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

by Cathryn Cade

  Outside, the sky was flushed with dawn, bright gold in the west shading to deep blue in the east. The air was cool and sweet, full of the damp scent of earth and dried grasses, dew sparkling on the outside of tonts, the cerametal hoods of outdoor grills and the tops of large rocks dotting the campsite. The branches of the trees moved gently in the breeze, leaves rustling.

  A herd of skrog moved slowly in the distance, grazing along the river bottom, and a huge flock of terra-geese sailed overhead, the soft swish of their wings audible in the hush. The lead goose gave a soft cry, and beyond the camp one of the catamount ponies responded with a yowl.

  Joran took all this in, but did it absently, his mind focused. He linked Riley and waited.

  “Yes?” the Occulan medic’s cracked voice answered immediately. He didn’t know better, Joran would swear the Occulan never slept. He was always ready for any injury or illness that came along, and thus worth every bit of the credit Joran lavished on him. A group as active and adventurous as theirs couldn’t exist this far out from civilization without medical care.

  “Riley, the girl,” Joran said. “Need you to give her a thorough med exam this morning. Something wrong with her—she can’t remember shit, not even her name.”

  Riley made a sound of interest. “Will you bring her to me?”

  “Think my tont may be better. She’s pretty well freaked. Nera’s feeding her, getting her ready.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  With a brief thanks, Joran broke the link and rapped on the door of a tont set in the shade of a spreading tree. The door opened almost immediately. A voluptuous, dark woman smiled up at him. She wore only a red lii silk kimono, open to reveal her full breasts, nipples protruding. Her skin was the hue of coffee and cream..

  “My lord,” she said. “I hoped you would come.”

  “Marzolle. I certainly plan to,” he responded, and she laughed, a sultry chuckle.

  “I’ll see that you do.”

  “Likewise.”

  ***

  Zaë huddled in his bed. Here where he had lain, she could still feel the warmth of his big body.

  “Zaë,” she repeated. She must remember to think of herself this way. He liked the name, so she would answer to it. Her heart pounded with anxiety. She’d been so safe and warm, waking in his arms—even though they were both completely naked.

  That had been…strange and embarrassing, but exhilarating at the same time. She had liked the way his body felt against hers, the contrast of hard muscle and sleek skin, the hair-roughened parts such as his broad chest and his groin. She squirmed a little in the bed, remembering the other part of him that had prodded between her legs, hot and silky and hard underneath. His penis.

  She wished he hadn’t left her, even though it was clear he was aroused. And for men, that meant they wanted to do something about that, immediately. She hadn’t had time, or even known how to tell him that she would do whatever he wanted, if only he would keep her by his side.

  She thought she would, anyway. When she tried to recall what came after being held close in a man’s arms, all she got was a headache and an uneasy shiver running over her skin under the blanket.

  But with him, she was sure it would be worlds different than with one of those awful men who’d leered at her while she was a captive.

  He, him. What was she to call him?

  Yesterday, he’d been addressed by several titles, but she could remember only one.

  ‘Il Zhazid’, the crowd at the auction had cried out, in fear and awe. This meant The Storm, although how she knew this even without a translator, she wasn’t sure. She just knew some things, and others were lost in the terrifying fog that overwhelmed her when she tried to remember.

  After he left her alone in the bed, she heard him in the outer chamber of the tont speaking to someone, and then the quiet snick of the latch as the outer door opened. She dragged the coverlet from the bed, wrapped it around her, and moved to peer through one of the air vents. From here, she could see the main aisle of the camp, a path already beaten through the short grass among a circle of large rocks.

  And she had a perfect view of her protector standing before another tont, a small one. Zaë sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the half-naked woman who greeted him. Something he clearly liked, from the way he cocked his head and looked her over.

  Laughing, the woman reached out her hand and drew him inside the tont. The door closed behind him.

  Zaë stood there, emotion pushing at the back of her eyes, hot and sharp. She felt confused and prickly...jealousy? No, no. She was just concerned, that was all.

  He’d gone from her arms to that other woman. This meant she herself wasn’t what he wanted. So perhaps he wouldn’t do what the guards at the auction had taken relish in threatening to do—hold her down and force her to accept his cock wherever he wanted to shove it.

  But did it also mean he wouldn’t keep her with him? That he would sell her to someone else, or worse, return her to the slavers like a piece of clothing that didn’t suit?

  She didn’t realize she was weeping again until a small, robed woman entered the room and came to her, clucking with motherly concern. She spoke in a liquid dialect Zaë didn’t know, but Zaë’s translator chimed on.

  “Here now, don’t cry. You must get dressed and have breakfast. Then all will look better, you’ll see.”

  Briskly, she removed the coverlet from Zaë and handed her a set of undies. They were skimpy and made of gaudy gold lace. Zaë didn’t think she usually wore underthings like this, but she donned them without protest, as well as the tights and top handed to her. These were of a more tasteful beige. They were also very soft and unconfining. She liked the freedom of movement they gave her. It was also reassuring to have real clothes on again, even if they’d been made for someone with a smaller bottom and longer arms.

  Nera was the woman’s name, Zaë learned as the older woman chattered while she dressed. She was his tontkeeper and cook, but lived in her own tont with her two sons, who also worked for him.

  “What is, um, my master’s name?” Zaë asked as she followed Nera out into the main tont. She sat at the small foldout counter in the galley as instructed and watched as Nera pulled a jug of some creamy drink from the refrigerated unit and poured it into a mug.

  Nera set the mug down before Zaë, and hesitated. “My lord will tell you what he wants you to call him,” the woman said. “Now, drink. Yogurt and fruit, very nutritious. You look as if you haven’t eaten for days.”

  Since Zaë also felt as if she hadn’t eaten for days, she drank the cool, sweet mixture eagerly, and patted her mouth with a napkin from the basket. “Thank you,” she said. “Delicious.”

  Nera gave her a bright-eyed look over the coffee pot, as if she didn’t often hear such praise. “You are welcome. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Zaë watched eagerly as Nera poured a mug of the hot, fragrant brew and set it on the counter before her. She inhaled the steam and then took a sip, sighing with pleasure. She hadn’t had a mug of coffee in days, maybe weeks.

  She ate the bread Nera gave her. It was warm and filling, although the flavor was rather flat. It needed ... some cinnamon, perhaps? But she slathered it with the creamy spread, some kind of buttery white cheese, and ate it anyway. It was good to have a full belly.

  She had her mouth and hands full when the outer door opened, allowing morning sunlight to spill across the floor. The tall, slim redhead who had been at his side the day before stepped in. Her frowning gaze flicked from Nera to Zaë.

  With difficulty, Zaë swallowed her half-chewed mouthful of bread. The woman moved with authority. Did she have enough to insist that Zaë leave?

  “Where is he?” the woman asked Nera.

  The housekeeper’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing, merely cocked her head to the west.

  The woman took this in, something moving in her eyes. “Marzolle, eh?”

  She strolled over to the counter and filched one of the slice
s of warm bread, slathering it with spread before taking a huge bite. As she chewed, she looked Zaë over, something like triumph in her gaze.

  Zaë watched her carefully, setting down her own bread to take another sip of coffee. The other woman wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was handsome, with tilted green eyes and high cheekbones, a straight nose and wide mouth that looked like it laughed often. Her skin was tanned, with freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her short auburn hair revealed her one ornament, a comlink that looked as if it had been carved from bone.

  Zaë slipped one hand under her hair to finger her own comlink, the imbedded pearls smooth bumps against her fingertips. Seashell and pearl, her comlink was a remembrance of a trip.

  A seashore stretched out before her, the warm sun on her back and the cries of seabirds echoing as they wheeled overhead.

  ‘You’ve found a lovely one,’ a deep voice approved, as a large hand cradled a gleaming, whorled shell. ‘A treasure left by the sea, for you.’

  The memory winked out. Pain slammed through her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the tall woman demanded. Nera’s tsk of concern followed.

  Zaë set her mug down, hot coffee sloshing over her fingers. She wiped them quickly on her sleeve. “Nothing. I’m fine.” She must hide how damaged she was and not give these people further reason to cast her off.

  But who was the man in her memory? She couldn’t remember his face or where they’d been, although his voice left a trace of warmth behind, as if a reassuring hand had passed over her and then been withdrawn. She wanted to run after the feeling fast as she could, calling out to him not to leave her behind, here in this strange place.

  Her heart pounded, and she clung to the warm mug like a lifeline. Breathe in, breathe out. Be calm. Her rescuer would return, and she’d feel safer then.

  Nera shook her head, her lined face worried. “The master said those evil ones drugged you. It can take days for such poisons to leave the body. You must eat and rest.”

  The redhead was frowning at Zaë as if she were a puzzle, and not a pleasant one.

  “So, where you from? We’ll want to begin arrangements to get you home, soon as we can. Stark’s too busy to take care of a rescue.”

  Zaë’s breakfast churned in her belly. She forced words from her trembling lips. “I—I don’t know. He said I may stay here.”

  “Shh, shh,” Nera soothed, patting the air with her hands. “All will be well, little one. The master has said he will not send you away until your memories return. So relax, yes?” She nodded encouragingly at Zaë, but her eyes were wide, as if Zaë was an explosive that might detonate if not handled correctly.

  The tontkeeper grabbed the plate of bread and shoved it at the other woman like a weapon. “Please, take more. I know you must be going.”

  A flush darkened the redhead’s cheekbones. She grabbed another chunk of bread, gave Zaë a last, annoyed look and turned to stalk out of the tont, Nera at her heels. Their voices carried clearly on the quiet morning air.

  “This is the only place she is safe.”

  “She could stay with you.”

  The tontkeeper snorted. “With two teenage sons? Tomo and Remi would drive me mad with their urges. No, my lord has said she stays with him. She’s safe here. He has all the women he desires.”

  The redhead made a sound of disgust in her throat. “Right. Well, when he’s finished with breakfast, tell him—”

  “You may tell him yourself,” Nera said. “He comes.”

  Zaë waited, barely breathing. What if he agreed that Zaë should be sent away?

  “Morning,” he said, his deep voice lazy. Low in Zaë’s belly, something tightened. He sounded pleased and relaxed—because he had been with the woman in the red dress.

  “Morning,” the redhead said, her voice light. Falsely so, Zaë realized. She was jealous. She didn’t want him with that other woman, or with Zaë. “What time are we meeting with Commander Cerul?”

  He grunted. “You had to remind me. I don’t know. Are our friends stirring?”

  “Yup. They’re both up and around. Staying close to their fighters, though. They don’t seem to feel welcome to mingle, for some reason.”

  They chuckled. Zaë smiled, drawn in by his amusement.

  Then the door flap rattled. “Well, I need food and a showerdry,” he said. “Then we’ll see what’s what.”

  “Are you going to link your brother?” Qala asked, her tone urgent.

  He stopped, a tall broad silhouette in the doorway, sunlight limning him in warm gold. “Hells, no. We’ll handle this on our own. Not running to Logan for hand-holding over something as piddling as the IGSF.”

  Zaë frowned. He was lying. An undercurrent of stress and worry darkened his voice. He didn’t want to ask this Logan for help, but it was for another reason.

  Then he stepped into the tont and she searched for something to do, so he wouldn’t know she’d been eavesdropping. Although it wasn’t as though they’d been trying very hard to be private. Still, better to be safe. Also, it was very unnerving to look at him now and remember their earlier intimacy, even if nothing had happened. He’d held her in his arms, naked.

  She grabbed the plate, which still contained two large pieces of the warm bread, covered both of them with the remains of the creamy spread and pushed the plate toward him as he stopped beside the counter. “For you.”

  He looked from her to the bread. “Thanks.” He leaned against the counter, chewing with gusto.

  Zaë watched him from behind her coffee mug, took too big a drink and winced as she burned her mouth. She swallowed hastily.

  She could see why those other women wanted him so much. He was, quite simply, splendid. A healthy male in his prime, his broad shoulders, wide chest and narrow hips proclaiming him fit, the heavy muscles cording his neck, arms and legs showing his physical power. But most of all, it was the way he stood, relaxed and confident, and in the lift of his angular jaw, the hooded power of his silvery gaze.

  He controlled the beings and the space around him—he knew it, and all who came in contact with him could not help but be aware as well.

  He raised his brows at her, his eyes full of lazy amusement. Heat flooded her face as she realized she had been gaping at him like a child viewing a holovid.

  “Please, I don’t know what to call you,” she said, scraping the lip of her mug with her thumbnail.

  He paused, the second piece of bread almost to his lips. Then he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling in a way that sent alarm skittering down her spine.

  “Tell you what, my Zaë. When we’re with the others, you call me Stark. But when we’re alone, just the two of us?” his voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “You call me ‘Master’.”

  Her spine snapped straight and she stared. He was teasing her, wasn’t he?

  “I’m sure that’s not...” She spluttered to a halt as he leaned in, his gaze narrowed to spear straight inside her.

  “I bought you.” His shrug was apologetic, as if he understood but couldn’t change the situation. “That makes it pretty clear in my mind.”

  Since he was now only inches away, his long hair swinging forward over his shoulder, Zaë sat speechless. She couldn’t be certain if he was serious.

  Then she inhaled, taking in his scent, the one she awakened to, but now with an added muskiness—sex. Layered with another woman’s perfume. She wrinkled her nose.

  She didn’t like that woman’s scent on him, but at the same time her body clenched low and sweet again. Longing. She wanted—she didn’t know what she wanted. First, to shove him into his showerdry and wash him all over with her own hands, until that other woman’s scent was gone and nothing remained but him, the way it had when she’d awakened in his arms.

  But that wasn’t going to happen, and she must do whatever it took to placate him. If he sent her away...that didn’t bear thinking about.

  She lowered her gaze and moved away
from him, scooting back on her stool. “Whatever you wish...Master.”

  He chuckled. “See, that wasn’t so hard, bunny.”

  Resentment seething through her, she moved farther back and then gave a squawk as she overbalanced on the back of the stool.

  He caught her, one powerful hand grasping her arm. She landed forward over the counter, her hair spilling over his hand and forearm.

  He stood still, and she peeped up to see him gazing down at the tumbled blond curls layered over his brown skin. Then he turned his hand to let her hair slide across his palm and rubbed the end of one lock between his thumb and forefinger before letting go.

  “Braid that before you leave my tont,” he ordered. “You don’t go out with it loose.”

  When she said nothing, baffled, he looked up, arching one heavy brow at her. “Understand?”

  Zaë nodded her acquiescence. Perhaps feminine hair-binding was a custom of his tribe. Although he did not seem like any simple tribesman she’d ever met.

  At the instant pain this thought engendered, she winced, and focused her mind on watching him saunter away toward the showerdry. Even clothed, his ass was very fine, and those long, muscular legs were made for fitted leggings.

  He turned back at the last instant and cast a disparaging look down over her form. “Don’t want to see you in that color again, either. Looks like something that ought to be in a breakfast bowl, not on a pretty woman. You’ll wear blue.”

  She would?

  “What do you say?” he called back

  “Yes…Master.” Zaë made a face at the empty door, her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her top. Then she looked down at herself and frowned. He was right; it was an awful color—as bland as the crumbs remaining on the serving plate. Blue...she would like that. Although she didn’t know where she was supposed to get blue clothing. Was there a shopping center nearby?

  Nera reappeared, to put away the breakfast things, although not before urging Zaë to eat another piece of the breakfast bread and drink the last of the fruit and yogurt.

  Zaë obeyed, because after being treated worse than a beast by the slavers, it was very nice to be fussed over.