by Meg Harris
Barrak lifted an eyebrow. “What theories are those, Doctor?”
“I don’t believe Zytellian women control their men through the use of venom,” the doctor said bluntly. “There is no need. The pheromones make it almost impossible for a man to focus or concentrate in the presence of a woman. I believe it’s actually the pheromones that control a man, not the venom.”
Barrak considered that. “I am fairly certain that Tiryl believed that by marking me I would become her slave.”
“I think venom has taken on a symbolic status in the Zytellian culture. Something approaching a legend has grown up around the process of marking. It symbolizes the submissive state of the man. There is no doubt that marking makes a man less likely to stray from a harem, because he will find intercourse with any other species…” She hesitated and looked embarrassed. “Less fulfilling.”
Barrak smiled grimly at the doctor’s understatement. He couldn’t imagine having sex with another woman. Being marked by Tiryl had made every other sexual experience in his life almost irrelevant by comparison.
“But it doesn’t make a man into a mindless zombie,” the doctor continued. “It’s the pheromones that do that. As long as you stay away from her, you should still be able to control yourself.”
Barrak regarded the doctor thoughtfully. “Lascht,” he said finally, “why didn’t you share this information with me before we reached Zytellian space?”
The woman shrugged. “I was not certain of anything at that point, my Prince. It was only a theory, based on rumors and the very little we know of Zytellian physiology. Had I known we were going to be captured, perhaps I would have told you of my thoughts, but I had no way of knowing, and I hesitated to inform you of what was really merely speculation. The only way to confirm my ideas was to run scans on a Zytellian.”
“And you did that while repairing her broken leg.”
The doctor nodded. “I am still not certain how her pheromones and venom are produced, or how they are interrelated, but I am reasonably certain I am correct.” She gave a slight smile. “And I have an idea.”
* * * * *
Barrak did not return to his quarters until the next morning. Tiryl was left alone all night except when the female doctor came into the room and gave her an injection, informing her it was to relieve the pain of her still-sore leg. The rest of the sleep period Tiryl lay on Barrak’s bunk, her arms tied over her head, unable to roll over, and did her best to sleep, but it was difficult.
She had never before realized how uncomfortable this position was. She had never before considered how it felt to be a man in Zytellian society. How it felt to be tied against one’s will, left to hunger and thirst until one was permitted to eat.
She recognized that Barrak was making a point, and he had driven it home successfully. For the first time in her life, she felt a flicker of shame.
By morning, she was hungry and thirsty, and her body was stiff from sleeping in an awkward position all night. But she realized that hunger and thirst and sore muscles were not the worst of what she faced. She remembered Barrak’s ominous words to the Yawtan. We will see that Tiryl pays for her crimes.
She racked her brain, trying to remember if Terra had the death penalty. It was an irrelevant small planet, and she couldn’t come up with the information. But somehow she doubted it. Terrans were soft and spineless, not ruthless enough to kill their enemies. They would probably try to reform her.
And the irony of it was they might actually succeed.
For the first time in her life she was willing to contemplate the notion that maybe, just maybe, everything she had been taught in her lifetime might be wrong. Barrak was not like any man she had ever known. Recent events had shown her that the men in her harem meant more to her than she had ever imagined. Yet her feelings for them had been almost maternal, the feelings of a protector who has failed to protect.
Her feelings for Barrak were very far from maternal.
She shook herself mentally, startled by the direction of her own thoughts. Of course she didn’t have any feelings for Barrak. She felt nothing more for him than the mild lust her society permitted. The notion that she had actually formed a strong bond with a male was unthinkable.
There was no such thing as love between a male and a female. The very idea was revolting.
And yet the idea seemed to have burrowed into her mind…and wouldn’t let go.
The door irised, and Barrak strode in, dressed in slightly less formal robes of plain dark green. He looked beautiful with his dark hair cascading around his face, and her heart rate immediately doubled, so that her heart pounded against her ribs. She assured herself it was because she was nervous.
He stood next to the bed, looming over her, and his lips curved in a sardonic smile. “So,” he drawled. “How does it feel to be treated as less than human?”
She managed not to flinch at the sharp tone, although it was unexpected. She had marked him yesterday. He ought to be at her feet, begging for her favors. And yet he persisted in behaving as if he were in charge.
She reminded herself that he was in charge. Even though she had managed to mark him, she was the one tied to the bed.
Struggling to win control of the situation, she opened her mouth to say something cutting, only to be appalled by the plaintive words that emerged instead.
“I’m thirsty.”
Her voice, she noticed with dismay, sounded croaky and hoarse. The last thing she wanted was to sound as if she were begging. But she needed water, desperately so. The production of venom always made a Zytellian woman thirsty, and she had produced quite a bit last night.
Barrak gazed down at her, his eyes hard as stone. “I imagine you’re hungry, too.”
She moved her head in mute acquiescence.
“You left me without food for two days,” he reminded her.
The words I’m sorry trembled on her tongue, but she swallowed them back. She was sorry, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. It was not a phrase a Zytellian woman should ever say to a man. Not that he was likely to believe her, anyway. He would naturally assume she was apologizing merely to manipulate him into giving her food and water. She decided it was safest to say nothing at all.
He waited for her to comment, and as the silence lengthened, the sardonic smile curved his lips again. “Fortunately for you,” he said at last, “I am not as cruel a master as you are a mistress.”
A rebuttal sprang instantly to her lips. “You are not my master.”
“No? Then why are you tied to my bed?”
The smugness threading through his voice infuriated her. She would never have permitted a man to speak to her in such a tone among her own people. “I will never call any man my master,” she said between her teeth.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Nor should you. Among my people men and women are equal, Tiryl.”
The bizarre notion of equality between the sexes still sent a little shudder of distaste through her, but she tried not to let her reaction show on her face. “It matters not to me what your people believe,” she responded. “Once we reach your planet, I will not live long enough to observe their ways.”
“We do not have the death penalty,” he answered, confirming her suspicions. “If you are found guilty of your crimes against me and my crew—and you almost certainly will be—you will be incarcerated, probably for the rest of your life.”
“Foolish. My people will want me back, and they will attack you in an effort to save me.”
“Perhaps, although I question if your people are as loyal to you as you seem to believe. In any event, it would be far more foolish for me to kill you. With you alive, we have a bargaining chip.” He sat down next to her on the cot and gazed at her intensely. “I want you to tell your people to leave Terra alone. If you do that, I will see to it that you are not incarcerated.”
She stared at him. “You will permit me to return to Zytellia?”
He shook his head, so that his ebony hair
rippled. “No, Tiryl. Your days as Leader are over, and you will never see your home world again. But I can see to it that you remain free—on Terra.”
“How can you accomplish this?” she said suspiciously.
“I am a Prince of Terra.”
“Yes, but your people value the rule of law. I remember that much about your insignificant little planet. They do not permit plea bargains and the like. Criminals are always sentenced.”
Barrak looked away from her. “But members of the royal family,” he said in a soft voice, “may not be prosecuted for any crime.”
She gazed at him blankly. “I am the Leader of Zytellia, not a member of the royal family of Terra.”
“You can become a member of the royal family…if you agree to become my life-mate.”
The word was unfamiliar to her, and for a moment she stared, uncomprehending. Then she remembered its meaning, and her eyes went wide with shock. “Your life-mate? Do you mean bind myself to you for the rest of my life?”
“Yes.”
Her mind reeled at the suggestion. The idea of any Zytellian woman binding herself to one particular man for any length of time would be shocking. The idea of binding herself to Barrak forever was simply outrageous.
And yet, oddly, the idea held a certain…fascination…for her.
“Why would you wish to do this?” she said at last.
He looked back at her, unblinking. His hard eyes gave no hint of what might be going through his mind. “You have bound me to you by marking me,” he said. “Why does it surprise you that I would wish you to be bound to me as well?”
She realized that was the reason she found the idea so shocking. It was entirely proper for a man to be bound to a woman—that was the entire purpose behind marking one’s harem, to compel a man’s loyalty. But for a woman to be bound to one man was utterly alien to her experience. To never have sex with another man, to live all her days with only one man and to accept him as her equal…
That, she thought grimly, was the most shocking idea of all. She could never accept Barrak as an equal. To do so would be to betray her most deeply ingrained beliefs.
“I can’t,” she said.
“The alternative is lifelong imprisonment,” he pointed out.
“It appears to me that both the alternatives you have offered are lifelong imprisonment.”
A wry smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Just think about it, Tiryl. We will not reach Terra until tomorrow. In the meantime…just think about it.”
He stood up, crossed to a food slot, and pushed several buttons. In a moment a container of water appeared. He brought it back to the bed, held it near her lips, and bent the tubing down so that she could drink from it. She drank eagerly. At last she turned her head away, and he removed it and looked down at her, lifting his brow slightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered in a barely audible voice. Another first in her life. She’d never said those words to a male before.
He nodded slightly, and a look of satisfaction glinted in his eyes. “Would you like to eat?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move, only gazed at her.
“Please,” she added softly.
As he stood and walked across the quarters again, she glared at his back. The nerve of the man, forcing her to say “thank you” as if she were a naughty child! But it occurred to her that he was treating her far better than she had treated him. From his perspective, she probably deserved the humiliation.
He brought back a bowlful of a distinctly odd yellow substance, dipped a spoon into it, and moved it toward her mouth. She tried to jerk her head away. “What is that?”
“Eggs. A Terran delicacy.”
She wasn’t sure what eggs were, but they looked revolting. The smell, however, was not entirely dreadful, so she opened her lips and took a bite.
“Not bad,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you find it satisfactory,” he said with a dry sarcasm that would have forced her to punish him had she been in charge.
He fed her for a while, as if she were a child. She was aware of the sexual interest that simmered beneath his surface, yet there was nothing overtly sexual about the way he fed her. She was baffled as to why he was able to resist her, after she had marked him.
“There is another problem with my presence on Terra,” she said at last. “You cannot let me go free, even if I were to marry you. Men lose their self-control in my presence, as you already know too well. I will wreak havoc wherever I go.”
He put down the plate of eggs on a bedside table. “Actually,” he said, “you needn’t.”
“I will. You know how you respond to me. Other men will react in precisely the same manner. It is one reason that we keep our men sequestered, so that they will not be driven into a frenzy by the presence of women.”
“It is no longer an issue,” he said calmly. “Do you recall the injection the doctor gave you last night?”
Her mouth fell open.
“Yes,” he said. “She designed an injection that can suppress your production of pheromones.”
Tiryl tried to dredge up outrage that her body had been altered without her permission, but it was difficult. She was, after all, a prisoner, no longer the mistress of her own fate. And she had to admit the suppression of her pheromones would greatly simplify her ability to move among Terrans without causing a riot everywhere she went. Assuming that she did choose to accept Barrak’s outrageous offer, rather than incarceration.
She met his calm eyes, and something sank within her. She had wondered why he seemed so indifferent to her presence, and now she understood. “This is why you no longer want me, then.”
He shook his head and extended his hand, cupping her cheek. “You are mistaken, Tiryl. I still want you, pheromones or no pheromones. I will want you for the rest of my life, until the day that I die.”
Despite the fact that she was his prisoner, a warm glow began to smolder within her. Every man she’d ever met had wanted her because of her pheromones. The idea that a man might want her, simply for herself, was startlingly…pleasurable. She tried to squelch her reaction.
“You want me because I marked you,” she said flatly.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I want you because you intrigue me, Tiryl. I’ve never known a woman like you before. In an odd way, I admire you.”
“You don’t even like me.”
He shrugged. “I dislike much of what you have done, both to me and to others. And yet I realize that you are a product of your society, as I am a product of mine. I hope you will grow to learn the error of your ways.”
She chose not to mention the doubts that already plagued her. He already held too much power over her. “If my pheromones no longer affect you, then you are no longer truly bound to me.”
“Not true,” he said softly. His big hand lifted, stroked her cheek, sending a tremor through her. “I crave you more than I have ever craved anything, Tiryl. Given a choice between you and oxygen, I believe I could more easily make do without oxygen.”
That traitorous warmth swelled in her chest again. “You do not behave as if you find me irresistible,” she said shakily.
“Indeed. What would convince you? This?” He bent and brushed his lips very lightly across the delicate skin of her throat, and she shivered.
“Or this?”
His mouth moved lower, across the swell of her breast, and her nipples stiffened and ached as strongly as if he’d drawn them between his lips. She squirmed against him, desperate to run her hands over his body, to feel the powerful contours of muscle and bone beneath his hair-roughened skin.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
He lifted his head and looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Not yet, Tiryl.”
“What if I agree to become your mate?”
The words shocked her, though they came from her own mouth. She could see that he was equally shocked by her capitulation. He stared at her for a long moment.
�
��I do not believe that I can trust you,” he said at last.
“If you make me your mate, you will have to trust me sometime.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. That is true.”
She looked into his eyes. “I will become your mate, Barrak.”
* * * * *
It was insanity. It was worse than insanity. If he cut her bonds and set her free, she would likely try to murder him and escape. The thought of her loose on his ship, able to break into the comm system and call down the wrath of the entire Zytellian navy on their heads, sent a cold shudder down his spine. And yet he drew out his silver-handled knife and sliced through her bonds.
The fact of it was, she was right. He would have to trust her sometime. It might as well be now, with two strong guards standing watch outside her door, than later. On Terra, unguarded, she would be able to take an important hostage, a member of his family, perhaps even his mother or father. If she intended to get back to Zytellia, he needed to know now.
He slashed through her bonds and threw the ropes to the floor. She sat up slowly, rubbing at her arms, and he watched her warily, though he knew well enough she was not in any condition to try to escape yet. Her arms and legs were doubtless nearly numb from their confinement. If she were going to escape, it would be later.
Perhaps he could bond her to him before she chose to betray him.
He leaned forward and ran his fingers through the thick fall of her golden hair, gently smoothing through the snarls, untangling it. She looked at him through half-slitted eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Stroking your hair. Something I have longed to do since I first saw you.”
Her eyes fell shut. “No man has ever touched my hair before.”
That was hardly surprising, given the Zytellian attitude toward sex. Based on what he’d learned, it appeared that men were only used for direct stimulation, as if they were sex toys rather than people. Any sort of affectionate love play that might lead to fondness, or worse, love, was likely forbidden.
