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

by Cathryn Cade

  “I am supposed to obtain clothing,” she told Nera, licking the last of her drink from her lips. “But I don’t know where or how.”

  Nera’s eyes brightened. “Clothing? There is a supply transport due in tomorrow. They always have a selection of items, and we can place orders too. We do our purchasing via holovid, then they bring it.”

  Zaë listened politely, an idea brewing that was at once exciting and frightening. If the transports brought goods in, perhaps they could also take beings, away. Back where they belonged.

  If only she knew where that was.

  Chapter 8

  As Qala stalked away from Joran’s tent, resentment twisting inside her, her comlink chimed.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I’m waiting for you,” Marzolle said in her husky voice. “That’s what.”

  Qala stopped in the narrow space between a tont and a large rock. “Busy.”

  Marzolle made a soft sound of amusement. “I smell like him,” she whispered in Qala’s ear. “I have his seed in me.”

  Heat roared over Qala’s skin and her nipples tightened to painful points under her soft shirt, her pussy spasming. She closed her eyes and gave in with a quiet groan. “Okay. I’m...right outside.”

  She turned and walked across the path. She passed one of the younger men leading a catamount pony and nodded without really seeing him.

  Marzolle whisked the door open and Qala slipped inside.

  “Get your clothes off,” Marzolle ordered, hands on her hips. “I want you naked.”

  Without a word, her steady hands and unsmiling gaze belying the tumult of desire inside her, Qala obeyed. Marzolle lay back on her tumbled bed and watched.

  “My lovely warrior girl,” she crooned. “So slim and strong, with your pretty little breasts and that lovely red thatch.”

  She stroked her hand between her legs and played with her own wetness. “Do you want me?”

  “You know I do,” Qala muttered, crawling across the bed to her. Her mouth watered as Marzolle’s fragrance rose, mingled with spicy perfume she loved and with the musky scent of sex—Marzolle’s own arousal and a man’s semen.

  And not just any man’s, the one man Qala wanted and couldn’t have.

  “Kiss me,” Marzolle commanded.

  Qala leaned down to her and cocked her head to kiss the other woman. So soft, everything about her was so different than a man’s hardness. She licked her tongue into Marzolle’s mouth, shuddering with pleasure-pain as she tasted Stark on her.

  Marzolle broke the kiss first, licking at Qala’s chin and then nipping her. “Now eat me and I’ll tell you what he did to me, and what I did to him.”

  Afterward, as Qala sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her boots back on, Marzolle reached out to tuck Qala’s shirt more neatly into the back of her belt. Her touch lingered.

  “Turn,” she ordered. “Let me fix your hair.”

  Qala sat obediently as Marzolle finger-combed her tousled hair. She didn’t much care what it looked like, but she sort of liked being fussed over.

  Finished, Marzolle smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “We could share another man, you know. For real, I mean. One who would enjoy it, not hold himself apart like our captain.”

  Qala shook her head. Her body was sated, her mind the usual tumble of shame and pleasure after one of these encounters. She was like a beggar, taking crumbs when she wasn’t allowed at the table. “And who would that be?”

  “Haro.”

  Qala flew off the bed. “Oh, seven hells, no.” Haro’s sly grin filled her mind and she shuddered. “He’d never let me hear the end of it—and probably everyone else, too.”

  So even if she were tempted, which she was not, no way. Haro was a wild-ass cruiser pilot with a big mouth.

  Marzolle gave her a knowing smile. “That man is crazy for a taste of you. And I can tell you he’s worth trying. He always makes it good for a lady.”

  “And how would you know about that? That he’s supposedly crazy for me, I mean?” Not that she cared. He wasn’t the man she craved.

  Smoothing her vest, Qala felt a lump in her pocket. She reached inside, found the bauble she’d purchased at one of the booths set up at the auction, and flipped it through the air. It landed on Marzolle’s rounded belly.

  Marzolle picked it up and then laughed. Qala grinned with her. It was a bracelet, the clasp a detailed rendering of a woman bending over to take a man’s exaggerated cock.

  “I’ll treasure this forever,” Marzolle said, batting her thick lashes. “And for the gift, I’ll tell you how I know Haro wants you—because he told me. Men whisper to me of strange things as they lie in my arms afterward, and it’s generally truth. Except for Stark, of course. He gives nothing away.”

  Reeling from the knowledge that all of Haro’s teasing of her wasn’t just teasing—unless of course this was just taking it one step further to convince her before he laughed in her face...

  Qala shook her head impatiently.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she said, more to herself than Marzolle. “Got things to do.”

  “As do I,” Marzolle purred. “Or should I say, people to do.” She waggled her brows at Qala, who couldn’t help laughing. She knew very well Marzolle made jewelry for a living. She had sex because she enjoyed it and lived with Stark’s band because she liked the freedom.

  Qala was still smiling as she stepped out into the morning.

  Where of course the first person she saw was her nemesis, strolling along the path, dressed for the day in his usual leather leggings and vest over soft pants and snug tee. The sun glinted off Haro’s wild hair like it did on the wings of her little cruiser.

  And in the morning sunlight, his brown eyes were the same hue as the chunks of chocolate in the crispies she loved. Right now they were dark with some suppressed emotion, but not laughter.

  Uncomfortable under the weight of that stare, she braced herself for a snarky comment about where she’d been. To her shock, he didn’t even smile. “Morning, Qala. Ready to face the IGSF?”

  Qala fell into step with him. “Gah, ready as I’ll ever be, I s’pose.”

  He glanced down at her, then away, his nostrils twitching. Right, she probably smelled of sex. Her cheeks heated. “You reckon they can really give us trouble over this one?”

  “I do. Oh, I’d love to get Cerul alone in a dark place somewhere.”

  “She’s a stone-cold bitch,” Haro agreed. “Best remember, though, she’s Indigon. She could twist you up in a knot before you got in a single blow.”

  Qala shuddered. “True. Wish I had some of those powers.”

  They’d reached Joran’s tont. She reached for the door flap.

  “Way I hear it,” Haro said in her ear, “you have powers all right, to bring a being to his knees and keep him—or her—there.”

  So much for any truce. She drove her elbow back in a short, hard arc, catching him in the ribs.

  He gave an ‘oof’ of pain, but when she glared at him over her shoulder, he was grinning at her. Only the glitter in his eyes, again, wasn’t laughter. She looked away, almost afraid to know.

  “Get in,” Joran ordered, and Qala moved, forgetting Haro, Marzolle and everything else but the man she would follow anywhere. And do anything for, if only he would let her.

  ***

  Commander Aqa Cerul wasted no time getting to the point of her holovid conference with Joran.

  Seated in a throne-like chair of pale cerametal, head held high, she looked like a queen granting an audience. Against the dark blue of her IGSF uniform with all its epaulets and markings of rank, her pale skin, ink-black hair and hypnotic blue gaze marked her as an Indigon, as did the arrogance stamped on her narrow face.

  She eyed Joran and his crew leaders with something like excitement flickering in her icy gaze.

  “Mr. Stark,” she said. “Or should I say, ‘Il Zhazid’?”

  He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with his legs sprawled out, arms d
raped over the comfortable armrests. “You can call me either, Cerul.”

  “That’s Commander Cerul to you,” snapped the male IGSF officer standing at attention to one side of the tont.

  “She’s your commander, not ours,” Haro drawled from behind Joran.

  Joran’s lips tipped up with approval. Be damned to every one of the seven hells before he’d call her commander of anything. But she did command a large force of seasoned and extremely well-armed soldiers who’d been tasked with enforcing the peace and law of this planet and its surrounding space, so he had to listen to her.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Arc,” Cerul said. “But don’t waste your time trying to bring any semblance of respect from this motley crew. I’ll settle for their obedience.”

  Now they were getting to the point.

  “Obedience?” Joran allowed himself a real smile. “You want that, go buy yourself a pet.”

  The IGSF commander smiled too, only she did it in a way that showed it was at a joke only she enjoyed. Joran’s skin crawled. Fucking hells, she truly believed she had the upper hand here.

  “I don’t need a pet,” she said. “What I need is an operative. With your actions yesterday, and those of your crew, you proved your suitability. So you have been selected for the task.”

  “Operative?” Qala repeated. “What the quark does that mean? Sounds like a droid or something.”

  The commander cocked her head as if considering the idea. Then she smiled at Qala. It was not a reassuring sight.

  “Perhaps so, if you mean that the operative obeys commands.”

  Joran shook his head once. “I don’t obey anyone. And these people here? They answer to me, no one else.”

  Cerul shook her head back at him in mock regret. “Not anymore, sorry. That is, unless you wish to face charges of...let me see, what were they?” She consulted a holochart floating above her desk. “Oh, yes. First, attending an illegal slave auction for the purposes of trafficking in sentient beings, an offense punishable by three years hard labor or time on Deep Six.”

  “Second, obtaining seventeen of those sentient beings for purposes unknown—not that your purpose was important. What matters is that it occured. Finally, causing the deaths of those seventeen beings and one socio-religious worker and one crewman through negligence. Multiple counts of manslaughter at the least, or if I feel so inclined, murder.”

  She sat back, eyeing him avidly.

  Outside the tent, a catamount screamed. Children ran past, shouting at play. The late morning breeze lifted the airflap at the apex of the tont and sent a puff of warm air rustling through their midst.

  Inside the tont, it was very still. His crew sat frozen around him, none of them moving so much as an eyelash. He could always count on them not to break in a tough situation. Joran held his relaxed stance as well, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing that this charge had struck home with laser precision.

  She really was one of the coldest bitches he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. And she clearly got off on her power as the commander of Frontiera IGSF.

  Joran answered her, his voice even and just as cold. “That’s skrog shit, and you know it. Just as you know my people actually alerted the IGSF to the auction in the first place. Those seventeen beings who died? Rescues, headed for F City with Sister Lettie from the Mission there.

  “And by the way, you don’t seem too sliced by her loss, Cerul, but she was a loss for Frontiera. She was a good woman, and she’ll be missed by plenty here. What she was not was someone who would blame my pilot for failing to get away from pirates, since he was in peaceful transport and they were in an unmarked surplus O’gren fighter. They attacked my ship without provocation. I don’t see you ready to press charges for that.

  “We also all know that neither I nor my crew are in the slave trade, nor ever have been. So why don’t we cut the skrog shit, Aqa. What is your real purpose for calling this little fun fest?”

  “That’s enough of your disrespect,” the male officer called, his face ruddy with anger. He held his laser weapon trained on Joran. “You will refer to the commander by her proper title.”

  The female officer set her hand on her own weapon, although she didn’t draw it. Her gaze darted from Joran to his crew, her face pale.

  “You gonna shoot one of us over something that piddly, boy?” Riley rasped. “If so, you’re a fine lap pet for your commander, but you’re not much of a soldier for the Alliance. I fought a war to be free of that kind of thing.”

  “Not to mention you’d be dead in two secs,” Qala added. “Both of you.”

  “Stand down, Arc,” Mecham said from the side of her mouth.

  Cerul waved her hand. “Never mind, officers. I will simply remind Stark that should any harm befall my officers, the perpetrators will be punished to the full extent and this entire camp placed under martial law.”

  “Right,” Joran said. “Your boy keeps his weapon holstered, we’ll do the same. Now get to your purpose so we can get on with our day.”

  “It’s quite simple, really. I need you and a few of your most trusted, er, crew to infiltrate the slave traders.”

  Joran stared at her, his mind buzzing with static. “To do what?”

  She nodded regally. “The IGSF is going to put the slave trade out of business, and you’re going to help.”

  “You’re out of your mind. The IGSF can’t police every corner and hidey-hole in the galaxy.”

  Cerul laughed, a light, cold sound. “Oh, you mistake me, Stark. I don’t care about the far corners of the galaxy. But I want those flesh merchants off this planet. Those we don’t capture and put to death will scatter like cockroaches. I don’t care where they go as long as they’re not operating here. Frontiera is mine.”

  Gazing into her deep, cold blue eyes, a chill ran down Joran’s spine. He ignored it for now, because that’s how a man survived when he was about to fly straight into a wall of ice unless he changed his course. He did what had to be done to keep his ship in the sky. Later he’d consider the notion that this woman truly considered Frontiera her playground.

  “And you think you can blackmail me into helping you.”

  “I know I can.”

  “Well, sorry, but you’re wrong about that,” he said with satisfaction. Hells, this problem was over already. “My crew and I can be gone before you blink,” he said. “And your troops will waste all their time hunting us, instead of the real criminals. That what you want?”

  “You would hide from the law?” She widened her eyes in mock disbelief.

  He shrugged. “If the law is now about harassing me and my people, yes. And not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Not the way he wanted to go, but if necessary they could split up for a while until the IGSF tired of chasing them. Or even move on, settle into lives of outward respectability while carrying on in secret. All good things came to an end, and even the biggest storms blew themselves out.

  “I suppose that’s true,” she said. Then she smiled again. “On the other hand, your brothers are not so...mobile, are they, Mr. Stark? LodeStone Mines can be shut down, buried under a barrage of litigation. So can the operations of LodeStar Enterprises on Frontiera. What a shame if the great Stark brothers lost everything they worked so hard to build here.”

  For a moment, silence filled the tont, like the absolute calm after a huge clap of thunder.

  Joran unfolded from his chair, moving with precision and care to keep himself from exploding into action so terrible it could never be taken back. His lieutenants rose beside him, facing the commander and her officers in an adamant line.

  “Well,” Joran drawled. “Got to hand it to you, Cerul. You go after what you want, stepping on the backs of whomever’s in the way to get it. In fact, I reckon that inside a year’s time, you’ll be the most hated being on this planet.”

  Her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed. Then she smoothed her expression, this time with a visible effort. “I care nothing for your petty jibes,
Stark. And you’re wrong. I will be admired as the commander who brings law and order to this planet. That’s what the citizens want. With the satcom system, the pirates who used to hide out here are gone—I will get rid of all the others who think to do their foul business here.”

  This he knew was not entirely true. There were still pirates here; they’d just gotten better at blending in, hiding.

  “You should have gone with them,” she added. “Since you were unwise enough to remain, I will use you.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “My officers will give you your instructions for now. Be ready to serve the Alliance, Joran Stark.”

  The holovid winked out.

  Stark turned his flat stare on her officers. Arc swallowed but tried to stare him down while Mecham waited, stoic but pale. This meant she was the more intelligent of the two. She realized that her commander had just armed a nuclear charge and left the two of them sitting on it with no way off and no immediate help.

  “You two are safe here,” Joran said. “Doesn’t mean I want to look at you right now. You have the run of the camp but keep your noses out of our business. I’ll talk to you when I’m ready. Now get out.”

  Arc opened his mouth again. Mecham jostled him, hard. “Yes, sir. We’ll be waiting.”

  Joran strode from the tont. The sun was high and hot, but he welcomed the slap of heat on his head and shoulders. He stalked down the aisle of the camp, not stopping until he had reached the edge of the bluff overlooking the river.

  Qala, Haro and Var went with him.

  “Wish I could strangle that cunt with my bare hands,” Qala hissed through her teeth.

  “I’d help you,” Haro said instantly, his voice shaking. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

  Joran let their fury wash over him, cooling his own so he could think and plan.

  “There are two kinds of beings we should fear the most,” he said. “Those who are evil and those who believe standing on the moral high ground gives them the right to do anything they wish. She’s the latter, thinks she has might and right.”