Heartmate (5 page)

Winterberry raised his hands and a breeze swept through the shop. T'Ash smelled, tasted, and sensed the Flair of those who had been in the store. Bold Holm. Greedy D'Birch. Kind D'Spindle. His lady—he strained for her fragrance, her essence, but like her it swirled just out of his reach. He stomped more heat into the grounding mat.

“Approximately sixty people were in here tonight. All of them approached the counter, forty purchased something,” the guard stated.

“Mostly Discovery Day starship charms,” T'Ash said.

Winterberry's stream of force riffled T'Ash's drawings, reminding him of Holm's commission. Another blow, now to the gut. T'Ash owed Holm a debt of blood and honor. Honor—long ago Holm had believed a ragged young Downwind man claiming to be the sole survivor of a GreatHouse. Holm had stood by him in fights, in explanations to the Council, and in urging punishment for the men who destroyed GreatHouse T'Ash. Blood—both in the duels with the murderers they'd fought and killed, and in the blood spared from T'Ash's hands as Holm convinced him to let the Council punish the others.

T'Ash could not hunt and kill the Null. Yet.

T'Ash kept his gaze steady. “My own concerns will keep me from pursuing this Null for an eightday. Then I will hunt.”

Winterberry looked at him coolly. “He will be found and your HeartGift returned by then. And if you receive a ransom note?”

T'Ash smiled.

Winterberry took a viz button from his guardjacket pocket and flipped it to the counter. His scry locale imaged on the air. “Viz me.”

T'Ash picked up the spinning disc. “Perhaps.”

Winterberry stared at him, then opened the shop door.

“Grrr,” Zanth rumbled as he walked in. He flicked his whiskers in dismissal at Winterberry.

The guard's eyes narrowed at the sight of the massive, battered cat.

“My Familiar, Zanthoxyl,” T'Ash explained.

Winterberry glanced at him and then the cat. A ghost of a smile lightened his expression until Zanth sneezed twice on his polished black boots. Winterberry frowned at the cat, then looked up to T'Ash. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part.”

“And merry meet again. Blessed be.” He left.

Your turmoil woke Me.
Zanth lashed his tail, then sauntered around the shop.
Long time since Me here. Not enough Me-smell.
He rubbed the glass cases containing rich gold and jewels, kneaded scent into the opulent Chinju rugs, and then hopped on each luxurious chair.

T'Ash sighed. Zanth was a companion, but T'Ash now realized he wanted,
needed,
a great deal more. Even with Zanth here, T'Ash felt empty and alone. The advent of his HeartMate had primed his expectations of a lover, of rebuilding his Family.

He had only felt this empty and alone twice before in his life. Once, when the wild rage and grieving for his slain Family had subsided and survival in the warrens of Downwind had been mastered. The second time when all his Family's killers had been punished, and all his own fury drained away by the hard fight.

Zanth jumped up to the counter and settled his large self squarely in front of T'Ash.
You disturbed. Not tend Me. Stroke Me. NOW!

T'Ash did as he was bid. Zanth's deep purr hardly differed from his growl. Though his hair was coarser than any purebred, pampered cat, it still felt soft beneath T'Ash's calloused fingers.

True. T'Ash shuddered at the memory of the conditions he'd endured in Downwind. That was past. After he'd won back his Family's estates, he had realized he alone could rebuild the GreatHouse T'Ash. And whatever he built, for good or ill, would be the measure of himself, in his own eyes and the world's. An overwhelming task, yet he had done it. He had a great palace, an enviable reputation, all the wealth and more from the old Ash assets. But he was still alone.

T'Ash's mouth thinned, “My woman.”

“Most definitely.” He rubbed the thinly furred, scarred skin before Zanth's flat ears and chuckled in irony. Why had he thought that something he wanted would come easily to him for once in his life? Only the last few years had been serene, deliberately so. Even as a child, as the third son of the Ash, he'd been in trouble, sporting a rebellious streak that often put him at odds with his parents and his FatherSire.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile and he shook his head at the splendid things displayed around him. Wealth alone had come easily to him. Not his Flair, nor his vengeance, nor retrieving the Ash concerns, nor refounding his House.

Nor his HeartMate.

“She's gone.”

“Yes.”

Zanth lifted his nose and sniffed delicately.
Many scents.
His nose wrinkled.
Much fake flower stuff.
He sneezed.
One very excited smell. Male. Taking. Winning.

“Don't talk to me about that.”

Another flare of cat nostrils.
One really good smell. Most ex-cell-ent smell. Warm. Soft. Flair.
He walked around the counter until he reached the black velvet necklace display. With a swipe of his paw he knocked it to the floor.
Grrr. Men smells. You—young, feral. Other—winning. Last—hunting.

He jumped across to the caff set and nosed at the mugs, setting up a clinking until he found what he sought. His large muzzle disappeared as far as it could go into a cup.

Cat slurps.
Yum. Me like smell. Flair female. Loves Cats. Will adore Me.

She had drunk from a mug. Her fragrance and taste and very essence would still linger in that cup, should T'Ash care to torment himself. He decided he did.

He vaulted over the short counter. “She's my woman, and that's my mug.” He picked up the heavy cat and dropped Zanth on the floor.

Zanth gave a regal stare, then turned to walk a few steps, sit on his solid rump, and groom droplets from his whiskers.

T'Ash smiled with the first genuine, undimmed pleasure of the evening. Before, when she'd been here, he'd been so tight and aroused, burning with anticipation, that he had no iota of simple pleasure.

He lifted the mug to his nose. Bracing himself, he inhaled deeply. Scent of Zanth, then her fragrance teased his senses elusively—like just ripened apples. He pulled it into himself and it whipped through him to lodge in his bones, to echo in his blood, to shiver just under his skin.

His muscles tensed and his manhood hardened. His arousal returned, an ache on the dagger-edge of pain.

He turned the cup until his lips pressed against the precise place where hers had touched. Finally he tasted her.

Small. Rounded. Generous of spirit, of heart. Sensual, but unsophisticated. Lighter in spirit than he, more optimistic.

But an emotion from her reverberated inside him—she was lonely. Alone, like him.

Zanth stopped licking his paw.
You with Me. And she has Cat. Neutered,
he ended with revulsion. He shifted as if verifying his own sex remained intact.

“I am your person, but she is my mate. It's not the same.”

Zanth's loud purr rasped.
Ex-cel-lent smell. Ex-cel-lent taste. Perhaps sa-tis-fact-ory. She must adore Me.

“I will have her.”

T'Ash glanced down and saw remnants of the fine tea leaves whirled around the cup. His brows lowered. Wasn't there a method of divination for tea dregs? Which of the Great or Grand houses practiced that Flair?

With a whispered breath he melded the leaves to the cup and coated the inside with a spellshield to keep anything from disturbing it. The cup could still break from the outside, since he hadn't protected that, but T'Ash couldn't bear to be without some lingering touch of her—her fingers on the handle, her lower lip on the outside rim.

You took drink dish. Me get something else.
Zanth jumped back to the counter and paced around the U, peering down at the jewelry displays.

T'Ash grunted and returned his attention to the drink dish—the mug. A whiff of tea remained. She liked tea. Not caff and not cocoa. T'Ash picked up the t'tin and looked at the label. The tea was the best, Majo saw to that. But surely there would be more than just this one type. Perhaps Majo would know that, also. It struck T'Ash that Majo, having served the Miz over several months, might know a great deal about her.

The t'tin label stated, “Tea from original Earth plant lines, no hybrids, grown, harvested, and blended by the oldest and most experienced Family in tea, GraceHouse T'Tea.”

Original Earth plant lines with no hybridization? Tea must be one of the few native Earth species to thrive on Celta. Interesting. GraceHouse T'Tea. Odd name, that. He'd have to lay in supplies of tea for his HeartMate.

Mine.
Unsheathed claws clicked on glass.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Zanth grinned at him.

T'Ash frowned. The cat sat directly above his most expensive and elaborate jewelry.

T'Ash put down the tin. Zanth stretched out on the case and purred, framing the item under the glass with his paws.

Collar. Sparkles green. Color of My eyes. No damn bell.
He jerked his head to the side and a cheap tinny bell rang.

“Green jade is the color of your eyes; you would be better complemented by it than those emeralds.”

Claws skittered across the glass again.
Mine.

T'Ash sighed. Six “mines.” Zanth was determined. If T'Ash didn't give him the emerald collar, a collar elegant and costly enough for a GreatHouse child, the cat would screech. Zanth's screech would literally shatter glass. Then Zanth would snag the collar anyway.

T'Ash would have a broken case, bills, and a cat that had been insulted.

And the emerald collar wasn't as valuable to him as the mug, after all. T'Ash reached in and plucked the collar from its white silkeen nest. Placing his other hand on Zanth's head, he rubbed his Familiar behind his ears. Zanth purred. T'Ash gathered his strength and meshed it with the love between them for a protection spell.

Zanth's present collar held a small guarding spell, but a cat wearing a fortune in emeralds needed more than just a simple spell. Particularly when that cat liked to hunt in Downwind. As a further deterrent, T'Ash added a furious holo of himself to be activated upon touch. He still had a reputation Downwind.

T'Ash replaced the old collar with the new.

Zanth purred in delight.
Nice.
He jumped from the counter and tried to prance to the door, yet continued to move like the tough scrapper he was.
Time to hunt. To show My collar. Life is good.

T'Ash opened the door for him. The cat slid into the shadows and disappeared.

Returning to the counter, T'Ash carefully wrapped his drawings around the mug and placed them in his satchel.

He swept the room with one last glance, stopping again on the necklace display, a black square lying fallen against the colorful Chinju rug. Caustic disappointment scourged his heart.

This morning his carefully constructed life had been proceeding in an orderly and serene manner. This night his life was a shambles. His grip around the hide strap of his bag tightened until the edges hurt his hand.

His outstanding honor and blood debt to Holm had been called due.

His HeartGift had been stolen.

His HeartMate had rejected him.

She was a woman surrounded by blasers. Danger threatened her.

And he didn't even know her name.

 
Danith wearily palmed the opening spell to her rented
cottage. It sat in a small grassyard overshadowed by crowding two-story buildings. The rent was low because the neighborhood wasn't the best. Still, she'd invested in good spellshields. She juggled several bags and entered. Gentle, welcoming purrs from her long-haired gray tabby cat greeted her.

She dropped her packages on a chair and went to feed Pansy, murmuring reassurances. The search for the right gifts had taken much longer than she'd planned, and the last rays of Bel, Celta's sun, had faded into night. Further, she felt inexplicably depressed.

Danith collapsed on the softly pillowed settee that was too small for her to stretch out on. She toed off her shoes and wriggled until her head was on a pillow she'd made and her feet propped up on the far arm. The nightpole shone yellow light between the shutter slats, the twinmoons were crescents in the summer sky, giving little light. Danith groaned and crooked an arm over her eyes.

Silence hung in her rooms except for the drip of a faucet, the small clink of Pansy's tags, and Danith's own soft breathing.

She didn't like the quiet. Her whole life had included noise. Noisy children in the orphanage, and later, efficient sounds at the office. But here, trapped in little rooms, the silence coalesced thickly, and the only noise was that which she or Pansy made.

Where had this melancholy come from? She'd started the day with exuberance. Her accounting work had been more than routine, and time had passed quickly. She had forgotten her job as soon as the Week'sEnd Bell had rung, and she'd left the office with the anticipation of spending a summer evening on the avenues.

Ha! The shop, T'Ash's Phoenix, that was when the whole night began to deteriorate. The thought of the disturbing man and the immoral, illegal seduction spell on the necklace still made her feel cheap, and common, and that she'd never amount to anything.

That was the crux, of course. She had struggled to make her life as full as it was, yet her efforts were far short of what she had hoped.