in the proper position to inform those of your kind who would do us harm that we are not animals, that we are people, different from what they are used to, but we are people.” Zactch felt torn. On one hand, this was exactly what he’d always wanted, a chance to prove that these beings were intelligent, sentient, and possessed their very own society, not mimicked from anything his people had brought with them. But ... on the other hand, they had kidnapped him -- an act of desperation, but taken him against his will, they had. Morality versus ego, a centuries-old issue, right versus wrong, and all before he’d had coffee. “What makes you think that they would listen to me?” he finally asked. “What makes you think I have any influence over them?” “We observed you,” He-o answered. “We? You have a spy?” “Spy? I only know the meaning of the word from watching your people. We were Shadow Dancers, the watchers,” He-o admitted. “But one of our own kept watch and was to bring us back a person he felt we could reason with.”

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“Gwire.” Zactch nodded. “Well, his early morning visit makes sense now.” “You will not be harmed,” Fayline was quick to assure him, her eyes earnest as she stared at him. “I know,” he said. “You healed me of my headache ...” An idea blossomed in his mind. “Okay, you people are big on balance?” “Balance is a way of life,” He-o assured him. “Well, then, where is the balance in you taking me against my will?” He-o and Fayline looked at each other before turning to stare at Zactch again, confusion and the beginnings of horror growing on their feline faces. But before they could lose themselves in guilt, Zactch spoke again. “I propose a way to balance things.” “I -- I am listening,” He-o muttered resignedly, wincing, his ears drooping as the repercussion of their rash decision dawned on him. “I propose we have a free exchange of information.” “Exchange ... trade?” He-o perked up a bit, his ears twitching in curiosity. “Yes. You teach me about your people, specifically about your healing, and I will eagerly take back any messages you want.” “Healing ...” Fayline looked a bit concerned, but she turned to face her mate. That she had an opinion to express was painfully clear, yet no words passed her lips.

He wants to learn about healing. Do you think he is dangerous? she wanted to know. I don’t believe so, He-o answered. And I do believe this would balance things a little, my mate. So I try to heal him? No, he just asked you to teach him about healing. Let’s not give away all of our secrets.

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“What do you want to know?” Fayline asked, a small smile on her lips at her mate’s nod. “Where do I begin?” Zactch asked with a grin. “There is so much that I want to learn, so much I can use to help others.”

His eyes lit up at the thought of the many applications their healing ability could have! “Um, does it only work on headaches?” “First,” He-o decided, “you must talk to our people, listen to our stories, learn our way of life. Then we will honor our part of the agreement.” “And how do I know you will honor your word?” Zactch peered closely at He-o, wondering what he would say to his words. “You are not dead as of yet.” He-o arched one eyebrow, as if daring the male to say something else to besmirch the honor of his people. “Point,” Zactch conceded. “When does the tour start, and will there be refreshments served?” He-o and Fayline stared at each other in consternation before He-o sent to his mate I

wonder if all of the important Others behave like they are ... are ...? Jungle mad? Fayline responded, and they both chuckled. “I don’t know how,” Zactch wrinkled up his nose, “but I know you both are talking about me.”

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Chapter Seven

“You need coverings,” Fayline exclaimed as she barged into the hut, arms filled with leather garments and thongs. “You would not be protected in what you wear.” Zactch looked down at his sleep pants and shirt and had to agree. The thin silk would offer no protection from the elements or from the vines and trees that seemed to thrive in this place. That, and while in the company of so many robust men, he really would like to cover the shriveled waste of his legs, he was honest enough to admit. “You brought my clothes?” he asked, amazed. “You brought my possessions?” “No,” Fayline answered as she sat beside him on his bed of furs. “I brought you some of our people’s clothing.” Zactch’s eyes opened wide as he recalled exactly what these men wore. There was no way he would find himself in the loincloth and tight leggings that these people delighted in showing off their forms. “I can’t!” he stammered. “There is no way ...” “Be easy,” Fayline assured him. “They had to teach me to wear clothing when I first came. Many thought that I was lazy or mad after so much exposure to the Others. That’s

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what we call your people, the Others. But He-o and Kobaye and Jihi all helped me learn, and now they don’t think me so odd and useless anymore.” “That is a wonderful story, Fayline,” Zactch began, thinking that his own reasons for rejecting the clothing were vastly different from hers. They called his people the Others, he thought, realizing that they accepted that they were like them ... but different. “But still, I must refuse.” “Because they are not of a design by the Others?” Fire was back in her eyes as her ears flattened in anger. Her body began to vibrate as she glared at him. “No, no, no!” he was quick to refute, holding his hands out, palms up, to show that his hands were empty, and that he was not threatening her or had a hidden agenda. “But ...” He closed his eyes as he tried to think of a way to express himself without sounding vain or prideful. “You see ... I don’t believe that the clothing will ... fit ...?” he finished lamely, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He looked down at his still legs and sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. Again, for the billionth time, he wished that his legs were normal, but then quickly pushed that unobtainable dream aside. Dwelling on that would make him negative and bitter, and he had to think positively for what lay ahead. “Fit?” Fayline stared at Zactch, her anger melting into confusion as she tried to read his body language. There was more to being a healer than tossing energy at people. Some people couldn’t explain the hurt or isolate the pain to give the healer a proper description of it. So she had been studying under the herbal healers about how to read the unspoken language. And from the almost panicked desperation and sad acceptance coming off of Zactch, she easily deduced that his legs were the problem. She looked at the limbs; they looked so small even under the thickness of the furs, and she realized that he would not like his deformity shown to others.

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Zactch was proving to be a very private man, almost like another she had recently made the acquaintance of. Still, he needed clothing to explore this new world, and she had to think of something for his protection and his comfort. “Ah,” she decided at last. “I know what will ... fit.” Fayline turned and raced out of the room, heading towards her hut and the leather clothing that lay neatly packed away in baskets and wooden chests for the colder rainy season. She quickly dug through the pile until she found a pair of her mate’s long leggings. But she didn’t stop there. She also dug around until she found one of the skirts that she had yet to complete. It was just a long cream-colored piece of tanned leather, waiting to be cut into the shape she desired. Gathering together the leather garments into a neat ball, she raced back to Zactch’s hut. “Now, we have to get you clean,” she announced, a smile on her face even though he winced. “Lovely,” he drawled sarcastically, which Fayline ignored. “I will bring water with which to wash, and I will assist.” “Well, at least she’s a healer,” Zactch mumbled, cringing slightly at the thought of anyone seeing him unclothed. It was something that just didn’t happen anymore. He never undressed in front of anybody! He hated exposing his body, his one major failure, to anyone. But he knew he had to clean himself, had to at least try the clothing to honor the agreement he’d made with He-o. Resigned, his hands went to the buttons of his sleep shirt.

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Fayline grinned and again raced out of the hut, only to return in a few moments with a bowl of steaming water and a handful of roots. “What are those?” he asked, pausing in removing his clothing to stare at the things she had brought him. “Soapfu root,” Fayline explained as she crushed one of the small, delicate yellow roots in her hands. “It cleans the skin and smells like a male, not a female.” She chuckled. “Smells like a male, huh? Sense of smell that keen?” He finally got up the nerve and began to pull the shirt over his head. “Yes,” she returned, a grin on her face. “And you smell like the Others. We need to fix that.” “And how do the Others smell?” he asked, finally exposing his upper body. As if to make up for his lack of leg strength, his upper body was impressive by contrast, to say the least. The muscles of his biceps and pecs were almost overdeveloped on his thin body to compensate for the weakness of his lower body. The flesh was tight and firm, his abs cobblestoned with firm muscles, his shoulders large and rounded. It was an upper body suited more for a warrior than a scientist, but then the muscles had to be developed for him to operate his metal exoskeleton sufficiently. Zactch was rather proud of his upper body; it was the lower body that he had issues with. But for now, he would wash the upper and try to convince her to leave so he could clean his lower extremities. “I’ll help,” Fayline announced as she approached him, the bowl of water in one hand, as she gripped the roots with the other. “It smells like something we call lavender,” he commented, wincing at the flowery, feminine scent.

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But when she moved behind him and touched the root to his back, suddenly the smell began to alter. “It will adjust until it fits you,” Fayline explained. “It is a male root, and if you were of Pride Talon, it would help your mate find you.” Zactch rolled his eyes at that. Like anyone would want the waste that was his body, but then he sighed as the warmth crept beneath the surface of his skin and began to relax him, the scent covering him, changing until it smelled like a light musk. After a moment, he reminded her that he could wash himself, so she handed him another soapfu root, which had the texture of a loofa. He began to wash his front, noting that the root removed dead skin, softening his skin as it cleansed. “You have good muscles,” Fayline commented as she finished washing the tight plane of his back. “You are very strong.” Zactch snorted as he also completed running the root over his chest, under his arms, and down his stomach. “I can do the rest by myself.” There was a band of steel in his voice. He was determined not to let anyone else see his legs. “But ...” “By myself,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes at the mass beneath the furs. “I have been doing this by myself since I was a child. I know how to clean myself.” “You don’t have anything that I have yet to see,” Fayline insisted. She wanted to help in any way she could, and the need to heal, the energies to do so, were flowing towards the surface. “Let me help.” “There is nothing that you or anyone on the face of the seven earths can do to help,” he fairly growled as he turned his head as far as he could to stare at her. “Leave me to clean myself.” Fayline’s need to help warred with her need to obey an alpha.

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An alpha? The soapfu root had changed Zactch’s scent, making him smell more like one of her people, but for it to have changed enough to make his scent like an alpha ...? Finally, seeing how agitated and tense he was becoming, Fayline nodded in agreement. “I will leave you, then, and seek out my mate and his plans for the day. Then I will return to assist you in dressing, if I may?” she asked, sounding a bit formal and curious, awaiting his reply. “Look, I’m sorry if I snapped.” He sighed, noting the stiffness in her voice. “But this is something that is mine, my burden, my body to maintain.” A small smile graced her lips as she moved around to face him. “Just like any injured male, warring with his pride and his common sense,” she archly informed him, giggling at the look on his face when he absorbed her words. “I shall return.” Then she bounced out of the hut, leaving an amused and surprisingly buoyant Zactch in her wake. He waited a moment, to ensure that she would not return for some reason or another, and then he began the almost painful task of uncovering his lower body.

***** Although Gwire had left the hut containing the male of the Others, he hadn’t gone far. In fact, his curiosity so drove him that he secluded himself in a dark corner and watched. He observed the comings and goings in the hut, and that Fayline had entered and soon left, leaving the weak male of the Others alone and vulnerable. So now not only did Gwire watch the hut, he also stood guard.

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That male, Zactch, he’d heard him call himself, seemed to have a sharp mind and good observational skills. But the wasting smell that came from the male, and the definite understanding that his time was short, appealed to Gwire. It was something that he could relate to. But it was also this weakness of the body that left the male more vulnerable than any other person there. That was unacceptable. It was because of Gwire’s desperate plan that the male had been brought here, so it was Gwire’s responsibility to see to it that the male was protected. He watched as everything became silent in the hut ... and the scents emanating from the male subtly began to change. It piqued Gwire’s interest to note that the soapfu root that the healer had chosen to gift the male with reacted to his body as if he were one of the pride. Intrigued, Gwire moved closer, ears alert to anything around him, eyes intent on the hut, strange new feelings making themselves known in the pit of his stomach. So intent was he on the hut that he didn’t notice He-o walking up until the alpha’s scent began to clash with the scent of the Other. Gwire turned to track his alpha and relaxed when the male only seemed to be passing by, organizing a tour for the male ... for Zactch. Relieved that his lapse of attentiveness hadn’t been noted, he again turned his attention to the hut and to the faint mumblings he could now make out.

***** “I hate this,” Zactch mumbled as he tossed the covering to the side and bared his sleep pants-covered legs to his view.

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“It is utter nonsense to be able to feel every little pebble underneath them and still not be able to get them to move!” Never before had he been made so aware of his failings as when surrounded by a bunch of fit, robust men. “I was born under a dark cloud,” he muttered as he shifted his weight to one hand and used the other to begin to ease the pants over his hips. It was a practiced move, one he’d learned with one of his many therapists in an effort to make his life more normal. “Stupid weakness.” He glowered as the pants came down and he rotated to the other side, repeating the inching motion until the pants rested around his thighs. He looked down to see his cock, in its usual flaccid state, and again wondered at the waste of having so much endowment when he would never use it!

It, like it was a separate being from his body. It, like he considered his legs, because they had never been of any use to him, either. Still grumbling under his breath, he eased the pants down below his knees, not even flinching at the pale, scarred landscape that made up his legs. He was used to the sight, and it barely had the power to depress him any longer. He used his hands to lift the knee of one leg upwards so that he could ease the pants fully down to his ankle. He repeated the procedure with the other side, flinching slightly as the cool air encircled his body. He was not used to that, the feeling of being naked in the open. He tried to keep his legs covered at all times, not wanting unnecessary scrutiny applied to his wasting body. For the most part, he’d succeeded, learning to care for himself with the aid of others and using his metal exoskeleton to its fullest potential. But sometimes, like right now, he had to get by on just his own strength and ingenuity.

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After settling his limbs once again, he reached for the roots and the water and began to cleanse his legs, starting with his thighs. The warm water and exfoliating root felt good on his legs, and he carefully washed each thigh, beginning to actually enjoy the feeling of the water drying on his body. He began to hum under his breath, a low, soothing, tuneless melody that calmed his nerves and seemed to make his work go faster. Bend the knee, he thought to himself, wash the knee, look for any sores or dry spots brought on by long-term use of the exoskeleton. Stretch the knee, massage the thigh, repeat with the other leg. It was a systematic movement that he had perfected over the years, quick, efficient, and thorough. As he washed, he noticed how the root seemed to soften some of the more pronounced scarring on his thighs, before he dropped the root back into the water and bent low to begin cleansing everything below the knees. It was here that the scarring became worse, for it was on the calf muscles that the doctors had begun their research when his body first began failing. There were pale, raised keloid scars where tissue had been removed, and circular, concave gashes where many an electrode or electrical musculature stimulator had been placed. There were also quite a few burn marks from when they added too much electricity or when his skin had not been prepared correctly for the treatments. There were countless surgical suture scars from where failed attempts to get his muscles to react initially had left their mark. And then there were the plain, worn-out spots from constant pressure against the exoskeleton frame that allowed him free movement. He finished cleansing the second leg and sat up to observe the wasted, pale plane of his body.

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Noting that nothing seemed seriously changed, he shifted to lift a limb high enough to ease the pants from around his ankles and off his body. But here, he miscalculated. “Shit!” he gasped and proved that he did not have the ability to break the laws of gravity as he flopped over onto his side, his bare ass facing the door, his legs tangled around themselves as their weight pulled him off of the sleeping mat. “Just what I need!” he growled. He turned to straighten his tangled legs into some semblance of order so that he could right himself and get on with the day’s humiliations. But then he heard rushing feet and cursed his very existence, even as a bright blush began to make his face glow red. “Are you in need of ...? Oh, my great Creator!”

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Chapter Eight

Zactch recognized that voice! It was the quiet, velvet tones of the shorter dark male, Gwire. He groaned again, wishing he could hide his face -- better yet, his bare, skinny ass -but the fates had never held any mercy for him. “I rolled,” he began, hoping to get out the situation with as little embarrassment to either one of them as possible. “I believe ... I can see ... Do you wish my help?” Gwire had exploded into the room when he’d heard the almost pained exclamation from the male. He had raced in, expecting to find that a poisonous animal had invaded or that a member of the Pride had harmed Zactch. But what he’d found made his insides shake with both amusement and that unknown feeling, yet again. All he could see of the male Zactch, was his small, pale, tailless ass! “If you don’t mind,” Zactch drawled, embarrassment painfully apparent in his tone of voice and in his altered scent. “I could use a hand.” Gwire, more familiar with the Others and their descriptive language because of his spying, never even hesitated.

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In three strides, he was at the male’s side, gripping him by his powerful arms and shoulders, and rolling him onto his back. Gwire observed how the male’s legs just flopped, the joints unbending, the muscles small and unmoving. Hiding his shock at the pale, wasted, scarred things being used for legs, Gwire quickly shifted them into a seemingly comfortable position and reached over the blush-heated male to pull the furs over his exposed crotch. “T-Thank you,” Zactch stuttered, still blushing in spite of himself. “At home, I have a few things to make movements easier,” he felt compelled to explain. “I have devices and braces, and I am stammering because of the inglorious position you found me in.” Zactch forced himself to meet the eyes of his savior. The male, Gwire, just nodded, his face never betraying any horror or, even worse, pity. He just gestured to where Zactch’s sleep pants were still tangled about his feet. “Would you like me to remove them?” “I ... ah ... yes,” Zactch finally breathed, shoulders slumping even more. “I think I need a little help.” “There is no shame in seeking help from those willing to help you,” Gwire instructed, knowing that Zactch had sent the healer away. “We are all willing to help.” “But I am not willing to be seen and gawked at,” Zactch snapped as the male quickly removed the pants from his feet. “I do have some pride.” “Just as long as your need for pride is not so great that you find it all of the comfort you have when you fall out of a tree.” Zactch paused at that, thinking on the words. Fall from a tree? Of course! Don’t let your pride cause you to fall on your face. He snickered at the analogy, apparently a universal one, and smiled up at Gwire.

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“True,” he agreed, “But I didn’t expect to take a tumble off of a mat that lies essentially on the ground.” Gwire’s lips twitched, but his face showed no expression. He gestured to the soapfu root and then at Zactch’s feet. “May I assist you?” “You don’t have to!” Zactch waved him away, quick to divert attention from his legs and feet. “Pride,” Gwire reminded him as he plucked the root from the washing bowl and began to wash his feet. Any response that Zactch could have made was forgotten in the face of such a beautiful experience. What Gwire did to his feet had to be illegal! It was orgasmic, it was lethal, and it melted his resistance and his bones within mere seconds. Gwire gently massaged his toes, taking time to cleanse each one before cracking the knuckles and rubbing away stiffness that Zactch never knew existed there. The bottoms of his feet were massaged by the root and then by Gwire’s firm hands as he kneaded the tendons and gently rotated each foot to care for Zactch’s ankles. The tops of his feet were washed and tended to, as well, the tendons rubbed into relaxation and a state of total bliss that Zactch had never felt before. He opened his mouth to plead for mercy, but all that rumbled out was a long, deep, heartfelt moan. “You are enjoying this?” Gwire asked and grinned as Zactch collapsed back onto the furs, his broad chest heaving as his eyes began to glaze over. “Mmm-hmm.” ““You act as if no one had ever done this for you before,” Gwire continued as the man beneath him sighed and moaned as if in ecstasy.

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“They haven’t,” was his soft response, as his back arched and he moaned again. “This is decadent.” “I am only washing your feet,” Gwire responded, dropping one foot and taking up the other. “Not that you need much cleansing.” For some unknown reason, his breathing was becoming raspier and that tight feeling in his stomach dropped low to encompass his lower back. He felt his tail beginning to stiffen as he inhaled the scent of Zactch. He smelled like an alpha, weakly, and like spice and musk. “I try to remain clean.” Zactch tried to respond coherently. “I have to ensure that there are no further injuries to ... I -- I am just a clean person.” “Mmm.” Gwire murmured his response as he placed the second foot gently on the furs. “Do you require assistance elsewhere?” Zactch had to hold in a pout as the delicious sensations coming from his feet stopped, then he felt himself flush again as he realized that there were only two areas that still needed cleansing. “Um, no,” he muttered, grateful that he furs were coving his crotch. He suddenly felt an embarrassing swelling at his groin. It wasn’t much, mind you, merely a tingle, but it was the most sensation he had felt there in ages. “I can handle it myself.” As if reading his discomfort in having someone else wash what apparently was a private area, Gwire nodded his consent as he turned his back. “I will not leave you, male of the ... Zactch. But I will give you the privacy you desire for your intimate cleansing. Then I will assist you in getting dressed.” “Um, great,” Zactch managed as he felt a lurch in his cock. He stared down at the barely used piece of equipment and had to hold back a startled laugh. For the first time in ages, he felt the beginnings of a tentative arousal, and it was because of a quiet man with fur, fangs, and a tail.

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“I was born under a dark cloud,” he repeated to himself softly, noting that the man’s ears twitched, as if he were listening to his every word ... which meant that he could hear him as he washed his ... “Dark cloud!” he snapped again as he reached for the roots and the bowl of water. Now if only there was an elegant way to scrub your ass and wash your balls while you had an audience ...

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Chapter Nine

He-o snickered silently to himself as he wandered away from the hut where Zactch lay and back to his mate where she was preparing to return to her patient. He-o knew that she thought of the pale male of the Others as one of hers now and was just bursting to get back to him to see what she could do to aid him personally. “A moment, Fayline,” he breathed, gripping her by the arm and leading her back to their own hut. “But I have to get to Zactch ...” “Zactch is fine and in capable hands.” He chuckled. “Who is with him?” “Gwire.” “Gwire ... But I thought ...” “You know that I have worried about our Shadow Dancer.” He spoke softly, tugging his mate into his arms and holding her soft form against his. “Yes, he spends much time alone in the service of his people.”

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“Yes, little one, but are you aware that there are few Shadow Dancers left and almost none in this region? Gwire very well may be the last of his kind.” “Where did they all go?” Sighing, He-o selected a good place to sit and tugged his mate into his lap, wrapping his tail around her waist as he got them settled. “When the Others came and attacked, we sent out all we could to gather enough information to fight back. The Shadow Dancers willingly took up the call to fight and began observing.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts so he could clarify some things to her. “A Shadow Dancer is a mysterious thing, my one. No one save the Shadow Dancers themselves knows what goes on in their ceremonies. They are chosen at the onset of their growth spurts, and they are taken away from their homes for training. No one knows where the Shadow Dancers make their home, only that it exists. When the Shadow Dancers return to serve the place of their birth, they are always changed.” “How?” “Have you noticed that Gwire has no scent?” “He masks it somehow ...?” “It is not known how they do it, but their scent is masked from the rest of us. A Shadow Dancer, before the Others arrived, was an observer who carried important information from one pride to his birth pride. In times of battle, the worth of the information they carried was immeasurable. But as we have stronger senses ...” “One would be able to scent out a watcher.” Fayline completed his sentence. “Yes, but during their ceremonies, somehow they manage to mask their scent, and the effect is permanent. It changes the Shadow Dancers; they become less emotional, and they almost are always solitary unless around their own kind. But there may be no other Shadow Dancers, and Gwire ... he has been alone for far too long. Kobaye was worrying about him

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and gave him this mission to occupy his time. It would be unthinkable if Gwire, one day, just didn’t return. But it has been known to happen.” “He wouldn’t return? But his people are here, He-o!” Fayline was shocked. Why would he not want to return to where he was welcomed and loved? It had taken a long time and near to death for Fayline to find a family, and she could not imagine anyone not wanting to return to the place where they felt truly loved. “Have you heard the tales?” He-o asked. “Have you heard the rumors and heard the tales mothers tell their cubs? Have you seen them shy away from Gwire as he walks by or how our people point and stare?” Fayline tried to think back, tried to remember any instance when Gwire was ... shunned. But in her time here, she had been so busy trying to fit in, herself ... She’d never even noticed the quiet, dark male until he’d been brought to her attention by her mate, and by her sibling, Kobaye. “Our people fear what they do not understand. I guess it is another thing we have in common with the Others,” He-o allowed. “Distance was fine as long as Gwire had his own Dancers to return to. But his Dancers have disappeared. We can only guess that they were captured or destroyed by the machines that the Others use to patrol their areas. Gwire has been luckier than most, having never been caught and having the full benefit of the information of those that came before him to guide him. But even Gwire has been hardpressed to find another of his kind. And if he feels alone and useless, he may very well disappear himself.” “That is so sad,” Fayline breathed, mentally vowing to make the dark male feel more welcomed. “It is beyond sad, Fayline. Gwire may very well be the last of his kind. And if he disappears ...”

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“The Shadow Dancer way disappears with him,” Fayline reasoned, slumping in her mate’s lap. “This is unfair, He-o! We have to do something! Gwire should not be forgotten!” “But,” He-o reminded her with a smile, “we are doing something,” “How?” “Those hands that Zactch will do well in belong to Gwire.”

***** Zactch was not quite sure how he managed, but he got both his ass and his cock clean without too much noise or fanfare. Now, he was exhausted, still blushing quite a bit, and covered in furs, ready to proceed. “Gwire,” he called softly. “I think I am ready for my clothing.” It was almost painful for Gwire to stand, facing away from Zactch as he listened to the man struggle to tend to himself. Suddenly, Gwire felt almost ashamed of how easily he took for granted what came naturally -- walking, running, getting up to take a piss. This man had to rely on someone else or on the gadgets he had left behind when he’d taken the man away from his people. But he fixed his face into neutrality and turned to help the male ... Zactch. He saw that Zactch was covered by furs and knew it was to protect his own modesty, not out of any sense of self-preservation from him. “I’ll start easing the leggings up,” Gwire explained as he dove into the pile of leathers left by Fayline and uncovered the long, rainy-season gear. He assumed that Zactch would not like his legs on display, and these leggings offered enough protection while being fairly loose for comfort. He gently lifted each of Zactch’s feet, sliding the loose leggings up until they met his upper thighs.

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With his body crouched over Zactch, he lifted his dark eyes to the startlingly bright blue ones and cleared his throat. “If you wish to pull them the rest of the way up ...” “Um, I would,” Zactch agreed, his hands delving beneath the furs to lift his thighs to work the leather up to his ass. Gwire said nothing, but sat back on his heels at the male’s feet to observe in case he needed any help. “Thank you.” Zactch spoke as he manipulated his second leg, getting it into position and using his free hand to tug the leather up. “You, um, you helped me, and I didn’t feel like a fool while you were.” “That was never my intention,” Gwire began, but Zactch cut him off. “I know, but ... well, it is not easy to respect someone’s privacy when they are in a position such as mine, or even help without making them feel pitiful.” “You are a warrior,” Gwire responded. “I respect that.” “I am no warrior!” Zactch sighed as he realized that he would have to shift his weight on one arm and tug the leggings into place one side at a time. “I have no warrior skills.” “You survive.” Gwire’s voice was quiet, yet his message was loud and clear. “You survive, and you are capable of looking after your own self. Despite the difficulties that may arise, you manage to be independent. That is what a warrior is.” Zactch blinked as he examined the male as carefully as he himself was being examined. He had never thought of his plight that way before. Pushing those thoughts aside, he sighed and prepared yet again to take all his weight onto his arms and finish dressing himself, But before he could move into position, Gwire rose to his feet and walked behind him.

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He wrapped his arms around Zactch, in a kind of upper body hug, and pulled the male’s weight upwards. “So you can more quickly pull your leggings into position,” he explained. “I, too, once had to rely on my arms alone as my lower body refused to work. Assistance was greatly appreciated then from others who had experienced the same pain and loss.” “So I should shut up and take the help that is offered.” Zactch’s voice was a little breathy and light as he, for the first time in memory, was in such close body contact with another being. He lost himself in the comfort, the warmth, and the musky scent of Gwire, before he regrouped and reached down to tug his leggings into place. He adjusted himself within the leggings, and Gwire carefully placed him back onto the furs, whipping them away to help tie the drawstring at his waist. “How were you injured?” Zactch asked, looking at the male’s sleek back as he bent over to straighten the leggings around his legs. He could see no visible scarring or injuries, and any would be easy to spot as the man was wearing nothing more than a loincloth himself. “I ... I cannot speak of it,” he finally spoke. “But the pain and discomfort are still fresh in my mind.” He then reached back into the pile to pull up the cream-colored length of leather. Tossing that aside for now, he reached for a pair of new foot coverings and lifted Zactch’s feet again. “These will conform to your feet,” he explained as he slipped the soft-soled leather around his feet. They seemed to be made out of two ovals, stitched together with leather thongs as laces. Gwire tied them comfortably around his ankles and repeated the process with the other foot.

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“Thanks.” Zactch sighed, shifting as he sought to get used to the feel of leather with no undergarment as barrier against the flesh of his cock and balls. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it was one he wasn’t used to. “Not that they will get much use anyway.” Gwire, instead of laughing at the self-deprecating joke as Zactch expected, only nodded. Before anything else could be said, there was a scratch at the door and Fayline entered, followed by He-o. “Oh! You are dressed!” Fayline breathed, taking in the firm, strong chest that led to a small, trim waist and then the stick-thin limbs beneath them. “Yes, thanks to Gwire’s reminder that my pride was going to have me fall out of a tree.” Fayline arched one eyebrow in question while He-o snickered in amusement. “But what is this?” Zactch asked, pointing to the cream-colored leather as Gwire rose to his feet and nodded at his alpha. “For your waist,” Fayline explained. “To wrap around your legs, should they grow cold. The blood does not ... move well there.” He did have poor blood circulation, but he wanted to know how Fayline knew. “How ...?” “I am a healer,” she said as she approached, picking up the leather and dropping to her knees at his side. “And the temperature of your legs is cooler than that of your arms.” “Simple deduction.” Zactch nodded. “And thank you.” Gwire was about to turn away, his services no longer needed for now, when He-o placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his retreat. “A moment, if you will, Gwire. I find that I need your assistance.” “Anything, Alpha.” The male nodded as he faced his leader.

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“Kobaye will be busy for ... well, for a number of days yet, and I still have to deal with Pride Fang and their integration.” Gwire nodded, knowing that these matters would go more smoothly if the beaten pride were integrated quickly and all troublemakers separated and turned out. “So, I am asking you to be a guide, along with my mate, to Zactch.” Gwire’s eyes widened in shock, unable to hide his surprise, then narrowed as he watched the jovial male. What was He-o’s game? He understood the pressing needs of a leader, especially with one of the alphas out of touch at the moment, but for him to care for the male? “Is there a problem, Gwire?” He-o asked, arching one amused eyebrow. “None, Alpha,” he finally stammered, flushing slightly at his lapse of control. “Of course not.” “Good.” He-o nodded as he turned towards the door. “Then I shall be on my way.” Swiftly, he exited, leaving a confused Gwire and an amused Fayline, who was fussing over Zactch. “If you are ready to proceed?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Wait!” Zactch called out. “How will we do this? I don’t have my frame and ...” “Gwire will carry you.” Fayline smiled sweetly. “Gwire?” “Hey!” Before Zactch could protest further, he felt those strong arms sliding behind his back and beneath his knees, lifting him as easily as a mother would lift a child. Shifted off balance, he threw his arms around Gwire, wrapping them around his neck while he was jostled and shifted until he was comfortably held. “Relax.” Gwire spoke softly as Zactch looked up into those dark eyes and felt himself flushing again. “You weigh next to nothing.”

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“Shall we go?” Fayline chuckled, tucking the leather around Zactch’s legs as she moved to the door, a jaunty step in her stride and amusement clear in her tones. “Pride Talon awaits you, Zactch. You need but to open your eyes and learn.”

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Chapter Ten

Held securely in Gwire’s arms, Zactch felt that the world looked bright and colorful, and it was confusing the hell out of him. Zactch looked around the pride, seeing once again the people living their lives and seeing some of the strict, enclosed societies that these people had developed. The warriors were often together, the adolescent males trying to duplicate the actions of their older counterparts. The elders seemed to be revered and were bowed to as they passed. They hung together in small groups, probably for political beliefs, Zactch thought, as groups of older males and females warily watched each other. The women, who appeared to do the bulk of the cooking, gathered at cook fires, and they seemed to have developed a body language of their own, sending many a hungry snacker scurrying away with a stern glare. And there were healers. Well, at least Zactch assumed that they were healers because of the small pouches they carried and the concerned way they observed everyone around them, especially at the cook

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fires. Zactch figured they were probably looking out for burns or injuries associated with sharp knives and open fires. “So, where do we go first?” Zactch asked, wanting to talk to each group individually, to learn as much as he could in the short time that he would be there. “Where would you like to go?” “The healers are tempting, but can we go to the warriors first? Is it okay to talk to them?” He noticed Gwire stiffen a little, but thought maybe it was because of his weight. But Gwire had tensed for a very different reason. There were usually two different types of warriors -- those who were intimidated by Shadow Dancers and those who tried to prove that they were better. Even with the orders of the alphas, some would still try to test their limits and see if they could get a reaction out of the small, dark spy. “Yes,” Fayline agreed, loping towards a nearby group that sat repairing weapons. Zactch did notice, however, that as they moved, several of the males and females sniffed the air around them, then moved away uneasily as they spied Gwire. Before he could question that, they’d arrived at their destination. “Good morning to you all,” Fayline began, a small smile on her lips. “I have brought the male of the Others, so that he can learn of our ways and tell his people of his findings.” “Why is he being carried like a child?” one gnarled warrior spoke, eyeing Gwire neutrally, but closely examining Zactch. “My legs do not work properly,” Zactch explained, wanting to be as honest as possible. “What good is a warrior if he is not strong of leg to chase prey and a mate?” The others snickered, but the warrior stared deeply into Zactch’s eyes, waiting for an answer.

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“The kind that uses his brain more than his mouth.” Zactch narrowed his eyes. He had come upon men like these before, men who sought to put him in his place by stating the obvious. “What good is a hunter if he doesn’t think before he speaks? What good is a hunter who doesn’t know the danger his prey poses before he attacks?” There was a low, shocked murmur as the men absorbed Zactch’s words. The one who had spoken narrowed his eyes, but nodded slightly. “Weak in body, but strong of spirit. Maybe not a true warrior, but still a male of some small merit.” “Small like your pea-sized brain if you think I’ll allow anyone to speak to me as they will.” Zactch was not happy. He had come with an open heart and an open mind, and already the power games had started. “Pea-sized brain?” The male grinned. “And am I to assume that a pea is very small?” “Small and fragile.” Zactch nodded, crossing his arms and staring down the male. “Fragile, is it?” The warrior snickered. “Very,” Zactch agreed. “Especially if you upset the balance -- your alphas, isn’t it?” He looked to Gwire, who nodded. “Especially if your words destroy the balance that your alphas worked hard to establish.” The warrior nodded, then motioned for Gwire to place Zactch next to him. “Sit with me, male of possible importance, with enough intelligence to know that we cannot harm you, so long as you are under an alpha’s protection.” Gwire tentatively set Zactch down, then stood behind him, alert to any danger. “And what will you take back to your people? Will you tell them of our location, how many of us there are left, our weaknesses?” The others grew silent as they awaited the answer. “I guess that depends on what weakness you tell me.” Zactch was still not backing down. “And I have no intentions of telling what I do not know. I have no idea where I am. I

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could die here and I doubt that anyone would ever find my body. But I am here on good faith that I will be returned in somewhat the same condition I was taken away.” “Or better,” Fayline added, not liking the way the conversation was going. “Sure,” Zactch agreed, belief not in his tones. “But what I want to ask are simple questions. Like how does one become a warrior, how does one stay a warrior ...” “Easy!” the male answered, chucking. “Survival.” “Simple as that?” Zactch settled down a bit as he received answers to his questions. “Simple as survival. All males are warriors to some extent. Some are just better at it than others.” “So some warriors don’t do battle?” “Some don’t. And there are female warriors, to be sure. But a warrior is more than a hunter. If one chooses to be a warrior, they must train and practice daily to improve skills with weapon, tooth, and claw.” Then he looked down at Zactch’s hands. “Your people have no claws?” “No.” Zactch lifted his hands and stared at his blunt nails. “We make knives.” “But you can lose a knife. How do you survive battle if you lose your knife?” “We use guns.” At their confused look, Zactch explained. “Weapons that shoot projectiles over long distances. You don’t have to be close to maim or kill.” “Such dishonorable savagery.” The warrior sighed. “It is how most of my old village was destroyed. No honorable combat there.” “I agree.” Zactch sighed himself, thinking of all the wars that had been fought over greed or religion, all the lives lost. “Yet you make them,” the warrior insisted. “Not all of us,” Zactch replied. “Some of us fight for peace. Some of us would rather learn than destroy.”

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“And if they won’t listen to the lessons you bring? Will you make them?” “No.” “Will you force them?” “No.” “Then why are you here?” “Because I must. Because once you are aware of something, it makes it harder to discount its existence. Because the only way to survive is to learn and adapt.” “Then maybe you are kind of a warrior after all. What you describe is survival.” “I guess,” Zactch agreed, feeling like he had just gone three hundred sixty degrees and ended up where he started. But after that the conversation got smoother. And as for Gwire, he learned that Zactch was, if anything, determined and brave. In his position, vulnerable and at the mercy of others for his survival, he still stood up for what he believed and never let anyone make him feel inferior. He was a survivor who used his every advantage to better his position and understanding of himself as a full-blooded male. Gwire couldn’t help but admire that. And that odd tingling in his stomach whenever he thought of Zactch began to grow warm.

***** After a few hours of conversation, Zactch and his party finally took leave of the warriors, who themselves had to go back to training. “That was rather informative.” Zactch grinned, pleased at all the information he’d managed to acquire. “They are wise,” Fayline murmured, wondering at all the information she herself had gathered about her people.

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Why had she never thought to talk to them in groups before? “Gwire,” Zactch began, looking up at the male easily carrying him. “Do you have any input you wish to share?” “Mine is not the way of these warriors,” Gwire stated, not letting on how uncomfortable he had felt with the warriors making no attempts to sniff at him and observe his behavior as they had the others. “What is your way, then?” Zactch asked, confused. “You seem a mite more intelligent than those warriors.” “My ways are not for discussion,” Gwire stated, sighing as he felt the cold, dark place in his heart begin to throb. Maybe he needed more meditation. These new feelings, the excitable tingling in his lower regions and the confusion that now plagued his mind ... Maybe this weak-bodied male was more dangerous than he thought. “Why not?” Zactch insisted. He honestly wanted to know. “You seem more refined, somehow.” “Because they are secret ways and are not to be known by anyone not chosen by the Shadow Dancers. My society is apart, yet a part of the greater pride. Our ways are kept to ourselves.” “Enclosed societies,” Zactch murmured as he thought over Gwire’s words. But before he could ponder the existence of such a complicated civilization, they heard a shout from the cook fires. “I must go!” Fayline cried out, before racing towards the commotion. Several people had gathered round, and one of the males carrying those pouches at his waist called to Fayline urgently. “Gwire, take Zactch to a place of rest,” she called out over her shoulder. “I will find you soon.” Then she was gone, running into the crowd of people, pushing some aside to get to the center of the group and most likely the injured party.

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Zactch watched, eyes wide, as the emergency was dealt with swiftly. “Does that happen often?” he asked, turning to watch over Gwire’s shoulders as the male carried him away. “I would not know. I do not spend much time in the village.” “Why not?” Zactch asked, then noted a small group of people pointing and whispering as they passed. “Is it because of that?” He nodded in the direction of the conspirators. “I’m sure they will stop treating you like that once I am gone. I know, I am used to being a burden, but I really hate it when others get stared at because of me.” “It’s not because of you,” Gwire stated, almost sadly. “But why would your people do that to you? You are normal, like the rest of them!” “But I am not, Zactch. Can you not smell the difference?” he asked. “What? You don’t stink.” Zactch chuckled. “Believe me, I have a sensitive nose. If you were unacquainted with that soapfu root and water, I would be aware.” “You can’t tell?” Gwire was puzzled. “Is your sense of smell that bad?” Gwire looked horrified at the thought. “What do you mean? My sense of smell is just fine.” “But ... but I can smell that you had berries yesterday and that you are sweating slightly under this heat, and that you are ... confused about this conversation.” “You can tell all of that through smell?” Zactch was amazed. “That, and that you haven’t evacuated your bowels ... in a long time.” Zactch blushed at that, causing his face to feel like it was burning as he groaned. “Yeah, well, they kind of reworked my plumbing so that I wouldn’t have to, as that is part of my body that was deteriorating badly. I, um, only urinate. All my food is broken down that way. That is why I don’t eat much meat. Now is there a rock I can climb under?” “Amazing,” Gwire breathed, looking at Zactch again. “And this process, was it painful?”

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“Yes, it was embarrassing and painful and something I would rather not talk about, thank you very much.” Zactch decided to look around him, noting that they were going further away from the village and the people who inhabited it. “Where are we going?” “To a river,” was his answer, and Zactch grew quiet, thinking about that sense of smell. Zactch chose to remain silent, staring at the beauty of the landscape as they passed. The trees were lush and green, hanging with flower-covered vines that emitted a sweet fragrance. The further away from civilization they traveled, the more he began to notice the sounds of the forest, the birds in the trees, the buzzing and humming of insects, and in the distance, the peaceful roar of a waterfall. “It’s beautiful here,” Zactch breathed. “Our old homes were built in the trees.” Gwire spoke softly, his quiet voice blending in with the peacefulness of nature. “Up in the trees, whole villages existed. We were safe from any predators and hard to spot for enemy spies. Our children learned to balance among the branches, and they learned agility swinging from vine to vine and dodging among the leaves. We commune with the trees here, and we lived in harmony and balance.” “And why are you on the ground now?” Zactch asked as the river came into view. It was small and swift, but its banks were covered in rich, colorful flowers and lush green grasses. Looking over its surface, Zactch could just make out a mist-created rainbow and smelled the fresh clean air. “We are here because our villages were too easily spotted from the air. It is one of the first lessons your people taught mine.” Zactch remained silent. What could he say to that?

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Gwire found an acceptable place and set his burden near the water, before he stood and walked closer to its banks. “My people have a lot to answer for,” Zactch finally sighed, looking at all the beauty surrounding him. “And I know that it’s not worth much, but for the record, I am sorry.” “You are not responsible for your people,” Gwire finally stated, turning to take his seat beside Zactch. “You are your own alpha.” “Hardly an alpha. I can’t walk, Gwire. I believe that is a requirement.” “Many men can walk, Zactch,” he responded. “But how many can think and reason?” That again left them silent, and they sat there contemplating life until Fayline caught up with them and insisted that Zactch be brought back for a light evening meal and for bed.

***** Gwire sat quietly in the darkness of his hut, his eyes trained on nothing as he sought to find that peaceful place deep within him. But every time he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, his mind immediately went to that male of the Others, to his bright blue eyes and the determined way he held himself. Men of the Others were strange, he decided. They had no fur or claw for protection. Their teeth were made more like the grass-eating creatures that inhabited the forests, their fangs almost non-existent and useful only for chewing through somewhat tough fare. They had no tails for balance, their ears were insufficient for hearing well, their eyes could not adjust to the dark, yet ... He lowered his head as his thoughts began to overwhelm him, thoughts of that male. Zactch was unlike any of the creatures he ever had chanced upon in his travels, and he had been exposed to many things.

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He had observed the Others for years, watching as their men marched pointlessly up and down cleared fields, watched as they shot powerful lights out of small handheld weapons, watched as they copulated with each other. And yet, none of that had ever had an effect on him. In fact, he found himself mildly disgusted with the hairless bodies they possessed, not at all moved by the vulnerability that nature had left them with in place of honest claw and fang. But Zactch ... As vulnerable as this male was, he was a fighter. He had no claw or fang, or even fur, so he created protection for himself and used his words far more deftly than many yielded a blade. He was proud, yet he was strong enough to apologize when he was wrong. He listened to what the others had to say, listened and learned, and imparted good advice for his people to use while taking their own advice into consideration. He was an observant male, his eyes watching all around him, keeping tabs on who was in the area, the mark of an experienced solider. Yet he trusted his captors enough to allow himself to be carried about a strange village without any overt signs of fear. His scent rarely changed ... His scent. Gwire closed his eyes as he recalled the dark, musky scent of the man. He smelled of wood ashes, new earth, and male. His scent was that of an alpha’s ... vaguely. The soapfu root eliminated much of the Other smell, the scents of metal and unnatural fiber that had clung to him when he’d first arrived, and enhanced his own body scent. It was a smell that Gwire found heady and powerful. That, combined with the male’s sheer presence, caused a tightening in his stomach and sent shivers down his spine.

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Was it wrong to lust after the male, he wondered? But then the fact that he lusted was a strange occurrence in itself. Gwire was used to being alone. He didn’t know how to take his people now that the Shadow Dancers seemed to have all but vanished, and he was fine with that. It was how he’d been trained, to resist temptations that would drive him away from his main goal. To help combat loneliness, the Dancers often spent time regrouping in each other’s company, pleasuring themselves and sharing the experience with others who truly knew how isolated they had become. But it had been so long since he’d shared his furs with anyone, relished release with anyone, knew of someone who could understand his obligations. And then came Zactch. Zactch knew what it meant to be alone, to be the strange one in a group. Yet he didn’t let his solitude drag at him. Zactch seemed to look at the world from a different angle, and with his open heart and his understanding eyes, the male held a powerful attraction for Gwire. Gwire stiffened as he felt his cock began to rise at the thought of those big blue eyes. Zactch’s eyes and his stunted hair and the way he sometimes watched Gwire, open and needy -- it touched something deep within his heart. Gwire felt his stomach tighten, and his tail began to unwind from around his waist to lift in arousal. “Zactch,” he breathed, his low voice blending in with the silence in the hut. There was just something about that male. His skin was so soft ... Gwire’s eyes closed as thoughts of Zactch made his erection stiffen further. There was no hope for it.

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The tension in his body was building, and he had to have some kind of release. His fingers went to the knots that held his loincloth around his trim waist, his nails delicately plucking at the tangled thong until it began to unravel. Gwire hissed as the cooler night air caressed the dampened tip of his erection as it was exposed. He dropped his eyes to watch as his cock began to throb, turning a dark shade of purple as it rose to its full potential. Gwire closed his eyes again, and in his mind he pictured the pale, soft skin of Zactch, of his needy blue eyes and his soft, full lips ... His loud groan filled the air as he reached out to take his cock in his hands, shuddering at the feel of touch after such a long time spent in denial. His cock was thick and hot, with thick veins that ran up the shaft. His foreskin retracted, exposing the flaring flange of his cock’s drooling head. He watched as a clear drop of his seed escaped, making the head glisten. How would it feel to have those lips wrapped around it? To have that dexterous tongue teasing the slit at the top, those rough hands encircling the base? Gwire shuddered, his body growing weak at the image of him thrusting away at that soft, wet mouth. He fell back onto his furs, his tail listing to the left as he placed his feet flat on his bedding, spreading his legs wide open as if in offering. What would Zactch do if he could see him like this? He had noted the other male’s interest in him and started off faintly amused by it. Then when those needy eyes became more intense and his scent changed to that of budding desire, it was all Gwire could do to control his need to dominate the weaker male. But now, if Zactch could see him, his hands fisting his cock, his legs spread open and welcoming, would that desire grow?

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Groaning, Gwire began to slide his fist up his thick shaft, shuddering at the feel of his super-soft skin being stimulated by the rough caress of his own hand. Precum began to spill from the tip as sweat began to pour off of his body. Blindly, his hands reached out and slipped under the furs, seeking out a small wooden box that held what he needed. Once the container was in his hands, he flipped the lid and slid his fingers into the small bit of remaining ointment. Shrugging off the lack of the slippery stuff, he pulled his fingers away from his hungry cock and oiled his fist. Dry was good, but wet was even better. He closed his eyes again, hissing as his slick hand encircled his cock, fisting around the turgid organ. Would Zactch do the same for him? Would he move slow or fast? His breath hitched as his hips arched upward into his own grasp, his thighs trembling with tension as he began to rapidly pump his fist. Would his Zactch lay back like this, offering himself to Gwire’s need to posses him? Would he whimper? Would he scream? Gwire’s head whipped from side to side as the tension built up in his body. Behind closed eyelids, all he could see was the panting, flushed face of Zactch, of the understanding in his eyes as he whimpered so sweetly to him. “Come for me.” “Grrr!” Gwire threw back his head as he felt his balls tremble, as tingles raced up and down his body, as his stomach muscles clenched. He was so very close!

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He realized his unoccupied hand was gripping the furs so he relaxed them, deciding that it was needed elsewhere. His free hand slid around his thigh, over his hip, and then past his pounding fist. He cupped his balls, his breath again hissing from between his teeth as his hips arched uncontrollably. He tugged and gently rolled his balls in their sac, feeling the heat radiating off of his groin. He moaned, his head dropping to the side as he tugged and caressed his sac, as his fist pumped his cock, as his whole mind was filled with the touch, the taste, the feel of Zactch. Then his hips arched up and froze in place. His shaft vibrated in his hands. The head of his cock burned, then suddenly his whole body jerked as he began to spasm. “Zactch,” he breathed through clenched teeth as his white-hot seed exploded from the tip of his cock to run along his fisted fingers and his stomach, coating him in his own essence, covering him with the scent of release. But as his body wilted to the furs, the hand cupping his balls slipped back. Down past his quivering anus and the sensitive skin that surrounded it, up past his cleft to the base of his tail. He rolled to his side as his fingers began to explore the rough scarring that lay there. “Nothing,” he breathed. There was no gland there to secrete a warning or to mark a possession. There was no gland there that would ensure that his seed would grow fertile, enabling him to sire cubs. There was nothing there but the scars left from the ceremonial and sacrificial mutilation that he’d willingly undertaken to aid his people. He sighed as he felt that rough blank space of nothingness. He pulled his hand away, wincing at the smell of the empty seed of his release. He had given so much for his people.

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And again he realized, as he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, that he had nothing else left to give.

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Chapter Eleven

The next morning, washing and dressing wasn’t the big production it had been the day before. Gwire showed up bright and early and assisted Zactch has he had the previous day. There was no embarrassed chatter as the two men prepared themselves for the day. “Where are we going to today?” Gwire asked as he easily lifted Zactch’s body, inhaling the male scent of him, feeling his whole body shudder in pleasure. “I thought that we could try the healers today. It was interesting talking to the warriors, but I had enough of the arrogance fix, haven’t you?” “Arrogance fix?” Gwire puzzled through the words, then snickered. He quickly tried to regain his composure, but Zactch had already caught the small slip in composure and decided to see if he could make it happen again. Humor seemed to be seriously lacking in the man’s life, and Zactch thought the small smile very attractive. There was just something about Gwire that appealed to him. Maybe it was his quiet dignity, maybe it was his understanding nature or the calmness he seemed to project, but

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whatever it was, it was a comfort to Zactch. Whenever he was around Gwire, he felt things he had never felt around any other person. He liked the feeling, the camaraderie, the ... There was just something different about Gwire. “So, healers?” Gwire enquired as he lifted Zactch into his arms. “After a trip to the, um ... I need to ...” Zactch fidgeted in Gwire’s arms, and Gwire quickly understood his problem. “I will take you to relieve your bladder, and then we will proceed to He-o and Fayline’s hut to break your morning fast.” “Um, thanks.” Zactch felt another blush grow on his cheeks. “Your people are so ... strange when it comes to bodily functions.” Gwire spoke as he carried a still flushed Zactch out of the hut and towards the latrine area. “If you need to evacuate your bladder, then just say so!” “It’s a personal thing, Gwire,” Zactch tried to explain. “It’s not sex,” Gwire countered. “It is not like you are laying your soul bare to someone. You are taking care of a bodily need that everyone has.” “I am told that sex is a need that everyone has.” Zactch tried to change the subject, trying to take attention away from this touchy subject. “And you tend to use some of the same organs, Gwire. It’s too personal by half.” “You have never had sex?” Gwire asked, leaping on the change of subject, but instead of discussing biology, they were now on a more embarrassing thing than latrine activity. “Um.” He looked down at his legs, so still in Gwire’s arms, then looked up at Gwire. “How and who?” he finally sighed. “It’s not like I’m the perfect picture of walking, robust masculinity.” Gwire tilted his head to the side as they arrived at the latrine area.

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He shifted Zactch in his arms until he was holding the man around his waist, his feet just brushing the ground, but his hands free to unlace his leggings and free his cock for urination. Feeling slightly dejected, Zactch unlaced his leggings and took hold of his more than generous, yet useless prick. He aimed at the hole that had been dug for this purpose and let go. He sighed as his full bladder drained, fighting back the embarrassment that threatened to swamp him. Once finished, he shook off and tucked himself back into his pants. “I’m done.” Zactch turned to look up at Gwire and saw the male staring at his crotch, a look of amazement on his face. “What?” “You are large.” Gwire grew impassive again, then readjusted Zactch in his arms. Gwire walked over to a prepared bowl with some soapfu roots and paused while Zactch washed his hands. “I am not that big.” Zactch blushed again as he looked up at Gwire. Was that a faint hint of red filling the man’s cheeks? But Gwire now had more fuel to add to his new fantasies, something else to break his legendary control -- something to picture as he found physical release that night. He wondered if anyone else would notice his suddenly increasingly aroused state, glad that Zactch didn’t have that keen a sense of smell -- when he realized that no one would be able to tell anyway. It was a sobering thought. Silently, he carried Zactch over towards his alpha’s hut, a dark mood descending once again as he realized all that he would never share with another. Even the sight of his people giving him a wide berth as he moved through the crowded village, awake with morning activities, didn’t distract him from his growing need.

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He was used to that. He could not assimilate the fact that his libido was growing; he had recognized his body’s hunger, its want, and there was no one left he could ever appease it with. Both men were strangely quiet as they stopped outside of He-o’s hut. “Scratch upon the door,” Gwire instructed. Zactch lifted his hand to do so when there was a loud moan from inside. “Is that what I think it is?” Zactch asked, his face turning a brilliant scarlet as they both heard masculine laughter rolling from inside. Gwire inhaled deeply, then paled as he swiftly turned around and made for the cook fires. “They were having sex in there!” Zactch gasped, the thought of those two well-formed bodies going at it making his lower regions tingle. “They were, um, mating ...” Gwire trailed off as he felt his arousal grow and his erection stiffening in his loincloth. He blessed the long, looping material that hung down before him and hid his bodily reactions. If not, he would have been more embarrassed as he fled the scene. “Good for ... them?” Zactch tried for humor as he felt himself tense in Gwire’s arms. “The mating and all. Couples should mate as much as possible.” “It is a healthy activity.” Gwire nodded in agreement, quickening his steps. He smelled the growing desire in Zactch, and it was having an adverse effect on his control. The feel of the male in his arms, the sense of being needed, the tightness of the male’s muscles, and knowing that Zactch carried a great length of prick in his leggings ... Gwire was all but racing to the cook fires now, trying to think of anything that would distract him from his growing desire for the male in his arms.

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“Healthy,” Zactch, aware of the tenseness in Gwire arms, repeated. Maybe, he decided, Gwire could feel his growing emotional attachment to the man. Maybe, he thought, he

knows that I am growing hard just thinking about sex and him. He sucked in a deep breath at the thought of Gwire and sex in the same sentence. He had never shown any preference for any sex in his life! He was just happy to be pain-free for a time and wished he had the ability to move about on his own. But now ... suddenly his sluggish libido decided to go through a growth spurt. Yes, he found Gwire attractive. Zactch was nothing but honest with himself. And he did find the Shadow Dancer extremely attractive. It wasn’t just because of his body, so different than his own, or his commanding nature, the air of power and strength that surrounded him. It was all those things combined with his gentle personality and his silent understanding of Zactch’s emotions. Gwire had gone out of his way to treat him like a human being, not a burden that he had been forced to carry about. Gwire seemed not to care that his legs didn’t work or that his anatomy had been tampered with to the point that he felt less than human most days. Gwire seemed to care -- not about what he could do for his people or what he was worth to his own. Gwire seemed to care ... about him. His musings were cut short as they arrived at the cook fires, where he found himself being placed gently on the ground. “I will retrieve for you some fresh fruits and cooked tubers,” Gwire said softly as he made sure Zactch was as comfortable as he could make him. Zactch watched as Gwire disappeared toward a cluster of women, so he was a bit startled when felt a finger poke at his leg. He swiftly turned and came face-to-face with an overly large male. “Stop that!” Zactch narrowed his eyes as he glared at the newcomer.

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“What happened, male of the Others?” the large male asked, his own eyes narrowing as he glared in return. “None of your damn business,” Zactch snapped back. For the first time since entering this village, he felt a shaft of fear. Damn, he hated feeling vulnerable, and because of his physical condition he was at the complete mercy of any one of these more powerful beings. It was a feeling he’d spent years developing his exoskeleton to overcome, but now even that small illusion of protection and defense had been taken away. There was no fight or flight for him; either way, he was at an extreme disadvantage and dependent on others for protection. Mentally, he again cursed his wasted body, but he never let those expressions show on his face. “You are afraid?” the male snarled, a grin exposing his fangs. So much for hiding his unease. “I can smell your fear, male of the Others.” “Yeah,” Zactch retorted. “I can smell your stupidity, and my sense of smell ain’t enhanced.” The male puzzled over these words, then scowled as he again poked at Zactch’s legs. “Did my people do this?” he asked sneering. “Did a real warrior manage to sneak in and do you harm? Are you suffering, male of the Others, suffering like my family when your

people,” he spat the word, “decided to come in and take what’s ours?” “I did nothing to your family,” Zactch snarled back, desperately trying not to look around for Gwire. A few other like-minded males had also gathered, and they didn’t have mercy or forgiveness in their expressions, either. “These males also have grievances, male of the Others. They have experienced loss at your people’s hands.”

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There were growled words of agreement and threat from the scowling males that apparently backed up the angry male and encouraged his actions. “Not my hands.” Zactch refused to give into his fear. His upper body was strong, and if it came to a fight, he could get a few blows in to some debilitating nerve clusters or maybe take out an eye or two, giving himself some time for help to arrive. “Your hands are the hands of the Others.” The male growled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the earth. “They will do.” The male reached out to poke at Zactch again, this time with a claw extended. And maybe he wanted to do more as his face rearranged itself into an expression of sadistic delight. This time, he drew his hand back, as if to strike, and this time Zactch had had enough. As the male leaned forward to deliver his slicing blow, Zactch’s right hand stiffened. As soon as the male was within range, Zactch’s finger shot out, aiming for the other male’s eye, while he shifted his weight to the side to do so. Zactch winced as he felt his finger press against the wet, gelatinous tissue of the eye, and heard the male shriek at this unexpected, painful turn of events. “Back off!” Zactch growled, re-centering his weight so he wouldn’t fall over on his side or onto his face. The male he struck jerked back, his hands covering one of his eyes as the other eye seemed to spit fire and hate. The muttering males behind him were stunned into silence. “Damn you!” the injured male bellowed, pulling his hand away from his blood-red eye. Tears ran from the injured organ, and his whole face seemed to contort into the visage of some angry man-demon. “Damn you and your kind!” Claws sprang from his fingertips, and the males behind him began to murmur uneasily.

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He lunged, intent on doing harm, and all Zactch could do was to throw himself backwards to avoid the lunge. But as his back hit the dirt, a dark shadow soared forth and seemed to hover over him for a second, before there was the muffled thump of flesh striking flesh. “Back off!” The low voice was familiar, but Zactch had never heard it roar with that much anger. He looked to his side to see Gwire meet the other male mid-lunge and then knock him backwards. They rolled in a cloud of dust and the sound of angry grunting. Zactch watched, wide-eyed as the crowd cleared, and he saw Gwire atop of the other male, arms swinging wildly as he struck out against the large male. “He is a killer!” the downed male screamed as he struggled to knock the small, dark ball of fury from his body. Gwire said nothing, but rolled with a punch that was delivered to the side of his head. Recovering immediately, he came up crouched and ready, his arms at his sides, his claws extended. Gwire leapt almost before the other male knew he was free. Blood, thick and red, blossomed where Gwire’s claws raked across his opponent’s face and chest. “Damned Shadow Dancer!” the male roared, his target no longer the male of the Others, but the small Shadow Dancer who dared to interfere. The warrior lunged again, ignoring the weeping gashes that scored his body, his instincts kicking in as he bent his knees to balance himself and lurched forward with his next attack.

*****

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The sounds of an early morning scuffle tore He-o away from thoughts of his mate’s pussy, tight around his plowing dick, and onto outside matters. He stiffened as he heard the curses and smelled the blood of one of his pride. Blinking the haze of lust from his mind, the sight of his mate’s supple body writhing beneath his on the fragrant furs, he ignored her disgruntled growls, her demands that he continue, and lifted his head higher, ears cocked towards the door. “He-o?” Fayline growled, her tail around his thighs, her legs on his shoulders as he halted the very enjoyable downward thrusts. She was mere seconds away from a wet, slick climax, and her eyes narrowed into golden slits as she tried to figure out why her mate had stopped. “Do you hear that?” he breathed, his heart still racing from his building climax, but his instinct to defend his people caused him to grow limp within her damp folds. He pulled away as a silent urgency filled him. He rose to his feet, snagging a loincloth as Fayline’s eyes widened in horror. “Blood,” she hissed, rolling to her feet and searching out her long tunic and leggings. By the time she was decently covered, He-o had wrapped himself up in his loincloth and dashed from the hut. Fayline swiftly followed.

***** “Stop it!” Zactch screamed as he watched in horror as the two males literally began to slice each other to pieces. Gwire was sporting quite a few bloody rips and gashes as he again lunged at the taller warrior, his right fist plunging into the other male’s face as his left hand raked across the warrior’s chest. The other male howled his pain and fury, reaching for a dark shadow that constantly eluded him.

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Gwire used his smaller size and lesser weight to his advantage, darting in like lightning, delivering his blows, and then stepping back to launch another attack. It left the larger male off guard, not used to sparring or even fighting with such a small, swift target. He managed to get in a few lucky blows, but with his painfully throbbing eye and his frustration at not being able to catch the smaller male, his anger was growing. “You defend them?” the male growled after Gwire cut across his abdomen, rending the flesh there and coming close to cropping his manhood. “I defend him,” Gwire growled in return. “He has done no wrong.” “He lives!” the angry male screamed. “He lives, and he brings disorder to the village!” “He is under our alpha’s protection,” Gwire snapped back. “Only until his breath ceases to flow,” the indignant male spat, turning his vicious gaze to the prone man on the ground. Suddenly he lunged towards Zactch, death in his eyes and hatred in his heart. Zactch gasped as he saw the equivalent of a feline freight train barreling down at him. He saw Gwire pale and heard him scream out a denial as he raced after the furious male. He knew his death was upon him, yet all he could do was think about Gwire, and regret that he’d never had a chance to ... There was a loud crackle of energy, and Zactch looked up to see the attacking male suspended mere inches away, his eyes wide in terror as he stared down at the male of the Others. “What in the name of the Creator is going on in my village?”

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Kobaye stood, naked and furious, in the center of the angry mob of Tigons, his black markings swirling madly about his body. His eyes glowed black with anger and frustration at his interrupted mating season.

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Chapter Twelve

Gwire gasped as he took in the sight of his alpha easily suspending the attacking male over Zactch’s prone body. This was not good. For the first time since he’d smelled the fear rolling off of Zactch, Gwire stopped to calm down and think about the situation. He had been carrying a plate of food, intent on getting Zactch to the healers and learning a bit more himself, when the attack started. The larger male was a warrior known to have lost his family in a recent attack by the Others. The foolish male had not made his way to the village and toward safety when they’d established Pride Talon as an official haven. Instead, the obstinate male had clung to the old traditional ways and built a domicile for his family among the trees of the forest. A passing search machine had spotted his dwelling while he was out hunting and opened fire. The result was not only the destruction of his domicile, but the death of his mate and his sister.

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Ever since then, he had been one of the leaders in the movement to declare war against the Others. But the male was thinking out of pain and anger, not with true knowledge. And to attack another, more vulnerable male who had done nothing to him was dishonorable and brought shame upon the whole clan. Before he could think, he’d found himself defending Zactch, noting that Zactch, despite his fear, had delivered the first satisfying blow, defending himself. Then all he could feel was the need to protect his mate. It was odd, this feeling, something that he had never felt before, and he embraced it wholly, used it to stop the deadly lunge and repel the male. During the fight itself, all he could think about was what the other males would do to Zactch if he failed. He had not wanted to kill a member of his sworn pride, but he knew he would do what he could to protect that innocent, vulnerable male. He noted that not many had come to Zactch’s aid, and those who had had been held back by the angry male’s friends. He’d had no choice but to survive and get Zactch to a place of safety. Then the male had turned towards Zactch, and Gwire knew that he would never get there in time to save him, that Zactch had no defense against the might and claws of a Tigon warrior. He’d felt his heart shatter as he watched the male leap, then freeze mid-air. He’d felt joyous when he realized that someone had stopped the male, but horrified when he realized who it was. Now, Gwire swiftly made his way towards Zactch, pulling the wide-eyed male away from danger, cradling him in his lap as he waited to see what would happen now.

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***** “What interrupts my mating?” Kobaye snarled, looking more animalistic than ever as his energy crackled around him. “Answer me!” The male was tossed aside by the black tendrils of energy, his body skidding to rest not far from the cook fires as the stunned people watched their enraged alpha. “Why are you here?” The soft tones of He-o filled the silent air as all turned to see their alpha’s hunt-brother and second-in-command saunter into the area, a loincloth haphazardly tied about his waist, his mate trailing along behind. “What goes on in my pride?” Kobaye snarled, turning to face his hunt-brother, his expression not amused. “Well, it appears to be a fight,” He-o answered, peeking around the large frame of his friend and taking in the scene. Gwire cradled a wide-eyed and fearful Zactch in his arms; a rabble-rouser lay near a cook fire, several angry women and men gathered around a small group of warriors who seemed to be looking for a place to hide, and Kobaye was away from his mate, only three days into the mating. “You’re up early,” He-o added, yawning and rubbing his hands across his chest. “There is fighting and blood and ...” “Your mate fell asleep?” He-o asked, trying not to snicker as a blush spread across the formidable male’s face.

At least the killing rage has eased, He-o thought as he tried not to laugh outright at the little-boy look on Kobaye’s face. “Mid-stroke,” Kobaye grumbled, inhaling deeply and running his hands through his tangled hair.

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“Is Jihi okay?” Fayline asked, then winced as her brother yelped and dropped his hands to cover his crotch. “Fayline, get back! I am naked!” The scent of his sister was especially repugnant to him while still in a heat state. It was the one thing guaranteed to knock him out of a mating frenzy or a moment of rage. “So I can see,” Fayline chuckled. “But you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, brother.” “Not my things,” Kobaye snapped, relenting a bit, wrinkling up his nose at the sibling smell. “Why not go back to your hut, Alpha?” He-o snickered again. “Let me handle this.” “Fine,” Kobaye snapped, turning to face the combatants again. “But I want to know why my Shadow Dancer is hugging the male Other, why a warrior is waging war on a noncombatant, and why none of my people lifted a finger to help!” Kobaye was back in full fury, roaring as he read the shamed silence of the observers and came to an accurate, but distasteful conclusion. His markings were beginning to swirl madly again as he saw the guilt and anger on his people’s faces. “Go,” He-o urged, moving forward, knowing that Fayline’s scent on his skin would protect him. “Go back to your mate. I am sure she is missing you now. Go, and I will inform you of everything when your heat cycle is ended.” Kobaye’s eyes traveled over the group, before wincing at the sight of his sister, then turning towards his hut where his mate waited. He growled low in his throat as he caught his mate’s scent, feeling his cock harden at the thought of her silken folds and welcoming arms. He turned to glare at the group one last time before making his way towards his home.

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As the alpha disappeared, He-o let out a breath of relief before turning to face the combatants. “I want to know what happened.” “It wasn’t his fault!” Zactch was quick to call out. He had been fussing over Gwire’s wounds as an amused He-o and the naked male who’d frightened everyone growled at each other. Now that the naked, fully striped male was gone, Zactch refused to let Gwire get into any trouble for defending him. “That one over there was trying to kill me, and Gwire saved me.” “He was only trying to intimidate you,” one of the others angrily called out, but Zactch noted that no one was making a move to assist the fallen man. “Why?” The humor left He-o’s voice as his dark eyes began to flash fire. “Why did one of you feel the need to intimidate one under my protection?” Again, the silence fell, and there was shameful shuffling of feet. “I see,” He-o hissed, the stripes on his body beginning to swirl. “It is fine to instigate an honor-less battle with one not equipped to deal with our kind, so long as he is one of the Others? Is that correct?” His phrasing made everyone as nervous as the glare he was directing towards the waiting group. “Gwire,” he called out. “Yes, Alpha?” “Take Zactch and go with my mate for healing.” It was apparent that He-o didn’t want them around when he dealt with the instigator and the ones who apparently hadn’t tried hard enough to stop the incident.

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Nodding, Gwire rose to his feet, still cradling Zactch, and moved towards a scowling Fayline. “This way,” she urged, an angry set to her face as they walked toward the river again and far away from the mounting storm that her mate apparently was the eye of. As they wandered away, He-o was heard to growl, “Now let us discuss repercussions, and how they apply when you disregard the word of an alpha.”

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Chapter Thirteen

“It is not bad, Gwire,” Fayline diagnosed as they sat by the bank of the river. “It didn’t bleed a lot.” “It is fine, healer.” Gwire stiffened as Fayline reached out to touch him. “I can treat myself.” “My mate sent me for a reason,” she insisted as Gwire backed away from her yet again. “Yes, he didn’t want you to hear him yell,” Zactch pointed out, sitting on the grassy embankment, watching the proceedings with interest. He wanted Gwire to be healed, but Fayline had no herbs with her, no bandages. Did that headache trick work on physical wounds? The thought was tempting, but other cultures had healers who claimed the ability to alleviate minor aches and pains. The knitting together of flesh ... that was something different entirely. “I -- I am fine, healer.” Gwire was adamant, his eyes looking about him wildly as he found no visible means of escape. He couldn’t run and leave Zactch, especially after what had just happened, and he couldn’t actually avoid an order from his alpha, up to and including any intent behind his words. “It will only take a moment,” Fayline urged. “What is the problem?”

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“You!” Gwire finally shouted, his frustration building to a point where it needed some release. “Me? I have done nothing!” “You come to me covered in a mating scent!” Fayline blushed as she recalled this morning’s interrupted exercises and took a quiet sniff. She had learned to tone certain senses down, like scent and hearing, to afford her people some privacy. It was common practice not to use these senses in the village unless it was an extreme emergency. That the mating scent was strong enough to affect Gwire ... She inhaled the mating scent of herself and He-o, their smells mingled together in a musky, dark, tempting way. There was the scent of Zactch, that almost-alpha weak scent that the soapfu root revealed, as well as the lingering scents of fear and anger that flowed from him. And Gwire ... All she smelt was blood. How could that be? He didn’t really register to her at all, just the scent of blood, anger, and the lingering smell of the other male. “I can’t scent you,” she gasped, her eyes wide in shock as she looked at the smaller dark male. “Of course he has a scent.” Zactch sighed, rolling his eyes. Maybe that is what good sex

did for you, he thought. “He smells like smoke and spice and blood.” “But ...” “No,” Gwire interrupted Fayline. “She is correct. I carry no Tigon scent.” “But scent is one of the ways we pick a mate!” Fayline was horrified!

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After first hearing the tentative voice in her head, the scent of her mate was what had drawn her to He-o. It helped her read his emotions and sense what he wanted. It kept her body aware of her mate, it aided in mating, and it was key in offering her comfort when he wasn’t around. It marked the territories of her people, helping them to set up boundaries that would be disastrous to breach. Without the ability to create your own personal scent ... “I am a Shadow Dancer,” he reminded her. “We have no need of such things.” Gwire could read the horror in Fayline’s scent. He might not carry a scent maker, but there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell. “I -- I -- Forgive me, Gwire,” Fayline stammered as she rose to her feet. “I shall wash, and then I will return to you.” She nodded, and then she was gone, leaving Gwire and Zactch alone at the river. As soon as his nose told them that they were alone, Gwire turned to a stunned Zactch. The other man had not spoken a word as he tried to puzzle his way through the conversation he had just heard. “You can’t scent?” he asked quietly, amazement dawning on his face. “No.” “Why?” “To become a better spy.” Gwire ran his fingers through his long hair as he tried to explain to someone who had no keen sense of smell just how important scent really was. “I had to sacrifice. Zactch ... It ... has been difficult without the support of my brothers.” “But ... but didn’t they plan for this, for a Shadow Dancer to be left alone?” “Who plans for the extinction of their whole race?”

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Zactch’s eyes widened as it dawned on him that Gwire was essentially the last of his kind. There was no one else like him; there was no one else who could understand how it felt to be ... “An outcast among your own people,” Zactch breathed, understanding blossoming in his mind with all its painful clarity. “You are alone.” “I am alone.” Gwire sighed as he walked over to the riverbank and perched at its edge. “I have ... grown used to it,” he said as he cupped a handful of the cool water and began to bathe the cuts on his arms. “No one ever gets used to being alone.” Zactch spoke as he felt his heart breaking for his friend -- for indeed, Gwire was a friend. Who else would risk his life for another? “One gets used to a lot of things,” Gwire responded, looking down at the pink-tinged water that ran from his arms. “You would be amazed, Zactch.” He looked over his shoulder at the man sitting legs out before him in the grass and winced at what he said. “Yeah,” Zactch muttered, paling a little as he looked down at his wasted legs. “But that still doesn’t make it right or fair. Where is the balance in that?” He reached out and plucked the leather of his leggings, once again reminding himself of his own weakness. “I couldn’t even run away, Gwire. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t do anything but sit there and let them say what they wanted and do what they wanted. They could have killed me, and the only thing I could have done about it was sit there and beg for my miserable life.” The reality of that altercation began to settle in his chest, making his eyes burn and his head pound as he realized that he had been staring down the jaws of death.

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“What am I doing here, Gwire? How can I help anyone else when I can’t even help myself? Out here, I am a joke. To your people, I am a half-man, not worthy of respect. What the hell am I doing here?” He wanted to cry, but it had been ages since the tears had been beaten out of him. He liked to think that they had been surgically removed along with his lower intestine and his sense of humanity, of self-worth. “You are trying to help my people.” The quiet statement made him lift his dry, burning eyes to Gwire, who had silently made his way to his side. “You are helping to save what is left of the Tigon, Zactch. You were doing it before we took you. You were going to let Tarza go. You have made a difference, Zactch. Without you ... without you ... I ...” Gwire slumped down beside Zactch, breathing deeply, his whole body shaking. “Without you, I would never feel this ... this ...” Zactch watched, eyes wide in amazement as Gwire cursed softly under his breath before his hands reached out to cup his face. “You have no fur here,” Gwire commented, his dark eyes staring into Zactch’s bright blue ones. “Um, chemical treatments took a lot of my body hair.” His words were slow and halting as Gwire’s face drew near to his. “You smell ...” Zactch felt his heart race and a pulsing, pleasurable swelling in his groin. Gwire moved in close enough for Zactch to see that his eyelashes were dark ebony, and that there were faint stripes along the right side of his body, almost lost in the darkness of his skin. And he smelled ...

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“Damn it, just kiss me!” Zactch’s mouth dropped open in shock. Had those words come from his lips? But then Gwire’s lips were pressed against his own, his tongue gently exploring unknown territory. He moaned, and his hands went to Gwire’s shoulders as he leaned towards his body and the warmth he exuded. A soft, wet tongue invaded his mouth, teasing at his dull teeth and caressing the ridges of the roof of his mouth. His breathing increased as the smell, the taste, the feel of Gwire overwhelmed his senses, causing his mind to surrender to the pure pleasure that the man selflessly delivered. Gwire pulled back as the roaring in his ears became a demand. This male, this Zactch, had caused a reaction in him like he had not felt for any other. His taste was mild yet powerful, telling of exotic spice and curiosity. His arousal was easily scented, his desire to be made one with Gwire in a way that was so profound it almost brought tears to his eyes. Zactch was a male who understood loneliness, who understood a failing body that others could not endure. Yet Zactch endured it, overcame it, and still had the strength of mind, body, and character not to delve into a dark depression over what could not be changed. This was a strong male, a worthy male, and it made his want of him all the more powerful. He only pulled away as the demands of his body almost overcame his common sense. He wanted to throw Zactch down on the ground and lick every inch of his body, but this was neither the time nor the place. So he pulled back and looked into Zactch’s blue eyes and saw the same understanding dawning there.

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“Beautiful,” Zactch whispered, his breathing ragged as he stared at the other man. Never had he ever thought he would feel this way about anybody, let alone this man of a species of human so alike and yet so different than his own. Gwire looked down in embarrassment, not at all used to compliments, but pleased to the bottom of his soul that Zactch thought so. But reality intruded once more in the form of Fayline, washed and ready for the day, returning. “Now I will heal you, Gwire,” she informed him, noting that the Shadow Dancer and Zactch jumped almost guiltily apart and were still casting glances at each other. “Yes, healer,” Gwire agreed as Fayline stepped forward, but silently he believed that the healing process had already begun.

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Chapter Fourteen

Fayline said nothing as Zactch refused to let go of Gwire’s hand, and nothing about the fact that Gwire allowed this as she sat before the men to begin her healing. “You were curious about this, about healing.” Fayline spoke to Zactch as she centered herself and made ready to use the energies the Creator had gifted her with. “Watch as I gather energies to help in the healing of our Shadow Dancer.” As she spoke, her pale skin began to glow with golden stripes that swirled and whirled around her body. Her ears were up and alert as her eyes began to glow a bright molten gold. Her hair stood on end as she reached her hands towards Gwire. When she touched Gwire, Zactch could feel the power and strength of her energies, like an electric charge, pass through Gwire and into his body, as well. They, Gwire and Zactch, gasped at the tingling energies that shot through their bodies. As Zactch watched, eyes wide open in amazement, the cuts and gashes on Gwire’s body began to mend. As if in fast-forward motion, the cuts seemed to grow together until a thin pink line was all that remained of several deep lacerations, and then those too disappeared, leaving behind only smooth new flesh.

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As for Fayline, she had to fight to rein in the energies coursing through her body. They didn’t want to stop working; they wanted to flow. They wanted her to touch ... Zactch. For a moment, she lost control and watched as a golden wave passed through Gwire and settled onto Zactch, who gasped as his upper body stiffened, but then she gained control and began to pull the energy back into her body. Just as suddenly as it began, it ended, leaving all three breathless and shocked. “Wow,” Zactch finally gasped. “Lady, you pack a powerful punch.” After she pondered on his words and their meanings, she broke out into a grin. “I thank you, Zactch.” She beamed as she looked over at Gwire, who was rotating his free arm and nodding in agreement. “I am healed.” “That is what I was created for,” she reminded Gwire with a grin. “It is what I was born to do.” “But how?” Zactch gaped at her. Actual tissue regeneration! The possibilities boggled the mind! “I just ... do. I was surprised myself.” She smiled as she recalled the first time she had healed someone out of desperation. “It is ... my gift. The energies in my body allow me to.” “Is it just you?” he asked, eagerly taking mental notes. If there were others, maybe they would agree to ... “I am the only Liger female around here.” She sighed. “I don’t know how many Liger there are left elsewhere.” “Liger?” “What I am, what my people are. We are Liger.” “But there are many of you,” Zactch insisted. “Unless Gwire was fighting a ghost.”

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“I am Tigon,” Gwire explained. “We are the same as the Liger, but not. The magic flows from the Liger blood. The Tigon are great warriors.” “But ... but what happened?” he asked, struck dumb by the fact that such a great ability was all but lost. “No,” he breathed. “I know what happened. My people came.” Fayline nodded, then tried to change the subject to anything but a reminder of how she had spent her formative years. “But I am free. And if the Creator wills it, my children will carry the Liger blood and magic.” “Are you ...” Zactch sat up further, staring at her midsection. “No.” She blushed. “Not yet.” “May you prove to be fruitful.” Zactch grinned, tightening his grip on Gwire’s hand. “I thank you for your blessing.” Fayline smiled. “Now, let us find something to break our fast.” “Not back at the fires?” Zactch asked, not really wanting to go back there, but knowing he had to eat to keep his internal economy, such as it was, turning over properly. “No, we will gather fruit and then visit the healers. The village is ... not a comfortable place to be now,” she reported, wincing at the memory of her mate dressing down their people, those who had been present during the altercation and those who had been giving Zactch and Gwire odd looks. “I believe he is sending out a few ... warriors,” she rolled her eyes at that word, and both Gwire and Zactch knew that the troublemakers were being put to work far away from them, “to go scouting.” “I should ...” “You will stay with Zactch,” Fayline interrupted before Gwire’s sense of obligation to his people moved him away from Zactch.

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Fayline was not stupid, and even if the other two were not paying attention, she had smelled the male arousal from the moment she’d entered the clearing. Zactch seemed to be good for Gwire, bringing her shy Shadow Dancer out of his solitary existence. If he would stay to be near Zactch, then maybe he would open his heart to someone else when the male of the Others left. “He-o requested that you protect and guide him still. He is rather busy with the village.” Gwire looked over at Zactch and had to fight to keep a silly, cubbish grin from spreading across his face. “I understand.” His voice was soft as he looked over at the blue-eyed, blond-haired male.

***** “You use that combination of plants?” Zactch asked as he sat near an older Tigon while she harvested what he’d previously thought of as a poisonous plant, and added them to a root that had caused an allergic skin reaction in almost every person who came in contact with it. “The plant is poisonous on its own,” the female healer explained as she continued her work. “But the root ... kills the poison, and the poison stops the skin bumps.” She explained as best as she could, not having had much contact with the Others nor opportunity to expand her knowledge of their language. “One neutralizes the other,” he murmured. As a scientist, Zactch was fascinated, but now it seemed that everything fascinated him. Since that kiss ... the world seemed to be a much brighter place. His point of view seemed altered somehow. Or maybe it was that he was just experiencing happiness. “What is it used for?”

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“Breathing troubles,” she explained, grinning at the young male’s enthusiasm. “Breathing troubles and bad colds.” “Could be for asthma attacks,” Zactch mused out loud. “Tightness in chest, hard to breath, fast heartbeat ... asthma?” she asked. “Sounds like the same thing,” Zactch agreed. “And how do you take this concoction?” “Boil it into a paste and then rub it under the tongue. It is strong and it works fast.” “Sublingual,” Zactch breathed, amazed at the scope of the people’s technology, even as primitive as it seemed. They knew that it would be very difficult for an asthmatic to swallow anything during an attack, so the fast-absorbing sublingual medication was almost as good as an inhaler. “Are we ready to move on?” Gwire asked, not paying any attention to the grin on the elder female’s face. “Young Shadow Dancer,” she acknowledged. “It is good you visit.” “I am here to protect Zactch,” he explained, trying not to look pleased at the welcome. “I heard ... about the village this morning.” The female shook her head in sadness. “The times, they are changing, warriors attacking guests.” She shook her head as if shamed by the actions of others. “There was a time when that was punishable by banishment. Now we need all of our people together, good and not so good.” Zactch nodded and again felt shame that it was his people that had brought these extraordinary clans so low. Just imagining the technological and medical advances lost almost brought him to tears. “But, young Gwire, take this.” She chuckled, reaching into a leather pouch and handing Gwire a small wooden container, causing a faint blush to explode across his cheeks. “I have not needed this for many seasons now, healer,” he stammered as he tried to hide the small wooden box away.

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“I believe it is time you needed it again, Shadow Dancer. Your people may be lost and your ways forgotten, but the body needs what it needs.” “I-I -- uh, thank you, healer.” Gwire bowed quickly and then all but snatched a confused and quite amused Zactch up into his arms. “What was that about?” Zactch asked as he was carried swiftly through the darkening forest back to the main village. He and Gwire had spent the whole day among the healers, taking samples of plants and herbs that he felt would be beneficial to his people. He had several small pouches cradled in his lap, nested in the swath of leather that Fayline had given him to wrap around his legs. “It is time we left,” Gwire answered, still blushing and trying not to gaze at Zactch. “The sun is going down, and you need rest.” “Rest?” Zactch snorted. “All I do is ask questions and take samples. It is the easiest work I have ever done, Gwire.” Zactch just didn’t want the day to end. He enjoyed Gwire’s company, and he’d really enjoyed that earlier kiss. He wondered what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. “I am not tired.” He didn’t care that he was beginning to sound like a petulant child; he didn’t want his Gwire time to end. “How about I sit with you for a time?” Gwire compromised. “Let us discuss other things.” “Like our kiss?” Zactch grinned despite himself. He had almost never felt real physical arousal, and that he was feeling it now and with Gwire ... he was flabbergasted and pleased and scared all at once. “Like ... our kiss.” Gwire’s voice began to grow husky and his arms tightened around his ... around Zactch.

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“And what was in the box that made you blush?” “Um.” Gwire almost stumbled, but stared down at Zactch in a mock glare. “Nothing of great importance.” “Then I am content.” Zactch chuckled as Gwire carried him off into the growing darkness, sighing to himself and taking the liberty of resting against the man’s chest. He inhaled the wonderful musky, outdoorsy scent of Gwire and relished the feel of his muscles moving as he was easily carried back into camp. All too soon they had reached his hut, and Gwire placed him on the furs. “Do you care to wash before we make ready to talk?” Gwire asked. Zactch nodded and Gwire left, only to return with a bowl of wash water and the soapfu root. Zactch immediately reached for the bowl to begin washing his upper body, but Gwire refused to let the bowl go. “Let me.” He spoke in a low voice, dipping the root into the water, his dark eyes staring at Zactch through the rising steam. Zactch swallowed hard, then nodded in consent, a bit nervous, but not willing to let small fears stand in the way of what he wanted. And he wanted Gwire, with every fiber of his being. “Talk to me, Gwire.” Zactch’s voice was growing deep, his blue eyes glazing over as he began to give into his need for this male ... no, for this man. The title of male just separated them, it generalized them based on the same organs that were swinging between their legs. Gwire was a man, in his estimation. Gwire was a man before he’d brought Zactch into this village, and he would be a man when he left it, no matter what occurred after he was gone. “What would you like to hear?”

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“Tell me about yourself.” Zactch held in a hiss of pleasure as Gwire began to run the root over his back, rubbing in firm yet small circles, awakening the nerve endings in the flesh of his back. “I am a Shadow Dancer, as you know. I was chosen at birth because of my size and coloring.” “You are darker than the rest of the people here,” Zactch noted, closing his eyes and letting his head drop forward in pleasure. Gwire was not only washing his skin, he was massaging muscles that ached from being used as his sole support system all day. The shoulders and arms grew fatigued when there was nothing else being used to keep the body upright. “I find it very attractive,” he added, smirking at the thought of all that flesh laid bare before him. “Thank you.” Gwire licked his lips as he ran his fingers along Zactch’s spine, enjoying watching the man shiver as his body reacted to his touch. “But it was not easy. We are isolated, and we have many rites and passages. There were ... things that I can’t talk about, Zactch.” He explained, “I swore an oath to my ancestors and the Creator that made us all.” “I understand.” Zactch’s hand reached up to grip Gwire’s as it made a pass over his shoulders. “So ... tell me what you can. I mean, if you want to. I would like to get to know you a lot better, Gwire. You ... you fascinate me.” “Fascinate.” Gwire smiled. “That is a compliment I have not heard in ages.” “Yet it’s true.” Gwire breathed deeply before pulling free of Zactch’s grip and rewetting the root. “Well, I was one of nine Shadow Dancers in this area, for this pride. I was the youngest and the first assigned directly for Pride Talon. After the Others ... after the destruction of many pridelands, the Shadow Dancers convened, and all who were left gathered around here, around the Liger who would possess the magical energies to help save our people.” “You’re older that the big guy with all the stripes?”

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“He is Kobaye, our leader and brother to healer Fayline. And yes, I am elder by four seasons. Kobaye is young for a leader, yet very wise.” “He holds this place together.” Zactch noticed the respect that Kobaye had been shown, and the shock everyone had felt as he came out of the isolation of his heat cycle. “Yes, many of his ideas have saved us undue hardships. And he is wise enough to take the advice of his hunt-brother, He-o. He-o is our second alpha. All are subservient to him, and he is subservient to Kobaye. It is a power neither alpha ever abuses.” “Marks of a good leader.” Zactch grinned as he recalled the powerfully built naked male. Even he, with his blunted sense of smell, could scent the sexual heat that had rolled off of the man. “And a virile one, too, I imagine.” Gwire nodded, again aware of what his body lacked that was so prominent in his alphas. “He is going through his first heat cycle and should not have been parted from his mate. All will hear about this when the heat madness passes.” “So, have you gone through your heat cycle, Gwire?” Zactch could just imagine the dark male, wild-eyed and hungry, his piercing black eyes seeking out a suitable mate for the rutting. It was such a profound picture he had to manually shift his legs to give his swelling cock room. But Gwire paused all actions, sliding a bit away from Zactch. “Gwire?” he asked, confused as to why the touching and conversation had ceased. “No,” he finally answered, tossing the root back into the bowl of water. “No, Zactch. I have never, nor will I ever have a heat cycle.” “Why not?” he asked clearly confused. “Is it something that all Tigon males go through? Or is it just the Ligers?”

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“I ... I cannot have a heat cycle, Zactch. And I will never have a mate. The fates decreed I be what I am, and the Shadow Dancers ensured that I was crafted into a form that would assist me in my duties.” “Oh, God.” Zactch paled. “Did they -- did they castrate you?” Gwire closed his eyes, prepared for rejection and dismissal as unworthy of being a whole true male. But this question, it confused him. “Castrate?” “Did they cut off your balls?” He watched as Zactch’s hands went to the crotch of Gwire’s loincloth, making him jump as Zactch patted at the flesh that was steadily growing in arousal. “Zactch!” Zactch almost toppled over, so intent was he on discovering what those vicious Shadow Dancers had done to his Gwire. He didn’t even realize he was muttering out loud until Gwire’s hand pressed his against his growing erection. “They did not remove my balls, Zactch,” he explained, watching as the male sighed in relief at the feel of his growing flesh. “They removed my scent glands.” “Huh?” “My scent glands, the things that make it possible for me to go into heat,” he explained. “But, you are getting hard.” Zactch emphasized his point by giving the hardening tube of flesh in his hands a squeeze. “But what good is a hard cock when no females will notice you?” Gwire asked in all seriousness. “Because I lack a scent gland, eligible females will not heed any of my advances. To them, I don’t exist. I am a non-person, Zactch. They see me, but they can’t scent me; therefore, I am an odd beast to them. To the males, the females, to every Tigon or Liger I pass. I am a non-person, not truly existing. I am a walking spirit, a ...”

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“Shadow Dancer.” Zactch began to understand. “You really are there, but to them, you are not, because they don’t see you without your scent.” “Yes.” Gwire sighed. “With the Shadow Dancers, I was not so alone. I had others who understood our life and our needs. But now, they are no more.” “Wh-what happened to them?” Zactch released his grip on Gwire’s cock, and instead, reached for his hands. “They went to observe and report, and one by one, they disappeared.” “All of them?” “Some of them passed with age. Some submitted to the final ceremony after being caught, in order not to betray our people. Some ... we have no idea. One day, there was only me. I reported, the others did not.” “Gwire.” Zactch looked up at the man with compassion and understanding in his eyes. “I am sorry they abandoned you.” “I was not abandoned.” Gwire was quick to defend his brethren. “Died, committed suicide, killed, to your heart they all abandoned you. I am so sorry you had to go through that alone.” Gwire said nothing, but the pain was clear to see in his eyes. “I can’t understand what you went through, Gwire,” he continued. “I don’t know what it is to sacrifice what you have. But I know that you are a real warrior, Gwire. You are a fighter. You give so much to those you protect, you were willing to give your life for me. I respect that, more than you’ll ever know. I wish I could be ... I wish ...” Giving up on words, Zactch just shook his head, unable to express what emotions were going through him at that moment. “You are who the Creator willed you to be.” Gwire’s words broke the stiff silence as he took Zactch’s chin in his hand and lifted his head. “You are a wonderful person, Zactch. You

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survive ... You live through more challenges than I could ever overcome, and yet you never complain.” “I am broken, Gwire. You think people don’t see you? Well, they won’t see me.” “I see you.” “You are the only one! People look at me and say, there goes the cripple. Or they pity me, or they wonder why I won’t do the honorable thing and end it all.” “I look at you and I see ... you.” “Well, you are the only one, Gwire! You ... your body is perfect! You have two good legs, two good arms, a strong back, and a big damn cock hidden in your leathers.” “Where it remains now that my brother Dancers are gone.” “You have a ... What?” “My brother Dancers. We often ... comforted one another.” Zactch blinked, then blinked again as a slow grin spread across his face. “Is that what they’re calling it?” He grinned and nudged Gwire, who began to blush faintly. “You ...” Then all amusement fled. “Oh, God, Gwire! You lost a lover!” “Lover?” “Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” “A mate.” “You lost a mate!” Zactch suddenly felt like a heel! Here he was making lewd jokes when Gwire had lost someone so dear! “I have no mate, Zactch. Calm yourself.” He saw the distress in Zactch’s eyes and picked up the male’s hands, easing his growing guilt. “We only offered physical comfort to each other. We swore no vows.” “Oh.” Zactch blew out a breath. “For a moment, I thought I had done more harm than good, trying to get into your loincloth.”

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“Trying ...” “I am a man,” Zactch looked down at his legs, “such as I am. And I want you, Gwire.” “But I have no ...” “I don’t care for scent glands, man! I like you as a person! I like the feel of your soul. I want to share what little I have,” he spoke derisively of himself for a moment, “with you.” “Me?” “Do I disgust you?” Zactch didn’t realize he was holding his breath, but when Gwire answered, his breath left him in a rush. “Disgust? You have such inner power and strength! Your soul glows with it! Your scent is that of an alpha, a male who is in control of his mind and his body. I would be honored to share this body, such as it is, with you.” “Gwire.” Zactch reached out his hand, tugging Gwire towards him. “Kiss me, then fuck me. Either way, I want something of yours in me hard, deep, and fast.” “Again and again, Zactch,” Gwire whispered as his lips pressed against Zactch’s, his tongue invading his mouth. “And then we switch.”

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Chapter Fifteen

“God, you feel so good!” It had only taken moments for Gwire to undress them both, tossing bits of leather aside like discarded scraps and easing Zactch back onto his thick furs. At first, Zactch blushed, wanting to hide his small, pale legs from Gwire, but the man had taken one look and breathed, “Beautiful.” “But ...” “Every inch of you is beautiful.” As if to prove it, he ran his hands along Zactch’s sides, across his stomach, until he gripped his waist. Then with his eyes staring straight into his lover’s, he reached out and gripped both of Zactch’s thighs, feeling the atrophied muscles trying to react to his touch. “You can feel me?” “Yeah.” Zactch looked away for a moment, but Gwire’s tensing his hands on his thighs made him look up at the muscular Tigon.

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“These legs are a part of you. They are one of the reasons you understand me. They helped shape you into the warrior that you are. For that reason and many more, I will treasure this part of you as I treasure everything you are willing to give.” “Gwire ...” Gwire lowered his head and ran his tongue along Zactch’s lips, feeling them quiver with some unnamed emotion before they slowly parted, welcoming him inside. Zactch reached up, his hands pressing against the perfect muscular planes of Gwire’s chest, feeling the smooth, warm skin beneath the soft fur. He groaned as Gwire deepened the kiss, feeling his cock lurch toward full arousal, something that had never happed to him before. As he broke the kiss, Gwire wasted no time in placing the box the healer had given him beside Zactch’s head, before he let his lips map his lover’s -- what a nice word -- body. Zactch groaned, the muscles of his upper body trembling at his caresses. “You taste like musk,” he breathed. “Musk and soapfu and sweat.” “And you feel like fire!” Zactch closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as he felt his prick throb against his stomach. He was hot and wet, leaking precum into a pool on his stomach as his lover’s touch drove reason from his mind. He arched his neck back as Gwire sampled the flavor there, nipping at his pale skin, leaving behind the red marks of his possession. “I love the feel of you,” Zactch breathed, his hands tangling in his lover’s hair. “You feel so alive.” He bit back his feelings of envy as Gwire rose onto his knees above him, flexing his hard, muscular body, and instead groaned at the erotic picture the naked Tigon made.

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Still, Zactch allowed his hand to wander, to press against the tight stomach, to pluck his dark nipples into harder peaks, to allow his fingers to trail over his lover’s back to the twin mounds of hard flesh that made up his rounded cheeks, to that tail that ... “How you touch me,” Gwire moaned, his tail whipping around Zactch’s wrist to keep those massaging hands on his ass. “Mmm,” Zactch panted, his eyes traveling over the feast of male flesh that hovered above him. “Perfection.” Gwire grinned, exposing his fangs as his fingers went to the wooden box and lifted the lid. The smell of mint and dark musk filled Zactch’s nose. He turned his head and watched as Gwire coated two fingers. “This is made for us by the healers, though it has been some time since I’ve had a use for it.” “It’s to help stretch me.” Zactch showed his knowledge of intimate male bonding, and Gwire smiled. “For both of us.” He reached around and gripped Zactch’s right wrist, bringing the hand to his lips for a brief lick and kiss before dipping his fingers into the box. “Have you done this before?” Gwire inquired as he shifted forward, moving higher up on Zactch’s chest. “Um, no. Does it show?” Zactch wasn’t really embarrassed about his virgin state. He just wanted to do this sex thing right. “No,” Gwire breathed as he lifted his tail and maneuvered Zactch’s fingers until they pressed against his hole. “I just need to explain some things.” His voice was a growl now, and he shuddered, sweat beading his skin as his lover’s fingers touched his sensitive skin. “Rub here ... like this.”

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Gwire pushed Zactch’s thighs further apart, leaving his legs wide and straddling his shoulders before he allowed his slick fingers to gently part the soft cheeks of his ass. Zactch jumped as the warm oil-coated fingers caressed this nerve-rich area. He moaned as Gwire began a circular motion that made him arch his hips in sudden need. “God!” “You do the same to me,” Gwire whispered as he leaned forward, wishing to lap at his lover’s mouth, but settled for inhaling his scent and watching his eyes grow glossy with pleasure instead. “Explore.” So Zactch forgot the need to beg like a bitch in heat and allowed his slick fingers to roam the area underneath Gwire’s tail. He paused as he felt something other than soft, smooth skin. “Gwire ...?” “I’ll explain later,” he moaned, his back arching into the caress as he spread his thighs wide for his lover’s touch. “Touch me lower.” He hissed as Zactch’s fingers left the area under his tail and slid into the cleft between his ass cheeks. “Press inside.” Gwire hissed as he gently eased one finger into the tight, slick muscles that made up his lover’s inner chamber. “Oh, God!” Zactch moaned, his eyes closing at this new sensation. “Burns ...” “It will get better,” Gwire promised as he paused to allow Zactch’s body to adjust. “I didn’t say it was bad!” Zactch panted, his breathing increasing as his chest began to rapidly rise and fall. “More!” Gwire chuckled as he bent low and took a nibble of the male’s thigh between his teeth, nipping at it with sharp fangs before laving the pain away with his tongue. He moved his head to suckle on the other as Zactch moaned for more. He cried out as he slid his finger deeper, stretching him a little before pulling back.

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“Do that again!” Zactch moaned. “Please!” “You first,” was Gwire’s response, and nodding his head, Zactch inserted one finger into his man. “Oh,” he breathed, his attention leaving his own needy body for a moment. “This ... you are hot inside.” “As are you, my Zactch,” Gwire hissed, his tail arching up and dropping to the left, leaving his ass exposed and ready for more. “Oh,” he repeated, pressing his finger in deep and then shuddering as the muscles clenched around that single digit. He tried to imagine this tightness around his cock and gasped as his cock lurched, dribbling out more creamy seed. “That is what I will feel when I fill you full,” Gwire hissed, humping his ass backwards, forcing Zactch to finger-fuck his ass. “This is what you will feel when you take me.” “But ... God!” Zactch gasped as Gwire pulled back, caressing him internally before pressing a second finger in beside the first. “Burns,” he breathed again. “But I think I like it!” His free hand ran over Gwire’s back, his fingers dancing over the sweaty flesh as he felt the tremors of his man as he gently pumped his finger in and out of his ass. “You have a pleasure button,” Gwire explained, crooking his finger up toward his stomach, and pressing into the slick, soft tissue. “When I find it, you will ...” “Gwire!” Zactch shouted as lights exploded behind his eyes. His prick lurched and his balls felt like they were on fire. Tears formed in his eyes as his mouth dried out. “Do it again!” Chuckling a dark, sexy sound, Gwire repeated this caress on his prostate, watching as his male came undone, writhing beneath him.

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“Imagine,” he whispered, licking up his inner thigh to hiss loud enough to be heard, “what it will feel like when the whole of my manhood caresses this spot.” Zactch’s eyes grew wide, and his free hand left Gwire’s back to grab the base of his cock. “Damn it, you are going to make me come,” he whimpered, drawing Gwire’s attention to his cock. It looked different. “Were you injured here as well?” he asked, sitting up a bit, shuddering as his movement forced Zactch’s finger deeper into his ass. “No.” Zactch whimpered, breathing deeply, trying to control his release. “Why?” “You have no ... extra skin there ...” “I’m circumcised. They do it for religious and cleanliness reasons.” “Is it sensitive?” “I don’t know.” Before he could question further, Gwire slid down his legs, dislodging Zactch’s finger from his ass, and took the head of his cock into his mouth. “Oh, shit!” Zactch’s eyes grew wide as the hot, tight, moist mouth covered the head of his cock. It was a heat that he felt throughout his body and which sent the urge to climax rising again. “Still sensitive,” Gwire mused as he scissored his fingers, stretching out his lover’s chamber. He only paused to re-oil his fingers before inserting yet a third, causing Zactch to yelp before moaning and moving his hips in time with his lover’s thrusts. “Please,” he breathed, his heart racing, his eyes wide and dilated. “Gwire, I need more!” “Then more you shall have!”

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Gwire ignored Zactch gasp of disappointment as he removed his fingers and instead spread his thighs wide. “I will go slowly,” he began, then gasped in pain as Zactch reached up and fisted his hair. “Go slow and I will kill you!” Gwire smiled as he positioned his cock at the mouth of Zactch’s hole. “Push out,” he growled as he began to work his way inside. “Push ... out,” Zactch panted, trying to do as he was told. “Oh, Gwire ...” He gasped as he felt his ass breached. There was definitely a bit of pain there, despite the stretching he had received. But he pushed out and moaned as he felt the head of Gwire’s cock pass that tight first ring of muscle. “Breathe,” Gwire grunted, trying to resist the urge to just slam into that tight heat. But he controlled himself and waited for some signal from his male lover. His signal was in the minute thrusts of Zactch’s hips as his hands fisted in the furs by his head and twisted, making the tendons stand out. Gwire pressed deeper, slowly and smoothly, himself whimpering at the sounds his mate made as he forged deep into virgin territory. Finally he paused, his balls pressing against his lover’s ass, and tossed his sweaty hair over his shoulder, getting a clear look at his lover’s face. Zactch’s eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Sweat poured from his body, and he was gripped by uncontrollable shudders. Alarmed, Gwire made to pull out of his warm, tight haven, but a fist in his hair stopped him. “Move or I’ll fucking kill you!” “You are in pain ...”

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“Fuck me, Gwire!” “Zactch!” “Move that thick cock in my ass, Gwire! Fuck me! Make me come!” “As you wish.” Zactch opened his eyes at the animalistic growl and whined as those dark eyes bored into his. Then Gwire pulled his hips back, and Zactch’s whole world shifted on its axis. Feelings he’d never before imagined shot through the sensitive, nerve-rich muscles of his ass! Who knew that getting reamed could feel so damn good? “Harder!” he moaned, trying to toss his hips up as best he could. “Oh, yeah, do it, Gwire!” Hissing in pleasure, Gwire allowed his hips to slowly begin to piston back and forth, cock thrusting in and out of his lover’s body, his tail flying up behind him as a counterbalance. Slowly he picked up his pace, increasing it as he felt his lover’s hand leave the furs and his nails dig into his shoulders. “Zactch,” he moaned, bending over to lick at his lover’s chest, biting at the firm muscles there, filling his senses with the touch, the taste, the feel of his Zactch. “Oh, God,” Zactch whimpered, tears running down his cheeks. “I think I’m going to come!” Fire was racing through his body, his mind was awash in burning sensations, his balls churning in their sac as his cock steadily leaked his thick, rich precum. He could feel the tension in his body rising, felt his blood pressure ready to explode, shuddered at the feeling of his body opening and closing around Gwire’s hard, throbbing dick. He needed something else, he needed to come! He was going to lose his mind!

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Then he felt Gwire’s tail wrap around his slippery shaft, sliding up and down, tightening in rhythm with the rapid pounding in his ass. “Gwire!” he fairly screamed. “Not yet!” Gwire tore his tail away as he felt Zactch’s balls slam into the base of his cock. Never had he been in such a hot, willing body. Being inside Zactch was like sinking his cock into a boiling hot spring. The soft muscles tugged and clenched powerfully around him, sucking him in and refusing to let him go. He closed his eyes, a low whine in his throat as he gave up the fight for control and let his seed explode into his mate. “Zactch!” he roared, closing his eyes shut as he felt his seed shooting from his body and scalding the inside of his lover’s chamber. Before Zactch could react to this new sensation, Gwire was pulling out and crawling over his body. Zactch managed to gasp once as Gwire fisted his cock, positioning it under his ass and then ... “Sweet Mercy!” Zactch screamed as his slick, hungry cock was swallowed into a pit of clenching fire. “Yes!” Zactch felt his toes tingle, his heart stop, and his dick explode as he was sucked inside a wet, slick heat, more perfect than anything he had ever felt. “I’m coming!” he roared, his head tossed back in ecstasy as Gwire bounced on his dick. He opened his eyes to see his lover, tail high behind him, his fist pumping his swollen cock, as he shot stream after stream of white-hot cum across his chest. Then the world disappeared for a time, and Zactch gladly sank into the honeyed sweetness of climactic oblivion. He awoke to the feel of hands rubbing something warm and slick into his chest.

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He opened his eyes to see Gwire, still impaled on his cock, rubbing his cum into the skin of his chest. “I have no scent glands to mark you,” he breathed. “But I do have this.” He paused, breathless, his voice raw as he examined his mate’s eyes. “Everyone will know that you are mine.” “Yours,” Zactch agreed, reaching up to run his hand across Gwire’s chest. “As you are mine.”

***** “That is where my glands were removed,” Gwire explained. “It was done in a ceremony, and the whole of the brotherhood of Shadow Dancers was there to celebrate my transition and to comfort me in my pain.” The two were lying together in the furs, Gwire lying on Zactch’s chest as the blond male stroked his tail. “Was it ... was it very painful?” “For a time,” Gwire admitted, lifting his head and grinning at his mate. “But when I healed, I was initiated into the ways of the healer’s box.” He nodded towards the small wooden container that held that remarkably slick ointment used to smooth things along, as it were. “Which I thoroughly enjoyed.” “And you have such skill at it, too.” Zactch grinned. “Now what happened to your manhood?” “Excess skin was removed when I was an infant. It is a common practice,” Zactch explained. “I don’t even remember it happening.” “Strange,” Gwire commented, resting against his lover again, pulling the furs tighter over their still-damp bodies. “To some.” Zactch buried his face in Gwire’s hair. “But apparently it still works right.”

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“Every oversized inch of it.” Gwire moaned, then grinned as he reached under the covers to pet the organ in question. “I finally got to use it!” Zactch laughed. “Is that all you have to say?” Gwire chuckled, looking into his mate’s expressive blue eyes, scenting the happiness that flowed from him. “It was good?” Zactch snickered. “My ass hurts,” he added, then exploded into laughter. “Go to sleep, Zactch,” Gwire finally chided. “Tomorrow, I’ll take care of your ass.” “Promises,” Zactch murmured, before he closed his eyes and settled down into the best sleep he had ever had in his young, deprived life.

***** “Still so tight for me.” Gwire whispered into Zactch’s ear as he slowly and steadily pumped into this male ... into Zactch. It was dangerous to think that there could ever be anything lasting between the two of them. Zactch was not a part of his world. He would be leaving soon, and when he was gone ... Gwire didn’t even want to think about what he would do once Zactch was gone. Instead, he concentrated on the tightness of his inner walls, the sweet smell of sex, how their combined scents mingled, drawing a rumbling purr from his throat. He wrapped his tail around Zactch’s slick, throbbing dick, using the furry appendage to stroke him in time with his thrusts, building their passions higher. Lying on their sides with him spooned behind Zactch was a comfortable position they discovered they both loved. With a little ingenuity and flexibility, Gwire would rise up on one arm and draw Zactch’s head around for a deep, possessive kiss, or he could nip and bite at his sensitive neck.

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But his favorite had to be running his rough tongue along Zactch’s pale back, watching as he shuddered and gripped the furs beneath him. His moans and cries filled the air around them, adding to the sensuality of the moment, competing with the wet sounds of slapping male flesh as Gwire began to move faster. “God, harder!” Zactch hissed as Gwire adjusted his position and grazed his sweet spot, sending his back arching into the caress, making his hungry ass tighten and tremble around the thick prick that pounded at him relentlessly. “Faster, lover. Fuck me harder! Fuck me faster!” Zactch closed his eyes, his breath hissing between his teeth as he gripped the furs, tossing his body backwards, wanting more pressure against that spot. He bore down, trying to get more of Gwire’s throbbing dick into his soul, needing to feel the burn, to feel the ache, to feel alive. He silently cursed his legs that would not move, would not let him push the Tigon over onto his back and mount him like he wished. But the pounding he was getting now, the burn in his ass, the tingling in his back -- it almost made up for it. “I’m so close,” Zactch moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he threw his head back. Gwire purred in response, tightening his grip in his hair while the other hand left bruises on his hip. He licked and nipped at Zactch’s sensitive ear, inhaling the needy scent coming off of his lover. He whined to feel the muscles of Zactch’s upper body begin to tense, to tighten, to signal that his release was coming and soon. “Fucking fuck me!” Zactch finally shrieked, his back arching forward, his head going back, his eyes wide open and sightless as his release began to tear through his body. His toes, his fingers, the very tips of his ears vibrated under the rough skin of his lover as he felt himself plummet over the orgasmic wall into a golden paradise. “Gwire, Gwire,” he chanted. “So good.”

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The head of his prick flushed an angry purple as the tip of Gwire’s tail flicked over his slit. It was enough to send him over into orgasm. “Shit! Gwire!” he screamed as his cock shot spurt after spurt of his hot seed flying through the air to land on his chest, striking his face and covering Gwire’s tail with his essence. “Gwire,” he breathed as his ass clenched around the hard cock buried in his depths, increasing the pleasure of his climax, making his prostate explode in delight. Gwire closed his eyes as he felt Zactch’s chamber quiver, then try to strangle his cock. The wet, velvet walls rippling along his shaft were just too much for him to take. He gave in to the need to pound, to plant his seed as deeply as he could inside his mate’s body. Growling and hissing, he slammed his dick deeper, his balls slapping against his mate’s ass, his claws exploding from his fingertips, marking his mate as his release tore through him. He began to shoot his molten cum deep into Zactch, mingling their scents again, marking his mate as his and his alone. “Zactch,” he breathed, his body shuddering through his climax, then finally wilting into a melted puddle behind his mate. “Zactch, my own.” His whole body sweating and shuddering, Gwire wrapped one arm around his mate -he could no longer deny it -- and pulled him close, inhaling the earthy sensuality that their two scents combined created. “God, I think I love you,” Zactch finally breathed, unable to move more than his mouth as he settled into the furs, damp with their sweat and seed. He felt Gwire stiffen behind him, before he was pulled into an even tighter embrace. “I think I began to love you the moment you washed my feet.” He managed a weak chuckle, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes, wallowing in the heat of the man behind him. Gwire felt his eyes burn as Zactch’s declaration touched something deep within him.

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He never thought he would feel this way, never thought that he would experience such a profound and joyous mating. He never thought he would ever feel so alive again. But before he could respond, reality once again intruded on his life. “The scouts are back!” Without even a polite scratch for a warning, He-o burst into the hut and made his announcements. “It’s bad, Gwire. Really bad.”

***** “Finally,” the Naturalist crowed, her eyes bright with delight, filled with her selfrighteousness. “Finally, they have taken an action that cannot be overlooked; Zactch Clawnter is too important a person to be discounted. I have gotten permission to raze that damn forest! I will find those damnable creatures, and I will bring those vicious animals to heel! Everyone will know that I was right, that force is the only thing those savages understand!” Pushing away from the com unit where she had been given her orders, the Naturalist stepped out of her tent and began to give commands. “We must make ready for an army.” She grinned in her sadistic way. “We are expecting more than a thousand men. We will burn this place to the ground with the King’s blessing! Then we will see who is the fool.” Orders were given to clear out a large area for a base camp. Kennels were set up for the search animals and attack dogs they would need. Accommodations for a thousand were not easy to come by, so more forest would have to be burned to make space for dropping the ready-made cabins. Electric security fences were to be set up, their base being three feet underground, almost impossible for any animal to dig their way under in a short amount of

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time. Geosynchronous satellites were being put into place to monitor all movements, preventing the enemy from sneaking in or taking anyone out. And most importantly, euthanasia kits were on the way, the deadly gases and darts to be used to put down any wounded or maddened animals efficiently. In her opinion, they would be used without quarter on any creature she acquired. This time, she would ensure that there were only a pair of the creatures left, and maybe one or two dead ones in her labs for dissection. Absolute control was the only thing these creatures understood, and she was just the person to deliver that message. “I’m ready for you, now,” she breathed as arrangements were made for the advance troops. “Nothing you do will keep me from my glory.” She stared out at the woods, knowing that a few of the damn creatures were there, listening, but said nothing to draw alarm. She wanted them to know that she was coming. “Filthy creatures,” she growled, sounding more animalistic with each breath. “I’ll line my bed with your pelts.”

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Chapter Sixteen

“I’m sorry.” He-o sighed, for once the ready humor missing from his eyes. “I have to send you back.” Gwire and Zactch, now dressed, sat in stunned silence as they listened to the report delivered by He-o from one if his many scouting parties. “I always thought that she was mad,” Zactch murmured. “This more than proves it.” “But what will going back accomplish?” Fayline argued. These males were so happy! She had never seen the shy Gwire open up to anyone, and Zactch ... the sadness and despair that poured from his spirit had calmed. “It will keep him safe,” Gwire said softy, tightening his grip on his mate’s hand. They all sat around the furs in He-o’s domicile, contemplating the sad news with as much privacy as they could garner. “No, it won’t.” Zactch sighed sadly, tugging on his lover’s hand, bringing his attention solely back onto his words. “But the information I possess will stop her.” “How?” Fayline argued. “You have no solid proof! They would discount your words as those of a raving madman, overcome with his ordeal!”

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“I have to take a chance,” Zactch argued back quietly. “I can’t let them bring an army here! So many have suffered already! If I don’t do something, even more will suffer needlessly.” “But you are one man!” Fayline nearly shouted, her eyes glowing gold as she tried to hold back her frustrations. “It is unfair, unbalanced! Nothing you do will change that bitch’s mind!” She was huffing and squeezing her fists tightly, trying to control the energies that were slipping from her control and override her will. “Damn them!” As she screamed, a small pile of leather, her future sewing projects, exploded into fire, a bright red flame that suddenly just appeared. “Control this, Fayline!” He-o’s words were harsh as he leapt from his mate and stomped out the small blaze. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, the shock of the small fire helping her regain her lost control. “I am sorry!” “Damn!” Zactch’s voice was reedy and thin, amazed yet again at this show of the almost magical properties these people possessed. “It’s not fair,” Fayline whimpered again, her head hanging and her shoulders slumping as if in defeat. “Calm, my mate,” He-o murmured to her, coming back to her side to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close to share his scent, easing her. “There has to be something short of bringing a witness back with me.” Zactch decided to think about that fire later. He had to find a way to save his lover, first and foremost. “Something like what?” He-o asked, his ears pricking forward as if an idea had come to him. “Something ... I don’t know.” Zactch released Gwire’s hand to wave his arm around in the air, expressing his frustration with gestures and words. “Um, something like

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manufactured goods, bottles, or handmade containers beyond the simple, samples of writing ...” “Writing ...” He-o pulled away from his mate and made his way over to a wooden trunk that always sat in the corner of his hut. Fayline had never dared to look, as it was scented with warning and danger. Curious, she, along with everyone else, watched as He-o opened the lid and began pawing through the contents. “Will this do?” he asked, pulling out a long strip of leather. “What on earth?” Zactch breathed as He-o reverently placed the aged brown leather in his hands. There, in pictures and symbols, lay an unusual but definitely viable form of writing. “This is the line of ascension in my family.” Fayline gasped, having never before seen anything like this. She craned her head forward to get a better look and was almost set aback with the scent of age and the generations of Tigons who’d held it before. He-o pointed to a pair of squiggly lines and dots. “That is my birth recording. Any cubs that I sire will be recorded there. And when I pass, my death and the means that brought it about will be recorded beside my name.” Fayline and Gwire stared in awe, but it was Zactch who expressed his admiration the best. “Holy shit!” he breathed, his eyes wide in wonder and shock. “We got her! We fucking got her!”

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Chapter Seventeen

“I don’t want to leave.” Zactch’s voice was low and broken as he lay against Gwire’s bare chest. “I do not wish you to leave.” Gwire’s response was a low rumble against Zactch’s cheek. Almost as soon as the others had left, Gwire wasted no time in stripping his mate clear of his clothing and reclining on the furs with him, imprinting the feel of his naked skin on his body and mind. He would never feel this way about anyone else, he knew. And it hurt, worse than getting his glands removed, worse than knowing his brothers would not be returning, worse than the merely existing that he had been doing until Zactch made his way into his life. “But I guess it’s time to take one for the team.” Zactch sighed, lifting his hands to tangle his finger in Gwire’s hair. “I was born under a dark cloud.” “You were born to be mine,” Gwire corrected him, reaching down and gripping his chin, lifting his head so that he could meet his eyes. “But I have to leave ...” “Who says that you cannot return?” Gwire asked, nuzzling the soft skin on the face of his mate. “You do what must be done and then ... return to me.”

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“Return to you,” Zactch breathed on a moan, lifting his chin, exposing his vulnerable neck to his lover’s wandering mouth. “I will hold you dear, inside my heart, until that day.” Gwire’s hands began to caress Zactch’s chest, running his fingers over the pebbled nipples on his chest, drawing a moan from his mate. Those sounds, those needy sounds, were so beautiful! He wanted to hear more, to be the reason that his mate lost himself, abandoned himself in his pleasure. He wanted to hear more. His head lowered to Zactch’s chest, his mouth sucking at his skin, drawing up red welts on the pale flesh before his lips surrounded a hard red nipple. “So good,” Zactch gasped, his hands tangling in Gwire’s thick mane of hair, tugging at the soft, wild locks. “Touch me. God, Gwire! Touch me!” “I am,” Gwire purred, nibbling at a nipple. “Feel me.” Gwire ignored the tug at his scalp as he pushed Zactch flat on his back and began to crawl down his body, licking and biting, leaving the red marks of his possession all over his body. “I will always remember this,” Gwire growled as he pushed Zactch’s legs apart and settled himself between them, feeling the pillar of Zactch’s cock press deep into his stomach. “I will never let you go.” “Give me something to remember,” Zactch pleaded, his eyes filling with moisture as he realized that this could be the last time he expressed his love through his body for his lover. “Fuck me so hard I’ll never forget!” Gwire reared back onto his knees, rising above his mate, breathing hard as he swiped the sweat away from his brow with one hand. “You will never forget what we share,” he spoke softly as he lifted each of Zactch’s legs over his shoulders.

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He saw the small wince as Zactch felt his legs being moved and guessed the reason for it. “These legs are a part of you,” he purred, turning his head to the side to place a kiss on an atrophied thigh muscle. “I love these legs.” “But ... but they don’t work,” Zactch fairly wailed. “I can’t walk, I can’t move right, I can’t even lift them over your shoulders so that I can get my ass reamed!” Zactch’s eyes widened a little as he realized what he’d said; then the blush exploded in his pale skin, making the redness of his cheeks stand out. “In that case,” Gwire chuckled as he leaned over to place a kiss on those petal-soft lips, “I will be your legs. I will walk for you.” Gwire ran his hands over the scars that peppered both legs, smiling as a choked groan left Zactch’s lips. He loved the sensation of being touched, even on this part of his body he hid away from the rest of the world. “And I will lift your legs to my shoulders.” He adjusted his position so he could be back far enough to see the pink star of Zactch’s anus, tight and innocent-looking, pretty as a flower bud. “I will move you so that I may partake of this body you so willing offer,” Then he was sliding down, pausing to lick at Zactch’s hard cock as it waved in the air before them. He still could not get over how thick and long his mate was. He could scarcely believe he had taken the whole thing into his ass, and he shuddered at the memory of the sexual burn that accompanied his entrance. He groaned at the memory of how stuffed full he felt. His dick quivered, shooting out another droplet of his precum in his excitement. Gwire murmured in pleasure as he tasted the leaking seed his mate offered, viable and salty with a tinge of musk. He inhaled deeply, rooting his nose around the base of his cock and in the soft, curly locks that surrounded the base of his lover’s shaft.

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He pulled away, and Zactch’s balls were given a thorough tongue bath, Gwire tracing each wrinkle with his tongue before pulling the whole sac into his mouth to suckle for a moment before releasing him. He smiled and looked up the plane of Zactch’s body, watched as his eyes closed and his head twisted from side to side on the furs. His lover was clutching the bedding and moaning, his mouth open, sweat sheening his pale skin. Finally, he placed both hands under Zactch’s ass, lifting him so that his hole was opened and exposed fully. “I will fuck this body,” he breathed, lowering his head to run his tongue along the crease of Zactch’s ass. Zactch let out a choked scream as he tried to throw his hips upwards, to feel more of that soft, wet caress. Gwire’s tongue was driving him wild, and from the pleased murmur he heard, Gwire knew it. “Please,” Zactch moaned, his whole body shuddering. “Please, fuck me.” “When I have had my fill.” Gwire’s tongue ran over the tightly furled rosebud several times, softening the muscle, loosening it, preparing it for his possession. Then he forced his tongue past the first ring of muscles. “Gwire!” Zactch shrieked as his whole body trembled, as he saw stars behind his eyelids, as his breath threatened to leave him. “Please!” Easing Zactch back onto the furs, Gwire reached under the bedding and pulled out the familiar wooden box of ointment. “You taste is pleasing to me, my mate,” he purred as he thoroughly coated two fingers. “And your slick tightness will be sublime.” Then two fingers were pressing against his anal opening.

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Zactch let out a whimper, his eyes tightly closed as he felt those two fingers press against the tight guardian muscles. He huffed, breathing through his mouth as he forced his body to relax, to accept. “Inside,” Zactch managed between his rasping breaths. “I need you inside.” “I must stretch you first, my mate.” Gwire scissored his fingers apart as he twisted them, seeking out Zactch’s pleasure spot. He knew he’d found the place as Zactch’s breath hitched and his body stiffened as if he were ready to climax. Quickly, Gwire gripped the base of Zactch’s cock, halting the explosion before it could begin. “Not yet.” Gwire chucked at the evil look Zactch shot him. “You will climax on my cock, my mate. We will make this journey together.” A third finger was added, much to Zactch’s approval, as Gwire stroked his sweet spot, bending forward to lap at his cock and balls as he prepared his mate. Zactch moaned, and his pleas grew in volume and frequency, and finally Gwire deemed him stretched enough. He pulled his fingers free of the slick, petal-soft muscles of his mate’s ass, ignoring the groan of disappointment, as he slicked up his cock. “Together,” he said again as he positioned Zactch’s hips on his thighs. “Together,” Zactch repeated, tears welling up in his eyes as he took in his mate’s dominating visage. “Always.” Gwire slowly pushed past the rings of muscles guarding the paradise of his mate’s body. His eyes closed as he felt himself enveloped in the wet, tight heat that Zactch so willingly offered. Slowly, he moved forward, his eyes on his mate’s face for any sign of discomfort.

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But the only thing he saw was the building pleasure that had his Zactch biting his lips and arching his head backwards. With that submissive gesture, Gwire leaned forward, growling, and took the delicate flesh of his neck into his mouth, biting down firmly. “Gwire!” Zach hissed, his fingers again finding his mate’s hair as he pulled himself closer to the source of his pleasure. Once Gwire was seated to the hilt, he released the flesh he held captive between his teeth and pulled back to smile in pleasure at the bite he left behind, a visible mark of his claiming, “Mine,” Gwire growled, dark eyes staring into blue. “Mine!” “Yours,” Zactch readily agreed, then he gave the hair in his fists a tug. “Mine!” he snapped back, his body shuddering as it accepted the hot, thick fullness of his lover. “All mine!” “Yours,” Gwire agreed, easing his hips back a little, giving a small pump. “God, move your ass!” Zactch breathed. “Move, Gwire! Move, move, move it, God,

yes!” Zactch’s eyes snapped shut as Gwire pulled out until only the head remained enclosed in his mate’s heat. Growling, Gwire slammed himself deep, closing his eyes and whining at the feel of those muscles sucking him in deep. “Again!” Zactch demanded, and Gwire became a slave to his mate’s wishes. Over and over he plunged into his mate’s body, the scents of sex and arousal and lust filling his nostrils. Gwire tightened his hands on his mate’s hips, lifting his ass higher as he sought that special spot deep within his ass.

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“Fuck, yeah!” Zactch screamed, and Gwire adjusted himself to hit that spot every time. “Fill me!” “With all of my love.” Gwire’s voice was deep and strained as he felt his back tingle , his stomach muscles clench, his eyes water, and his toes curl. He was going to explode soon! He wanted his mate along for the journey. He freed one hand from its grip on Zactch’s hip to wrap it around his cock, his fingers tickling his shaft, wet with the slick drops of desire that freely flowed from his tip. “Oh, God, yeah, Gwire.” Zactch moaned, his whole body arching in pleasure. “Stroke me! Touch me! Fuck me!” Faster and faster they moved, Gwire’s fist keeping time with his hips as he claimed his mate. He looked down into those big blue eyes and hissed as he saw them roll back in Zactch’s head, heard his breath stutter, and felt his hips throw themselves up into his rapidly pumping fist. “I-I’m gonna ... Gwire!” Zactch bellowed as his cock hardened even more before it started spewing his rich, hot seed across his stomach. “Zactch,” Gwire managed as he felt the muscular contractions of his mate’s ass pulling, tugging, milking his cock. Gwire squeezed his eyes closed, his breath caught in his chest as, sure of his mate’s release, he allowed himself to fall. He collapsed on top of the pliant, sweaty body beneath him, reveling in the feel of his mate’s hot skin as he closed his eyes to catch his breath. When he opened them, he lifted his head enough to stare into the glassy blue eyes of his Zactch.

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“You are perfection,” Zactch breathed, his fingers caressing his lover’s passion-slicked back and tugging at the tangles of his long hair. “I am only perfect for you,” he returned, then shifted so that his mate’s legs lay on either side of his hips. “I love you, you know,” Zactch offered, sighing as his lover settled more comfortably against him. “I know,” Gwire answered. “As I ... you.” No more words needed to be said. The leave-taking was breaking both of their hearts, but they were both men who had to sacrifice for the greater good of all their people. “I believe,” Gwire whispered just as he felt his mate’s grip slacken as he began to doze off into sleep. “I believe that I too share your birth under that dark cloud.” Silence spread out between them, but their grips on each other never slackened, and were never lost.

***** “I can’t believe I have to leave,” Zactch moaned as Gwire easily carried him through the dense forest. They were surrounded by a contingent of six warriors, He-o in the lead. “Leaving is the last thing I want to do, now that I’ve found you,” he continued, angry at the fates that had brought love into his pale, colorless life only to snatch it all away again. Gwire himself was strangely silent as he held his mate, his heart breaking for what he must do. Again, the will of his people, the needs of his people -- they meant more than the needs of his tortured soul. How could he let this male go? He had just found him!

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Zactch was his soul mate, he was sure. He understood sacrifices and deficiencies of a body that had tried to serve. His lack of scent glands had not mattered to him. His past, and all that it contained, mattered not to him. All Zactch could see was the good, the honest, and the striving part of him. And when this unconditional acceptance was gone, what would he be left with? Could a warrior survive with only half a soul? “You can’t take me all the way back,” Zactch decided, causing He-o’s ears to swivel back in his direction, proving that the big alpha was listening. “If you take me back all the way, they will try to keep you. And I know that woman and what she is capable of. She will not let you go.” “Like she can stop us,” snorted a following warrior, much to the amusement of his brethren. “But it is a good thought, male of the Others, to try and protect us.” A few others voiced their approval, but He-o tilted his head to the side, considering. “Look, He-o, you said that she knew your scouts were watching her, yes?” “That is so.” “So she didn’t call for help?” “No.” “Then she is ...” “Setting a trap. This I know, Zactch.” He-o smiled as he continued to walk. “You are walking into a trap.” “No, she will be distracted. Gwire will place you back where he found you. All will be well.” “He-o,” Zactch argued. “That woman is not sane! She has lost too much at your people’s hands. The respect she once enjoyed is now all but gone. She is holding onto her position because she is the one who spent the most time with Fayline and a few other captives she had access to. She is dangerous and not to be trusted.”

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“And you feel it’s safe to go back?” Gwire asked, his voice soft yet carrying the full weight of concern he felt. “I have power of my own, Gwire. She wouldn’t dare harm me. I am too valuable a commodity.” It was the one thing Zactch was sure of. “I don’t like it.” Those were Gwire’s final words on the matter. He was silent as he carried his mate to the place where he would disappear and probably never see him again.

***** The plan was simple. He-o and his warriors would distract the Others, and Gwire would put Zactch back where he could access his equipment. Zactch knew that there was no way in hell he could reason with the Naturalist, so he was going to use his equipment to send his information directly to his people. It took them all day, stopping periodically to drink from water skins and to eat sparingly of fruit. This trip was totally different than Zactch’s first trip through the green, as he liked to call the lush forest. This trip he was awake and aware of everything around him. Several strange and exotic animals raced away from the silent men, giving screeches of annoyance as their habitat was disturbed. Bright, colorful flowers blossomed in trees and on vines, releasing a strange yet intriguing perfume that tantalized his senses. The thick undergrowth carpeted their steps and smelled of fallen branches, decaying vegetation, and the return of new life.

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Before he knew it, Zactch found himself dozing in Gwire’s arms, lulled to sleep by the steady rocking motion of his arms, feeling safe and protected. He jolted awake when he was placed on the ground, the growing shadows telling that several hours had passed since their last stop. “Where are we?” he asked quietly as Gwire settled him in his lap, wrapping both arms about him from behind. “We are close enough to your people that we must use caution, but far enough away that we may speak freely.” “Right.” Zactch almost moaned in desperation as he realized that his time with these amazing people was almost up, that his time with the man he had come to love was almost over. “Gwire, I ...” “We need to get some information from you.” Zactch looked up as He-o neatly dropped to the ground beside him. “But ... very well,” he agreed. Getting Gwire and the others as much info as they needed to get in and out safely was his first concern. Matters of a shattered heart could wait. “How quickly will extra warriors arrive?” “If you got the message last night, then tomorrow evening at the earliest,” he responded, smiling as he felt Gwire’s tail gently wrap around his waist. “It takes time to get from the capital to the jungle regions here. Even with the most advanced machinery, they still have to get through the forests, and that is not easy with heavy machinery. Going on foot is still the best.” “How is your small encampment laid out?” “I thought you knew.” “I need to know exactly, so I can see where any traps might be laid.”

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Nodding, Zactch looked around for something to write with, but finding nothing he pulled at the flap of leather Fayline had given him to protect his legs. Pulling that into his lap, he looked around for something to draw with. “Use this.” Gwire understood what he was doing and reached beside him to pull a reddish-brown reed. He snapped off the end and a dark ink-like substance dribbled out. “Everything you require from nature and on demand.” Zactch grinned. “I think I like this place; nothing goes to waste.” That said, be began to draw a layout of the Naturalist’s camp. “The circles represent the tents they live in,” he explained, his head tilting to the side as he concentrated on remembering every last detail. “The boxes are the communications tents with all the machinery. The original distant early warning devices were here and here.” He added dark dots to show the alarms’ placement. “And my tent was here, near the edge of the forest.” He drew a star to show his private place. “The animal pens are here.” Several scraggly lines represented the cells that she’d planned on holding the people she captured. “And if I know that madwoman, she has increased her patrols by half, though there are only around thirty people there. Most are scientists and nearly all feel that she is obsessed.” “Her own people are turning on her?” He-o asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Well, when you have wasted so much money on so many spectacular failures,” he grinned, “most began to doubt. But her real dissention is coming from those soldiers who were with her at the time of the attacks, those who lived and told the tales of compassion at your people’s hands. Some even go so far as saying that what our people are doing is worse than genocide because we refuse to see the truth. It’s what brought me here. My goal is to keep people from being exploited, and if there was any grain of truth to those rumors, I would put an end to all this conquering nonsense.” He looked from Gwire to He-o, his sincerity apparent to all who watched. “I never thought you were some kind of intelligent, mimicking beast. I always thought you were

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people who just needed someone to speak for you.” He grinned at that. “You all speak very well for yourselves, though. I wish there was some way to get you all an audience with the King’s planetary advisors. That would put an end to all this nonsense, and it would force others to give you your rights as sentient beings who desire nothing more than to live in peace and harmony with your world.” He inhaled deeply, sagging a bit against Gwire’s strength. “But I guess that is just a pipe dream, something that will never happen unless something is done about that woman.” “Do not underestimate yourself.” He-o patted Zactch on one bony knee. “You are a warrior and command others with your own strengths. You have your proof ...” He patted Zactch’s stomach, where the hierarchy of his family was wrapped around his waist, protected against his skin, appearing to be nothing more than a leather belt. “And you have your wits.” “Yeah.” Zactch sighed, looking down as Gwire’s hands entwined with his. “But the cost ...” He shook his head to clear it from negative thoughts, then looked up at He-o. “Dealing with loss is not easy, no matter how used to it you think you are.” He closed his eyes, his heart heavy, yet his duty was clear. “It’s not easy being the savior of the world.” “It never is,” He-o agreed, and Zactch opened his eyes to stare into He-o’s, seeing the dark understanding of shared sacrifices in his eyes. Again, he realized how much these people had lost at the hands of his people, how many times they must have been devastated by death and destruction, yet they still continued onward. He looked up into Gwire’s eyes and saw that same haunted understanding. “What a ragtag group of heroes are we,” he breathed, feeling the pain in his heart grow with each second they had left. “Heroes?” He-o grinned. “Heroes or martyrs?” When no answer was forthcoming, He-o rose to his feet, carrying the piece of leather with him as he made his way to the others, to explain this new map. “I will leave you with

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your mate, and Zactch, man of the Others, I am truly sorry for what is about to happen to both you and he.” With that, the alpha turned and made his way to his warriors, his own heart heavy as he thought of his own sweet mate, waiting impatiently for him back at Pride Talon. “My mate?” Zactch breathed, looking up into Gwire’s eyes in amazement. “Yes, my loud one.” Gwire allowed a rare smile to cross his lips. “If they had not heard your joy at the mating dance, they surely would scent my touch on you.” “But ... but you said ... um ... no scent glands!” “I forgot there were ways even in the brotherhood of the Dancers, where we could mark our own.” He rubbed his hands along the flesh of Zactch’s stomach and chest, reminding him of exactly how he had been marked, the feel of the hot, slick seed that he’d lovingly rubbed into his chest. “So, I am your mate.” “Until the day one of us dies, my heart.” At that endearment, Zactch began to shudder, his heart racing, his chest heaving as he thought on the meaning of that word. “I-I am not alone.” “Never again,” Gwire promised. “Never again will you be alone, for I am here.” He pressed his hand against Zactch’s chest. “Worlds may separate us, but I will forever be in your heart.” Zactch looked up at his man, his mate, and felt a warm wetness on his face. He released his grip on his lover’s arm to touch his cheek, bringing the liquid to his face. His breath caught as he stared at the clear, crystalline liquid. He was crying. “Gwire?” he breathed, his whole body shaking as he looked to his mate.

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“Never alone,” Gwire repeated before he lowered his head and brushed his lips against those of his mate’s, breathing in the sadness and joy that threatened to overwhelm him, delving his tongue between those trembling lips to memorize his unique flavor. Moaning, Zactch dug his hands into Gwire’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, pouring all his love and frustration, sadness and need into that kiss, letting his mate know how he felt as he tried to absorb as much of his lover’s essence into his own body as he could. This kiss was a hello, a good-bye, and an I love you. To those watching, it was a thing of great anguish and beauty. One by one, they turned away, allowing the mates these final moments before they parted, each recalling the loss they’d experienced in their own lives, and the sacrifices they were forced to make for the greater good. “I love you,” Zactch breathed, twisting his body, trying to get as much skin on skin contact as he could. “I love you, and I will never forget you or forgive them for what they have done,” Zactch vowed, his shoulders shaking as he cried silent tears for the love he’d so recently found and then had to let go. “I love you with all my heart and soul,” Gwire vowed in return. “Never will I take the final ceremony, for as long as I live there is hope you will return to me.” “Keep fighting, my soul,” Zactch struggled to say, his breath hitching as he felt his whole body flush with heat, as he felt his eyes swell and his nose begin to run. “Keep fighting and I will do the same. And one day we will be together again.” “Together.” Gwire, his own eyes wet with tears of loss, agreed. “Together again, my heart, this I vow.”

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Chapter Eighteen

It was relatively simple to draw most of the guard to the furthest point away from Zactch’s tent. The small party of warriors split up, leaving Zactch and Gwire to their final good-byes before they entered the tent city, He-o, Gwire, and Zactch moving towards their goal while the other warriors spread out along the perimeter, setting off perimeter alarms, then disappearing, only to do it again at a different point. “This is too random,” the Naturalist hissed as she stared at the monitors and the multiple blips that showed movement. “Ma’am,” one scientist called to her. “There are reports of movement at the east and south entrances. Should I deploy the guards?” “Yes,” she replied as she stared at the screen. “Do that, and make sure that they are heavily armed. This may be a test of our defenses. They have already taken the good doctor; they may be feeling confident enough to take the rest of us.” “But for what reason?” the other scientist asked, her curiosity outweighing her fear of her leader. “Why would they attack now?”

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“Maybe they discovered they have acquired a taste for gamey human flesh?” she drawled and watched as the other woman paled before racing out to give orders. “So much like lambs to the slaughter.” The Naturalist rolled her eyes at the lemming-like behavior of even learned scientists. Then she turned her attention back to the screen and her adversaries. “This is too random. What are you up to, my dearlings?” Nodding to the remaining scientist in the tent, she rose to her feet and made her way to the weapons shed. “I am going with my people. Maybe I can get to the bottom of this,” she explained before turning and exiting the tent. Something was not right, and she was going to discover what game these creatures were playing with her now. “Never again,” she vowed. “Never again will you make a fool of me.”

***** It wasn’t as easy at it would have seemed to sneak Zactch back where he belonged. Even with the burden of his mate’s full weight, Gwire slipped easily in and out of shadows, hiding inches away from the warriors of the Others as they ran about the camp in disorganized chaos. He-o was hard-pressed to keep up, and hid several times where Gwire ordered, giving this mate the lead as this sort of hide-and-seek was his specialty. Almost too soon, they were at Zactch’s tent, He-o keeping watch as Gwire set his mate down on a bed that held no recent scent of anyone else. It appeared the tent had been abandoned after a cursory search and never looked at again. “It’s because I have so many traps here that rely on my living DNA that someone would lose a hand if they dared snoop.” Zactch chuckled as Gwire settled him comfortably, taking the battered leather wrap and tucking it around his legs.

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“We must go,” He-o urged. “I have no idea how much longer they can keep surprising the warriors of the Others.” “Yes,” Zactch, eyes still red and swollen from his earlier crying jag, agreed. “You must get out while they are still distracted.” Gwire stared at his mate, seeing the tears that still dwelled beneath the surface, tears that he bravely tried to hold back for his sake, and felt his heart rip in two, the pain almost enough to bring him to his knees. “Forever, my mate,” he breathed, reaching out to touch one tear that escaped, lifting the salty fluid to his mouth and drinking in a taste of pure sadness. “For-forever,” Zactch stammered, closing his eyes and fisting his hands to prevent him from railing at the world. Then with one last look, Gwire seemed to melt away into the shadows of the tent, taking He-o with him. Then all that remained was the sound of his breathing and the distant thud of running feet as the camp guards raced to and fro. “Forever,” he breathed again, reaching out to rub the leather that covered his lap, recalling all that he had learned while in the presence of his love. “If I wasn’t so disgusted, I think I’d be touched.” The voice made him snap his head up and search around his tent. “Who is there?” “Bestiality, doctor?” she purred as she stepped into the tent, a weapon trained on the cripple on the bed. “I am shocked by your behavior. And you, a learned man of science, too.” “They are not animals, Bael, and you very well know it.” Zactch sighed, ignoring the gun in her hand as he gathered his wits about him for this battle. “Imagine my surprise when I raced around the corner and saw this tent flap open. It almost made me swoon with delight, for I knew something life-defining was about to happen.”

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“They aren’t here,” Zactch took great pleasure in informing her, watching her cautiously look around his tent, checking the shadows for attackers, her body tense and alert. “If you are looking for an animal to cage, you are going to be sorely disappointed.” “Not too much, no.” She chuckled, letting her guard down a bit as she stared at the bare-chested newly tanned doctor. “Going native, I see,” she sneered. “And I thought you had better taste than to fraternize with the enemy.” “Enemy, good Naturalist?” Zactch purred as he settled himself more comfortably on his bed, comfortable in his own domain. “First they are animal, and now they are the enemy. You can’t have it both ways, dear lady, and one does not war with animals. Please pick a position, and then stand behind it.” “They are filthy, rutting animals and you know it,” she snapped, coming to stand before the reclining doctor. “And your little foray into the wilderness should make that abundantly clear.” “No.” He smiled, some of the pain in his chest easing as he thought of the sweet revenge he would take on this woman. “No,” he repeated. “But my little foray into the wilderness has netted me some prime information.” “Oh?” she questioned archly. “And what did the little animals show you? How to hunt with your bare hands and how to forage the forest floor for nuts and insects?” “No.” He again ran his fingers over the leather lap covering, thinking that this blow he was about to deliver was for the people he was forced to leave behind. “No new foraging techniques, though those may aid you in your quest to find any viable information.” He smiled as she flushed bright red. “Indeed, I have brought back important stuff, Bael. I have brought back ointments and handmade containers of herbal remedies, and most important of all, a system of writing. Your plans are shot, Bael. You may as well turn in your lion-tamer’s whip and chair. There are no humanoid mimicking animals here, only a race of people you helped terrorize.”

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“No!” the Naturalist began to shriek. “This cannot be! All of my research ...” “Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” Zactch took deep pleasure in pointing that out. “You are finished. You had best start looking for your next great crusade, for you are finished here.” “Never,” Bael snarled. “I have troops on the way to raze this godforsaken pile of branches and grass looking for you. I will find where they are nesting, and I will wipe them all out! Nothing will stop me!” “Stand in the way of your great ambition.” Zactch rolled his eyes. “But that is all done for, Bael. I have the proof, the writing, and the medicines, and more importantly, I am here.” “But not for long.” Zactch froze at her words, beginning to take the mad bitch a bit more seriously. “Excuse me?” Bael suddenly raised the gun, training it on his chest, her eyes deadly serious as she glared at him. “I am the only one in this sector, Zactch,” she sneered. “I am the only one who knows you are back. The others are too scared to come into this tent, knowing you have mechanical bugs and traps and little nasties all around.” She backed up to where she was near the tent flap, pulling it closed and sealing it from inside. “Now, where are these samples?” Zactch looked around wildly, looking for anything he could use as a means of escape. “Try anything and I will blow your brains all over this tent,” she snapped. “I know you and your tricks, Zactch. I have a feeling that you were instrumental in letting my female escape.” “Maybe you just have a feeling that you are really incompetent ...”

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“And I want you to know” she continued, ignoring his words,” that you will pay for adding to my downfall. Even if it means you pay with your life.” Zactch looked down at his lap, his mind racing a mile a minute. What could he use to get himself out of this? He looked up into the barrel of the gun, further up into cold dark eyes, and in both places, he saw his death.

***** “Something is wrong.” Gwire froze as he and his alpha made their stealthy escape from the encampment. “What?” He-o was not about to question instincts. Instinct had kept his people alive in recent years, and Gwire was never one for acting impulsively on every whim or thought. “What is happening?” “I have to go back.” Gwire felt a shiver of cold streak down his back, felt his heart pound and his body quake in a sudden cold fear. He turned to look back toward the camp, the tent where he’d left his love, toward the danger that freely roamed there unchecked. “Why?” “My mate,” he breathed, eyes wide as he turned to He-o. “He needs me.” He-o sighed, closing his eyes as he thought about Gwire’s words. He needed his Shadow Dancer, needed the reliable information that he always returned with. But then, Gwire had given so much to the pride and never asked for anything in return. He had been doing the work of five Shadow Dancers and all without complaint. And now that he’d found someone that he truly loved, someone that would keep him from disappearing and never returning, he had to give that person up. It was unfair, unbalanced, and wrong.

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“Return if you can,” He-o decided, finally. “I will explain to the Alpha Prime.” Gwire nodded and swiftly turned to meld into the shadows, but he paused. “He-o,” he called, turning so that all his alpha could see of him was his nearly glowing eyes and the flash of fangs as he spoke. “Thank you.” “You are bound by something stronger than your duty to your people.” He-o grinned. “You are bound by your heart, Gwire. May the Creator smile upon you.” Gwire nodded, but before he turned away, he called out one final time. “He-o?” “Yes?” “Prepare for war.”

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Chapter Nineteen

Reflexively, Zactch looked down at his lap, his fingers dancing over the leather, when his actions caught the Naturalist’s eyes. “What have you got there?” she purred, grinning, knowing that she had the upper hand. “What are you trying to hide?” With one hand, she gripped the swath of leather and yanked hard, unbalancing Zactch so that he spun around and fell from the bed onto the canvas-covered ground, sending bottles of medications and ointments flying as the air was knocked from his body. “Damn you!” she hissed. Zactch lifted his head his chest struggling to rise and inflate his lungs, and stared at Bael. She still had the gun trained on his crumpled form, his legs tangled together as he struggled to lift himself with his arms, but her eyes were glued to the leather she held in her free hand. “You found it!” she screeched. “You found their Rosetta stone!”

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Still fighting to get oxygen to his brain, for a moment Zactch didn’t know what she was going on about. The need for air and the pain in his lower body took precedence, but as she continued to rant, the light began to dawn in Zactch’s mind. That crudely drawn map? She thought that that was a writing sample? “Damn your interfering, crippled ass!” she shrieked, drawing back her foot and kicking him in the stomach, rolling him onto his back with the force of her blow. “I have to hide this!” She began to pace the room, looking around at all his equipment, and pacing some more. “What to do? What to do?” she muttered, eyes wild as she shook with nearly uncontrollable anger. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this, about you?” She kicked him again, her anger still riding her, as she kicked the small vials containing animal medicine around in her haste. “Damn you to the fires of hell, Zactch. How dare you interfere in ... fire.” The Naturalist paused, her eyes lighting with unholy glee as she tossed the leather over his prone body, ignoring his struggle to breathe as her fingers danced along the controller of her laser weapon. “Someone came in to search for clues.” She chuckled as she finished her adjustments and began to search the room again. Spying a pile of papers, she began to pile them along with any research book onto the camp bed. “Someone came in,” she continued, “and set off a tiny micro explosion. Maybe they were searching for clues, or for credits, or for valuables. Either way, they set off an explosion and destroyed all of your findings. All of your data about his planet, your recordings, and your facts were lost in the ensuing fire.” She made a fat pyramid of his things, then backed away, smiling as she realized her plan was foolproof.

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“You will be mourned, first for the animal killing you off and picking the meat from your bones. But the great tragedy will be that your final legacy, the proof you so desperately tried to find to prove that the animals who consumed your body were human, all burned up in the ensuing fire.” Chuckling, she backed away to the tent flap, opening it as she took aim at the bed. “Some will mourn you, and all will seek revenge on the vile creatures that caused your death. Either way, good doctor, I win.” “Bael!” Zactch gathered enough breath to call out, his eyes wide in shocked fear as he faced certain death. “Goodbye, Zactch. I wish I could say it’s been fun, but I can truthfully say that your death will be very useful to me. I thank you, doctor. I owe all my future success to you.” That said, she depressed the trigger, igniting the papers on the bed, and quickly sealed the tent from the outside. Then she raced off to the join her guards, seeking out the phantom targets that were setting off her alarms. Inside the tent, Zactch watched in horror as the flame quickly spread, filling the air with smoke and heat, consuming all it touched, as it would shortly consume his flesh.

Gwire, he thought, then shook his head as a new energy filled him, pushing away despair. “I may die here,” he gasped. “But I am not dying without a fight.” There was no way he would shame his mate by giving up without a whimper of protest. He struggled to pull his wasted body behind him, again cursing his legs that refused to work, as he slowly moved further away from the fire. Keeping his head low, he sought to get as much clean air as possible into his lungs as he painfully pulled himself along.

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But there was no escape. The floor of the tent was sealed to the walls, the material treated to withstand weather, insects, and fire. He growled as he recalled that, knowing that it would take a while for others to notice the flames, knowing that he would be roasted inside before any aid would find him. “Damn it!” he screamed, coughing as he drew in some smoke. “There has to be a way ...” But there was none. As the amount of smoke increased and the heat of the flames drew near, Zactch’s tearfilled eyes slowly began to close. Mucus ran from his nose as he felt his chest tighten, struggling to pull in oxygen, but finding nothing but deadly smoke. The heat began to sap his remaining strength as his chest began to heave, forcing him to cough again and again. “Damn, Gwire,” he struggled to gasp as his head began to droop. “I thought ... I thought our forever would have lasted ... longer.”

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Chapter Twenty

Gwire stuck to the shadows as he moved toward the camp again, ears up, carefully retracing his steps as he sought out the metal smell of the alarms. A sudden urgency drew him back towards his mate, a feeling of cold fear and doom increasing with his every step. Once inside the camp, he sidestepped the many warriors -- no, soldiers -- who were still racing around the perimeter at the shouted orders of the mad female, and kept to the shadows. As he drew closer to his mate’s tent, however, his heart began to pound as he picked up a scent that was more frightening than all the soldiers of the Others combined. Fire! But where? He lifted his head, scenting the area, searching for the telltale black of smoke from the destructive flames, wondering why the Others were not racing to care for this danger, when his head snapped to the left. It was coming from the direction of his mate’s tent! Without thought of concealing his presence, he raced to his mate, knowing that with his weakened legs, Zactch would not be able to run away.

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His instincts warred with each other, one telling him to run as far away as possible, while another told him to see to his lover. He raced onward. His mate was more important than his own life! As he reached he tent, the feel of the heat almost drove him back. But he reached out his hand and tugged at the invisible seems that held the flap closed. “Creator!” he gasped as he was forced back and the flames leapt from inside, spewing smoke and fire into the night. “Zactch!” There was no way for anything to survive this intense heat and flame. “Zactch!” he screamed, losing his legendary cool as he tried to force his way inside! But the flames had consumed everything! There was nothing left; nothing but the smell of destruction mingled with the taint of his mate’s fear. “Zactch!” he screamed again, dropping to his knees. His mate was dead. He no longer wanted to live.

***** Zactch struggled to lift his head one last time. He swore he could hear someone calling his name! But maybe that was death’s way of easing the passage. He lifted his head, hoping to see a white light or a heavenly host, but all he saw was a wall of flame, of blue and red and orange dancing fire. Somehow, he had managed to pull himself into the furthest corner away from the flames, pulled his legs behind him under a desk, fighting to the last. Once again, he mused, that if his legs worked, he could have just walked right out of the tent, but the things that had brought him such misery, and then his mate, were helping to make his demise an ironically tragic one. “Gwire,” he breathed, as he imagined his lover calling out his name in passion. At least he’d experienced making love at its purest form before he passed.

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He doubted that even Bael had had that much. It brought a grin to his face, the thought of Bael never knowing anything pure in her rotten life, never knowing the way a lover called your name in the throes of ecstasy ... That wasn’t orgasmic bliss, he realized. That last scream sounded like one of pain. He winced as something crashed, maybe the bed frame, maybe a camp table, but the noise help rouse him a bit. There was someone calling his name! “G-Gwire?” he gasped, trying to inhale enough to call out to his lover. “Gwire?” But it was hopeless! His voice was too weak, unable to pull in any real oxygen. “Gwire!” he tried again, coughing as he closed his eyes in despair. So damn close! “Gwire!”

***** Gwire was ready to crawl into the flames to join his mate, but something inside him urged him to find a way. It screamed that his mate needed him! Gwire rose to his feet and began seeking another entrance to the tent. Crawling on his knees, he circled the tent, touching the fabric, reaching for cool spots. There had to be something! His heart knew it!

***** “I am not ... giving up,” Zactch huffed to himself, reaching his hands around the desk, yanking them back as his hands touched hot wood and fiber-metal, but returning as he tried to shift the desk. If he could knock it over, it would provide a barrier between himself and the flames, buying him more time to attract Gwire’s attention. If he was hallucinating, then it was a hell of a mirage! He could swear he could feel his mate’s presence! It was close and drawing closer! He only needed a way to attract attention!

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He rolled over onto his back, tugging his legs as close to his upper body as he could before he shoved against the back of the desk. “Move ... damn ... you!” he hissed, tears steadily rolling down his eyes as he felt the flesh of his fingers sear on the heated desk. He shifted his weight again and shoved. But the desk seemed to disintegrate in his hands, breaking apart and falling into pieces, dropping straight down and trapping his arms at the elbows. “No! Damn it!” He coughed, tasting defeat as he realized his arms were useless and the fire was drawing ever closer. In sheer frustration, he roared, “NO!” as he struggled to free his arms. But as he pulled, something amazing happened. His legs, curled up and flopped to his left side, moved. Zactch froze as he felt the movement, but decided it was because of his efforts to free himself. He coughed, sucking in a little oxygen, and tried again, tightening his stomach muscles as he sought to free his arms, twisting and turning them. Again he could have discounted the movement, but his legs struck the side of the canvas. His eyes widened in shock before they closed in pain as the smoke closed over him again. His legs were moving, slightly, but they moved! And it all happened just as he knew he was going to die.

***** Gwire was at the furthest corner of the tent when two things happened. The shout of “Fire!” went up, and he heard the Others racing towards the tent.

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In desperation, knowing that if they caught him, it would be his end, he moved faster, caressing the bottom, looking for a weak spot. Then he felt it; the slight ripple of material that had come from something other than the movement of his hands. Something had moved the tent! Gwire pressed against that bump, eyes widening in delight as the bump pressed back. Zactch! He had found his mate, and he was still alive! Not knowing how else to reach him, Gwire extended his claws and pressed them against the material above the bump, hoping against hope that his natural weapons would be sharp and strong enough.

***** Zactch felt pressure! Something was pressing against his leg! Something deep inside told him that it was his mate. He closed his eyes, praying to heaven that his legs would move again, and concentrated all his attention on making the waste of his legs move. He was rewarded when his legs shifted, pressing against the canvas and into something that pressed back. Gwire! He knew it! “Gwire!” He coughed, his voice weak, the darkened corner he was holed up in spinning. His Gwire had come for him. All was not lost!

***** “Yes!” Gwire could not contain his outburst as his claws sank through the material, parting it easily as tears of relief rolled down his face.

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Quickly, his second hand was employed and within moments, he had a hole torn out of the material. Zactch!” he called, as he bent low to sink his hands into the unknown. He breathed a sigh of relief as his hands encountered hot flesh. He had his mate. Gripping whatever part of his body he felt, Gwire pulled with all his might, watching as Zactch’s leather-covered legs slowly emerged. He moved back, pulling his body, but paused as all movement jerked to a halt and he heard his mate groan. He crawled up his body, sticking his head into the hole to see what he was caught on, and grinned as he saw a pair of bloodshot blue eyes staring back at him. “Hello ... lover,” Zactch managed, coughing but grinning as he stared up into a familiar pair of dark eyes. “Hello, my mate,” Gwire rasped back, uncaring that his tears rolled down his face as he took in the visage of the lover he thought he would never see again. “My ... arms ... caught,” Zactch managed, closing his eyes as a wave of vertigo swamped him. Gwire wasted no more time with words. He could hear the Others rapidly approaching and needed to get his mate to the shadows before they discovered that he was missing. Climbing further into the hole, he gasped in horror at the small space his mate had been trapped in, before he looked down and saw the remains of some structure holding his mate’s arms down. With a few jerks, his mate was free, and Gwire slid backwards, pulling Zactch free from certain death. “Zactch,” he called, as he bent down to place one searing kiss on his mate’s lips. “Let us leave this place.”

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“My legs.” Zactch coughed. “They moved!” But Gwire rose to his feet, tossed his mate over his shoulder, and raced toward the nearest shadow, narrowly avoiding a group of soldiers carrying machines that smelled of water. As much as he knew his mate needed liquid, he needed to be away from this madness first. So Gwire took to the shadows, and in a few heartbeats, he and his mate were blending into the forest. Once far enough away to avoid detection, Gwire paused to pull his mate off of his shoulder to cradle him in his arms as they watch the night sky turn to orange as the fire grew out of control. “Gwire,” Zactch managed, trying to control his cough as he slowly drew in fresh air into his burning lungs. “Yes, my mate.” Gwire grinned down at the soot-covered face of his lover. He smelled of smoke and flame, and of contentment, of home. “My legs ...” “Yes?” Gwire turned again, heading deeper into the trees, towards the scent of water. “My arms were trapped,” he explained. “I saw.” Then Gwire froze as the meaning of that statement explode in his brain. “Your legs ...” “I moved my legs!” He chuckled as he looked down at the wasted things he had both loved and hated alternately during his life. “Not much, but they moved. I thought it would be the last thing I ever did right!” “Oh, love!” Gwire breathed. “How?”

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“As far as I can guess, Fayline.” He smiled, then reached up to tangle his hands in his lover’s dark hair. “When I refused to let you go while she was healing you, I felt the tingle. Maybe it was then.” “Then we have much to thank the healer for,” Gwire moaned. “Even if they never do more than twitch, she has helped save you this day, and in turn has a debt of honor she can call upon at any time.” “Gwire ...” “She has given me back my love!” “I love you, t--” His words were muffled as Gwire could stand the wait no more. He took his mate’s lips in a fierce kiss, expressing all that he was feeling -- relief, satisfaction, the end of fear, and above all, love. “I have to go to my people,” Zactch reminded him as the kiss broke. “I still have proof.” “But I saved nothing ...” Zactch stopped his words by placing his hands on his waist and the small leather belt that still rested there. “She didn’t get it all.” A slow smile spread across Gwire’s face. “We got them, lover,” Zactch breathed. “We got them all. We’ll stop her yet.”

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Epilogue

The Naturalist stood over the remains of the burnt-out tent, a tear in her eye as she addressed her people. “Zactch was a strong man, taken away from us all too soon. The destruction of his research is a great blow to us all. But we will avenge him.” Her voice tightened, becoming hard as steel as she stared at the gathered people. “We will avenge his death and make great his name, for all he tried to do for these animals in the name of conservation. His death will not be forgotten.” She bowed her head in a moment of silence, and all followed her gladly. They now had a new purpose and a new battle cry. “For Zactch!” she called out, before she dismissed her peons. As the last mourner left, she turned towards the remains of the tent, a broken-down camp desk, and a few stray scraps of material. The fire had burned so hot that not even the skeleton remained, not that there had been much natural human material left in it. “The electrodes in his body probably aided in the burning.” She chuckled as she sorted over what would become a monument to his sacrifice and her success. “Thank you, good

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doctor. You served your purpose well. And in the ashes of this place, I shall build a monument to my greatness. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing at all.”

Stephanie Burke Stephanie Burke, known as Flash, is just your typical housewife who keeps a collection of slave-type males in her attic, leather and bondage gear in her living room, dimensional portals in the downstairs bathroom, and a few dozen worlds in the basement where they tend to collect dust and require vacuuming every now and again. Stephanie has no pets; she has a husband and two little ones instead, gardens when weather permits, forces family members and loved ones to pose for her paintings, and has an unfounded reputation for assaulting waiters! (Big untruth! No one has documented proof!) In between maintaining her own little piece of the universe (the sky really is magenta there), she writes constantly, travels to conventions, is actually paid to give lectures (go figure), and devises new ways to try and push the envelope, any envelope, just a little bit further. Find Flash’s chat group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FlameKeeper or contact her at [email protected].