The Claiming

by Imogen Keeper

Because some day she’d find an opening.

  She forced herself to look rabid and desperate. “Please, master, can I touch your cock?”

  He leaned back in his chair, lifted his togata up.

  She leaned in, to take him into her mouth, but he patted his thighs. “You’re on top today. Face Quinton.”

  Great.

  She climbed aboard and stared at Quinton full on. It was the first time she’d done that since he’d opened up the crate and groped her breasts. He had a beard, a thick one, the kind that had to be washed and trimmed and oiled. Probably held a weak chin. And a scar ran through one of his eyebrows and down over a cheekbone, a pink scar that stuck out against his pale skin.

  His eyes danced over her face, along her tits, as she grinded up and down on Manivietto’s cock, imagining all the ways she might kill them.

  “We followed Freysa around town.” Quinton said, running his thumb over his lower lip. “She was hiding these.”

  He pulled a small black cube from his pocket, adjusting the bulge in his crotch as he went.

  “What are they?” asked Manivietto.

  “Bombs.”

  There was a long, sobering pause. Brielle decided to fake an orgasm just to make sure they really thought she was brainless.

  “Are they activated?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Manivietto reached around her and pinched her nipple. “Be quiet.”

  She stopped moaning, but kept up her bouncing.

  “What should I do?” asked Quinton.

  “Don’t activate them. Let Delsanthio—Sanger—” He broke off, as if relishing the name, drawing it out, savoring it like a sip of fine wine. “Let Sanger activate his own weapons. Dump them in the tunnels Vangeline told us about.”

  A slow smile spread across Quinton’s face, pulling at the scar, turning the smooth shiny skin there as white as bone.

  “And I want someone watching my sister’s tracker at all times. If she’s in the tunnels, that explains why we’re not getting any information on her.” His breath picked up, as if he was excited by the prospect, his hands pinching into her hips. “If Sanger claimed her publicly, she matters to him. She shows her head above the surface, we need to be ready.”

  The bone-white smile faded, and in its place, Quinton’s face settled into its resting normality, which is so much worse.

  Manivietto might be the brains of their intergalactic sex-slave operation, but Quinton was the muscle, the enforcer, the body.

  Manivietto was the gun, but Quinton was the finger on the trigger.

  37

  you’ve got a smile

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” Sanger asked, at the end of a long night, stopping in front of a Shane, who looked both frustrated and confused.

  Shane pulled a face, still sitting in the seat he’d been in when Sanger left. “She jumped in the river.”

  That was the last thing he’d expected. “Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, looking down the tunnel, trying to figure out where he should start looking. Downstream in theory. He didn’t even know if she could swim. And fucking Manivietto would have probably tracked her and gotten her instantly. Oh fuck, he couldn’t do it again, lose a woman. His heart felt like a stone in his chest.

  Then he froze, looking back to Shane. “Why aren’t you out looking for her?”

  “She came back.”

  “Where did she go?”

  Shane stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “She showed up dry, without shoes, covered in alley slime, wearing Frizmo’s shirt about two hours after you left.”

  “Why?”

  Shane tucked back his chin. “She’s your woman.”

  Sanger glanced at the door. Closed again. He could smell her, practically feel her presence, the atoms of her body taking up space on the other side of the door. “What did she say when she came back?”

  “She said, ‘What? Can’t you swim?”

  “So, you have no idea where she went or what she did?”

  Shane shook his head. “She wouldn’t have had time to do much, half-naked and barefoot like that, she wouldn’t have gotten far.”

  He was going to lock her up, chain her to the fucking wall if he had to. If she died…He couldn’t even finish the thought. He would not go through it again.

  She was sleeping when he entered his room. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  She’d showered. He pushed the sheet up and looked at her feet. They were clean. No cuts on them. No blisters or scrapes.

  She wasn’t hurt.

  She hadn’t been captured.

  He kept telling himself over and over again, but it didn’t seem to sink in. His whole body vibrated with comingled rage and terror. She’d promised to stay there. She could have been kidnapped, raped, murdered.

  He had to fuck her.

  He yanked his shirt over his head.

  Unbuckled his jeans.

  Untied his boots, set them down beside the bed.

  The shirt Tessa had stolen lay on the rock floor in the corner, tossed there probably as she stepped under the spray of the shower, already forgotten before she dropped it.

  She’d defied him, disobeyed him, lied to him, done whatever she wanted, headless of her safety or his concerns.

  He slid on the bed behind her. She made a noise in her throat when he pulled her against him, pushing his already swollen cock against her.

  The head of his cock nudged between her folds. She wasn’t wet yet, so he spat on his shaking hand, used that for lube, and pushed inside her velvet cunt.

  She hummed sleepily, turning her face toward his.

  “Where did you go, felana?”

  Her lips curled, and she shoved her ass back at him, taking him deep. “I went where I wanted.”

  The growl rose in his throat unbidden, as he clamped a hand over one of her small perfect tits. “Which was?”

  “My business.”

  His grip tightened. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  “Maybe.”

  He moved his hand up to her neck, holding her still for a serious of vicious, stabbing thrusts. She was so godsdamned tight, even after all these days of heat, that a blast of precum came out, his Prime biology working to slicken his passage, and flood her with his seed.

  She was wet now. It was dripping down her thighs, shining in the green lights.

  “Did you leave just to piss me off?”

  “Side perk, Prime. You fuck me best when you’re angry.” She threw out an arm behind her, tried to elbow him. He dodged it, rammed in extra hard.

  Vaniiya, she wasn’t even scared. She fucking should be. He dug his fingers in, holding her still, fucked her hard, shoving her face down into the bed, pushing and pulling at her limbs until her knees were under her, her ass pushed up high into the air. With a roar, he grabbed both her arms, held her by her elbows so he wouldn’t hurt her wrist, and plowed away.

  The force of his thrusts, lifted her torso off the bed, so she hung by her arms in his grip. That gorgeous back arched, the sinuous line of her spine dipping, the firm cheeks of her ass jiggling with ever thrust. Suspended in the air like that, she was like a doll in his arms, something he could control. Someone he would control, dominate, bend to his will.

  Noises came from her throat, hard grunts that bridged the gap between pleasure and pain. He was bottoming out. The head of his cock ramming into her, his balls slapping against her clit.

  He was going to fuck her until she knew he was her Prime, until she’d never dare defy him again, until she knew her place. “You will obey me,” he grunted.

  She laughed.

  He fucked her harder.

  She glanced over her shoulder, raised a brow and yawned pointedly. “Please, is that all you’ve got?”

  His laugh was so loud it echoed, ringing in his ears, surprising even him. He’d never laughed during sex before.

  The rage dissipated. She was fine. She was safe. And next time, he’d tie her down.

  Wanting to see that glo
rious face, he pulled out, turned her over. He touched her cheek, kissed her lips and slid inside her gently, until she made this perfect little moan that turned into a protracted groan. “You fucking left.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t want to argue. Just fuck me.”

  As rapidly as the rage had withdrawn, relief took its place. She was alive. Unharmed.

  He took his time, moving inside her slowly, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing her lips, touching all the places he knew drove her mad, until her body fluttered around him, dragging him with her.

  He sailed over the edge.

  She smiled up at him when he was done, her eyes uncharacteristically wet. “I asked for harder so you went soft?”

  He thumbed her full lower lip. “I’d hate to bore you.”

  “Why? What changed?”

  “I was just fucking you, like that, thinking you looked like a little fuckpuppet, all skinny arms and bouncing tits, and I was thinking you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Your round ass facing up at me. I was thinking if I just fucked you hard enough, maybe you’d start listening to me.”

  “Never.”

  He grinned. “Your ass was bouncing. You started talking shit, and suddenly, I just wanted to see your face.”

  She smiled, a big one. All dimples and that full upper-lip. “You see my ass and think of my face?” Her teeth were just a little on the big side, one tooth just slightly crooked in the front, her chin sharpening, her eyes crinkling in the corners. All these details, so precious to him they were like splinters, breaking through, tearing him apart.

  “They’re both beautiful.” She had tiny little freckles too, just along the tops of her cheeks. He’d never noticed before.

  He flopped down beside her on the bed and pulled up the covers. “You’ve got one hell of a smile, felana. Your face wins.”

  She cuddled into him, her head tucking right in above his shoulder.

  “In the morning, you’re telling me where you went.”

  She yawned, a real one this time. Her drifted shut. “Maybe. If you make me.”

  38

  a man to protect

  TWO DAYS LATER, as Sanger laced up his boots, Tessa studied his beautiful, beloved face. He hadn’t gotten it out of her. Not without trying, either. He’d pinned her down and smacked her ass until it burned. He’d threatened all manner of sordid things and done them all. It hadn’t mattered. She didn’t tell him she had that final bomb.

  She did beg and plead, cajole and argue. She tried everything she could come up with to convince him to barter her to Manivietto. All she needed was a knife, and she could steal one from the kitchens. Manivietto wouldn’t suspect her.

  She could kill him.

  Stop this war before it started.

  How many lives would that save?

  It didn’t matter.

  Sanger turned to a robot every single time it came up.

  We’re not going to risk your life, Tessa.

  No, Tessa. I can’t risk you.

  Out of the question.

  And finally, the one that made her shut the hell up and firmed up her plans.

  I can’t go through it again Tessa. Losing you would kill me.

  Some people got all strung up about morality. Not her. She’d cheat. Steal. Fight. Kill if it came to it. And she’d lie.

  If it would save his life, his men’s lives, she’d lie.

  So, for two days, Shane and Freysa had worked with her, pouring over satellite imagery, maps, photographs, until their path to the garden of Manivietto’s seraglio were firm. Until they knew them as well as she did. While she was busy, Sanger left to meet with his officers, confirm the spread of the guns across the country, communicate above ground with his brother, Tor, and generally be useful.

  She built herself a strong picture of him in those days. All business, all soldier, all commander on the outside, and worse in bed. She had hand prints on her ass, beard-burn on the insides of her thighs, neck and breasts, and a series of bites along her neck. Not to mention the lingering soreness of her insides.

  He was a good man.

  A man to aspire to.

  A man to dream of.

  A man to protect.

  Her man. Her Prime.

  Even if he didn’t trust her enough to let her take down Manivietto for him. Even if he didn’t care for her enough to trust her. Even if he’d never love her.

  It was why she was going to lie to him.

  She knew the question he was about to ask. It was written all over his face. So, she braced herself.

  He touched her bare ankle. “You’ll stay here?”

  She forced herself to smile lazily. “Yes, Sanger. I’ll stay here.”

  “You won’t leave.”

  “No.” More lies.

  He didn’t want to believe her. That too, was written all over his face, in the set of his shoulders. The shadow at the corner of his mouth. “I should tie you to the chair.”

  “Don’t you dare. If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

  His cheek twitched. Maybe he was thinking he could live with that. “Promise me.”

  She swallowed. “I promise.”

  “I need to know you’re safe.”

  That hurt. Made her stomach pitch and her heart thump and her throat go tight. “I love you, Sanger. I’ll be safe and sound. Far away from any threat. I promise.”

  His jaw clenched, and the muscles of his throat moved. “I...” He ran both of his hands through his hair. It would be a silly gesture, if he wasn’t so huge and mean looking, all dressed up in armor and knives and guns. He met her eyes, and the look in the dark depths made her whole body tighten. So, she crawled naked across the bed, rose up on her knees, took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. He still thought he’d get to keep her as his own, and not give her his whole self. It didn’t matter.

  “You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t matter. I love you enough for both of us. We’ll get through tonight, and then you’ll never be rid of me.”

  He pulled her close, his hands squeezing her ass, in a gesture that was strangely sweet, as if he found comfort in them.

  He pressed a final kiss to her lips. And then he was gone, leaving only his scent in the air and the echo of his touch on his body.

  Tessa gave him fifteen minutes, thinking maybe he’d call back, and then, bundling the shirt he’d rustled up for her, along with boots, and pants—with the explosive tucked into a pocket—into a pillow case, she held them high over her head and lowered herself into the river.

  She’d be back before Sanger ever even knew she’d left.

  HAIR STILL DRIPPING down her back, Tessa slipped from the warehouse behind the Night Market and started running.

  It felt good to run.

  It had been days.

  Three days underground in Sanger’s bed, then the haphazard day, roaming sick across the city to find her mother, and before that the heat.

  Her body settled into a rhythm. Sweat rising on her chest and neck, the muscles of her thighs stretching and warming, her arms moving. Running was second best to sex. The air in her face.

  She sucked it into her chest, tried to absorb it, become it.

  If she didn’t survive tonight, this day, right now, made it okay. Today was a perfect day.

  There was a breeze tonight, and above the biggest of the moons, Vaniiya was out, shining down in all her pale blue glory, a glittering ball of ice in the sky.

  Tessa let that ice settle into her heart, and ran faster, acutely aware of the tracker in her neck. She stopped on her way, retrieved the cube, and set off for the aerie.

  That’s where Manivietto would die. He’d have already been alerted that her tracker was live. He’d know.

  She was doing this for Sanger.

  And for Leyla.

  For Jonan too.

  Her mother a little bit.

  But mostly, Sanger.

  She could end his war with the press of a single butto
n.

  All she needed was for Manivietto to follow the tracker in her neck, above ground for the first time for longer than fifteen minutes.

  She pictured him in his study, all wrapped up in a fancy white togata like the smug aristo Prime he was, his face so like hers, his body, taller, more muscular, meaner.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw the tracker pinging in the corner of his computer. He’d be looking for her. Manivietto hated to lose a commodity, and what more was she to him than a felana to be traded?

  She pictured him rising, smiling, his nostrils flaring with the same face she recognized every time she looked in the mirror. Manivietto and she shared something more than the face they’d inherited from their father—both of them had the single-minded focus that had allowed her to blindly pursue the Boss for three years.

  She stopped at nothing.

  Neither did he.

  So this would end in his death.

  And maybe hers.

  She picked up her speed as the high rise of the aerie came into view.

  By the time she was halfway up, she was winded. She’d grown weak under Sanger’s care.

  She got to the top, panting into the night. The stars were bright tonight. The atmosphere clear. The lights of Didgermmion disappearing into a clear sky. The breeze must have come from the north today, from the desert on the other side of the mountain. No humidity. It felt good. It smelled good. This was what she was doing this for—this place, the open sky above, the sound of the bugs in the night, places like Sanger’s bathhouse. There was beauty here, along with the evil.

  That ended tonight.

  She prowled the aerie and settled on a spot for the explosive, right on the bed she’d slept in, just under her pillow.

  There was no chance this blast would miss him.

  She pulled a knife from the area she and Leyla had used as a kitchen, saw the now-old bottle of wine while she was there. It was probably rotten now, but she snagged it too, pulled the cork with her teeth, settled into the sofa to watch the hill where Manivietto’s house sat.

  A straight shot west of here.

  The round white dome at the top gleamed like a fourth moon. Manivietto would be there. It was mid-week. He never took meetings during the week.