Mary Wine

by A Captainand a Corset

  Only of Bion’s touch…

  No! Not even that. Once in bed, she forced herself to recite Bible verses until she fell asleep. But even with such divine mental occupation, her rest was not peaceful. She kicked at the bedding, thrashing as Grainger’s face filled her dreams. There was the gun, and she felt her flesh being torn by the bullet once again.

  We created you… She tried to run, only to discover her body pinned to the ground.

  You belong to us… Grainger’s voice was louder and closer and more hideous than she recalled. It was like pure evil, if such a thing might have a tone. She strained against the man holding her down, finally jerking up and gaining her freedom. But only for a moment because she collided with another hard body.

  “Sweet Sophia, you seem to need assistance.”

  Sophia was still caught between sleep and reality. Not really awake, the sound of his voice was soothing. She dug her fingers into his clothing as another shiver shook her. Bion was just another piece of her dream.

  “It was a dream.” He wrapped her tightly in his embrace, ending her struggles as she shivered.

  The fear had retreated mostly, but it was still there, lingering near enough for her to feel it. Bion’s voice confirmed that Grainger wasn’t there and for the moment, that was all her exhausted mind could absorb. She gave a little sigh as his scent filled her senses. Even through the wool of his coat she could detect the familiar smell. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t concerned with the frustrations that he so often elicited from her.

  She snuggled closer, seeking immersion in his embrace. His hand moved slowly along her back, soothing her with a long stroke and then another that sent delight through her. Who might have thought that such a simple touch might be so enjoyable?

  Somewhere in the back of her exhausted mind, there was a reason why she shouldn’t continue to rest against him, a logic that would have her struggling out of his embrace if she weren’t so sleepy. But all that mattered was that she trusted him to keep Grainger away.

  Bion Donkova didn’t know how to fail. For the moment, she was content to be his primary duty.

  ***

  Bion was frozen in shock. It took him a moment to realize Sophia Stevenson had reduced him to indecision with nothing more than a soft sigh. But what a sound it was! Feminine, delicate… needy. Damn, he didn’t need to think of her wanting him.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been pressed against her, but this time was so vastly different. He sat for several long moments, just savoring the feeling of her breath against his neck. Her heart was beating against his chest, slowing down as she relaxed into a deeper sleep.

  He gently cradled her upper body and lowered her to the surface of her bed. She frowned and made another needy sound as she turned one way and then the other. Her lips pushed into a pout as she twisted again. He smoothed the hair off her face and she sighed again, turning toward him… seeking him.

  Ah hell. He should leave. She would be furious—there was no doubt about that. But that thought made it even easier for him to kick off his boots and lie down beside her. He had a fascination with her temper, possibly an unhealthy one, but it was wrapping its roots around him more and more with every encounter.

  It was far too simple, too enjoyable to gather her against his side. And he liked the contented sound she made as she nuzzled against his chest… far too much.

  But he was fairly sure he’d attempt to kill any man who tried to make him leave.

  Bloody hell.

  Two

  Sophia smiled, surprised her nose wasn’t cold for a change. In fact, she was toasty warm from head to toe and her body was humming with contentment. She stretched one leg and then another before rubbing her nose against her pillow one final time before forcing herself to rise. How tempting it was to be lazy.

  She frowned when the fabric tickled her nose, feeling rougher than she recalled her sheeting should be. She stroked her pillow, only to discover it to be the same texture as wool. Now that she was waking up, it smelled also like wool and something else, something from her dreams…

  Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head. She blinked and then blinked again, but the sight of Bion Donkova lying on his back in the center of her bed didn’t dissipate. Her chemise was twisted up to the top of her thighs while Bion had an arm locked very familiarly along her back. She looked at his lower body and heard him chuckle once she’d discovered that he was indeed wearing all his clothing.

  “I save my seductions for females who are wide awake,” he said.

  She jerked upward and then stood up, frantically trying to recall how the man had arrived in her bed. Bion stretched, cocking his head from side to side until his neck popped. She backed away from him, completely alarmed by the lazy look on his face—relaxed, actually. The man was at ease, comfortable even, and her cheeks burned scarlet. He’d slept in her bed!

  They’d slept together!

  “What are ye doing in me bed?” she demanded.

  He sat up, pausing as he began to pull his boots on. “Your Irish comes out when you’re agitated,” he noted.

  “Agitated?” She nearly choked on the word and her hands propped onto her hips. “Ye’re right about that, Bion Donkova. Now explain to me how ye came to be here.”

  He stood up, but his unruly hair and disheveled appearance prevented him from impressing her as he usually did. Instead, she felt drawn toward this unexpected peek at what the man looked like when he wasn’t buttoned and polished in his uniform. It was surprising and mesmerizing, threatening to draw her closer to him.

  It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Ladies did not receive gentlemen in their… unmentionables!

  Of course, Bion wasn’t a gentleman and had never professed to be interested in behaving like one.

  “You were having nightmares.” He brushed his hair back with his hand, restoring some of his normal poise. “The night Guardian summoned me to investigate the cries he heard coming from your room, since he knew you retired alone.”

  “And why is it he didn’t simply look into the matter himself?” she asked suspiciously.

  He surprised her by answering with a grin. One of his dark eyebrows arched mockingly. “Because, Miss Stevenson, I consider you my priority and what manner of gentleman would I be to turn my back on you when you settled so very contentedly into my embrace?”

  She sputtered but he held up a hand to silence her. “And I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.” His dark gaze dropped to the cleavage on display above the edge of her corset. “Thoroughly.”

  He performed a half bow before turning to leave the room. His boot heels clicked along the polished floorboards of the outer room and she heard the door open and close.

  Her mouth dropped open, but what made her eyes widen was the sudden rush of clarity that engulfed her. Memory returned with vigor, illuminating the events of the night before until she rubbed at her forehead to try and erase them. She had accepted his embrace—actually enjoyed it. She was going to hell, straight to the flames of damnation where the wicked paid for their sins, that place where fallen women ended up because they lacked discipline.

  Except that among the Illuminists, taking a lover was not forbidden. She shivered, gooseflesh rising along her bare arms. She rubbed them, trembling as her memory teased her with just how much she had enjoyed Bion stroking her last night. It was a fleeting recollection, like a disjointed portion of a dream that she couldn’t recall the ending to. All she was certain of was the feeling of being held in his embrace.

  It had been bliss.

  ***

  A good challenge was better than any luxury. Grainger focused on this thought, seeing the words in his mind while refusing to notice the chill of the floor he sat on. Of course, there was a bed very nearby, one with clean sheets and thick blankets that would no doubt drive the ache from his frozen toes. But he was better than that, better than the trap they had so neatly prepared for him.

  He would face the challenge of continuing to dupe hi
s captors. The mentally ill did not mind the cold or the lack of civilized clothing, so he must pretend nothing bothered him as well. Those were small discomforts that he had the mental discipline to endure while focusing his attention on his goal.

  He discarded his clothing, conquering the protest from his pride. Modesty meant nothing compared to the possibility of escaping and earning the esteem of his Helikeian compatriots. Great men often had to go beyond the lengths others were willing to endure in order to claim victory.

  Yes, escape. Such would be a grand accomplishment. Yet it would not come easily. He let himself drool when the Guardians came round to check on him. They shook their heads and muttered about how broken his mind was before locking the door on his cell once again.

  Fools.

  His mind was sound and sharp, and every day he was absorbing facts about his surroundings. The opportunity would come. He concentrated on that fact as the day stretched into the evening. His belly knotted with hunger but he ignored the meals offered, only played with the food delivered to him near sunset. Making two holes in the slice of bread, he placed it over his face like a mask.

  “No one knows who I am now!” he shouted. “I shall be disguised as I walk away!”

  “All right, send for a doctor,” one of the Guardians conceded. “I believe he is mad. I can hear his belly rumbling like a starving hound’s and all he’s doing is playing with the food.”

  It took no effort to collapse onto the floor in a fit of amusement. Grainger let his laughter grow louder and louder as he sensed himself moving closer to victory.

  He didn’t know yet how he would escape, but avoiding execution was the first step. Deceiving his captors into thinking him a broken fool was the second, for then they would soon relax their guard.

  Then? Well, he’d be waiting for the opportunity while the fools thinking him locked away were busy judging him insane.

  He sniffed and suffered a cramp from hunger that left sweat beaded on his forehead.

  He was Helikeian, his bloodline pure and unpolluted by weakness. The Illuminists allowed too many into their ranks. They were like mongrel dogs, products that were defective from birth. The only solution was extermination, so that they could not pass their tainted blood on to another generation.

  Someday soon, the Helikeians would wipe all degenerates off the face of the planet and there would be only one master race.

  The Helikeian.

  ***

  Rumors clearly moved as quickly through Illuminists as they did among the social elite beyond the walls of the Solitary Chamber. By teatime, Sophia was thoroughly frustrated with just how easily she blushed.

  Because you spent the night in Bion’s embrace.

  Maybe so, but that was all she’d done.

  At least the afternoon allowed her to retreat to the vast library the Solitary Chamber afforded its students. Most of the people in it were Novices like herself. She headed for one of the alcoves hidden in the arches that supported the wall. Here she might turn down the light and be more comfortable, a very nice accommodation made for Navigators.

  You mean a convenient place for you to hide from Bion.

  She scoffed at her own thoughts and removed her glasses. Bion would seek her out no matter where she went if that was his desire.

  Are you hoping that will be the case?

  She ground her teeth and had to swallow a grumble. She had gone her entire adult life without dwelling upon matters of intimacy. Why couldn’t she dismiss them now?

  Because ye spent the night in Bion’s embrace…

  She was still innocent, for heaven’s sake.

  Are you frustrated that he was there or that you did not learn more about what passes between lovers?

  She knew what happened when the wicks were turned down. At least, she had a basic understanding of the mechanics. But she had to admit that she’d had no clue as to just how easily her emotions might overwhelm her. Every little sensation was magnified. Her head ached and she rubbed her temples now that she was removed from the curious looks she’d felt aimed at her throughout the day.

  “You will become more at ease with it,” a female voice assured her. “Abandoning that slumped shoulders and downcast eyes posture you have adopted will likely speed things along.”

  Sophia looked up, realizing she’d been doing exactly what Decima Talaska had accused her of. Sophia straightened her back and looked the veteran Illuminist straight in the eye. Guardian Decima moved into the alcove and studied her.

  “Well done,” Decima remarked playfully. “I was concerned.”

  Sophia laughed, earning a flutter of eyelashes from Decima. The female Guardian had emerald green eyes and looked delicate, but she carried herself with more confidence than any woman Sophia had ever met.

  “You doubt me?” Decima purred softly.

  “Not precisely,” Sophia answered slowly, while trying to decide just what it was about the other woman that fascinated her. “I believe it is more a matter of wondering just what your remedy might be if I confessed to needing assistance.”

  Decima laughed, a low sound that was oddly knowledgeable. Her gold Illuminist pin was secured to the lapel of her vest. Once, on a night that seemed very long ago, Sophia had seen Decima in a ball gown at the Brimmer spring party, but she never wore even a skirt inside the Solitary Chamber walls. She favored cycling pantaloons and only put on a skirt when she was heading outside. She was a Hunter, a classification of Guardian who searched for members of the Order who had broken their Oaths of Allegiance.

  “You doubt I would offer you a kindly shoulder to whimper on?” Decima’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment. “A wise judgment of my character. You have promise.”

  “That isn’t meant to imply that I find you lacking in feminine graces,” Sophia offered.

  Decima locked her hands behind her back and sent her a stiff look. “I will have you know, dearest Sophia, that I take great pains to ensure that every feminine grace is banished from my behavior.”

  “You haven’t succeeded,” Sophia declared solemnly.

  Decima stiffened. “I’m suddenly tempted to wrinkle my nose at you.”

  “Which is my sister Cora’s favorite response to any argument I ever made to her.” Sophia smiled as her sister’s face came to mind, but it was bittersweet because she missed her terribly. “Mind you, our mother was always quick to warn Cora that she’d have droopy skin if she didn’t stop.”

  “Ah yes, the importance of maintaining appearances. Something you were raised to be obedient to.”

  There was a note of judgment in Decima’s voice that irritated Sophia. “It’s no more ridiculous than you insisting on banishing feminine graces. Aren’t you maintaining appearances as well? Ensuring that you are taken seriously as a Guardian when your gender threatens to set you apart? We aren’t so different.”

  Decima’s expression hardened but there was a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.

  “Well spoken.” Bion’s voice came from just outside the entrance to the alcove. With the light behind him, his silhouette glowed as he entered. “Guardian Decima likes to think herself very far removed from her own gender.”

  Decima faced off with Bion, embodying the supreme confidence Sophia admired in her. There was no quivering, no hint of unsteadiness. She didn’t even seem to notice the fact that her head barely reached Bion’s shoulders.

  “We all have our weaknesses,” Decima purred. “Captain Donkova likes to believe himself so accomplished, but he is as fallible as the rest of us.” Bion frowned but Decima held up a delicate finger to quiet him. She cast her gaze toward Sophia. “Which accounts for his attempts to smother you with his devotion to your training.”

  Bion suddenly grinned. “I assure you, Guardian, I was very careful to avoid smothering her last night. Novices’ beds are rather small when there are two in them.”

  Decima shook her head. “If you wanted me to depart, attempting to shock me is rather a predictable method to employ. Somehow, I expe
cted more originality from you, Captain, but it isn’t the first time you’ve disappointed me.”

  There was a note of reprimand in her tone that made Sophia curious. Bion’s eyes narrowed in response. Decima turned and left without another look back at Sophia. It was a kindness, one Sophia wasn’t ignorant of. Her temper flared to life as she struggled to control the rise of emotions Bion’s suggestive statement had aroused in her. Aroused.

  “Of all the presumptuous statements,” she exploded.

  Bion cocked his head at an angle and crossed his arms over his chest. The pose made him look impossibly large, the sleeves of his uniform straining as his biceps bulged. She wanted to stop noticing things like that.

  “You really are no gentleman.”

  His amused expression ignited her temper further. She just couldn’t squelch the urge to stick her finger out at him and move closer. “Only a knave would allow himself to be thought my lover when you haven’t even stolen a kiss.”

  She jabbed him in the center of his chest, her finger still pressing the maroon wool of his uniform when he struck. He unfolded his arms in a flash, sweeping her arm aside in a fluid motion, then completing a full circle around her waist and clamping her against his body. He flattened his hands against her back, pressing her forward so that there wasn’t an inch of space between them before his mouth smothered her gasp. She really had never been kissed before.

  Bion swept every last doubt from her mind with a firm conquest of her mouth. His lips were hotter than she had ever imagined. The contact was alarming and she pushed against his chest, but he cupped the nape of her neck and continued his assault. Yet it wasn’t crushing; he tenderly teased her lips with his, tasting her and sending a flood of sensation through her.

  Her body filled with pleasure as excitement tore through her belly with a fierceness that stunned her. Bion took full advantage of her paralysis, tilting his head so that their lips might fit together more completely. The delicate skin was suddenly alive with sensation that overwhelmed every thought she had, sweeping it away and leaving her nothing but the impulses he so often inspired in her.