by Cathryn Cade
The door flap flew open. Qala ducked in. She’d showered and changed into a knit top of soft grass green over brown leggings. With her auburn hair curling damply around her angular face she looked almost pretty.
She scowled from the girl to him and back again. “What’s she still doing here? I thought you were going to have Nera take her.”
Joran gave her a level stare. “Really? Because I don’t recall saying that.”
Her stance tightened, her hands fisting at her sides. The girl, who had scuttled back under her rug when the door opened, huddled down, her fearful gaze flicking from Joran to Qala and back.
“You can’t be serious,” Qala said, gesturing. “I mean, look at her. She’s filthy. And she’s just a soft little immi. You need someone with backbone, not her.”
“Qala,” he said, his voice cold. “This is not your business. She stays. Now since you weren’t invited in, I suggest you find your way out.”
He watched her absorb this blow, her face paling under her golden tan, her green eyes filling with hurt and shock. He didn’t soften his own look. She’d overstepped her bounds and she knew it.
She nodded—jerkily, but she did it. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The searing look she gave him, however, promised that it would also be a while before she forgave him. He merely took another drink of moonbrandy, smooth and strong. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stalked out of the tont, and he gave the command to close the door and lower the second flap. It snicked into place.
The girl whimpered, a soft panicked sound, and disappeared completely.
Joran chuckled, this time without any humor whatsoever. Hells of a deal. He’d chosen to fend off his lieutenant’s advances with the one single woman in camp who not only didn’t want him, but was flat out terrified of him. Not that he wanted her either. She was the epitome of everything he steered away from in a woman—weak, clinging and helpless.
And having thrown her up as a barrier between him and Qala, now he had to keep her with him.
But being the pirate he was, he could always find a way to turn a situation around to his benefit. Why should this be any different? Joran eyed the lump of carpet and the tangled ends of her hair trailing from underneath, his eyes narrowed in speculation.
He’d wanted a distraction—and he had one, in spades. Alone, terrified and far from home—wherever that was—this little bunny needed a protector.
He couldn’t set her loose in the camp, as she’d either try to run and thus get herself killed by a wild predator, or she’d cause trouble among those in his camp—the single males. Nera had two teenage sons, so her tont was out. Riley would look after her, but Wega ... no. Qala or Ilya, hells no.
One of his other warriors’ partners might take her, but he couldn’t ask them to take a lovely stranger into their tonts. His crew was rough, virile and—maybe with the exception of Var and Pede—not above straying if they thought they could get some without their partners knowing. Dangle her and most would take the bait, then their partners would go for the nearest blade, ready to maim all involved.
He also couldn’t put her with any of the single women like Fee or her friends. They’d rip her a new one for sport or ignore her while she got herself into trouble. Marzolle would simply seduce her, which might be fun as hells to watch, but…no.
So he’d keep her with him for a couple of days. At least he could amuse himself by getting her to talk to him. Yeah, she was a virgin, but nothing said he had to fuck her. Just...gentle her a bit. Then he’d put her on a transport and send her back to her people.
And thumb his nose at the IGSF in the process, with a slave auction purchase right under their noses.
***
Her rescuer spoke again, his voice, deep and lazy, with an edge of humor as if he found her amusing.
“You can come out, little bunny. No one will harm you here.”
She wanted to believe him, but no one except the dark-eyed slave had been kind to her in the nightmare of the last days. Instead she’d been kicked and slapped, dragged instead of led, and she’d been hungry and thirsty, the hours she hadn’t been in a drugged sleep. As a finale, she’d been trussed up and paraded before beings that terrified her more than the darkness in her mind.
However, she had to obey. Not only was this man her new master, but now that she had eaten and drunk the cool water, another need was making itself known. Urgently.
Throwing off the rug, she staggered to her feet, one hand pressed to her groin. The robe fell away, tangled with the rug she’d hidden under, but she hadn’t time or the energy to worry about her near nudity.
“Please, I—I need to...to go.” She pressed her thighs together, peering around the tont.
“Ah. Yes.” He rose in one fluid motion and strode to one side of the room, holding open a door she hadn’t seen. “Here.”
She scampered past him, slammed the door behind her, yanked down the jeweled panties, and sank onto the lav with a moan of relief.
Her most urgent needs taken care of, she washed her hands, enjoying the warm water and clean herbal-scented soap. Then she dried her hands in the stream of hot air and stood, irresolute, in the center of the tiny lav.
It was well-appointed, with gleaming cerametal in quiet earth tones augmented with silver. Her gaze skittered away from her dirty, bedraggled reflection in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around her middle, shrugging her shoulder to shake her hair over her nearly bare breasts. She wondered if she dared ask to use the showerdry. She would give anything to be clean all over.
“Come on out.” His deep voice came from just outside the door. “Or do I need to come in and help you? Have you fallen?”
She hurried to open the door but hid behind it, conscious once more of all her bare skin and of his half-naked body. He looked even larger and more dangerous without a shirt. His chest was so broad, the smooth skin covered only with sparse, dark curls and his shoulders and arms were heavily muscled, his forearms corded as if he worked with his hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just…washing my hands.”
He was silent for a moment, and she felt the air become thick and heavy. She shrank farther back into the curve of the small room, watching his large, well-shaped hands, waiting for the blow that was sure to come.
“Stop,” he said, his voice full of authority. “Look at me.”
Was it a trick? Very slowly, she peered around the door. He frowned down at her, his heavy brows drawn together over those crystalline eyes.
“No one is going to raise a hand to you here,” he said, his voice heavy. “You understand?”
She nodded, because he clearly expected her to and it was better to agree until she understood what was truly expected of her. Less chance of getting hit that way.
“I mean what I say,” he said. “You’re with me—under my protection now. And here, my word is law. No one will harm you. No one.”
The absolute certainty in his deep voice and his pale gaze, nearly silver in its intensity, penetrated, sank deep in her chest to lie there, warm and heavy.
“No one,” she repeated, the words sweet on her tongue. “I am with you.”
“Yeah, so you’re safe.” He relaxed, moving back on a foot. Then he gestured at the lav behind her. “Now, since you’re in there, why don’t you get cleaned up. Have a nice, long showerdry—use lots of soap. I’ll find something clean for you to wear. Toss that shit you’re wearing in the recycler.”
She nodded, this time eagerly. But the movement set off a wave of dizziness. She sank against the wall as the lav spun around her.
He moved nearer, filling the doorway “You okay?”
“F-fine.” Nothing was getting in the way of her showerdry.
One of his brows arched in skepticism. “You’re pale as milk under that dirt. Well, don’t lock the door, in case you fall.”
“Okay,” she agreed, but she cringed at the idea of him rescuing her from the showerdry. Sh
e would be naked! Although, she was practically naked now.
When the narrow door slid shut behind him, she hesitated. But hearing his footsteps moving away, she reached for the fastenings of her tiny bra. When she grasped it, anger surged. She tore the horrible costume from her body, growling with satisfaction when the cheap fabric ripped in her hands. She wanted to continue until it was nothing but shreds, but she still shook with weakness. Better to conserve her energy. She tossed the dirty scraps down the recycle chute and walked into the showerdry.
The hot water cascading over her head and body was bliss, as was the fresh, herbal scent of the soft soap she smeared over her body. She washed her hair, rinsed it luxuriously and then repeated the process. Tipping her head back, she let the water stream over her, carrying the sweet soap and grime with it.
Clean at last, she gave in to the enervating effects of hot water and the drugs in her system, and collapsed against the side of the showerdry. The steam hazed around her, the edges of the showerdry fading into vague swirls of nothing.
Time slowed, and her eyes grew too heavy to hold open. Then her legs wobbled, so she let them fold under her. The small seat thumped painfully into her hip, then her elbow as she slid to the floor of the stall.
The door of the showerdry flew open. Strong hands reached in to grasp her, lifting her out into his arms.
“Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he muttered, his deep voice thrumming under her ear, through the strong wall of his chest. “Your pupils are still the size of berries. Slimers had you pumped full of drugs, didn’t they?”
She tried to reassure him that she was fine, but while her lips moved against the whiskered column of his throat, only a slurred mumble emerged. “M’okay.”
“Right. Here, let’s get you dried off a bit.” Warm air puffed in her hair, and his big hand moved through it, then turned her in his arms. “Well, you smell better, that’s certain. Hope you’ll feel better once you sleep it off. Which—fuck it all—is gonna have to be with me, because if you have a bad reaction to that shit, someone has to be here.”
He swung her up and carried her. Lowered her onto a firm, soft surface and covered her with a blanket, as light and soft as a warm breeze.
Then the bed sank under his weight. He gave a deep sigh that became a groan.
“Fuck me,” he muttered into the quiet. “This is not how I saw this day ending. Lost a ship, two good people and those poor creatures they tried to rescue. I have a woman in my bed, but not the kind that’s much use to me.”
He sighed again and rolled. “This is what I get for trying to be a hero.”
Then she sank under the weight of exhaustion and the drugs still roiling in her system, and heard no more.
Chapter 7
Joran woke slowly, becoming aware of his surroundings in increments. He was supremely comfortable in his big bed with the hush of prairie dawn seeping through the airvents open in the sides of his tont, and a woman in his arms. That was unexpected, but nice. Very nice.
She was snuggled close against his chest, silky hair spilling over his shoulder, and her soft, curvy body fit to his side, one bare arm over his ribs, one leg thrust between his. When he moved, canting his pelvis forward in an instinctive search for her soft center, he found it, his erect cock pressing into delicate curls, and the slick petals of flesh beneath.
With a grunt of pleased anticipation, he closed his arm around her, his hand cupping her lush bare ass and squeezing. He lifted his other hand to smooth her tumbled hair. It was like living silk, and smelled fresh and clean. Her skin was like satin.
He moved again, easing his shoulders side to side. This movement rubbed her breasts against his chest, her nipples spearing him through the mat of hair on his chest. So sweet—he loved breasts almost as much as he loved pussy.
He tightened his grip on her ass and brought his other hand around to fill it with her breast. Plump and firm, her nipple hard as a bud against his palm. She was perfect.
Two things happened then. She moved, wriggling against him with a deep sigh. Her movement rubbed his cock deeper into the furrow of her body, and he groaned as it swelled with need, his balls drawing up so tightly they ached.
But something wasn’t quite right. He dragged his heavy eyes open, tucking his chin back to peer into her face, just as her long lashes fluttered and then lifted, the lovely blue of her eyes shadowed by a curtain of hair.
They both froze. “Fuck me,” he muttered, his voice husky with sleep. “It’s you.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of shock. Her lips were soft and pink, like crumpled flower petals, the lower one fuller than the top. One of her cheeks was flushed from being pressed to his shoulder. And he could feel the imprint of her comlink in his shoulder. He glanced at the small unit surgically melded to her left ear. It was pretty, made of pale pink shell with a few creamy pearls imbedded in it, and one odd black one.
She had a strand of hair stuck to the corner of her lip. He wanted to lift his hand and brush it away, but then he’d be tempted to trace the soft curve of her cheek and ease one fingertip through those parted lips...
He groaned silently. All this right here in his arms and he couldn’t have it. Nothing more than this, anyway. He might be a pirate, but he wasn’t stupid. “Fuck, I should’ve known you’d be a cuddler.”
A line appeared between her arching brows, shades darker than her streaky hair. “You’re the one who—”
She froze, her voice trailing off. He felt her shrink back, as if certain she would be punished for arguing. Her fear cut through his arousal, bringing him sharply back to reality. Right. She was under his protection, and right now he was the rutting bastard from whom she needed protecting.
He gave her squeeze. “Hey. You’re safe here, remember? Even if you do have a smart mouth.” She was cute, wavering between defiance and caution.
And his cock really didn’t care who she was, or how untried... it wanted inside her pussy, so close and so vulnerable. Took a supreme effort to remind himself he made decisions with his big head, not his small one. Weak, helpless female, no. Hells, no.
Joran moved his grasp to her slender waist, so lithe and firm in his grasp, and lifted her off him. He sat up and speared his fingers through his hair to push it back, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His cock pronged insistently at the covers. He slid one hand under them to palm it soothingly and then swung his legs over to slide out of bed.
His back to her, he reached for his pants. His arousal was not going away on its own—he needed the solace of a woman’s body. An experienced one.
After, he’d breakfast with Qala and the others, and check on Mako.
Then no doubt it would be time for his fun chat with Commander Cerul, to see what new constraints she’d planned for him. He had no doubt there would be something—no way was she going to miss this chance to screw him in the ass.
They’d met only once, when he’d attended her first holovid conference with some of the powerful businessmen on Frontiera—among them Logan, Stone Masterson, Elle Berrybringer and Roan Selkire. Joran had disliked Cerul on sight, and she’d made clear with unsubtle jabs her opinion of himself and his carefree lifestyle. Their mutual disdain and distrust had only grown as she settled into her new role, chivvying anyone without a verified and settled address and occupation.
But, back to now. He opened his mouth to tell the girl to stay in the tent until he got her a guardian, and then remembered they didn’t know her name.
Joran turned to look back at her and had to grin. She was peeking over the coverlet, her gaze pinned on his groin. His cock swelled harder in his soft pants, and he moved restlessly.
“I’ll see you later, ah...,” he paused. “What are you called, anyway?”
He expected any reaction but the one he got.
Her sleep-flushed face turned pale as bone, and her gaze darted around the small chamber, before she huddled deeper in the covers. When she spoke, her voice was
thin and reedy. “I...I don’t...I can’t r-remember.”
Well, shit. This was really not good. Not only was she traumatized, but she didn’t even remember her name? Had they beat her about the head as well, or drugged her with something stronger than a sedative to settle her down, keep her compliant? Riley would have to check her over, and soon. Didn’t need her going solar flare on them and melting down, leaving nothing but an empty body.
And she was gazing up at him as if she expected him to shoulder this too. That was sheer terror glazing those blue eyes.
He forced himself to shrug as if her lack of memory was inconsequential, a small thing to be dealt with later. “We’ll call you...” What?
Have to be something no other woman in camp was called. They already had Fee, Ilya, Qala, Wega… no Z names, at least that he could recall.“How about, uh … Zaë. You like that?” Short and sweet, like her. Also easy. He sure as hells wasn’t calling out some name like Te’erathana or Razmonaliza when he wanted her attention.
She nodded, swiping tears from her cheeks with an edge of the coverlet. Hope lit her gaze as if he’d thrown her a lifeline instead of a random syllable.
“Zaë,” she whispered. “Zaë.”
He watched her lips move as she repeated it again, silently. A bit eerie, that.
He moved back. “Right, then. Up you go and get dressed. Nera will feed you, then we’ll get you checked over.”
“Wait, please. Where are you going?” She gathered herself as if to follow him.
He held out his hand, palm out in a firm gesture for her to stay put. “Out. I’ll be back. You stay.” He strode from the small room as if he was escaping from a trap. Might be a tender one, that didn’t matter. The jaws would still hold him fast.
Nera was in the small galley, savory smells emerging from the coffee press and warming trays. “Morning,” he said. “The girl, Zaë, needs looking after. I’ll be back shortly.”
She nodded.
