Clan and crave, p.1
Clan and Crave, page 1
Clan Beginnings
CLAN AND CRAVE
A Clans of Kalquor Story
By
Tracy St. John
© copyright April 2024, Tracy St. John
Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright April 2024
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Note: This story is the prequel to Clans of Kalquor Six: Alien Redemption
Chapter One
“Hoslek, wait for me!” Conyod raced toward the paddock’s shimmering force field as his older brother rode chestnut-furred Ges through the opening he’d ordered. Another command closed it behind him.
At nine years old, Hoslek was already an accomplished rider of the six-legged kestarsh their parents bred, raised, and sold. He was also on the bossy side when it came to seven-year-old Conyod.
“Can’t wait. Two of the mares got loose, and I have to find them.” Hoslek spoke in a firm tone, but his gaze cut in the direction of their home worriedly, though the boys’ parents hadn’t yet returned from a trip to town.
“Let me go too, or I’ll tell them you didn’t properly close the containment when you brought them in from the pasture.”
Hoslek paused for an instant before scowling. “Don’t be a jerk, Conyod. As long as I bring them home, I won’t get in trouble. Stop slowing me down.” He shouted at the paddock’s system, though the nearest tall metal pole emitting it was mere feet away. “Corral containment, don’t unlock for Conyod. Disable his voice commands.”
Hoslek might have been only nine, but he already had a born Dramok’s command. Conyod’s first instinct at his brother’s order was to obey. By the time he’d recovered his stubborn nature, Hoslek was galloping toward the foothills of Mount Evar.
“I’ll tell!” he shouted after his brother, who’d already spurred Ges out of hearing distance. Conyod kicked a divot into the ground where the passage of numerous kestarsh had worn the grass away. Even if he’d been able to commandeer a mount in the locked corral, he wasn’t big or strong enough to saddle them alone. He was left behind. Again.
“I’ll tell. You’ll be sorry!”
* * * *
The escaped mares returned home of their own accord at their normal mealtime. It was the next morning when the first searchers found Ges, viciously clawed and shivering, between outcroppings of rocks. The evidence of a zibger’s attack was obvious. There was no sign of Hoslek.
Conyod’s mother, who’d stayed reluctantly behind while his fathers, the ranch hands, and local villagers spent the entire night until daybreak searching for her eldest child, collapsed to her knees in the yard when her Imdiko mate Sema brought the horribly injured Ges home. Sema dismounted and held her, his arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders. He was forced to remain at her side for the rest of the rescue attempt…which most acknowledged was now a recovery effort.
Conyod’s other two fathers continued the search. “We won’t stop until we find him,” Nobek Vel vowed.
Hoslek’s body wasn’t recovered. Like hundreds of riders, hikers, and adventurers who’d dared the mountains brooding over the plain, he was never seen again. In the end, even Vel was forced to admit the child wouldn’t be returned for a proper funeral.
The family descended into unrelenting grief. Conyod suffered endless nightmares of his brother riding away and of his own angry cry, the last words he’d spoken to Hoslek a mortal prediction: “You’ll be sorry!”
* * * *
Seventeen years later
Nobek Sletran sat in a bar in Kalquor’s capital city, convinced he’d made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time, but since this potential error involved a sensitive Imdiko, he winced in anticipation of committing it.
Not just any Imdiko. A psychologically damaged Imdiko with a rocky history. It was dumb to have agreed to meet him, Sletran. Dumb.
He sipped his bohut and watched for the scrawny runaway kid he’d rescued from a group of bullies nine years earlier. Sletran could handle his liquor, but he wished he’d started by drinking kloq instead. The last thing he needed was to get tipsy when dealing with a hero-worshipping boy.
He’s an adult now. You heard his voice, how deep it’s become. Conyod was what, twenty-four? Twenty-five? Still a kid, really. Sletran thought of the lost, hurt teen who’d made no secret of his crush on the Nobek for the past decade. They’d kept in touch because Conyod had desperately needed a friend, though Sletran had maintained their communications text-only during the past few years. The baritone that had spoken to him on the com three days prior had been a shock. Sletran had barely been able to credit his ears when the caller identified himself as Conyod.
“I’m working in the capital. Since you’re stationed nearby, I thought we could meet for a few drinks and catch up.”
Sletran had been so caught off guard by the mature voice, he’d agreed. Afterward, he’d regretted it. Conyod was a great kid…young man, he amended…but it was time he stopped seeing Sletran as a bigger deal than the Nobek was. He was merely a soldier who’d given a skinny, defenseless runaway Imdiko a little help and encouragement. Nothing special.
It was embarrassing to be worshipped like a hero.
His dour ruminations were interrupted by a few whistles. Heads turned, and Sletran glanced to see what the fuss was about.
A gorgeous young man had stepped in the bar. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but his gentle expression shouted Imdiko. The caregiver breed was the rarest of the males. A single Imdiko walking in without clanmates was rarer still. The Nobeks and Dramoks in the room, many unattached, were taking notice.
For good reason, beyond the handsome fellow’s designation. Sletran, who’d made the decision years before to commit to the empire’s military ground forces rather than to any long-term relationships, couldn’t help but admire the new arrival too.
The focus of almost every man’s attention was around the Kalquorian male’s average height of six-foot-five. Wavy black hair spilled to the middle of his back. It framed beefy shoulders and a devastatingly handsome face.
The Imdiko grinned at his admirers. He kept them from converging on him by shaking his head, pointedly searching for someone in the crowded bar.
He looks vaguely familiar. It suddenly hit Sletran, and he nearly dropped his glass of bohut.
He had to be wrong. There was no way the stunner with the knockout body was Conyod.
The young man caught sight of him, and his smile stretched wider. “Sletran!”
Fighting to keep from gaping in astonishment, the Nobek stood. He managed a clumsy bow, which Conyod laughingly copied.
“Conyod. You, uh, you grew up.” And wider. The Imdiko he’d avoided seeing for years wasn’t as tall and brawny as Sletran, but he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. He filled his white shirt impressively, its fabric stretching across a chiseled chest. His thighs did the same for his trousers.
“I still wouldn’t arm wrestle you for drinks.” Conyod looked him over, his grin brighter by the second. “When were we last face to face? Six years ago? You haven’t changed a bit. Yeah, a glass of bohut, thanks,” he told the Dramok waiter who’d arrived and openly ogled Conyod.
The Imdiko ignored the lustful gaze from the server and dropped to the seat across from Sletran’s. Sletran drifted to his floor cushion, his gaze locked on his companion.
Mother of All, this was no kid. Conyod was a man. A lot of gorgeous man.
The non-expression on Sletran’s strong features told Conyod he’d made an impression. Schooled to hide hints of shock, it was the go-to impassive demeanor for many Nobeks when they’d been surprised. The intensity of his stare was as much of a giveaway as a dropped jaw would have been.
Conyod hadn’t developed his well-muscled body solely for Sletran’s benefit, but this moment, planned for the last few years, had offered a lot of motivation.
Surprise. I’m not the weak, scared boy you remember. It took every mote of his control to not laugh aloud in triumph.
Conyod was aware he damned near worshipped Sletran. The man had been his idol since saving his pathetic ass as a runaway teen. The Nobek’s uber-masculine yet handsome features were framed by black hair. Taller than most at six-feet-ten and bulging breath-stopping muscle, his appearance was as textbook Nobek as the warrior breed could get.
The waiter set glasses of bohut before the men, then hesitated. “Thanks.” Conyod’s gaze never moved from Sletran.
&nbs p; Completely ignoring the hopeful Dramok, Sletran leaned forward, his neutral expression breaking into a delighted grin. “Imdiko Conyod, look at you. Wow. Where’s the underweight, angsty kid I knew?”
“Gone. You didn’t think I’d stay a boy forever, did you?” Conyod sipped his drink, affecting nonchalance. “I finished school, you know. I still have the occasional class to upgrade my certifications, but I work an internship at the hospital here in the capital. I’m hoping they’ll hire me fulltime after I finish the required hours.”
“A psychologist saving minds from life’s abuses…a great field.”
“Well, I know how therapy benefitted me. I thought I’d pay it forward. What about you? How are the ground forces treating you? I don’t want your typical response of ‘fine,’ which is all you ever text.”
“Sure, but it is going well. Probably not as impressive where the pay grade is concerned as a full-fledged psychologist.”
“Ha! My paid internship keeps me in sandwiches and little else. Don’t switch the conversation to me. What’s your rank now? Are you running the base yet?”
Sletran chuckled, seemingly unable to stop inspecting Conyod. “I’m still a foot soldier, but I am in charge of my squad, second in rank to my group commander. I’ve also been put in charge of training a couple of squads of new recruits. I hope to make group commander myself in another year or two.”
“Bigger responsibilities and an imminent rise in rank? That’s great. You probably will run the whole show before you’re fifty.” Conyod was doing his own nonstop assessment. He hadn’t shaken his infatuation for Sletran despite the distance their lives had put between them…as well as the Nobek’s polite but firm determination to keep a lovestruck boy’s hero worship at bay.
Conyod was certain Sletran didn’t see him as a boy at the moment.
His assessment was proven when Sletran invited him to dinner at a nearby restaurant after two hours of nonstop talk. Once the conversation got going, there wasn’t an awkward pause to be found. Sletran’s past reluctance to get closer showed no sign of its presence. At the restaurant’s low table, the Nobek slid his floor seating cushion next to Conyod’s and leaned close to hear his companion speak.
At the start, Conyod wasn’t sure what they talked about or even what he ate. His entire being was focused on the man sitting by him, smiling as if they were the only two people in the world. His heart was alight. He’d at last arrived at the moment he’d hardly dared dream of for the past six years. Sletran was looking at him. Seeing him as he was, a grown man ready to claim life, love, and enjoyment.
Their conversation floated to him. “I’m still in shock over your appearance. Tell me your workout regimen,” Sletran invited.
Conyod felt his face warm. Had the Nobek brought up the subject to allow him to openly ogle him? His companion did so, appreciation written on his features. Conyod had purposely worn his tightest clothes in hopes Sletran would like what he saw. It seemed his ruse had succeeded.
“Weights, weights, weights. I run too. I’ve also kept up on the defensive training you taught me.”
“Really? You know, I have a side gig training Imdiko youth in the discipline. You inspired me.”
“Did I?” Conyod cast for another subject to focus on. The last thing he wanted to do was remind Sletran of the kid he’d been. The clingy, undernourished kid who’d been no more than an object of pity for the soldier.
“I can’t get over how you’ve changed. So confident. So…grown up.”
Conyod relaxed. “Kids do that, you know.”
“Your parents didn’t arrange a clanship for you?”
A stab of dismay caught Conyod by surprise. For an instant, it detracted from the fact Sletran was fishing for his availability.
The Nobek must have noticed something in his expression. Sympathy crossed his features. “No change on the home front, I take it.”
Conyod managed a rueful chuckle. “Tuher and Sema aren’t so bad, but they never make it a secret I should be a full partner when it comes to running the ranch. They haven’t stopped angling for me to live and work at home, where they can keep an eye on me.”
Sletran nodded. “They’re still fighting your decision to go into psychology?”
“That’s mostly my mother and Vel. Work at the hospital’s psyche unit gives me a good reason to avoid going home often, and I take it.” He eyed his half-empty glass of bohut and thought about bolting the remainder down. “They didn’t take full advantage of the therapy they were given. The best training in psychology only goes so far if the patients have no intention of improving.”
Sletran’s hand rubbing his back brought a bolt of electricity racing along his spine. “I’m glad you recognized it and committed to recovery. You deserve the best in life after the pain you’ve gone through.”
“I’m trying.” Conyod caught himself leaning closer and was ready to make himself stop when Sletran’s arm circled him. His heart pounding, he settled against his companion. “I’m honestly doing well, even where my parents are concerned.”
He fought to maintain a casual tone, as if their contact was the most normal thing in the universe. For most men on a date, it would have been, as would a night spent intimately on a first encounter. Sex to Kalquorians was as natural to the process of getting acquainted as having drinks.
Sletran had kept him at a distance for years, however. Conyod felt the need to proceed carefully, no matter how obvious the signals for a normal interaction between interested men appeared to be.
They moved on to happier topics. Soon they were laughing as Conyod described his more comical patient interactions and Sletran shared the hilarious mistakes of the men he trained.
As they finished their dinner and drank the last of their drinks, Conyod wished the night would never end. However, now that he’d hopefully won Sletran’s attention, he was willing to continue to play the long game to win the prize. He wouldn’t insist on instant intimacy from the only man he’d ever dreamed of being in a relationship with. He refused to push Sletran away because of impatience when he’d just begun to capture real interest.
I may be head over heels, but I refuse to be stupid when I finally have a chance.
“Conyod?”
“Hmm?” Conyod set his glass down and wondered if suggesting a walk on the nearby beach in the moonlight would be seen as too pushy.
“Would it be obnoxious of me to ask if we could spend the night together?”
Conyod gaped. Was this actually happening? Was Sletran coming on to him?
Fuck the beach and the moonlight. “I’d love for you stay the night.”
* * * *
They were barely in the door of Conyod’s small apartment when Sletran pulled him into his arms and kissed him. It was a searching, deep kiss, the kiss Conyod had dreamed of for years.
He clung to the Nobek, his hands moving over the back of Sletran’s casual shirt, a shirt that would have hung loose on any other man but this incredibly built warrior. He felt the muscles flex beneath the fabric as Sletran also explored. Their mouths moved in concert, and their tongues twined.
Every stroke sent electricity buzzing through Conyod. He sensed the world turning, turning, turning…then realized Sletran was moving him across the floor, prodding him toward the greeting space’s small lounger.
Conyod pulled his tingling lips free. “Sleeping room?”
“Later. After staring at you all night, I can’t wait.”
Sletran tugged Conyod’s shirt off, tossed it aside, and paused to examine him. He grabbed the smaller man by the waist and pulled him close again. His palms ran over Conyod’s ass. “Ancestors, you’re beautiful. Are you sure you’re Imdiko Conyod, son of Clan Tuher?”
“I hope so. They keep insisting I come to their ranch for dinner so they can boss me around.”
