Beauty and the Beast

Author’s Note: When we were discussing a list of stories for this anthology, my editor requested that I write a version of this particular one, as it happens to be her favorite fairy tale. Since a lot of these stories have been popularized by various movie and television production companies—along with a particularly fine novelization by fellow author Robin McKinley—I worked hard to find a new twist of my own. In the end, I decided to take it completely out of the fantasy genre and tuck it into science fiction. Cindy, this tale is dedicated to you.

HAND snapping up and out with the same speed he would have used to break a neck or crush a skull, Viktor snagged the rose being thrown his way. The only damage he did to its stem, however, was a slight nick from one of his claws. There were other flowers he could have plucked, for there were literally hundreds being tossed his way—enough to make more than one of his fellow Haguaro sneeze from their thick floral scents—but roses were special to him.

Roses were his link to his humanity.

Lifting the bloom to his muzzle, he inhaled deeply, savoring its sweet, rich perfume. Except, there was more to the smell of this rose than mere perfume. Something wafted up from the flower in his hand. Something that pricked at all of his senses, fluffing the fur along his neck and arms. Something that made his tail want to lash, something that made his ears flick up and strain, despite the tumult of noise from the cheering crowd tossing yet more flowers around him.

Burying his muzzle against the deep pink flower, he sniffed his way first along the petals, then down to the stem. There lay the strongest traces of that mysterious scent, down where its former owner’s fingers had cut the bloom from its bush, snapped off its thorns, and handled it for untold minutes while waiting for this parade before tossing it into his hand.

A feminine hand had wielded this bloom, but not just a feminine one. Something more basic than that. So basic, it struck his senses like a blunt weapon.

Female.

One moment, he was seated sedately among his fellow Haguaro Gengin on the parade float, accepting their accolades once again as the saviors of the small, enemy-beset nation of Sullipin. The next, he launched instinctively into the crowd. The Normals scattered, startled by his sudden movement; men, women, and children, they shrank back with wide, wary eyes. Not fearful, thankfully, just startled, but Viktor couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about anything, but stretched up on his hind legs, sniffing the upper currents of air and trying to calculate the point in the capital city’s parade route from which the flower in his grip had been tossed.

There! Dodging around a knot of staring men, he approached the spot he had matched up in his memory with the trajectory of his rose. It had to be one of the five or six women edging back from him, all but leaning against the plexi windows of a bakery. The warm, yeasty scent of freshly baked bread and spicy-sweet sticky buns couldn’t mask the scent of her, however.

Her. That heady scent of pure, intoxicating female came from her. Viktor stalked toward her, sniffing the air to be absolutely sure. The smell of her was too important to pick the wrong woman; he had to be sure the redhead with the wide blue green eyes was his rightful—

A body interposed itself between him and his . . . well, she wasn’t his prey, per se, but she was his, somehow. The blocking figure was an older man, his dark hair salted heavily with iron gray. He smelled somewhat like her, some sort of relative, but he also smelled of a mix of courage and fear. The scent of a confrontation.

“What . . . what do you want?�� the man demanded, lifting his chin a little.

Lifting up again on his hind legs, towering over the older man, Viktor sniffed at the air around the redheaded woman. It was definitely the redhead, no mistake. He pointed at her, his hand still holding her flower. “Her.”

The gray-haired man spluttered. “My . . . my daughter? Well . . . you can’t have her! We’re free citizens! We haven’t done anything wrong!”

A hand touched his arm. Viktor glanced at its owner. Keisia Blood-thunder blinked her cat green eyes at him and murmured, “Viktor, what are you doing?” Her ears flicked down and back, and she snuck a look at the other Normals around them. “Why have you stopped the parade? What have they done?”

The slight breeze wafting through the city shifted, bringing his fellow Haguaro’s scent to his nose. It didn’t completely diminish her smell, but it did reduce some of its impact on his instincts. Enough that Viktor felt embarrassed by his wildly impulsive actions. “Nothing . . . they’ve done nothing.”

“Come back to the float,” Keisia murmured, patting his arm. “Let the Normals see how nice we are.”

He knew she was right, but he couldn’t quite leave things at that. Turning his attention back to her, he lifted his chin a little. “What is your name?”

The man between them lifted his own chin. “I am Godo Chavell, and this is my daughter, Raisa. What do you want with her?”

Raisa . . . how appropriate. Briefly satisfied with that much information about her—which would hopefully be enough—Viktor lifted the flower again. “Thank you for the rose, Raisa. It is . . . very beautiful.”

She smiled tentatively at him, making his chest swell at the sight. She had a beautiful smile, with a hint of a dimple on one side. Remembering his manners, Viktor bowed to both of them and turned away, following Keisia back to the float. Leaping back up onto the flower-piled transport, he ignored the curious looks from the other Gengins, focusing instead upon the flower still caught in his hand.

Raisa Chavell. Raisa. Ancient Russian for “rose” . . .

My Rose.

“WHAT do you mean, you want this Raisa Chavell?” Cameron, the defense liaison, demanded. The Normal man gave Viktor a look that, if he had been an Haguaro himself, would have included downturned whiskers and flattened ears. “We don’t do slavery in Sullipin!”

“Not like that,” Viktor growled, though he wasn’t particularly mad. Disgusted, more like it. He could not get her scent out of his head, but he was a civilized man, despite his genetically engineered shape. “I want to know who she is, where she’s from, what she does for a living, who her friends and family are. I want to meet with her, and I want to talk with her.”

“This is highly irregular!” the defense liaison protested.

“Our contract with your government is that for each time we risk our lives in defending this nation, we get to make a request for a special item or privilege commensurate to our efforts on your behalf,” Viktor reminded him. “We are on call every hour of every day, in exchange for food, living quarters, medical treatment, and a modest stipend. But when we actually risk our lives—as I clearly did this last week—we can ask for something more. I am asking for information about the redheaded woman, Raisa Chavell, and for the chance to talk with her. To start with . . . since this is such a little thing, compared to risking my life on behalf of all of yours.”

“She is a free citizen of Sullipin!” Cameron protested.

“And I am a civilized man, not a monster, as you seem to be implying,” Viktor pointed out, doing his best not to growl this time. He couldn’t keep the tip of his tail from twitching, though he did restrain it from fully thrashing. “I want her background investigated and a report sent to my quarters by this time tomorrow. To start with. More meetings might follow, but they’ll be with her cooperation and consent. End of discussion.”

The other Haguaro in the debriefing room eyed him askance. Viktor didn’t care. He wanted to know more about her, and to smell more of that intoxicating, bone-deep scent.

The Haguaro were the Sullipins’ primary weapon against their enemies. Civil war had devastated the backwater colonyworld of Pinnia three hundred years ago, fragmenting their original government into five factions. Sullipin didn’t have the one remaining, functional spaceport; that belonged to the nation of Arapin, up at the northern end of the small continent. Between them lay the jungles of Kessepin, where exotic and transplanted foods and medicines were grown. Danispin had the fruitful plains to the west, with grains and herds and farms, while Hallapin had various petroleum deposits to the south.

Sullipin had all the mineral resources of the Pinnit Mountains, which the other four factions were in dire need of, and the shelter of the Sullivan Rift, a broad valley near the heart of those mountains, suitable for farming and living. With technology heavily reduced by centuries of war, and lacking the resources to build forms of airpower strong enough to assault the mountain kingdom the easy way, the militaries of Danispin, Hallapin, and Kessepin did their land-bound best to raid the outer mines of Sullipin whenever they thought they had a chance, rather than constantly pay the Sullipins in a more civilized way for the value of the ores and jewels.

Up until the arrival of the Haguaro, they often succeeded. The crash landing of the original Gengins’ ship, stolen in their escape from the genetics lab that had created them, had occurred in the southern Pinnit Mountains. A trio of brave miners had treated the survivors of that crash like human beings rather than like monsters, and the survivors had allied themselves with the local government in gratitude.

Bred and trained for speed, strength, tracking, and hand-to-hand combat, the Haguaro Gengins were warriors above and beyond anything this planet knew. For five generations, the Haguaro had defended Sullipin, and the Sullipins had honored them as its heroes.

Is it really so damned much for me to ask for information about a damned Normal female? Viktor thought, tail flicking restlessly. I am a man! I am human, just like they are. With the same needs and wants and interest in my fellow human beings.

He could feel Keisia eyeing him and knew she was concerned about his interest in a Normal woman. They had grown up in the same crèche group, had trained in many of the same combat forms, and had similar tastes in entertainment, humor, and favorite foods. The elders who oversaw the breeding lines had even made gentle suggestions that the two of them should consider forming a breeding pair, since they weren’t too closely related and did seem to get along so well. Before the parade, Viktor had considered those suggestions as a future possibility. A distant future possibility, but one nonetheless.

Now all he could think about was her. Those blue green eyes with their round pupils instead of cat-slit ones. That faint dusting of freckles on her creamy cheeks instead of a stippling of dark whisker-spots. The sun-streaked copper and cream curls she bore, rather than a fluffy mane of golden and dark brown fur.

Her scent spoke strongly, compellingly, undeniably of home to him. Of home, of woman, of something more. Something which he hadn’t had time to puzzle out just yet, other than that it was important. Something which he couldn’t dismiss from his thoughts. Why a Normal would make him react this way, he didn’t know, but she did.

The mystery of his strong reaction to her only added to his desire to see her again. It didn’t matter what the others thought. He would see her again.

He had to, even if he didn’t know why.

“VIKTOR, I present to you Miss Raisa Chavell.” Giving him a look filled with the protests and misgivings, voiced and unvoiced, which he had argued over the last three days, the defense liaison reluctantly stepped aside. He left just enough room for the young woman behind him to enter the conference room. “Miss Chavell, this is Viktor Ragerip, defender of Sullipin.”

Miss Raisa Chavell looked just as beautiful as she had during the parade three days ago. Viktor had been vaguely aware of a bluish blouse and tan slacks the previous time, and she seemed to be wearing something similar, this time greenish on top and brown beneath. The last blouse had been flowery; this one seemed to be an abstract sprinkle of greens. It made her skin look creamy and her hair a little redder than before. He liked it.

He also still liked her scent. The flow of air currents in the air-conditioned conference room held back most of her scent, but it was there. Threatening to distract him.

He had done his own best to look civilized, with a fitted black jacket and a black and gold kilt. There wasn’t a comfortable way for a Haguaro to wear pants, thanks to their tails, though they did wear loincloths under their kilts. Nor could they wear a traditional plaid, since the crisscross of stripes clashed horribly with their spotted fur, but this kilt had been made with an attractive spotted print somewhat reminiscent of Viktor’s jaguar-patterned hide.

Aware of how important a good first impression was, Viktor had taken extra care with the selection of his clothes, the combing of his tail and the fluffing of his mane, even going so far as to decorate his ears with thin gold hoops, following current fashion for Sullipin males, Normal or otherwise. He thought he looked rather attractive. Gentlemanly. He deeply hoped she thought so, too, and he let his chest puff up a little as she swept her gaze slowly from the top of his head downward, perusing every centimeter of him.

She giggled. Her hand flew up to her mouth and her face flamed with embarrassment, and she did her best to choke it back . . . but she undeniably laughed. Ears flicking back, Viktor wondered what had set her off.

Cameron scowled and grabbed her elbow. “Behave yourself ! He is a defender of Sullipin, and you will give him every respect!”

The defense liaison’s harsh act startled her out of her laughter. It affected Viktor, too. For a moment, he trembled with the urge to leap across the conference room and fling the other man away, just for daring to touch her. Struggling against the uncomfortably violent impulse, he pinned the other man with a glare, ears flat and whiskers pulled back. “Thank you, Cameron. That will be all.”

Cameron glanced sharply at him but did not release her elbow.

“Thank you, Cameron . . . that will be all,” Viktor repeated firmly, his voice deepening almost to a growl. He let his tail lash sharply when the other man didn’t release her fast enough. He didn’t have to move anything else; the defense liaison was well trained in reading Haguaro tail, whisker, and ear moods.

Withdrawing his touch, Cameron gave Viktor a hard, chiding look. He followed it with a stiff half bow before striding back out through the conference room door. Deliberately leaving the door open behind him and deliberately not going very far. Annoyed, Viktor did his best to ignore the older man. He wanted to ask Raisa what had amused her, but first he had to get them past this moment of awkwardness.

Soothing his tail, pricking forward his whiskers and ears, he offered her a smile. “Would you like to see the gardens? They’re at their best right now.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Is that why I’m here? To see your gardens?”

“For a start. Come. We can talk while we walk outside.” Holding out his hand, he waited to see if she would take it.

She stared at his fingers, callused skin on the palm side, plush, velvet-short fur on the back, his nails pointed like claws, though they were not actually retractable. The ones on his toes were, but not his fingers. The fact that she hesitated hurt him a little, reminding him that for all he felt like a man inside, he still looked more like a beast. Stubbornly, he kept his hand out and his ears up, and hoped.

Slowly, she lifted her hand. Slid her fingers against his. Curled them around his flesh. Touched him of her own free will.

Something sparked from her flesh to his, something deeply primal. Viktor heard the fabric of his jacket shift and strain with the swelling of his muscles, and suppressed the urge to roar in triumph. Instead, he did his best to keep his expression polite and pleasant rather than ferally possessive, and guided her back through the doorway, past the frowning Cameron, and out through the glazed doors leading to the gardens of the Haguaro Headquarters.

His ancestors had requested a large tract of land be set aside and developed for their use, more or less centrally located in the Rift Valley. Some of the buildings were training salles with all manner of equipment to train and test their combat abilities, some were medical facilities with staff dedicated to the study and maintenance of Haguaro biology, and some held meeting rooms and offices such as the conference room they had just left. The rest were personal residences, interspersed with stretches of lawn, trees, streams, fountains, and gardens.

Viktor’s home wasn’t visible, having been built beyond some of the trees off to the left; if it had been, he would have pointed out with justifiable pride the heavily blossoming rose vines he had trained to grow up over the many trellises he had erected with his own hands. Maybe he would show her his home later, if things went well. As it was, there were plenty of other flowers for her to see, and the need to reassure her that his intentions were civilized.

Given how the weather was on the cusp between late spring and early summer, everything that could be in bloom was in bloom, and vigorously so. From carpets of violets to bunches of bluebells, the view was a riot of colors and smells. Nothing quite as intoxicating as her scent, but some of the pollen was strong enough to make him want to sneeze after only a minute of strolling along the path. A subtle attempt to rub at his nose with his free hand made her glance at him. Viktor barely had time to turn his head into his far shoulder to muffle the explosion he had failed to subdue.

She snerked. She quickly averted her head, but his ears had picked up the muffled, suppressed laugh. He felt it in the subtle tremble and squeeze of the fingers still cupping his. Strolling with her along the winding brick path felt right, even if he had given her a laugh at his expense.

“I am glad I can amuse you,” he murmured, catching her startled glance.

“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .” she stammered in apology.

“Your laughter is a gift, and quite understandable. There is nothing more amusing than watching a creature as dignified as me letting out a hearty sneeze,” Viktor reassured her. “Of course, I am also curious to know why you laughed the first time. Would you care to let me in on the joke?”

She blushed and shrugged. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have thought it. You’re a hero, not a . . .”

That intrigued him. “Tell me anyway. I’m a hero, not a . . . what?”

Raisa blushed deeper. “You’re a hero, not a fairy tale creature.” A glance up caught the perking of his ears. She offered him a tentative smile. “I looked down, saw your feet, and, um . . . well . . . I immediately thought Puss-in-Boots . . .”

Viktor glanced down at himself. While his hind legs weren’t entirely human in shape, neither were they quite the exaggerated ones of a true cat, and the fit of his footwear reflected that. Still, he could see her point. Permitting himself a chuckle, he gently squeezed her fingers. “We Haguaro are well aware of how we look. We often take pains to look more human, even if we can’t look Normal.”

“Well, you are very, um . . . exotic looking,” she offered politely.

This close, with the wind shifting direction, her scent filled his senses, permeating him with a feeling of rightfulness. “On the outside, perhaps. On the inside, I am still a man.”

She flushed again. “Erm . . . why do I get the feeling the reason you wanted to see me is because . . . you’re a man?”

He couldn’t hide it. “Because you have excellent instincts.”

“Why?” Stopping, she turned to face him. “Why me? I don’t look anything like, well, an Haguaro woman. Aren’t you . . . um . . . Wouldn’t you prefer one of your own kind?”

Viktor shrugged. “I’ll admit it’s more common. But there is something about you which I find . . . compelling.”

“Compelling? Me?” Raisa shook her head, her sun-streaked locks sliding over her shoulders. “I’m surprised they even let me come here. That is, presuming you know . . .”

He didn’t pretend ignorance. “You and your father and brother were former Danispin citizens. Your father was—and is—a baker, yourself a massage therapist, and your brother a clerk in the Danispin military. A dissident clerk. You have my condolences for his loss,” he offered.

She shrugged, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, smell the subtle tinge of sadness in her natural perfume. “He was trying to do the right thing. Father raised us to think about the differences between wrong and right, and my brother believed in it. He died getting us across the border, along with the information he had smuggled out of his work.” Raisa breathed deeply, gazing at the trees in the distance. “I still wish my mother and sisters had seen reason, too. Bombing these people just to get their hands on rare minerals . . . it’s an insane idea. We should be working together, all of us, to rebuild the technology we’ve lost.

“Arapin has a spaceport, yes, but we’re on the back end of colonized space; hardly anyone ever visits, and we don’t have enough resources individually, nor enough cooperation as a group to rebuild our half-lost spaceship technology. The only way we’re going to regain solid contact with everyone else, and regain all the advantages that will entail, is if we stop fighting each other—I’m sorry if that kind of goes against your entire purpose for existence,” she added quickly, looking up at him. “But it’s how my father and I feel.”

Viktor wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t call it our purpose for existence. It’s more our purpose for employment. Saying that we exist for no other reason than to fight and kill is to render us less than the beasts we resemble. I don’t deny we were made to be tools of war, and that we look more like beasts than like men and women, but we are still human beings inside.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she murmured, tugging on her fingers to free them.

He kept them tucked in his. “You didn’t. I know what I am. I was just hoping that you did, too. Or that you’d be willing to learn.”

“Which brings me back to why I am here.” Lifting her chin, Raisa looked up at him.

She was about average in height, which made her around forty centimeters shorter than him—and that was without him rising up on his toes. Her height and slender build made Viktor all the more aware of how fragile and delicate she was, and how that comparative delicateness dug its claws into his protective instincts.

“Why am I here, Viktor Ragerip?”

“Rose,” he corrected. She blinked and frowned softly, confused. Viktor sighed. “A few years ago, I dug through the records our ancestors brought when they escaped the Gengin facility which had created them. My paternal bloodline is descended from a man named George Rose . . . so by rights, Rose is my true family name. Not the battle name I was given in an effort to make me sound all the more ferocious to our foes—which is a stupid practice, if you ask me.”

“Oh?” she asked. “How so?”

“Well, it’s not like we stop to exchange names and hobbies and interests first before entering a battle with our attackers,” he pointed out. “Our names might occasionally get across the borders through rumor and so forth, but the people who hear them every day are our fellow Sullipins. With names like Ragerip, Throatgouger, and the like, all we’re doing is intimidating the people we’re sworn to protect.”

Raisa tipped her head, acknowledging his words. “You’re right. It does seem excessively intimidating. But to quote Shakespeare, would a Ragerip by any other name sound as fierce? To call you a Rose would make you sound sweet, and you are supposed to be a symbol of ferocious defense for this land.”

“That may be reasonable for when I’m working, but what about my leisure time?” Viktor argued. “Shouldn’t I be allowed to seem sweet and kind? Do I have to remain a beast every hour of the day? Or can I also be a man at least some of my time?”

She gave him a dubious look. “Viktor . . . you don’t look like a man. As sad as it is to say this . . . people tend to judge first on how people look. They see you, they think, fierce jungle beast.”

“Then that’s all the more reason for me to be looked at as a man. To have the opportunity to be seen as a man. Which is why you are here,” he murmured pointedly.

“Yes, but why me?” she asked again.

Viktor shrugged. “Because you smell right.”

“Because I what?” Raisa demanded, her brows rising with her incredulity. “I smell right? I thought you wanted to be seen as a man, not a beast, but if this is your selection criteria . . .”

She tried tugging her hand free again, but Viktor kept it. He pulled it to his chest, turning it gently but firmly in both of his hands so that her palm pressed flat against his golden fur. He didn’t smell any fear about her, which was good, but the combination of her scent and her touch made it a struggle for him to focus on mere words. “I have a heart. I have a brain. I have a soul. I also have a body, which by these measurements is merely one-quarter of me. I’m not going to ignore my appearance or my abilities, but neither am I going to deny the other three-quarters.”

Her blue green gaze dropped from his face to his chest. He felt her fingers move slightly, a subtle caress of her thumb. “Your, ah, fur. It’s very soft.”

“Lots of vitamin E. Both in my diet and in my shampoo.” He smiled when she glanced up, inviting her to enjoy the mild joke. “It takes forever to wash and dry, and I have to use a conditioner if I don’t want problems with static electricity, but at least I don’t have to lick myself.”

She blushed at his choice of words. Dropping her gaze to his chest, Raisa splayed her fingers over his fur. Viktor released her wrist slowly, giving her silent permission to explore him. Released, her fingers rubbed against the grain of his fur, then with it, stimulating and soothing the underlying skin. She frowned slightly, thoughtfully, and raked the pads of her fingers through the longer, golden strands cresting his sternum.

“Does it interfere with massage therapy? Or have you ever had a massage?”

Her clinical interest gave him hope that he could capture other facets of her interest as well. Viktor shrugged. “It does take a certain talent to massage a Haguaro, and the right tools of the trade. I’m not quite sure what oils are used, since our therapists don’t use them very often. I think some of it is aloe vera gel, maybe with some vitamin E. They often follow it with an oatmeal powder scrub, which is very invigorating.

“But most of the time, they just use their bare hands and our natural body oils.” Stooping a little, he picked up both of her hands and guided them into the thick, long, hairlike mane covering him from scalp to shoulders. “There are glands on both males and females at the back of the head, below and behind each ear . . . Feel that, the bit that’s a little more oily? Plus more glands down by our tails and around the bases of our whiskers.” Pulling one of her hands free after it had wriggled experimentally for a little bit, he guided it to her nose. “For the men, the oil glands are a bit muskier in their scent than for the women. Here, smell it for yourself.”

Hesitantly, she sniffed. Blinking, Raisa looked up at him. “It’s not bad . . . Kind of like a perfume, actually. Or a cologne.”

Stooping again, Viktor twisted his head and shoulders, offering her his mane. “Stick your face in it and breathe deeply.”

She laughed and swayed back. “I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can! You just might like it . . . but you won’t know until you actually try,” he teased. “Go on, do it.”

“Well . . . okay.” Steadying herself with a hand on his shoulder, she buried her face in his fluffy gold and brown mane. Most of the Haguaro feline genome had come from jaguars, but some had been borrowed from other cat species, including Viktor’s lionlike mane. He heard Raisa inhale deeply, then exhale on a humming sigh. “Mmm, yes . . . like a very nice cologne. Unless you applied some actual cologne to your fur?”

“I’m not wearing any. What you’re smelling is the real me.” Turning to face her, still stooped over, Viktor found their faces close enough to mesmerize him. Partly because of her own perfume, natural and heady, but partly from the fearless curiosity in her blue green eyes. This close, he could see they were definitely too dark to be called aquamarine, and she had two tiny flecks of amber in the iris of her left eye, while there was only one fleck in the right.

She was also close enough that he couldn’t resist. Angling his head, he pressed his mouth to hers. Kissed her. Raisa sucked in a startled breath, both of her hands coming up to his shoulders. Balling his own hands into fists to keep from touching her, from pulling her closer, from obeying the instinct to snatch her up and carry her off to his lair, Viktor instead gave her parted lips a teasing lick. He pressed further when she gasped again, claiming her mouth as gently as his instincts would allow.

Apparently not gently enough; she pushed at his shoulders, stepping back. Cheeks flushed, she didn’t meet his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that. You’re a . . .”

“I’m a . . . what?” Viktor asked, angry that she was daring to call him that in spite of his explanations.

She lifted her chin and her gaze, meeting his stare firmly. “You’re a stranger, and we’ve only just met. I may be a Sullipin now, but I was raised a Danispin, and in Danispin, we don’t do that on a . . . on a . . . I can’t even call this a first date!”

He would have backed off, if it weren’t for two things. The first he noticed at the lower edge of his vision. Spotted in shades of green though it was, her blouse couldn’t camouflage the evidence of her reaction poking against the soft, supple fabric. The second was her smell. His wasn’t the only musk now tangible in the air, though hers was yet so faint no Normal nose could have detected it.

Acting on instinct, Viktor cupped her chin in his hand. Holding her still, he kissed her again. A claiming kiss, for all it was gentle. It pleased him that within just a few licks, she parted her lips enough to return his kiss. It pleased him even more that the hands which touched his shoulders a few moments later cupped the material of his jacket, pulling him closer, rather than pressed to push him away. It was a good thing; Viktor didn’t think he could stop kissing her, now that he’d had this second taste.

Indeed, he didn’t care about the chatter of young, approaching voices, until one of the youths let out a disgust-laced “Ewww! He’s kissing a Normal !”

Rage seared through him. Gently—very gently—Viktor pulled back from his startled, embarrassed mate. Using the thumb of the hand still cupping her chin, he gently covered her mouth, preventing her from saying anything. “Please excuse me a moment . . . and you may want to cover your ears.”

Visibly flushed with embarrassment, Raisa watched him as he used his free hand to unbutton his black jacket. With his chest and abdomen given room to expand, Viktor turned to glare at the three young Haguaro who had approached along the path. It wasn’t easy to tell which one had spoken, since all three sported flattened ears and wrinkled muzzles, but it didn’t matter. They were mere teenagers and he was a full adult; disciplining them was well within his rights as a blooded warrior.

Inhaling deeply, Viktor roared. All three youths jumped back at his full-throated thunder, eyes wide with shock. Birds squawked and flapped into the air, abandoning their perches in the nearest bushes and trees. More than that, Raisa jerked back out of his grip, gentle as it was. He spared her a glance, making sure she hadn’t actually fled, then glared at the trio again.

“You have insulted my guest. You will apologize. Now!” Lashing his demand like it was his tail, he waited. Thankfully, they did not try his patience.

“Sorry, sir, miss . . .” “I apologize.” “We didn’t mean to offend!” Bobbing in short Sullipin bows, the three boys edged off the path and around Viktor in a wide, wary circuit.

Sighing, Viktor let his rage go. More worried for his guest than still mad at the boys, he turned back to Raisa. She smelled more of startlement than of fear, but there were some traces of fear. “I apologize as well. They are young, and the young are often idiotic. I hope I didn’t hurt your ears.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then managed a tentative smile. The redhead even lifted her hand, cupping it around her ear. “Eh?”

Viktor chuckled, nervous that he had scared her but relieved she didn’t seem too offended. Cupping her chin again, he leaned down and gently kissed first one ear, then the other, indulging himself one last time in the chance to inhale her sweet, beckoning scent. He felt her shiver when he did so, and saw the desire returning as a faint, rich gleam in her blue green, amber-flecked eyes.

“Would you join me for dinner?” he asked, pulling back. “I know you have massage sessions scheduled for later this evening, and you’re on duty tomorrow as well at your clinic—I hope you don’t mind that I made inquiries about such things—but would you be willing to share a meal with me two nights from now?”

She ducked her head a little. “I don’t know . . .”

“Please,” he murmured, hunkering down a little in the hope that it would make him look more harmless. The full-throated roar of an enraged Haguaro was very intimidating to most, even if it had been aimed on her behalf rather than at her. “I would like you to get to know me better, and I would love to know you better, too. Please, have dinner with me.”

She nibbled her lower lip and snuck a glance up at him. “You, um, don’t eat your meat raw, do you?”

Viktor wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Hardly. I prefer my red meats cooked at least to medium-rare, and my fish and poultry fully cooked. And I do eat vegetables.”

“Ah.” She hesitated, considering his offer.

“Plus, I’m an absolute slave to cheese,” he said, half teasing, half coaxing. She looked up at that, arching one reddish gold brow. “Oh, yes,” he agreed, nodding to emphasize it. “Feed me cheese from your dainty fingertips, and I’ll purr and sprawl and do almost anything you ask of me. I might even play ‘fetch’ if you asked nicely . . . say with a hunk of smoked gouda in your other hand?”

She wrinkled her nose at that, but thankfully only in laughter, not disgust. Pleased he had tickled her sense of humor, Viktor lifted her hand to his lips, giving her fingertips a kiss and a featherlight lick.

“Come, I’ll walk you back to the visitor’s center—you will go out with me in two nights, yes?” he asked, needing to know. “Please?”

Again, she hesitated. Finally, Raisa nodded, her body posture shy, her scent both curious and trepidatious. “All right. Here, or . . . ?”

Viktor considered the strength of his reaction to her, versus the likely reaction of others. Bringing her to my home for a private meal could tempt me into things she’s clearly not ready for yet . . . but taking her out into public might make others voice a few “ewws” of their own . . . There was really only one choice in the matter. He could take whatever insults might be flung his way, but he didn’t know about her. “I will leave that choice up to you. We can dine in my home, in your home, or in a restaurant of your choosing.”

She tilted her head again, looking up at him. “Since I don’t know if you can cook . . . and the way those boys reacted . . . it should probably be my house. If you’re willing. You may be brave in the face of combat,” Raisa added, her dimple making its lopsided appearance, “but I’ll bet you haven’t faced a disapproving, highly protective father over the dinner table.”

He laughed. “I look forward to the challenge.”

SIX dates. Six long, wonderful, impatient, agonizing dates. Long, because they inevitably ended up talking all the way to midnight. Wonderful, because it didn’t seem possible they could run out of things to say to each other; even their moments of silence together were companionable rather than awkward. Impatient, because her work schedule only allowed them to meet two nights a week; having served in a combat zone recently, Viktor had arranged to take a few weeks to teach the latest tricks and tactics of the enemy to the next generation of Haguaro warriors, which allowed him to stay near the capital. His work took place in the mornings, and that left him at the mercy of her much more varied schedule. Agonizing, because he was doing his best to proceed at her pace regarding intimacy.

Even with only a few kisses here and there for his meager satisfaction, Viktor had never enjoyed anyone’s company so much before. They might have two disparate backgrounds and careers, but they also had many things in common: a good sense of wrong versus right; a love of archaic literature; and strong ties to their family history—or at least, in Viktor’s case, as much history as he had been able to find out. Raisa could trace hers all the way back to ancient Earth. And with every wide-ranging conversation, they kept finding more things in common, more subjects to discuss, debate, and enjoy.

Their first three dates had been in the privacy of her home; she was a good cook, as was her father, though her father still wasn’t too sure about Viktor’s intentions. The next two dates had taken place in public restaurants. Those had been awkward, but necessary. Word had already gotten out that an Haguaro was seeing a Normal. As in dating her.

Viktor wanted to show everyone that he was a man, a civilized, normal man, for all he wasn’t a Normal. Thus, this was their third time venturing into public together.

What he longed to do was bring her back to his home, where there was no lurking, wary father—though at least Godo Chavell seemed to be coming to terms with Viktor’s presence—and no other distractions but the two of them. Nothing for them to do but interact, in whatever way she might desire. Instead, tonight they had attended a play.

As much as Viktor normally enjoyed the archaic comedy Much Ado About Nothing, the padded theater seats had been designed with Normal backsides in mind. His tail hurt from his being forced to sit on it through every act of the play. An awareness of his broad shoulders and height even when seated had forced him out of politeness to request seats in the back of the house, distancing them from the action. But in compensation for all the discomfort, she had held his hand. All the way through the performance and all the way outside.

The popularity of the acting company performing the play had forced Viktor to park his hoverbike a couple blocks away, but that was all right; it really wasn’t a bad night for a stroll. The air was warm, the stars were out, and the gold and green glow of Thesten’s Nebula could be seen rising off to the east, through the buildings of the Sullipin capital. Dressed in a buff gold vest and matching kilt, with sandals on his feet so that she wouldn’t have to suppress the urge to giggle whenever she looked down at them, with her in a golden summer dress that almost matched his clothes, Viktor strolled contentedly at her side.

His contentment vanished when five men, ages ranging from early twenties to perhaps a little older than his own twenty-seven, stepped out of the shadows and crowded the sidewalk in front of them. Blocking their progress. The antagonism in their eyes, the mixture of alcohol, belligerence, and fear in their scent told him it wasn’t an accident. No, seven men, for two more moved up behind them.

The liquor oozing from their pores told him that what they were planning wasn’t based on wisdom or common sense. The fact that two of them had lengths of pipe held at their sides added to the impression. The scent of the woman at his side, startled and a little fearful, reinforced his bone-deep belief that Raisa had to be kept safe at all costs in this witless confrontation. That meant using calm, rational logic and civilized courtesy.

“Gentlemen, I will remind you that I am a government agent,” Viktor stated calmly. “Attacking me is a crime. Committing any crime in my presence, such as attacking myself or someone else, gives me the legal right to stop you. As it is a lovely night and there are a lot of witnesses around, witnesses who can see the weapons in your hands, I suggest you reconsider whatever it is you have in mind, and step aside.”

The ones in front glanced around. There were, indeed, several witnesses to this confrontation. Not only several of the other theater patrons on their way to their own vehicles, but the drivers of the hovercars gliding just half a meter off the pavement next to them. Wisely, the group parted to either side. Viktor shifted from holding Raisa’s hand to cupping her shoulders, visibly protecting her at his side as well as guiding her between the inebriated men.

A sting of sweaty adrenaline and a whisper of sound were his only warning. Sidestepping quickly, Viktor grunted under the blow, absorbing the burning impact.

“Freak!” his attacker shouted from behind, yanking the knife free. “You don’t take our women! Stick to your own kind, you freaking beast!”

Viktor grunted again as the knife stabbed deep a second time. Through the pain reddening the edges of his vision, he heard the youth panting, felt him release the hilt, and turned slowly to face the drunken Normal. The younger man paled, eyes widening as Viktor faced him. He bared his teeth a little, displaying his slightly longer than human canines. That made the idiot blink, then flush.

When the idiot drew in a deep breath and balled up his fists, leaning in to attack, Viktor sighed and planted his right palm on the younger man’s face, holding him at arm’s length. The movement pulled at the wounds in Viktor’s back, and it hurt, but being a lot taller meant the drunkard couldn’t quite reach him. He endured the first two whiffing, would-be blows patiently, then shoved the idiot back. The dark-haired youth stumbled and sprawled onto the pavement with nothing hurt worse than his badly bruised dignity.

Pleased he had controlled his battle rage in spite of his pain, Viktor turned back toward the others . . . just as one of the older fools grabbed Raisa by the arm, pulling her away from him. Touching her.

Her.

Possessive fury exploded through him in a thundering roar of blood-rage red, destroying his careful self-control.

“Viktor!” Raisa’s shout called him back to his senses, her voice hoarse with both fear and anger. A glance showed her released and unharmed, untouched by anyone else. Of course, he had just attacked the only one foolish enough to try. Trembling, hands clenched in fists, Raisa lifted her chin. “Put him down. Now!”

Blinking to clear the fury half-blinding him, Viktor lowered the man half-throttled in his grip, returning his feet to the ground. He did not immediately let go of the second idiot’s throat, however. Leaning in close enough to smell the urine as well as the sweat soiling the other man’s clothes, he growled, “You do not touch my woman.”

Unpeeling his fingers, he released his prey. Unsure if she would let him touch her, now that she’d had a glimpse of how violent he could be, Viktor bowed and politely gestured with both hands for her to precede him. For a moment, she didn’t move, just stared at him and his hand. Then, giving the others a defiant glare, Raisa placed her fingers in his. Deliberately touching him.

Relief washed through him in a shiver of anticlimax. Aware of the extent of his injuries, one deep wound bleeding freely and the other still stoppered with the knife causing it, he held himself stiff yet proud as they walked away together.

She chose me, he thought as they crossed the intervening street and entered the hovercraft garage. She chose to take my hand in the face of their asinine prejudice . . . My woman chose me . . . It wasn’t much, but it was a balm soothing some of his pain.

Reaching his hoverbike, Raisa climbed onto the seat first, shifting forward as she straddled it so that he could climb on behind. She glanced over her arm . . . and froze, staring at the ground. Her eyes widened, taking in the red smears. “Viktor, you’re bleeding!”

“I know,” he grunted. He quickly stopped her with a hand on her arm when she tried to dismount. “We have to go back to Headquarters to file an incident report.”

“Incident, hell! We have to get you to a hospital!” she swore.

He managed a smile as he pressed her back into place. Swinging his leg over the rear end of the bike certainly hurt, but it wouldn’t kill him. “That’s the other reason we have to go back. A regular hospital won’t do me much good. They don’t know enough about Haguaro physiology to help quite as well.

“Besides, I heal a lot faster than a Normal. By the time we get back, most of the bleeding will have stopped.” That was an exaggeration, but he didn’t want her to worry. “I am concerned about the knife still stuck in my lower ribs, but so long as I don’t move too much, I’ll survive. I’ve had a lot worse, too, fighting on the border. And they’ll need the evidence on the blade to track down the man responsible.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, concern keeping her eyes wide and her face pale. “Do you want me to fly the bike?”

“It has an auto-return program. Just stay with me,” he murmured, activating the controls and setting the autopilot. “That’ll be enough.”

“All right.” Gripping the support struts for the handlebars, she nodded, then shrugged. “I’ve never . . . never seen anyone move so fast. You just . . . Wow. It was rather . . . scary.”

“They threatened you. I couldn’t let them hurt you.” Punching the button that engaged the thrusters, Viktor set the bike moving under auto-return. As a government vehicle, his bike didn’t have to stick to the meter-high rule, particularly under auto-return; within moments, they glided up out of the multi-story garage, soaring into the night air. Using the comm, he gave a terse report of the incident, the fact that he was injured, and was returning to the Haguaro compound for medical aid.

The safety field snapped up as they angled to the southeast over the city, cutting out the increasing force of the wind stirred by their flight. That trapped her scent in the cocoon of static energy sheltering them. Lowering his face to her upswept hair, Viktor soothed some of his pain by resting his chin on her shoulder and breathing it in, until nothing mattered but the fact that she was safely unharmed.

“I need to thank you,” he admitted a few moments later, distracting himself from the pain in his ribs. “I was so upset at the thought of them hurting you, I don’t think I would have stopped without you telling me to. I don’t normally get that upset. They didn’t deserve to be hurt just because they were a bunch of drunken idiots.”

“You really scared me,” she confessed quietly over her shoulder. “I thought you were going to tear those men to pieces right in front of me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But this is part of what I am, and what I do. All I can promise is that I will never hurt you.”

“How do I know that?”

Her doubt hurt as much as his wounds. He could ignore the ache in his back, but not this. Leaning forward just a little more to purr in her ear, Viktor gave her the truth. “You’re my mate.”

Raisa shivered, but she didn’t move away. Not even when he leaned in close enough to rest against her back. Breathing in her scent, soaking in her warmth, Viktor let the bike carry them back.

SHE wasn’t there when he woke up from the anesthetics. His spleen was still there, despite the severity of its lacerations, but that was more due to the recuperative abilities of regen paste than due to Haguaro healing abilities. Lying on his side in the recovery bed, Viktor listened to Cameron explain how he had taken Raisa’s statements and that Keisia had offered her a ride back home. Hearing that Raisa was gone was a painful disappointment to him.

And then the liaison officer had the gall to lecture him on how disruptive it was to try and date outside the Haguaro. How his abilities as a warrior needed to be preserved and passed on to the next generation, and shouldn’t be diluted by the Normal genome. How he had a responsibility to ensure that the future citizens of Sullipin would still enjoy the protections of his own kind decades from now.

If Viktor hadn’t been muzzy from the surgery drugs, he would have growled at the other man. Allowing himself to fall back asleep instead, he saved pondering the implications hidden in the defense liaison’s statements for later. He hurt too much right now, inside and out, to do anything but sleep.

It wasn’t until he returned to his own quarters the next day and had the chance to catch up on the news feeds that he saw part of the reason why Cameron had been so upset. Journalists were still talking about the near-fight that had happened outside the theater . . . and soliciting opinions on the thought of an Haguaro trying to date a Normal. Some of the average citizens’ reactions were positive, but many more started with something along the lines of “Well, he is a hero and all, and we’re very grateful, of course . . . ,” only to end with a variant of “he really should stick to his own kind, for her sake” or “just to be safe.”

It didn’t take long for him to hear what his fellow Haguaro thought of the matter, either. While he was debating watching a boring football match or yet more gossiping vid journalists trashing his attempt at a love life, Keisia knocked on his door. He knew it was her because she entered a moment later, bearing two bags of food. From the smell of it, one bag contained a roasted chicken, the other stir-fried vegetables.

“I figured you’d be ready for lunch by the time they let you out,” she stated, carrying everything over to the lounger where he had settled to watch the news. “Hospital food always tastes wrong to me, like they’re trying too hard.”

Her left ear twitched back and forth as she set the bags on the table and started extracting the contents. There were even two slices of cheesecake in little plexi boxes, he noted. Finally, something much more interesting than the news.

Keisia smiled slightly, seeing his ears prick up at the sight of his dessert. “I’ll go fetch the plates. And a glass of milk?”

She paused, and her ear twitched again. Viktor sighed. “Spit it out, Keisia. I know you have something to say; your ears never lie.”

Sighing roughly, she dropped to a crouch on the other side of his coffee table. Elbows on knees, with the pleats of her red kilt draped between them, she met his gaze steadily. “You shouldn’t be pursuing a Normal, Viktor. You are an Haguaro. Nothing you do, nothing you try, will ever change that. We are what we are, and we will always be it.”

He returned her steady stare. “What I am is a human being. First and foremost.”

“You aren’t a human! You’re an Haguaro!” she shot back.

“I am a genetically engineered human!” Viktor argued firmly, ears flattening against his skull. “Genetically engineered, but still a human. We know for a fact that Haguaros and Normals can interbreed, because they were still doing it to us when our ancestors escaped!”

“Yes, and most of the time, the Haguaro side breeds true!” Keisia snapped, tail thumping on the carpet as she lashed it. “Do you think the Normals want to hear that? Do you think she will want to hear it? Do you think she would want to bear your children, knowing that? Do you think she’d do it willingly, if she knew three out of four of her kids would end up furry, with teeth?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked. Yet,” he added daringly.

She narrowed her eyes, blinked slowly, and let out a sigh of disgust. “She’s only going to disappoint you. And you’re going to piss off your superiors. They won’t stand for you dallying with a Normal.”

“That!” Viktor exclaimed, pouncing verbally on her statement. Keisia jumped, started. “That is what bothered me yesterday!”

“What bothered you?” she asked, frowning. “The truth?”

“The attitude that we’re supposed to keep to ourselves, breed with ourselves, and continue to propagate a perfect warrior species! Don’t you see it?” he demanded, hoping that she did see it. Keisia was his friend. He hoped the intelligence he knew she possessed would connect the dots. “This is exactly what we were bred for.”

“I know! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Haguaro stick to our own kind!” she repeated, flipping up her hands.

Groaning, Viktor sagged back onto the cushions of the lounger. “Stars give me strength . . . Keisia, our ancestors were bred to be warriors, and kept as warriors . . . but our ancestors knew that we were still human beings! We have the same rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as the ancients did back on Earth! It is wrong to demand that we stick to our own kind. It is wrong to demand that we take mates only among each other! If we restrict ourselves, we are no better than the Gengin-crafting bastards who made us, because they wanted to enslave us!

“They created us because they wanted an army of genetically modified beasts they could command! They forced us to breed more of our kind, to concentrate our genome and strengthen it by breeding with each other. They only used Normals because it still takes an Haguaro woman nine months to carry her child to term, and they wanted to increase their breeding stock exponentially—but they still wanted us to be Haguaro.

“They culled the non-fuzzy, non-toothy babies, Keisia! How is that any different from the idea that the Haguaro of here and now are ‘supposed ’ to stick solely to our own kind, and not risk breeding Normal children with Normal mates? Is that what you want? To be forced to stick to our own kind? In another damned breeding program?”

Expecting a counterargument, he waited, ears flat and eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t say anything. Prying open one eye, Viktor peered at her. Keisia still crouched on the other side of the low table, and her ears were flat, but her whiskers were pulled down in unhappiness. Only the tip of her tail twitched, echoing the subdued restlessness of her thoughts.

Sighing, he relaxed a little.

“You know I’m right. And you can’t argue that it’s just about me gone over my head for some Normal woman. Cameron and the others may have the best of intentions toward ensuring there are always Haguaro to defend this land, but those attitudes are paving a road right back to the genetic captivity our progenitors fought so hard to escape. They and we are still human beneath all this fur. When our great-plus-grandparents crashed here, they signed a charter that guaranteed that they and their descendants would be free to choose their path in life. Which includes who they would mate with, and when, and how often.

“That each generation has agreed to use our strengths and skills to protect Sullipin is a testament to our continued honoring of that pact for freedom of choice. Not an indictment of our willingness to return to being warrior-slaves.” He fell quiet for a few moments, letting her think, then flicked his hand in the direction of his kitchen. “And yes, I would like a glass of milk.”

Her ears flicked back at his peremptory order, but she wrinkled her muzzle more in a grin than in a grimace. “I should make you get it yourself, you lazy tail . . .”

Pursing his lips in an attempt to avoid a grin of his own, Viktor draped his wrist over his forehead. “My injuries have left me so weakened, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk—have pity on me, Keisia; I’m dying, here! Dying of thirst . . .”

“Dying of overacting, maybe,” she muttered, but pushed herself upright. Padding toward the kitchen, she stopped as his comm unit chimed. “You want me to get that?”

“Yes, please.” It was probably a call from someone at Headquarters, though it could be one of his parents; his mother and father were stationed on the Kessepin border, now that all their cubs . . . all their children were fully grown. He’d get up for the latter, but not the former. Viktor was officially on medical leave for the next week, to make sure the newly regenerated tissues weren’t strained by the rigors of combat . . . and right now, if it was the defense liaison, he would probably say several things that should wait for a much more formal and politely worded draft.

Besides, leaving Keisia to catch the call meant he could investigate the delicious smells wafting out of the carry-out containers she had so generously brought. He might not love her as a mate, but there were several reasons he loved her as a friend.

“Hello, you’ve reached Viktor Ragerip’s . . . Oh. It’s you.”

Viktor looked up. Keisia quickly swiveled the comm unit, which sat on the end of the counter dividing his living room from the kitchen and dining areas, so that it faced into the kitchen. She looked over at him as she did so, but rather than chiding him for getting into the plexi container holding the roasted chicken without waiting for her, she dipped her ears and returned her gaze to the screen.

“Look . . . forget everything I said to you last night when I took you home,” she told the caller on the other end of the screen. “Drop everything and get over here . . . because even I’m not going to go against the wishes of a dying man.”

“A what?” he heard Raisa’s voice exclaim through the comm unit’s speakers.

Viktor, caught in the act of nibbling on one juicy drumstick, froze. A what? he echoed silently. A dying man? Who is she . . . ? Ohhh . . .

Hope made his heart pound in his chest. He knew this could turn out to be a very dangerous ploy if it backfired, but he also knew he had his best friend firmly on his side. If nothing else, he knew he could let her take all the blame and she’d do it. He’d owe her majorly—what else were best friends for but blackmail opportunities and owing giant favors, anyway—but she’d do it.

I’ll have to help her when it comes time to bag her own mate, of course . . .

“Please, drive carefully,” he heard Keisia cautioning his caller. “It would be far too tragic if anything happened to you before . . .” She paused, glanced his way, and lowered her whiskers. “Anyway, I’ll let Security know you’re on your way. Here, let me pass you a map to his home address, in case you haven’t been here yet. If you haven’t, I’m sure you’ll recognize it anyway, since it’s the only house covered in roses . . .”

A few murmured words later, she ended the call. Fetching two glasses of milk and two sets of tableware, she set them on the coffee table and snagged a cushion from a nearby chair. Settling onto it, she smirked. “You totally owe me for that.”

“You’re right, I do. If she gets upset at the trick you’ve just played, I’ll point out that you played it. Here I was, minding my own business as I recuperated from a minor combat injury, totally innocent of your machinations,” he said mockingly.

“Minor, like hell; I saw the scans they took of your spleen,” Keisia snorted. “And don’t eat all the chicken. Have some vegetables, too—not the stuff with garlic! If she smells garlic on your breath, it’ll give the game away.”

“I like garlic. I’ll gargle with mouthwash.” He reached for the container of garlic beef again, only to have his hand slapped.

“Seriously, stay away from the garlic! You can’t kiss someone unless they’ve eaten it, too, and mouthwash only goes so far in masking it,” Keisia argued. “Garlic burps are not romantic.”

“Fine. But I get to keep both slices of cheesecake.” Viktor ignored her mock growl and her mock flattened ears. Her tail wasn’t lashing. “I’ll need something to sweeten her mood after she’s discovered your little trick, and I know she likes cheesecake. If I lay off the garlic . . . well, with any luck, we’ll be eating our dessert in bed.”

Keisia rolled her eyes. “Please, I don’t need to hear about your sexual exploits.”

“We haven’t had any, yet. I was thinking more along the lines that I should be lying in my bed like a good little invalid, to further your little illusion,” Viktor told her. “I’d also better make sure my sheets are clean and that I don’t have any dirty kilts lying around . . .”

“That reminds me, they threw your vest into the recycler since it was too cut up to salvage, but your kilt and loincloth were cleaned. I left the package in my car,” she told him, licking a bit of garlic beef sauce from her lips. “You owe me for picking up your laundry, too.”

“You’re a very good friend, Keisia,” Viktor murmured.

She wrinkled her nose. “You know, I used to wonder if we’d ever make a go of it together. But now I realize I think of you more like a brother. A little brother.”

“Careful, or I’ll dip your tail into the nearest inkwell,” he teased. He had a couple of brothers and sisters already, and was happy to number her as an honorary member of his family, but it was a distinct relief to know she felt the same way about him.

Keisia snorted and poked at the carton in his hands. “Eat your vegetable delight.”

THE muffled sound of Raisa arriving, audible over the low, ongoing drone of whatever entertainment show Keisia had been watching while she waited, threatened to make his heart pound all over again. It had been a race to finish tidying his bedroom on top of making sure the scent of his lunch had been scrubbed and gargled away, and a struggle to make himself calm down so that he could appear to be fast asleep. Focusing on breathing slowly and calmly, he relaxed into the bedding.

The door opened. Viktor stilled the urge to twitch his uppermost ear; thankfully his tail was already weighed down by the bedcovers.

“There he is,” he heard Keisia whisper.

“Oh, Viktor . . .” Raisa breathed, her voice trembling with grief. Viktor felt an ambivalent mix of guilt for deceiving her and joy that she cared so much.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” his friend murmured, and he heard the door close again. Raisa’s scent filled the air-conditioned room, wafted his way by the ventilation currents. Manfully, he resisted the urge to breathe deeply. As much as he loved her scent, he was supposed to be playing the part of an invalid.

“Oh, Viktor . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I thought we had time, that I could find the . . . the right moment to tell you how I felt about you,” Raisa murmured.

And how do you feel about me? he wondered, listening to her slowly cross the room. The bed dipped as she eased onto it, prickling his nerves with anticipation. His whiskers thrummed, sensing the proximity and heat of her hand moments before she gingerly touched his forehead.

“Now you’re dying,” she whispered, stroking his mane back from his face. “And I never had the chance to admit how much I’ve fallen in love with you.”

YES!! His tail twitched under the covers, and his whiskers trembled, but he managed to keep his ears relaxed. She stroked his mane again, dipping low enough that he could feel her breath on his face. He could smell a hint of tea in it, but nothing of lunch. He could also smell hints of saline in her scent, and knew she was crying, or at least struggling with her tears.

“And now . . . now you’re so far gone . . . I don’t even think you can hear me.” Her voice broke.

He couldn’t bear it anymore, but before he could open his eyes, before he could confess he would live, she kissed him. His Raisa kissed him of her own volition, entirely of her own free will. All it took was a slight tilt of his head and he kissed her back. Sliding his left hand free of the pillows, he cupped the back of her neck, burying his fingers in the soft waves of her strawberry, sun-streaked hair.

One moment, their tongues were tangling; the next, she shoved back, breaking the kiss. “Viktor! You’re alive! You’re awake!”

Opening his eyes, he smiled. Not too much; he didn’t want to seem smug. “After a kiss like that,” he murmured, “how could I be anything less?”

Apparently, he hadn’t tried hard enough.

“You . . . Oh! You! ” She shoved at his shoulder, twisting him onto his back. Viktor grunted, but she didn’t give him any sympathy. “I honestly thought you were dying!”

“That was Keisia’s idea. While my spleen wasn’t too happy for a while, it’s all been safely regrown—it’s just tender right now,” he warned her, catching her wrist as she tried to shove him again. She shoved him with her other hand, so he caught that wrist, too. Grinning, he pulled her down so that she had to lie on top of him. She dug her elbows into his chest, lifting up her head so that she could glare at him, but he wasn’t fazed by it. “I missed you, yesterday. I asked you to stay with me, but when I woke up, you weren’t there.”

“I was told to go home, that there was nothing more I could do. And then Keisia told me . . .” Raisa broke off and shook her head. “No. No, I won’t listen to those words. Nor to any of the nonsense they’ve been blaring on the news nets.” Lifting her chin, she stared him in the eye almost defiantly. “I love you, and . . . I hope you love me, too.”

“I do. Very much so,” he agreed, all but purring at her declaration.

Releasing her wrists, he let her settle more comfortably on his chest. Then, because she was simply too beautiful, and he loved her too much not to seize this moment, Viktor threaded his fingers through her wavy, red locks and pulled her mouth firmly down to his. They had kissed a few times over the course of their dates, but never for long, and never in such an intimate setting as this. Always before, he had let her set the pace in such things. This time, he hoped she would let him not only set the pace, but go a lot further.

It was a shock when he felt her not only pull back from his kiss, but tug and shove at the blanket and sheet between them. Her voice low and a little breathless, Raisa growled, “I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”

Viktor grinned. Completely willing to be examined by her, he helped her shove the bedding down past his feet. Only when it was too late did he remember that he had decided to leave off even a loincloth under the sheets. There was no way to hide his growing excitement, no undergarment to restrain his eagerness and no loose kilt pleats to conceal anything.

Raisa stared. “Oh . . . wow.”

A corner of Viktor’s mind marveled how he could feel both embarrassed and smug at the same time.

“You’re very, um, large,” she observed, her hand reaching out and hovering near his half-aroused shaft, though she didn’t quite touch him. Not that it stopped his flesh from twitching upward in excitement at the thought she might.

“I am over two meters tall,” he reminded her. “Everything is perfectly proportionate. And within Normal parameters. It won’t kill you. I won’t kill you. I promise.”

She shook her head, but not in a denial. “I still need to see your wounds, to make sure you’re all right. Turn onto your stomach, please.”

Viktor complied, smiling slightly. “That must be what you sound like when giving a massage. Does this mean you’ll take me on as a client?”

“I don’t sleep with my clients . . . and I don’t know Haguaro physiology well enough to know what changes I’d have to make in my normal techniques,” she confessed as he settled carefully on his stomach. She sucked in a sharp breath, and he felt her fingers touching his ribs. His ribs had been surgery-shaved in a palm-sized swath around each wound. “Oh, your poor fur! Did they have to shave you so much?”

“To keep it from regrowing down into the wound when they apply the regeneration salve, yes, they do have to shave it so much. I always look piebald after a battle if I get injured. We all do.” Reaching underneath himself, he adjusted his erection, then snagged a pillow and pulled it under his chest and cheek. A stray thought came to him as she spread her hands gently over his back, one which had to be voiced. “I, um, have something to ask of you . . .”

“And that is . . . ?” Raisa inquired, finding and outlining the major muscles in his back.

“I know your job is important to you, but . . . could you maybe restrict your efforts to female clients? It’s the smell,” he explained quickly, before she could object. “I know you’re very professional, and I do trust you, but . . . it bothers me whenever I visit and you have the scent of another man still clinging to your hands.”

“I do wash my hands after each client,” she muttered, stroking the pads of her fingers through his fur.

“Yes, but I have a very sensitive nose . . . and horribly jealous instincts,” he confessed.

Her hands paused on his back, then resumed their stroking. “Really? Aside from that incident outside the theater, I haven’t seen any signs of jealousy.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be civilized to growl and snarl at . . . Ohhhh, right there.” He purred as her explorations reached the base of his tail. His hips lifted up into her touch, it felt so good. “Ohhh, yessss . . . !”

Raisa giggled and rubbed harder, adding a bit of scratching from her short-trimmed nails. “This is classic. You’re actually doing the ‘elevator-butt’ thing!”

Viktor couldn’t take her teasing, vocal or physical. Whipping around, he scooped her up and flung her onto the bed next to him, aiming so that she landed with a gentle bounce on her back. Eyes wide, she gaped up at him. He would never willingly hurt her, but he wouldn’t put up with being teased, either. Not like that. Unbuttoning her blouse, he tugged it out of her slacks and flicked the edges open, baring her bra-covered breasts and tender, pale abdomen.

“The base of the tail is a major erogenous zone on an Haguaro,” he warned her in a growl, unfastening her trousers next. “Messing with it calls for retaliation.”

Pulling the waistband open, he dipped his head and licked her navel, making her squirm and choke out his name. “Viktor!”

Mock growling, he licked and nipped at her stomach, then kissed his way up toward her breasts. Her hands beat him there, but not to stop him. With a brief fumble, she unfastened the front clasp of her bra, baring her flesh to him. Purring in pleasure at her open acceptance of his intentions, he plumped her breasts in his palms, nuzzling them.

Casual, recreational sex wasn’t unknown to him—nor was it frowned upon by Sullipin culture—but it had always been with willing Haguaro women before now. The feel of all that smooth, satiny, furless skin was undeniably erotic to him. Nipples, he had seen before, but never ones surrounded by so much hairless, creamy-pink skin. He groaned, wanting to touch and taste and smell every part of her.

Tonguing her flesh in wide, hungry circles, Viktor reveled in her squirms and breathy moans, the encouraging way she dug her hands into his mane, tugging erotically on the fluffy gold and brown strands. Her scent, enough to make him light-headed on its own, blended with the musk of her rising, undeniably feminine desire.

With his nostrils filled with the sheer scent of her, knowing—believing—that she wouldn’t ask either of them to stop this time, he abandoned himself to his instincts. The only self-controls he retained were just enough care with the remainder of her clothes to refrain from damaging them, and the vital care he took with her person. Mindful of his claws, he stroked her with the pads of his fingers and the warmth of his palms. Laved her with his tongue and nipped far more with his lips than his teeth. Loved her with every millimeter of his being.

Not caring that she still had one sock partially clinging to her foot, Viktor nuzzled his way up her thighs until he could bury himself nose-first in her mound. Nothing else mattered once he was there. Not the groaning of her voice, not the squirming of her hips, and not even the hands that gripped and tugged at his mane, threatening to pull out tufts of his hair.

Even when she grabbed at his sensitive ears, he only shook his head long enough to free them before diving back into her divine, desire-reddened folds. Rose-colored folds. His to devour and enjoy. Possessive instincts drove him, and he had no desire to resist.

Overwhelmed with sensation, Viktor pursued every single action that caused her to react. He pursued them, licking, rubbing, even growling, listening as her moans turned into gasps, which in turn became panting cries. Even when she shouted hoarsely, undone by her climax, he continued to lick and kiss, though he gentled his touch. But he didn’t stop. Not even when she grabbed at his ears a second time, though it forced him to catch her hands and press them to the bed, leaving her thighs to flex and flutter like demented, overgrown butterfly wings while he gradually increased his efforts once again.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than the taste and the feel of his rightful mate, to hear her joyful cries, to see her writhing in bliss, to smell the scent of her, all of it weaving its way through his blood and his bones and his brain.

Her third climax rendered her limp and nearly senseless. He could tell by the lax slumping of her legs, the way her flesh shivered but didn’t fully tense under his touch. Instinct said that now was the time to hold her, to bond with her emotionally in the aftermath of such intense pleasure. Crawling up the length of her, Viktor rubbed his furred chest against hers. Raisa hummed and lifted one limp arm, pulling him closer, so he did it again. A shift of his weight allowed him to settle onto his side; a lift of her torso allowed her to roll up against him.

A subtle adjustment of his hips allowed his engorged shaft to slip between her thighs. Unlike the velvetlike fur on his face and the back of his hands, his erection was nothing but bare, naked, masculine skin, a point of familiarity he hoped she would enjoy. Unlike the soft tufts of fur decorating the mound of an Haguaro woman, her feminine curls were crisp and crinkly, a point of exoticness which fascinated and aroused him. Flexing his hips, he enjoyed the soft scrape of them against his flesh as he rubbed himself along her pleasure-damp folds.

He couldn’t stop making love to her now that she had confessed she was his, but he could slow things down long enough to wait for her recovery. It came with a humming sound that was almost an Haguaro purr. She accompanied it with a press of her hand on his chest, tipping him onto his back. That allowed Raisa to slither up over him, rubbing her body from breasts to shins against his fur and nuzzling her face into his shoulder, neck, and mane.

“Mmm . . . that was magnificent. Unbelievable . . .” Drawing in a deep, luxurious breath, Raisa grinned smugly at him. “So . . . How soon can you do it again?”

Another time, he might have chuckled. Instead Viktor captured her mouth in a heated, tonguing kiss. Sighing, she cupped his face and kissed him back. The stimulation roused by her thumb gently rubbing the base of his whiskers was almost unbearable. He gently nipped the edge of her thumb, then sucked on it with instinctive hunger.

It wasn’t enough; he needed more. He needed her, wrapped around him, holding him, loving him. His. Rolling them over, Viktor parted her thighs with his own. Feeling her tilting her hips up to his, welcoming him intimately, he growled his pleasure. The instinct to drive straight in, to claim what was now his warred with the need to be gentle with his chosen woman. Either way, his need to move, to mate with her, was undeniable.

Nudging himself into the right spot, Viktor rocked into her, pressing in centimeter by centimeter. Elbows bracing his weight, he dipped his head. Not to kiss her, but to press his cheek against hers. He nuzzled her, purring into her throat in time with each advance and retreat. That purr increased to another near-feral growl when she raked her fingers through the short fur on his back. Clawing him in her clawless way.

Encouraged, he thrust a little harder, a little deeper. That made Raisa moan and tilt back her head in subconscious submission, which made him glad. Sparing enough attention to lick the proffered skin, he increased his pace, until all he could feel was her warmth and her wetness enveloping him from tip to root with each long, smooth stroke.

The bed creaked with each circling thrust of his hips, joining her soft, rhythmic groans and his panting breath. Vaguely aware that he was starting to push her physically with each stroke, Viktor wrapped his hands under her shoulders, holding his mate carefully in place for each controlled, considerate thr—She raked her fingers all the way down to the base of his spine and rubbed there. Right there.

He broke. It was too much, too stimulating. Too sexy. Crying out—not quite roaring—Viktor snapped his hips in full passion. Raisa cried out, too, cried out and dug her short fingernails into his furred buttocks with each stroke.

She wanted him? She got him. It was his last semi-coherent thought. Growling wildly, Viktor pounded into her, poured himself into her, fused every sense with her and absorbed everything that made her his mate. Mouthing her tender neck, he sealed his lips against her skin, passionately tonguing the rapid pulse of her heartbeat. Sucking on the vibrating thrum of her cries.

The scent of her passion, the feel of her overwrought spasms—this time with her flesh rippling intimately around his own—drowned his last rational thought. Releasing her throat, he threw back his head and roared with triumph. Shaking with the bliss of his own release, he sagged slowly down over her, until some last vestige of consciousness prodded him into shifting to the side. Bringing her limp, sated figure with him, he rolled gently over until she lay sprawled against him. Only then did he relax fully, letting sense seep back in among his sensibilities.

His fur clung to her sweaty skin. He could see the stray hairs clinging to the arm draped in a loose cuddle over his chest, most of them golden, some of them brown. As his strength slowly seeped back into his brain, Viktor chuckled. Raisa drew in a deep breath, but instead of actually asking anything, she merely hummed at him in an inquiring way.

“I seem to have shed on you,” he pointed out, amused.

“Mm. Marking your territory, I guess,” she murmured, nuzzling his chest with her cheek.

Yesss . . . Pure happiness purred out of every last one of his pores. Not only was Raisa his mate, she willfully recognized it out loud. It didn’t matter that his back now felt sore from all that activity. The pain didn’t matter; he was unabashedly happy.

The comm unit by his bed beeped, startling both of them. Ears flicking back, whiskers pulling down, Viktor gave it a disgusted look.

Raisa chuckled. “At least whoever it is has good timing and didn’t call about two or three minutes earlier.”

He grunted. Stretching out his left arm, he found the switch for audio-only, made sure it was pushed firmly to the left, and activated the call. “You’ve reached Viktor; who is this?”

“Viktor Ragerip? This is Dr. Morrigan Galoise, psychobiologist. Having reviewed your actions during the incident on Thrasker’s Street the other night—as per standard debriefing procedure following any incident involving civilians—I went ahead and ordered a full workup of your genome.”

His ears flattened further. If he hadn’t been lying on his tail, with the tip of it caught under the back of his knee, it would have flicked and thumped in annoyance. “What for? Just because I was involved in an almost-fight is no reason to examine my DNA for abberances. No one was severely hurt. Other than me, I’ll point out.”

“The details we have of the Gengin Project records are sketchy at best, but after having studied your genome, and comparing it with the ferocity of your response to a threat toward the, ah, woman you are dating,” the doctor on the other end of the connection stated, “I have reason to believe you are harboring Phrodesian encoding in your genes. As I said, the records of what the full implications of this possibility could mean aren’t completely known . . . but I’d place the probability at or near seventy percent.

“I therefore suggest, Mr. Ragerip, that you proceed with great caution when contemplating intimacies with this Miss Chavell. It wouldn’t do to imprint yourself on her without her knowing what this possibility entails.”

Viktor wrinkled his nose. “I’ll take that under advisement. Thanks for calling.”

Shutting off the unit, he looked at the woman in his arms, unsure how to explain what all of that meant without possibly scaring her off.

Raisa lifted her head from his chest, curiosity in her blue green gaze. “Phrodesian? Is that another Gengin race? Or sub-race, rather?”

“A sub-race.” He closed his eyes, reciting what little he knew. “The Phrodesian genome project was designed to biologically influence its inheritors, forcing them to comply with demands for breeding more of their own kind. It’s been presented as a classic case of nature overcoming nurture, since the biological imperative to mate drives the Phrodesian wild with lust, while other imperatives encoded in the genome encourage the sufferer to ‘imprint’ upon a specific person, ostensibly to keep a particular genetically engineered bloodline pure.

“Unfortunately, the engineers never managed to key it to a specific Gengin race. Nor could they get the genes to activate on demand. They can lie dormant in the blood for years, even lie dormant for a few generations, and then they just . . . activate,” he finished, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “Sometimes with very unexpected results, and usually about five to ten years past puberty. But utterly unpredictably.”

“That sounds like it would be more trouble to the genetic engineers than it was worth,” Raisa observed idly.

His ears pulled down, as did his whiskers. “No. It was considered worth it. You see, they enslaved many of the Psians that way . . . and it did ensure that at least some of their creations would have to breed, whether they wanted to or not. Most of the Gengin Project managers paid enormous sums for access to the Phrodesian genome, preserving and passing along each snippet of the code. It wasn’t ever predictable in the Haguaro line . . . something about our feline sides provoking a greater level of independence,” he half joked, opening his eyes to slits to gauge her sense of humor. It pleased him to see her smiling a little. Shrugging, he continued. “But there have been a few rumors of Phrodesian Haguaro in the past.”

Resting her cheek on his chest, Raisa considered that for a little while, then sighed. “All right . . . I’ll bite. How do we know if you’re a Phrodesian or not?”

Viktor grinned. “It’s hard to tell. A Phrodesian is possessive of his or her mate . . . but so is an Haguaro, when we finally pick someone we want to marry and settle down with. Phrodesians also want to make love frequently . . . but so do the Haguaro. Of course, the third way to tell a Phrodesian is a lot more accurate than that, and is usually the best way to determine if that person’s genome has been activated, regardless of which Gengin race is being tested.”

“So what is this fail-proof third way?” she asked, curious.

“Once fixated on a specific person, a Phrodesian literally can’t get aroused by anyone else. Not even if he or she actively tried.”

“If you try with anyone else,” Raisa growled, “I’ll rip out your fur!”

That made him laugh. Cuddling her close, Viktor kissed her disheveled hair. “As if I’d be interested in anyone else, ever again. But, um . . . Keisia did have a good point to raise, when we talked earlier.”

“Oh?” Raisa asked. Then frowned warily. “You and she aren’t . . . ?”

He shook his head. “No, just best friends. Or more like honorary siblings. No, she pointed out that the odds of, well, any children of ours being born Haguaro are rather high. That wouldn’t bother you . . . would it?”

“Nope. Haguaro kids are cute . . . and so are you.” Squirming a little in his grip, she managed to get her lips up to his for a real kiss. Then pulled back and peered down at her fur-streaked chest, wrinkling her nose. “You’re furry, and I’m sweaty. Not only am I going to have to deal with your sheddings everywhere, as well as any from whatever kids we might have, you’re going to be a fuzzy furnace to sleep with when late summer rolls around!”

“If you haven’t noticed, Raisa my love, my house is air-conditioned,” he quipped. Viktor paused, flicked one ear, and gave her a wry smile. “I trust, since you’re talking about liking kids and still being with me in a few months’ time, it means you’ll say yes when I ask you to marry me?”

Her dimple appeared, accompanying her smirk. “Are you going to ask me, Viktor Rose?”

“Raisa Chavell, will you marry me and be my mate?” Viktor asked her politely, dutifully, knowing the answer was a foregone conclusion. She was his mate, after all. Phrodesian or otherwise, she was now firmly his, and both of them knew it.

She gave him a smug look. “No.”

What? His mouth fell open and his whiskers pulled back. He couldn’t even find enough breath to ask her why not, he was so shocked.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she repeated, flicking her fingers as if counting on them, “no, no, no, no, no, no . . . yes.”

And then she giggled. The same muffled giggle she normally used when comparing him to certain fairy tale creatures. Breathing once again, he gave her a mock-dirty look.

“You may be an undeniable beauty, my dear Raisa, but you are also a beast. Come here,” he growled as his mate’s giggles turned into outright laughter. Cupping the back of her head, he coaxed her parted lips back into range. “Kiss your poor beast back to life . . .”