Stolen_Saving Setora

by Raven Dark

  Damien’s tutors had given me books to read on dozens of different cultures and ways of life. I recognized the type of furniture he used, along with the candles, but I hadn’t seen much of it even in the books I’d read.

  Hawk emerged from the bedroom a few moments later, straightening one long, red sleeve. He’d put on the thin shirt under his leather cut. He was the only man here I’d seen wear long sleeves, though the shirt was open and went into a v that reached to the middle of his pecs, tight fitting and giving me a glimpse of his powerful, tanned chest. A neck chain with that symbol I didn’t recognize—the same one Pretty Boy wore—hung between his pecs, a glint of silver. The insignia had a series of thin and thick jagged lines that ended in sharp points, connecting in a way that held a distinctly tribal appearance.

  My stomach fluttered at the look of him. The last thing I needed was to feel attracted to anyone now, much less one as hard to pin down as him. I focused on his room instead.

  “You follow the way of the Yantu Warriors, Master?” I gestured to the furniture and the candles. “The candles are meant to create calm, aren’t they?”

  “You’re familiar with the Yantu?”

  “Yes, a little, Master. I’ve…uh…read about them.” I cringed, hoping he wouldn’t make anything of a slave reading. He’d find out eventually, so it might as well be now. I suspect he’d have more appreciation for such a skill than Pretty Boy or Steel.

  “Theirs is not a discipline many people follow in this area,” Hawk said, crossing the room to me.

  “No, it’s not, Master.”

  Fascination flickered across his face. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but then he rubbed his forehead and headed for the cave entrance. “Time to eat, kitten.”

  My stomach rumbled in agreement, but I stopped him. “May I be a pest and speak freely again, Master?” When he looked at me waiting, I licked my lips. “Are you all right?”

  When he didn’t reply, I reached toward his forehead, but stopped when he drew back from my touch, his mouth a scowl. “You just look like you’re in pain.” I dropped my arm. “I hate seeing anyone in pain.”

  “It’s just a migraine. It’ll pass.”

  He said nothing more while he led me to the clubhouse for dinner. Or I thought we were headed for the clubhouse. Instead, we ended up at the much smaller, quieter common room where I’d had breakfast in the mornings. If he had a migraine, I didn’t blame him for not wanting to be around fifty or more rowdy men given to fighting.

  Hawk chose a two-person table, secluded near the back where the noise was minimal, not that there was a lot of noise here to begin with. No more than a dozen men sat about the room, if that, three at a small bar talking with the barkeep, the rest eating, playing board games, or nursing drinks. Quiet, without the chaos of the clubhouse, this seemed to be the place to come if you wanted to relax and eat or imbibe without worry of being disturbed.

  Hawk left me at the table long enough to order from the bar and then seated himself across from me. The light burning overhead made him squint until he looked down at his folded arms.

  “Tell me what you know of the Yantu,” he said.

  My heart rate quickened. Most masters didn’t like slaves knowing too much. “Oh, I’m no expert or anything. I came across them in my studies. They prize courage and discipline over one’s emotions above all else. They exercise control in all things. And don’t they believe that a perfect existence is one without emotion, without pain or sadness or anger to influence them?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly right. Very good.”

  Someone came over and set a small mug of steaming tea down for Hawk, a glass of wine for me. Hawk’s tea gave off the pleasant scent of mint.

  I looked up at the man who’d brought our food and grinned. “Hi, Crash.”

  His teeth flashed. “Did you see Cherry today?”

  “I did. And I met Mac. Or Dice. He wants to meet you, you know.”

  “Someday.” Looking suddenly uncomfortable, he shrugged his big shoulders. “When Cherry stops being so stubborn. Food’ll be a few minutes, Hawk.”

  Crash vanished beyond those swinging doors.

  “Can I ask you something, Master?”

  “If you must.” But his eyes looked amused.

  “How can anyone live without emotion? Emotions are what tell us how to react to those around us. Love, joy, happiness, loyalty, those are what bind us as people, as a society. Without loyalty, you wouldn’t have a crew.”

  “True. But love also makes us jealous. Gives us grief when we lose someone. Strong emotions risk us losing control, and in the end, always end up causing pain.”

  “Not always, Master.”

  “Name someone you love who has not hurt you, kitten.”

  “I…. Well…” I pressed my lips together, wishing I had the words to argue with him. I thought of Maja. My beloved horse had never harmed me, but she wasn’t a person. That thought led to Damien and his betrayal of me. I shoved the thought of him aside before it could sour the mood. “I’m not close to many people,” I said lamely.

  Hawk said nothing, only sipped his tea. Crash came out a short while later, set the food down, smiled at us both and left again. I stared at the large platters of food set between us.

  “Wow. What is all this?” There were strange looking meat patties on round buns with slices of tomato on them, large racks of meat held together with sticks of bone, and plates of salad, the last tossed with a light vinaigrette, by the smell of it.

  “Those are ribs, those are hamburgers, and this is a salad.”

  “I know what a salad is, Master, but the rest I’ve never seen.”

  Hawk used tongs to put salad on his plate and added one of the racks of ribs. I did the same, but added a hamburger, wanting to try everything. Hawk pointed to a small bottle. “You’ll want to put this on the burger. It’s barbeque sauce. Crash’s special blend.”

  I lathered the dark red sauce on and asked him a few more questions about the Yantu.

  He rubbed his forehead again and drank another gulp of tea. Ah, Damien’s nurse had told me there were types of mints that were supposed to help with the pain.

  “I’m sorry, Master. Am I talking too much? Asking too many questions?”

  His eyes met mine. “No. I like hearing your voice. It’s…soothing.”

  He liked hearing my voice. Warmth spread through me.

  Suddenly not sure what to say, I pulled off a rib and nibbled at it. The sticky sauce coated my fingers like honey and I put the rib down to wipe them. “Why do they call them ribs? Because they look like the ribs of something?”

  Hawk stopped with a forkful of lettuce at his mouth. “Their ottlot ribs, kitten.”

  Ottlot. I’d heard that name before. The memory sank in slowly. I’d read about a large, cattle-like animal sold in Zone 10, about a fifteen day journey from here. I also remembered something else about them.

  Setting the square of napkin down, I stared at the ribs. “We’re eating the inside of an ottlot.”

  He nodded, tearing off a rib and eating it. He watched me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I read a story when I was a kid.” My voice was too high. “Otty and the Tulip. It was my favorite story. The ottlot in it had a blue dress.” I covered my mouth with the napkin and looked at him. “I can’t believe I’m eating…Otty.”

  Hawk covered his mouth with the back of his hand for a minute, looking at his plate.

  “Master?”

  His shoulders shook.

  “Master?”

  His shoulders shook harder. I leaned closer and caught a flash of his teeth. He was…laughing?

  “Master, are you—”

  Hawk threw back his head and cackled, the deepest, most glorious sound I’d ever heard.

  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at the Captain of the Guard as if he’d grown another head. I wondered if they’d ever heard him make such a sound before.

  “A blue dress. That’s th
e most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He started laughing all over again.

  Hearing him say it, a laugh pushed out of me, and I covered my own mouth with the back of my hand. Then we were both laughing into our food.

  “I don’t think I can eat these now. Help yourself, Master.” I gestured to the ribs and wiped my mouth.

  “Happy to.” He took the ribs from my plate and easily packed them away while I ate my salad. When he was done, he set the last rib bones down and wiped his hands and mouth with his napkin. “Thank you, Kitten. I needed that.”

  “For what? The ribs?” I wiped my own mouth, deciding not to eat the burger either.

  “No. For making me laugh. No one’s ever done that before.”

  “I can tell.” I glanced around the room at the men who’d gone back to their meals. “Is your head still hurting, Master?”

  He didn’t answer, but his hand reached over, and his thumb brushed a bit of wine from my lips. The single caress left a trail of fire across my skin.

  I lowered my eyes, heart rate quickening.

  “Let’s go, Kitten.” He stood up and took hold of my wrist, pulling me to my feet. I rose from my seat and let him lead me out of the common room. His wide back looked tense, his strides long and urgent.

  Fully expecting to be brought back to his place, my breath quickened with every step, a dizzying mix of nervous anticipation and uncertainty making my head swim.

  There was a danger in this man that still left me feeling shaky around him. What would he do to me once he had me alone? I couldn’t work out whether I wanted him to, or if I was terrified he would.

  Back at his place, instead of leading me to his bedroom, he turned to me in his living room and his fingers tipped my chin up. His eyes were fixated on mine.

  “You have a sensitive heart. A sweetness that is dangerous in the Grotto.”

  “I’m sorry, Master. You must think I’m weak, being so emotional over a children’s story—”

  “No. I see so much death and blood on the job, it’s refreshing to know there is still someone out there who still values life.”

  My heart swelled at his praise. Looking for something else to focus on, I cleared my throat. The silvery blades of his swords flashed in the torchlight from the walls. I went and looked them over, fascinated.

  “Where did you get all these?” I glanced at him.

  Hawk walked over to the table and picked up one of the binacca from the bowl.

  “Did you steal them, Master?”

  One dark brow raised. “And if I did?” He polished the binacca on the long sleeve of his shirt, then took the blade from the scabbard at his hip and started carving the skin off the fruit.

  I shook my head. I’d never be okay with piracy, and yet, I couldn’t deny this way of life fascinated me. I could see the appeal of it. “Well, anyway, they’re gorgeous.”

  “They are.” He turned the binacca in his long, dexterous fingers, shaving the skin off in one long strip that dangled almost to the floor. This left a pale kind of under-skin behind, keeping the slices together.

  “What are you doing, Master?”

  “I don’t like the skin.” He set the coil down on the table, and I looked at it in wonder until he peeled off a slice of binacca and then slipped it into his gorgeous mouth.

  I turned my attention back to his swords. The long thin ones looked so light, I wondered if they could be that lightweight and not break. I reached up and closed my hand around its leather-wrapped black hilt, then carefully drew it down.

  “These are the swords I’ve seen on the backs of the Yantu warriors in books.” I weighed the blade in my hand, turning it over before looking up at Hawk. “It’s so light.”

  He nodded, peeling off another slice of binacca and eating it.

  “Damien has a sword, and I can barely lift it.” I swung the blade in what I hoped was a warrior-like way. No women fought, and few dared even touch a blade. “It can’t be real, being this light.”

  I ran my hand over the flat blade of the steel, loving the smooth, cool feel of the metal. “Is it even sharp?” Most blades were sharp on one side, dull on the other. Since the very tip curved up, I made to run my thumb along the inner, and I assumed, dull edge of the blade.

  Hawk was suddenly there, right in front of me. He’d put the blade he’d been using before in its hip scabbard again. He closed his hand over mine, taking the sword from me before I could touch its edge.

  “I’m sorry. I overstepped. I didn’t think…”

  But he didn’t chastise me. Instead, he turned with the blade in his hand like it belonged there. He went over to the low table, picked up another binacca from the bowl and turned it around in his fingers.

  Eyes meeting mine for an instant, he tossed the fruit into the air. In the space of time it took for it to fall to the floor, his powerful body had changed stance, blade in a two-handed grip, and in one movement, he sliced the binacca with a single sideways stroke.

  The binacca dropped to the floor in two perfect halves.

  I stared, excitement buzzing in my veins. “So it is sharp.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. He took a cloth from his pocket and wiped the blade clean, then picked up the pieces of fruit and set them on the table.

  Unable to find words to express my admiration, I just watched him walk gracefully over to the wall and set the blade on its brackets above my head. Then, still towering over me, his eyes dropped to my face.

  His expression was so stony now, I might not have seen that smile a moment ago, and I might have imagined him laughing earlier. The hunger in his eyes was the only hint he felt anything, and that suddenly looked dangerous.

  My heart battered my ribs. What would he do to me? Would he tear my clothes off, bend me over and show me the price for daring to touch his prized collection of blades?

  With one large palm, he pushed me firmly against the wall. “So gentle. So sweet.” He moved his hand to my jaw, cupping it. Tilting it up while his head bent slowly toward me. “It makes me want to…”

  “To what, Master?”

  His lips hovered a hair’s breadth from mine, his fingers playing along the line of my jaw, down the front of my neck. “It’s too easy to damage you, Kitten.”

  Damage me? I blinked at him, confused, my thoughts trying desperately to catch up.

  Hawk’s hand dropped, and that stoic expression was back, sliding over his face as easily as a mask. “It’s getting late. The bed is in there. There’s water in there for you to wash up. I’ll sleep out here.”

  And just like that, he turned and walked over to the table, then knelt on one of the mats there.

  My shoulders dropped, What in Maker’s name? We’d been having what I thought was a perfect moment, and now the night was suddenly over? But perhaps most confusing was why the notion even hurt at all after today.

  When I didn’t move or say anything, he looked at me.

  “I need to meditate. If you don’t want to sleep, you can join me, but I need to concentrate.” His eyes closed, hands settling on his knees.

  I sighed and knelt on the mat opposite him. Logically, I should have wanted the time alone, but the need to reconnect with him was too strong to ignore.

  “Master, have I don’t something wrong?”

  His eyes opened. “You talk too much. Sit or sleep.”

  I sighed again and leaned back on my knees. No way could I sleep now.

  For minutes that seemed to stretch forever, Hawk stayed motionless, eyes closed again, silent. He looked tense, though, in a way I didn’t think he was supposed to for meditation.

  His eyes opened, and he shook himself, rubbing his forehead. “I can’t…” He sat back on his knees, eyes squinting in what little light there was.

  “Your head?” I crawled around the table that separated us and knelt in front of him.

  He nodded. “It’s splitting. Like someone’s trying to chop it in half with an axe.”

  I started to reach for him until
he tensed, sitting up a little straighter. “May I?”

  He let out a sigh, then nodded slowly. I put the back of my hand to his forehead. He didn’t have a fever. “Do you know what causes the headaches?”

  “No. I don’t sleep much, but I’ve had them all my life, since before that became an issue.”

  “Hmm.” I went behind him and ran my fingers down the back of his neck. “You’re so tense. Let me see if I can do something about it.”

  “Like what?” He turned his head to the side.

  “Lie down here for me.” I gestured to the mat.

  Hawk just blinked at me for a second, looking at me for so long I thought he wasn’t going to do it. Then he lay carefully on his back. He moaned in pain and squinted as the movement and the light made the pain worse.

  “Do you have any nicci oil?”

  He gave me a curious look.

  “It’s supposed to relax the muscles. The headache is probably from muscle tension in your neck.”

  He told me where he kept an assortment of oils, in the cabinet in front of the mats. I opened the front of the cabinet and found the tiny bottle of nicci oil. I found a bottle of ointment that had the same scent and brought them both over to where he lay.

  “Put your head in my lap,” I said when I knelt behind his head.

  His mouth turned up. “A nice place to be.” He set his head down and I massaged his temples, then worked my fingers down the tense muscles in his neck until he made an appreciative sound. “Magic hands.”

  Smiling, I carefully set his head down on the mat and backed up a little behind him.

  “Why did you stop, slave?” But he sounded teasing.

  I dabbed a little nicci oil on my fingers and rubbed it gently into his temples. “Is that helping?”

  He made a deep approving sound.

  I took the stopper out of the bottle of oil and put a hint of it under his nose, then more across his forehead.

  “Breathe deep. In and out, Master.”

  Hawk breathed deep, in and out in long breathes. The kind of long breathes a man was trained to take in meditation. “I’ve never thought to use nicci this way.”