Rejar Read online

  “I haven’t been invited,” she replied. Thank God.

  “Yes, well, that can be remedied, you see, I—” A bushy tail draped across the top of his head, hanging down over his forehead.

  Being a gentleman, Lord Creighton was obliged to ignore it.

  “I—I thought I might—”

  The tail began to seesaw atop his head in an undulating motion. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  “That is, if your—”

  Lilac tried her best not to laugh. She truly did.

  But when the tip of the cat’s tail reared up to wave at her from the vicinity of Lord Creighton’s eyebrows, she was undone. She clutched her stomach, peels of laughter issuing forth.

  “Miss Devere,”—Lord Creighton looked concerned—“are you quite all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She wiped the comer of her eye, trying to regain her composure. From the corner of the room, she thought she heard Auntie Whumples stifle a few titters of her own.

  “You were saying, my lord?”

  “Perhaps you would care for some snuff to calm you?” He reached into his coat pocket with his left hand and held a little enameled box out to her.

  Lilac detested snuff. She thought it the most disgusting of habits. “No, thank you. I do not partake of snuff.”

  “May I?”

  She waved her hand, indicating he should please himself.

  Lord Creighton began to prepare himself for the fine show he was about to perform to impress her.

  Carefully, his left hand held and opened the tiny box. With a movement Lilac knew he must have practiced before a mirror for hours to accomplish, he let the dainty lace of his sleeve flutter against his pampered right hand as he ever-so-carefully raised a pinch to his quavering nostrils for a delicate snort.

  Rejar was stupefied.

  His mouth parted in disbelief as he watched the bizarre ritual. What was the zorph-brained fool doing? Did he actually think to impress a woman with this ridiculous display?

  Wait. What if the powder had magical qualities of some kind? It could even be…an aphrodisiac. This required research.

  Rejar leaned over Lord Creighton’s shoulder to get a better look at the mysterious powder. He stuck his head close to the still-opened box to see what curious secret he would uncover.

  Lord Creighton, suddenly noticing a huge cat head looming over his shoulder, gave an involuntary jump, sending a cloud of snuff into the air and all over the inquisitive kitty’s face.

  Lilac winced as the poor cat instantly reared off the couch howling and sneezing.

  “Oh my goodness!” Lilac jumped up.

  Bedlam ensued.

  Making a dash, she just missed the sneezing cat as he careened against a side table and sent one of Auntie’s vases crashing to the floor.

  Auntie Whumples wailed in the background, screeching at Lilac, “Stop that beast!”

  Lord Creighton stood by helplessly, uttering meaningless lilting phrases of apology while she chased willy-nilly after the cat, who was snarling his head off.

  By the time she had finally cornered him, the poor thing had sneezed himself silly and had collapsed, gasping for breath beneath a chair.

  Lord Creighton came running over. “Do accept my apologies, Miss Devere. To make up for my deplorable behavior, I insist that you attend the soiree. I will stop by the Stanhopes’ this very day to ensure an invitation is sent to both yourself and Lady Whumples.”

  Ever the opportunist. Lilac grimaced. “That’s not necessary, Lord Creighton. If you’ll just—”

  “Oh, but I insist!”

  Leave. Lilac bit her tongue. There was no way she could possibly refuse without appearing churlish. She sighed, willing to say anything at this point just to be rid of him. “Very well, Lord Creighton.”

  Now that he had gotten what he came for—Lilac’s presence at the soiree—Creighton quickly made his farewells.

  Exasperated, Lilac plopped into a chair. “Zounds,” she said imitating Lord Creighton’s nasal voice. “What a coxcomb he is!”

  The corners of Auntie’s mouth twitched. “Be that as it may, child, his lordship did provide us with a much coveted invitation to the Stanhopes’.”

  Lilac looked at her aunt askance. “Coveted by whom?”

  “Coveted by me for you. It’s an excellent opportunity for you to meet all the right gentlemen, my dear. We mustn’t waste any opportunity.”

  “But Auntie Wh—”

  “No buts, my child. I have been entrusted with your welfare by your late father, God rest his noble heart, and I shan’t fail him. We will be at the Stanhopes’ soiree.” So proclaimed, Lady Whumples left the room.

  Damn and blast, but her aunt could be stubborn!

  Rejar, still gasping from his ordeal with the mysterious powder, listened to the conversation between the two women with interest. This soiree they spoke of seemed to be some kind of social gathering.

  The old one had spoken of the men she wanted Lilac to meet.

  It was time he began to view more of this new world of his. He would do what Familiars had been doing for the wizards of Aviara throughout the ages; he would investigate the situation.

  Rejar decided he would begin immediately. Discretely, he exited the house, heading into the streets of London.

  What he eventually saw staggered him.

  Chapter Two

  It was a world of hideous savagery.

  A cooling night wind blew across Rejar’s sensitive face while he gazed longingly up at the stars. Lifting the long strands of his hair in gentle wafting motions, the soothing breeze did little to ease him.

  He was sitting in the window seat in Lilac’s bedroom. A habit of late. Especially in the small hours of the night when the peace of sleep was not to come. His large frame completely filled the seat; he rather liked the feeling of being enclosed on three sides. He supposed it was a carry over from his other self, not bothering to give it too much thought.

  His sights flicked over to the bed where Lilac slept.

  Even if the light of the full moon had not been illuminating the room, he still would have been able to see her quite clearly, his eyes having the ability of rapidly adjusting to changing light conditions.

  Familiars often could sense physical changes in the body as well; and Lilac’s even, measured breathing told him she was deeply asleep. Conversely, any change in her breathing tempo precluded wakefulness, alerting him when to metamorphose back into his cat self.

  To his advantage, Lilac usually fell asleep quickly and was slow to rouse. If nothing disturbed her, he knew she would sleep through the night.

  If only I could do the same…

  He briefly closed his eyes, trying to shut out the untenable horrors he had witnessed in the past two weeks. It did little good. Rejar believed the nightmarish visions would forever remain with him:

  Mothers begging in the streets for food for their starving children while just a few streets away men and women dined in opulent excess, seeming either not aware of the misery, or not even caring, for that matter.

  The streets were full of offal.

  People lived in the worst filth and slime he had ever witnessed on any world. Yet there were others, those more privileged, who lived in grand houses with many servants to wait upon them. This wealth in and of itself was not disturbing; it was their seeming indifference to the conditions of those who suffered around them which staggered him.

  He, himself, was from a privileged Aviaran family; his father, Krue, was a member of the ruling council, as well as a high-power Charl mystic. Yet no one in his family would ever allow such deprivation to go unanswered.

  A more horrifying memory surfaced, causing him to shudder.

  One day he had seen a small child run over in the street by a conveyance. The owner merely signaled the driver to move on, not even stopping to see to the injured boy.

  Rejar could not believe what he was witnessing.

  Still in cat form, he had run to the child, but it was too late
. The boy died in the gutter.

  Not one person stopped to see or help.

  He stayed by the child, curled up to his side for the few moments it had taken the precious life to leave his body. It seemed to him the boy had smiled to him sweetly, just before he…

  Rejar had gone into an alleyway and thrown up.

  Well he would remember the face of the man who owned the coach. It was a face he would never forget, with cruel, dark eyes and sneering lips. He vowed he would find this man, and when he did, make him pay for his heinous crime.

  Rejar recalled some of the other injustices he had seen: An old man hung by the neck for stealing food while on-watchers cheered at his suffering… On the streets, a rich man’s throat slit just for a few coins… Homeless children wandering aimlessly through the alleys, begging and worse…

  It went on and on.

  How could he exist in such a world?

  He had no qualms about his ability to defend himself and what was his. His father had trained him well, making especially sure his half-breed Familiar son knew how to wield a weapon and how to fight for his own protection.

  Against his wife’s wishes, Krue had brought his son up an Aviaran warrior. Later, his blood relative, Gian, had taught him the secret ways of the Familiar killhunt as well.

  No, he had no qualms whatsoever about his physical survival.

  But spiritually? This place was an assault on both his Familiar senses and sensibilities. Life seemed not precious at all to these people who squandered their resources so carelessly.

  To be fair, in his travels he had seen many planets outside of the Alliance which were equally savage, although none had been quite so ignorant regarding their own savagery. Just the opposite. Such planets had a tendency to revel in their barbarism.

  Not this one.

  It was curious to note how civilized these people proclaimed themselves. They disdained anyone outside their enlightened society; their “ton.”

  Rejar already knew what he must do to survive.

  He must assume the persona of a man of position and means, for this world would never recognize him otherwise, and the alternative was unthinkable.

  A position of recognition would also place him above the close scrutiny of others. This was imperative in this particular society whose fears and superstitions could easily turn against him.

  He believed he had already found the right man to lead him into his new life. The man had first caught his attention while Rejar was observing a place where men went to wager vast sums of specie, a popular pastime here for men of fortune, it seemed.

  Somewhat younger than Rejar, the man had a certain status within the society and his reckless passions perfectly lent themselves to Rejar’s purposes. At first, he thought the man’s name was George Gordon Noel, but later found out he was called Lord Byron. He was a baron, which Rejar learned was a title of some respect in this society.

  Knowing this, Rejar had chosen his new identity with particular care. There was a distant land here called Russia. It was not easily accessible to these people, making it difficult for anyone to check on his story.

  He had studied these people well, picking out the nuances which would allow him to appear to blend in with the society. It was a gift of his kind; another trait for which the mystics of the Charl sought out the Familiars.

  Furthermore, his new identity would allow him easy access to Lilac; a situation he greatly desired. It was time for the hunt to progress.

  His gold/blue eyes drifted to the bed again.

  She had become a comfort to him in this strange new world. This house, a small haven from the madness outside.

  He was grateful it was her and not another he had first come upon, for she was not like a lot of the other women he had observed here thus far. Lilac was genuinely kind and did not seem to care much for the socializing aspects of her society, preferring to stay at home sitting in the garden with only her “cat” for company.

  He rather looked forward to those peaceful hours. With her gentle voice reading to him aloud from some book…This Fanny Burney seemed to be a special favorite of hers.

  He smiled fondly as he remembered her exuberance for the prose which seemed somewhat melodramatic to him.

  From the day he had come to this world, Rejar had held her protectively in his arms each and every night, keeping his own disturbing thoughts at bay. Their scents intermingled, and as the nights wore on she unconsciously began accepting him in her sleep more and more.

  He liked the soft feel of her thin night garment next to his naked skin. Better still, were it skin to skin.

  Such thoughts reminded him of how long it had been since he had enjoyed intimate pleasure.

  Since intimate pleasure was never far from a Familiar’s mind, he wondered why he was not bothered more by his forced abstinence. For even amongst the Familiars, whose sexual appetites were legendary, Rejar was often remarked upon.

  The truth was, Rejar simply loved women.

  All women.

  He loved the way they looked; the way they smelled; the softness of their skin; the gentleness of their touch.

  Women responded to Rejar on an instinctual level. He was never unkind. He was unfailingly mindful of their pleasure. He was virtually unstoppable sexually, having the ability of ultra energy levels. Not to mention incredibly innovative and commandingly sensual.

  Women adored him. And he adored them.

  Rejar was often told by his lovers that he did not make love like other men.

  If such were true, he could not say.

  He knew only that for him, each time he engaged in the act, it was more than an exploration of the senses; it was an immersion of his being. Rejar reveled in textures and tastes; color of hair, skintones, shape of features, expressions of personality…in short, women.

  He enjoyed them all equally well, knowing without a doubt that no one woman could ever be enough for him.

  To Rejar ta’al Krue, variety was not only the spice of life, it was the sugar as well.

  So, why was he not at all concerned by his abstinence?

  He unfurled himself from the windowseat with the unconsciously lithe grace of the Familiar, padding barefoot to the bed. Where did this restlessness come from? This dissatisfaction?

  Sinking to his knees on the carpet bedside the bed, he lightly rested his elbows on the mattress and curiously gazed down upon Lilac’s face.

  Her generous mouth was slightly parted as she slept.

  Rejar briefly thought of dipping his tongue between those enticingly parted lips. He knew he could not do that, of course, so for the time being he settled with just looking at her.

  Long gold-tipped lashes covered those forest green eyes of hers…

  His little bit of Aviara.

  A wave of homesickness washed over him. It was so acute, he could not stop himself from brushing his mouth lightly across her eyelids. No matter how long it took the mystic Yaniff to find him, it comforted him to know he would always have his little bit of Aviara here in Lilac’s eyes.

  When he felt her lashes flutter against his lips, he pulled back to watch her come awake.

  Those expressive green eyes opened, slowly focusing on him. He held his breath as she gazed upon him for the first time, wanting the moment to last; knowing he could not allow it.

  When her eyes widened with the beginnings of cognizance, he immediately sent a mesmerizing thought to her.

  {You are dreaming.}

  She blinked in confusion. Her mouth parted. “I…”

  He sent the thought again. {You are dreaming, Lilac.}

  He waited to see if she took his suggestion.

  There were some who were immune to this suggestive technique. His father and brother Lorgin, for instance, were impervious to it. But then, most Charl were. You could not tamper with a Charl’s mind.

  Rejar could not help but smile when he suddenly recalled the first time he had tried it on his own father when he was a young boy. He wanted to see if he could
“suggest” his father into forgetting some mischief he had caused. It had backfired on him with predictable results. His father had been doubly furious with him, incensed that he had the audacity to attempt it on him.

  He hoped Lilac would be susceptible. He did not think she would respond favorably to the knowledge of his presence in her bed.

  Indeed, these past weeks she had often spoken aloud of her utter distaste for the males of her society.

  However, she had yet to meet him.

  “I—I think I’m dreaming.” She raised a slender hand to her forehead.

  Good. It was working. She was susceptible to him.

  Although he had never used this technique in quite this way before, Rejar knew that the greater the physical contact between them, the more she would remember her dream experience. Once he physically entered her, he would completely lose this type of suggestive ability over her.

  But then there were many intriguing things you could suggest to someone with their full knowledge.

  A slow, feral smile inched across his handsome face. She would not have distaste for this male.

  Lilac spoke to him, interrupting his pleasant analysis.

  “Do I know you, sir?”

  “Oh, yes.” He rakishly winked at her.

  “I do?” She was perplexed. “I think I would have remembered you had we met. You’re quite beauti—Why don’t you have any clothes on?!”

  And would not his father be most displeased with him for this little bit of mischief. Rejar chuckled. What could he do? He was a Familiar.

  “Do you think I need them?” he asked her not-so-innocently.

  She seemed to mull this over for a moment. “I don’t suppose so, since this is only a dream; but still, it seems most improper.”

  Leaning over her, he whispered, “I like being most improper.”

  Lilac amused him by whispering back, “I think I might like it too.”

  While under the trance, a subject reacted freely to situations in which normally they might be inclined to be slightly more reserved. However, the true nature of the person always remained. Yes, he chuckled, she was much like him.

  Rejar grinned, revealing two roguish dimples. “I have never doubted this.” Standing, he lifted the covers to climb inside.