They weren’t as close as some Twin Kindred, who would experience actual physical pain while touching a female if their twin was not also touching her, but having a solo relationship still just didn’t work for Gaze. And though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Bound had never been able to settle down with a female on his own either. Despite this, the Dark Twin had never been willing to go against their GrandSire’s beliefs and try sharing, so Gaze thought they were probably both doomed to be bachelors for life.
It was one thing they disagreed upon, but Gaze loved his brother nonetheless. He might be a stubborn sonofabitch, but he had the courage of a cornered vranna. Bound had fought bravely, despite the way both of them had been drugged.
They never should have stopped at that little cantina in the Yangstrom Space Port, Gaze thought ruefully. But they’d needed fuel for their ship and Bound had wanted a drink.
At that point in their journey, both of them had been “running dry” as Bound had dubbed it—meaning they were both aching for blood. But there were no willing donors in that part of the galaxy. So they had made the joint decision to wait until they got home to Tranq Prime. There were several paid donors, willing to donate blood for the right price, in their home grotto. Bound had declared that they could wait a few hours longer to get their “crimson drink” as he and Gaze called it. Soon enough, their thirst would be quenched.
Only it hadn’t been.
Gaze knew they shouldn’t have trusted the shifty-eyed bartender in the space port cantina. The shlockian ale had tasted funny—too strong and sweet—but he had drunk it anyway because the Blood Thirst made his real thirst so much worse.
The next thing he’d known, the world was spinning and rough hands were clamping destabilizer manacles around his wrists, which caused him to stagger and bump into everything when he tried to get out of his chair. Bound—who was the slightly larger of the two, (seven-foot-one to Gaze’s six-foot-ten)—had started roaring and had punched their captor right in the face.
The captor—a scaly S’hexamite slaver—had reeled backwards and for a moment Gaze had hoped they might get away. Then his hopes were dashed as the tall blue slaver pulled out a blaster and shot a hole right through Bound’s side.
Twin Kindred have self-sealing organs, so this was actually a minor injury. The problem was, the blaster left a hole in Bound’s back that his blood-starved body couldn’t heal in time to keep him from nearly bleeding out. By the time the wound was sealed, the Dark Twin’s tan skin was almost as pale as paper and Gaze was horribly afraid he might die.
They had been flown from the space port to Yonnie Six—possibly one of the worst places a male could end up in the universe—along with a lot of other hapless males the S’hexamite slavers had captured. The other males—who were still healthy and whole—had been taken to the regular slave market. But none of the buyers there would take Gaze or Bound.
“Lookit the dark one—he’s nearly dead,” the last slave buyer had protested when the S’hexamite who had shot Bound tried to sell him. “And the light one’s not far behind! White as salt, the two of ‘em. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they had some kind of plague.”
“No plague—these are fine, healthy Kindred stock,” the S’hexamite slaver protested. “They make the finest bodyslaves because they will not hurt a female. They are highly valued by the Mistresses of Yonnie Six.”
“They might be highly valued when they’re alive, but these are nearly dead,” the slave buyer for the premium market declared. “No—you keep ‘em yourself or else sell ‘em at the Down Market slave district—though I doubt you can get anybody to buy them even there. What good is a dead slave?”
And so that was where they found themselves, Gaze thought bitterly. The two of them dying of Blood Thirst, here in the dregs of the Yonnite slave system. And neither of them had really lived—not like Twin Kindred were meant to live—as extensions of each others’ lives. Their GrandSire had drilled into their heads how wicked it would be to live as Twin Kindred were meant to, and now they would die, never having shared a female.
But even here, at the seeming end of the line, Gaze couldn’t totally give up hope. He was the Light Twin of the two—the more optimistic one—while Bound, as the Dark Twin, was more grounded and practical. Not to mention more dour—it was actually probably a good thing that he was mostly unconscious, Gaze thought. He wouldn’t have anything good to say about the mess they found themselves in.
Indeed, Gaze was having a hard time finding anything good to say himself—his throat felt dry and scratchy with the Blood Thirst and his brother lay close to death on the ground beside him. But still, he couldn’t give up hope.