The Commander's Captive

by Alix Nichols

  Jancel grinned. “Instead, I trained in knife throwing on Norbal.”

  Funny how he always felt younger and lighter around Iyatt. Perhaps it was because his oldest and best friend had grown even graver than Jancel over the years. Jancel knew his own reasons—loss, duty, and power—but Iyatt’s life hadn’t been encumbered with any of it. He was happily engaged to Unie, did what he loved, and had chosen to enroll as a Rateh instructor for the police force to add spice to his life and help out Jancel.

  “Your teacher was a shady guy if I’d ever seen one,” Iyatt said.

  That he certainly was.

  By extension, that made Jancel sound like a rascal. Which he wasn’t, not by a long shot. Especially not since he lost Hawina and joined the army. Still, his friend’s twenties had been so much more straightforward and purposeful than his.

  Back in the orphanage, Iyatt had set himself a goal, and everything he’d done since then was a step toward that goal. He’d decided to become a samurai—a Rateh master. Not only did he qualify for the title, but he’d also obtained the much-coveted certification to teach the art.

  The little orphan from the North District, raised by vestals and destined for the mines or the fields, had become a certified samurai. It was a title few in Eia possessed.

  Even the word itself was fancy—a Terran Heritage word.

  It might or might not have meant “master” back on Mother Terra, but in Xereill it had come to signify “master of Rateh”—the galaxy’s most advanced martial art. Its core techniques had been developed by the Ra millennia ago. Over the last thousand years, those techniques had been combined with the martial arts humans had brought along from Terra.

  When they were on Norbal, Jancel, Unie, and Iyatt often argued about the original Terran meaning of the word “samurai.”

  Jancel believed it meant “soldier.” Unie opted for “knight,” and Iyatt favored “teacher.”

  Shame they’d never know who was right. The space wormhole had closed and jumping to the Via Lactea galaxy was no longer possible.

  “Yes, well,” Jancel said, reacting to Iyatt’s last remark. “That’s a very slanted account of the events.”

  “Which part?”

  “My teacher wasn’t shady. He just preferred to live off the grid.”

  Iyatt pulled a face. “Of course. That’s what honest people with nothing to hide generally do.”

  “Don’t you get all self-righteous on me,” Jancel said. “If I remember correctly, studying Rateh wasn’t the only thing you did on Norbal.”

  Iyatt hung his head, not even trying to deny it.

  “You dated a pretty young bionic called Unie Thraton, eh?” Jancel said.

  Iyatt grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

  Iyatt and Unie were a match made by Aheya. Back on Norbal, Jancel had been convinced they’d get married and start making babies in no time. But he was wrong. Unie dreamed of becoming a LOR enforcer, which was why she’d enrolled in the Norbal Rateh School. Iyatt respected her ambition and was prepared to wait as long as necessary, until she felt ready to start a family. He was still waiting.

  “When you guys announced your plans,” Jancel said, “I didn’t think both of you would actually be able to wait this long.”

  “Yet here we are.” Iyatt smiled.

  Except his smile was off. It looked… unsure.

  “Is Unie all right?” Jancel asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “What do you mean you hope?”

  “I pinged her on the first of the month, as always, but she didn’t respond or ping me back. At first, I thought she was on an intervention or maybe undercover. It’s happened before. I expected her to get in touch later, when she had a chance.”

  Jancel frowned. “Has she?”

  “No.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Over a week.”

  “Have you tried her boss?”

  Iyatt shook his head. “I will tonight, when I get home.”

  “Try now.”

  “I don’t carry my commlet around with me.” Iyatt shrugged. “Not that it would surprise anyone on the force that a cop has an illegal device. Most of them do. But I prefer not to take chances.”

  Jancel patted his friend’s shoulder. “It’s probably nothing. Unie can take care of herself.”

  “She certainly can.”

  That unsure smile again. This time was different from the earlier occasions he and Unie couldn’t talk. Iyatt was worried. Unie was his beacon, his rock, his hope for a happier future. His everything. Except his lover.

  Because he’d been raised by vestals, Iyatt was exceedingly strict in the moral department. And, by consequence, in the sex department. According to him, Unie shared his views. Their relationship was a platonic one with both determined to abstain until their wedding night as Tradition demanded.

  Jancel closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for Unie. Then he and Iyatt agreed on the time of the next practice and parted ways.

  By the time Jancel got home, it was past eleven. There was still light in Nyssa’s window. He stared at it from the yard for a long moment before he strode inside.

  His head pounded, but he hoped the headache would let up soon. He clung to that hope when he grabbed a bite in the kitchen, climbed the stairs to his bedroom, washed, and changed into his home slacks.

  A half hour later, he admitted defeat. The headache was there to stay. Lighting a bedside lamp, he tried to read, but even that turned out to be a challenge.

  That was when someone knocked on the door. The tap was gentle and brief but confident. It wasn’t any of the servants or Memeen. Nor was it Mother.

  Jancel didn’t ask who it was—he knew.

  He swung his legs down, pulled on a shirt, and opened the door for Nyssa.

  7

  Nyssa decided this was as good a time as any to talk to Heidd.

  Problem was, she didn’t know exactly what she was going to say. Thank him for shielding her from the horrible police chief and the scary cyborg? Apologize for the bathhouse incident? Shouldn’t he apologize first? Or tell him she was still mad and would never forgive him for not standing up for Areg, no matter how much he helped her?

  “I can’t figure you out, Commander Heidd,” she said as he closed the door behind her.

  He planted himself in front of her and gave her a stiff smile.

  She could see he was trying to stand at ease, his weight on one leg and his hands in the pockets of his pants. Hoping to look friendly, no doubt. But there was a tension in every hard line of his face, a tightness in every bulging muscle of his torso his efforts couldn’t conceal.

  “You take care of me,” she said. “A traitor’s sister. And from what I saw the other day, there’s no love lost between you and Boggond’s other sidekicks.”

  He said nothing.

  She knit her brows. “Yet you are Boggond’s sidekick.”

  “I’m a military man,” he said. “My duty is to serve the citizens of Eia, and their legitimate leader, who at this point is Lord Boggond.”

  “You can’t not know what kind of man he is.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “OK,” she said. “If you believe you shouldn’t fight him while you’re the commander of the army, then why don’t you resign? Areg resigned for that very reason. What’s holding you back?”

  Still no answer, just an unexpectedly sad look in his eyes.

  She furrowed her brow. “Is it the prestige, the pretty uniform, and all the chest candy you pin on it? The power?”

  “The men,” he answered, surprising her.

  “Your soldiers?”

  He nodded. “Fifteen thousand souls under my command. During the war, I sent them to the battlefield over and over again. They lost family members, friends. They dug graves and trenches, and they marched on. They fought on. We had very few deserters, even in the worst year. Because they trusted me. They followed me into hopeless battles because I told them it had to be done.”


  “That’s how Areg trusted you, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you let him down.”

  Heidd’s head dropped to his chest. “Nyssa… I did it so I could be there for the others, the ones who stayed in the army after the war. The ones who are still under my command, protecting Eia. I can’t let them down.”

  She searched his face. “Did you turn your back on my brother because he’d moved on? Was that to teach him a lesson?”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it and looked away.

  When he turned back, the familiar hardness was in his eyes. “I’m not given to petty grudges. I’d hoped you’d figured that out by now.”

  “Did you know about the truth serum?” she asked without transition.

  “I’d heard about it.”

  “When? From whom?”

  He gave her a blank stare.

  She clapped her hand to her forehead. “Silly me! You can’t talk. Do you think Voqras and Ultek will come back with more serum for me?”

  “I don’t think so, but we cannot exclude it.”

  “What about you? What if they make you take it?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck in a vain attempt to ease the ache. “They’d need a good reason… Ultek would have to come up with charges and arrest me first.”

  “What if he does?”

  “He won’t unless Lord Boggond sanctions it.”

  “Why wouldn’t Boggond sanction it?”

  “He needs me.”

  She arched an eyebrow as if to say, you’re deluding yourself.

  He smirked. “In any event, I’m making discreet inquiries to find out more about the serum. And the vaccine for it.”

  “You have reasons to believe there is one?”

  He nodded.

  She tried to smile. “If you find the vaccine, will you tell me more?”

  “Maybe.”

  She frowned. “Maybe?”

  “Ultek has other methods to make people talk,” he said. “Torture, for example.”

  She felt her stomach lurch.

  “But…” A strange look flashed in Heidd’s eyes. “I might be willing to share a tidbit or two if you agree to do me a service.”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “Your famous neck and shoulder massage,” he said. “I need it.”

  She surveyed his taut upper body. “You look like you do.”

  It was her nanny who’d taught her how to massage. By the time Nyssa moved on to Father, she’d practiced for months on Nanny and had gotten pretty good at it. Father loved the massage so much she ended up doing it daily when they lived in the diplomats’ quarters of LORSS. The happiest years of her life.

  “So? Deal?”

  “Do you have an oil or a lotion in your room?”

  “There should be a bottle somewhere there.” He pointed to the adjacent washroom. “Mother made it for my feet.”

  “That should do the trick.” She headed to the washroom. “Put your desk chair in the middle of the room and sit down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She located the small bottle in the wall cabinet and opened it. The smell was muted but lovely, and the texture rich and smooth. She walked behind the chair and gave the collar of Heidd’s shirt a small tug. “This comes off.”

  He hesitated for a split second and then began to pull the garment off.

  She could’ve just asked him to undo three or four top buttons of his shirt, the way Father had always done, except… Heidd had seen her naked. All of her. Showing her his torso was the least he could do in return.

  As the shirt came off, she was rewarded with a breathtaking sight. Jancel’s tanned and well-muscled back tapering to his narrow waist was so sexy it staggered her. When he turned around to throw his shirt over the back of the chair, her breath hitched.

  She had to see more of his chest. And she would.

  Nyssa rubbed a bit of lotion into his shoulders and upper back. Goddess, was it stiff! No wonder the man was getting headaches.

  She added another squirt and rubbed in light circular motions. “Sit back and relax.”

  He leaned back. Relaxing was another matter.

  “When I’m through with you,” she said, “you’ll be all soft and mushy. Mark my words.”

  He chuckled.

  She rested her forearms on both sides of his neck and let the weight of her body press down on his shoulders. He smelled heavenly. It’s the lotion, she told herself. Except it wasn’t. Like all of Dame Heidd’s concoctions, it had a fresh, herbal smell. The scent she was inhaling now was heady, rugged, irresistible. All man. All him.

  Driving away her rush of awareness, she moved her forearms down a little and repeated the pressure trick.

  Concentrate, Nyssa.

  Oh, she was concentrated, all right—only on the wrong things, like the warmth of his skin and the feel of his hard muscles under her fingers. Her core tightened and pulled. She ached for him.

  Wait—had she just accidentally pressed her breasts to his back while leaning in with her forearms?

  Get a grip, woman!

  When she reached the bony parts of his shoulders, she brought her forearms back to where she’d started and repeated the sequence. This time, she managed to keep her breasts off his back.

  “How does it feel?” she asked on her third repeat.

  “Good.” There was a hint of incredulity in his voice. “Surprisingly good.”

  “That was just the warm-up.” Excitement almost lifting her up, she unleashed all her skills and techniques on him, kneading, pressing, rubbing, finding the knots in his muscles, and chasing them away.

  “All right,” she said when his shoulder muscles had softened enough for her liking. “I’m attacking your neck.”

  “Do what you must.” He sighed demonstratively, but his voice sounded… gleeful?

  “Don’t panic,” she said. “I’m not going to strangle you.”

  She draped her hands over the back of his neck and pressed gently into the sides with her fingers and thumbs.

  “If you say so…”

  With a firm hold, she launched into some serious kneading action, moving up and down the length of his neck, chasing the tension away from his muscles.

  Soon, he began to relax.

  As for her, she grew tenser by the second, fighting the urge to score his back with her fingernails, trail her tongue along his shoulders, and kiss his strong neck. Her breathing quickening, she ran her fingertips over his jawline, pretending it was part of the massage.

  Right. Massage. Focus on the massage, Nyssa.

  She kneaded the base of his skull and moved down to his magnificent shoulders. Applying more pressure, she sought out the little knots of tension and focused on them until they released. He grunted occasionally when she attacked the hardest knots.

  “Are you trying to make me regret asking you to do this?” he gritted out on a particularly resistant knot.

  “No,” she said simply. “I’m trying to help you.”

  She couldn’t see his expression, but he stopped complaining.

  When the last knot capitulated, she rubbed his temples.

  “We’re almost done,” she said before walking to the front of his chair.

  Heidd was leaning forward, his eyes closed.

  She seized the chance to ogle his sculpted chest. There was no denying it. The man had the most lick-worthy pectorals in all of Eia. Her gaze slid to his hard stomach. Her fingers itched to caress him, like she’d caressed… err, massaged his shoulders a moment ago. Her gaze dipped below his incredible abs, and she admired the massive erection tenting his slacks.

  Oh, my.

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. If he hadn’t been the enemy, she would’ve stripped naked right then and told him to get on with it. An image of her breasts crushed against that magnificent chest of his and her lips pressed against his strong neck as he was driving deep into her flashed in her mind. She blinked, shutting
it out.

  Jancel opened his eyes and stared at her.

  She swallowed. “I usually finish with a quick face rub.”

  He nodded.

  “Tip your head back, please,” she asked.

  Smoothing her palms on his throat, she worked her way up, letting her fingers revel in the chiseled, masculine lines of his face. His evening stubble grazed her skin in a way that was much too pleasant. She let her fingertips linger on the contours of his mouth, on his cheekbones, and brows before stroking his forehead.

  Careful! If you don’t stop now, you’ll spend the night in his bed.

  “I hope I wasn’t too rough,” she said, stepping away from him. “Haven’t had much practice lately.”

  His eyelids lifted slowly, and his dark gaze drilled into hers.

  She wrinkled her nose. “No pain?”

  “It was amazing,” he said. “I felt a pull at times, and a deep, sweet ache in my muscles… And then the tension was gone. I feel better than I’ve felt in ages.”

  “And the headache?”

  “Gone.”

  She grinned. “My job is done here. I kept my word, Commander.”

  “Yes, you did, my lady.”

  “Be sure to honor yours.”

  “You can count on it.”

  Just as she was turning around to leave, he grabbed both her hands and pressed her fingers to his lips. “Thank you.”

  8

  Jancel parked his motorized vehicle, which he insisted on driving himself, climbed out, and headed into the woods next to his residence.

  The bunker was only a half-hour’s trek away. For him, at any rate.

  It usually took Mother a good hour, but she claimed she didn’t mind it at all—she needed the exercise. Seeing how she spent all day on her feet, Jancel doubted she needed more exercise than she already got. But she was in good health, Aheya be praised, both physically and mentally. Jancel suspected it was her incessant activity that helped her maintain it.

  When he entered the bunker, Mother greeted him with a happy smile. “He woke up.”