by Joanna Wylde
He grinned when her legs came up around his waist. So much for restraining her. Her entire body was nothing but smooth, sleek muscle. She took good care of herself, far better care than most dancers. He should have known there was something different about her from the start… Of course, he had known, he thought wryly. He just hadn’t known how different she was.
His door pinged, and he gritted his teeth. He’d told them to leave him alone except for emergencies.
“Go away,” he said gruffly, but the door pinged again. It must be important.
She cocked an eyebrow at him as he stood. He strode over the door impatiently, slapping at the control to open it. His second, Everand, stood outside, face tense.
“We need you in the aft cargo hold,” he said without bothering to apologize. “It’s serious.”
Damian nodded tightly, and turned back toward his assassin. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to tie me up again?” she asked languidly, eyes flickering past him to take in Everand’s tight face.
“Would they hold you?” he asked, his mouth quirking.
“No,” she replied shortly. “It’s more for form than anything.”
“Sir,” Everand said softly, but Damian raised a hand, cutting him off.
“Let’s go,” he said, moving through the door. “What’s the problem?”
“It seems that the we have some unstable materials mixed in with the textiles,” Everand started to explain. “Karoli found them on a routine inspection. We’re damned lucky the whole thing hasn’t blown before now…”
* * * * *
Cybele watched Damian leave, noting the red light that flickered to life above the door as he sealed it. He was lucky such a seal couldn’t hold her prisoner, she thought. He might be tough enough to out-fight her, but clearly his nature was too trusting. She had no idea how he’d survived so long.
She rose to her feet, looking about the cabin for something she could use as a weapon. She didn’t bother worrying about her tattered clothing. Damian had no female crewmembers; she’d stand out no matter what she wore. She’d have to make her escape without anyone seeing her or she’d have to kill them. No need to complicate things.
Her mouth twisted in amusement as she looked through his drawers, noting how untidy they were. In some ways, men were all the same. She found a small, antique mirror there, the kind made from glass. Why he had such a silly thing she couldn’t imagine, but it would serve her purpose. She broke it neatly against the corner of a drawer, then wrapped a scrap of fabric securely around one end. Not pretty, but it made a serviceable enough knife, and the heft would work for throwing.
She had the door open within seconds, slipping down the corridor silently. She was familiar with the ship’s design, had studied it extensively before planning her attack on him. The aft cargo hold would be easy enough to find. Everand had been a fool to let their destination slip out in front of her.
Neutralizing the target would be simple.
She crept down the hallways, always listening for others, but still moving quickly. No time for hesitation, no time for doubt. She had work to do.
The aft cargo hold door was locked, but opening it was as easy as opening the seal on Damian’s cabin had been. Too trusting, she thought once more. Didn’t the man have any sense? How could he expect to survive with such lax security?
He couldn’t, she thought in dark disgust.
The door slid open, revealing Damian and Everand just a few meters away, hunched over a diagnostic handset. Everand turned and stepped away from Damian in surprise. Then his eyes caught hers. He gasped.
Damian spun around, seeing her, and she raised the primitive knife. Everand reached down to his belt, reaching for a blaster a blaster. Instinct took over.
Raising the knife high, she gave a powerful cry and leaped toward the men. Her body hit Damian’s with enough force to knock him back into the piles of textiles. His eyes held betrayal and sadness, but she ignored his pain. Nothing mattered at that moment but the target.
She threw the awkward knife, wishing desperately that she had a weapon with better balance, but it was good enough. It caught Everand in the throat and he dropped, the blaster firing up at the ceiling as he went down. She turned to Damian.
He seemed stunned, his face filled with betrayal, and without thinking she slapped him right across the face. His instincts didn’t extend to protecting himself from his own crewmen, she realized.
“Get over it,” she said tightly. “He was going to kill you, you dolt. I had to stop him.”
He blinked his eyes, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Everand, your trusty second,” she said. “He was my client. He hired me to kill you, although I have no idea why.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked softly.
“Because I didn’t know he was on the ship with us until I saw him,” she replied. “The idiot hired me in person. I knew as soon as I saw him that he’d have to kill you himself, before you found out he was my client.”
“You saved my life,” he said quietly, and she shook her head. For such an intelligent man, he didn’t seem to be grasping the situation very quickly.
“Of course I did,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I’m not done with you yet. You’ve got no idea how to take care of yourself, your security is pathetic. It’ll probably take me weeks just to go through your logs and make sure Everand didn’t have any help on board. After all, he’s not the one who led you to the club. We have to learn if the other men were in on the plot.”
He looked at her, utterly confused, and she rolled her eyes.
“I’ve made a decision, Damian,” she said. “I’m keeping you. You’ve got a lot to learn, but you’re still more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met. We belong together.”
He burst out laughing, and reached one hand up toward her. She pulled him up lightly, grinned at him and leaned forward to kiss him. Lust hit her again, and for a second she considered the pile of cloth, wondering what kind of bed it would make.
His gaze turned to Everand’s body, though, and her lust faded. Time to take care of the evidence.
“I think we should tell the crew I killed him,” he said. “They’ll understand if I say he challenged me for control of the ship. Challenges aren’t uncommon among smugglers, although I’ve never heard of an assassination attempt before. He must have realized it was the only way he’d be able to beat me.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just ashamed to be saved by a woman?”
“No, honored,” he replied. “But Everand had friends on board, and you’ll be able to find his co-conspirators more easily if they think you’re just a dancer I’ve picked up.”
“Well, let’s get the body cleaned up,” she said softly. “You’ve got explanations to make. I think it might be a good idea if we got out of port, too. Better if nobody has a chance to talk about what happened.”
“The next leg of our trip is a long one,” he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes. “I just hope you aren’t too bored.”
She sauntered away from him, turning to look back flirtatiously over one shoulder.
“We’ll think of some way to pass the time.”
He grinned, and nodded his head. Then he a strange look came over his face. “What the hell is your name, anyway? I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Cybele,” she replied with a laugh. “I’m Saurellian. We’re different. Get used to it.”
About the author
Joanna Wylde is a freelance writer who has been working professionally for more than eight years as a journalist and fund-raiser. In April 2002, she branched out into fiction with The Price of Pleasure, a futuristic romance published by Ellora's Cave. She is 29 years old, married, and lives in north Idaho.
Joanna welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Joanna Wylde:
Aphrodite’s Touch
Forgotten Wishes
Saurellian Federation: Dragon’s Mistress
Saurellian Federation: Survival’s Price
Saurellian Federation: The Price of Freedom
Saurellian Federation: The Price of Pleasure
Wicked Wishes
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Jerred’s Price
Joanna Wylde
Jerred is a Saurellian spy, posing as a freighter captain/smuggler, and one who doesn't know the true meaning of love.
Giselle is a barmaid hiding out on an Imperial space station, on the run for her life and leery of any man, especially one like Jerred.
But from the moment they meet, passions get hot and desires run wild.
When Giselle witnesses a murder, the mysterious freighter captain is her only hope for escape. There's just one problem. He isn't willing to take her on for free. Before she's done Giselle will know what it means to pay Jerred's price.
A Romantica® futuristic erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Jerred's Price
Joanna Wylde
Chapter One
Transit Station Three
Just inside Imperial Space
Year 6296, Saurellian Calendar
“How’s Giselle this evening?” Vetch asked expansively as he walked into the bar. Giselle winked at him, used to his flirting. The station was part of the freighter captain’s usual run, and he came in at least once every other week. She gave him a big grin and leaned forward across the bar, flashing her cleavage at him.
“I’m fine, Vetch,” she said. “Getting better all the time. What can I do for you?”
“My friend and I needed a comfortable place to talk, and naturally we thought of Manya’s,” Vetch said, gamely attempting to maintain eye contact with her. Every few seconds she caught his glance darting downwards. Men always looked at her chest first She was used to it by now.
“They’re still there, hon,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I check on ’em first thing every morning, just for you.”
Vetch blushed, and she gave a deep, rich laugh. Then he started laughing, too, and to her surprise he leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re one in a million, Giselle,” he said. “But I have business to take care of this evening. Can you set up me and my friend with a pitcher? Talking business is thirsty work.”
“Is there anything that’s not thirsty work for you, Vetch?” a man asked. Giselle looked up, startled.
Her breath caught.
Vetch had always seemed tall to her, but this man towered over the friendly freighter captain. His face was hard, angular, and a nasty scar twisted one side of it, pulling his features into a permanent snarl. Startled, she looked down quickly, but she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. He wore tall, black boots that seemed to be made of leather, of all things. Leather was expensive… Her eyes moved slowly upward following a roughened pair of black breeches that clung to every lean muscle of his legs. A loose, black shirt draped his upper body, and he carried a leather jacket cradled in one arm.
His gaze met hers coolly as her eyes reached his face. That scar caught her attention again, and she found herself looking at it with morbid fascination. What kind of wound would do damage like that, and why hadn’t he gotten it fixed? He cleared his throat meaningfully. Embarrassed, she flashed a smile at him. She had been rude. He didn’t smile back. In fact, he didn’t respond to her at all. Instead he looked away, checking out the room as if he was expecting trouble. Her intuition pricked, and she made a mental note to keep an eye on him. If there was trouble this evening, she’d bet her last credit it would come from him.
“Find a seat, and I’ll be right with you,” she said to him, trying not to let him see how uncomfortable he made her. She’d be damned if she’d show him weakness.
“Thanks, Giselle,” he said softly. He rolled her name across his tongue slowly, as if savoring its taste and sound.
He nodded to Vetch, indicating a table against the wall. As they walked over together, she watched out the corner of her eye as he took a seat against the wall. Definitely dangerous. She might want to warn Manya…
She brought them their pitcher and some glasses, and tried flashing another smile at him. But even Vetch’s expression was sober now, and it was clear her presence wasn’t wanted. Then a group of Debsian traders came in talking loudly, and her attention was taken up filling their drink orders. Still, she pointed the man out to Manya when he came out from the back office to tend bar. She didn’t like Black Leather’s attitude one little bit.
The bar filled steadily over the next two hours, and while she checked regularly on the two men, they didn’t want anything more from her. She had to admit, the way Vetch’s friend ignored her piqued her interest. She was used to men noticing her, used to them paying attention when she flirted and smiled at them. She was getting nothing from him, although at times she felt as if might be watching her.
After she stopped by the table to check on them a third time, something flickered in his eyes as she brushed past him—she knew she was on to something. He noticed her, but he didn’t want to show it. She smiled to herself, wondering why she was bothering to play this little game with him. Boredom? Maybe. A little flirting would make the shift go faster. After all, if he were going to cause trouble, he would have by now. She reached one hand to her already low neckline and pulled it down just a bit. Manya gave her a pointed look, which she ignored. Cleavage sold drinks—he knew that. She was just doing her job.
On her next pass through the tables she ignored Black Leather, focusing on the Debsians instead. She leaned over as she served the traders, flashing them a wide expansion of soft, sloping breast littered with ginger-colored freckles. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Black Leather’s stare. She pretended not to see, and then leaned forward even further.
“Anything else I can get you boys?” she asked in a low voice, winking at the loudest of the traders. He was a bluff, friendly looking man who didn’t seem used to getting attention from women. His friends hooted, and one slapped him on the back.
Encouraged, the man leaned forward and held out two fingers with a credit chit between them.
“This is all yours, darlin’,” he said. “I don’t suppose you want to come back to my hostel with me?”
“Nope,” she said with a wink, “I’m not really that kind of girl. But I appreciate the offer.”
The men groaned, and then, to her surprise, their leader reached out and tucked the credit chit between her breasts. She drew in a breath, about to let him have it, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She had Black Leather’s full attention now. Feeling pleased with herself, she laughed and stood up.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, picking up her tray and balancing it against one full hip. “I appreciate the tip.”
“Another round!” one of the traders said in a loud voice, face flushed from drink. “We’ll keep you busy tonight!” They all broke into a round of cheers, thumping the table for emphasis. Feeling pleased with herself, she sashayed away from the Debsians toward the two men against the wall. Vetch waved her away from them, but she came over, pretending to misunderstand his gesture.
“Can I get you boys anything?” she asked. Black Leather shook his head, darkness filling his face. Vetch look
ed a little nervous, and Black Leather leaned back in his chair, lifting one arm casually and laying it on the seat back behind him. Her eyes ran down his body languidly. Then they stopped. He had a blaster holstered against his side. The jacket had hidden it from her sight when she’d first come in.
Damn.
Manya had a security screen on the door. Why hadn’t it picked up his weapon? She felt the smile fade from her face, growing uncomfortable under his steady, cold gaze.
“We ask our customers to check their weapons before coming in here,” she said uncertainly, looking toward the bar for backup. Manya was deep in conversation with Kisti, the other barmaid. Neither looked in her direction. “It’s against station regulations to have a blaster in an establishment that serves alcohol. It’s a serious offense.”
“I prefer to keep my blaster with me,” he replied in a cool voice. She glanced at Vetch, saw him swallow, and then nodded her head, feeling sick. Black Leather was trouble. She had sensed that from the start, why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? Damn men.
“All right, then,” she said, trying to smile. “I’ll leave you to your drinks.”
This time there was no hint of a swing in her step as she walked away. She ignored the wave they gave her at another table, walked right past the bar and down the hallway to the ladies’ fresher. It was a one-seater, and she locked the door behind her with carefully controlled movements. She turned to the basin and flicked her hand in front of the spout. Warm water poured out, and she shook her head in disgust.
“Cold,” she said shortly. Obediently, the temperature of the water changed. She splashed her face with it, leaned against the counter and sighed. She needed to let Manya know something was up with this guy. But would Manya be able to do anything about him? He wasn’t the kind of man to be dismissed lightly. If they just left him alone until he left, that might be safer for everyone. Only fools provoke predators, she reminded herself. Lay low and you’ll be fine.
