She slid her hands down his arms. She squeezed his hands, then raised them to her lips and kissed his short, thick fingers. When she went to place his hands on her breasts he pulled back again.
“I…,” he stammered. “I have to go!”
”Is something wrong?” she murred dreamily. “Cannot you stay?”
”No, uh, I don’t think I should,” he answered, confusion and alarm in his eyes, his ears hanging limp. “This is new for me. I’m, uh, It’s not right! Me … with you … together … like this. I — ”
”Non, Tracker,” she cooed, her fingers caressing his face, his muzzle. “What we are doing is good.”
He stood. “No!” he whimpered. “You… Me… I need to go!” He darted to the door, pulling on it to escape, but the door remained closed. Locked. Trapped!
”Okay, Tracker.” She rose and put her arms around him, a small pout on her lips. “You have no reason to fear me.” She laid her palm against the lock plate, releasing the door. “I will be waiting, but don’t take too long. I get impatient.”
He wrapped his arms around her for a moment, as much to luxuriate in her feel, her scent, as to grab his cape, then slipped out the door like a child caught breaking the rules.
Back in his room, he showered and lay down, confused afraid and exalted. Why did I ask her to reach around me like that? he asked himself. I’ve never done anything like that before. He recalled the sensations of her touch. She’s wonderful! I’ve never felt anything like that before. What do I do? What’s happening to me? What does it mean? The memory both frightened and elated him. Even now his body reacted to her memory in a way that embarrassed him.
“No human woman would want to lie with an animal like you,” Colonel Cady had taught him. “It’s against nature and it’s against all human morals. If you want a mate you must do as I say and go to Val as my agent. If you do a good job I’ll get one of their women for you. But only if you obey me!”
What she was doing with him was wonderful beyond description. He didn’t want it to stop; but how to control it? He felt like a blind man walking on a razor blade over a deep chasm. One wrong step would slice him in two, plunging both halves into the morass of human hatred and bigotry. He didn’t know the parameters, the rules; what was expected of him; what was right or what was wrong. All he knew was what he’d been trained to do. He pounded the pillow in frustrated anxiety, sending feathers floating into the air.
#
Ears folded back in fear and anticipation, Tracker swallowed hard before ringing at her door next morning. Beside him, Red hummed to himself, unaware of the anxiety in the fox beside him. Antoinette opened the door.
”‘allo, Tracker.” She hugged him and rubbed her cheek against the fur of his chest. Red broke off and stared at Tracker in surprise.
”Well, fox,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “What did you do right?”
Tracker looked at him over her head, whining softly as his ears drooped even lower.
”‘allo, Red.” She smiled at the big man as she slipped her arm around Tracker’s waist, holding out her other hand to Red. “Tracker gave me a beautiful new guitar last night.”
Red eyed Tracker speculatively, running his fingers through his auburn hair, several shades brighter than Tracker’s own russet fur. “So that’s why you never showed up for your swim! Well, fox,” he praised, “you’re turning out to be a better opponent than I expected.”
Tracker’s ears folded back defensively, prepared to fight or flee. Antoinette felt his muscles tightening.
”Red, non,” Antoinette said, raising her hand beseechingly. “Please, do not tease him about this.”
Red grinned and took her hand. “10-4, pretty lady.”
He turned and clapped Tracker on the shoulder. “Round one to the fox,” he said with another laugh.
Tracker flinched, lifting his lip in a silent snarl, then visibly took control of himself as he realized he wasn’t being challenged.
She sat next to Tracker in the dining room, her shoulder brushing his. Several times during the meal she leaned over and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. Red watched with amusement and a certain amount of chagrin. Each time she did so, Tracker’s ears dipped, but while her displays of affection made him uneasy, he tried not to let it show and forced his ears up again.
#
After escorting her up to the mentalists, he and Red parted, going their separate ways. Tracker headed straight to the Gym on the second floor, resuming his daily routine intended to keep his combat skills as sharp as he could get them. The gym itself was a combination of rooms, together larger even than the dining rooms below them, always smelling faintly of antiseptic and sweat. Along either side of the main room, doors and windows opened into other areas, a basketball court, handball and tennis courts, even a weight room. The main room, larger than all the others combined, contained a maze of bars and small platforms hung from the ceiling forty feet above and ending a full ten feet off the floor. Thick green rubberlike mats covered the floor, adding spring to his step.
Tracker moved out to the center of the room, well away from anyone who might enter the room and beneath the one area where the bars didn’t descend as far, giving him more headroom. He drew his sword and began working a slow kata. Easing through each movement, he focussed on each step, each gesture, attempting to make the movements as smoothly and precisely as possible. As he completed the exercise, he started again, moving faster, bringing the blade around with ever-increasing speed until it seemed it sliced the air itself.
Almost a half-hour later, he’d just begun his last and fastest round when he heard the door open and close again. He followed the sounds of the person’s footsteps over to a corner of the gym, the ventilation system finally bringing him the scent of the visitor. Keeping an ear on the other’s movements, he finished his kata and sheathed the sword with a quiet snick.
