Prison Moon_Ice Heart

by Alexandra Marell

  Never mind dignity. The way he watched her, with laser intent, the stranger must have seen it all. Bloody hell. She pushed upright, one hand cupping her aching shoulder, the other tugging down her nightshirt. Were her feet still attached? So cold she couldn’t feel them. The man remained still, head cocked and listening to something she couldn’t hear. His face creased in frowning concentration.

  “What is it?” That look worried her. She almost laughed at that crazy thought. She’d been kidnapped, locked in a freezing cell with a weirdo who looked like Thor in a leather coat, and she was worried? Shit-scared more like.

  “Ship.” He paused as if searching his brain for words. So English wasn’t his first language? “Engines. Not good.”

  “Ship? Engines? Are you saying we’re on a ship?” Now she knew he was bullshitting her. Pissing himself with laughter most likely, behind that blank expression.

  “Ship. Yes” He twisted the hand hanging between the bars, holding up a flat palm. “No fear. Janie Roberts. No fear.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He was talking. Confusing, but she should keep him talking. “My name is Janie Roberts.” She touched her chest, the universal me Tarzan, you Jane gesture he was bound to understand. Lifting a shaking hand, she pointed to him. “Tell me yours.”

  “Kelskar Vespasian.”

  “Kelskar?” At least he understood what she wanted. Understood English but for some reason pretended not to speak it so well. Was he joking or some sort of crazy person so into this weird dressing up that he actually became the character? She eyed the hand, reaching for her like they needed to shake and be formally introduced. A pretty ludicrous thought what with the prison cell and them being trapped in some fantasy game.

  Shit, what if it wasn’t a game? What if they were perverts who get their rocks off...

  No, she couldn’t think of that. She refused to think of that.

  “You’re cold. Take my coat and cover yourself.” The man pushed the heavy patchwork leather over his shoulders, sliding out his arms. Janie scrabbled farther into the wall, heels sliding on the slick floor.

  He was locked in a cell. Couldn’t get to her.

  Unless this was part of the game. Instinctively she raised her face to the ceiling, searching for spying cameras watching or filming for some sick motive. A small box blinked at the corner of her cell roof. Maybe it was his job to frighten her? To make her scream and beg? Well tough, she survived Justin. She’d survive this.

  “Speak English. I don’t understand you.”

  “Cold. Take. Coat.”

  “No. I’m not playing your games.” Her voice bounced off the walls. Shaking so much now she was a shivering mess, her feet and fingers blocks of ice.

  “No Game. Take coat. Heat.” The man flattened the collar and then threaded the heavy coat into the gap between the bars. He’d never get it through. Too bulky. She watched him twist the leather, forcing it into the gap, surprisingly touched by the gesture.

  She’d remember this night for the rest of her life.

  “ Take.”

  The man looked up in appeal, a hint of emotion at last in his impassive face. Self preservation kicked in. Senses muddling. She’d freeze from hypothermia if she didn’t wrap up.

  “Thank you.” Scooting forward, she grabbed the hem and helped him tease the material through the gap. Still warm with his body heat, it enveloped her like a cosy cave. A place to temporarily escape the nightmare.

  “You. Need.” He watched her wriggle inside and huddle into the soft leather-like material, nodding his head at her sigh of relief. Smooth from wear on the inside, with faint overtones of manly sweat and whatever died to make it, the coat wrapped around her like a protective cloak.

  “Thank you. Tell me your name again.”

  “Kelskar Vespasian.”

  “Can you really understand everything I say?”

  He dipped his head once, metal-clad fingers curled around the bars. He understood her every word and maybe spoke English better than he let on, which only increased her suspicion they were playing some game and he was making up this cryptic language while laughing inside at her fear.

  “Universal translation module.”

  She shook her head. “What language is that? It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Here.” Kelskar touched the back of his head, eyes gleaming. Trick of this dim light, it must be. Only cat’s eyes shone like that. “Here,” he said again. “Chip to speak in tongues. Learn better how works when get yours.”

  The dark rumble of his voice in the cramped shade was oddly comforting. Big and scary looking, but she should make friends with this guy. He might be her only hope.

  “Who’s Lakmi Sadiri? Why did they call me that?” She’d almost forgotten the strange name, the way her kidnappers seemed convinced it belonged to her. Two clanking thuds shook the room, the floor tilted, righted itself. Janie breathed carefully, getting a grip on her thundering heart. They couldn’t be on a ship. Why would they be on a ship?

  “You. Janie Roberts.”

  “Yes, so why did they call me Lakmi Sadiri?” Too tangled in the enveloping coat to stand and confront this Kelskar. Anger made her brave, or stupid. She still hadn’t decided.

  Unbreakable bars between them. He couldn’t get to her.

  “Who’s Lakmi Sadiri? Tell me.”

  Kelskar contemplated her for a long moment. She’d never met anyone with such icy self control.

  “Murderess.”

  “Murderess?” Now he really was talking nonsense. If they thought she murdered someone the police would have come for her, not a bunch of weirdos in Halloween masks. “You’re saying she killed someone.”

  “I know you can’t understand me when I speak my own tongue, but I wish to tell you while I can. Need to speak the words aloud for my own sanity. The whole story before this demon cursed chip in my head starts working again. If it starts working again I’ll forget them, forget what I did to you and that I need to make amends. Need to protect you. How can I make you understand what’s happening in words your limited understanding can interpret? Were our roles reversed, I would feel your disbelief too.”

  Whoa! She hit a nerve with that question. Janie gave him a wobbly smile of apology. None of that made any sense.

  “If I murdered someone, they’d send the police.” Keep calm, stay rational and everything would work out. A thought struck her. “A vigilante group, is that what they are? Tell them they have the wrong person. You dress like them, they’ll listen to you. Tell them who I am.”

  Kelskar’s lips flattened. Her heart slithered down into her numb feet.

  “Take. Hand. Comfort.”

  Her eyes locked with his. Comfort? An odd choice of words. Ominous if she thought about it too much.

  “Tell them, Kelskar. They’ll listen to you.”

  She eyed the hand thrust through the bars, the muscled forearm, patterned with inked swirls and strange symbols. Massive biceps strained at metal caps covering the backs of his arms, more metal domed his shoulders under the tunic. Definitely not plastic, that was the real thing, yet she saw no visible means of attachment, not for the metal on his fingers, his arms, nor the plates stuck to his cheeks and to the back of his head. It looked too much a part of him, like a second skin.

  The thought made her shudder.

  And those eyes, so intent, so bright. The man could be a cat-shifter in some sci-fi novel.

  The arm strained towards her and the world narrowed to this tiny space of dim, shadowed light, dull metal floors and dirty blank walls. An empty half-world of a place where only she and he existed.

  A clattering from deep inside the building, or whatever this place was caught both of their attention. Kelskar beckoned her to him, each movement slow and measured.

  Okay. A deep breath for courage. She had to trust he didn’t want to rip off her arm. Trust might be her only ally in the hours to come.

  The hampering coat tripped her, the weight almost too much for her exhausted
body to haul. No energy to spare, she dragged herself across the space to his waiting hand, his upturned palm like an offering, inviting her to touch. He seemed desperate to touch her, but this was no normal handshake. Keeping distance between them, Janie stretched out her trembling right hand, palm down, astounded at the heat between them, the way it radiated and sought her frigid palm.

  He must have a way with animals, this guy. Rock still, attentive, as if any move of his might send her screaming away. Which it likely would, she thought on a ripple of hysteria, heart jammed in her throat, every nerve ending on alert.

  Just a guy. Flesh and blood and not some nightmare, the seeking heat reassured her. A millimetre between them and then his fingers curled with gentle grace, enclosing hers.

  No escaping the power in his grip, the way he drew her to him, mesmerising her with oddly colourless eyes that must be catching some light source she couldn’t see. Not enough to force her, more a suggestion to move closer. He studied her hand enclosed in his and she still didn’t know if she could trust him. The metal finger-guards should feel creepy or strange, but somehow they didn’t. Nothing felt normal tonight.

  Felt as if she’d travelled a long way in a few short hours.

  “I will keep you safe from what lies ahead, Janie Roberts. Know that I will make amends.”

  A ghost of a smile, a little sad. Again that strange language. He made no attempt to translate for her. This close she caught the dull gleam of metal at his collar bone, like the arc of a breastplate worn under his dark, sleeveless tunic. He wore the rough cloth cinched at the waist with a wide belt covered in bulging pockets. Brushed leather pants hugged his thighs.

  A man born to play the lead in some fantasy epic.

  “When do you think they’ll let us go?” Kelskar? Was that really his name?

  Another faint smile, bleaker this time and unmistakable pity in his eyes. Her heart squeezed tight. Not a smile of hope.

  “They are going to let us go.” Snatching back her hand, she twisted away from him, fists clenched trying to blank out that horrible admission in his smile. He knew more than he let on and it didn’t look good.

  “Kelskar, whoever you are, do something. Kick the door in. Shout. Find out what’s going on. Stop being so bloody calm. Stop messing with my head.” She yelled the last few words so loud her voice broke. Enough of this charade, game whatever. Blood on the wall or just dirt? What the hell was that clanking noise and that god-awful smell?

  Why couldn’t she wake up? Panic crept over her like an oncoming tsunami and she couldn’t hold it. She slumped back against the bars and slid to the floor, Kelskar like a solid wall behind her, above her. With a soft chink of metal, he hunkered down enveloping her in heat. How did men manage to stay so bloody warm? The air in the cell could freeze glass.

  “Just tell me what’s going on. If you know, tell me the truth.”

  “Truth is fear.”

  The words trickled down her spine. She shivered. “You’re saying the truth would frighten me? Well I have news, I’m already frightened enough. Tell me what this is. I can take it.”

  Brave words, girl.

  “You can take it?”

  Janie sat a little straighter, pressing into the bars to be nearer his heat. “Go on, hit me.”

  “Do not strike women.” He sounded appalled, affronted even. The heat moved away with a stomp of boots studs ringing on the metal floor.

  “Kelskar, it’s just a figure of speech.” She didn’t turn around, afraid she might see straight through the play acting. How did she trust anyone in a situation like this? “You understand what’s happening. I know you do. So explain. Tell me more about Lakmi Sadiri. What or where is Prison Moon One?”

  Even as she said it she wanted to laugh out loud and never stop.

  “Next you’ll tell me we’ve been abducted by aliens.”

  No answer, not in his tongue, not in hers. Silence hung between them like a shroud.

  “Shit.” Janie dropped her head into her folded arms. What else could she do to top a glorious year that saw her soaring to the stars and then promptly crash landing straight into a mountain of debt? Her shoulders shook and then her whole body with wholly inappropriate laughter. When she turned to look at him, Kelskar stood rigid, a slight curve to his shoulders in deference to his height and the restrictive cell. Studying her with the pity he might give a madwoman while she laughed until it hurt and then kept right on laughing.

  At that moment she couldn’t think of a saner thing to do.

  Chapter Three

  A strange people these Earthlings. Kelskar saw nothing to warrant such mirth and yet Janie Roberts continued to laugh with such vigour she ran out of breath and continued with a choking sound that may have been laughter, may have been tears.

  A long time since he’d been moved by a woman’s tears.

  There would be tears enough when they arrived at their destination and he was glad of this sacrifice. Beside him, she would survive. That he vowed.

  Too low for him to stand upright, the ceiling bars skimmed the metal helmet-plating welded to his scalp. Word told that minus the immunosuppressant drugs, his body would gradually and painfully reject this second skin. He cared nothing for the pain, but the lack of built-in protection would be of concern in a place where material to forge armour would be traded and fought over like the most precious of metals.

  A place Janie Roberts must learn of soon.

  The hair cascading free did indeed match Madame Lakmi’s in hue and lustre. Madame Lakmi’s beauty could pierce a man’s eyes in its intensity. Janie’s held a more subtle allure in its simplicity and honesty. She stirred his cock and also something buried deep behind the plated metal covering his chest.

  As another woman had, long ago.

  Two strides took him the width of the cage tainted with the stench of past captives of species from every corner of the galaxy. A warrior class ship, ex-military stock and built for long distance travel these hunters had trawled up every lowlife in the galaxy in their quest for bounty. Processed air, adjusted to their requirements filtered through a grille high in the wall. The cages were smaller structures in a bigger corridor-like space. The barred doors contained a lower door fitted near the floor, he guessed for the delivery of sustenance.

  The only facilities for bodily relief were a row of stained and stinking lidded containers lined up on the end wall. No sign of the hunters bringing any food, but they would and then Janie would discover why a murderess of kings proved too valuable for the executioners blade.

  She would learn of the cameras filming activity on the prison moons for prime time viewing. How the combination of bloodthirsty, desperate felons and screaming Earth women sent the ratings soaring.

  Janie Robert’s fear, her hot denials and pleas of innocence made classic prime time viewing for slavering decadents and children forced to watch as a cautionary tale. By beings so immune to violence, the killings might have been a mere tea party with the Holy See.

  How did he tell her that?

  Finally she lifted her head and sighed, tipping her face to his.

  “I need the bathroom. Please tell me there’s a bathroom.”

  He pointed to the containers and thought of the opulence of the Great Pakma’s royal chambers. The stories of bathing pools overflowing with the milk of nursing mothers. Chamber pots cast from pure Derillium, the rarest and most precious of minerals.

  It sure beat pissing in a used fuel-can.

  “Seriously?” Janie crawled to the front of the cage, rising up on her knees to better survey their prison. Impressing him with the grace with which she managed the hide coat that likely weighed more than she did.

  “I will not watch.” He would allow her dignity. He was a gentleman once.

  His concession earned him a raised eyebrow and another small giggle of nervous laughter.

  “I should bloody-well hope not. I guess a bed is too much to hope for?”

  He shook his head. Shouldn’t this woman be scr
eaming in terror, babbling her fear? Collapsing in a helpless heap at his feet? Earth women were particularly prized by the Corporation for their predisposition to scream loud enough to shatter Plexiglass at the slightest hint of danger. The way they inevitably fell and twisted and snapped their fragile ankle bones when they ran over rough terrain.

  Sour disgust caught in his throat. The numbing chip had allowed him to watch the chase, the capture without feeling. Now he remembered the females’ plight with shame.

  A break in Janie’s skin at her temple oozed clotting blood. He forced his eyelids wider, drinking in every drop of light to aid his vision. They hurt her bringing her in and he failed to notice under that dark fall of hair.

  “Come,” he said and crouched at the bars joining their cages. The wary flare of her eyes didn’t surprise him. He must cut an alarming figure to one so delicate. From what he’d learned, Earth men now fought their death-matches in spaces secret and remote, the majority having long moved past the thrill of watching two men battle in an arena of death.

  Janie Roberts, who baked food worthy of gods, would have no experience of men such as him. Nor would she relish such sport.

  “You hurt.” He touched his own temple and immediately she mirrored him, drawing in a hissing breath at the sting of torn flesh.

  “I didn’t feel it. Must be the cold.” On cue, she shuddered and burrowed farther into his coat. The gesture sent a knife-blade of possessive fervour through his gut.

  So vulnerable. His to protect. He would not let her down.

  “Show me.”

  Janie pulled herself up, holding the bars with fingers white from cold. “It stings a little, that’s all.”

  “A blow?” He let her come to him, knowing she likely teetered on a knife edge of panic and did not yet trust him. Why should she trust him?

  “I hit the floor. But apart from a bit of dizziness, I don’t think there’s major damage.”

  “Let me.” He took a measured step to stand flush with her at the separating bars. Nothing clean with which to mop the clotting blood so best to leave it alone and pray the vulnerable skull bones, the tissue and vessels beneath had suffered no serious damage. Or had they scanned her once on-board to ensure this valuable investment arrived unharmed? Very likely. A critically injured female offered no sport or incentive to the warlord factions who would reject such a liability.