A Lost Kitten Read online

  Yudit noticed the concern on John’s face. “Do not worry about Jasira. She can take care of herself. She has been doing so for a very long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Too long.” Yudit motioned for more wine and tea. The maid quickly filled his goblet and John’s mug. “I pray she meets a man who will complete her soon.”

  John considered those words while he ate.

  Jasira stood to one corner of her kitchen, barely able to contain her elation at seeing John direct the men who carried food, firewood, and other items into her home. She had always dreamt of a warrior entering her home and liking it enough to want to make it his own. It was why she spent a great deal of mental energy keeping the place spotless. Later, she would have to visit the castle and thank King Yudit personally.

  The men who entered did their best not to look her way. They directed their questions to John. It made her warm and cozy inside to watch them obey her kindred soul as if he was already the master of her home.

  One of the men placed a heavy crate on a dinette chair. The chair creaked loudly. John scolded the man for being inconsiderate. He lifted the chair and carefully examined it. John’s caring gesture over her things touched Jasira profoundly.

  There was a loud crash in the bedroom. John ran into the room and began to cough and yell. Jasira entered but said nothing. She stood next to the only window in the room and watched John holler at the two men cleaning the interior of the fireplace. They were covered in soot. The dark, fine powder was on the floor, fireplace mantel, the white, hand-stitched quilt, and the decorative pillows.

  Jasira could tell John had a bad temper. He was livid. The things could be cleaned; she felt it was no big deal. But apparently John saw it differently.

  And indeed he did. All John saw was Jasira’s hard work being ruined. He pictured Jasira arriving home and seeing her beloved quilt covered in dirt. The thought of her being upset made him upset. And you did not want to make a McCall upset, for if you did, you would hear about it. The men did. And so did everyone else who lived within the towering walls.

  At first, John made the men clean up their mess. When they banged into the furniture out of nervousness, John dismissed them, but not without making sure they understood they had to return in the morning with someone who could clean Jasira’s quilt and pillows—or else. The men apologized once more, then hurried back to the castle.

  John picked up the bucket that was beside the kitchen fireplace. He exited the house and headed to the well in the backyard. He retrieved some water and carried it into the house. The door slammed closed behind him.

  John carried the bucket into the bedroom. He went into the kitchen to retrieve a cup and rag. He dampened the cloth with water and began cleaning the room, grumbling about how hopeless the men were. They would never find a job working for the ruling clan of the Sea-anan Empire. Incompetence and tardiness were the two things the McCalls, Blaisdales, and Moonstars could not tolerate.

  As soon as he finished, John refilled the bucket with clean water. He found a mop in the broom closet and began mopping the floor. Finished, he took everything into the kitchen. He placed the mop back where he found it and made a mental note to wash it out in the morning. He was too tired to do it that evening.

  John exited the house to dump the dirty water and retrieve clean water for his bath. He was grateful the king had the foresight to send him a tub also. He dreaded returning to the castle.

  Since entering Jasira’s home, he had not suffered from the numbing cold. It was as if the wood used to build Jasira’s home was denser, providing better insulation from the planet’s bone-chilling cold. Until Bogdan’s ship was ready to liftoff, he was not leaving the house.

  John poured the water into the cauldron sitting in the kitchen’s fireplace and ignited the fire. Since it would take time for the water to boil, he decided to wash the mop instead of waiting until morning to do it.

  By the time the tub was filled with steaming water, John was exhausted. He lowered his tired muscles into the water. Instantly, he felt the familiar heat of the transformation process. Sighing, he leaned back against the copper tub. Too tired to move, he lay there enjoying the water’s heat. Today would have been a good day to have Dena wash his back. In fact, John would not mind having any woman wash his back right now.

  After beginning construction of Sea Base Ten, John had not had much time to date. His little sister, the empress, had placed him in charge of the project. He had been eager and pleased with the assignment. He had already had the construction of nine other stations under his belt. He knew what needed to be done.

  The downside to the job was the lack of personal time. The little he had was spent with his family. When he dated, it never developed into anything serious. The women did not understand why he worked so hard, and the many hours he devoted to his job, instead of to them, was the cause of many arguments.

  The women also refused to understand his close relationship with his family. John tried to include them, but the women were unwilling to share him. And John would not give up his family for anyone.

  He understood why it happened repeatedly, why he was single. None of those women were his soulmate. Only his soulmate would understand his family bond. His soulmate would understand that he worked hard as a Seacat to ensure space was safe for her, his family, and everyone. Only his soulmate would see that his need to take charge stemmed from wanting to protect those he cared for.

  And though he was born with his father’s bad temper, John controlled it the best in the family. The only time he lost his temper was when someone he cared for was hurting. Hence, the reason why he was his sister’s right hand. Together, they made certain the empire ran smoothly.

  John wondered if he would ever find his soulmate. He wondered if she even existed. For all he knew, she might not have been born in this lifetime. He inhaled deeply and positioned his body more comfortably in the tub, reflecting on his people and their customs.

  Many felines had known the spiritual fulfillment of being with their soulmates. From what John had been taught by his Uncle Challen, a pureblooded feline, the rejoining of two souls once separated by the creator was the greatest, most powerful event any feline would experience.

  During mating, the souls of the two would fuse together, Challen had said, their dual energies becoming one. Upon completion, the soulmates placed a cluster of scars on each other’s bodies. For the male, that scar could be anywhere above the waist; for the female, it was below the waist. Oceanan Laws recognized this cluster of scars as a soulscar. A matrimonial band.

  Many individuals went through life never knowing that ultimate feeling. Those who were blessed were forever changed. They seemed more at peace with the world. They all said the same thing—that their lives were complete. John longed to know that completion.

  His mother’s brother, Challen, had taught them what it meant to be a feline. Felines matured quicker than other races. Their senses were more acute. They were stronger and faster than other beings. Challen taught them how to sharpen those senses, how to build their strength and speed. He trained them all and pushed them past their limits.

  John’s mother, aunt, and godmother considered putting a halt to Challen’s military-style teachings, but John’s father and godfather put a stop to them. Being ex-spies from Earth, they understood the need to prepare the kittens to face life’s challenges. Being married to aliens, they had been thrown many rotten curveballs. The women eventually gave in and allowed Challen to create little versions of himself.

  John believed he succeeded. If Challen were still alive, he would be proud at how the new generation turned out. They owed a great deal to him, and they missed him dearly.

  John clenched his jaw. He missed them all dearly. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family again—to hear his father’s voice, to feel his mother’s hug. He missed teasing his sisters and joking around with his brothers. He prayed they were all safe.

  The attack on Sea Base Ten
had left John with nightmares. The carnage was the worst he had seen during his life as a Seacat. He knew evil existed, but not to that extent. It terrified him to think of the women in his family amidst that vileness. He prayed the men were able to look after them while he was away.

  Since John was the eldest in the family, his siblings—including Areo, the empress—sought him for advice. He prayed they did not forget his or Challen’s teachings.

  John knew he ought to bathe, but he was too tired to move. He felt himself dozing off. He welcomed it. He lowered his head beneath the water’s surface and fell asleep.

  .

  Chapter 5

  Jasira panicked. She shouted John’s name. She had been sitting in her rocker enjoying the sight of John bathing; now, she ran to his side. She reached for John, intending to lift him, but could not take hold of his shoulders. Her hands went through him.

  She tried again. Again, her hands went through him. She did not understand. Why could she not touch him? He was her kindred soul. She had been able to touch him before. She tried again. Her hands came up empty. Was it because he was already gone?

  Jasira thought of the guards at the wall. They could help her. As she turned to leave, her gaze fell to John’s open hands. She spotted something odd that gave her pause. She looked closer and saw skin in between John’s fingers. She glanced at his feet. They were webbed, also. There were fins on the back of John’s calves and forearms. Jasira gasped. Her kindred soul was a man-fish.

  She was startled when John moved. He sat up and yawned. Jasira stared at him in shock. John wiped his face and licked his lips as if nothing was amiss. Jasira could not believe it; he did not seem distressed at all. Once more, John slipped beneath the water’s surface.

  This time, Jasira did not panic. She lowered her head beneath the water and regarded John closer. Sure enough, she spotted his lips moving as if blowing air, but no air bubbles escaped them. She sat up, unsure if she was happy or angry. She wanted to both hit John for scaring her to death and to kiss him for being a man-fish able to breathe underwater.

  John took longer to sit up from beneath the water. He stretched his back against the tub and nodded off again. This time his head tilted backward, over the rim of the tub, keeping him in place. Jasira chose the latter.

  John was drifting off to sleep when he felt someone press her lips to his. His heart leapt in his chest, waking him. He did not wait to respond. He instantly showed his talented Jasira how a McCall kissed.

  He had longed for this kiss since the last time. Her kiss was how he remembered. Warm. Hungry. Arousing. John growled. He sat up, careful not to end the kiss. He lured her tongue into his mouth where he could savor it. John moaned. Her taste made his trip to Surreal worth it.

  Jasira’s fingers traveled down his chest and abdomen, to his throbbing root. John’s heart banged harder against his ribs. Jasira gripped him firmly, making the world tilt on its axis. John clung to the sides of the copper tub. He feared to reach for Jasira, feared to open his eyes and have her disappear like the last time. Instead, he closed his eyes tighter and enjoyed her touch.

  He inhaled Jasira’s unique scent. Her arousal, mixed with vanilla, was indeed a stimulant for John. His hunger grew, swelling him further. John almost released the tub to press her lips closer, but instead he clutched the sides tighter, allowing Jasira to move over his length on her own.

  John went weak with pleasure. He released Jasira’s lips. His head fell back, over the tub on a loud groan. “Jasira.” He adjusted his hips, giving her better access to his inflamed body.

  He had never known a woman’s touch while in his mutant form. He was unaware that his enhanced senses made him more sensitive to female touch. It fleeted through his mind that Jasira was not repulsed by his transformation. She blessed him with her amazing kisses; she caressed him with her divine hands. An unfamiliar burning developed in John’s core. It resulted in a smile.

  John’s claws lengthened without his knowing. Jasira’s second hand stopped its magical voyage over his torso and limbs and cupped the back of his head. She rubbed her nose around John’s. Her arousal filled the room, increasing John’s urgency to claim her. He whispered her name as he sought her delicious mouth.

  Jasira pressed her lips more firmly against his. Her hand tugged him harder. John groaned. The burning in his soul increased. His eyes ignited behind his lowered lids. Growling, he intensified their kiss. Jasira knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. Her lips lifted.

  “I want you, Jasira,” John huskily admitted. He opened his eyes. Through their glow, he saw the ceiling. He glanced around. The kitchen was empty.

  “Jasira?”

  His brows drew together. He audibly groaned. His brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Nothing. There was no one there, yet a hand continued to bring him immense pleasure. He could barely think.

  “Stop,” he managed to get out between clenched teeth. John released his grip on the tub and tried to pry those ghostly fingers open. An anxious cry escaped him when he could not grab the hand that refused to let go. John finally understood what was happening. The energy in his soul was skyrocketing. The glow of his eyes grew brighter.

  “No!” He struggled to get the hand off, but all he came in contact with was his own flesh. “Stop!” His head fell back. His hips jerked upward involuntarily. He fought to keep from reaching fulfillment by focusing on his anger. “Damn it! I said stop it!”

  The hand suddenly released him. John vaulted from the tub and rushed into the bedroom, away from the spirit. He slammed the door closed. He began to pace the length of the room. It was difficult. He was too aroused. He could not think of anything but satisfying his need. John stopped and clasped his manhood. Within seconds, his seed spurted over his knuckles.

  With that taken care of, his anger was quick to take control. John roared his outrage. He snarled at the door. The brown light in his eyes shone brighter. His claws were long and sharp. If he could have touched the spirit, he would have strangled her.

  John snatched a hand towel from inside a crate beside the fireplace and wiped his hand and root. He threw it onto the bed and grabbed a set of folded clothes from the top of the dresser. He jammed his pants on. He thrust his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. Without bothering to button it, John stormed into the kitchen.

  “You bitch! How dare you touch me! I’m a Seacat from the Sea-anan Empire! You had no right to lay your ghostly hands on me! Where are you? Show yourself!” He waited. His eyes raced from one end of the room to the other, seeking the apparition. John wanted to see her. He wanted to get his hands on her. He wanted to kill her a second time.

  “Show yourself!” He walked up to the tub. “I know you can do it! Don’t play coy now! You wanted my attention! Now you have it! Show yourself!”

  John struggled with his temper. He tried to breathe slower. His leg brushed against the tub. There was a twang in his chest. He refused to look at the tub. He refused to think of anything except getting his hands on the spirit and teaching her a lesson.

  “You don’t touch a Seacat unless that Seacat wants to be touched!” John growled. “Answer me, damn you! I know you’re here! I can smell you!” His hands balled into fists. He did his best to keep his senses and mind off the scent of her arousal. It caused an unwanted stirring in his gut.

  “Who the hell are you? Where in hell did you come from? Why did you do this to me?” The room was silent. “Why are you using Jasira’s scent? What game are you playing at?” He waited. His ears detected the distant voices of the guards.

  His lips pulled over his teeth. John reached for his boots at the front door. “All right, then, since you’re too much of a coward to show yourself, listen good. Don’t you ever touch me again. I’m not your plaything. I’m a warrior. So unless you want me to bind your misty ass to a tree, I suggest you leave this house and never return. This house belongs to Jasira. And you’re not welcome here.”

  John stood tall. He sniffed the air. The ap
parition was still there. Her sexual scent was overwhelming all others, causing havoc to his senses, diffusing his anger. It was refueling the fire that had burned in his core minutes before. He could not let it resurface.

  John quickly flung the front door open. He stepped underneath the frame and inhaled several times. For once, he welcomed the cold air. For once, he hated being a feline.

  The call to mate was difficult for a feline to curb. They were sexually mature by age ten. The drive to mate was strong in both genders. The females could control their urges better than the males, reaching age thirteen and above before being with their first mate. The males generally held off one year before succumbing to their needs. John was one of the males who had started mating at ten. He had been too weak to fight off certain perfumes then, but he refused to be weak now.

  “Get out, and don’t come back. I meant what I said. You’re not welcome here.”

  The outside cold gave way to warmth. John’s racing heart thumped in his chest. He could tell the spirit was nearing him. He swallowed and stood soldier stiff. He hoped she did not see his weakness rising in his pants.

  John felt the spirit finger his lips. He licked his lips before he realized what he had done. He jerked his head away. “Don’t touch me.” He glared at the spot where he believed she stood. “Don’t come back.” His jaw clenched.

  The outside cold slapped John in the face. It seeped into his bones quickly. He shivered. He sniffed the air. The vanilla fragrance gradually gave way to the smell of manure from the nearby stable. John wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand. The spirit was gone.

  His glowing gaze landed on the castle. Hatred filled his core. John entered the house to retrieve his jacket. He slammed the door on his way out. Stomping toward the castle, he yanked the jacket on and buttoned his shirt. The only good thing about the cold was that it helped kill his urge. It did nothing for a feline’s second primal need, the need to hunt.