Shadowed(2)

“Ah, yes…that.” Saber coughed, feeling stupid. How could he have been so insensitive as to talk about love and bonding with a female to one with his friend’s condition?

“Yeah, that.” Reddix’s deep, rasping voice was heavy with sarcasm. “That little thing that makes having a female impossible. That minor detail which has kept me hiding in the shadows half my life.”

“You don’t have to hide with me—you can take off the hood,” Saber said quietly, indicating his friend’s shadowed face. “I’ve seen you before, you know.”

“I’m keeping it on.” Reddix’s eyes flashed silver from the depths of the hood. “You want to know the truth, I almost never take it off now, not even at home.”

Saber frowned. “But surely at home, where everyone is used to seeing you…”

“It’s getting worse.” Reddix got up abruptly and began pacing, his big body moving smoothly with animalistic grace.

“You mean your RTS?” Saber shook his head. “I didn’t know it could get worse.”

“Well, apparently, it can,” Reddix snapped. “A hell of a lot worse.”

RTS was short for Reverse Touch Syndrome, a rare disease that affected only Touch Kindred males and only one in a thousand at that. The sufferers were almost all from the Star Clan, which Reddix’s father had been. But there had never been any RTS in his family before Reddix had been diagnosed with it not long after they had come to manhood together.

Since they had grown up in the same town, Saber could remember his friend before he had been afflicted with the dreaded disease. Reddix had been so happy when he was younger—outgoing and funny with a dry sense of humor. He had been teased some for his beautiful features—Star Clan members were notoriously lovely, and Reddix was no exception. Still, he took the teasing good-naturedly and fit in well with the group of young males they ran with, even though he looked different from the rest of them.

And then just at the age when they were becoming adults, Reddix had been dealt a crushing blow—his Touch sense had failed to develop. Or rather, it began to develop wrongly.

He’d kept it a secret for a long time—longer than Saber would have thought possible. Back when he and his friends were just starting to experiment, using their new Touch senses to play tricks like pulling a favorite female’s hair or blowing in her ear with newly developed whisper-lips, Reddix had begun to withdraw. He started wearing baggier clothes and jackets with high collars or hoods—anything to hide his muscular body and handsome face. Anything to avoid the curious stares of other people.

Finally, his parents had caught on and taken their only son for testing. Though the doctors had told them what they had feared all along, the shock was still so great it nearly tore their family apart. Reddix’s parents had distanced themselves from him, had allowed him to hide himself away out of shame. His friends had fallen away too. Only Saber and Reddix’s little sister, Minda, had stuck by him.

Watching his friend pace, Saber felt a great surge of pity for his friend. RTS was a diagnosis every male of the Touch Kindred feared above all else, because it was crippling on so many levels. It meant that Reddix would never be considered a man—not really. Because of his inability to Touch a female with his mind, he would never be able to bond with a female or truly satisfy her by giving her the Deep Touch, which was what the Touch Kindred considered necessary for a fulfilling sexual relationship. In addition, the poor bastard had to feel the emotions of every other person who looked at him or touched him as a physical sensation upon his skin. It was no wonder he preferred to keep his hood on.

Still, back home he had only worn the hood to special occasions—gatherings of the Clans where he knew a lot of strangers who hadn’t seen him before would be assembled. If it had become necessary for him to wear it around everyone, even old friends like Saber, he must really be in a bad way…

“Stop it!” Reddix barked, rounding on him suddenly. “Stop it, Goddess damn you!”

Saber jumped, startled. “Stop what?”

“Stop pitying me! And don’t try to deny it.” Reddix stabbed a finger at him accusingly. “I can feel your pity like acid burning down my spine. And let me tell you, Brother, it isn’t pity you ought to be feeling—it’s guilt.”

“Guilt?” Saber raised an eyebrow at him. “Guilt for what exactly?”

“For screwing me over this way—for abdicating your responsibility. For forcing me to take your place as a public figurehead when you know perfectly well it’s my personal idea of the Seventh Hell.”