15 Targeted (29 page)

“It’s for your own safety,” he explained. “I need to speak to my old master first and then get the things he promised to help you.”

“So? Why can’t I just go with you into his house and wait in another room while you talk to him?”

Tragar repressed a growl of frustration. Being cooped up in the small shuttle with her again had intensified her scent and it was difficult not to let it affect him.

“Xen’dex lives on the edge of a densely populated trade area,” he explained, trying to keep his voice even. “If I brought you out into the open, your hot scent would spread far and wide, drawing any males in the area to you.”

“Again with the scent thing,” she muttered. “I took a shower before we left, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” He could tell when she’d entered the shuttle by the way her damp hair was slicked back from her forehead and the thin night garment was clinging transparently to her full curves. “Please understand, Emily,” he grated, “I’m not saying you smell bad—rather that you smell too good—too
hot—
to be out right now.”

“Too hot. Right.” She didn’t sound like she believed him. “So what—I’ll just wait here in the car like a good little girl while you go get me a blanket to cover up with?”

“Essentially, yes. My master should have a scent damping cape you can wear. It will also cover you,” he added, his gaze flicking down to her naked pink peaks, still thrusting from the ragged holes in her night garment.

She saw where his eyes were and blushed. But she still lifted her chin defiantly and didn’t try to cover herself.

“Fine, I’ll stay in the car. But will you at least crack a window so I don’t die of the greenhouse effect?”

Tragar fought to keep from grinding his teeth.

“You don’t seem to understand how sharp the senses of the Wulven Kindred males can be.”
Or how extremely dangerous they are,
he almost added, but he didn’t want to scare her. “I will leave the air circulating so you will not suffocate or die of heat exhaustion but you must not open the window. Give me a few minutes to get what I need and I’ll return shortly.”

“All right, fine.” She turned her head and looked out of the window. “But I hope after this is all over I’ll get a chance to see at least
some
of the town. I’ve never been on another planet before. I’m sure you take it for granted but it’s kind of a big deal for me.”

“We’re not here for pleasure or so you can take a sight-seeing tour of the Wulven
Howlund
,” Tragar growled, losing his patience.

“The what? What’s a
Howlund
?”

“The place the males congregate when they’re about to…never mind. It’s not a place you should go.” He shook his head, knowing his sarcasm was lost on her. The
Howlund
was the area just outside of town where the male Wulven went when they were close to changing forms—the worst place a female
Khalla
in heat could go. He’d parked the shuttle as far from that area as possible, in a shaded, hidden place on the edge of a forest in order to be less conspicuous.

“Apparently
no
place is a place I should go except where you
say
I can go,” she flared. “I’m just supposed to accept everything you tell me and do everything you say without question—is that it?”

“You should listen to me and obey my orders because I’m trying to keep you safe!” Tragar was aware that his voice had dropped to an angry growl but he couldn’t seem to help it—her scent was pushing him over the edge.

Her eyebrows rose.

“
Obey
your
orders?
Would you listen to yourself?
You’re
the one who snatched me away from home and decided to take me to Rageron! It’s not like I signed on for this—I’m not your soldier—I’m your
prisoner.”

“All the more reason for you to obey,” Tragar snarled. “And if you are a prisoner of anything, it’s your own body—the changes you are going through cannot be denied. If I hadn’t taken you, you’d be dead by now or almost so. Is that what you want? To die?”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes suddenly bright.

“Of course not,” she whispered. “Of course I don’t want to die.”

Tragar let out a low curse and ran his hand through his hair. He’d gone too far, damn it! Her scent was making him crazy—making him want to take her when he knew he must not.

“Forgive me,” he said roughly. “It’s just…I’ve never dealt with a
Khalla
before. I have only my old training to fall back on.”

“Your training and your instincts—the same ones that kept you from killing me in the first place, isn’t that right?” she said in a low, angry voice. “The same instincts that are the only reason you’re flying me all around the universe instead of zipping me into a body bag.” She looked up at him. “I’m sure that would have been easier for you, wouldn’t it? Just killing me?”

Tragar felt guilt wash over him. He had killed again and again and felt nothing every time. But now her cool gaze on him made the sins of the past weigh heavy on his back.

“I have to go,” he said shortly.

“Fine.” Emily looked away.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Her scent was driving Tragar insane—he had to get out, he told himself—had to get away for a little while. Taking care not to open the shuttle door wider than was absolutely necessary, he slipped out and shut the door, making sure it locked from the inside. The moment he took a breath of fresh air he felt better—his head clearer. It was true that her scent had changed since she slipped into
Scintil
but it was still nearly impossible not to be affected by it in close quarters.

It certainly affected you enough to say some fairly cruel things,
a little voice in his brain whispered. He looked at Emily through the window of the shuttle and saw her brush something from her cheek. Was she crying? Had he made her cry? He cursed himself for an insensitive bastard and for a moment he wanted to open the door of the shuttle and gather her into his arms—to try and comfort her and ask her forgiveness for the fight they’d just had. But he didn’t think she’d want his hands on her just now. Hell, she probably hated him! Tragar couldn’t say he blamed her—he hated himself at the moment, too.

She glanced up and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes. The sight twisted his heart but he tried to keep his face impassive. There was nothing he could do to mend the situation now—he’d let Emily cool down a little and apologize to her later.

He gave her a brief nod which the little female didn’t return and looked around to find his bearings. He’d only been to this planet once while hunting a target but a quick call to his master had yielded enough information to get him to Xen’dex’s domicile.

He walked a few steps in the right direction and looked back, shading his eyes from the bright blue sunlight. G’nera orbited a blue giant sun and though the planet was far from its home star, the sunshine was still fiercely hot. To his satisfaction, he saw that the small shuttle appeared completely hidden in the overhanging leaves of the large bush he’d parked under. Unless someone was actually looking for the shuttle, they wouldn’t even see it. Emily should be safe as long as she stayed inside.

Promising himself that he’d be back soon to make things right between them, he set off in the direction Xen’dex had told him, looking for his old master and some much needed help.

* * * * *

Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awful. The fight with the big Kindred had really upset her—probably much more than it should have. Maybe it was the weird hormonal changes in her body or maybe it was just the fact that he’d left her shut up in the car like a freaking dog—whatever the reason, she was completely pissed off.

I don’t smell—I don’t know what he’s talking about, the big jerk,
she thought resentfully. The only one who smelled was Tragar—he had that dark, spicy, dangerous scent that seemed to draw her to him even when she was angry with him. Even now, it lingered in the small shuttle, making her pussy ache and her nipples tight each time she inhaled. God, what she wouldn’t do for some fresh air! But Tragar had seemed to think that even cracking the window would be a bad idea. Damn the stupid big Kindred asshole…

Part of her knew it probably wasn’t fair to think of him like that but she couldn’t help it—suddenly she just felt like she was a hair away from losing it and screaming until she was hoarse. Then, abruptly, she felt like crying again instead.
Freaking mood swings! O
h, she was
so
over this whole thing. Except she wasn’t—and she wouldn’t be until her body was finished changing. That was, unless she could find a way to keep it from completing the strange, inevitable cycle it was set on. But how?

Emily shifted in her seat again, looking longingly out the window. She couldn’t see much. Tragar had parked them under some kind of huge bush thing with silver and purple leaves.

It was a weird color combination but oddly beautiful, the way the leaves—mostly lavender shading to deep purple at their tips—were etched with thin silver lines which almost looked like some kind of writing. In fact, the more she looked at the broad leaf which was so close it was rubbing against her window, the more she could
almost
make out some kind of message written in strange, silvery script.

“Come…out,” she read aloud, under her breath. Wait—did the leaf
really
say that? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Yes—it did! The words weren’t written in English but somehow she was able to read them anyway. Was the translation bacteria working on her? The leaves rustled softly and more words began to form on the pale purple surface. “Come out…be free…breathe deep,” she read. “Explore…see what is new…” It was almost as though the leaf knew exactly what she wanted to do and was urging her to do it.

“What’s going on?” Emily muttered, shaking her head. “Is this bush really sending me messages or am I going crazy?”

“You’re not crazy, little Mistress. The leaves send messages to those open to receiving them. That is why it is called a message bush.”

The soft voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Emily gasped and jumped, looking around. Who was talking to her? Where were they?

“Do not fear,” the soft, sweet voice continued. A woman’s voice—a milk and honey voice.
Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth—
that’s what Emily’s mother would have said.

“Who…who are you?” she asked, looking around. “And
where
are you?”

“Just outside your window. I’ll move the leaf and let you see my face if twill not afrighten you too much, little Mistress.”

“I…um…I don’t know.” Suddenly Emily remembered that her nipples were poking out of her night gown. Hastily she held an arm over her bare peaks, trying to shield them from sight without touching them.

“Now, now, little Mistress—it’s only old Grandy See-er. I heard the message bush whispering to you and thought to see who it was a-whispering to.”

“Well…” It sounded like an old lady which didn’t seem too bad to Emily. Though she normally would have avoided letting anyone see her in her current state, she was feeling desperate just now. “All right,” she said at last. “You can, uh, look in.”

“Thanky, little Mistress.” The leaf which had been sending her messages twitched to one side and a soft, wrinkled old face with faded blue eyes took its place.

Emily couldn’t have imagined a kinder or gentler visage if she’d tried. The face looked like it had once been lovely but now age had softened it considerably, leaving only a ghost of past beauty. There was curiosity in the blue eyes but no malice—just a mild interest that seemed completely innocent. Indeed, even the leaves framing the old woman’s face seemed to agree.