A Lost Kitten Page 8

  Jasira darted blindly to the city’s main entrance. The guards called out to her, asking her to stop. She ignored them and sailed through the wall. The guards called after her. She sped over the dry terrain, toward the dark mountains, blinded by tears.

  Why did she do it? Why had she touched him? She sobbed. She knew why. John was too beautiful to resist. He was her kindred soul. Because of him, she was able to feel, to smell. This made her need to know him, to be with him as his permanent mate, more difficult to suppress.

  Jasira hurried onward. Her thoughts were on John’s parting words. He did not want her to return. He did not want her to go near him. He did not want her touching him. Jasira’s heart was broken; her hopes shattered. She slowed down and dropped to her knees. Her kindred soul wanted nothing to do with her. Her cries rose in volume, disappearing on the wind.

  John missed a step on hearing Jasira’s name being called. He realized it was the guards by the main entrance. He turned around and hurried to them. They were facing the land beyond the wall.

  He called out to them. “You there! Were you calling out to Jasira? Is she returning home?”

  “No,” said one guard.

  “She just ran off to the north,” answered the second.

  “Ran off,” mumbled John. “You mean she just left? Just now?”

  “Yes, sir,” they jointly replied.

  John found that odd. “How is that possible? You didn’t open the doors.”

  The guards shared a worried look. Without replying, they returned to patrolling the wall.

  “Hey!” John called to them. They ignored him. Shaking his head, John decided to investigate further later. For now, he about-faced and continued onward to the castle.

  On entering the dining hall, he spotted several maids clearing the leftover dinner from four long tables.

  “Excuse me,” he called a maid’s attention. “Has the king finished his meal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He is taking his private evening drink in his office.”

  John hurried off without saying thank you.

  “You cannot enter there!” she called out to him.

  John stormed into the office. He did not stop to consider that his actions could send him to the dungeons. He was too enraged. His sights zoomed in on his surprised target, who sat in a high, wingback chair drinking a goblet of wine.

  “I thought you said there were no spirits here.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “There was a ghost at the school. It made itself known to me. It followed me to Jasira’s house.”

  “I can see you are highly upset.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I will overlook this intrusion.” Yudit nodded to the seat next to his, separated from it by a small table. On top of the table lay a tray with a pitcher of wine. “Explain yourself.”

  John looked at the chair. He detected someone sitting there, but it was empty. “Why did you lie to me?” He dropped into the seat and gasped. He felt like someone had splashed him with ice-cold water.

  “I did not lie to you,” Yudit tersely replied.

  John met Yudit’s glower. He hugged himself. Through chattering teeth, he spoke. “You said there were no ghosts—”

  “Exactly,” Yudit clipped. “There are no ghosts on Surreal.”

  John lost his temper. He jumped from his seat. “Bullshit! There is a ghost! And she followed me to Jasira’s house where she assaulted me!”

  The king frowned up at him. “Assaulted you?”

  John curved his fingers into fists. “Yes! What else have you lied to me about? Where the hell is Bogdan?”

  “Bogdan is visiting his famuhlee.”

  “His family?”

  “Why do you think I would lie to you? I have no need.”

  “Apparently you do.”

  “For what reason?”

  “You tell me.”

  The king regarded John’s fiery brown stare. John could tell he had never seen an enraged feline before.

  “Your eyes are shining with a brown light. Why is that?”

  John stepped closer to Yudit. “That’s because I’m pissed off!” he shouted. “Now tell me the truth!”

  The king placed his goblet on the tray and purposely stood from his seat. He stopped before John, toe to toe with him. “I agree I do not know much about your race, but you know nothing about mine. I spoke the truth when I said there are no ghosts on Surreal.”

  John did not back down from the king’s challenging stance. “Well, I came into contact with one.”

  “Our definition of ghost is an individual’s life force that remains after the individual dies.”

  John stiffly nodded once.

  “There are no ghosts on Surreal.”

  John stared into the king’s cold eyes. “Then how do you define the thing that attacked me in Jasira’s house?”

  “No one enters Jasira’s houz but Jasira…and now, you.”

  John repeated those words in his head. “What the hell do you mean?”

  Yudit deeply inhaled. He returned to his seat. “Sit down, Seacat. I see your kind has an explosive temper. Tell me what happened in Jasira’s hohm.”

  “I told you.”

  “How were you assaulted?”

  “You don’t need to know the details. Suffice it to say, I was attacked. Now I want answers. Truthful answers.”

  “My answers have been truthful.”

  “How can you look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve been straight with me?”

  “Because I have no need to lie to you. There is no ghost in Jasira’s houz.”

  “Now there isn’t. I just kicked her out.”

  The king hesitated before responding. “You kicked her out?”

  “Hell, yes!” exclaimed John.

  “From her own houz!” Yudit’s voice matched John’s in volume. He stood from his seat. “You are a guest in that houz, not the owner! It’s one thing for you to yell at those who carelessly damage her things, but you have no right to remove Jasira from her hohm!”

  “Jasira?” John’s fists landed on his hips. “Are you even listening to me? I threw out a ghost. A female ghost.”

  “Are you listening to my words, Seacat? There are no ghosts on Surreal. Jasira accepts no visitors into her hohm, except her pairunts. No one lives there except you—and Jasira.” Yudit hurried to the door. He opened it and called for the guards. “When did this happen?”

  John stared at him.

  “Seacat! When did this take place?”

  “A few minutes ago,” John replied, confused by the king’s reaction.

  Two guards appeared in the corridor. King Yudit ordered them to find Jasira and bring her to him. They bowed and left.

  The king closed the door. “There is much you must learn, Seacat. My race is not like yours. We are not cats. We are not humans.” He glared into John’s glowing, brown eyes. “We are from the mist.”

  “The mist?” repeated John. He watched Yudit returned to his seat. “What do you mean, the mist?”

  “Sit down. I will explain.”

  The thought of being splashed with ice-cold water again was unpleasant, so John hesitated in sitting.

  “A powerful race from planet Terrorsha traveled across the universe, enslaving planets. When they arrived here, a great war was fought. Our hohmz were destroyed. Our siteez leveled. Our land burned. Surrealan civilization was no more. Despite all this, the Terrorshans saw we would not submit. Therefore, they decided to kill us. On the day our destruction was to take place, another race appeared. The Medlothians. The Terrorshans had previously tried to conquer them, but failed.”

  John’s eyes dimmed.

  “The Medlothians sought out the Terrorshans to end their tyranny. When they arrived here, they saw what the Terrorshans were doing to my race. On board the ships were Medlothians from the East. They immediately stepped in with a spell that kept the surviving Surrealans
from dissolving and entering the hereafter.”

  “I’m truly sorry about your people, but what does this have to do with the ghost?”

  “The Surrealans were being dematerialized by a Terrorshan weapon. The Medlothians stopped our enemy and destroyed their horrible weapon. Unfortunately, they were unable to restore the bodies of the survivors. Luckily, their spell enabled the injured Surrealans to remain in this world without their physical forms.”

  John’s eyes grew in size.

  “You cannot see them because you have no Surrealan blood in your veins. However, they are here, all around you. Surreal feeds her peepuhl with energy that allows them to go about their lives as you do.”

  “That’s…that’s not possible.”

  “Welcome to Surreal.”

  “You’re not…a ghost.”

  The king took a deep, sad intake of breath. The lines on his face deepened, making him look older than he was. “I was one of the lucky few who survived the attack. Because I am a Surrealan, I can see them, speak to them. They are alive. Just not like us.”

  “You call that being alive?”

  “It’s better than being dead.”

  “They are dead. Their spirits were bound to this planet by the Medlothians. Can’t you see that?”

  Yudit stood. “You do not understand.”

  “Oh, I understand, all right. The reason why I’m freezing my ass off is because Surreal is a ghost planet. I’ve felt them from the beginning. This place is infested with them, and I’m stuck in the middle. The only place they don’t enter is Jasira’s house, because she won’t let them.”

  “Where you will not be entering, either.” Yudit walked to the door. “After what you did, I would not be surprised if she never wanted to see you again.” Yudit called for another guard.

  John tried to understand his meaning. “Are you saying the ghost who assaulted me was Jasira?”

  “Yes,” said Yudit. He addressed the soldier. “Please escort Seacat McCall back to his old room.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the guard as he bowed.

  Yudit looked at John. “Goodnight, Seacat.”

  John stood from his seat and followed the guard in a trancelike manner. The night’s events repeated themselves in his head. None of it could be real. How could Jasira be the ghost? He had believed she was real and his room held a secret passageway. He arrived in his former room and entered without acknowledging the guard.

  If Jasira was a ghost, then she needed no passageway to enter his room. John sat on the bed. His senses were right all along. There was a large population living within the walls of the city and the castle—a large population of spirits.

  Dena arrived to build the fire. She directed the men who brought a tub to the room to place it before the fire. John secretly watched her as she poured the buckets of steaming water into the tub. She was indeed an attractive woman and a skillful kisser. He could easily forget himself in her arms if it were not for the mind-boggling kiss he had shared with Jasira.

  Jasira…is a ghost? He was having a hard time accepting it. How could he have shared the most amazing kiss of his life with a spirit? It was not possible. He must be dreaming. John rubbed his face with both hands. It had felt so real.

  As long as his eyes remained closed and he kept his hands to his sides, Jasira was real. Her touch, her scent, her taste—he experienced them all like he experienced Dena’s and all the women before her. John shivered. It was eerie, yet his soul longed to experience it all again.

  Dena spoke to him. “Your bath is ready.” Her eyes roamed over him. “Do you need help?”

  John did not respond. He needed to forget what happened. He needed to forget Jasira. He slowly stood from the bed. He allowed Dena to aid him in removing his jacket. She folded the jacket and placed it on a chair.

  John was halfway done with unbuttoning his shirt when she returned. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she smoothed her hands over his bare chest, stomach, and arms, slipping the shirt off him. John wished he felt the same. What he felt was dirty.

  He sat back down and allowed Dena to remove his boots. She knelt before him and eagerly reached for the buttons down the front of his pants. One by one, she slipped each button through its hole. John carefully watched her. Her breasts seemed desperate to escape their confinements. His hands stayed at his sides. He could not bring himself to touch her as he had before.

  John allowed Dena to caress his manhood over his pants. The only thing that rose was a feeling of guilt. Dena licked her red lips. He recalled their taste. They were nothing compared to another set of lips that made the fire in him blaze out of control. Dena slipped her fingers beneath the material and parted the sides. Her fingertips brushed his placid member. John grabbed her wrists and stopped her.

  Her eyes questioned his. “Are you all right?”

  John regarded Dena carefully. Her arousal reached his nose. There was a time when he would have forgotten the world around him and lost himself in a woman’s call to mate. As he sat there, keeping Dena from touching him, his senses compared her scent to another woman’s call.

  Jasira. Her perfume was more alluring, arousing, and intoxicating. John’s world had tilted off its axis when her fingers wrapped around his erection. Dena’s arousal had no power over him. Her touch fell short. His fingers tightened around Dena’s slender wrists. He read the concern on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me there are ghosts here?”

  Dena shook her head. “Ghosts?”

  John vaulted off the bed, away from her touch. “Don’t start with me!” He stopped in front of the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not something we readily tell outlanders.” She snaked her arms around his waist and pressed her body to his backside.

  John immediately remembered the incident at the schoolhouse. “Can you see them?”

  “Of course. I’m a Surrealan.” She placed soft kisses along his spine.

  John’s features tensed. It was not the same. He felt no need to press into her. Dena’s actions were not soothing, not arousing. He grew irritated.

  “And you had no intentions of telling me?”

  “Do not be angry. We are forbidden to speak about this with outlanders. I did not wish to keep a secret from you.”

  John could not endure her touch any longer. He moved away from her. “But you did.”

  He did not face Dena. He felt disgraced and disloyal by allowing her to touch him. It puzzled him. Why was he feeling loyalties toward a ghost?

  “John, please understand, I was forbidden.”

  “Goodnight, Dena.”

  “John, please—”

  “Goodnight,” he clipped. He did not see Dena’s eyes fill with tears.

  John heard the door close. He went to the door and lowered the wooden lever onto the metal receiver, locking it. He returned to his bed and removed his pants, then threw them on the bed. He lowered into the hot bath.

  Deep in his troubled thoughts, John did not notice his transformation. He sat in the tub for several hours staring into the blazing fire without really seeing it. He wondered how it had come to this.

  He remembered saying goodnight to the night shift on Sea Base Ten. He had just finished taking a shower and was choosing a set of pajamas to put on when he heard the first blast. He grabbed a clean shirt and pants from his closet. As he was putting on his boots, his little brother Alan burst into his room shouting they were under attack.

  It was the beginning of John’s nightmare. A nightmare he had yet to awake from six and a half months later. And until Bogdan returned, he would have to live amongst the dead. How was he going to do it? He sneezed.

  John lowered into the tub. Only his head remained above the water. He could not stop thinking about the apparition. The ghost with the amazing kiss and burning touch was Jasira. He had guessed correctly; however, Jasira being dead had never entered his mind.

&nb
sp; “I don’t know what’s worse. The war or the ghost.”

  John lowered his head. He tried to find a comfortable position. Unfortunately, the tub was not made for someone of his tall stature.

  Will I ever sleep in a warm bed again? By the time John dozed off, dawn’s first light was filtering through his window.

  .

  Chapter 6

  Tuesday, the 1st of December

  John’s head broke the water’s surface. He was aching and in a fouler mood than before. He checked his wristguard for the time. He had to blink several times to adjust his focus to see the small numbers. It was six in the evening. He grabbed the soap bar and washed. After he rinsed off, he stepped out of the tub and dried his body. He reached for his clothes.

  There was a knock. He glanced at the door. Should he answer? The cold was slowing down his transformation back to normal. The sunlight that filtered through the window was blinding him, for his pupils were still dilated; black covered most of his irises. His hands and feet were webbed. There were fins on the back of his calves and forearms. And his spine, from his middle-back to tailbone, was a glossy luminescent brown.

  John gritted his teeth. What did it matter? Their secret was worse than his. He wrapped the towel around his waist and unlocked the door.

  A young boy, around sixteen, stood in the corridor holding a large sack. His eyes grew at seeing John’s dark eyeballs; his gaze swooped over John’s body. He stepped back two steps, and stumbled over his words as he offered the sack to John. “These…these are your…your clothes you left in…uh…uh…Jasira’s houz.”

  His words stirred negative emotions in John. John snatched the sack from the boy’s hand. The teenager bolted from his spot before John could slam the door in his face. He snarled at the boy’s departing back and slammed the door anyway.

  How dare they bring his clothes to him? How dare Yudit say he could not return to the house? John felt insulted, like he was thrown out of his own home. It was ridiculous, and he knew it. The house belonged to a ghost. Still, the feeling was there and he could not ignore it. He threw the bag on the bed and began putting all the clothes on.