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

by Cathryn Cade

  “Yes, they could have her for lunch,” added another mocking voice.

  Zaë rose, and turned to find two girls watching her. They stood beneath the tree, one short and plump, the other taller and slim. They regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  “Hey, quit that talk.” One of the young men dropped from the tree to scowl at the girls. “She’s the Storm’s. You don’t want to make him angry.”

  The other boy tossed something small at the girls, making them squeal and duck. “Yeah, and you’re too pretty to be jealous, Telle,” he called. “At least when you don’t have an ugly frown on your face.”

  The taller girl tossed her head and blushed, while the other one pouted.

  Zaë smiled at the four teenagers, and then turned away. With a last wistful look at the catamounts, she walked back toward the camp.

  As she walked past the tont where the baby played, the mother was on her feet, flapping her skirts. “Shoo! Get away, you dirty thing.”

  A small white shape darted toward Zaë. Zaë stopped, and it crept close to her feet, giving a pitiful ‘mawwr’.

  She gasped in delight. “A mawwr.”

  The other woman shuddered theatrically. “Ugh, I can’t stand the creatures. Wants to snuggle up to my baby.”

  Zaë knelt and held out her hand to the mawwr. Its triangular ears shot forward, and it regarded her with liquid dark eyes. “Who does it belong to? I could return it to them.”

  The woman snorted. “There are several of them around camp. Don’t belong to anyone, far as I can tell. Why would you want one?”

  Her earlier suspicion apparently gone, she lifted her baby in her arms and cuddled her.

  “I love animals,” Zaë said. As the mawwr crept nearer, she stroked its silky head with one careful finger. It stretched into her touch, and she stroked its back. The two tails, one white and one the same gray as the tips of its ears, lifted high with pleasure.

  Picking the little creature up carefully, she cradled it to her chest and stood. The mawwr began to purr. The toddler laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and smiled at Zaë.

  “Your baby is beautiful,” Zaë said. “What’s her name?”

  The woman smiled proudly. “Elliane. After the daughter of famous anthro-diplomats. Thought it was so pretty. Who knows, perhaps she’ll be famous herself one day.”

  “Yes,” Zaë agreed. As the name echoed dizzily in her brain, she ducked her head to lay her cheek on the mawrr’s soft fur. “Elliane. Very pretty, like her.”

  She caught herself before she tried to remember where she’d heard the name. Instead, she focused intently on the little girl’s soft red curls and dimpled face, on the feel of the hot sun on her head and shoulders, on the mawwr’s silky fur under her fingers, and the rumble of its purr against her breastbone.

  “Are you okay?” the woman asked, frowning. “You look kind of green and you aren’t Pangaean. Of course, reckon you were lucky to survive, when those others died.”

  Zaë stared at her. “Others died?” she echoed.

  “Well, yeah. When Mako’s transport was shot down. Weren’t you on that ship?”

  “No,” Zaë managed. “He, uh, the Storm brought me...on the cruiser. I...I didn’t know others died.”

  “Nasty slavers,” the woman said, hugging her little girl closer. “Hope they suffered before they died. Like to shoot some of ‘em down myself, I would.”

  Surprised, Zaë laughed a little. “Me too.” Stark had killed those who captured her? She must thank him for that.

  The redhead smiled at her. “I’m Ringi.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ringi. I’m...Zaë.” For now, anyway. Possibly forever, if she didn’t get her memory back.

  “Expect you’ll be glad to get back to your home, as soon as the next transport comes in. Where’d they grab you from?”

  Her stomach plummeting, Zaë looked away. Now she would have to admit she didn’t know, couldn’t remember, and the woman would look at her with the same pity and curiosity as Nera, or maybe the hostility of Qala.

  A loud commotion from the other end of the camp saved her from having to answer. A man bellowed something. A pair of children came darting through the tonts, grinning from ear to ear. One of them bore a gleaming flight helmet under one arm.

  Behind them came a man in a dark blue uniform, his face red with anger, short blond hair damp with sweat. “Stop, you little thieves!” he yelled as he hurdled a supply box and dodged the corner of a tont.

  Then a hovercycle zipped into view behind him, veered over his head and stopped in midair before the two children. The pilot was a woman, with short brown hair, in the same dark blue uniform. The two young ones skidded to a halt, eyes wide, and the taller one tripped over the one carrying the helmet. Both of them fell in a heap.

  The hovercycle landed beside them, and the rider leaned over, grabbed the helmet and held it out to the male officer.

  “Here you go, Arc. No harm done.”

  His chest heaving with his breaths, he glared down at the two now peering up at him from the ground. One of them grinned unrepentantly and Zaë bit back a giggle.

  “No harm?” the officer panted. “Why, I oughtta—”

  “No harm done, Arc.” This time the woman leaned forward, her voice adamant. She was in profile to Zaë, but Zaë saw the significant glance she flicked around the camp.

  Zaë followed her gaze and saw that others who had either been out of sight in their tonts or lazing in the shade of the trees, now stood watching the altercation. They were, especially the males, a hardened, tough lot, many with weapons on their belts. And none of them looked friendly to the two in uniform.

  The male officer shut his mouth, although he glared at the young thieves. “You two stay away from our craft and our supplies.”

  The smaller child, a girl, Zaë thought, opened her mouth, but the taller one elbowed her sharply. “Yessir.”

  The female officer grinned at them. “Right. Well, here’s a sweet to help you remember to do that. Keep your word the rest of our stay, and I’ll give you another.”

  She reached into a pouch at her belt, and tossed them each a small, bright package.

  “Hey!” The girl’s eyes widened. “Chocolate.”

  “We’ll be back for the other piece,” the boy said. “Don’t forget.”

  Chocolate...Zaë’s mouth watered. She loved the dark, creamy sweet.

  She also recognized the officers as legitimate authority figures. What were they doing here in the Storm’s camp? Perhaps she should ask them for help.

  She took a step toward them and then hesitated as the male officer’s contemptuous scowl encompassed her. He didn’t seem to like anyone in the camp, so would he even want to help her? Perhaps she should wait and get the female officer alone.

  “Those kids will do anything for sweets,” Ringi said, amused exasperation in her voice.

  Zae nodded politely. “Yes, I’m sure.” She herself hadn’t had chocolate in months.

  Because she’d been where the inhabitants didn’t eat the decadent treat. A scene flashed into her mind—sitting on the ground beneath an awning of woven branches, eating a simple meal of grains and fruit. The people around her were small and wiry. They were all laughing at something, their long, blue faces creased with humor. Tardosians.

  She’d been on a world called Tardos. And she’d been with—Zaë moaned, clutching her head with one hand as agony lanced through it again, followed by a dizziness so strong she nearly went to her knees.

  The mawwr mewed, the prosaic little sound soothing her, bringing her back to the present. Where she was suddenly reeling with exhaustion again, and feverish, sweat beading her forehead and her torso under the tee shirt.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Ringi asked.

  No, she wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I—I have to go.”

  Zaë hurried back to The Storm’s big tont, skirting the curious onlookers. Inside, she went to the water tap in the galley, where she splashed cool water on her face a
nd throat, not caring that it ran down to soak her shirt and dripped on her pants.

  She breathed in the cooled air gratefully. She drank a tall glass of cool water. When the mawwr gave a plaintive complaint, she found a small dish and filled it with water, setting it on the floor in a corner. Then she collapsed on the divan, staring at the shield on the tont wall.

  It was so strong and beautiful. If only she could carry it with her. Then perhaps she’d have the courage and the strength to plumb her memories again. She had to remember, had to find the self that lay beyond the jagged curtain of pain.

  Then she could ask for help getting back to wherever that self belonged.

  ***

  Something warm and calloused stroked over Zaë’s cheek. When she woke with a start, a large hand cupped her jaw. She stared into Stark’s face, dark and turbulent. He slid his fingers around the back of her neck and squeezed. The pressure was impatient. “Zaë. Time to wake up.”

  She grasped his thick wrist, and blinked muzzily. “Where am I?”

  He scowled at a place just below her chin. “Better question might be, where’d that critter come from?”

  “Mawwr-rr,” said a voice at her ear. Zaë wrinkled her nose and laughed as whiskers tickled her cheek. She lay on the divan, the mawwr curled on the cushion beside her head.

  “It followed me home.” She scooped the mawwr up in one hand and sat up, tipping her head back to look up at him.

  He had clearly just come in from the heat of the day. His shirt was damp with perspiration, and he smelled of fresh air and sweat and man, a heady combination. He had splashed water on his face and throat, droplets still glistened on his skin, and although it was clubbed back, strands of his hair curled damply around his face. As she watched, a rivulet of water trickled down over his hard cheekbone and the swell of his jaw to disappear under his collar.

  “The creatures are all over camp,” he said. “Put it outside, it’ll head back to its family.”

  “May I keep it with me?” she asked. “Please? It won’t eat much—I can give it scraps from my plate.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t want one underfoot. And don’t bother giving me that big-eyed look, ‘cause it doesn’t work on me.”

  Firming her lips as they trembled with disappointment, Zaë focused on the mawwr. She cuddled the tiny creature under her chin and petted it gently.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered to it. “I’ll bring you bits of food and place them right outside the tont.” At least she would have one friend here.

  “You’re not feeding it,” he said. “We’ll have the whole pack of them hanging around, and I’ll be tripping over the damn things every time I walk outside. Understand?”

  Zaë nodded sadly.

  He made a sound of disgust. “Why do I feel like the keeper of a quarking zoo?”

  He stalked away, and she glowered at his broad back. “He sounds like a zoo keeper too,” she whispered in the mawwr’s pointed ear. “A mean one.”

  “Heard that,” Stark pointed out from the galley. “Put. It. Out.”

  When his voice went growly and impatient like that, it sent alarm skittering through her. She hurried to set the mawwr carefully on the ground outside the tont. She would feed it later.

  It was evening, she was surprised to see. The sun had set, and the sky was darkening. People were gathering in the center of the camp. A fire burned in the central firepit, seats of all kinds had been set out, and outdoor cooking units were emitting savory smells.

  Her stomach growled, and she rubbed it as she ducked back into the tont.

  Stark had pulled a bottle from the refrigerator unit. He twisted the top open and drank thirstily, his throat working in a smooth column.

  She went to the counter and eyed him cautiously. He still looked wore that hard edge of anger and impatience, but not directed at her now. “Is there a meeting?” she asked.

  “Of sorts,” he said, tossing the bottle in the recycler. “Quasiball. Crimsons versus the Blues.”

  She pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “The who?”

  He gave her a look of disbelief. “Crimson Flash versus the Quantum Blues?” When she shook her head, he scowled. “Fuck me, what planet have you been livin’ on, woman? Everyone’s heard of the two top teams from this end of the galaxy.”

  “I think I’ve been on a planet called Tardos,” she said quietly.

  Now she had his complete attention. “Tardos? That is a backward little world. You’re not from there.”

  Her heart sank. “You don’t think so?”

  He chuckled unexpectedly. “Your hair’s messy now, ‘cause you’ve been sleeping on it, but it’s not in fuzzy braids that haven’t been undone in years, and you don’t smell like livestock. And your eyes are blue, but your skin is not, nor leathery as my pants.”

  Oh, right, the blue beings she’d recalled. “But then, why do I remember it? Why don’t I remember my home?” Her voice rose along with her anxiety. She wound her hands together, squeezing them until they hurt.

  “I don’t know, maybe you were traveling there. Riley’s our medic, and a good one. He says this is some new drug the slimers gave you—affects long term memory.”

  “Yes, I know, but why would they do that to me?”

  He put out his hand to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Because, bunny, they’re ruthless. And if you don’t remember who you are, or where you’re from, less chance you’ll try to run. It’s bad, I know. But I have connections. We’ll find someone who can help you.”

  Her heart pounding, she searched for reassurance in his hard face. “You will?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t look at me like that,” he warned, pulling his hand away to wave a finger at her. “Like I’m a savior. I just know someone who has an in with top medics, that’s all.”

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “In the governing council?” They met at a place with tall white columns and beings from all worlds crowding the halls.

  At this, he tipped his head down and chuckled, a deep sound of amusement. She watched him, fascinated by the flash of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “The Alliance Federation? No, although close, bunny. Logan Stark doesn’t actually rule the galaxy, but he does come near at times.” He hefted the carrier of drinks. “Now go change your clothes and comb your hair, and we’ll go out, have supper and watch some quasiball.”

  She stared at him, perplexed.

  “What?” he demanded. “You having trouble understanding me?”

  “No, but…can’t we speak with these medics now? It’s important.”

  “No, we can’t do it now. Quasiball trumps any problem, don’t care how big. And problems have a way of staying put until we get to ‘em. Yours’ll still be there in the morning. Now go change your clothes.”

  “Change my clothes?” She touched the tan shirt, her stomach sinking. “You said that, but—I haven’t anything else to wear. There is nowhere to shop here.”

  He nodded toward the bedroom. “Yeah, you do. Got some things for you from one of the women. Go change, and hurry up. I want my supper.”

  Zaë hurried into the bedroom. There, she stopped to stare in surprise. On the side of the bed away from where she’d slept lay a top and leggings the blue of Frontieran skies. The top had elbow length sleeves, lace inset in the low vee of the neckline, knots of beads sewn in a design around it. She dashed into the lav and changed quickly, tiptoeing up to see her reflection in the mirrors.

  The clothes were very snug, which was disconcerting, as her breasts seemed to stand out from her body, and she was sure her hips and bottom were highlighted in the same way. Better than the humiliating costume the slavers had put on her, but still not what she felt she was used to.

  But the color brought out the blue of her eyes, and the pink of her lips and cheeks. Hurriedly, she washed her face and tidied her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. There, she looked better, although she wished she had cosmetics to enhance her eyes
and her lips, like the other women here. Just to help her fit in.

  She also wished she could wear her hair down. She touched the collar and grimaced. Everyone would see it. But at the same time, it made her feel safe. He had claimed her, that meant he would keep her safe...she hoped.

  “Zaë!” He sounded impatient.

  “Coming,” she called back. She hurried out into the bedroom, stepped into the soft flats, and then paused before leaving the bedroom. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them, took a breath and blew it out.

  Her master stood by the open door. As he looked her over, something changed in his eyes, something that she felt like a physical touch, something that made her face and throat hot again.

  “There now,” he drawled. “That’s more like it.”

  “They’re too tight,” she said, pulling at the top. “I think I should change back to the other clothing.”

  This did not please him, judging by the way his eyes narrowed. “That’s skrog shit. A woman has a body like yours, she should show it off. Give a man somethin’ sweet to look at.”

  “I thought you didn’t want men looking at me.”

  “They can look at you with your hair bound up and most of your soft skin covered.” His gaze rested on her throat, and the collar seemed to burn against her skin. “And with my collar on you, they know better than to touch. Now come on. And stick close to me. We like to party, and it can get wild. Gets too wild, you’re back in here.”

  “Wait,” she blurted.

  “What?” he asked impatiently, his hand on the door.

  Zaë touched the lace bodice of her top. “These things—are they stolen?”

  Chapter 12

  Zaë held her position, but with difficulty, as Joran Stark’s silver gaze hardened and cooled, his hand tightening on the door.

  “Are those things stolen? Maybe they are,” he drawled. “You want to take them off, that’s fine with me. I don’t mind a naked woman in my tont. But you won’t leave it, that’s for certain. Now, do you have any more questions, or are you ready to get on with the evening?”