He touched a panel on the wall and the nook’s table began moving downward, lowering until it became level with the benches. The two walls, the backrests of the benches, began moving inward, coming together and stopping when meeting in the center of the nook. There was now a view of space on all three sides; two rectangular ports were now where the backrests had been. The nook was now one vast, downy bed.
Fearfully, Sarra raised her gaze. He smiled, wickedly. To further taunt her, he doffed his shirt, slowly revealing his imposing and bronzed chest. He tossed his shirt aside and placed his hands on his hips, peering at her, calculatingly. Her heart began to race. She shook her head and backed away. He smiled roguishly, enjoying her distress …
Finally, he said, “No, I guess not.”
He touched the wall panel and the bed began separating in the middle, drawing back and disappearing into the walls until a narrow aisle was between what were now two mattresses. Sarra worried that hers was still far too close to his, and as if reading her mind, he dryly said, “This is the way it is.”
He started to shed his leggings, and her breath caught. One glance at his scanty black undergarment and she was in the main cabin, his laughter ringing in her ears.
“You may as well be comfortable, Princess!” he called. “The lounge isn’t meant for sleeping.”
She didn’t care. Her face burned and she pressed a throw pillow tightly to her breast like it had the power to protect her. He mumbled something unintelligible. When she dared look, the lights in the nook were off.
Realizing that he didn’t plan to rush out and attack her, she shivered in her relief and warily eyed the darkness of the nook. She waited for the time to pass, ready to try her hand at getting into the bridge.
When his deep and steady breathing came, she rose silently, satisfied that he slept. She tiptoed over to the panel by the bridge’s door. She frowned, seeing that the code that would open the doors could be any combination of numbers between zero and nine—she couldn’t even guess what her odds were in hitting on the right one. Determined, she chose a random sequence, pressing her forefinger on the flat surface where the digits were. Nothing happened. She kept trying, quietly, knowing that this was an utterly asinine attempt at freedom, but she simply refused to give in to her despair.
His hand clamped down on her, and Sarra cried out. She slapped at him in her frustration.
Raine held his struggling burden at arm’s length. “You don’t give up, do you?”
Tears threatened her as he dragged her over to the bed and pushed her down upon it. She kicked at him fiercely while he fumbled for something in the pocket of his leggings that were hanging up on a hook.
Irritably, he asked, “Which way do you sleep—front or back?”
“What?” she choked miserably.
“Which way do you sleep—on your front or on your back?”
“What?”
He snatched her wrist and snapped a handcuff on it.
“No!” she cried.
“Yes! I won’t be up all night fighting with a brat!”
He secured the other half of the handcuff to a cable—the means that made the room changeable—up near the head of her bed. His remote locked her in, the electronic signal reaching the tiny computer in the center of the shackles. Roughly, he yanked the sheet out from under her and tossed it over her. He fell down onto his bunk and gave to her his back.
She fought to free herself, but the inside of the handcuff was made of a strong and pliable material that had conformed to her wrist with an exact fit. She turned on her side, away from him, the hot tears flowing down her cheeks.
Raine stared out the long scenic window beside him, listening to her quiet sniffing. After a while she was silent, but he sensed that she didn’t sleep. He chose a distant quasar, struggling to concentrate on his mission …
Before her abduction, he had believed that he was prepared for anything, for any trickery that the sovereignty might have in store. But his scheme to ransom her had become more complicated by no fault of theirs. If there were a traitor to his cause, he would learn his identity and have him removed. Until then, her whereabouts couldn’t be known, expect by a chosen few.
The Revolutionary scouts who communicated with King Ellis had informed him that the monarch refused to cooperate until his daughter was returned safely, but that he was beginning to assemble the M-5’s. Raine knew that the control of the rainbow mines wouldn’t simply be handed to him; he would hold her hostage until after he received the guns. The plan would remain as is, but now he would have to contend with the princess’ nearness. And it was becoming more and more evident that the greatest threat to thwarting his mission was the princess, herself.
How could he want her and loathe her at the same time? True, his male anatomy didn’t care who she was—could he really blame himself? Any man would feel the urge to procreate when seeing this woman.
He had known that he would have difficulty with his desire when he first saw her naked. He had meant to use the monitors in her cell just to keep an eye on his rebellious captive, but seeing her bare, he found a much better use …
She had taken his breath away when she had stripped from her clothes and stepped into the steaming bath. She had worked the soap into a rich lather, gliding the gleaming white puffs across her slender arms, the swell of her full and round breasts, over their hard rosy tips and down her flat waist … He longed to slip his hands beneath the whirling and steamy water and help her, and his palms had become wet. A sweat broke out all over him when she exposed a shapely leg, soaping her silken calf with languid motions. Her golden brows were slightly drawn, her mind elsewhere while she concocted what he later discovered was her escape plan. She relaxed, closing her eyes, scheming, her creamy skin all awash in a gorgeous sheen, stirring his primal instincts, overwhelming him with the urge to bed her, an ineffable, potent ache he’d never before experienced.
He had eased his lust with a vulgar blond whore. But it wasn’t she whom he touched. With his eyes closed he could imagine that the princess was beneath him—it was she who he explored, she who writhed so wantonly. There was a great difference, however, between fantasy and reality. Where was the mystifying blue rose fragrance to marvel about? Where was the beautiful presence? When all was said and done, he felt something akin to treachery; the harlot wasn’t the princess. Satiated—but his craving for passion still unfulfilled—he didn’t want the tramp again and had left her to decipher this mystery alone.
And a mystery, it was. He’d never let any female cloud his judgment before, but this plucky wench had a way about her that gnawed at his insides. When she had danced last night, his own crew—for the way they leered at her—angered him, more so than her attempt to get at an M-5—his fantasy was his own. And, since seeing her face so angelic in her slumber, he’d had a strange foreboding nagging at him, like his instincts were warning him of a threat …
He came to one conclusion: She was a very uncommon woman. When he had kissed her, taking her pouty crimson lips, the way she had felt—all sensuous and easy against him—was like no other, though women, he’d had many. Men naturally are tempted—maddened by their desire to test her charms. He definitely was of the stronger gender. He was not immune.
But, he had best find his rational. He couldn’t have her. If she cried ‘rape’ after he freed her, he would alienate the subjects; he needed for this to be a peaceful coup d’état. It would inevitably come to war. And, he didn’t quite relish the idea of sullying himself with the enemy, no matter how comely she may be.
He tried to picture her within the corrupt royal throne, desperate to stop the fire that was rousing within him, but he was becoming aware only of her beauty lying so close. All he had to do was step across to her bed. He would woo away her fears and she would resist at first, but she would yield to his kisses like she did last night. Holding her gently, he’d wait until the time was right and then draw her dress up and off her. He’d softly caress her sweet taut breasts with his ton
gue and hands … She would surrender to her passion—perhaps yet unknown to her—trembling while he explored her trim waist … her hip … her hot softness … and she would spread her thighs …
“Damn!” he rasped.
Raine gritted his teeth, knowing that this was going to be an incredibly long journey.
Startled, Sarra’s lashes flew apart, hearing him curse. She listened to the following quiet, wondering what that was all about. She moved even farther away from his bed, a difficult feat with her chained hand.
She couldn’t do anything but contend with his nearness and try not to think about what had happened last night. She’d never been kissed before—except for a peck on the lips by an aristocratic boy when she was fourteen—and she had never imagined that it could be like that. It had been a confusing experience, making her feel—somehow—that her body had betrayed her. Her body was betraying her again, for even now the intriguing sensation was stirring within her. She wanted him to kiss her again … Her instincts were telling her that his hands could take the aching away from her breasts … and from her loins … Unwillingly, her imagination etched the sight of him—his brilliant green eyes, his broad chest … his narrow hips …
The enigmatic power that seemed to pulsate from his presence made her want him to come near and take her unrest away …
Suddenly, he left the nook. A long while passed, but he still didn’t come back.
She stared out the port at a flaming star, attempting to travel there, to separate her spirit from her substance …
Chapter 8
Sarra woke, becoming aware of the faint humming of the spacecraft’s engines. Drowsily she turned onto her front, and the pulling on her wrist rudely reminded her of the handcuff. She saw that the bed beside her was empty and the lights were on in the main cabin. The continual darkness beyond the window gave no clue as to the hour. She had fallen asleep—something she had feared would never happen again.
She sat up and tugged angrily at the restraint. This would be yet another day she would be forced to spend in captivity.
“Mister Abductor!” she called, her voice filled with sarcasm. “Oh, Mister Abductor!”
Moments later he peered around the corner. He had just stepped out from the bath, since he was tying back his damp blond hair. He wore a short-sleeved crimson shirt and white leggings, looking very refined. She managed to glower at his expectant green eyes.
“Release me,” she demanded.
Amazing her, he took the remote out from his pocket and obeyed. She pulled the handcuff off and bounced up to her feet, hurrying by him to get away from the bed. He touched the nook’s panel and the table and benches came back into place. He went to the galley, finding their breakfast, and then laid two trays out on the table. The smell of the bacon and eggs and potatoes teased her nose, making her belly gnaw fiercely at its emptiness. She decided to end her one day fast. It may serve her pride to spite him by starving herself, but really, what was the point?
She lifted her nose airily and slid down onto the bench. Feeling his eyes upon her, she took a quick bite. He chuckled softly but she let it pass, savoring every delectable morsel—though trying not to devour her meal like a barbarian. When her ravenousness was finally sated, he quietly cleared the table. Her gaze warily followed him to the lounge where he took up his reading tablet and sat, fluffing the throw pillows, getting comfortable for an idle day. Her eyes narrowed on him but he didn’t seem to notice.
Sarra took refuge behind the bath’s locked door, basking under the shower’s balmy streams of pure, recycled water. This room, though small and cramped, was the only place where she had any privacy. Even though he was obviously trying to ignore her, when they occupied the same space she constantly felt like he was watching her. Still, she wanted to see the stars—she didn’t have this kind of opportunity often!
She chose a simple knee-length pink dress, one of the garments he had put away in the narrow wardrobe. She took the considerable time needed to dry her hair beneath the hot-air blower on the wall, and pulled the mass sharply away from her face, pinning it in a tight coil at the back of her head in the hope of appearing prudish. She dropped yesterday’s blue dress and accessories into the laundry bin where they would be cleaned and aired, and then she was ready to brave the man.
Sarra looked anything but prudish to Raine. Before she could catch his ogling, his eyes chased the words on his tablet, oblivious to their meaning. Her mien was branded into his vision. Those full breasts, those shapely thighs—he’d best forget about it … The blond and pink image stayed in his head.
Sarra eyed his cool countenance, resigning herself to yet another difficult day. She was tired of plotting escape—what was the use? Somehow he anticipated her every move. Sighing, she went to the nook, to take solace in the stars.
Suddenly, he flung his tablet away and was on his feet. She shrank, unprepared for an assault, but he instead stalked to the vault, opened it, and took out the M-5. He was in a temper, holding it in tight reign as he unlocked the bridge and disappeared beyond the doors.
She sank to the bench, bemused. What had she done to cause all that? She shrugged, deciding that it didn’t even matter. All that she cared about was that he had left her alone.
Suddenly, the thundering of music flooded the cabin. It took her a moment to realize that he was showing his maliciousness, certainly believing that she didn’t like this sort of song. She had always loved the raw energy and moody passion of flash-rock, but now it didn’t help her to learn that they had something in common. He could contain the melody just to the bridge but had activated all the audio on the ship. As if thinking better of his intended rudeness, he turned down the volume until the primitive beat no longer threatened her ears.
He had no problem entertaining himself, but she couldn’t find any relief. It seemed like he wasn’t in a hurry to reach Kan, because from the way the scenery moved, she estimated that the ship was traveling at a speed that was much less than its capability. She had too much time to think, to dwell on her plight, and to worry. She thought about her father and Auntie Alma, and feared what her abduction was doing to them. When would she see them again? Would she survive this? What would it matter if she didn’t?
She frowned, pondering the infinite candescence beyond the port, assessing her life, the mysteries of her destiny. Surely, she was tiny and insignificant in the scheme of the universe. What was her purpose? Was it to rule a world? Was it to bear children and carry on the link of life?
It was true that she wouldn’t be alive if not for her ancestors. When Neanderthal man had walked the Earth, could he even dream of reaching the stars? And here she was, gliding through the heavens on a steady flight. Just a few short centuries ago people didn’t believe that space travel was possible, or that man could walk on a moon, or even that he could fly in a vehicle through the air. It wasn’t until scientists learned how to simulate gravity, and discovered how to power engines by the principle of perpetual motion—the harnessing of light cells with magnetism—that people could travel beyond their own solar system. Earth was the home base for the Human Race—a place to find wisdom, to wait until God set them free to explore the vast, celestial playground and sail the black, star-lit seas.
Even though mankind had been born in a sparse and rather uneventful part of the galaxy, colonizing space became a solution for Earth’s growing population. All races and countries shared in the ventures. One group was from England, Egypt, and from North America where her own heritage originated. The thousands of adventurers left that fateful August day in the year Two Thousand and Ninety-Eight, heading off into the arm of the Milky Way, onward toward the constellation Cassiopeia where their calculations had found many worlds.
They resorted to using stasis, since it would take decades to reach their destination. Their transports traveled at about half the speed of light, and they journeyed twenty-five light years away from Earth—a tiny distance in the span of the universe. After fifty years, their computers woke
them from their induced sleep. They came into the Urania Solar System and found home.
Of the ten planets and thirty-one moons, two were inhabitable after some minor terraforming. Both were second from the sun, an average yellow dwarf star, revolving parallel to each other on the same orbit. They were almost identical in size, having the base chemical elements found throughout the galaxy. One they named ‘Myrrh’, the name inspired by the planet’s fragrant winds. The other sported many seas and mountains and they named it ‘Adriel’, meaning ‘flock of God’. Here were two new worlds where they could make a glorious new beginning.
Some went on to explore the Dazen Star System that was only about a light year away. The majority of the colonists stayed, and after they decided where they preferred to live, and began stocking the planets with the animals and vegetation that they had brought along, a need for government arose. They wanted a simple life and chose to go back to a time in Earth’s history when monarchy ruled. There was true royal blood on Adriel—the Tyler family of England—but the Tylers declined the new Crown since the reason for leaving home had been to escape the pressures of their prestige. So it came to be that her grandfather, a man well respected as a natural leader, took the yoke of the Throne.
“And someday it must fall to me,” she whispered. “If …”
It really wasn’t fair—all she truly wanted from life was to be able to explore, not to be a pawn in a ransom scheme, for a cause to which she didn’t have a clue. There were billions of galaxies out there and she’d never even be able to go beyond her own. It was simply beyond Human means—even after science did manage to break the light speed barrier, like she knew they would. But, she would be satisfied with exploring this one. She couldn’t, being the princess royal.
Restless, Sarra rose, working away the tension in her legs.
She was the princess royal, and space was not without its peril. Once out of the USFC’s traffic control, top speed could be achieved and a pilot was on her own. Although speed becomes relative out in the vacuum of the interstellar dark, moving so rapidly even in a galaxy mostly made of dark matter was dangerous. But, all ships have a surrounding energy shield that deflects oncoming objects, and sensors that constantly scanned out in all directions, automatically compensating on course when detecting a threat. A ship could trek on endlessly, for when on a steady flight it uses a miniscule amount of raw energy and even this can be recycled aboard.
Queen of the Stars (The Royals of Adriel Book 1) Page 10
