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  “I did this to myself, didn’t I?” Emily asked in a small voice. “By putting the star-silver dildo-thing up inside me, I mean.”

  “I’m afraid the star-silver is to blame. You, however, are not.” He cupped her cheek. “I take full responsibility for this on myself. I should never have left you in the shuttle where the voice witch could find you.”

  “I still don’t remember much about her,” Emily confessed. “Only that she seemed really nice and sweet and that she wanted to help me.”

  “That is a false memory,” Tragar said harshly. “She did her level best to harm you, my Khalla. She sent you into the Howlund alone and unarmed at a time when all of the males there were near their Change. You might have been killed.”

  Emily shivered. “I admit waking up in the middle of a bunch of horny guys with no idea at all how I’d gotten there wasn’t the best experience I’ve ever had in my life. Three of them tried to attack me—if it hadn’t been for Saskia—”

  “Don’t speak of it.” There was a pained look on the big Kindred’s face. “Please, I beg you.”

  “All right,” Emily said quickly. “I was just saying that these Wulven Kindred guys are dangerous. Somebody needs to put them on a leash—literally.”

  “They are extremely dangerous—even more so when their Beast is near the surface,” Tragar assured her. “You were blessed by the Goddess to have escaped with your life. My point is—you can’t trust anything the voice witch told you. You have to purge her teachings from your mind, Khalla.”

  “All right,” Emily said. “I don’t remember much of anything she said anyway. I—” The Black Milk, whispered a tiny voice in the back of her brain. You must drink the Black Milk.

  “You what?” Tragar asked, frowning.

  “Nothing. I lost my train of thought.” Emily frowned and shook her head. “Look, it’s late. We should get to bed.”

  “True.” Tragar pushed her gently off his lap and fastened his trousers. Emily couldn’t help noticing that his shaft was still extremely hard and achy-looking. She felt guilty—what they had done had probably given him the worst case of blue-balls in history. But if so, the big Kindred didn’t say a word about it. He simply nodded at her as he rose from the bed. “I must go and get ready for sleep.”

  “All right.” Emily smoothed down her nighty and crawled under the living flower blanket. She was relieved to find that the sheets below it seemed to be made of actual fabric—not petals. “I’ll just…” She yawned. “Just wait for you here.”

  “As you wish.” Tragar stroked a strand of hair from her face tenderly. “Pleasant dreams, my Khalla.”

  “Thank…” Emily yawned again. “Thank you,” she finally managed to get out. She thought he answered something but she didn’t catch his words. Now that the constant ache and pressure in her breasts had eased she felt relaxed and sleepy. It had been a very, very long day and suddenly she couldn’t hold her eyelids open one more second.

  Her last sight was of the big Kindred walking towards the fresher but her eyes closed before she could see him pass through the curtain of vines.

  * * * * *

  Tragar went into the fresher, ostensibly to get changed into the blue sleep trousers his old Master had loaned him. Actually, though, he needed time to himself—private time.

  He stripped down and turned on the shower, getting into the coldest spray he could stand—then he turned it even colder. Control—he must regain control! But every time his shaft started to go down, he remembered the soft moans Emily made when he sucked her breasts…or the hot feeling of her sweet pussy wrapped around the head of his shaft…or the sweet, forbidden taste of her nectar…

  Gods, what have I done? He had committed the worst kind of sacrilege known to his people and now it seemed he must continue committing the same blasphemous act over and over again, sucking the nectar from Emily’s breasts because it refused to thin and flow as it should.

  Shouldn’t have swallowed it, at least. Should have spit it out, he told himself. But she’d already asked him if he didn’t think it was “gross” to ask him to relieve her need by suckling her breasts. As if such a thing could be possible! But for some reason she was insecure about her body, especially since the Tenrah was causing it to change so dramatically. Tragar hadn’t wanted her to feel she was disgusting him when nothing could be farther than the truth. In fact, he felt honored beyond measure that she would trust him to do such a thing, especially considering the pain in her past.

  But if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t only his wish to keep Emily from feeling bad about her body and the service he was performing for her that made him swallow her nectar rather than expelling it from his mouth. Her nectar had been too sweet—to deliciously addictive to lose a single drop. Though he knew what he had done was wrong, he could scarcely wait to do it again. Could scarcely wait to hold her warm, willing body in his arms and hear her moan for him as he pulled her tight peaks deep into his mouth.

  This is why drinking the nectar of a Khalla is forbidden, he thought. Or one of the reasons, anyway. Once her nectar fills your mouth you want nothing more than to possess her completely.

  It was true—a Khalla was considered a national treasure—an entity who had to be free to wander the world, dispensing healing and fertility wherever she went. She could not be tied to one male—not even her chosen mate. She was meant to go among the people and bring them hope and strengthen their faith in the Goddess. How could she do that if she was being kept under lock and key by some jealous male who wanted nothing but to keep her and her sweet nectar for himself?

  It was wrong and already he felt the impulse to keep her close, to never let her go. Tragar fought it but he feared it was a losing battle.

  No, he told himself sternly as the icy water flowed over his still rigid shaft. It is not for one such as I to possess the love of a Khalla. I do not deserve her—not after all I’ve done. I must get her safely to the Holy Mountains of Rageron and then resign myself to giving her up to another male—a male more worthy and pure of heart than I.

  Just the thought of that—the idea of another male’s hands on Emily’s soft, supple body, was enough to bring a low, possessive growl to his throat. Tragar swallowed it with difficulty. He had to fight these feelings—feelings which he’d believed were dead and buried with his beloved Landra. But how could he fight the feelings of love and need if he had to continue to suck the delicious nectar from his Khalla’s breasts and hear her moan his name each time the sweet release made her come? Tragar didn’t know.

  Oh, he was in trouble here…so much fucking trouble…

  * * * * *

  “According to the spybot the female is fine and all of the star-silver devices have been removed.” Y shut off the viewscreen which he had been using to view the somewhat distorted images sent by the small, furry genetically altered rodent his Master had sent to spy on the Earth female.

  “Yes, it is most inconvenient,” Master Two buzzed like an annoying insect in Y’s brain.

  “What shall we do about it?” Y asked. “Do you want me to kill her now?”

  “No, of course not, you idiot! Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Because you told me that you wanted the girl dead.”

  “I also told you I wanted the Verrak assassin to care for her before she died. You do not understand the subtleties of the situation, Y. He cares for her but I want him to care more—I want to see them bonded before we tear them apart.”

  “Bonded?” The word sounded strangely natural in his mouth yet Y didn’t know what it meant.

  “Yes, yes—bonded!” the Master hissed impatiently. “It is a life-long tie which forms between a Kindred and his chosen female when they give themselves to each other completely. Our assassin friend was bonded once before and he lost the female he loved and yet survived. I do not think he will survive a second loss but we shall see…”

  “So their love must be complete before we kill them?” Y didn’t like the idea a bit—