by Marie Dry
“Do you wish me to bathe again?”
“What?” He always managed to catch her off guard. She’d thought he’d say something like, “take off your clothes,” or “show me what’s mine.” That had been a favorite among the raiders. No. She shook her head and her hair swung wildly around her face. She wouldn’t let the camps intrude here.
He stood tall and proud, his eyes glued to her swinging hair. “Does my smell offend you now that I carried your things?”
His first wife must’ve insisted on him showering all the time. He’d taken a shower less than an hour ago. How could anyone be that mean?
“I like your smell,” she said softly, suddenly a lot less frightened. In some way he was vulnerable too. “It reminds me of fresh herbs.”
He knelt down next to her and very gently, with a hand against her back, helped her to lie down. She put the ‘teddy bear’ on the floor, out of her sight. Somehow it didn’t feel right to have it with her at that moment. She reached out and turned it so it lay facedown.
Zaar tugged her legs down, his hands like warm manacles around her ankles. Her stomach did a mini earthquake, and it took every ounce of courage she had not to run screaming from the room.
“I will arrange you and you will remain still.” He sounded more guttural than usual.
“A-all right.” A wave of self-loathing swept through her. She’d decided to come here. To be with him. She’d known what that implied. Was she really so pathetic that she couldn’t even speak without stammering like a ninny?
She was so busy mentally flogging herself, that she barely noticed him arranging her hands next to her head, palm up, tipping up her head with a foreclaw under her chin. The little she’d seen of the warriors on Earth, they’d had claw-like nails, as well. But the Zyrgin’s was longer and sharper. It was as if everything about him was exaggerated: bigger, sharper incisors, a fiercer ridge on his head, and he was taller and more muscled than the others. On top of that he could poof anywhere.
“Your hair is like Aurelian silk.” He touched her hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers. Those dark eyes watching intently as it fell to the cushion.
“Is that good?” He’d made no secret of his contempt of the Aurelians, but her wedding dress and the dress for the tribute ceremony had been made from Aurelian silk.
“Aurelian silk is the most expensive in the universe.” He paused with a strand of her hair in his palm. “It is expensive for others. I demand as much of it as I want and they comply.” There was a strange, savage satisfaction in his voice. No love lost between him and his first wife’s people. “Your hair is better than their best silk.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t comment on him commandeering what he wanted. The Aurelians would have to fend for themselves. She just wanted to get through this without falling apart. To prove to herself that she was still a woman and not a victim. That she could be clean.
As he went back to sifting her hair through his hands, Sarah relaxed. He didn’t seem in a hurry to do anything but play with her hair. Maybe this wouldn’t turn into a nightmare of pain and degradation. She stopped that thought. She didn’t think he’d ever physically hurt her. It wasn’t fair to him to equate him with the raiders.
He dropped the strand of her hair he’d been playing with and arranged the rest of her hair on the hard cushion. She trembled, and not all of it was fear. The pelts didn’t soften the floor under her though.
“You should invest in some decent cushions.”
He paused and slowly turned his head to stare at the cushion beneath her head. If his skin was more pliable, she was sure he’d frown. “You consider my cushion indecent?” he asked after a long time. No doubt trying to puzzle out her meaning.
She giggled, a soft hysterical sound. A vision of his cushion doing indecent things to the bedding invaded her mind and she laughed harder. “No, what I meant was that it’s really hard to lie on.” She laughed so hard, she had trouble speaking. “We need a nice big bed we both fit in, or a humongous soft cushion.” The thought of them sharing a bed stopped her laughter. Why did she start this stupid conversation?
He touched a claw-like finger to her lips. “Your lips are pleasing when you laugh.”
A fluttering low in her stomach. “Thank you.”
“I will think on the bed,” he said, his attention obviously on her hair and not the conversation.
He returned to his painstaking arrangement of her hair on the oblong cushion beneath her head. She stared up at him, determined to see only him and not the phantoms from her past. But he was fixated on her hair; soft tugs on her scalp soothed her as he arranged it and played with it. Maybe he arranged and rearranged it simply because he enjoyed touching her hair. She’d caught him many times staring at it.
Sarah was hyperaware of the size of the body crouched over her and though it was impossible for her to totally relax, the way he played with her hair, and the teddy bear she could see in her peripheral vision, helped.
His uniform-clad chest stretched broad and impressive close to her face. Fresh, exotic herbs filled her nostrils—a clean scent. For the first time since she had been rescued, she didn’t have the urge to scream and run because he was too close. Even so, she trembled and panic simmered.
He touched her forehead with a rough, warm finger. Sarah lay so still, her muscles ached. He traced every inch of her forehead, seeming as fascinated with it as he’d been with her hair. Slow prickles of pleasure coursed down her body. He pushed his finger up into her hair, at the top of her head, as if he expected to find a ridge hidden there. The prickles intensified. He traced her hairline, her brows, and around her eyes. The touches were gentle, leisurely, as if every bit of her fascinated him. Everywhere he touched, her skin came alive with pleasure. He was so arrogant, she’d never have guessed that he would be this patient, this gentle. At the very least she’d expected him not to purposely hurt her.
He caressed her neck and dipped a finger under her shirt to trace her skin under the material. Delicate tendrils of pleasure invaded her whole body. “It is normal for a breeder to be naked, but you will remain clothed until you can enjoy the first knowing.”
“Thank you.” His consideration humbled her.
He traced the scar where the raiders had kept an iron manacle around her wrists. His gaze flashed red and black and back to red in mere seconds. “I will hunt the raiders until none of them are left.” The way his eyes flashed, the grim purpose in his voice said the raiders had better hide in a deep, dark hole.
It was the most romantic gesture, barring the Zaar teddy bear, she’d ever received. “Thank you.”
12
Sarah smiled up at this male who was beginning to make her believe she could be whole again. A clean woman. “I think I like this first knowing? Do I get a turn to do it to you?” she dared to tease.
His incisors grew and his eyes flashed red, and he hissed at her. “You dare insult me?”
She pressed her back into the pelt and at that moment really wanted to run for her life. She’d forgotten his aversion to having her on top. “For humans it’s a compliment.”
He glared at her, lowered down until their noses almost touched. “I am a warrior with omgraz’ra, I do the first knowing, not my breeder. Never again insult me like that.”
“A-all right.” She hated him for making her stammer again, for lashing out at her when she’d tried to reach out to him. Betraying the fragile bond that she’d thought they’d started to develop.
“I will begin again. You will not move or speak.” He stared her down, as if she was a new warrior. Sarah stayed quiet and didn’t say anything. She couldn’t, her throat too tight.
He placed her hands next to her head, his hands warm on hers and then combed his fingers through her hair. That meticulous arranging of her hair started again, but this time she didn’t feel wonder at his patience, she lay staring up at the silver ceiling. She wouldn’t try to respond or interact with him. It seemed her involvement wasn’t part of
his first knowing.
He touched her forehead with a gentle finger. “Your brow is that of a noblewoman without a ridge.”
Was that a compliment? And if it was, should she say thank you? “Thank you,” she said.
“You are not to move or speak. I will start over.”
Start over? How many times did he think he could arrange her hair? Not that it was a problem for her. She loved the way he focused on her hair. His slow, deliberate arranging and tugging and combing of her hair relaxed her until she almost purred like a cat.
He went back to arranging her hair, concentrating as if this was the first time he’d done it. Obviously, he could play with her hair a lot. It felt like hours later that he went on to caress her brow with his rough forefinger, again, tunnelling his finger into her hair, as if he thought he could unearth a ridge.
He traced the contours of each ear and she shivered. Never in a million years did she think to feel so much pleasure from anyone touching her ears. She wanted to clamp her legs together and squirm. From him touching her ear? Some of her earlier fear faded and she would’ve relaxed if every muscle in her body wasn’t quivering with a slow burn of pleasure. “I am going to touch your breasts.” He matched action to words. His hands branded her through the material of her shirt.
Sarah liked his warm hands on her breasts; she shuddered with pleasure when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. Along with the pleasure, a feeling of unease, of self-contempt stirred.
“Zaar?”
He pushed up her shirt, baring her breasts and darkness descended.
Pain and degradation, that was where this led. Sarah screamed. She kicked and hit with her fists and bit anything she could reach, but she knew she was lost. There were too many of them, all of them stronger than her. She was always doomed.
“Breeder!”
Sarah stilled, became aware of the silence, no men taunting her, no shouting and shooting and woman and children screaming in pain and fear. No stink of old sweat and urine and other unpleasant things. Something soft landed against her chest. She blinked and looked down at the teddy bear he’d given her in another, happier moment. A moment that had been filled with hope and laugher and tenderness. She hid her face in the bedding. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Zaar crouched next to her, too close, but not close enough to crowd her. “We will try again tomorrow. You will take a shower and put on your sleeping clothes.”
“I really am s—”
He touched her shoulder. “You will not apologise. You are the breeder of the parenadorz.”
“Too important to apologise, huh.” Sarah smiled shakily, and got up and sidled around him. She hurriedly collected her nightdress and then rushed to the bathroom, aware of his gaze following her.
“Wash behind your ears,” he said.
Sarah ran into the bathroom and stood panting against the door. Suddenly she giggled, a hysterical sound that echoed shrill in the sterile room. Wash behind her ears? Why on Earth did he keep saying that?
She stepped into the shower. The hot spray of the water was heaven on her sensitive body. He’d been surprisingly patient. She stared down at her ‘teddy bear’. He’d backed off when she became hysterical. Compared to her issues, his problem with her being on top was minor. After all, there were worse things he could do. Who knew what it meant for a warrior to be on the bottom, in his culture?
When she left the bathroom, he sat by her bedroll, the linen and pelts folded back for her. Keeping a wary eye on him, she got in and sat up against the pillows and held the bedding close against her chest. He must’ve showered, as well, because he smelled like his soap. She felt drained, vaguely disappointed in herself for not being able to go through with his first knowing, but too tired to care too much about it now.
One moment his hands were empty and the next he held out his palm. Gaily wrapped squares glittered on his palm. More chocolates?
Watching him for any sign that he was going to grab her, she took it from him. She’d heard about chocolates like these. It was rumored that only the very rich families on Earth could still afford it. “How do you manage to get these?” She held up a chocolate wrapped in glittering, gold paper.
“Parenadorz,” he said as if that should explain everything. And it did.
The moment was surreal. She picked up the teddy bear and held it against her chest while she opened a chocolate and placed it in her mouth. Sweet, rich sensations exploded on her tongue. If she didn’t know how powerful he was, she would’ve thought he was just another warrior. Bigger and stronger and faster, but at heart just a warrior. He didn’t wear fancy clothes, didn’t live in a sumptuous palace, and the only luxuries he’d obtained so far had been for her.
“Many centuries ago, a very powerful Zyrgin was born. Even before his first change, he could move objects by just thinking about it and he killed his closest pre-change blood with only his thoughts.”
“His children?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s horrible.” Sarah could feel her eyes widen. “Wait, he did it by thinking it? You have people that powerful?” What other powers did he have apart from appearing and disappearing at will?
“We have never had anyone with such power again. This Zyrgin killed the ruling Zyrgin after his third change. He was a powerful warrior, but lazy. Because of his powers he did not need to practice with his swords and weapons to be able to kill anyone he wished. Like me, he could move from place to place with a thought.”
“No one should be that powerful,” she whispered. A crease on his shoulder caught her attention and she reached out and smoothed it away without thinking.
“You are right,” he said, surprising her. “He became decadent.” He said the word decadent as if it was akin to murder. “Instead of conquering new territories, he built a palace and filled it with gold and jewels and the finest furniture and clothes in the empire. He sent out the warriors to conquer planets that had things he desired. His palace staff became corrupt and made everyone pay heavy taxes to support the Zyrgin’s lifestyle. He wore clothes made from silk.”
“Oh, the horror,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Sarah bit her lip and hastily looked down while she unwrapped another chocolate.
“One day he was in the market and he saw another warrior’s breeder.”
“Oh, oh,” she said. She didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what was coming next. “Did he fight for her?”
“No, he killed her warrior with a thought. He had no honor. He took her to the palace. She was dead by her own hand the next morning. Legend said he did not even try to do the first knowing. Instead he dishonored himself—he satisfied his own lusts and turned her out.” His disgust of that long-ago ruler reassured her. “She went back to her dwelling and ended herself.”
“That is horrible.” Was that why his first wife’s suicide was such an issue?
“He ruled for many more years, spending the money, the warriors gained through conquest, on luxuries and many women he kept in the palace. He built palaces all over the galaxy. All the people in the land were shamed by his lack of omgraz’ra. It was the darkest time in our history.”
“Please tell me someone stopped him.”
“They may have stopped him if he didn’t give our empire its greatest advantage. Jinz Izwe was discovered centuries before his rule, but he was the Zyrgin who figured out how to program it.”
“I bet he’s the reason the warrior class sits at the top of the food chain.”
“You are correct. Only a select few of his warriors knew how to program jinz izwe. That was when the warrior class rose to prominence.”
“So, what else did this Zyrgin do?”
“He instructed the scientists to experiment on the warriors and to create superior Zyrgins that can win any war.”
“Messing with nature is never a good idea.”
“Many warriors died; it left a strain of insanity in some bloodlines, but the genetic manipulation w
orked. Changes were made to every generation of warriors until we strengthened and became the dominant class. The only class that mattered.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.” Surely, he couldn’t be that arrogant. She almost laughed at herself. Of course he could.
“Be quiet and listen.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are excused. I will continue.” As usual her sarcasm went right by him. “The Zyrgin was so busy drinking strong ale, and having many women, and behaving with shameful lack of honor that he never realized a Zyrgin was born with the potential to become strong enough to rule. His name was Zarendz and those, who you would call his parents, hid him until he went through his third change when he confronted and killed the ruling Zyrgin.”
“Is that normal, for the ruling Zyrgin to be killed by his successor?” What on Earth did she let herself in for?
“No, only three Zyrgins came to power by killing the parenadorz. He was the second one.”
She snuggled into the cushion. “Tell me about the third Zyrgin that murdered for power.”
“That is for another time—go to sleep.” He sounded disturbed, but she was too sleepy to figure out why.
“I want to go outside tomorrow,” she murmured as sleep claimed her.
13
More than a month later, Sarah woke and sat up and scanned the room for Zaar. She was alone. Her shoulders sagged. In relief or disappointment, she didn’t know. Last night, when they’d tried the first knowing again, he’d stopped when she’d panicked—he hadn’t forced her. She looked at her watch—he’d done something to it so that it kept time on Zyrgin—and rushed to the shower. It was almost time for first meal.
