Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,43

any woman, even though his own mother had borne three litters and would have cheerfully had more if nature hadn’t taken a hand in ending her childbearing years. She’d already exceeded the usual number of Zetithian litters as it was.

He smiled to himself. For all practical purposes, Klara had already had her first litter. With the help of the three Racks, caring for the next one would be a piece of cake. She might think of her gang as a bunch of orphans, but they were a family—she had two brothers and three kids. Anyone mating with Klara would have to be willing to accept a package deal.

A brief reflection on this possibility didn’t deter Moe in the slightest. Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he stepped out of the shadows and into the street. He peeked over his shoulder to be sure the others followed. They all looked terrified, but gamely marched on.

At first, nothing happened. Then slowly, people began to take notice. Perhaps it was only the novelty of seeing two Zetithians out for a stroll, but before long, a crowd began to gather. People began calling out to one another, drawing them from buildings only slightly less ramshackle than those in the Barrens. A few entrepreneurial types appeared to be taking bets, although the details of those bets were unclear.

Nexbit and Temfilk weren’t taking any chances. Temfilk actually had his pistol in his hand, while Nexbit merely rested his hand on the grip. Moe had never credited his mother with the way he walked before, but with Klara by his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, mimicking Jack’s swagger came naturally. Klara was also armed, and from the way the tips of her fingers brushed her own weapon, she was itching to draw it. However, if she felt any fear, she hid it well; the hand she’d placed on his arm wasn’t trembling, and she held her head high.

He had no doubts that the gawkers were focused more on her than anyone else, because she was nothing less than magnificent. With her hood thrown back, the early morning sunlight glinted on her shining black curls, accentuating the striking orange streak at her temple. Her gait was firm yet fluid, her posture flawless. She was a goddess worthy of worship, a fierce warrior queen, and the most fascinating woman he’d ever encountered.

I’ve really got it bad.

If she didn’t want to be his mate, Moe wasn’t sure he would ever recover. Even without a trace of desire, her scent was the most delightful fragrance he’d ever inhaled. He longed to taste every delectable part of her and make love with her that night and every night for the rest of his life. But in order to do that, he had to protect her from Nedwuts, Pelarus, and any other being that threatened her safety.

A tall order before breakfast, perhaps, but not insurmountable.

An elderly Haedusian female called to them from her doorstep as they approached, the fierce wind whipping at her ragged clothing. “Klara Tavock!” she cried. “I must speak with you!”

Klara turned her bemused gaze toward the woman as she shuffled along the dusty path from her door, carrying, of all things, a sheet of paper that turned out to be one of Klara’s wanted posters.

The old woman looked up at Klara with beseeching eyes. “I had begun to fear this day would never come. Please, will you sign this for me? I want proof of our meeting.”

Klara gaped at the poster. “I’ve never seen such a thing. Where did you get it?”

“From the market square,” the woman replied. “We ladies take them down as soon as those filthy Nedwuts put them up.” With a cackle of laughter, she added, “I have quite a collection. Over fifty at the last count.”

“And you want me to write my name on it?” Klara couldn’t have crammed more disbelief into her question if she’d tried.

“Oh, yes, please.” She offered Klara a sharpened stick and a tiny bowl of what appeared to be homemade ink. “And I would be ever so grateful if you were to write To Velkma above your signature.”

In a desperate attempt to stifle his own laughter and to keep from saying I told you so, Moe pressed his lips together so tightly a fang pierced the inside of his upper lip.

Temfilk was less discreet. Grabbing Moe’s hand, he pumped it up and down, crowing, “Leon be praised! You were right!”

Velkma eyed him curiously. “Who