Beyond Varallan by S. L. Viehl

feel no obligation? Because he was human, not Jorenian? No. He was twisting my emotions to suit his perceptions. Obviously this was the wrong approach. Maybe reason would work better than screeching.
    “Look, Reever, we’re adults. We can make this work—”
    “Based on what?” Reever folded his arms. “You have no feelings for me.”
    I could have lied, but I didn’t. “I—care about you.”
    “You don’t know me.” He walked to the door panel, then paused. “Notify me when you are interested in more than my physical convenience.”
    It was a great exit line. Out he went.
    I was unexpectedly, absolutely enraged. An empty server flew at the door panel, but it had already closed. I picked up another server and tossed it anyway. The crashing sounds they made were music to my ears.
    I wanted to tear something apart. I wanted to hammer something into dust. I wanted to—
    Sit down and figure out why the hell I had completely lost it.
    I reached for my scanner, sat on the edge of my sleeping platform, and ran an initial series on myself. My heart, pulse, and respiratory levels registered well over normal range. I was angry; it could be due to the sympathoadrenal response.
    Or maybe I had been drugged.
    The prudent thing to do would be to go down to Medical and run a blood series on myself. Only the Omorr would immediately stick his nose in what I was doing and want to know why. No, forget that. I’d run the series when he went off shift.
    Why would anyone want to drug me, anyway? The Jorenians had adopted me, welcomed me, practically smothered me in friendship.
    I fell back on the mattress and thought about Reever. This had to be another of his telepathic manipulations. Only he didn’t want me without the words. Why hadn't he just made me say them?
    Eventually I calmed down. Memorized the swirly patterns on the upper deck. Closed my eyes.
I floated in a sea of warm, black fluid. An intricate web held my body suspended. I liked it here. It was warm and safe. Much better than how Reever had left me.
Unexpected light pierced that eternal night. I closed my eyes against it. Pain shimmered through my curled limbs as one of the strands pulsated, and something entered my body. I felt myself changing, emerging from the safety of the darkness. My mind formed its very first conscious thought.
This is wrong.
As if in response to my thoughts, more strands flexed, and agonizing jolts bombarded my small bones.
Small. I was so small. Helpless. The pain I felt, it was shaping me. I would fight it. Defeat it.
Another chamber. Here the dim glow to the air was soft gold. I was myself again, and breathed in relief. What a nightmare.
What was that?
I wasn’t alone. I couldn't see the presence in the dream with me, but I knew it was there. The nightmare hadn't ended, but had somehow… shifted.
“Here. I am here.”
The low voice whispered, offering comfort to me. I inched toward the sound. Was it Reever, come to taunt me here as well as on the other side? Let him try to link with me. I’d knock a hole through that enigmatic brain of his.
“I can help you.”
The sound of that voice was determined. Dangerous.
The words swirled around me as it chanted my name, over and over. I should have been lulled into acquiescence. The first nightmare was too fresh, though, so I remained on guard.
Hands reached out, touched me —
    I jerked out of sleep with a shriek. Sweat made dark patches all over my undershirt. Dread curled in my stomach. Throwing up had enormous appeal at that moment. I rubbed my eyes and breathed deeply. Reever had to stop doing this to me.
    No. It wasn’t Reever. I remembered now.
    The hands in my dream had been six-fingered.
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CHAPTER THREE
HouseClan Call
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    I threw myself into my work after the confrontation with Reever. Even ran a series of blood tests the following morning, but nothing unusual showed up. Which proved nothing except that I hadn’t been drugged with any identifiable chemical