Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Rubbing his tender jaw, he gazed at the audvid of Mary and asked, “What would be the challenge in that?”

  Chapter Three

  Mary bolted upright, incensed she’d fallen asleep when she must focus on escape.

  “Hungry?”

  She jumped into a fighting stance.

  Six feet away, Commander sat in an ornate chair, drinking clear brown liquid from a bulbous crystal glass.

  “Or would you like a brandy before dinner?”

  His relaxed posture trivialized her intensity, and she forced herself to calm down. “What’s brandy?”

  Sleek eyebrows drew up. “Distilled wine.”

  “A spirit, like whisky? I’ll have a shot.”

  With smooth grace, he unfurled his long body from the chair, moved to a cabinet and poured her a small glass of brandy.

  She watched him intently. His body had all the pent-up energy and grace of a wolf. Aggressively sexy. She shook her head to drive away the unwelcome thought.

  When he handed her the glass, their fingers touched, and a shiver of fear and desire ran through her. Pushing down the conflicting feelings, she sniffed at the glass and winced back.

  “Cup the glass with your palm to warm—”

  She swallowed the alcohol in one gulp.

  He regarded her with a dismayed frown.

  “What?” She tilted her head to stare back at him.

  “Nothing.” Military-short hair glinted under the lights when he shook his head. “House, let Cook know we’re ready for dinner.”

  “Yes, Commander,” the mechanically lush voice of House responded.

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Even your House sucks up to you.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Don’t you have a name?”

  “As I said, you will address me as Commander.”

  “And folks say I have delusions of grandeur.” She set her empty glass on the nearest table.

  “What folks?”

  “Tell me your name and I might tell you who.” She put her hands on her hips.

  “So this time you’ll keep your word?”

  She wanted to hurl the glass at him, but the weight of the bracelet reminded her why she couldn’t.

  “You didn’t the last time.” He swirled the glass in his palm, then sipped. “As I recall, if I won, you were supposed to tell me who you were working for and why.”

  “Like you really would have let me go.” Standing as tall as she could, she felt suicidal for continuing to challenge him, but she also couldn’t back down without losing face.

  “A moot point,” he said softly. “I won. You lost.”

  “Yeah-huh. I remember.” Flushed from embarrassment, with a shot of potent liquor on a three-day empty stomach, she swayed a bit on her feet. “Are we going to eat or chat, Co-man-dur?”

  He frowned at the deliberate insult of his title. Red Dardinian silk pulled taut across his massive shoulders as he swirled the mahogany liquid in his glass. “This bodes well for a pleasant meal.”

  “You don’t like my attitude, you can always cut me loose.” She prayed he would take that option soon.

  “I will when you tell me what I want to know.” He tipped his glass to her.

  “Then strap yourself in for a wild ride, bucko. No matter how much booze you pour down my throat, I have no intention of telling you jack.” Seemed the alcohol went straight to the smart-mouth reflex in her brain.

  “Really?” He set his glass next to hers and moved close.

  She raised her arm in defense.

  “Don’t be a fool, Mary.” He nodded to the plastimetal bracelet around her wrist.

  Reminded, she lowered her arm and stood still, peering up into his beautiful eyes. Why did she want to kiss him as much as she wanted to kick him? “You really are a royal bastard.”

  He lowered his lips a breath from hers. “So I’ve been told.”

  With his body so close, she became aware of how good he smelled, like pine and lemon. When she felt her body react in a way that was entirely opposite of her brain, she stepped back, stumbling on the velvet couch.

  He looked down at her sprawled form. “I was only going to offer you my arm.”

  “Don’t you need that?” She righted herself, fighting down a blush. “I’d look damn stupid with three arms.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an irritated sigh. “I offered my arm to lead you into the dining room.”

  Proud of herself for getting under his skin so easily, she said, “Unless you broke my leg while I was asleep, I can manage.”

  She followed him into a room fifty times the size of her cabin on Taiga. A sheet of white linen, wider and longer than the main street of Pine Glenn, covered a table that could easily hold two hundred people. Elaborate gilded china and delicate fluted glasses were set with careful precision on the closest end.

  Commander pulled her chair out for her.

  Overwhelmed and intimidated, she snidely said, “I think I can figure out how to operate a fancy chair.”

  “I merely offered a courtesy.”

  “Yeah-huh.” She plunked herself down. He sat to her left, at the head of the table. Lifting her hand, she pointed down the table. “Why don’t you sit at the other end?”

  “Because this is where I always sit.”

  “Fine, I’ll sit at the other end.” She shoved her chair back, stood and reached for her plate.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Sit down and shut up.”

  “Or what?” She yanked her arm away from the distracting heat of his touch. “Are you going to send me to bed without supper?”

  “If you insist on acting like a child, I’ll find a highchair and strap you to it.”

  One look at his face, and she knew he intended to carry out his threat. Since she’d pushed him about as far as she dared, she sat, scooted her chair close and plunked her elbows on the table.

  He rang a fragile crystal bell.

  She had to bite her lips not to laugh. The gesture looked silly by such a big man.

  A chubby young girl wearing a crisp, white uniform entered, wheeling a gold-and-silver serving cart. With quick, sure movements, she placed a shallow bowl of soup before each of them, then left the room, trundling the cart back into the kitchen.

  “Magic’s easy when you have servants.” Mary peered dubiously into her bowl. Four wrinkled brown things floated in a light brown swirl with a sprinkling of green bits. “What’s this?”

  “Chestnut soup.” He picked up a big gold-and-silver spoon and brought a spoonful to his lips.

  She mimicked him. A strange, earthy bitterness laced with a tang of citrus. She’d never tasted anything like it. As soon as the first swallow hit her empty belly, her stomach growled.

  Studiously, she ignored the sound and continued eating. Her belly rumbled again. And again. Louder and longer each time.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think you have a wild animal hidden about your person.”

  His wry comment made her laugh. “I guess three days’ fast has made my stomach rather vocal.”

  “Are you okay?” He leaned close, solicitous and intent.

  Disturbed by his concern, she moved back. “Don’t worry. I won’t erupt all over your fancy table.” She patted her tummy. “That is the sound of gratitude, not gagitude.” Lifting her bowl to her lips, she finished her soup and used her sleeve to wipe her mouth.

  He set his spoon down with a sigh.

  “What?” She eyed the table. She hadn’t broken anything, not yet anyway, and she’d refrained from licking the bowl clean. Plus, she’d left all the silverware. She’d made no effort to steal it. Well, not yet, at any rate.

  “Napkin. Ever heard of one?”

  Her gaze darted around the table. “Nope.”

  He pointed at the pretty spray of red fabric in a long-stemmed wineglass.

  “Oh.” She plucked the napkin out and swabbed it liberally across her face. “It looked like a decoration.”

  He rang
the crystal bell again and, as before, the chubby girl trundled in the cart, whisked away their soup dishes, deposited two tiny plates and then disappeared.

  “Like magic.” The food looked like a bright orange mountain saturated with yellow lava. A sprig of green sat on the peak like a lone tree. “What—”

  “Haddock and carrot molds with vermouth sauce.”

  She nodded, understanding carrot but not the rest. Using his small fork, he lifted the tree from the top and cut into the orange mountain. She followed suit. Fishy, yet carrot-sweet, the stuff didn’t taste very good. After one gagging bite, she set her fork aside.

  “This course is not pleasing to you?”

  “Do I have to eat it?” If he told her to eat the glop or wear it, she’d opt for putting it on her head.

  “No.” He rang the bell.

  While the girl exchanged plates, he poured a clear yellow wine into their glasses.

  This time, she recognized everything on her plate: chicken, green beans and buttered pasta. She lifted the leg of chicken and took a big bite. It smelled and tasted like oranges. Her mouth watered, and she took another bite before she’d finished chewing the last.

  When she looked over, she found him cutting into the chicken with a knife and fork. His eyebrows drew together when he saw the chicken leg in her hands and rivulets of sauce running down her chin.

  She returned the chicken to her plate, remembered to wipe her face with the napkin, then struggled to cut the meat with the dull little knife. After about two minutes of trying, she slammed the knife and fork down.

  “I’m going to eat this with my hands. If my table manners bother you, tough, go sit at the other end. I’m hungry, and I don’t feel much like shilly-shallying.”

  Defiantly, she scooped up and tore into the chicken. She gnawed the bone clean, wiped her face, then started on the green beans and pasta. In deference to him, she used her fork.

  Raw, painful hunger drove her to ignore him as she ate. He could glare at her all he wanted and think her the most vulgar woman in the Void. She didn’t care. Never in her life had she tasted food like this. If he wanted to mince his portion into itty-bitty pieces and eat it like a finicky child, good for him. He probably ate like this every night.

  Anger rose in her at the riches rubbed in her face. The triple-platinum Runner, the grand ballroom prison, brandy that waltzed down her throat, gold-encrusted china, fresh food prepared by a skilled cook—what she’d seen of his den so far would literally buy her home world of Taiga, with script to spare.

  Bewildered, she raised her gaze to find him watching her with a guarded expression. “Why the hell did you bother?”

  “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” He set his fork aside with a sigh.

  “That you spent more to nab me than I’m worth? Yeah-huh. Remarkably Average Mary done figured it. Fill me in on why.”

  He frowned at her country-simple tone. “Precisely what I’d like to know. Why.” He sipped his wine. “I want to know why you’ve been stealing my goods.”

  “What do you care?” She spread her hands, indicating the riches before her. “I couldn’t possibly, in a thousand lifetimes, even put a dent in your obscene wealth.” She leaned toward him. “Are you so greedy you begrudge me a pittance for a good cause while you wallow in decadence? Christ! You really do need a hobby.”

  “Perhaps, if you tell me your good cause, I’ll gladly stuff your coffers with my obscene wealth. I might even make your cause my hobby.” Saluting her with his glass, he gave her that enigmatic half grin and then drank.

  For a moment, she sat stunned. “You think you can buy me?” She wanted to throw her wine in his face and smash every dish on the table. The threat of poison on her wrist held her still.

  “No, I—”

  “Everything in your world has a price tag, doesn’t it?” Shaking with fury, she stood. “To you, every person is a thing to be bought or sold, their value forever fluid. Buy me today for twenty, then sell me tomorrow for ten. Or just throw me away entirely.” She glared at him with all the loathing she could muster. “I may not know a fancy napkin, and I may not know how to eat like a trained IWOG poodle, but I sure as spit know what honor is, and you can’t afford mine.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply I could buy you, I simply meant—”

  “That if I confessed, you might help me. You figured I’d be like a farm donkey forever following the dangling carrot.” She lifted her glass. “A toast to the first person in the Void you can’t buy.” She drank deeply, then dropped into her chair.

  He unfurled himself like a great banner that dwarfed the immense room. Surely, the wine made him seem larger than life.

  “If I have insulted you, I apologize.” He tossed his napkin to the table with a deferential bow. “My intention was to—entice—not insult. I offered you the best of my home to compliment you as a guest, yet everything I say and do is colored in that you are not my guest, but my captive. For that, I will not apologize. You taunted me into capturing you.”

  She held his gaze by sheer force of will. “You make it sound like I wanted to get caught.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “You preach to me of not selling your honor, yet think I should walk away from one who steals from me, for you only steal a little bit. Would things be different if I were to steal only a little bit from you?”

  He had a good point. Not that she was likely to admit it anytime soon, especially to him.

  “Honor is as honor does, is it not? Explain to me how you stealing from me is honorable, but me stealing from you isn’t.”

  Fidgeting in her chair, she flushed. “I guess the difference is, I steal because I have no other option. I’m a bandit by circumstance, not choice. If you could steal my honor, that would be one thing, but you seem to be of the mind you can buy it. That is what is insulting.”

  His sleek eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

  “I’m sorry I stole from you. If I could give your goods back, I would, but I can’t because they’re gone. Keeping me prisoner isn’t going to get your goods back, and I’ll never tell you where they went or why.”

  His eyes narrowed, but still, he said nothing.

  “My honor may be a bit rusty, but my loyalty isn’t. If I tell you, it’s not my life that’s at risk. One person, me, for all the rest?” She shrugged. “I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

  “Are you the leader?”

  She froze as she searched for a diversion.

  A slow, quirky grin slid across his face. “You are the leader.”

  “So what if I am?” She belied her trepidation by standing. “I don’t see how that helps you.”

  “Really?” He sat and rang the crystal bell with an insistent clink.

  The young girl popped her head out of the kitchen.

  “More wine, Clara, and dessert.” When the girl retreated, he pointed one massive finger. “Sit down and we’ll discuss the matter over dessert.”

  “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Not yet you haven’t. Sit.” When she hesitated, he flung the fragile crystal bell to the floor, where it shattered into delicate fragments. “Sit down.”

  Mary did. His destruction of the fragile bell made it pretty damn clear she’d pushed him right to the edge. He was a man who few disobeyed and he’d tolerated enough of her insolence and defiance. “I won’t tell you—”

  “You don’t have to.”

  Clara brought in dessert and wine, then hurried away, the rubber wheels of the cart crunching through the remains of the crystal bell.

  Dessert looked like two big white eyes with red pupils staring up from her plate. Strawberries ringed the strange cartoon gaze. “What the hell is—”

  “Poached meringues with strawberry sauce.”

  “Freaking child’s nightmare.” She shoved the plate away. “Wouldn’t your life be a lot easier if you just let me go?”

  “Back to your life of crime? I don’t think so. If I have the ringleader, it’s unlikely th
e gang will continue to rob me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Won’t cost me but a pittance to keep you around and find out for sure, now, will it?” He took a casual bite of his dessert.

  “Fine.” She shrugged. “Keep me here. Eventually you’ll get bored. Something else will come along, strike your fancy, and you’ll gladly send me on my way without a second thought.”

  “I think you could keep me entertained for years. Just watching you eat is a spectacle.” He dabbed his mouth with a pristine red napkin. “You eat like an animal.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Feel like trading insults? Fine.” Saluting him with her glass, she deliberately wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “By the same token, I’m fascinated by you, a man who’s mastered feminine traits I’ve never even dreamed of.” She chugged her drink, belched slightly behind her hand, set the delicate glass on the table and refilled it. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see you in a dress, you pampered pansy.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously and he spoke through gritted teeth. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”

  “You obviously don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have strapped a luller to my wrist.” She took another slug of liquid courage. “Since I can’t strike at you with my fist, you’d best get used to my mouth.”

  He leaned intimately close and whispered, “I could get used to your mouth, provided I’m the one keeping it occupied.”

  She wondered what he could possibly mean. When she figured it out, a flush crept into her cheeks. When the prospect of doing that to him excited her, she flushed harder.

  “You rape all your prisoners, or just the women?”

  His gaze traveled from her face, to the V of her shirt, then to the juncture of her thighs. “Is that what it would take?”

  Her body thrummed from fabulous food, glorious wine and the sexiest man in the Void. He could seduce any woman he wanted. Any woman he didn’t want. One wink, and women would swoon. One kiss, and pants would drop or skirts would lift.

  “Since you can’t buy me, now you think you can seduce me?”