The Starlight Rite

by Cherise Sinclair

  She bit her lip, feeling it quiver. Nathan never wanted me, did he? Not even in the beginning.

  A warm hand curled around hers. Dain kissed her chilled fingers. “You look very unhappy, little one.” He tilted his head, silently requesting an answer.

  She shook her head and tried to ignore the disappointment in his eyes.

  Then his lips curved. “My life has lacked challenge recently. Perhaps it’s time to work on your secrets. You’re trapped here long enough for me to discover everything about you.” He nipped her thumb sharply and made her jump.

  Unease shivered through her at his threat, and she looked away, only to see the people down the table watching them. Dear heavens. She frowned at him. “Behave,” she whispered.

  “Make me, laria.” With his other hand, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled enough to tilt her head back. “Or should I make you behave instead?” he murmured. He tightened his hand in her hair, forcing her to meet his penetrating gaze. Slowly, the table of noisy people disappeared, until there was only Dain and the rapid thudding of her heart in her ears.

  “Dain, stop that.” His mother’s sharp voice breached the fog.

  Releasing Mella, he turned to speak with his mother. Mella sagged back in her chair, experiencing the same feeling as when he released her restraints in bed—relief and a strange sense of loss.

  Pull yourself together. Giving herself a mental shake, she straightened and caught the scent of grilled meat. Somehow in the last minute, a servant had placed a filled plate in front of her. She started to pick up her fork and realized Dain still held her hand as he talked with his mother. With a scowl, she tugged, only to have his grip tighten.

  She huffed in exasperation, then saw his grandfather’s frown. The old man’s gaze went from their joined hands to his grandson’s face to hers. She felt herself flush and pulled harder on her hand.

  Dain glanced down at her, and his eyes crinkled. “Sorry, laria. I enjoy touching you.”

  He’d said the same thing the night before, even as he’d held her thighs apart and… She swallowed hard.

  His eyebrow went up, and then his fingers slid down to her wrist, resting on her fast pulse. His gaze intensified, as he took in her heated cheeks. When his eyes focused lower, she realized her breasts felt tight and swollen.

  “Well.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he murmured, for her ears only, “Perhaps we should take a nap after lastmeal.”

  Releasing her, he returned to his conversation with his mother and Felaina. Mella clasped her hands and fumed. Her whole body felt hot. Needy. And yet he hadn’t done anything except pull on her hair and hold her hand.

  He laughed at something Felaina said, the sound so deep and resonant, it sent chills through her. No musical instrument could achieve the controlled power of his voice. She gazed at his strong profile, his square jaw, and firm lips. His lips had touched—She jerked her eyes away. Prophet have mercy. What was wrong with her? She needed to remember that he owned her. She was his toy—his sex slave, nothing more. When her indenture period ended, he’d hardly notice her absence. He might even buy a new unshuline in the market to take her place.

  The thought of him with another woman jabbed her in the chest, so hard it took her breath.

  As she stared down at her hands in her lap, she concentrated on settling herself using the techniques she’d mastered as a child for performance anxiety. Her breathing slowed; her mind cleared. After a minute, she picked up her fork and looked around.

  Her eyes met the clanae’s. He was watching her, his face as unreadable as Dain’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days later, tired of her dismal thoughts, Mella left her rooms and headed down the hallway. Blast that man.

  Last night and again that evening, Dain had gone into Port City, leaving her at home. In fact, he hadn’t asked her to accompany him once since her attempted escape. The relief of being safe and hidden in the enclave mingled with an unsettling jealousy.

  Was he dancing and flirting with city women like the one who’d thrown herself at him outside the party? Or like that Triscana, who had lowered her eyes until Dain made her look at him. Mella recognized the woman’s behavior now. Triscana was submissive, and Dain had coupled with her. And enjoyed it.

  The thought hurt.

  Dumb, dumb, dumb. She’d coupled with a man and, in spite of knowing better, had let her emotions get tangled. Dain certainly didn’t feel any involvement. She was his unshuline and nothing more. In twenty-some days, she wouldn’t even be that.

  Yet the thought of losing him—not seeing the molten silver of desire in his eyes, feeling his hard hands on her body, or hearing the laughter in his deep voice—made her chest feel hollow, as if it would echo with emptiness when she left.

  But she would leave; she must leave. Every morning, she watched the news in the kitchen. The investigation of her death had stalled, in spite of the public’s outcry against the stalker. Mella laughed cynically. Considering the bombers were the same men investigating the crime, the so-called stalker would never get caught. Very clever of Nathan.

  If only they would simply close the case. Then Nathan would leave. And Mella might talk Dain into taking her to Port City again.

  She shook her head. Pitiful. She was acting more like a wife than a slave he’d bought. With a sigh, she walked into the family room and paused for a moment. Rebli and Canna sat on each side of Felaina as she read them a story. A wistful ache settled in Mella’s chest. She’d never been around young children and never had a baby. Nathan had said she must be infertile. She had missed more than she’d known.

  “Mella!” Rebli ran across the room, her shoulder-length braids bouncing madly. “Are you going to play for us like yesterday? Can I help?” As Mella knelt, the little girl jumped straight into her arms, hugging her neck, and it felt as if she trailed happiness in her wake.

  Were all Nexan children so exuberant? On Earth, the shepherds would consider Rebli far too loud. Too forward. The young were to remain silent and in the nursery. Mella frowned, remembering when she’d been a child and darted out of their apartment, screaming in joy because her daddy had returned from a trip. He’d laughed and tossed her into the air.

  The dour shepherd next door had reported them. After that, Mella had attended the sector nursery like other children rather than staying home with Mama. Her parents had become quieter, and happiness more elusive.

  All for laughing too loud. Earth was wrong. The Divine Prophet was wrong.

  Mella hugged Rebli hard and received a delightful stream of giggles and a kiss. When Mella rose, Rebli grabbed her hand and dragged her to the pianete, close kin to an Earth piano. “This one, Mella. I want to play this one with you.”

  “Well…” Mella glanced around.

  On a couch by the music area, Canna snuggled against Felaina, both of them smiling. “Reblaini, Mella may not want to play right now,” Felaina said.

  Biting her lip, Rebli looked up pleadingly, her dark eyes like Dain’s in miniature.

  This is how his daughters would look, Mella knew. And his son would look like Wardain with mischief dancing in his eyes. Raised here in the clanhome, this is how they would be—cheerful and cherished. Her heart tugged, as she wished for impossible things. “Of course we can play together.” She pulled the child down beside her on the bench and placed her tiny fingers on the keyboard. “This is a C chord. When I nod my head, you do your chord.”

  The simple tunes Mella played were made splendid by the joy in the child’s face.

  Canna demanded a turn on the pianete and then had her harp lesson. After that, Felaina requested quiet music so the children might unwind before bedtime. Mella ignored Rebli’s begging her to sing and played lullabies on the harp. No more singing, although it became harder and harder to suppress the melodies bubbling up inside her. Mama had always said that she’d sung before she learned to speak.

  A short time later, the children hugged Mella, and Felaina herded them off to bed.
Now the room seemed too silent. Pushing away from the harp, Mella stretched and rose to her feet. And froze.

  Both Dain and the clanae sat at a card table across the room, watching her. When had they come in? Dain wore dark formalwear with silver embroidery flashing on the neckline and sleeves. His expression unreadable, he leaned back in his chair, his long legs extended before him.

  The clanae frowned at her.

  An uneasy feeling slid into Mella’s stomach. Had she done something wrong? Perhaps unshulines were not to associate with the precious children of the clan. Maybe Felaina didn’t realize that. After all, Dain said he hadn’t bought a sex slave before. The thought of losing the children’s company filled her with unhappiness. How had they become so important to her so quickly?

  As she approached the two men, Dain’s brows drew together. “When you looked at us, the happiness left you. Tell me why, laria.”

  She glanced at the clanae, but his expression didn’t change. “I… Um, are there rules about un”—the word was hard to say, harder to apply to herself—“unshulines being around children? Am I supposed to stay away from them?”

  “Ah.” Smiling, Dain took her hand and pulled her into his lap so easily, she had no time to resist.

  “Dain, stop,” she hissed. Horrified, she glanced at the stern old grandfather. His hand was in front of his mouth, rubbing his lips.

  Dain ignored her, settling her in his arms to his satisfaction. “To answer your question, there are no rules about you associating with the children. In fact, Felaina is delighted you’ve taken an interest in them. Music isn’t one of the talents bred into the Zarain line.”

  Bred? The clanae and Blackwell had used that word also. Surely she misunderstood. “You…breed…for certain things?”

  The clanae leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “The Zarain kinline breeds for leaders and warriors. For courage, strength, intelligence, and the ability to command. We select our mates according to those criteria. Only under moonless nights during Starlight Rites are our requirements relaxed.”

  Well, she fell short in every category. Good thing she had no interest in staying on this planet. At all. Really. Her stomach felt funny, though, like the old man had hit her with his fist rather than his cold words.

  Dain made a growling noise. “Grandsir, that’s enough.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow but sat back in his chair. “We plan to play cards, Earther. It’s a shame you don’t know how.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she said coolly, bursting his bubble with pleasure. Not that his assumption about Earth wasn’t correct. Card games were forbidden. However, Cap and his crew had played constantly and insisted on her joining them, especially for… “Do you know how to play poker?”

  They didn’t.

  She soon had a nice pile of royals in front of her. Cap had coached her on hiding her “tells,” and apparently whatever devious method Dain used for catching her lies didn’t work with bluffing. At least, not at first.

  But with this hand, she raised and saw skepticism in his eyes. Better quit while I’m ahead.

  “Well, gentlemen, it’s been fun.” With a smile, she repaid Dain’s loan and tucked her winnings into her dress pockets. The heavy royals clinked as she moved, a sweetly satisfying sound. She’d won half the price of a ticket to Earth in just one night. Rather than thieving, she should have set up a gambling table in the plaza.

  Rising, Dain grinned and ran his hand down her arm. “Little thief is a good name for you. I haven’t lost like that since my first year in the militia. How about you, Grandsir?”

  The old man’s black eyebrows drew together as he looked her up and down. “You’re smarter than you look, Earther.”

  * * *

  The high-pitched screams had turned to grunts of agony by the time Armelina reached the stage. Her hands slid in the blood on the floor as she crawled to her friend and froze in horror. Slashes everywhere, blood streaming from them all.

  “Wake up now, Mella.” The authority in the deep voice pulled her out of her dream and into reality. Iron-hard arms cradled her against a broad chest, and she breathed in the scent of safety.

  “Dain?”

  “Be at ease, laria. I’m here; you’re safe.” He rolled far enough to turn on the bedside light, then sat up against the headboard with her in his lap. “A nightmare, little one?” He pushed sweat-dampened hair from her face.

  She trembled, still caught in the aftermath. “Yes.”

  “Tell me about it, so it will go away.”

  Her cheek against his chest, she shook her head no.

  “I have them too, you know,” he murmured, stroking her hair.

  “You?” He seemed so powerful, like nothing would ever bother him.

  He huffed a laugh. “I’m only human, and I’ve lived with violence all my life.”

  He said he’d been in the militia. “It bothers you?”

  “I wake up and think I’m covered in blood,” he said. “Hearing screams. Seeing people die. Killing.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him hard.

  “I haven’t had one since you came to share my bed, little thief.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You lighten my world.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered.

  “Now tell me about your dream.”

  She hesitated, and her resistance broke under the weight of his concern. “I was twelve, and I’d stayed late at school to finish an assignment. I heard screams coming from the auditorium on the third floor.” She swallowed. Running down the hallway at the School of Music, hearing the teachers stampeding up from the first floor, where they’d gathered for a meeting. She had hit the double doors so hard, they slammed against the walls as she burst into the auditorium. “My friend—I saw her lying on the stage. Bleeding.”

  She’d dropped down beside Cecily, seeing nothing but her. The blood flowing from…everywhere.

  A scraping noise and she’d looked up. Redness glinted on the knife as the gaunt man stepped out from behind the stage curtains. His voice whined eerily like an overburdened engine. “You all sing bad songs. Wrong. The Prophet doesn’t want you to sing.” His eyes insane, his face distorted. She had scrambled back and slipped in the blood pooled on the floor.

  “He tried to get me, but a teacher tackled him.”

  Sticky, warm blood all over her—Cecily’s blood. The teachers had surrounded Cecily, but Mella had frantically pushed between them. Her face had been the one Cecily focused on as she shuddered, as her feet drummed staccato on the wooden stage. And although her eyes remained open, she was gone.

  There is no music in death, and no angels sing.

  A growl rumbled through Dain’s chest. “They should have protected you better.”

  Cecily had been famous, a child prodigy with a high, clear voice. Fame attracted the insane. The violent… “No one can keep everyone safe all the time.” And Mella had decided then and there that she would never, ever perform in public. No one would know her face. No violence would find her.

  Her breath stuck in between a bitter laugh and a sob.

  “They should have tried harder.” Dain’s arms tightened. “Rest assured, laria, while you are here, in my care, I will keep you safe.”

  With the deep certainty in his voice, the slow thud of his heartbeat under her ear, and his hard arms holding her against him, she drifted off to dream of gardens and tinkling fountains and music spilling through the air.

  * * *

  As Dain drove the carriage into the enclave, the fragrance of blooming ronves drifted through the cool evening air. With a sigh of relief, he handed the reins over to the stableman and eased out. Carefully. His knee burned like someone had poured hot pepper sauce into the joint. Perhaps visiting the farm enclave hadn’t been the wisest decision, but with the council in session, Grandsir didn’t have time to check on the proposed changes to the planting schedule. Unfortunately, Dain hadn’t realized he’d need to visit each field on foot.

  L
imping, he went in the back door, wanting only a hot shower and a comfortable chair. And a sweet little Earther to hold. He wanted to tell her about his day and hear about her adventures in gardening and cooking. To enjoy her comparisons of Nexan and Earther culture and creatures. To listen to her soft laughter, which soothed something deep inside him. He increased his pace.

  As he walked past the family room, he heard her voice and turned in.

  The children and Mella were listening to Felaina read a story. Dain smiled at how comfortable the little Earther looked in the middle of his family. Rebli must have undone Mella’s usual braid, for the child fingered the long strands, seeming fascinated by the different colors glinting in the firelight. Wardain sat at his mother’s side, watching with a smile.

  Canna spotted him first. “Unka Dain, you missed supper.”

  “Unka Dain! Did you buy me something?” Rebli asked. “Tomorrow is Artema’s FirstDay.”

  “Was I supposed to buy you something?” Dain asked, smothering a laugh. “No one told me.”

  “Unka Dain, everyone gets presents the first day of festival. You know that.” Rebli scowled at him, crossing her tiny arms.

  Dain crouched in front of his niece and tugged on a black braid. “I do know, little one,” he said. “And I do have gifts for you, Wardain, and Canna. But it is not polite to ask if someone bought you a present. Can you remember that next time?”

  “Oh.” Rebli leaned back, and Mella wrapped her arms around the child, unconsciously protective.

  With a smile, Dain said, “And what about you, little Earther. Are you wondering if you will get a gift?”

  Mella blinked and then shook her head. “You’ve already spent more than you should, considering I’ll be gone soon. I don’t need anything.”

  Rebli’s mouth dropped open.

  Wardain protested, “But, Mella…”

  Canna gasped. “No present?” She tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “She doesn’t want a present, Mama.”

  Felaina tilted her head. “Well, that’s different.” She looked pleased, obviously remembering Dain’s last few women and how they had maneuvered for gifts and attention.