by Stone, Layla
He pulled down a large container of cinder oil and rubbed it over her stitches. He liked the feeling of his callused fingers against her flesh. He didn’t do anything untoward. That was beneath him. And he’d already done plenty by letting his curiosities get the best of him earlier. But he did take notice of every place he touched her as he applied the oil to her skin. As he did, he decided, unequivocally, that he would keep her.
After caring for her wounds, he debated where to put her. Slaves slept on the ground on simple pallets of bedding, but he wouldn’t be able to lay her on the ground. She wasn’t his slave; she was his prize. Plus, sleeping on the ground seemed counterintuitive to everything he’d just done for her wounds.
Jarr-o took her to the long, wide, blue couch in the gathering room and laid her there. He pulled a light blanket over her body and started a small fire in the stone fireplace adjacent to the couch. It would keep her warm.
Then, Jarr-o felt a desire to join her on the couch, to feel her naked skin against his. He battled the urge the entire time he cleaned and sewed his own wounds. Out of habit, he checked and locked all the windows and doors in the home, ensuring that no one could get in or out without a key. His eyelids were as heavy as stones by the time he was done, and his desires had fluttered to a distant thought. Jarr-o walked by the sleeping Terran without a side glance, rounded into his old room, and let himself fall onto his dusty, average-size bed.
Chapter Four
The Next Day
Cara woke with a start when a cramp seized her calf. Rushing to grab her leg, she fell off the couch. Groaning, she held her muscle as she shook off her sleep and rubbed out the tightening pain. Her body shivered, and she became aware of her naked skin.
What the…?
Yesterday came crashing into her mind. Pulling the blanket off the couch, she wrapped it around herself like a towel. The black blanket was as soft as microfiber, and she was thankful for something to keep her warm since the temperature in the home was cold enough to give her entire body goosebumps.
Pulling off the wrap that covered her right arm, she saw that her skin was healed, left with only a faint, white line where a cut had been sewn together. Two stitches poked out of her skin from the beast’s claws. Moving her free hand over the area where the monster had bitten her, she felt several stitches, but the skin there was also healed with a small scar bump.
There was no pain at all as she touched the area. When she moved her arm out and then up, the muscle felt sore, but nothing painful like the night before.
Smiling, she could have kissed Jarr-o right then for taking care of her. Then again, she was naked, so he must have gotten a nice look at the goods. Every inch of her. Internally, she squirmed, thinking about how she hadn’t shaved in forever, and how hairy she was. She shook her head and forced those ridiculous thoughts out of her mind.
Looking around, she noticed that the room was made of stone. A light brown and tan colored swirl. Pushing herself up, she noticed that a thick layer of dust covered the floor. She patted herself down to remove any clinging dirt.
There was a fireplace across from her. In the blackened cavity, Cara saw small red ambers glowing. She looked around and noticed several pieces of wood. Picking up a log, she found it was too heavy to pick up with one hand. Tucking the blanket around her and into itself at the top, she used both hands to move the dense piece of dark wood to the fireplace and hoped that the embers would do their job.
The room was sparse. The couch was the only furniture, but it was large and comfortable from what she remembered about her night of rest.
To her right, she saw the morning just peeking up from the horizon through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Outside, she noticed dead, yellow-colored grass swaying from the outside breeze. The land was vast, and she could see for miles. There was something peaceful about that. Something she’d never experienced growing up in a small, decaying city on Earth, then years on a series of spaceships doing a multitude of grunt work.
Cara knelt on the floor to watch the sun rise. Outside during the day, it looked safe, peaceful, and something settled in her chest at the thought of witnessing the beauty every day.
Another shiver ran over her skin, and she shook off the frivolity. Cara didn’t belong on this alien planet. She belonged on Earth, among her own kind.
And free.
Especially free.
***
His slave was on the floor. The one place Jarr-o had avoided putting her, and the idiot put herself there. So much for trying to be decent.
“Miss living in a cage?” Jarr-o asked mockingly, not sure why seeing her on the floor bothered him so much. “Or is there something about being on a dirty floor that comes naturally to you?”
Cara turned around with a pinched face. It looked as if she were in pain, but then she said, “Well, good morning to you, too, grumpy grey bastard.”
Jarr-o realized he was being nasty. He was still tired, but he couldn’t shake the nagging voice in his head to get up and check on her. Quickly, he had pulled on a long-sleeved top and pants and walked out.
He rubbed his eyes and shook off the last of his grogginess. Cara had moved from the floor to the couch, and he caught sight of the small stitches in her skin. Moving without thought, he lowered himself next to her on the couch and reached out to check on the wound, but Cara shot off the couch, clutching the blanket to her like a lifeline.
“I was looking at the stitches. Sit down.”
She snorted at him and lifted her small nose. It shouldn’t have been that adorable, but it was. “Not a chance, buddy. Not while I’m still naked.”
Slowly scratching the back of his neck, he asked, “And that’s a problem because you think I’m going to take advantage of you while you’re awake instead of last night.” He hoped he sounded as derisive as he felt.
Cara jutted out her lower lip. “Maybe you prefer an active partner, and now that I’m awake, you’ll try to take…advantage.”
Was she serious or being tediously playful?
Leaning back on the couch, Jarr-o realized that he missed how comfortable it was. Focusing on the silly Terran again, he said, “Active partners are okay, but I prefer bed partners with skill.”
Her blue eyes sparked, and he noticed the side of her mouth twitch. “How very male of you to lay back and let a skilled partner take care of you. Which leaves me out. I’m selfish like that.”
Was she? Images of her in his bed flashed in his mind, and his morning wood threatened to resurface.
“Do you know where my clothes are?” Cara said seriously, and that’s when he realized she had been acting playful before.
“In the trash. They were blood-soaked and in pieces.” He rubbed his hand over the fabric of the couch and frowned when he noticed it was dusty, too. Scanning the gathering room, it was just as bad as his bedroom.
The house needed a cleaning, badly.
“That’s inconvenient,” she protested. “Do you have a shower I can use, at least?”
Cara followed him out of the space into the front nook. To his right, the home opened up to the hallway that led to the back bedrooms and the single washroom. To the left, the nook led into the kitchen, pantry, and infirmary.
His home was tall and wide. Each bedroom was over fourteen square feet, though furnished with only a bed and a single six-drawer dresser. It was a comfortable house, but it wasn’t as fancy as ones Jarr-o had seen in the city. He didn’t mind it, but he remembered that his sister had hated not having more, nicer things. Watching Cara look at the rooms and walls, he wondered if she thought the same thing. Then he internally fumed that he was worried about what she thought.
He was providing her with a home, protection, food, and water. She shouldn’t need anything else from him.
Jarr-o opened the washroom and pointed at the water basin. “Push the button on the right to turn it on, then adjust the temperature with the climate gauge.” Next, he showed her where the s
oaps were stored and lastly said, “And here are my sharpest clippers for your hair. I’ve never met a woman who let her hair get so filthy. Even for a slave.”
Her eyes narrowed to shooting daggers. “I’m not a slave.” He knew he’d crossed a line by calling her that, but again, he was floundering in his dark mood—for reasons beyond him.
Cara’s free hand was balled into a fist. He recognized that she didn’t plan to use it but was holding herself stiffly. “And I’m grateful that you saved my life, and for however you magically healed me, but I’m not going to show my thanks by being your slave.”
Magically healed her? Was she talking about the cinder oil? That was beside the point. Jarr-o hadn’t asked for her begrudged gratitude. “I’m sure you remember, I never asked for you, nor do I look forward to taking care of you, feeding you, and keeping you safe. But here I am, doing it anyway. And there you are, mouthing off about not being a slave. Well, guess what?” He swirled his finger around her neck. “There’s no one keeping you here, Cara. You want your freedom? You know where the door is.”
Jarr-o was fuming inside. And even after Cara had cast her eyes to the floor and remained quiet, he couldn’t walk away. His voice rose further. “Oh, and while you’re walking to your freedom, remember the packs of beasts, scavengers, and lowly Angnies that will see you as an easy meal or an easier bed partner. But at least you’ll be free. From all of this! Free from me telling you what to do. And where you can’t go!” At the end, he was roaring.
Jarr-o was breathing heavily and finally realized he was yelling at Cara while imagining Garr-n. Playing out another episode in the innumerable fights they’d had.
Maybe his sister’s ghost was haunting him.
Cara slowly pulled her lower lip into her mouth. Peering up cautiously, she whispered, “Do you want me to go?”
Jarr-o felt dark guilt seize him. Cara’s uncertainty was like a hit to the solar plexus. He’d done that to her. He was taking his aggression out on her.
The fight in her was gone. Jarr-o noted that Garr-n never backed down, which was why fighting his sister was almost futile. But the woman in front of him, she was not fighting him.
He needed to leave and get some fresh air. But first, he had to set Cara straight. “No. I don’t want you to leave.”
He walked away from the washroom, not stopping until he’d walked out the front door, but not before securing it with his key. Jarr-o wasn’t sure if she believed him that he wanted her to stay. And it almost worried him how serious he was about her staying with him, especially since his future was now in flux. No job meant no income, and he still didn’t know if the Chancellor would retaliate.
***
Cara closed the door to the bathroom and stood there in a stupor for several minutes, trying to sort out her emotions. She’d known Jarr-o had a soft side, and she really appreciated those moments, but she hated his hard side. The way he’d just flipped on, tore her already frayed anxiety levels into bits and pieces. She was tired of being passed around, sold and talked down to. She was homesick for a place she didn’t have, and at the rate she was going, never would have. All she wanted was to just…be. Be safe. Be clean. Be happy. And yet she kept getting knocked around from one bad situation to another.
That morning, she’d had a small glimpse of peace, and she wanted it back.
Rubbing her forehead, she forced her mind to put it aside and focus on the now. Just get through one more day, and then another, and in the end, she would find her peace. She would settle down in her own place, away from scummy men who wanted to use her, and then she would live out her beautiful, peaceful life.
It was a good plan.
One she could get behind.
With renewed faith in her future, she dropped the blanket and turned on the shower. Under the spray, she almost cried happy tears. It had been so long since Cara had showered, she wanted to soak up every drop of hot, steamy water. The soap that Jarr-o had pointed out a moment earlier smelled like mountain rain, but it wasn’t shampoo and conditioner. Still, she used it to wash her hair three times, knowing it really needed a good scrub. Jarr-o was right; it was a matted mess, and no woman ever wanted to hear that she looked awful.
Which was why she now plotted how she could get off the planet and find her way home. Jarr-o had said she was not his slave, so that meant she could leave whenever she wanted to—and she would, as soon as she found safe passage home.
Out of the shower, Cara couldn’t find any towels. She did find folded sheets, though—or at least they looked likes sheets. She had to shake off the dust on the material, but without anything else to wear, she had to make do. Then she nabbed the thick-toothed comb from the sink and began brushing her hair.
After what felt like an hour, she realized that some of the knots weren’t going to brush out, and she would have to cut them. Cara cringed because she really loved her long, thick hair. Taking the scissors, she held her breath and cut. It didn’t take long to cut out the mats, but it did take her longer to trim up her hair so that it had some semblance of style. It ended up being short in the back and longer in the front. She parted her hair in the middle, and let it dry naturally, giving it a small wave.
Shrugging in the mirror, she admitted it was the best she could do. And if he didn’t like it, she didn’t care, because she was leaving. And that was that.
Chapter Five
The Market
Jarr-o had used his training to clear his head and refocus on what his priorities were. First, was to remember that Cara was not Garr-n. Second, the house was empty of food, and he needed to go to the market. Third, was that the house needed to be cleaned. After that, he would put all his energy into putting out the word that he was taking on young fighters to train before they were picked up by one of the major fighting arenas. It would have been better to train the older gladiators, but he needed to start somewhere.
Once he’d established what he needed to do, he picked up two pairing cuffs from his training box on the side of the house before he settled into the nook, waiting for Cara to exit the washroom. He waited for longer than he’d expected, and when she walked out, he did a double-take. Her hair was shorter. Much shorter, and in an odd style that he wasn’t sure he liked. But there was something resolved about her expression. His gut told him to keep a keen eye on her. Something was wrong, but when she didn’t rant or rave at him, he took that as a good sign and another example of how different she was from Garr-n.
Jarr-o noticed the washroom wrap around her and added another item to his priorities—getting her something to wear. But in the meantime, he said, “I have some clean shirts that you can wear if you want.”
Cara silently nodded.
Stuffing the cuffs into his pocket, he walked around her and grabbed a light grey, long-sleeve tunic. She took the offered clothing, returned to the washroom, and changed in there.
Back in the nook, he watched Cara walk up wearing his shirt. He liked her in the color, but the tunic was too big. He pulled out the cuffs from his pocket and held them up.
They were made of chainmail mesh that held no real shape until they were on the wrists. The cuffs were a gladiator training tool that his father had given him when he was younger. The cuffs prohibited the team members from getting too far from each other. The motivation was for the wearers to learn to stay close. If one partner ventured too far, the cuff would send bone-deep pain to both partners. Jarr-o knew he could endure the pain well enough, but he didn’t think she could.
He explained the cuffs to her on the front doorstep as he slipped the cold chain mesh over her delicate hand and around her wrist. The mesh tightened on its own. He was the only one with the code to remove it.
Cara rubbed the bracelet as she said, “It seems a little hard to believe you would put something on yourself if it causes you pain, too.”
“My plan is not to enforce obedience through pain,” he said as he took her wrist and examined the cuff to make sure it was s
ecure. “It’s to make it easier to move through the market. I don’t want to chain you to ensure your safety. These cuffs will make it easier to move through people and also alert me if you are outside my reach.”
“Your reach? How far apart can I get before I get zapped?” Her voice shook slightly.
He figured it would be easier to show her, so he told her, “Take a step back.”
She did the exact opposite. “No way! I’m not going to hurt myself on purpose.”
He took hold of her wrist and waited until she looked up at him. “I told you I would protect you.” He winced as he remembered yelling at her earlier. “I took my anger out on you this morning. I said things I shouldn’t have. And because of that, I am worried you question my honor in keeping you safe now. I will keep you safe.”
He didn’t want to talk about his sister, but Cara deserved an explanation. “My sister was kidnapped and murdered here.”
Cara’s eyes widened, then she immediately looked at the house like it would get her. “Inside there?”
Jarr-o had obviously scared her, and he needed to refocus her train of thought. “Yes, but that was before I put locks on the door and windows. My home is safe now. No one can get in but me.” He waited until she stopped looking at the house to say, “The cuffs are for your safety. I need them so that I won’t be constantly worried about you. Now,” Jarr-o said confidently, “take a step back and trust me.” Jarr-o didn’t realize how foreign those words would feel on his tongue. He’d never really cared if anyone trusted him or not. His life at the arena didn’t demand trust, but here with Cara…he wanted it.
She shook her head, and he tried not to take it personally.
“Cara. Trust me on this. The cuff will warn you if you are getting too far away.” He let her wrist go and watched her take a baby step back. Her eyes never left his, as if she were waiting for him to tell her to stop.
Jarr-o nodded, encouraging her to go farther, enjoying how she watched him so intently. He had all of her attention, and the feeling was heady. Thoughts of what it might look like if she were giving him all her attention—in the bedroom—flashed through his mind. Would she be timid? Would she be bold? He didn’t know, but his shaft twitched in his pants, wanting to know exactly what she would feel like, sound like, and taste like.
