Surrender Love: Antonello Brothers: Immortal, #1

Books in this series

Surrender Love

Ring of the Dragon

Forever Love

Bonus stories:

Forbid My Heart

Just Desserts

Leaving Tarth

Dedication

Always, always and forever, to my husband, who supports me one hundred percent. I love you. I couldn't do this without you.

After you read this story, will you dare to enter the Empire?

Look for your entry ticket at the end, as well as a character interview.

1 - Alone Again

Tarthian Empire, Tarth

Tarth City, Di Lusso District

Nizamrak Building, Penthouse Level, The Loft

Sofftem 21, 4664 Tradestandard date (TSD)

Luc Saint-Cyr slumped in the back of his hoversine, putting off the inevitable, because as bad as it felt being dumped, pity made things worse. All the oh-poor-Luc-how-are-you-doing questions made him want to rip people's heads off. How did they think he was doing? He went home alone every night and faced the same four walls with no one inside them but himself and his android servants. As much as he appreciated them, the androids didn't love him.

Apparently, neither had Wulf Gabriel.

Swearing, Luc reached for the door handle.

His driver swung open the door. Allow me, sir. Have a good evening.

Don't tell me— He reined in his battered temper. Android or not, James deserved respect. Luc stepped out and straightened his coat. Thank you.

You're welcome, sir.

While James docked the vehicle with the rest of the fleet, Luc trudged to the railing. Atop the Nizamrak Building, over two hundred stories above ground, he drew in the crisp evening air of autumn. He let it all out, lifting his face to the night sky.

A chilled breeze, heavy with the earthy scent of rain, blew up the sheer sides of the building and buffeted his skin. To the east, a low boom of thunder began and rumbled overhead, threatening storms. A sleepliner docking at the starport to the west vibrated the air, its roar muffled. Straight ahead, the white marble walls of the Conqueror's palace took up eight square city blocks and reflected as much light as the moon. Tarth City spread around it, a splendor of lights ablaze all the way to the snow-capped mountains on the far horizon.

Closer in, Destine Pietan Stadium sent its bright glow upward, casting a white sheen against flat clouds. Vehicles streamed in one portico and out the other. He recalled his assistant saying a rock group managed by one of his companies was performing tonight. Iron Soul? Kumwhatmay? For the life of him, he could not recall.

Thomas Gabriel Stadium, he refused to look toward. Named in honor of Wulf's late father and built at Luc's personal expense, he'd presented the state-of-the-art sports complex to Wulf as a gift for their fifth anniversary, three weeks ago. Days before they broke up.

Outrageous headlines screamed his colossal failure in every language in the Empire. He'd built that place to underscore the legacy of a dear friend, but the media made Luc look like a clueless chump. Perhaps that's all he was.

He gripped the handrail and braced himself against it, arms stiff, head down. Up here, the hustle and hubbub of the city and the whoosh of traffic faded into the background. No matter how late he worked, when he returned, the empty penthouse taunted him with memories. Luc held his breath until his lungs screamed for air, but he waited, letting the pain build. At last, he released it and drew in the night's damp coolness.

He pushed himself away from the railing and plodded toward the Loft.

A human got over old lovers and fell in love again. He, well accustomed to the brevity of mortal relationships, should do the same. So why did it feel like the weight of the empire crushed his chest?

Luc was Sempervian. Immortal.

Wulf was human. Mortal.

Luc would get over the loss in time, wouldn't he? If there was anything a Sempervian had plenty of, it was time. But right now, nothing offered hope.

Outside the entrance to his home, he stopped, fingertips against his brow. He lifted his head, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door. The clean scent of polished wood and fresh flowers greeted him. Baked bread beckoned and his stomach growled in answer. He should eat.

Instead, he headed straight for the bar.

As usual, McDoth lay in wait. The attentive butler was as predictable as his immaculate tuxedo uniform. With his graying hair and wrinkles, most people mistook him for human. A kindly, aging grandfather who still worked for a living. Like James, the android was firepower mixed with grit. More tyrannical than a nagging spouse and more tenacious than a steel weed. No matter how far Luc went, McDoth would follow, protecting him, serving him, while refusing to let him forget a single detail, rule, or obligation.

Were it his choice, Luc would fire McDoth tonight. In truth, the android deserved a medal. His tolerance and patience knew no bounds. Their relationship had lasted centuries and would for a thousand centuries more.

If their king had his way, Luc would never rid himself of the human-shaped ball and chain. Which was the point of a referee. They kept you honest. At least...as much as they could.

Welcome home, sir. The refined accent programmed into McDoth for this lifetime suited the look of a staid butler.

McDoth.

The android dropped a few ice cubes into a tumbler and set it on the bar. For your whiskey, sir. Do try to limit yourself to one this evening.

And there it was. The daily lecture. You drink too much. You eat too little. You work too late. You never stay home.

Luc reached past him and picked up a fresh bottle of his best whiskey, a Kelthian brand from a distillery he'd bought a few years prior.

Allow me to take your overcoat. The butler reached for it.

He turned to give his servant access, changing the bottle from one hand to the other as he slipped off the garment.

It's quite late, sir. You look tired. McDoth folded the coat over his arm. How was your day?

Same as yesterday. Busy, but I accomplished nothing. He darted toward the stairs.

Sir?

He halted, gripping the banister so hard he expected to see marks when he let go. The promise of solitude in his chambers above beckoned, but there would be no ignoring the interrogation. He checked an impatient sigh and turned back. What?

McDoth came to even sharper attention, his habitual passivity giving way to concern. It is good to have you home, sir. We see little of you. Shall I bring you dinner? No records show you ate today, unless the earlier visit to your club included dining on someone else's account.

I'm capable of asking for food if I'm hungry, and don't need reminders to eat. I have no illusions about being your true employer, or that you keep electronic tabs on me. I'm not hungry. I'm fine. Stop fussing over me.

As you wish, sir. The butler brought him the tumbler. Remember, just one.

Luc lifted the bottle of whiskey and wagged it right in the android's face. I will. Good night. I won't need help. I'm going to bed early.

Luc had taken three steps up the stairs when McDoth spoke again.

Sir?

He waited.

"You are not the only one who misses him."

At the unexpected confession, Luc jammed his tongue hard against his teeth. While his android servant offered compassion, the knowledge he would report changes in Luc's behavior prickled a bite of anger. Once he trusted his voice, he took a lower step and turned back.

His expression must have been a warning.

The android retreated a step.

McDoth, forget Wulf. He made his choice. He has a new life with another immortal. I gave them my blessing. Don't worry about him.

It is not Master Wulf who worries me.

This again. Fighting to be civil, he clutched a handful of his short curls and tightened his grip to the point of pain. He dragged his hand back through his hair.

Wulf, he had let go. Would he ever recover from the loss of love? Would he ever recapture the openness and trust he'd craved? Had he ever possessed it? Likely not. Not with Wulf.

Sir? McDoth crept closer. Are you all right?

Stop worrying about me. I'm over him.

I have served you too many lifetimes not to recognize a lie. As I do not report to you, I will worry over you if I wish.

Temper flaring, he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to not lash out. He needed no reminder whom McDoth served, nor why. That neither of them had a choice in the matter kept him silent.

McDoth offered the tumbler again and Luc snatched it, making the ice inside fly out. He pounded up the stairs to his room.

When he slammed the glass on the dresser, a chip flew from the base. Regret flashed over him. He'd promised McDoth he'd stop breaking glass, but the chip didn't give him the satisfaction he'd sought. With a perverse sense of pleasure, he picked the tumbler back up and smashed it down even harder. It cracked and then split in half. One jagged edge stabbed his palm.

He savored the hot flow of blood across his skin and spread his hand, opening the wound. The spike of pain took his mind away from his breaking heart. By the time he'd lifted his hand to examine it, the bleeding had slowed. The wound closed, leaving him with his never-healing heart threatening to tear itself from his chest.

He dragged himself over to his canopied bed and sat. Refusing to face the man in the mirror across from him, he opened the bottle of whiskey, tilted it up and drank half.

Alcohol didn't affect Sempervians. They drank the way they fought: with elegant efficiency and the determination of the damned.

Nothing hurt for long, except loneliness. That persisted, clamping itself closer than a shadow in deep winter.

He drank more, using the whiskey to launch memories of people he'd loved and times he'd enjoyed sharing the drink. Without Wulf, those memories brought him more pain than pleasure.

He finished the liquor in gulps. It might as well have been tea. Nothing. The empty bottle held no more promise than the full one. Drinking whiskey fast affected him no more than sipping.

A man had a right to a good bender now and then, but Luc's immortal metabolism denied it. He drew back the bottle and hurled it at the mirror above the dresser.

Glass shattered, as fragmented and ruined as his life. A shambles no one could reassemble. Like the love he'd wanted with Wulf, pieces would always be missing. A void. Scattered empty places nothing could fill.

Slots in the baseboards flipped open and cleaner-bots rolled out. The breaking mirror had knocked over a framed flatpic. As Luc hurried over to right the frame, glass crunched beneath his shoes. A dust of broken glass covered the image, and he blew it off. The flatpic showed Wulf and himself, side by side, both in tuxedoes, smiling for the camera. Taken during happier times. Far too long ago.

They'd been a couple for five years. When had it died? Hard to tell. Trying to understand, Luc had Wulf followed, tracking his every move. Perhaps Wulf had known about the spying.

He'd left Luc for Alitus Vivaldi, the Minister of Imperial Intelligence, spymaster for the Conqueror. How they must have laughed, knowing they fed him false data, while they cavorted in secret.

Luc opened the top drawer, threw the flatpic inside, and slammed it shut. It bounced back open, and after slamming it again, he had to shut it, gently, to make it stay closed. Fresh rage poured over him and he jerked open the drawer, removed the picture and threw it on the floor. He crushed it under his heel.

The glass broke over the image of his own face, leaving Wulf's intact. How like his life. How like his heart. Luc rubbed at the throb behind his eyes.

Enough!

He must stop brooding. He must channel it into work. That's what he needed.

Focus, not dwell. Move forward, not behind. Serve the mission. Serve the king.

He could not afford to lose control. He must stay focused. His eyes stung, and he pressed his thumb and fingers against the lids.

Stop this! You'd think you'd never lost a lover. He toed off his shoes and tore off his clothing, then kicked the pile aside.

His shirt landed on one of the cleaner-bots, which set off the bot's alarm.

Luc yanked off the shirt before the alarm brought McDoth into the room. After balling up the garment, he tossed it aside.

He entered the bathroom and braced both hands on the counter, but could not force himself to lift his head. At last, he faced his own image, staring long and hard into orbs of whiteless obsidian, dark as his skin, cold as the onyx stones they resembled. Emotionless. Frigid.

Perhaps his lenses hid everything he felt. Had they hidden his love?

You threw him away. You shoved him out of your life. He slammed his fist into the reflection. Glass cracked and shattered into the twin sinks, over his hands and onto the floor.

Here, sir. McDoth entered. Let me get you cleaned up. The android pulled him aside. Be careful where you step. You've already cut your feet.

Leave it! Luc shoved away from him. I don't want to stop the pain. Don't you understand? I need it!

Sir, you're covered in blood and a dust of glass.

I'll live. Go away.

But, sir, you're bleeding. McDoth opened the huge, glass-enclosed shower and activated the water. There's glass everywhere. Please don't make me report your current state. He'll want to see you himself.

McDoth didn't have to use the immortal king's name. Who else would he mean?

Would Pietas punish or sympathize? It might be worth the risk. If anyone knew how to bear pain, it was Pietas. A flash of longing made him wish for the man's presence. Luc hesitated, suspended between two opinions. Did his desire for pain outweigh the risk of reuniting with his former lover? He'd spent millennia at Pietas's side.

No, he would not return to that relationship. Far too much pain between them now to bridge.

He stepped into the glass enclosure. Various nozzles cascaded heated water over him. There's not enough water in the empire to wash away this pain, McDoth. I can't shed enough blood to make it right.

I understand, sir.

No, you don't. Luc brushed water off his face. You have a chip for emotions. You can toss it, get a new one and be happy again.

I am sorry you're in pain. Allow me to help you. The butler took his right hand. "I'll remove the shards from your knuckles and then work on your feet. We'll put some triefan on them and get you healed up."

No! He yanked free, refusing to allow the healing properties of the nectar. He picked out the glass and flung it aside. I want this to hurt. I need it.

Very well, sir. A brief pause followed. Then let's get rid of the glass so it doesn't endanger anyone else.

I suppose there are troops parading through my bedroom.

I was attempting to appeal to your philanthropic nature.

Good luck with that.

Yes, sir. McDoth flicked a glance his way. The bots are almost through picking up the pieces. Though dressed in his butler's uniform, McDoth knelt in the shower, tending to him as if Luc were a wounded animal.

While the butler removed glass from one foot, Luc stood on the other, hands braced on the tile wall. It hurt far more than he would admit, and he bit his lips to keep from crying out.

McDoth.

The butler looked up, shielding his eyes from the water. Sir?

I shouldn't have shouted at you. I swore I wouldn't break another mirror. I didn't intend to. I just— I'm lost without him. I can't even argue with anyone. There's no fight left. Some days I'm sure I'll never smile again. Never laugh again.

I'm sorry, sir. McDoth returned to his task.

Later, after toweling Luc dry, McDoth wrapped him in a thick white robe and escorted him to the bedroom.

McDoth, I promise not to do this again. He pulled off the robe and crawled into bed, then grabbed the android's hand. I mean it this time.

Sir, you owe no explanation to anyone. Least of all to me. It is your home to use as you wish.

No. I gave you my word, and I broke it. I promised I would stop doing this. He patted him. I will never do this again.

Yes, sir.

His hands had already healed, the skin unmarked. Luc jerked them back. A Sempervian's pain never lasted—except in his heart.

The android covered him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. I put your robe at the end of the bed, should you need it. The droid crew will replace the mirrors in the morning. Bit of a routine. McDoth went to the door and turned back. Try to sleep, sir. It's hours before you have to rise. He shut off the lights as he left.

Luc lay on his back, one arm folded over his eyes. He rolled onto his side, eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them, a faint light shone at the door. Two dark areas showed where McDoth stood guard, as if his master were in danger.

Luc removed his lenses. Without them, he plunged into the void of blindness. How like his life. Isolated, watched. But always alone.

2 - Secrets

Di Consueto District

Renyoj Building, Lucsondis Enterprises Corporate Suites

When Izzorah Ceeow landed on Tarth five years ago, he'd been nothing but a feline-humanoid alien from the backwoods of a distant world, but he'd made himself into a rock star.

The media called him the Kin mega-star and likened him to his famous cousin, Tovar. Fans shouted Izzy whenever he performed and wore his name on buttons that flashed to the beat of his drums on stage. Money filled every pocket. He'd given a fortune to help his people.

But standing in his luxurious hotel room now, none of that success mattered.

The jewel of the Tarthian Empire lay right outside his room. Tarth City, a fabulous place everyone raved about. It might as well have been across the universe. Unable to see anything past the reach of his arms, and terrified of heights, he stayed away from windows. The dizzying elevations humans craved in their buildings jolted sickening fear through him. At the mere thought of how high up he was, his stomach threatened to revolt.

He couldn't read or write in any human language. He'd hoped to find a cure for his sight but that miracle evaded him. Asking to be healed meant admitting he couldn't see, which meant admitting he was unqualified to be a Praetorian Guard.

Not that he planned to be one, but the recruiters on his homeworld had said he could join and then decide later. Why did recruiters always lie?

Humans called it being deported. Kin called it dak hhahvahcun—back to the planet.

Izzorah called it the end of all hope.

He'd hoped to regain his full sight, lost due to illness at age three. Human tech embedded in stud earrings guided him, but he missed things. He'd almost walked into traffic outside the stadium last night. Kory's quick reflexes had protected him. So far none of his band mates knew his secret, but they wouldn't always be there when he needed them. Even Kory, closer than a brother.

When the media reported that since Izzorah had no girlfriends, he must be married back on his homeworld, Kory suggested he flirt more. How could he flirt more when he'd never flirted at all?

Girls held no interest for him, but he'd never had a boyfriend either. On his homeworld, admitting he preferred guys warranted death.

Still, he played the game and tried to talk to girls, until the media linked him with any girl he spoke to. He'd stopped speaking to anyone. That made them talk even more. Hiding did no good. Every time he appeared, fans threw roses at him, embarrassingly detailed artwork of himself, and one girl even sent her panties. Seriously, a girl's underwear? He refused to open anything after that.

The guys started checking deliveries for him and tossing out things. Until one Kin fan sent him a pair of drumsticks painted with pale green kanya leaves, the emblem of the Ceeow clan. Those, he treasured. He used them every day during practice. During a concert, his sticks often broke because he played so hard, but those? Those he used like they were solid gold.

When not in concert, he hid. Was it any wonder the media dubbed him the Lonely Kin?

So he didn't have a girlfriend. So what? He laid back both ears and gave a khss, a short, sharp hiss from the back of the throat.

The Pride Council didn't care males outnumbered females seven to one, or that few females got pregnant. They were all up-in-your-ears about what should be and paid no mind to what was. Maybe same-sex love affairs were no big deal on Tarth, but if it got out to his Kin fans? They'd boo instead of cheer; throw stones instead of roses. He was no freer here than he was back home.

Having to hide from everyone made him as much a prisoner as he would have been back home. The difference was that back on the planet he had no hope at all. Here, he had band mates that needed him.

Still, he walked a tight line that grew more fragile with every mistake he made.

Half the followers of Kumwhatmay were Kin. If he lost the group's followers, then where would he be? A drummer with no band, that's where.

Back to the planet in disgrace, where the Pride Council would execute him.

Izzorah paced his room, ten steps back and forth between his bed and the wall. There had to be an answer. Some way out that let him stay in the empire.

He'd run away from a planned marriage to a female who'd since become the tzesar of the Falehla clan. They were as good as married. Only death would separate them. Never mind that she'd have beaten him whenever she felt like it. He'd have been hers to use or abuse as she wished. Once it got out he couldn't see, her other mates would have scorned him as less than a slave.

He couldn't go back to his family. He'd disgraced them by running away the night before the wedding. They'd thought he was dead until months later when he made it to Tarth and his cousins let them know he was alive.

There was no going home. If the Tarthians sent him back, he was dead.

Izzorah counted another ten steps. The band's management company, Lucsondis Entertainment, housed them in posh resorts or executive suites wherever they toured, always top-of-the-line, like this one. The room sounded cavernous. Why did humans require so much space for a bed and clothes? Not that he ever unpacked. His bagbot held everything. How much did a drummer need, anyway? A couple of T's, a couple of jeans, a pair of boots. Plenty.

Izzorah's kahlah, the Kin sense of enhanced smell, far surpassed that of others. They smelled a rose. Without seeing the flower, he smelled a yellow rose and knew the province of origin. If handled recently, he knew the gender of the person or persons who'd touched it and most times, their identity.

He was three before he understood other Kin didn't possess that level of ability. Like every Kin, he could read emotion with scent, but Izzorah sensed the changes as a person considered or responded. He knew why they'd reached a decision or changed their mind.

The outer door opened and his cousin Fletch entered. Scents from the hallway carpet and cleaners came with him. Fletch had gone from stressed and being in a hurry to calm as soon as he'd walked in.

When Fletch called out a greeting in Felis, the soft hiss of Izzorah's cradle language brought the joy of home, but he refused to give in to such weakness. Though native words would soothe his tongue and purr his soul, he must fit into human society.

Speak Etymis. The disappointment ebbing from his cousin strummed a twang of guilt through Izzorah. You know the rule. Speak Etymis until it's what we think in. That's how we'll blend.

I forgot. Sorry. Oh, I got the address for tomorrow's meeting. We're set.

Good. Thank you. He flung himself backward onto his bed and spread arms and legs wide. This is one of the first beds I've been in that's big enough for a Kin. It's huge!

His cousin landed next to him. Sure is. Fletch scraped knuckles across Izzorah's head.

Laughing like he had when they tussled as boys, he shoved Fletch off and rolled to his feet.

His cousin, a full tradestandard foot taller, grabbed him.

He went down in a tackle that almost knocked the wind out of him. His cousin still had the upper hand in strength, but Izzorah was quicker. He flipped onto his back and knocked Fletch aside.

The table rocked, rattling the lamp. The light changed. Stretching his body, Izzorah flung out his hands and caught the falling lamp.

Fletch poked him with one claw. Great catch, cuz.

You almost broke it. He sat up, knelt and lifted the lamp to the table.

Did not. Fletch gave him a playful shove.

Baring his fangs in a friendly dare, he gave one back. Did.

The door opened. A musky human scent announced Kumwhatmay's lead singer and self-appointed shepherd. Knock it off, you two! Kory released a long sigh. Sorry, didn't mean to yell. It's the middle of the night. The rest of us are tryin' to sleep. Please go to bed.

Sorry, Kory. Izzorah straightened his clothes. We were playing.

Fletch climbed to his feet. Sorry we woke you.

Kory sniffed. Man, somebody's deodorant isn't working.

Can't be mine. Fletch plopped onto the bed. I don't wear human junk.

The door clicked shut, lessening human smells. Grumbling sounded from the hall.

"Kory's a skik." Fletch brushed himself off.

"He is not. Humans don't play much once they grow up, that's all. But he's right. We need to go to sleep." Izzorah grabbed a pillow and smacked Fletch with it.

His cousin yelped and jumped up. What was that for?

I told you to wear deodorant. You gotta fit in.

Aw, geez. I'll smell human. I'll stink.

You stink now. Use mine. It's a crystal you wet and rub under your arms. No smell.

Fine. After my shower, I'll put it on. You nervous about tomorrow?

Can't help it. Izzorah extended his claws and raked them through his hair. This time, our contract signing will be with Luc Saint-Cyr himself.

"The one they call the Man, huh? I heard he has android eyes."

He yawned. "Nah. He wears solid black contacts that cover his whole eye. That he knew such things made him purr with satisfaction. I thought everybody knew that. Saint-Cyr is always in the news."

Izzorah peeled down the covers and crawled underneath. He punched the pillow and snuggled into it. Unlike some hotels, this one offered a Kin room, cleaned with non-scented products. When you could smell every emotion, the last thing you wanted was the reek of cleaning gunk. His pillow smelled fresh enough to pass even his dohda's tough inspection.

Papa, he corrected. Etymis, not Felis. He flicked an ear, annoyed with himself.

Fletch opened a drawer between the beds. Who'd the band sign with last year? I thought you said it was the same company.

It was, but that was Wulf Gabriel. He runs Lucsondis for Mr. Saint-Cyr. They were lovers until a few weeks ago. Kory says it's all they talk about on the news. Those two get no privacy.

I'm gonna take a shower.

Okay. He covered a yawn and stretched out under the covers, willing himself to be asleep before Fletch returned. But the sound of water running made him think of home, sleeping with a group of cousins on the back porch in the summer, listening to the creek behind the family lodge and the drone of ptera chirping in the trees. "Not ptera. Crickets."

The shower turned off, and the door opened, then shut. Steamy air moistened his face. Footsteps crossed the floor and Fletch climbed into bed. The light dimmed.

Izzy? Fletch's voice sounded louder in the dark. Did you tell Kory you like guys?

No. He keeps trying to pair me up with girls, but I don't get involved with fans. I leave the room if the guys talk about...you know.

Fletch's covers rustled. They still think you can see?

Yeah. Izzorah angled his face toward his cousin's voice. Which is why you're here. They can't find out now, Fletch. Not after all I've been through.

"You've hidden it two years. Maybe ya oughta tell 'em you can't see worth kkkhh past the end of your arm. And don't tell me to use Etymis."

Why not?

'Cause then you'd just tell me not to swear.

He flipped one ear forward. Funny, Fletch.

Yeah. Tell 'em. They love you. You can smell that, can't you? Shoot, you practically smell the words I'm going to say before I say them. I think you'll be able to tell whether they'll accept you.

I can't risk being sent back to the planet. Maybe some day, but not now. Not when I'm about to sign a contract that could help me stay in the Empire for good.

You worry too much, cuz.

I know. Some nights all I think about are the ways I screw up. I go over every detail of the set, every part of the stage. With claws retracted beneath his nails, Izzorah slid a fingertip across the pillow. I break into a cold sweat, worrying. But meeting new people in a human place has me wound up.

Hey, I got your ears. Fletch knelt between the beds. His concerned face came into view even in the dark. No way I'm gonna let anything happen to you tomorrow.

The scent of a crisp autumn morning came to him, revealing the family-love between them. He purred his thanks. "I appreciate you, Keet-sah."

"You haven't called me 'Keet-sah' since you learned the Etymis word was 'cousin.'"

Sorry, messed up.

You're Kin. You can't hide pointy ears, claws, and fangs. Why hide your language?

You know why. I have to blend. If he attracted attention, someone might discover he wasn't legal. He slid a hand down Fletch's arm. Thanks for coming with me.

Sure thing. You need family. Fletch moved, blurring from view. Is Tark bringing his kids?

"Nah. His divorce went through on the last leg of the tour. His spouse took them back to their homeworld."

A pang of sadness sparked the air. Oh, man. That guy loves his kids. You can smell it every time he talks about them.

Yeah. Nobody else has family.

Fletch made a sound across the room and Izzorah snapped his head toward him. Water poured into a glass, gulping and a belch followed, then a clink. Footsteps padded back to bed.

"G'nite, Keet-sah. The rustle of bedclothes followed. Tomorrow's gonna be a great day. You watch."

Right. Sure, Fletch. He turned onto his back. How much longer could he keep this up before the group figured out he was almost blind? He couldn't even track one person, let alone a roomful of strangers. He braced an arm across his churning stomach. He had to sleep. Had to be his best tomorrow. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they would somehow start working before someone discovered his secret.

But people with secrets did not sleep.

After a few minutes, Fletch mumbled and started snoring. The low rumble sounded like home, surrounded by a dozen cousins.

Izzorah conjured his favorite memory. The one that usually helped him drift off. Curled in a big huddle of guy cousins on a sleeping pad on the back porch, listening to the gentle whicker of horses out in the barn. The cool night air of a summer breeze bringing the scent of fresh cut samere. Clover.

Human places smelled of wallboards, glue, carpet cleaners, and dirty air. The conference room where he'd met Wulf Gabriel the year before had been spotless, but after a few minutes, his nose burned with chemicals from cleaners.

Kumwhatmay would probably meet in that same room tomorrow with the owner and all the other Lucsondis executives too.

He would not think about that. He would not get up. He had to sleep. He'd pretend he was home. Safe. Sleeping with family all around him. No one threatening to send him away for one wrong move.

Not an alien. He belonged. He was safe.

He would not think about making mistakes. He would not. That led to all kinds of problems and he had stayed up too late already. He'd be so tired he'd walk into a wall.

What if he walked into a person?

His eyes popped open.

What if he stuck out his hand to shake when no one was offering theirs? What if he got separated from Fletch and didn't know where to go? What if he had to speak to Mr. Saint-Cyr and the man took a dislike to him?

Izzorah flung back the sheets and sat up, then swung his legs over the edge.

Enough! Focus. That's what he needed. Focus. He could not afford to lose control. He must stay focused.

He headed for the shower.

Once he was wet, he slicked on his cousin's Kin soap. How good to be clean of human scents! On the road, all he had was hotel soap. His cousins sent him Kin soap sometimes and one time a fan had. That had knocked his ears off. He'd used every scrap of that and wished for more, but how could he buy it without reading the label?

He'd clawed himself into a ffffftting corner by pretending he could read, so now he had to put up his ears and purr with it.

He cranked up the hot water and turned his back, head tilted down so it soothed the tension in his neck and shoulders. He lathered Kin shampoo into his pelt, a thick band of long fur covering the upper part of his chest above his nipples, up to the collarbone. Humans likened it to a lion's mane. He always hid his pelt beneath shirts, unwilling to bare his alien nature to fans. It was one thing for them to know he was Kin. Another to flaunt it.

He lifted his face to the water, rinsed everything and turned around again. While the fall of heated water soothed his back, his mind wandered to the past. At their last concert, he'd been tired. He was always tired, but that night had been extra hard. His chest had been hurting him again and it hurt to breathe. He'd psyched himself up by remembering a vid.

He had never seen the audience, but one time, Kory had found a vid of Kumwhatmay on Imperinet and downloaded it to Izzorah's player. It showed Izzorah's drum solo halfway through the show. About ten Praetorian guards had sat on the front two rows, all decked out in black military uniforms, clapping in unison.

To Izzorah's music. The beat of his drums. His drums.

Talk about knocking your ears off. That cut them off at the base and threw them on the floor. He, Izzorah Ceeow, had played for Praetorian and hadn't even known it.

The night of the last concert on Kelthia when he was too weary to stick out a claw, he pretended the whole audience was nothing but Praetorian. He'd played better than ever.

The audience had hooted and cheered and screamed. After his solo ended, the others tried to join him on cue, but the audience went crazy. Izzorah fumbled a drumroll, unsure what was happening. When he realized what they were chanting, it shocked him into flat-eared silence.

Humans repeated Izzy! Izzy! Izzy! which was pure out-and-out stellar, but his people, the Kin fans out there, had set up the sustained howl of a speerus kinthu—a spirit of pride. A call to the spirit of the people to come witness. Come judge. It was done so bad things didn't happen without being seen, or to celebrate a wedding, or a birth. Except on that night, you could hear the pride as well as smell it. Chills chased over him even now, prickling his pelt as if he were there.

The crowd was calling for his people to come and witness his song.

Kory's warmth beside him had startled. He set a hand on Izzorah's shoulder. Give 'em what they want, Izzy. They love you. He and the guys had gathered around him.

Izzorah's chest almost burst. His ears pricked up. His arms already ached from drumming and sweat drenched his face and pelt, but he played again. When he finished, crashing the cymbals in a finale, his exhaustion caught up with him. His heart hurt so bad he wondered how it could beat. He could not catch his breath. He could not get up to take the bow the audience cheered for. He tried to wipe his face, but couldn't lift a hand.

Kory and Tark had come over to his side. They each took an arm and helped him up and then lifted his arms for him. He stood there like a dead man while all four of his band mates whistled and cheered louder than the crowd.

His brothers in music.

If he never beat another drum, he could die with his ears straight up.

They'd had to bring him water and let him wipe his face before he could continue. After the concert, he'd stumbled into the dressing room and fallen face-first onto a couch, where he stayed until Kory came hunting him the next day.

Izzorah turned around and leaned against the glass wall, letting the hot water blast over his chest. He turned down the heat to keep from getting dizzy. Lifting one hand to his face to wipe away water, he recalled another vid on his player.

He'd asked Kory to help him download a song he liked by the group Forbidden Pleasures. Kory had gotten him that vid as well. The five members, three males and two females, had been singing, walking together in the rain and one of the guys turned to the other and kissed him. They'd both laughed, and then kept on singing like a kiss between men was no big deal. Not a major clawing offense worthy of ear-ripping. Which it wasn't on Tarth, but for him, seeing that kiss opened the door to a whole world he'd never known was possible.

A world where you could kiss someone you loved and no one called you a monster and no one punished you for being different.

He'd played that kiss over and over and over and over.

Then he discovered the guy who'd been kissed wiped the rain from his face and smiled at the kisser. He gave the guy a sexy I-will-have-you-later look and the other guy had an accepting smile that said yes-sir-whatever-you-want.

Izzorah's heart lurched so hard he feared it would stop. He might be new to reading faces and have little experience with people up close, but he recognized that look. It called to him like nothing else.

That submissive smile had powered more getting-off fantasies than anything else on his player.

If someone looked at him the way the first guy had looked at the second, he'd do the same thing. Look back with a whatever-you-want smile. Just take it.

An explosive sigh left his mouth. What human male wanted a submissive Kin male lover? They all thought Kin males were big predatory cats. Alphas.

Maybe in those vids they advertised to human females, but not in real life. Not on a world where males were property and warriors were female.

He slid a hand down his chest, over his pelt, down his abs, imagining himself as property of a predatory alpha...

A human male gripped both wrists and pinned Izzorah to the wall like a trophy. What are you doing, my young Kin? Are you fantasizing?

Snarling, Izzorah released claws and bared fangs, but the human stayed beyond reach. It was dark, and none of the man's features showed. Against this kind of strength and at such an angle, he had no defense. He forced his claws from their sheaths but couldn't reach skin. He growled, twisting. It hurt his wrists, and he yelped.

Easy. Stop thrashing and I won't hold you so tight.

With abrupt resignation, Izzorah ceased fighting. He sheathed his claws, looking up with that submissive smile he loved so much. Open. Trusting. Giving.

That's much better. The human gentled his touch, loosening his gloved hands. I won't hurt you. A whiff of mint revealed the man's amusement, but there was no cruelty. The man meant him no harm. You have nothing to fear from me.

Baked bread with cinnamon wafted into the air. Contentment. Few knew how to hide emotion from a Kin. No one hid it from Izzorah.

Naked, helpless in the human's hands, he shivered despite the heat roaring through his body. He lowered his ears in submission, his gaze down in respect. One did not meet a warrior's gaze without permission and what was this human if not a