Vendel Rising Omnibus

by L A Warren

  "Why?"

  "Must you always challenge me?"

  "I have a curious mind. Why do my questions challenge you?"

  He gave her a look.

  She shrugged. "You say you want me to learn, to 'assimilate', but then you don't like me asking questions. You make no sense at all."

  He huffed a laugh. "I suppose I'm not used to s'vlor being so inquisitive. I will endeavor to be more accommodating to your questions, if you—"

  She held up a hand. "I know, I know…if I obey, but it's just not that easy."

  "Nevertheless, your life will be more difficult if you don't." He pointed to the gel-pad. "As for these, they are to log you in and out."

  "Is there more to it than that?"

  He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

  "In some of our prisons, a device like this would act like a lock. The door wouldn't open if the right person didn't activate it." She took in a deep breath, hoping her questions didn't raise suspicion. The answer would be vital to any escape.

  "No one has the authority to log you out except for your High Tender."

  "But you're taking me out, not High Tender Marcus."

  He hesitated. "I'm the one exception to the rule."

  Paying a keen eye to how the device worked, she pressed her palm to the gel. Knowing more about the technology behind the devices than when she'd arrived, she had a better idea of what to look for. Sure enough, it was connected to the am-net.

  With a hand pressed to the small of her back, he guided her up the steps.

  She tripped on the billowy fabric of her dress and he caught her in his strong grip.

  "Careful, opés."

  The nearness of him intoxicated her senses, sending another jolt of lust surging through her body. She curled her lower lip and pressed her teeth into it. The sharp pain focused her enough to think straight. Gathering the fabric of her dress, she stepped up.

  He cupped her elbow and assisted her up the long flight of stairs to the top of the observation platform. When they reached their goal, she spared a glance down into the vast space below. It made no sense, but over the past weeks, she'd grown used to her new home and had started to feel comfortable in the elegant prison the Vendel constructed. She couldn't say the same about wandering outside these walls and lurched to a stop, afraid of what waited beyond the door.

  "Opés?" The concern edging his voice centered her. "Is everything okay?"

  She hated drawing any strength from him. "Just nervous." Admitting her fear at leaving the Confinement Deck surprised her, perhaps as much as it surprised him, considering the look on his face.

  He took her hand in his, that electric tingle spread outward, and worked its way up her arm to settle at the base of her skull. Warmth followed, fanning outward to the rest of her body. He had to feel the racing of her heart. The drumbeat wouldn’t stop. It sounded so loud in her ears it deafened her. Could he hear it as well? Being around him…feeling his touch…having his presence all around her made it hard to breathe.

  He gripped her upper arm. "There is nothing to fear."

  She took a steadying breath and placed a hand on his arm, felt the strength of the muscle beneath the black fabric, and shivered. "You have no idea what I feel."

  He swept a strand of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You have it all wrong. I care very much about how you feel." He pressed his palm to the flat of her back. "I understand how hard this is for you." He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "Take a breath. Try to relax." His lips brushed her skin, causing yet another shiver to travel through her body.

  She cleared her throat, taking the moment to steady her nerves. He was a liar, everything he did hurt her in some way.

  He pulled back and there was a shift in his demeanor. "Lord vlor'Vardhal tells me you're excelling in your studies." Gregor switched from English to Vendel. "He says your progress with our language is coming along well."

  The attempt to distract her was appreciated, but he would never be able to ease her mind.

  She slipped into his native tongue. "High Tender Marcus's extra instruction, especially with your language, has been most helpful."

  "Well, I hope you appreciate your surprise. Normally, you wouldn't be allowed off the Confinement Deck until the Blood Rite, but I didn't want you to miss this."

  She didn't like the sound of 'Blood Rite,' but the fact he was bending the rules seemed important.

  "What?"

  "Consider this a gift. I felt you needed a gesture of goodwill from me to you."

  A round door opened before them and they entered the long tunnel that had delivered her into the processing room. He brought her forward to the pair of heavy-set Fort Knox-inspired doors she remembered all too well. He placed his palm on a gel-pad.

  When she lifted her palm, he gave a shake of his head. "No need for that. This one can only be activated by a man. It notifies the Tender on the other side to open the final door."

  On cue, the large doors eased apart and Gregor ushered her through. Again, his hand guided her with steady pressure. He led her to the counter.

  This time there was only one man sitting behind the waist-high countertop. He glanced up with a look of surprise. "Sire? I was not notif—"

  "Tender lor'Sanderford. Process my s'vlor out."

  The Tender gave Gregor one look before he placed a palm pad on the counter. Elise dutifully placed her palm into the warm gel and decided any break for freedom would not be coming through this path.

  Gregor guided her out the clear double doors and headed down a broad passageway.

  She stopped and asked, "How big is this ship?"

  He sucked on his lower lip. All she could think about was licking that lip. Shaking her head, she tried to clear her mind. She hated herself for wanting to kiss him.

  He, too, stared at her lips. "Well…"

  Her cheeks burned and that was nothing compared to the heat she felt elsewhere.

  "The Gambit's design is based on a torus—like a big doughnut. It's nearly ten kilometers in diameter."

  She rolled her eyes. "I know what a torus is." Blast it, but if a single smirk could throw her into such a state, she was lost.

  "Come, my quarters are still a long way from here."

  "Your quarters?" Hell, no. "I'm not going to your quarters."

  She refused to take another step and crossed her arms over her chest. Stupid move, but all she could think about were his words about the implied intimacy between a vlor’lord and his s'vlor. She wasn't yet ready to consummate that intimate bond. Not that she thought she would have a choice in the matter, but no way was she calmly walking to his quarters to let it happen.

  He grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward. "Relax. I just want to share something with you." Then he mumbled, "Lord vlor'Vardhal would spear me if I did anything else."

  "He would?"

  Gregor's head snapped up. Perhaps she wasn't supposed to hear that last part, but he grinned. "Yes, opés, he would. Don't worry." He glanced down at their clasped hands and sighed. "This is about as close as you and I will get for a very long time."

  She should have felt good about that. "Promise?"

  "Clasping hands, and a kiss or two is all you have to fear. Although, I'm rather certain your resistance to my kisses is but an act."

  Cocky bastard, she didn't dignify him with a response about the kisses. Problem was, he was right and he knew it. "And you swear? Nothing more?"

  He shook his head. "I tire of this. We have a long walk ahead. It's time to go."

  With a tug, he pulled her forward and her trip through the Gambit began, and with it so did her mental inventory of every twist and turn, and every person they passed, along with every nuance of their dress and mannerisms. An invaluable tool, she thanked the odd quirk in her genes which allowed her to catalogue every detail she saw.

  Soon they passed through an archway with its opalescent walls and moved onto a long sloping ramp spanning an immense park-like area beneath. The designer
s of the Gambit didn't seem to worry about economizing on interior space. Beneath them, rolling manicured lawns, large sweeping trees, delicate shrubs, and artistically tended gardens spread out on either side, arching upward toward the horizon until they were lost overhead to the curvature of the ship. Her mind hadn't been equipped to grasp the size of her new home.

  He stopped. "This is one of our circumferential parks and runs the perimeter of the ship. It makes for a great place to relax."

  A group of joggers came down one of the winding paths. The runners' hair, drawn up in ponytails, swung to-and-fro with each bounding stride.

  She gasped. "Those are women!"

  He scoffed. "Well, of course they are."

  "But, I thought…" She fell silent with the realization of what the women were wearing. The grey and white exercise outfits were very familiar. "Are those WOR?"

  "No, WOR would have bands of Rank on their arms. Why do they surprise you?"

  "I didn't think there were any women on board."

  "Why would you think that?"

  Because so far, she'd only seen Vendel men. "Considering you captured a thousand females, I figured you didn't have any women of your own."

  His eyes danced with amusement. "Ah, you've made an unfortunate assumption." He chuckled. "We didn't collect you for that reason."

  Whatever, those women wore the same workout clothes she was forced to wear. In fact, from what she'd seen, the fashion sense of the Vendel was rather uninspired. Tunics and jumpsuits of varying colors predominated the local fashion scene, and workout clothes. That was the best news she could have hoped for. Her gown marked her as WOR just as surely as did the bands of Rank on her arms, but the exercise gear freed her. When she did eventually find a way off the Confinement Deck, and she would, she wouldn't have to worry about a disguise.

  "Don't tease me because I assumed only men were on board your ship. All I've seen are men." She pointed to the women disappearing behind a copse of trees. "Those are the first women I've seen. And they aren't mentioned anywhere in your classes on governmental structure."

  He scoffed at her comment.

  "Do you treat all women as chattel? Are your women so far beneath you that they aren't even included in our assimilation classes?"

  "Another unfortunate assumption on your part." His eyes darkened. "Men fulfill civic duties that women don't share, but women are an important part of our society. Your studies are meant to teach you about our governmental structure."

  "You should be teaching us about your society, even the pitiful subjugation of your women."

  His eyes darkened. "Do not jump to conclusions too quickly. Our women enjoy quite a range of freedoms." He leaned on the railing and watched her lips. "Unlike men, they can move freely between the social classes. Through the bonds of matrimony, they harness immense power."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Only that you should not judge my people until you have had a chance to learn more about them."

  "How can I? I'm not stupid. The access you've given us in the Confinement Deck is restricted. We learn only what you want us to learn."

  His eyes narrowed. "It's called assimilation."

  "I call it brainwashing." She jutted her chin forward and dug in for an argument. "Open up our access and let me decide." The more barriers she could get released the easier it would be to crack the Vendel computing system.

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you refuse to learn the most basic lesson."

  "And what is that?"

  "Obey."

  She turned away from him, fists clenched, and stared off into the distance. "Like a good little slave?"

  He had no reason to give in to her demands. Arguing with him would only lead her to a dead end. She needed a different tact.

  "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Trust will open more doors. The more you resist, the tighter the controls will be. The more you comply, the more freedoms you will enjoy. Surely, you see this?"

  Right, obey and her life will be so much easier. For someone who held all the power, it was such an easy demand to make, not so easy to comply with, but she acknowledged the truth in his words.

  She bowed her head in acquiescence. "Forgive me, Gregor, but look at it from my viewpoint. I struggle with making sense of your world. Your customs are hard to understand. I'm trying to learn, but I question everything. It would help me to assimilate better if I had access to more information." There she threw his word back at him.

  Gregor didn't respond. He rubbed his chin and pushed off the rail. His eyes dropped to the low neckline of her dress. "Come, on the other side of this ramp is the lift tube that will take us up to my quarters."

  He wasn't going to give in to her demands. She needed to accept what she couldn't change and focus on what she had power over. What she needed was a mental focus when dealing with him, something to latch onto when things got difficult.

  A willow tree came to mind. Its long fragile branches swayed in the breeze, giving way beneath the terrible force of the wind. Because the willow bent, the storms didn't break the heartwood at its core. She needed to become like the willow and bend. Only then would she remain strong enough to beat Gregor.

  He herded her toward the other side of the bridge with a gentle, but firm, guiding hand. "Do you remember the lift tube from before?"

  She allowed herself to be led and composed herself to meekness. Demure, acquiescing, and submitting to his control, she approached familiar doors set into the wall. He seemed to like their verbal sparring, but it was clear he preferred when she submitted to his will. Whatever it took, she'd be the damn willow. He pressed a palm plate and they waited. The door spiraled open and she stared with trepidation at the wide circular space.

  Gregor noticed her hesitation. "I can hold you. You could rest your head on my shoulder like last time."

  She returned a false smile to his banter. "Face your fears or they'll consume you, right?" She stepped forward, but her bravado failed the moment she stepped inside.

  The first signs of panic threatened: hammering heart, fast-paced breathing, knees knocking, and that flutter in her gut about sent her to her knees. It didn't help knowing the floor was going to drop out from beneath her feet and there would be nothing to hold on to. She looked to the only person she had for support.

  "Gregor?" Her plea came out a faint croak.

  Gregor gave a half bow. His eyes were open and sincere—warm even. "Come, I want you to become comfortable using these on your own, but your first lift tube ride on your own can be a little disorientating." He beckoned with his arm. "Stand in front of me. I will hold you."

  Switching from English to Vendel he gave a command.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. The entire length of his body pressed against her. That heady scent, full of raw masculinity and exotic spice, filled her nostrils. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Goose bumps sprung up on her arms despite her attempts to remain unaffected by his touch.

  "Just focus on the far wall and you'll be okay. Your nervousness will fade as you get used to riding the tube."

  As long as he thought the goose bumps were from the lift tube and not him, she didn't care.

  Just like the first time, a wind tickled her skin. This time, she didn't make the mistake of looking down. The floor would be falling away and she didn't need to see that. When the breeze began to fade, she knew their destination—his private rooms—were approaching. A different set of nerves settled in her stomach.

  She tried to prepare for whatever he had planned and was very much aware the High Tender was not present. Actually, now that she thought about it, it wasn't entirely clear if High Tender Marcus was, or wasn't, supposed to be chaperoning this visit.

  The wind disappeared. She opened her eyes in time to see the wall opposite form a door and open.

  "This is it." Gregor nuzzled the side of her neck and pressed his lips to the soft spot behind her ear.

  A pulse of arousal f
lared, one she quickly stamped out. "Your quarters are off the lift tube?"

  Gregor pulled her forward, grasping her wrist. Always, he had a hand on her. He took her through a series of rooms, describing each as they delved deeper into his retreat, but she wasn't paying attention. The further she moved into his private realm the faster her heart beat. What were his plans? What did she want them to be?

  Where the hell was High Tender Marcus and why wasn't he watching over her?

  Chapter Nine

  Gambit, Day 21

  Gregor's living suite greeted Elise with the picture of control. It spoke much about the man who inhabited it. White chairs and sofas, full of clean lines, dominated the room. The space was devoid of color, with the exception of the walls. Here the vibrancy of the man who ruled an empire shone.

  Artwork and sculptures of surprising beauty filled niches along the walls. Lighted accents displayed each masterful piece to perfection. There was one wall, however, which remained a startling void of color. A solid gray. Her eyes latched onto it, ignoring all the rest for the starkness it represented. Soft music filled the room, floating around with tranquil melodies, trying and failing to calm its unwilling guest.

  Butterflies danced in her belly, rebellious in their flight. She welcomed them. They reminded her to be strong.

  A clean, fresh scent, crisp like an ocean breeze, swirled in the currents of the room. She inhaled deeply, noting the contrast between this room, light and fresh, and Gregor, a man both dark and compelling.

  Warm light suffused the entire area in a muted glow, again, a calming influence which attempted to drain tension out of her body and failed.

  During their walk, Gregor's hand had been constantly on her, but inside his domain he released her to wander. Perhaps he allowed her a moment to admire the various pieces of art, or maybe he knew she had nowhere to run. She suspected it was so he could better observe her from afar, although she had a feeling he'd been watching her every move on the Confinement Deck these past few weeks.