by Robyn Bachar
“The setting says this scent is supposed to be soothing,” Malcolm explained. “Baths make me feel better, when I remember to take them. Bubble baths are even better.”
She smiled weakly and hiccupped a small laugh, and he helped her into the tub. Malcolm held Andee until she quieted. He was surprisingly calm, and she took solace in his steadfast energy and the warm comfort of the water.
“Did he just break up with us?” Malcolm asked gently.
“With me. It’s my fault.”
“With us. You go, I go,” he assured her.
Andee sniffled and looked up at him. “That’s sweet of you, a’mhain, but I know how much you want him.”
“I don’t want anybody who makes you cry like that,” he blurted, then winced. “I mean, I don’t know what Galen’s problem was, but there’s no excuse for the way he just treated you.”
“He has a reason. He thinks I lied to him.” Andee shook her head with a weary sigh. “It was a lie of omission. I didn’t tell him something, because I didn’t want him to know.”
“That doesn’t mean he can yell at you like that. If he has a problem, he should discuss it with you like an adult,” Malcolm said matter-of-factly.
“True.”
“Will you tell me what’s wrong? Please? Maybe I can help.”
“I’m not sure you can help this. It’s a cultural issue.” Andee steeled herself before explaining. “There aren’t many Cy’ren empaths left. When empaths were common, the houses often trained them to become liathlinn—assassins who used their empathic abilities to hunt and kill. Some liathlinn went insane, and they tortured and murdered in order to chase the exhilaration that they felt when taking a life. To contain them, the temples spread stories that the liathlinn were soul eaters. The people turned on them pretty quickly then, and the few that were left went into hiding.”
She braced herself, expecting Malcolm to explode as Galen had, but instead he merely nodded.
“Like witches,” Malcolm said, and she frowned. “That’s an old Earth thing, and it’s a long story, too. I get it. You’re one of them, and you didn’t tell Galen because you were afraid he’d freak out like this.”
“Yes. I can’t devour anyone’s soul. And I’m not insane,” she added. “I haven’t killed many people. Certainly not enough to drive me mad, and not without a reason.”
“I know. I believe you.”
“You do?” She blinked at him.
“Yeah. I might be covered in religious tattoos, but I’m not religious. Hell, the Archivist isn’t really religious either, he just likes the drama of it. But I’ve seen the evil that people can do, and I know you’re not capable of that. It kind of sounds like being a data miner. You do it long enough, and it kills you. Burns you out. So I guess I sort of know how you feel. I trust you.”
“I wish Galen shared your trust.” Andee sighed, and Malcolm kissed her.
“He probably does. I bet he’s just scared. He’s looking for any excuse to avoid admitting he has feelings for us. Like loving us is proof that there’s something wrong with him.”
“That’s very wise of you.”
“I’m smarter than I look,” Malcolm replied. “I listen when people think I’m not paying attention. You learn a lot that way.”
“Yes, you do.” She smiled sadly. “I’ve spent my life being ignored by some people and hiding from the rest. Overhearing conversations instead of participating in them.”
“Gathering the data instead of creating your own.”
“Yes. I think we are rather alike, you and I.” Andee quirked a brow as she studied him. Malcolm continued to be calm, concerned and even protective of her. No one had ever been so relaxed after hearing that she was a liathlinn—even Maysen, who had been her lover, never quite looked at her the same after he learned the truth.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked.
“Go on with the mission. Get some sleep. If he realizes he’s been a jackass, then we can make him grovel.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Andee brushed the hair from his face.
“We could start fresh somewhere, like in Alliance space. I wouldn’t have to be a data miner, and you wouldn’t have to be a leaf-thing, and we wouldn’t have to burn out. We could be whatever we want, instead of what other people think we should be.”
“It’s liathlinn, not leaf-thing,” she said with a soft smile. “We’ll work on your Cy’reni. Do you mean that? I’ve never thought about what I would do if I had to leave Cyprena. I always thought…”
“You’d work until you died?” Malcolm said. Andee swallowed hard and nodded. “Me too. Slaves don’t have a retirement plan. Neither do data miners. I never thought about having more. Until now.”
She blinked away tears as she struggled to breathe past the knot of emotion tangled in her throat. He meant it—maybe it was his ignorance of the liathlinn myths, but the sincerity in his energy and trust in his eyes was genuine. She caressed Malcolm’s cheek, brushing her fingers over his jaw, across his lips.
“No one has ever regarded me with such faith as you do. Even my own father was afraid of me, though he fought to keep that from me. I’ve spent so much time hiding my abilities, terrified that if anyone knew they would react as Galen did. His energy was so…” Andee’s lower lip trembled as she trailed off, and Malcolm kissed her tears away.
“None of that now.” He glanced around and picked up a bar of scented soap. “Here. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”
“All right.” Andee turned, and Malcolm built up a lather and massaged it over her back.
“You don’t have any battle scars,” he commented, and she chuckled.
“I’ve been sliced and blasted more than once in sparring matches, but the medics always erased the evidence. It wouldn’t be proper for a lady to bear such scars.”
“That’ll probably change now that Bryn’s a lady. She has lots of battle scars.”
Andee turned and quirked a brow. “You’ve seen Brynnaren naked?”
Malcolm coughed and blushed. “Not on purpose. Well, no, I guess it was on purpose, but I didn’t like it…okay, that’s not accurate either.”
“I understand.” Andee stopped his babbling with a kiss, and then took the soap and motioned for him to turn around. Her fingertips trailed over the ink covering his back. The text was foreign and the symbols strange, but the detail was remarkable. Her mate marks had only taken moments to ink and had stung for a few hours. This must have taken days, perhaps even weeks to complete.
“May I ask, what do your marks mean?”
“Most of the text is made up of religious verses, and they’re pretty grim. Fire and damnation. The Archivist enjoys the verses that talk about judgment, punishment and so on. But I chose the prayer on my back. Well, I didn’t have a choice in getting the tattoo, but he gave me a choice in the text. It’s the prayer of St. Francis.”
“What does it say?”
Malcolm shrugged and cleared his throat. “It’s pretty. It’s about love, tolerance, hope and understanding. Being an instrument of peace, and bringing light to the darkness. All things I wanted but didn’t have.”
“You’re helping to bring peace to Cyprena,” she pointed out. She might not see that peace. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to think she might never go home again. There were hundreds of worlds within the Alliance, places where people had never heard of liathlinn. What would it be like to live a life without the constant fear of discovery?
“I guess so. I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
She traced the design with her fingers and brushed light kisses across his shoulder blades. “I’d leave the light where it is, though. Cy’ren like the dark.”
“I do too. I’m used to living on ships and stations.” With a deep breath, Malcolm faced her again and took her hands in his. “I’ve never belonged anywhere. I mean, I’ve been owned, and I’ve been with people, but I didn’t have a choice in most of it. I want a
life with you. I’d like a life with both of you, but not if Galen can’t learn to accept us. Both of us.”
Tears slipped from her eyes, but then Andee smiled and kissed him. “I love you, Malcolm. You have such faith in me, and I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“I don’t need to be an empath to know that you’re amazing.” He rose and drew her to her feet. “I can prove it, if you’d like.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. But we should dry off first. I’ve done the sex in a tub thing before, but the leverage and the friction are never good when you’re underwater.”
Andee laughed. “That’s true. Though I did some wonderfully wicked things in the showers in the shadow sword barracks.”
“I’d like to hear about that sometime.” Malcolm led her back to the bedroom and stood staring at her with an almost reverent expression. “You’re so beautiful.” He skimmed his fingers down her arms, traced the curve of her hips and then lightly cupped her breasts. “Have I said that lately? Because you are.”
“You’ve mentioned it, but I don’t agree. I’m plain. It was useful for a spy, but less so in finding a mate.”
Andee sighed as she looked away, raw and heartbroken from Galen’s rejection. Malcolm framed her face with his hands and kissed her until she was breathless.
“You’re amazing,” he assured her. “I love you. I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
She gazed into his dark eyes and found she couldn’t imagine her life without him. From the moment he arrived at the Morningstar manor, anxious and lost, Malcolm had slipped into her mind and heart as though he had always been there.
“Forever, a’mhain,” Andee murmured against his lips.
Hungry heat rushed over her as Malcolm nudged her back atop the bed, combined with his joy at her acceptance and a twinge of sorrow. They both wanted Galen there with them, but for now they took comfort in each other. Malcolm trailed kisses from her neck to her breasts, and Andee gasped as he eagerly teased the peaks with hands and mouth. His unbound hair was damp at the ends as she threaded her fingers through it, and her back arched as she moaned in approval.
Malcolm nibbled a path down the plane of her stomach and settled between her thighs. She met his eyes as he glanced up—it was odd to see him without his spectacles—and there was nothing timid or hesitant in his gaze.
“Mine,” he said. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Yes.”
With a wicked grin Malcolm lowered his mouth to her sex, and Andee closed her eyes and focused on his hungry desire and her building need. He teased her through her first climax with light strokes of his tongue and gentle, maddening caresses, but his pace increased as he pleasured her through a second and then a third orgasm. Andee moaned, her hands clenching the bedcovers as another wave of ecstasy burst through her.
“Please, Malcolm,” she begged.
He grinned again. “Please, what?” His wicked fingers continued to thrust inside her sex as her hips moved in time with their rhythm.
“I need you inside me.”
Malcolm retraced the path he had kissed to her sex, slowly progressing up her body until he reached her neck. “Will you give me your throat?” he asked. Andee was startled to hear the words from a human, and he hesitated. “Is that wrong?”
“No, a’mhain. It’s exactly right.” Andee turned and bared her throat to him, and he bit her. Human teeth weren’t sharp enough to easily break the skin, but Malcolm made up for that in enthusiasm. He sucked hard enough to ensure a bruise—a mark as obvious as a Cy’ren’s bite. Malcolm thrust into her, and Andee cried out and wrapped her legs around his waist.
He covered her mouth with a passionate kiss, the taste of her sex on his lips nearly as intoxicating as Cy’ren blood. Andee demanded that he fuck her harder, and Malcolm immediately obliged. He rode her to a hard, fast climax, and then he collapsed in her arms as she tightened around him.
Andee purred as she held him close. They both ached for Galen, but their spirits were bruised and bloodied, not broken. Andee and Malcolm would survive this together. Now they just needed to survive the mission as well.
Chapter Ten
The constant pulse of the club’s bass was a welcome reminder of Malcolm’s own club on the jump station—well, technically it wasn’t his club, because the Archivist owned it, but Malcolm had lived in and operated out of it. The familiarity of the music eased his anxiety, but the atmosphere was very different. It was like someone had taken Malcolm’s nightclub and the brothel Bryn and Sabine had worked in and smushed them together. Sex and sweat scented the air, and many of Sinsation’s patrons seemed to share the allergy to clothing that Alexi’d had.
“You’re clear, sir,” Mordackai said. Dack and Soth were dressed in the same sort of skintight light armor that Andee usually wore under her uniform, except the two shadow swords wore only the armor and the few weapons they were allowed as Malcolm’s bodyguards. Malcolm felt slightly guilty for admiring the view. Captain Hawke and Talena were fortunate women.
“Yes, of course.” Malcolm nodded with confidence he didn’t feel and headed toward the booth they had reserved for the evening. The reservation had cost as much as Malcolm charged for two average jobs, and he wondered why anyone would waste their credits on such a silly thing. He could buy so much with that amount of money—if he was allowed to buy things. When he was a free man, he would need to learn how to take care of financial matters.
Andee and Galen followed an obedient step behind Malcolm, wearing even less clothing than the shadow swords, and neither was speaking to the other. Andee continued to grasp the nuances of slave behavior better than Galen, but as an empath Andee had an advantage. She could sense the subtleties that most people would miss in a conversation. Though there wasn’t anything subtle going on around them now.
Malcolm sat in the center of the booth, Soth and Dack took up guard positions, and Andee knelt at Malcolm’s feet and laid her head against his knee. Galen forgot his coaching and tried to sit at Malcolm’s side again, so he grabbed a handful of the Cy’ren’s hair and pulled until Galen clumsily slipped to his knees.
What would the Archivist do? Sadly Malcolm knew the answer all too well, and forced himself to follow up on Galen’s faux pas with a sharp slap.
“Manners,” Malcolm snapped. Archivist de la Cruz was big on manners. Galen’s shoulders hunched and he stared at a spot on the floor of the booth. Malcolm distracted himself from his horror by ordering a drink, and hid his trembling hands by stroking Andee’s hair.
Galen hadn’t apologized—not for the slip-up, and not for accusing Andee of being some sort of Cy’ren monster. He’d been distant and quiet all day, and it grated on Malcolm’s frayed nerves.
They watched the crowd, and Malcolm wondered what to do now. He was an awful dancer, and he wasn’t an exhibitionist. Dr. Morgan had removed the slave mark at his throat, but there was no time to do the enormous amount of work required to remove his inked artwork. Shedding any amount of clothing on his part would reveal that he wasn’t what he claimed to be. Malcolm sipped one glass of wine then ordered a second. Several humans, mostly males, came by and expressed interest in borrowing Andee for their entertainment, enough that Malcolm became concerned. After that, the only one bold enough to ask after Andee was a woman with two leashed and collared Cy’ren females in tow. He wasn’t sure, but Malcolm thought Andee pouted after the females were turned away.
Galen sulked on the floor as though being punished, which fit well into their plan to lure Toulouse in. When their target finally sidled up to the booth, it was all Malcolm could do to not choke on his wine. Not that he was surprised by the man’s obvious interest in Galen, but the jealousy that burned through Malcolm was something new. Galen wasn’t his anymore—not that he’d ever been Malcolm’s in the first place. He had to accept that and move on.
“Poor thing. Was your pet naughty?” Toulouse asked.
Malcolm issued his best imitation scowl. “Yes. He is a new acquisition, and
forgets himself too often. His former master had no concept of discipline.”
The man grinned, and the expression chilled Malcolm’s blood. “I would be glad to help discipline him. I am known for my skill in breaking headstrong slaves.”
Which was one of the reasons they had picked him as their target. “Take him.” Malcolm’s voice nearly cracked as he spoke, but he gestured nonchalantly with his wine glass. “Just don’t do any permanent damage, or break anything.”
“Only his spirit,” Toulouse replied. God. Malcolm hoped they could gut the bastard after he served his purpose. No one would miss him. Toulouse led Galen away, and Andee nuzzled Malcolm’s ear and nipped his earlobe.
“He can do this,” she whispered.
“I hope so.”
“He’s stronger than he looks.” Though Andee smiled, her eyes were haunted as she slipped from his lap and knelt between his legs, reaching for the fly of his pants. Malcolm’s eyes widened.
“I’m not an exhibitionist,” he murmured in warning.
“That’s all right. I am. Besides, it will cover me as I read for Galen’s signal.”
“Well then. Proceed.” It sounded like a command his master would give. Maybe a little too breathy, he thought, but then Andee’s lips circled his cock. She was damn good—maybe it was an empath thing. Andee could sense his reactions. Malcolm wondered if Galen realized that Andee had sensed everything he felt when he rejected her. Rejected them.
Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. Once they got through this mission, he and Andee could ask the Alliance for asylum and start new lives. There was never going to be a future for them with Galen, and maybe together they could learn to accept that, and to heal.
∆∆∆
Galen’s heart raced as he followed Toulouse away from the dubious security of Malcolm’s booth. The steps of the plan repeated in his thoughts until he was so focused on them that he nearly stumbled and fell down a set of stairs leading to the private pleasure rooms. Toulouse chuckled darkly, likely thinking that fear caused Galen’s misstep instead of focus. Toulouse was a surprisingly pale human, his skin so white that Galen could see faint blue veins in his arm as his hand traced a handrail on the staircase.
