Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series)

by Cathryn Cade

  From the middle of the crowd, the hatted man whirled on him, fury in his stance, face shadowed by the floppy hat. “Four hundred more!”

  “Six,” Joran called.

  “Eight!” The man’s voice was strained, his stance wild.

  “We’re finally in,” Ilya exulted. “Make sure they stay focused on you.”

  “If he pulls a laser, you get him first,” Joran said to Qala. “Time to go public.”

  Shocked gasps of his crew filled his ears, but he ignored them. Revealing himself was all that would carry this play. Besides, now that he’d seen the slaver, and conceived a hatred instant and deep for the man, he wanted to fuck with him. Wanted the slimer to know who was giving it to him.

  He flung back his cape, exposing his head and face. “Nine hundred.”

  Those closest to Joran fell back. “Il Zhazid!” The title echoed through the crowd.

  “Only a fool outbids The Storm,” trumpeted a Barillian.

  Joran and Qala appeared on the jumbo holotron. He smiled, showing his teeth. Damn, he almost scared himself when he did that. It certainly worked on those nearest him. A pair of Bartians shoved away, gibbering with fear. The crowd let them through, then closed ranks again, their fascinated gazes still on Joran.

  “Nice,” Var muttered. “That’s what I call a distraction.”

  “Yeah, nearly there,” Ilya breathed.

  The Vulpean chuckled nervously from his perch. “Oh, my lord, I didn’t see that was you.”

  He looked the other way. Checking in with his master, Joran realized. He blinked to focus the occule.

  The slaver was scowling in Joran’s direction, head cocked as he listened to his mistress. She clung to his arm, speaking rapidly, while her male slave watched the girl on the sale platform, his gaze fixed in apparent fascination. The slaver shook his mistress off and spoke, smirking as he did so. His gaze was hooded, sly.

  The hair on the back of Joran’s neck rose.

  The Vulpean chortled with relief, as if he’d received the okay. “Why, I’m sure no one wishes to bid against the Storm. My lord, the girl is yours.”

  A roar of approval went up from those watching. The Mau thrust the girl back onto the hoverpad. She fell to her hands and knees, and the pad wafted her over the heads of the crowd, straight to Joran.

  “You’d better be about done, Ilya,” he muttered into his comlink, bowing to the crowd. “Their leader is up to something.”

  The Mau dumped Joran’s purchase at his feet and sneered from the safety of his hoverpad. “Enjoy making her bleed.”

  Joran stood tall, weapon visible at his side. “If I ever see you again, you’re the one who’ll bleed. And anyone tries to steal her back to sell her again, I won’t be happy. Blood will flow like rain.”

  The Mau growled, but retreated in a hurry, zipping away on his platform.

  “Better get her out of here before they kill us for her,” Qala advised, moving forward to his side, one hand on her own laser weapon. “She’s a hot commodity.”

  “You mean try to kill us.” Joran glanced down at the nearly naked woman huddled at his feet, shoulders hunched, head down as if waiting for the next blow. She was either dirtier than he’d thought, or she had a nasty bruise on her bare back. He growled under his breath. He’d like to take those bruises out of the slaver’s hide.

  He leveled a fiery stare on the crowd, which was shifting restlessly, working up to being a mob.

  “She’s mine,” he called, his deep voice rising over the noise. “And you all know The Storm never gives up his plunder.”

  He lifted one arm in a commanding gesture, and a bolt of light shot up through the air, followed by a loud rumble of thunder.

  The crowd eddied like grass before a gust of wind, crowding away from Joran and the two women.A female screamed. Someone hooted with nervous laughter.

  “God, I love tech,” Joran muttered to himself. “And now, time to go. Come on, sweetheart, up.”

  Reaching down, he grasped the girl around the waist, tossed her over his shoulder and strode toward the entrance, Qala behind him. The crowd opened before them, eyeing Joran and his prize. The girl lay quiescent over his shoulder, a warm weight, only her constant trembling a sign that she was aware.

  “All eyes are on us,” he said into his comlink. “And no one’s watching the rest of the merchandise. Everyone move.”

  “Already on it,” a deep voice rumbled in his ear.

  “Mako,” Joran acknowledged. “If you do this, you’re on your own til you’re clear.”

  “Not a problem,” Mako said. “I have my ways.”

  Joran didn’t waste any sympathy or further thought on whoever might come between the Mau man and his objective. They’d gotten the credit they came for, but he still had to gather the rest of his crew and get them all out of here.

  Wega and Riley fell in with them at the entrance, eye-stalks waving in all direction. Wega’s wide mouth turned down dourly as she noted Joran’s burden, but Riley was snorting again. The ex-military medic had a lively sense of humor, although he sounded like a foraging skrog when he got going. Both Occulans had their weapons out, eyestalks focused in all directions, scanning the crowd.

  The girl whimpered with each of Joran’s strides, but she did it quietly, thank the great God beyond. If she were screaming and carrying on, the crowd would no doubt love it, but he’d have to muzzle her. As they crossed the stretch of rocky ground outside the cave, Joran tracked the guards at the entrance, the mood of the crowd and the voices in the comlink implanted in his ear.

  “Here it comes,” Ilya crooned. “Just a few more secs.”

  “Not all of it, now,” Joran murmured. “Be polite, leave them enough to buy fuel, so the eppies can herd them back to base.”

  He nodded to the old pirate, watching him from a perch on his slider, his two companions tucked in behind him. The man nodded back, but his gaze was pointed.

  “Take care of her, lad,” he called. “A willing woman is a lot more fun, eh?”

  “I’m sure I can sweeten her up.” Joran squeezed the soft ass in his grip.

  The older man’s grizzled brows rose, then he nodded. “Aye, enjoy then, Il Zhazid.”

  Joran caught the hint of mockery. He cocked his head, intrigued. “Come and visit me in my camp, if you’d like to see my little cat purring.”

  This brought a crack of laughter. “Thank you, yer lordship. Don’t mind if I do. Michael Roundtree’s the name. Mind if I bring me lovelies?”

  “Not at all. Beauty is always welcome.”

  The Tygeans preened at this.

  “How’ll we find ye?” their master asked.

  “I’ll find you,” Joran assured him. “The Storm blows far and wide—all travelers in my territory are noted.”

  Qala nudged him in the back. “My lord,” she said. “Your cruiser awaits.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” he called, raising his voice as he turned with a swagger. “I’ve reiving to do!”

  The stragglers who had followed him from the cave sent up a cheer at this, coupled with raucous laughter and a few extremely crude suggestions. Joran sent another lightning bolt over their heads, and thunder rumbled again. Those nearest ducked, hands over their heads.

  The girl jerked in his hold, and he tightened his grip on her ass. Wouldn’t do to let her wriggle loose here—she’d be spirited away in no time and never heard from again.

  The cruisers and sliders under the satcom camo awnings were a diverse lot, from ornate acidgel paintjobs to the dull camo of war surplus, but nearly all sported huge exhaust ports, souped up with core reactors almost bigger than they could contain. Handy for scuttling away before the IGSF showed up in their fast cruisers. No one escaped from the Space Forces in a direct race; the trick was to already be gone.

  Joran’s cruiser sat at the edge of the other vehicles, out from under the main awning.

  “Soon as we’re all on board,” Joran told Qala, “tell Haro to head to the rendezvous point.�
��

  Haro lounged by the open hatch, his hard, one hand on his weapon, gaze on the other beings loitering about between the vehicles. He raised his brows approvingly under his shaggy hair. “Boss. You gonna be in the rear bay this flight, enjoying yourself?”

  Joran stepped on board the cruiser and deposited his burden—carefully—onto one of the rear seats. Against the smooth brown leather, she looked even more bedraggled. And no less scared than she had on the auction platform, as she scuttled back into the corner of the seat.

  “Nope. For one thing, our little beauty’s in need of a long, hot bath.” They were away from the noxious crowd, but the smell hadn’t improved, which meant it emanated from her.

  Anyway, she might be a nice little armful, with an ass that felt superb under his hand and breasts like the sweetest firm pillows on his back, but even when she was clean and no longer scared out of her mind, she’d still be—

  “A virgin,” Qala said, echoing his thoughts. “Il Zhazid doesn’t do beginners. Right, boss?”

  “Bet you would.” Haro smirked at her.

  Qala tossed her head. “Since you haven’t qualified since puberty, you’ll never know.”

  The girl drew her bare arms and legs in more tightly, huddled on the seat. After one quick glance at the others, she watched Joran.

  He stepped back, restive under the leash of that look. Quark, she was looking at him as if he was the only one on the cruiser. No, not going there.

  She’d served as a handy distraction, now he was done with her.

  ***

  She was out of the cages, out of the cave and the roar of the crowd. Not free, but perhaps safer.

  He had brought her here, to this clean, comfortable, even luxurious craft. He’d purchased her, signaling again and again that he would top the bids from those other men.

  She was still half-caught in the utter terror of being displayed on that auction platform, high above the raucous crowd of rough beings, their gazes crawling over her bare skin like a slimy touch, the Mau holding her in his painful grip so she couldn’t shrink away.

  Then he had stepped forward from the shadows of the huge cave and thrown back his hood. And she’d known that here was the man who would save her.

  Now she huddled on the seat of his craft, her legs drawn up before her to hide as much of her nakedness as possible, but focused on him desperately, holding him with her gaze to make sure he wouldn’t disappear as suddenly as he’d appeared. If he did, she might find herself back in that hell.

  He was not hard to look at—in fact, he was everything a hero should be—tall and broad-shouldered and powerful. His skin was tanned, his chiseled features set with intent. His chestnut hair waved back from his broad brow, eyes pale and piercing in his tanned face. His mouth was sensual, yet firm, his jaw resolute.

  And when he raised a commanding hand and called out his name, the sinister crowd shrank away from him, crying out in fear. Even that horrid little Vulpean auctioneer was frightened of him, and they gave her to him immediately. As if they’d do anything to appease him.

  She’d watched him with awe, her fear now that something would happen to prevent his rescuing her.

  Then the guard had carried her over the crowd to him and dumped her at his feet. She had wanted, for one moment, to throw her arms around his legs and kiss his boots in gratitude. But instead she’d waited fearfully, because they still had to get out of the caves, away from the evil ones who had stolen her.

  Kidnapped, the Pangaean had said. And that seemed right, because how else would she be with such horrible beings? She was sure she didn’t belong with them. Everything in her was revolted by her surroundings, by the beings who struck and mistreated her, the stench and the discomfort. That was not her life, but a level of hell.

  She would do anything to convince this man to keep her from that hell.

  As soon as she figured out what that ‘anything’ was. Why was she here? Why had he saved her?

  She was wearing this tawdry and incredibly revealing little costume, which she knew was supposed to be sexually alluring. But she was also dirty. These people said so, and it was true, she could even smell herself. She knew viscerally that this was very bad. She was supposed to be clean and smell of herbs and flowers, not stink like the latrines aboard the transport.

  Pain stabbed through her temples again as she tried to pursue the simile that darted into the fog that was her memory. So she stopped trying and watched him. He was her present, her safety, the sun around which her immediate world revolved.

  Joran stared, feeling that fist in his chest again, pressing at his air. She was going to be lovely when they cleaned her up, he’d known that. But those eyes...fuck him, a man could lose himself in their blue depths. Dangerous, like one of the drinks they served in space port bars—blue stars, they called them. Sweet and stinging going down, but drink more than a few and a man was laid out on the floor wondering what hit him.

  “I’ll say she needs a bath,” Qala added. “She stinks like a back-alley whore.”

  Haro snorted. “Like you’d know about those.”

  “Whores? I should. I’ve smelled ‘em on you often enough after a night in the bars.”

  “Can you kids save your quarreling until we’re out of here?” Joran asked, gaze on the entrance to the caves, and the crowds milling around.

  The two Serpentians quieted, although Qala shot Haro a last glare before turning to watch for the others.

  “You still have eyes on the slaver?” Joran asked over his shoulder.

  “We’ve lost the feed,” Qala said. “They must have seen the bots.”

  He nodded, unsurprised. Anyone in this dirty business had to be constantly on guard, alert to a range of tricks. Spybots were easy to shoot out of the air, once you saw them.

  “Here they come,” Riley called from outside. “Wega, in.”

  The stocky Occulan clambered into the cruiser, and sank into one of the seats, yanking at her long skirts. “Finally, I can get out of this damn robe.”

  “But you make such a handsome tont-wife,” Haro teased as he swung by on his way to the cockpit.

  The stocky ex-soldier bared her stubby teeth at him, then flipped a few of her eye-stalks around to stare at the girl, who huddled deeper into the corner. “What you lookin’ at?” Wega demanded. “You’re the one needs covering up.”

  Joran kept his gaze on the crowd outside. “Come on, Var, Ilya,” he muttered.

  Finally Var appeared, shouldering his way stolidly through the crowd, Ilya’s blonde head bobbing behind him. She was waving her hands as if scolding him for not buying her a servant.

  “Fire her up,” Joran called to Haro.

  “Already on it,” Haro called back. As he spoke, the cruiser quivered smoothly to life underneath Joran’s feet.

  A few yards away, Var and Ilya paused to let a pair of inebriated humans pass. Behind them, two of the huge Mau guards shoved their way out of the cave entrance, and behind them came a Gorglon. They had murder writ on their ugly faces.

  “Uh-oh. Guards don’t look happy,” Riley said.

  “Nope. Reckon the discrepancy in funds has been discovered,” Joran said. “And perhaps the disappearance of some of their merchandise. Var! Grab Ilya and jump.”

  The big man grabbed the small, slender blond under one arm and dashed the few steps to the cruiser, leaping on board even as the ramp began to rise.

  The hatch slid shut behind them.

  “Everyone hang on,” Haro called.

  Var hit the nearest seat, Ilya in his lap. Riley and Qala swung into seats with the ease of long practice, and Joran fell back into the seat beside the girl. The cruiser leapt underneath them, gathering power for a sec and then rising straight into the air, above the rock columns.

  They hovered for an instant, then shot forward through the late afternoon.

  Chapter 4

  “Nice work, everyone,” Joran called.

  “We’re still not away,” Haro said over the intercom.
“We have pursuit.”

  “Of course we do,” Joran answered. “But anyone who tangles with Joran Stark...”

  “Will know the wrath of the Storm!” the other men intoned.

  “We shoulda kept our distance,” Wega said dourly. “Instead of showing off.”

  “More fun to fuck with ‘em,” Qala said. “Like to see their customers’ faces when the IGSF shows up on the trail of the trackers I planted.”

  “All right, weapons,” Joran ordered.

  Qala headed for the rear weapons port, as did Riley. Ilya and Var began to check their personal weapons.

  Wega finished fighting her way out of the capacious garment she’d worn and tossed it over the girl. “Here, put this on.”

  The girl flinched but huddled into the garment, only her head visible above its enveloping folds as she curled up on the seat, still watching Joran carefully.

  “Strap in,” he told her, pointing to the safety harnesses on the seat. She nodded and reached for the belt.

  He headed up to the cockpit and slid into the copilot’s seat beside Haro. “Let’s give the bastards a reminder who they’re chasing,” he said.

  “Thought you’d never ask. Hang on.”

  The Hawk spun so fast they were facing their own backwash. They also faced two armed cruisers bearing down on them.

  “I have the starboard ship.” Joran took the controls of the forward laser cannon.

  “We have the port,” Var replied.

  “Diversion shields up,” Haro said.

  Joran waited, tense as cerametal. The new energy shields wouldn’t actually hold off enemy fire, but they could provide enough of a pulse around the nose of the Hawk that incoming blasts would veer off course a bit. With swift maneuvering, that was often enough, and Haro had even faster reflexes than Joran.

  They flew straight at the other two craft.

  Both fired. One missed, the other shot bounced off the shield and flashed along the starboard side. That was going to leave a mark, but at least it hadn’t penetrated the ship.

  At the last instant, Haro dipped the craft and they slid underneath, dodging fire from both sides. Joran aimed and fired, directly into the belly of the ship to his right.