Seized & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

  The guards tromped out, leaving her alone. The scent of the food drifted to her. Hot food. She pulled the bowl out of the container and smelled it. Vegetables in a sauce. Flat bread. Could be drugged.

  Her stomach let out a plaintive rumble and she spooned up a bite. The flavorsome sauce danced across her tongue. A gurgle sounded as she swallowed. A moan. Goddess, that was good. Too bad if it was doctored.

  Jannike ate the entire bowl and went back for seconds. This time she forced herself to eat more slowly.

  A robe hung on a hook near the sanitizer unit. Jannike stood and stripped off the remnants of her tunic. Her boots and the grubby linings hit the ground with a dull thud. The rest of her clothing joined the pile and she stepped into the cleansing tube. Too bad if the guards were watching. She didn’t care at this stage.

  She completed her cleansing with brisk moves then turned the controls to dry. The cleansing suds disappeared from her skin and secs later, she exited the tube. She reached for the robe and belted it at her waist.

  She made quick work of cleansing her clothes and boots and dried them in the tube too. She pulled on her underwear and tattered trews, feeling better now that she was clean and her belly was full.

  Now all she needed to do was wait to learn her fate.

  * * * * *

  Ursola paced around her office then prowled through her home. The servants froze whenever they spotted her and turned to face the walls, until she’d passed. Well-trained, she thought. The investigator was crazy to suspect someone from within her home intended to hurt her.

  Her slaves knew better.

  Her communicator buzzed, and she plucked it from her pocket. “Do you have her?”

  “We do,” Alain said. “She is at the facility in the high-security wing. What do you wish me to do next?”

  “Keep an eye on her, and make sure your men don’t relax their guard.” Every particle of Ursola wanted to rush to confront the conniving bitch. No, she decided. It would be best to keep the slave off-balance.

  Let her fear grow.

  Play on her doubts.

  “What about the two males who were with her?” Ursola asked.

  “The pilot said she was alone.”

  “I see. Check with our men on the ground. I want them recaptured.”

  “It will be done. When will you come by to inspect the specimens?”

  “The cycle after the morrow,” she said decisively. “I have formalities to take care of before I visit the facility. The auction will take place seven cycles from now.”

  “Very good,” Alain said. “I’ll make sure everything is organized.”

  “Excellent.” Ursola ended the call and started down the stairs.

  “Mistress.” Cayle stood in the entranceway.

  Ursola smiled before she could stop it—a smile she normally reserved for the bedroom, for moments of privacy.

  “A-hem.”

  “The investigator wishes a moment in your presence.” Cayle’s gaze flicked back to the investigator standing behind him. “Mistress, my presence is required in the kitchens. I must help make a list and escort the cook to the market.”

  “Of course.” She waved him away, biting back her irritation at the investigator’s presence. “Continue your duties.”

  Cayle nodded and strode away before disappearing through a door to the right of the staircase.

  “A trusted employee?” The investigator’s arch tone riled her and had a snappish reply tickling the tip of her tongue. She bit the inside of her cheek, struggled for control.

  “A slave,” she bit out. “Nothing less, nothing more. You have news for me?”

  “I’ve interviewed all of your house staff.”

  “And?”

  “I believe your head slave—the one who was just here—is behind your troubles.”

  “You have proof?” Something inside Ursola broke and anger pulsed through her veins, filling the fragmented bits. “Tell me.”

  The investigator retreated, and Ursola took a petty comfort in the telltale behavior. Her reputation preceded her, and he’d do well to remember she wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate should he upset her.

  “I don’t have proof.”

  “Then why would you say that?” she snapped.

  “It’s a gut-feeling. Your other slaves are too frightened to do anything other than what they’re hired for.”

  “And him?”

  “He’s arrogant. He’s not like the others.”

  Ursola frowned. No, he wasn’t like the others, which was why she’d started paying attention to him. “He has been in my service for several rotations.”

  “As I told you. A gut reaction.”

  “You will investigate further before you make another report,” Ursola ordered. “I don’t want gut feelings. I want proof. I want you to present the culprit to me so I can deal with them.”

  * * * * *

  Cayle carried the shopping basket for Hark, the cook, and listened to her prattle with half an ear. The slender woman with the ethereal face, who’d been a slave for many rotations, scarcely uttered a word while inside the mansion. The instant she left, her mouth didn’t cease flapping. It was the same with the other slaves. Once they left the cloistered environs of Ursola’s mansion, their terror faded and they spoke in full sentences.

  Their owner was a monster.

  “Where to first?” he asked, shoving Ursola from his mind. Now was not the cycle to allow his hatred to overwhelm good sense, not with the investigator sniffing around. Cool and calm was his motto. Keep victory in sight. The abolition of slavery.

  “Meat first then vegetables. We’ll visit the baker last.” Hark hesitated. “I need to do a large order, but maybe we could enjoy a break with the baker’s wife?”

  Cayle smiled to ease the anxiousness that had crept into Hark, the tension in her thin shoulders. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  “The mistress expects her meals on time.” Thrust back into reality, Hark wrung her wrinkled but capable hands, some of her earlier excitement fading to leave pale cheeks and nerves.

  “And we’ll make sure she gets it,” Cayle soothed, his nostrils flaring. “She will have no cause for irritation.”

  “Who is that man at the house? He asked me many questions. Why? He implied I left the mansion without permission. None of us leave the mansion without the mistress’s permission.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cayle said. “I understand the investigator spoke with the off-site employees too. Nothing to get upset about.”

  They walked in silence now, Cayle focusing on their surroundings. The skytrain whooshed overhead, whisking commuters from one side of the dome to the other. A man—another slave dressed in black-and-gold robes bearing the Starsa crest caught Cayle’s eye and gave an imperceptible nod. Good, the next stage of the plan was underway.

  Cayle guided Hark past other slaves scurrying to and fro to complete their chores, upper-class men and women and visitors to Manx Two shopping and enjoying cups of spice dram, a non-alcoholic beverage made from the juice of the dramite cacti.

  He noted strangers, and had no trouble discerning which were present to attend Ursola’s auction. Their confidence, their arrogance and the way their gazes lingered on slaves on the walkways gave them away. He gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to the slender cook, smart in Ursola’s black-and-red uniform for senior slaves. With a gentle hand in the small of her back, he guided her into the butcher’s shop.

  “You go ahead and choose your meat. Take your time. I’ll pass the day with the head butcher.”

  Hark acquiesced with a bob of her head and hurried away.

  Cayle made his way over to a big, strapping man with bulky biceps who looked as if he’d break Hark like a twig—if he cared to undertake the task. “How are you today, sir?” He bowed his head in respect.

  “I fare well. Business is good,” the butcher replied. “How is your mistress?”

  “She is well, thank you. I am glad business is boomin
g. I feared the storms would confine customers to their dwellings.”

  The butcher cast a surreptitious glance around their vicinity then winked. The tightness in Cayle’s shoulders eased. Ah, a successful escape. That was good news, but he wished he could do more.

  “We have many visitors, despite the end of the tourist season.” A veiled warning of the investigator. “But still—we must tighten our belts until the beginning of the next season.”

  A swift frown crossed the butcher’s face, his dark eyebrows squeezing together, but he gave a curt nod, understanding Cayle’s message.

  The door to the shop opened and a couple entered. Strangers. A handsome pair with an air of confidence about them. They’d likely come to attend the auction, but today were after one of the butcher’s meat pies. Saliva pooled in Cayle’s mouth, the urge to spit at them so strong he almost trembled. Goddess, he was losing himself to his need for revenge.

  Strangers, they might be, but he shouldn’t make assumptions.

  The male was big and strong and his loose gait indicated an easy strength. He wasn’t stupid, though, his green gaze slicing and dissecting his surroundings. His hand pressed protectively, possessively against the woman’s shoulder. It was easy to see he cared for her and that she returned the emotion. His gaze settled on Cayle’s slave arm bracelet.

  “Sir.” The woman’s accent was strange. “We’re searching for our friend.”

  “All the visitors stay at one of the two tourist complexes when they visit Manx Two,” the butcher said.

  The woman shot a look at the male and they seemed to communicate without words. “She is here against her will,” she admitted in a low voice.

  Cayle frowned. This was dangerous—talking to strangers. Ursola had spies everywhere.

  “The slave auctions are scheduled to take place in seven cycles,” Cayle said.

  “We will not be purchasing our friend.” Something in the man’s voice—the hard note of determination—spoke to Cayle. This man knew of loyalty, and Cayle had no doubt they’d fight for their friend.

  Cayle scanned the interior of the butcher’s shop, saw they were attracting attention. Worth the risk. He could make plausible excuses. He bent closer and pretended to give directions, gesturing to the left. “The widow keeps her specimens in a facility outside the dome, not far from the private spaceport. All the beings destined for auction are housed there.”

  “Thank you,” the woman murmured. “No one else would speak with us.”

  Cayle stepped back and raised his voice. “Don’t forget, make sure you take the left turning, get on the glide there and that will take you to the auction house.”

  “You remind me of someone,” the man said. “Have you always lived on Manx Two? Have we met before?”

  “I was born here in the birth labs. I have never traveled from Manx Two.”

  The man shrugged. “Thanks for the directions. My mate would have been disappointed to learn we’d missed the auction.”

  Cayle took another step back, as if to distance himself.

  “I hope they have more people to back them up.” The butcher gazed after them with narrowed eyes.

  “Indeed.” Cayle noted Hark had completed her shopping. “Can you deliver cook’s order to the mansion please? We have more errands to complete.”

  “It shall be done,” the butcher promised.

  Cayle escorted the cook from the store. He caught a glimpse of the male and female speaking with a pair of big men with similar coloring. A blue-haired woman and a man of a different race joined them. The blue-haired woman froze when she saw him, elbowed the male standing beside her. He glanced at Cayle, frowned and spoke to the first couple. They all turned to stare, and he felt the weight of their gazes until he and Hark turned into Vegetable Alley.

  Cayle froze inside, disliking their interest. Too late now. He’d gone with his gut, given them the information they sought. He’d known one cycle his luck would turn. Maybe this was that cycle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Excitement filled Ursola, and she found it impossible to wait a full cycle to view her recaptured female, to gloat in person. With the auction under control, her temper a fraction sweeter, she dressed for her meeting with the slave who’d made her the butt of jokes for rotations before she gained enough power to quell those who considered her misfortune funny.

  She dressed in her finest set of embroidered robes, wanting to display her wealth and success. She’d had the female fed and allowed her facilities in which to bathe with an eye to making profit. Perhaps death would suit better. Something to ponder.

  “Mistress.” The firm knock on her chamber door ended her primping.

  “Come.”

  “The investigator wishes to speak with you,” Cayle said from the doorway.

  “I don’t have time. Tell him to return later. I will see him prior to meal break.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Ursola studied his beautiful face. “Shut the door. Come to me.”

  Cayle followed her orders without hesitation.

  “I have need of you.” She lifted her skirts to display her legs. “Make me come. I have an important meeting and require relief.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Cayle took her skirts in his big hands, taking the weight and raising the fabric higher to reveal her pussy. While she watched, he took a deep breath, as if he was savoring her scent. The idea pleased her, and some of her tension receded. He crawled beneath her skirts and parted her legs with a gentle hand, allowing the fabric to fall over his head.

  If anyone entered the room they wouldn’t note his presence. A finger trailed down her slit, rubbed gently. Ursola sucked in a quick breath at the dart of exquisite pleasure.

  Warm lips replaced his finger, the flicker of a tongue. She shivered, knowing she wouldn’t last long. His lips slid up and down and his hands guided her stance wider. The tip of his tongue traced the rim of her clitoris then his lips closed over the tiny organ and sucked.

  Her orgasm was quick, her gasp greedy as enjoyment washed over her with the suddenness of a desert sandstorm. He licked her, easing off because experience had taught him of her extra sensitivity after climax.

  Perfect.

  Just perfect.

  Her lips curled in an easy smile of relaxation and peace. A perfect mindset for this meeting with her ex-slave. She’d squash her like the annoying bug she was.

  She was still smiling when Alain let her into the cage housing the rebel. As per her orders they’d chained the slave to a central post, and she posed no danger.

  Ursola frowned, taking in the woman’s obvious strength, her militant air and the jut of a determined chin. She looked familiar…ah, of course. It was the remnants of a youngster left in a female now fully grown.

  “I suspect I’m the last person you wish to see.”

  The woman stared at her through gray eyes. Funny, they were almost the same color as Cayle’s eyes. The thought brought a flash of remembered pleasure. There was no comparison between the two slaves. Cayle was reliable and she’d rewarded his loyalty, yet he never took advantage. This one…she’d spit in her face if Ursola stepped too close.

  “Too frightened to speak,” Ursola mused.

  “I’m not scared of you. You’re a bully not willing to face me unless I’m chained. Yeah…” She paused as if considering the matter. “That says coward.”

  No one spoke to her like that. A snigger reminded her of Alain’s presence. Ursola drew in a hasty breath, wrinkled her nose at the prison stench—the pungent scent of medic-cleanser and unwashed bodies—and let the lifeforce ease out in a soft whoosh.

  The slave was seeking to manipulate, to drive her to anger with insults. That wouldn’t happen. She had control and would retain that position.

  “I see the years haven’t given you a better attitude.” Ursola saw pride, the determination, despite the chains. She’d considered killing her. Slowly. Painfully. But no, her other idea to sell her to a master who reveled in difficult slaves,
one who would break her spirit.

  That would work. Once she lost her attitude, the master she had in mind would on-sell her to another who didn’t wish to spend time training.

  Or, she could sell her in the public part of the auction. Ah yes, she mused, smiling at the prospect of an alien owner with different expectations. Options. Once she put her mind to the problem she had many ways to exact revenge.

  But first—first she’d give the slave a hint of what might lay in her future. That would strip the arrogance from her smug face.

  “Alain,” she called.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “This slave has an attitude. I want it fucked out of her. I give you leave to use her on the condition you do not injure her. I intend to sell her at the auction and don’t want her body to bear distressing marks. Do you understand?”

  The gleam in his black button eyes, the hint of cruelty he unleashed, said he understood and anticipated carrying out her orders in a creative manner.

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I will inspect the rest of my stock now in order to organize the buyers’ catalogue.” Ursola strode to the cell door, her robes swishing around her bare legs. A pity Cayle wasn’t here, she thought, but this sense of satisfaction would last until she returned to her mansion.

  Life had its moments of piquancy.

  “This way, madam.” Alain gestured to the right.

  “Bitch,” Jannike spat. “I should have killed you while you slept.”

  Ursola wheeled to face the slave. “You didn’t have the stomach for it. That’s the difference between us. I learn from mistakes. You didn’t because I’ve snared you in my trap again. Powerless. Think about that, slave.”

  With that parting shot, Ursola gestured for Alain to show her the way. She pulled out her communicator and enabled the note function. “Link to Tratoy RE possible purchase.”

  Satisfied, she continued with her day. Killing the slave wouldn’t make the upstart suffer nearly enough. This plan was much, much better.

  Jannike’s heart beat in double-time. Goddess, the widow bitch had given her men permission to rape her. A scream clawed at her throat, but she contained her cry, the lurch of fear attempting to ram from her chest.