The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Twenty-Two

The increasing eagerness in the musk of the encircling males had an intoxicating effect on the Named females, enhancing their senses and making them even more hot and itchy.

A large brindled male with gray tear-lines stepped out, neck arched, tail swishing. Another followed him.

Instantly the first turned and lunged at the second, bringing down his front paws in a stamp Ratha could hear. Both reared and boxed one another, dancing back and forth, forepaws moving furiously, heads weaving and snaking.

The females scattered, getting out of their way.

New Singer’s growl brought both rivals back to the circle. A short while later, three hunter males, enticed into the center by the females’ odor, reared and boxed one another. The fight, starting as a sparring match, quickly grew intense. Feints became swats, then bared-claw strikes at faces and shoulders. The metallic tang of blood added to the heady scents roiling in the enclosure.

Ratha concentrated on keeping the females distant from the contesting males, but it was difficult, for she couldn’t tell where a fight would erupt. The Named females were often bowled over and knocked aside.

What was worse, some females were being overcome by the hypnotic effect of the scents, the sounds, and especially the fights. Ratha found herself imagining how Thakur would rear to fend off a rival, his nape and ruff lifting, his paws striking in a blur, his teeth flashing.

She had to shake herself out of the daydream. What was happening to her affected others. A change in Bira’s scent directed Ratha’s stare to the young Firekeeper. With a yowl, Bira threw herself on the ground. She wriggled on her back, sweeping her tail up across her belly to her jaws. Though she started rolling and moaning, Bira clung to her tail tip, biting down hard.

“Stop that!” hissed Fessran.

“I can’t. The smells are too strong,” Bira moaned, through a mouthful of her own fur. “So hot, itch all over …”

“Try,”—Fessran bared her teeth—“or I’ll scratch your itch.”

Moaning and whimpering, Bira rolled onto her front, her tail still between her teeth.

Ratha gave Fessran a warning spit. She laid a comforting paw on Bira, although the heat waves through her vision made it hard to see beyond her nose.

Nearby, Thistle-chaser curled up into a shivering ball. Ratha herded Thistle and Bira together, guarding them both against another fight between suitors that exploded from the circle.

“Wish Quiet Hunter was here.” Thistle buried her nose in her tail and closed her eyes. “Want him, want him so much …” Licking Thistle’s nape, Ratha saw her daughter’s ears flatten. “Want him, but better he’s not here. If caught by New Singer’s song, might try to kill us … like cubs in nursery.” Thistle’s voice caught. “Still miss him, want him …”

“I’m sure Quiet Hunter has gone to Thakur.” Ratha tried to soothe the shaking Thistle. “He’ll be with the others when they rescue us, Thistle. Just stay here. I’ll keep the raiders away from you.”

“Don’t like feelings. Too hot, too dizzy … Body going crazy … Must be something wrong with me … Don’t want to want … Not them … Hate this!”

“Thistle, what you feel is happening to all of us. It draws us to our mates. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just … happening at a bad time.”

“Don’t want this heat-thing ever again!” Thistle growled, making Ratha’s belly twist. If this scars Thistle, she might never take a mate, not even Quiet Hunter.

Ratha did not know what else to say. She crouched down over Thistle, shielding her daughter with her body. The males would have to rip her apart to get to her cub.

Thistle shifted under her. “One thing good,” said the small voice from beneath her belly. “You’re with me.”

The mother-rage surging through Ratha kept her heat from seizing her completely, but her head was swimming. She fought back, raising every hair on her body until she thought she must look like a porcupine, but it only made her skin tingle and flush.

She found her head turning, seeking one particular scent in the heady mixture. It came from the pair of moon-glow eyes, the male that had last entered the circle. He was young, slender, enticing, and he looked so much like Thakur… .

“Thistle, poke me,” she hissed.

She heard her daughter’s indrawn breath and then a tentative scratch behind her foreleg.

“Harder! Don’t let me get drawn into this.”

She was rewarded with the sting of claws. Ratha would do what she had to. Briefly she ducked and nuzzled the top of her daughter’s head.

I will get you through this.

She lifted her head to the sound of Fessran’s voice. It sounded slow and fuzzed-out, resonating strangely in her ears.

“Look at Bira,” she heard Fessran say. “A tail-wave ago, she had her tail in her mouth, now she’s down on her forepaws and calling like a randy queen.”

Other sounds drew Ratha’s attention: moaning and yowling. They were not just coming from the males. Again Ratha found her nose turning toward those intensely glowing eyes and this time she had to stop a moan from escaping her own jaws.

“I hate to say this,” Fessran said, her voice laced with desire and dread, “but that big male in the center is smelling awfully good to me.”

Dragging her attention back from the moon-eyed shape in the circle, Ratha forced her rippling gaze back to her friend. Now Fessran and all the others had acquired a warm, glowing halo. Even the males in the circle were starting to look fuzzier and friendlier. Ratha had to struggle to make her tongue form words. “Fess, listen to me. Whatever happens, don’t blame yourself or any of the others.”

“For what?” the Firekeeper purred. “For bringing us all these lovely big toms?”

Again Ratha wanted to leap up and swipe her. “If you mate with them and have dull-eyed young, blame me. This all started when I decided to save True-of-voice and let his people use the Red Tongue. Fess, I’m so sorry.”

For an instant the Firekeeper’s eyes focused as she looked at Ratha, and the clan leader saw the fear and desperation hidden far behind the veil of lazy nonchalance.

Fessran shuddered and dipped her head as if in pain. “Can’t hurt me,” Ratha heard her say between clenched teeth. “Too hard, too mean.”

“Maybe you are to others, Fess, but I know better. I promised Thistle, and I’ll promise you—we will get through this.”

She felt Fessran lick her cheek. The Firekeeper’s tongue was trembling. She whirled away from Ratha, then stood with her neck arched, her nose down. “Stop smelling so good, you dung-eating son of a belly-biter!”

Ratha felt her body sliding away from her control. She could no longer feel Thistle’s scratches at the back of her leg. It was not her will that pivoted her slowly, slid her paws out, no longer feeling Thistle crouching underneath her. It was not her wish that bowed her back, raised her tail, and moaned in longing.

She yanked herself back long enough to spit, “I can’t fight this any more, Thistle. Get away! Run!”

“No place to run,” Thistle hissed. “Stay with me. Help me. Scared.”

Ratha turned to the circle of eyes, seeking New Singer.

“Please,” she howled at him. “Let Thistle-chaser go. She’s too young. You can have me, but let my daughter go.”

There was no sign that New Singer or any of the others had heard her plea. Their eyes were intent on the females in the circle, their faces in the grimace that was half-grin, half-snarl.

The heat took Ratha in a flaming rush, pulling her away from her daughter, turning her to the intense eyes and the shadowed form. The circle, the other females, even Thistle, no longer existed for her. There was only a glowing halo and him, at the center.

She breathed his scent, finding, or perhaps imagining, an echo of Thakur’s.

He rose and came to her, looking slender and strong in the backlight of the halo. Yes, his scent and shape were like Thakur’s, but he reminded her of someone else that a part of her, long hidden, wanted even more.

Bone-chewer.

No. It can’t be. Bone-chewer’s dead. She clawed at the last rags of thought, burning to cinders in her heat.

The male moved closer, his scent wafting ahead of him, enveloping Ratha.

Those eyes are as bright as Bone-chewer’s.

In her eyes, the shape seemed to shimmer with a dark copper sheen, and the eyes took on a fiery amber. Even the mouth, with its broken fang, was the same.

A part of her fought against the miracle that had somehow given her lost mate back to her. Most of her didn’t question. His movements were slow, silken, fluid. She found herself gliding to meet him, panting for his scent as she would pant for the air that kept life in her body.

The nose-touch was the same, the rub, the tail-flop, and oh the strong, delicious smell of him. It didn’t matter that she had once raged at him for giving her animal-eyed cubs—she was wrong about Thistle. She would cherish any cub he gave her, especially one like Thistle. It didn’t matter either that he didn’t speak; this time was not for speaking, only for rolling in waves of joy, feeling her fur and skin against one who was so beloved… .

Now he was behind her. Her body moved, leaving all else behind. Her back bowed, her front paws slid out, her tail lifted and she sang out her longing and her love.

A cry so sharp that it punched through the enrapturing veil made Ratha lift her head. She knew it instantly. Thistle.

Abruptly, her beloved left her side, leaping and snarling, driving off another male who lunged at Thistle. Both combatants rose on their rear paws, but this was no sparring contest. Yes, this male was Bone-chewer, for he defended his daughter with a powerful flurry of teeth and claws that sent his opponent reeling back, breast and face streaked with blood. Teeth bared, her beloved followed up the attack, moving swiftly and fiercely. His opponent stumbled and squalled, scrambling crabwise through the circle, creating a gap.

“Thistle, go!” Ratha shrieked. Near her, another, deeper voice hissed the same word. Before the warning ended, Thistle streaked for freedom, evading the males who pounced at her.

With a last flash of black, rust, and tan, Thistle was gone. None of the males tried to follow her. They were too intent on the other Named females.

Ratha’s surge of gratitude toward her beloved turned into a rush of desire. He loved his daughter, he had freed her, and now that she was away safely, Ratha was drawn back into the halo-filled shell that held only the two of them.

She rubbed herself in ecstasy along the powerful slenderness of his body, bathing in not only his scent, but also his entire presence. A distant part of her begged him to speak to her, caress her in words, but another part whispered that words had no part in this molten upheaval of sense and emotion that tumbled her into him.

Now she lay on her back. The face hovering over her, yes, it was his. The eyes, so deep, without ending, and so was the power of the light shining from those depths.

It was that light to which Ratha gave herself, even as she felt the male roll her over, sweep her quivering tail aside, position himself atop her, and seize her nape gently between his teeth.