Hidden Rage: Kindred Tales

“Dragon won’t give me up,” she said confidently. “He’s Kindred—once they Claim a female, they don’t let go of her for any reason.”

“I hope you’re right,” Keelah murmured. “Well, that’s the last of the bulbs,” she added, wiping her six-fingered hands on the long, pale blue apron she wore. “Now we just have to get this pot to the floor cooker—it’s much too big to lift onto the counter stove.”

Bobbi took one handle and Keelah took the other. Between them, they managed to walk the enormous pot, now filled with chopped bullah bulbs, to a far corner of the kitchen. Here Bobbi saw a dull metal plate, about half a meter by half a meter square. She and Keelah got the pot situated on it and then Keelah slapped a switch on the wall and the metal plate began to heat. It turned cherry red in no time and Keelah quickly got a paddle as big as an oar off its hook on the wall and began stirring the chopped bulbs with a slow, steady motion.

“We want them brown but not burned,” she told Bobbi, who was watching with interest. “Get some of the uulah oil from up there on that shelf and pour a bit in to help lubricate the chunks.”

Bobbi went where she was told and found an industrial sized jar of pale purple oil with a spout for pouring. She glugged in a good amount—until Keelah told her to stop—then watched as the other girl threw in a few large scoops of a dark gray powdery substance she called voola, (which tasted like salt to Bobbi,) and several large ladles of a sticky, pale blue, honey-like syrup.

The Saurian girl did all this without measuring anything and Bobbi hoped uneasily that it would come out all right. But Keelah seemed to know what she was doing and by the time the chopped bulbs had cooked down to a soft consistency, she realized what they were making reminded her of.

“Oh, this is like a recipe from my home planet called French onion soup!” she told Keelah. “First you have to chop an ungodly amount of onions, then you cook them down and caramelize them and then you add stock or broth.”

“We are about to add roasted bones and the meat broth in just a moment,” Keelah assured her. “I think you’ll like the result—it might not be exactly like your ‘French onion soup’ but it really is delicious.” She looked at the pot with longing in her yellow eyes. “I hope I get to have some.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Bobbi frowned. “After all this hard work? You certainly deserve some.”

“Oh, this is all feast food,” Keelah assured her. “It’s not for the likes of Pleasure Girls—even if they have been Claimed. Of course, there might be leftovers. Or…” She brightened. “Rep. Zerlix might even choose me to sit beside him at the head table! If he does, I’ll get to have some for sure.” She sighed longingly. “It would be a nice change from the usual nutritional paste and stale bone meal bread we get in Rep. Zerlix’s harem.”

“Harem?” Bobbi frowned. “How many girls do you live with, anyway? I mean, how many has Zerlix, uh, Claimed?”

“Oh, there are at least twenty of us at the moment, though the numbers differ according to Rep. Zerlix’s taste and how often he gets bored,” Keelah told her. “When I first came, there were almost thirty—but that really was too many,” she added in a hushed voice, glancing around to make certain no one was listening to them. She leaned closer to Bobbi and murmured, “I do not think Rep. Zerlix’s allowance is enough to feed and clothe and house so many. Why, we were three to a palate and there wasn’t enough paste and bread to go around—we were nearly starving.”

“What happened?” Bobbi asked.

“Oh, well Komendant Vizlar told Rep. Zerlix that he had to let some of the girls go,” Keelah explained. “He said there were too many and at least ten must be sent as peace offerings to rival Clans.” She shivered. “Thankfully, I was still new at the time and so Rep. Zerlix hadn’t tired of me yet. I’m not certain what would happen to me if his father ordered him to get rid of some of his Pleasure Girls now.”

“Hopefully that won’t happen,” Bobbi said. But she could see that eventually it was bound to happen. Zerlix was a bastard and a narcissist—he wouldn’t be content to keep the same women for a long period of time. He would want new ones—new toys to vent his frustrations on and feed his fantasies. Because to a male like him, women were just playthings to be used until they broke and then discarded.

“Well, it’s almost time to add the bones and broth.” Keelah frowned as she looked into the enormous pot, where the bullah bulbs were slowly caramelizing. They had cooked down to less than half of their original volume and were turning a pale bluish-purplish-brown color. They smelled really good, Bobbi thought. Not exactly like French onion soup, but not far from it, either.