She saw him yawn and stifled a smile. They’d gotten little sleep, although not for the reason everyone—especially Califa—assumed. Even the cadets smiled knowingly as they passed on the garden path. Thinking, Shaylah assumed bitterly, of their own future days, when they, too, would have the slaves of the Coalition at their disposal.
But all those assumptions were wrong. She and Wolf had been talking, for hours, in a way Shaylah had never known since she’d left home and the long, far-reaching conversations she’d had with her father. For her it was a wonderful release; what it was for Wolf, she could only guess. He answered her questions, although sometimes with vague, evasive words that made her chafe with frustration. Eventually he even asked a few of his own, about her home, her family, and how her parents had come to be bonded.
“They met on an excursion to Trios,” she’d explained, “but it didn’t occur to them then. It was only after they’d been together for some time that they realized what they’d seen between bonded pairs on Trios was how they felt about each other. So they went back.”
“It’s not easy for outworlders to get permission for a Triotian ceremony,” he’d said; the habit of carefully phrasing questions as merely observations was apparently hard to break. Small wonder, Shaylah had thought, considering the punishment. Again, she’d pushed aside the bleak thought.
“No, it’s not. They had to apply and remain there for months for observation while the council decided.”
“Not many outsiders would think it worth all that.”
“My parents did. They were already planning on me, and they wanted the bonding before that.”
He smiled, and Shaylah caught her breath; even though he did it occasionally now, it still overwhelmed her.
“They even followed that tradition?” he asked.
“My father was fascinated by Triotian legend. My mother just liked the idea of it.”
Remembering that conversation now made Shaylah realize how little she had been able to get him to say about his own family. Her curiosity was immense, but the knowledge of how painful it must be for him kept her from prying too determinedly. She only hoped that eventually he would trust her enough to speak of it.
She watched him move his hand over the cool, thick grass—another piece of Califa’s Triotian loot—that grew here by the garden pond. He touched it lightly, almost caressingly, and turbulent sensations welled up inside her: compassion for the way he stroked this reminder of his home, and a sudden, fierce desire to be touched by him in the same way.
The combination stole her breath, and she had to look away. She raised her knees and wrapped her arms around them to steady herself. It was a long moment before she had herself in hand enough to speak.
“Wolf?”
He stopped the motion of his hand and looked up.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“I’ve never been here.”
“Why?” Stupid, she told herself the instant the question was out. Because it’s too painful a reminder, of course.
“It is not permitted.”
She remembered then the look the slave at the gate had given him as they had entered the garden. Wolf had been reluctant, but she had insisted; this was the first time they’d been outside, and she could see he had missed the open air.
“Do you want to leave?” she asked. “I didn’t realize . . . most of this is Triotian, isn’t it?”
He nodded, then let out a short, compressed breath. “I will just consider it . . . part of the fantasy. Perhaps if I try hard enough, I can make myself believe it’s real.”
Shaylah looked around at the lush greenery, the bright, scented flowers, the cool, inviting pond. “Is it really like this? On Trios?”
“It was. It’s nothing but a wasteland now.”
“All of it?” She knew even as she asked that the question was pointless; the Coalition was nothing if not thorough.
His eyes went distant, unfocused. “As they dragged me away in chains, there was nothing left but a wall of fire and smoke. The last thing I heard were the screams of my people dying. The last thing I saw was the headless body of my father, hanging in front of the Sanctuary of the Sojourner.” His mouth curved bitterly. “The Sanctuary was sacred, dedicated as a resting place for travelers. Our laws forbade us to turn away sojourners. So we welcomed the first from the Coalition.”
Shaylah made a tiny sound as her arms tightened around her knees. “They were the scouts,” she said dully.
Accounts of the “glorious victory” had been required reading for all Legion cadets, including the self-congratulatory chronicles of the Coalition’s cleverness in using the Triotians’ own laws and innate kindness to destroy them.
“Yes.”
He said it flatly, without emotion. Shaylah couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the horror of remembrance in his eyes. But he’d never spoken of it before, and she had to know.
“The rest of your family . . . were they captured, too?”
“No. They were luckier than I.”
Her head came up then. “They escaped?” Possibilities raced through her mind; if he had someone to go to, could she help him? Califa might sell him—to her, at least—if she signed over her ownership of this land, but the Coalition would never allow such a violation of regs—
“They’re dead.”
The harsh, unconditional declaration shattered her silly thoughts. Once again he’d dragged out reality and thrown it in her face, once again showing her she’d been living the life of a hypocrite. She’d pretended she had nothing to do with the uglier side of the Coalition; as part of the defense force, she flew only against those who attacked Coalition colonies, not as an aggressor. But Wolf had made her face the fact that she was supporting the system that enabled the atrocities to go on.
“I’m sorry, Wolf,” she moaned, burying her head against her raised knees. “Eos, I’m sorry.”
He didn’t laugh at her, he didn’t call her sorrow the pathetic, useless thing that it was. He merely said softly, “I know,” and succeeded in ripping apart something deep inside her. She couldn’t bear this, she couldn’t—
“Well, isn’t this picturesque? The mighty Captain Graymist and her love slave.”
Shaylah’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed; a Carelian, clad in a Coalition navigator’s uniform, stood before them. She hadn’t seen her for a long time, but Shaylah knew instantly; this was Krel, the one who wanted Wolf. She scrambled to her feet.
Shaylah glanced at Wolf. He, too, had risen and was standing with his eyes carefully downcast. She had gotten used to directness from him, and this reminder of his true status clawed at her already lacerated emotions.
“Did you want something?” she asked the other female coldly.
“I did, but you got him first.” The Carelian’s naturally pinkish skin made it hard to determine if she was as angry as she sounded. “But I’ll forgive that for the pleasure of seeing the pious Graymist at last down here with the rest of us mortals. Although if he’s good enough to make even you admit you’re a woman, I’m sorry I missed out. This time,” she added pointedly.
“You’ll never touch him,” Shaylah ground out recklessly.
“Oh, I’ll do more than touch him. And although he won’t be nearly as pretty when I’m through, from what I hear I’ll be quite . . . content. Tell me, is he as tireless as they say? And as . . . well, I suppose I can find that out for myself, can’t I? You won’t mind if I take a look, since I’ll be claiming him as soon as you leave?”
The Carelian’s hand moved, her long, bony fingers extending as she reached for the ties of Wolf’s trewscloth. Shaylah saw him tense, knew he didn’t dare move; it would cost him his life to lay a hand uninvited on his owner’s guest. Instinctively Shaylah moved, her hand clamping on the Carelian’s wrist and holding fast.
&n
bsp; The woman cried out in rage, and her other hand came up fast, curling into a vicious claw as she unsheathed her sharp, curved, and pointed nails and drove them at Shaylah’s face. Shaylah threw up her other arm. Hot, sharp pain shot through her as the talons caught her flesh.
Before the woman had a chance to deliver another blow, Wolf was on her, and she shrieked as he flipped her backward through the air as easily as if she’d weighed no more than a petal from one of the roses on the bush she landed in.
“You dare touch me, slave?” She scrambled to her feet, bleeding slightly from several scratches from the bush. “I’ll have you whipped, do you hear me? I’ll have you gelded! Then I’ll claw your skin off myself, piece by piece!”
“I think you had better spend your time thinking up an explanation for why you attacked a superior officer,” Shaylah said coldly. “I believe you’ll find in the Articles of Coalition that it is an offense punishable by banishment to the outer colonies, or death—at the discretion of the victim.”
The woman went as pale as a Carelian could. “You wouldn’t . . .” She trailed off as Shaylah’s icy gaze never faltered.
“I won’t,” Shaylah said ominously, “unless you give me reason.”
“So,” the Carelian sneered, reduced to words as her only weapon, “the great warrior lets a slave do her fighting for her now?”
“He’s worth a dozen of you, Carelian.”
Fury flared in the pink eyes as the woman got slowly to her feet. “We’ll see about that. You’ll be gone soon, and when I get through with him, he won’t be worth shipping to Ossuary to sell.”
“You go near him, and that will be the reason I’ll be looking for. And I promise you, if anything happens to him—or me—those that need to know what happened here will know.”
With a snarled Carelian curse that Shaylah was thankful she didn’t know the meaning of, the woman tugged at her thorn-ripped uniform and fled.
Chapter 4
SHAYLAH DIDN’T notice how very silent Wolf was until they were almost back to her quarters.
“What’s wrong now?” she snapped, the pain in her arm beginning to make itself felt now that the hot tide of anger was receding.
“I’m not used to having others fight my battles for me.”
“I’d say,” she retorted as she turned her face to the panel for the retinal scan, “that you got your turn in. Besides,” she added, “I would have thought you’d enjoy it.”
“Seeing you get clawed by that . . . creature?”
“No,” she said as the scan verified her identity and the door slid open, “having two women fighting over you.”
She stepped inside, turning back to look at him when he didn’t follow. He was standing stock-still in the doorway, quite literally gaping at her. She’d never seen him so at a loss. And then, unexpectedly, impossibly, he was laughing. A hoarse, rough laugh, like the creak of a hatch opening after being rusted shut, but a wonderful laugh nevertheless. It made Shaylah want to laugh, too, but instead she found her eyes brimming with tears at the sound.
Wolf’s eyes narrowed, and the laugh died away. “Your arm?” he asked, stepping inside and going to her. “Are you sure you won’t go to the infirmary?”
She shook her head. It wasn’t that bad, but it was easier to let him think it was than explain the real reason behind her tears. She wasn’t sure she could explain it, anyway.
She was stunned when he reached out and cradled her arm in his big hands; he’d never initiated any contact between them. Her sleeve was in shreds, and blood was beginning to saturate the fabric.
With gentle but firm pressure he urged her into the soaking room. She sat rather suddenly on the edge of the small pool, wondering why she hadn’t noticed how shaky her legs were before. Silently he grasped two pieces of the sleeve and tightened his fingers. It split easily before his strength.
He cleansed the wounds, three long, ugly slashes that fortunately were not excessively deep. Still without a word, he retrieved her healing spray and applied it generously. The bleeding slowed, then stopped; he wiped her arm and sprayed it again.
“Unless the cat is infected with something, you should be fine.”
Shaylah looked at him sharply. His voice had been so level she wasn’t sure if he’d been joking or not. Only when she saw his eyes was she certain. She couldn’t stop the grin that curved her lips.
“She did spit a bit, didn’t she?”
“Only after you blunted her claws with the Coalition rule book.”
“She deserved it.” And the bitch wanted Wolf, Shaylah thought. And she would use those claws on him, doubtless while he was chained and helpless. She shuddered at the thought of that sleek, golden skin ripped to ribbons.
“It still pains you?”
It took her a moment to realize he meant her arm. “No, it’s fine. I . . .” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? The grim truth of his earlier words was haunting her now: What would he do when she was gone? She couldn’t keep him from the likes of the Carelian forever.
Trying not to think about it, Shaylah glanced at her arm, saw that the spray had dried into its protective coating. She stood up, swayed on her feet, and muttered a sour oath under her breath. Wolf reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder; the contact nearly made her gasp. She hadn’t imagined it, she thought, that little shock that went through her at his touch. Her gaze flew to his face.
He looked as disconcerted as she felt. He pulled back his hand, his fingers curling as if they were tingling the way hers had when she’d touched him.
Shaylah sucked in a quick breath. His eyes were searching hers, as if seeking some clue. Then he turned and left the room, and she released the breath she only now realized she was holding. She didn’t understand what happened when they touched, but it eased her confusion somewhat to know that it appeared to affect him, too.
She heard the sounds of the evening meal arriving in the other room. Slowly, and somewhat gingerly because of her arm, she shed her clothes and slipped on the long blue silk robe, drawing it tight around her waist. She padded out of the soaking room on bare feet.
Wolf was sitting at the table, waiting; she still couldn’t get him to start before her. “Manners,” he’d said when she brought it up, “not orders.”
It was a silent meal, Shaylah still wrestling with her own grim thoughts. She didn’t know if Wolf was responding to her own lack of conversation or if he was having some bleak thoughts of his own. When the food was gone and the table removed, they lingered in continuing silence over the sweet lingberry liquor Califa sent every night.
“It was meant for you,” Wolf had said the first time Shaylah poured a portion for him without a word.
“I know. To relax me, no doubt, knowing Califa. She must think I can’t . . . function without something like this.”
Wolf had looked away then, saying nothing, but Shaylah knew what he was thinking. “You’re right,” she said, “it’s better than a collar around my neck to make me . . . perform. At least I have a choice about whether I drink it or not.”
He’d looked startled then, as if surprised at her perceptiveness. He hadn’t said anything, he’d been still wary of talking to her then, but she had known she’d been right.
The beep of the communicator made them both jump and startled Shaylah out of her reverie. The green light was blinking, indicating a live message. She was halfway to it before the thought that it might have something to do with the Carelian navigator occurred to her. The female was, after all, Califa’s friend.
Her stride faltered. She glanced at Wolf; he was looking at the communicator as if he’d been thinking the same thing. Taking a breath, she reached out and turned the unit on.
Califa’s face came into focus a few seconds before she spoke. “Well, so you are alive! Just checking, dear. I presume everything
is going marvelously?”
The leer was conspicuous. Shaylah ignored it. “Fine, thank you.”
“I must say, you’ve surprised me, my friend. I think I should get a medal for getting you to actually . . . enjoy yourself for the first time since I’ve known you. Wolf must live up to his billing.”
Shaylah’s gaze flicked to Wolf in silent apology. He lowered his head in that way she’d come to hate, as if Califa’s image had reminded him of his place outside this room.
“He’s . . . very special,” Shaylah said.
“Well, when your approval becomes known, I shall be quite the envy of the sector! Everyone knows you’re, shall we say, excessively selective?”
Pain lashed through Shaylah, harsh, biting. “Thank you for saving him for me,” she said, her words suddenly sharp.
“Now, don’t get in a fume,” Califa soothed. “You have to admit this is unusual behavior for you.”
Shaylah was about to disconnect abruptly when she remembered. “Califa, about your friend Krel,” she began.
“Oh, she left this morning.”
“She did?” Shaylah tried to sound surprised.
“Yes. Her crew had been recalled. I wonder what’s up? That’s the fourth crew this week that I’ve heard about.”
“I don’t know.” Shaylah was wondering herself, wondering if the Sunbird would be next. “Has her ship cleared yet?”
Califa nodded. “An hour ago.” The image smiled, the leer apparent again. “I think she must have found one of her own kind last night. She was scratched up a bit when she left.”
Shaylah bit her lip to keep from smiling wickedly. “Could be. Er, I’ll talk to you later, Califa.”
“All right. Enjoy. And try to wear Wolf out, will you? Perhaps it will humble him, so he’ll remember his place.”
It was all Shaylah could do to keep her voice steady. “Good night, Califa.” She snapped off the unit.
She was slow to turn around, dreading the look she expected to see on Wolf’s face. Instead he wore that blank, expressionless mask. It was worse than the pain she had anticipated. She had grown used to seeing him without that shuttered look, and its return sent her already churning emotions into a rapid boil. She took three rapid steps toward him, then stopped. She shivered, then set her jaw.
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