Shadower

by Catherine Spangler

"I must have gotten lost in the dark on Calt and boarded your ship by accident."

  "Yeah, right. And you've been inside this cabin the entire trip?"

  "Sleeping off the effects of the poison," she offered lamely.

  He snorted, obviously not falling for that. "Where have you been while I was planetside?"

  "I had just come out of the cabin when I saw you and tried to duck back in."

  "Likely story." He grabbed her arm and dragged her back down the corridor, stopping to look out the hatch. Scowling, he dragged her into the cockpit. His eagle gaze settled on the navigational screen. Moriah realized that she'd stupidly neglected to clear it. There, the incriminating evidence of their coordinates glared back at them. He raised narrowed eyes to her. "You're a liar. I'm tempted to dump you out and leave you here."

  "You can't do that! They'll kill—" She froze, realizing she was only incriminating herself further. What was wrong with her? Normally, she was quick on her feet. Lack of food must be dulling her wits.

  The murderous expression on Sabin’s' face sent another realization careening through her. One she should have fathomed earlier. He was a Shielder. That was the only way he could possibly know about this colony, the only way the inhabitants would have welcomed him.

  The Controllers had declared every Shielder a criminal, an enemy of the government. It was every citizen's duty to turn in any member of the race, a duty bearing a financial reward. Shadowers made the majority of their bounties hunting down Shielders. If Sabin was a Shielder, every time he ventured out into the quadrant, he risked discovery and certain death. There was no way he could allow her to live, given what she had learned.

  "So you know, then," he said softly, the quiet surety in his voice just as terrifying as if he had shouted. "You know exactly what type of colony this is, and you also know the coordinates."

  He would kill her now. Adrenaline surged. Moriah looked around the cockpit, hoping to find something—anything—she could use for a weapon. She spotted the gun hooked to his utility belt. Desperation spurring her to attack, she lunged toward him.

  She intended to hit him in the gut with her shoulder and then confiscate his gun. But he sidestepped with surprising agility, forcing her to swerve around the console. Before she could regain her balance, he spun her toward him. Grabbing her shoulders, he jerked her forward. She hooked a leg behind his, shoving against his chest as she forced his legs toward her.

  Caught off balance, his own momentum working against him, he toppled down. But he kept a tight grip on her, taking her with him. Her plan to knee him in the groin as she went down was thwarted as he rolled when they hit, pinning her beneath him. Pain shot through her shoulder, reminding her it had not yet healed.

  "Get off me!" She demanded, slugged him with her good fist.

  He grabbed her arm and pressed it to the floor. "I don't think you're in any position to bargain, lady."

  He might be right, but Moriah had long ago learned not to show any vulnerability. "I can help you more than you might think," she replied, trying to come up with something—anything.

  "Oh, yeah?" His gaze raked contemptuously over her breasts. "Seems to me I can find that lots of places."

  His fury was still evident, as was the blatant reminder he was just like any other man. His weight pressing on her made it hard to breathe, much less think clearly. Desperate, she made an offer she wouldn't make under normal circumstances—at least not before payment.

  "You can't find supplies being delivered to a place like this with no questions asked. I'd be willing to do that."

  "And just what type of place is this?"

  She hedged her answer. "Apparently a someplace no one else knows about."

  He grunted, bringing her arms to rest on the floor above her head. Shifting both her wrists to one hand, he reached down and unsnapped a pair of electronic shackles from his belt. Panic resurged. She heaved against him, trying to throw him off.

  "Be still!" he ordered, straddling her with his legs. This brought him fully pressed against her, and she felt suffocated by his weight and heat. She battled his attempts to get the shackles on her wrists, without success. He didn't hurt her, but his sheer strength dominated her resistance. He snapped the shackles on her. Then he grabbed her arms and rose, lifting her with him.

  Spinning her around, he tore away her cloak and pushed her against the console. "Spread them," he ordered.

  Old fears pressed in on her, sharp and jagged. Staggering pain, a paralyzing reminder of the strength men could wield over women. Blindly, Moriah shook her head. "No."

  His grip tightened. Pain speared through her left shoulder, and she winced. He must have noticed, because his hold loosened. "I said spread 'em."

  "Why? I have no weapons. You have my belt and gun."

  "Afraid I can't take your word on that. I didn't search you when I brought you on board my ship. But then, I didn't know what kind of woman you were."

  His insulting tone sent heat rushing to her cheeks. "What kind of woman is that?"

  "One who lies about her identity, for starters. Put your hands on the console and spread your legs.

  Now."

  She had no choice but to go along until she had an opening to catch him off guard. Trying to stop her shaking, Moriah placed her palms on the console, the shackle links clinking. She noticed Sabin hadn't activated the shock mechanism, which surprised her. She had no idea why he didn't just kill her. Was he planning to torture her—or worse—before he did?

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  "I'll have to think about it—after I check you for weapons." He fumbled around behind her for a moment, and she heard several clicks. "Damn piece of junk," he muttered, and there was a clatter as he apparently threw something down. He paused another moment, then his hands slid slowly over her arms, causing her to start.

  He meant to search her by hand. "There are scanners for detecting weapons," she bit out.

  "Yeah, well, mine seems to have malfunctioned, like everything else on this piece-of-shit freighter."

  He continued the downward slide of his hands. The warmth of his touch penetrated the fabric of her suit, only intensifying the chill Moriah felt inside. Her arms trembled, much to her chagrin. He paused a moment, his fingers circling her wrists, brushing over the magnasteel bracelet she wore. She tensed, praying he wouldn't examine it too closely.

  When he moved back up her arms, she almost sagged with relief. But then his hands slipped beneath her arms, and his fingers flattened over her chest. They came in contact with bare skin on the left side, where her torn flightsuit sagged alarmingly low. Images of a leering face, of hands groping against her, tearing her clothing, hammered at her. Tension ricocheted through her body. She struggled to shake away the memories.

  "Your heart is pounding," he said. "It's good to know I haven't lost my touch."

  Anger at being in this man's power flared, overriding her apprehension. What she wouldn't give to have a fully charged stunner in her hand right now. "Arrogant bastard," she hissed. "Just finish this."

  "We still need to work on those manners." He slid his hands over her ribs, brushing the side of her breasts, then across the front of her midriff and abdomen. He seemed nonchalant about the excruciating intimacy.

  She forced herself to stand completely still, as he moved from there to run his hands slowly down the outside of her legs. He stopped long enough to raise each leg and remove her boots and then he continued slowly up the inside of her legs. He took his time, applying firm pressure, forcing her to tense her muscles to keep her balance. By the time he stopped within a millimeter of the juncture of her legs, it took all her self-control to remain still. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give him any further pleasure from her humiliation.

  He was just as thorough on her backside. If she had a stunner, she'd set the charge on low and raise it gradually, she decided. She'd kill him very slowly.

  A sense of victory raced through her when he stepped back, seemingly satisfie
d. Her bracelet had not caught his attention, so he hadn't realized she actually did have a weapon—lethean patches. The tiny patches, which contained a powerful sedative, were affixed on her bracelet. They looked like tiny decorative medallions, rather than four highly effective ways to incapacitate an opponent long enough to get away. All she needed was an opportunity to use them.

  She shook the hair from her face. "I told you I didn't have any weapons."

  "And I'm supposed to believe everything you tell me." Taking her arm, Sabin maneuvered her to a chair. "Sit." He pushed her down. Then he leaned against the console, crossing his feet at the ankles. "What am I going to do with you?"

  Killing her would be the logical choice, she knew. Then Celie would have no one. Panic edging her desperation, she quickly suggested, "Take me to the nearest star base. I've already forgotten this place."

  He shook his head. "No can do. I can't trust you as far as Astra's orbit around Vilana."

  "I give you my word of honor I won't reveal the location of this settlement to anyone."

  "Your word of honor? What would that be, exactly, Moriah/Mara? The honor of thieves? Somehow I find it very hard to accept the word of someone who lies about her identity."

  His words stung her pride. Despite the fact that she had operated under numerous false aliases, Moriah never went back on her word once she gave it. Of course, if semantics colored what she was promising a little differently from what the other party believed the agreement to be, that was their problem. But, unlike her father and Pax—shadowers, the scum of the galaxy—she did have a code of honor. Which was probably a lot more than she could say for Sabin Travers.

  Noticing his attention had wandered below her face, she raised her manacled hands to jerk her sagging flightsuit up over her breast. "The name is Moriah. Moriah Cameron. My word is good. And you owe me. It's your fault I'm here. If you hadn't interfered in Giza's—"

  His gaze snapped back up to meet hers. "Interfered? I saved your hide, as I recall."

  "I was holding my own. Then you detained me on your ship, and my ride left without me. That was my only way off Calt, since my ship had been stolen."

  "Your ship was stolen? Now that's very interesting." His eyes gleamed as he considered this information. Moriah suspected his annoying nonchalance hid a light-speed intelligence, making him a dangerous opponent. "Of course," he continued, "if you hadn't been on Calt, that wouldn't have happened. You take your chances, lady. So why did you choose to stow away on my ship? You had no idea where I might be headed."

  She considered how much to tell him. She had learned giving as much of the truth as possible was better than offering lies. The impression of honesty gave her credibility. The trick was determining what information she could leave out.

  "I overheard you talking to that other man on your ship. You told him you were headed to Star Base Intrepid. I figured I could find transport from there." She looked around the antiquated interior of the cockpit. "Although I must have been under the influence of the poison. It's amazing this clunker could make it anywhere."

  "You wound me," he mocked. "This clunker, as you call it, has been trustworthy, which is more than I can say for you."

  "I've given my word," she insisted. "I won't reveal this settlement's location. If necessary to buy my freedom, I'll agree to deliver supplies here—for a modest fee, of course."

  "Yeah, I'll just bet your fees are modest. I'm sure exorbitant would be more accurate." His gaze raked over her again. "So, what to do with you?"

  She watched him, anxiety mounting inside her. He appeared to come to a sudden decision. Striding forward, he took her arm and pulled her out of the chair. "Come on." He pushed her into the corridor.

  Stumbling ahead of him, she sifted through offensive strategies. If she could turn and trip him, and land a few well-placed kicks to groin, abdomen, and head…

  "Don't even think about trying anything," he warned. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him hold up a small object. "I have a remote activation unit that can send a lot of voltage through those shackles you're wearing. I can—and will—put you out before you can blink an eye."

  She almost groaned in frustration. Obviously, physical force wasn't going to work. She'd have to depend on a more covert method. Her plotting came to a stop as he turned her back into the cabin she'd just vacated and guided her to the lav entry.

  He stepped around and reached for the seam of her flightsuit. "This is coming off."

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage, ugly memories crowding in. He's a man! What did you expect? She lurched back. "I'll burn in the Abyss before I give you the pleasure."

  Sabin rolled his eyes. "Sex, sex, sex! Is that all you women ever think about? Forget it. This once, I'd like you to obey a simple order, lady. I want you out of that suit and in the shower."

  "The shower?" She stared at him, totally confused. No doubt about it—the man was a loose fusion cannon.

  "Of course the shower. Look at you!" He gestured toward her again, a look of revulsion on his face. "Your hair and flightsuit are covered with dried blood and slime. I'm going to have to clean the ship as it is."

  Who cared if this rust bucket was clean? The man definitely had a gear out of orbit. Moriah wasn't immune to her unclean state, although it seemed a ludicrous concern in view of the situation. Then it occurred to her that he wouldn't want her clean if he planned to kill her right away. Relief eased some of the terrible tension gripping her body. This might present an opportunity to gain the upper hand—especially if she could get rid of the shackles.

  She held out her arms. "Release me, and I'll clean up."

  A speculative gleam lit his eyes. "The shackles are waterproof. I can leave them on and just cut the suit off of you. Scrub you down myself."

  Her elevated adrenaline levels surged even higher. "No!" She didn't realize she had backed away until she hit the lav panel. It slid open, and she almost fell backward, but Sabin caught her arms and pulled her upright. "Let me go!"

  He ignored her. "You're trembling. That makes me wonder what you're hiding beneath that suit."

  "Nothing you're not already aware of!" she snapped. "Unless you want to lose a few body parts, let me go!"

  He cocked his head, his eyes glittering. "Which ones?"

  "What?"

  "Which body parts? I like to know my options."

  His mockery fueled her anger. "Crucial ones," she assured him.

  He didn't seem too concerned as he considered. "Okay, I'll take off the shackles, and leave you to shower, under two conditions. First, you give me your promise you won't try to attack or injure me. Second, you do exactly what I say, as long as you're on board this ship."

  He released his hold, and Moriah rubbed her upper arms. "I thought you didn't trust my word."

  "I don't. The first time you step the least bit out of line, I'll not only shackle your hands, but your feet as well. And I'll activate the shock mechanism."

  Damn him! Yet she had no choice but to agree. "All right, I give you my word. I won't attack you." Just render you unconscious at the first opportunity.

  "And you'll obey orders?"

  She could imagine what some of his orders would be. She pushed back the darkness, focusing on survival. She'd have to find a way to circumvent such orders. As long as Celie needed her, she would survive. "Yes."

  "Hold out your hands." Pulling a sequencer from his pocket, Sabin snapped it over the lock. The shackles clicked open, and he removed them. "Toss that torn suit out after you take it off. I'll leave a clean flightsuit for you on the bunk."

  "Wait," she said as he started to turn away.

  He looked at her, his brows raised. "What now?"

  "What are you planning to do with me?"

  "That's a good question. I would say what happens next depends entirely on you." He left the cabin without a backward glance.

  It did depend on her, Moriah thought, fingering her bracelet. She had a weapon he didn't know about. One she planned to use at the
first opportunity.

  Chapter Four

  He had definitely lost it, agreeing to take the shackles off Moriah. Sabin didn't trust the woman for one instant. But she desperately needed a shower, and the stark fear in her eyes made him think twice about washing her himself.

  Not that he needed to be tempted any further by her lush curves. Searching her had not only been torture, but provided proof the lady did indeed feel as good as she looked. As a matter of fact, being in close proximity to her seemed to disintegrate any good sense he possessed. His body, on the other hand, came to full alert. This unusual lack of control over his physical reactions did not sit well with him. It was time for a visit to the Pleasure Domes at the next opportunity. But first, he had to deal with Moriah.

  She was intelligent and a skilled fighter, but he wouldn't give her an opportunity to get the upper hand. He had only promised to remove her shackles. That didn't mean he'd give her free rein on the ship. When she finished showering, she was going in the brig. Then he wouldn't have to worry about her until they reached their destination. And where would that be? he wondered.

  Wearily, he leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could put Moriah out on the planet, and that would solve the problem of her knowing too much. Of course, it would also be her death warrant. Too much was at stake for a colony of Shielders to allow an outsider to know their location and live to tell about it. Technically, he himself was obligated to shut her up permanently, but he had no stomach for killing innocents.

  Ugly images reared in his mind: Screaming Shielder children, fleeing for their lives, while their parents, waging a futile stand against hordes of Anteks, were cut down like morini grass.

  He shook his head to force the images away, but newer ones took their place: Graves. Growing in number daily. He'd seen the profusion of new burial sites at the Shielder colony today. According to the colonists, the virus engineered by the Controllers was no idle rumor, but a very real threat. Called Orana, it was rapidly spreading among Shielder settlements. Highly contagious, it was devastating and merciless.