Tag: Luc Saint-Cyr

But what does that raging success bring?

Excerpt

When Izzorah Ceeow landed on Tarth five years ago, he'd been nothing but a feline-humanoid alien from the backwoods of a distant world, but he'd made himself into a rock star.

The media called him "the Kin mega-star" and likened him to his famous cousin, Tovar. Fans shouted Izzy whenever he performed and wore his name on buttons that flashed to the beat of his drums on stage. Money filled every pocket. He'd given a fortune to help his people.

But standing in his luxurious hotel room now, none of that success mattered.

The jewel of the Tarthian Empire lay right outside his room. Tarth City, a fabulous place everyone raved about. It might as well have been across the universe. Unable to see anything past the reach of his arms, and terrified of heights, he stayed away from windows. The dizzying elevations humans craved in their buildings jolted sickening fear through him. At the mere thought of how high up he was his stomach threatened to betray him.

He couldn't read or write in any human language. He'd hoped to find a cure for his sight but that miracle had evaded him. Asking to be healed meant admitting he couldn't see, which meant admitting he was unqualified to be a Praetorian Guard.

Not that he planned to ever be one, but the recruiters on his homeworld had said he could join and then decide later. Why did recruiters always lie?

Humans called it being deported. Kin called it dak hhahvahcun--back to the planet.

Izzorah called it the end of all hope.

He'd hoped to regain his full sight, lost due to illness at age three. Human tech embedded in stud earrings guided him, but he missed things. He'd almost walked into traffic outside the stadium last night. Kory's quick reflexes had protected him. So far none of his band mates knew his secret, but they wouldn't always be there when he needed them. Even Kory, closer than a brother.

When the media reported that since Izzorah had no girlfriends, he must be married back on his homeworld, Kory suggested he flirt more. How could he flirt more when he'd never flirted at all?

Girls held no interest for him, but he'd never had a boyfriend either. On his homeworld, admitting he preferred guys warranted death.

Still, he played the game and tried to talk to girls, until the media linked him with any girl he spoke to. He'd stopped speaking to anyone. That made them talk even more. Hiding did no good. Every time he appeared, fans threw roses at him, embarrassingly detailed artwork of himself and one girl even sent her panties. Seriously, a girl's underwear? He refused to open anything after that.

The guys started checking deliveries for him and tossing out things. Until one Kin fan sent him a pair of drumsticks painted with pale green kanya leaves, emblem of the Ceeow clan. Those, he treasured. He used them every day during practice. During a concert, his sticks often broke because he played so hard, but those? Those he used like they were solid gold.

When not in concert, he hid. Was it any wonder the media dubbed him "the Lonely Kin?"

So he didn't have a girlfriend. So what? He laid back both ears and gave a khss, a short, sharp hiss from the back of the throat.

The Pride Council didn't care males outnumbered females seven to one, or that few females got pregnant. They were all up-in-your-ears about what should be and paid no mind to what was. Maybe same-sex love affairs were no big deal on Tarth, but if it got out to his Kin fans? They'd boo instead of cheer; throw stones instead of roses. He was no freer here than he was back home.

He told himself he had freedom here, but having to hide from everyone made him as much a prisoner as he would have been back home. The difference was that back on the planet he had no hope at all. Here, he had band mates that needed him.

Still, he walked a tight line that grew more fragile with every mistake he made.