“Oh!” she heard herself gasping. “Oh, J’are! You…you shouldn’t…”
But of course he didn’t stop. He just kept rubbing as she quivered against him, until at last he seemed to sense her orgasm was over.
“Oh,” Imani murmured again, but this time her voice came out in a weak moan. “Oh, J’are. We…we shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have done that.”
She could barely get the words out. After such a powerful orgasm, she felt exhausted—her whole body limp with the sudden relaxation of tension.
The big Nightwalker seemed to sense this because he climbed off her and pulled the covers over both of them. Then he settled Imani in the curve of his big body, spooning her protectively.
“Holding now,” he growled softly in her ear. “And sleeping.”
“Yes…” Imani yawned and snuggled back against him. Though she knew she shouldn’t spend the night in the arms of her client, she was so tired from all the excitement and stress of the day, not to mention the intense orgasm, she was barely awake. She felt she couldn’t have left J’are’s side even under the threat of being disbarred.
“Lights…off,” she heard him growl and the dim golden light which lit the bedchamber was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.
But not complete darkness, Imani realized sleepily. There was a very soft glow coming from somewhere. Looking down, she saw that the black tattoo-like markings on J’are’s muscular arms, were no longer black. In the dark room, they were glowing a pale, shimmering silver.
It wasn’t bright enough to disturb her rest. Actually, it was quite beautiful.
He has his own nightlight, she thought fuzzily and then sleep swallowed her whole and she knew no more.
Seventeen
J’are woke with a clear head for the first time in months and the feeling that he’d been doing something he shouldn’t do.
At first he wondered why he was so comfortable. The concrete sleeping tube he’d been assigned in the hole was rough and dank and dirty, but he was lying on a soft, giving surface that cradled and cushioned his entire body.
And speaking of bodies, a female one was cupped in the curve of his own. But that must be a dream—he was never destined to have his own female—not here on Yonnie Six. No matter what old Mother Hownow had said.
Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw that it wasn’t a dream after all. The girl in his arms was lying on her side, sleeping deeply. She had creamy brown skin and long black eyelashes that curled on her high cheekbones. She had luscious curves too, he saw with approval—he’d never liked a female without something to hold on to.
The girl looked familiar somehow and he had the feeling he’d seen her somewhere before. Maybe in his dreams when he’d been buried in the hole?
But that whole experience seemed like a bad dream to him now. How long had he been in there? How long had his feral side had free rein? A week? A month? Three months? A year?
J’are couldn’t remember. It was all just a dark, nightmarish blur of beatings and starvation and fighting for his life. In a situation like that, it was easier to let his feral side take over—it was much better at keeping him alive than his fully-functioning cognitive mind.
Then she had come.
He looked down again at the girl in his arms. Seeing her in the courtroom had been like seeing a candle in the darkness—a candle glowing just for him. J’are had known she was his savior from the moment she Claimed him as her own.
Wait—had she Claimed him? Or had that been another dream? A misunderstanding by his feral side?
He frowned, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to remember. He could only get vague flashes of the night before…
The Goddess damned Horvath guards using pain prods on him and chaining him up so they could drag him into the courtroom…a judge with blue hair…seeing that yellow-haired bitch, Mistress Bittlebum, who had locked him in a pain collar and then sold him to Lady Zangelo, who was even worse.
She had used the pain collar and the pain prod on him over and over again and then he woke up, covered in her blood and they said he’d killed her. But had he? J’are couldn’t remember it if he had, he only knew that he’d been thrown down into the hole with all the other killers and scum, waiting his turn to be executed…
Wait…J’are shook his head. He was losing his train of thought here. Everything was a big muddled mess. He was trying to reconstruct what had happened to him last night from the confusing images supplied by his feral half—it was like looking through a series of bright, jumbled vid-pics played in rapid succession and trying to make a coherent story out of them.
So he had been dragged back into the court and then the lovely girl he was somehow sleeping with had Claimed him. Or at least, she had convinced the Yonnites to free him and she had taken him back with her to this place—wherever it was. He had vague memories of her putting him in the tub and scrubbing something off of him—oh right—the black synther paint he’d used to hide his k’dra markings so they wouldn’t give him away in the darkness of the hole. And then—
The girl in his arms stirred and opened her eyes.
“J’are?” she mumbled, looking up at him. “You all right?”
J’are felt his heart start to pound as he looked down into her lovely dark eyes. Maybe she had Claimed him, after all.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her. “But I don’t know your name. Could you tell me who you are and how I got here?”
Eighteen
“What?” Imani stiffened in the big Kindred’s arms. “What do you mean you don’t know my name? I told you when I came to get you—I’m Imani—the attorney, er, Defender—the Kindred of the Mother Ship sent to represent you in court.”
He frowned.
“If you’re my legal Councilor, why are we sleeping together like this?”
“I…you…you mean you don’t remember that either?” Imani felt her cheeks getting hot. “And how come you’re not talking like a caveman anymore?” she demanded.
“A what?” His frown deepened. “You want me to talk like I came from a cave?”
“No, no—that’s not…” It was really uncomfortable talking to him about all this when she was still wrapped in his arms and he was looming over her.
Quickly, Imani disentangled herself and sat up in bed, facing him.
“Last night,” she said, trying to make sense of everything. “You were different. I think maybe you were in your, uh, feral state?” She wasn’t sure if that was offensive to say or not but she didn’t see how else she could put it.
“My feral state?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you know about that?”
“Only what I was told on the Mother Ship,” Imani said quickly. “That you’re a Nightwalker and you have this kind of…of animalistic fugue state you go into and I was warned never, ever to let you get into that state but when I finally made them bring you into the courtroom, you were already in it. At least, it seemed like it because you were snarling and growling and even when you calmed down you weren’t talking in complete sentences. And—”
She broke off abruptly, realizing she was babbling in her embarrassment and haste to explain.
“And?” he inquired, clearly wanting her to finish.
“And I don’t really know that much about your people, so I’m sorry if I offended you,” she said. “I know it’s really awkward to wake up in a bed with some woman you don’t even know and believe me, I feel awkward too. But last night—”
“Yes, what exactly happened last night?” J’are’s pale green eyes seemed to pierce right through her. “I have some very strange memories but they’re all over the place. The feral part of me—yes, you got that part right—isn’t very good with communicating.”
“Last night…” Damn! Imani could feel her cheeks getting hot. Last night she had done things with him no attorney ought to do with her client. And now he was in his right mind and asking what she had done.
Imani felt like a felon—like she had taken advan
tage of him in his altered state of consciousness to do sexual things with his big body without asking for consent. How could she tell him what had happened and still expect him to trust her to defend him in court? He would probably just see her as another Yonnite Mistress, out to use him for his body and force him into submission.
“Last night…” she began again and took a deep breath.
She wanted to tell him that nothing had happened between them, but that would be the height of dishonesty and Imani despised lying. No, there was nothing she could do but try to explain as truthfully as she could and hope her client could forgive her and learn to trust her again.
“Last night,” she said for the third time as he waited patiently, “We did some things that were…not appropriate between an attorney and her client. I realize that you were in your feral state and you probably feel taken advantage of—”
“What things?” he interrupted, his green eyes burning.
Oh God. This was just getting worse and worse.
Imani lifted her chin.
“Well, first of all, I gave you a bath. But I had to,” she went on quickly. “Because you were all covered in this shiny black paint stuff—I mean covered.”
He nodded stiffly.
“The synther paint. I used it to cover my k’dra.”
“Your markings, you mean?” She nodded at the black tattoo-like designs on his arms and chest and back. She had a faint memory of them glowing a soft silver in the darkness the night before, but she had been so sleepy at that point it was hard to remember clearly.
“Exactly.” J’are nodded. “They kept barrels of the stuff in the store room—it’s what they used to keep the hole so dark—it absorbs light. I have a memory…” He closed his eyes briefly, frowning. “I think I do, anyway, of smearing it all over my body.”
“Because otherwise your markings would have given you away?” Imani asked hesitantly. “Because they glow—right? Glow in the dark?”
He nodded. “On my home world the k’dra are a mating symbol. They allow a female seeking to Claim a male to find him in the dark on Bonding Night. But in the hole they were a fucking liability.” He shivered reflexively, like a man trying to throw off a nightmare.
“I’m so sorry you were put there,” Imani said softly. She put a hand on his muscular arm but he twitched away from her. “Oh, sorry.” She pulled her hand back quickly.
“It’s all right.” He shook his head and looked away. “It’s just…touching. I can’t…I haven’t been touched with anything but a fist in I don’t know how long.” He looked up at her. “How long was I in there, anyway?”
“About three of your months, I think,” Imani said. “You were scheduled for execution.”
“Because I killed her? Killed Mistress Zangelo?” He had a haunted look in his eyes. “Did I kill her? I know I woke up all covered in blood and they said—”
“No, no! You didn’t kill her.” Imani put out a hand again, wanting to comfort him, and then stopped herself just in time. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be touched after everything he’d been through.
“I didn’t? Are you sure?” he demanded harshly. “Because the Goddess knows I thought about it often enough. Especially when she was fucking shocking me with the pain collar…” He put up a hand to the thick black collar around his neck and winced, as though with remembered pain.
“Anyone would feel that way,” Imani said quietly. “But no—you didn’t kill Mistress Zangelo. We have definitive proof that you were framed for her murder but you had no part in it.”
“I was? Who did it then?” J’are demanded.
“I don’t know.” Imani had a sudden thought. “Would you like to see the vid file? Maybe you can give me an idea about the identity of the killer.”
J’are nodded.
“Yes, that would be good. Show it to me, please.”
Imani nodded and hopped out of bed. She was really glad they were off the subject of what had happened between them last night and back onto the case. Maybe, if she was lucky, J’are could give her an idea of who had framed him—that would be good information to present in court—if they would take the word of a lowly male, that was.
She got the tiny fingernail-sized drive, which she’d gotten back from the bailiff after the hearing, and her own personal tablet. She was glad she’d brought with her, since the one that had come with J’are’s files had been destroyed.
Getting back on the bed, she plugged the drive in and showed him the vid.
“That’s you, right?” she asked, pointing to the image of J’are lying asleep or drugged in his cage with his long hair covering his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s me.” He grimaced. “She chained me up like a fucking animal. Used to braid pain receptors into my hair—I was glad when they shaved it off my first day in the hole.”
“It sounds like you’re remembering a little bit more,” Imani said cautiously.
He shrugged.
“Some. It’s like a few vivid images in a long stretch of black.”
“Can you remember if you were drugged that night?” Imani asked, pointing to the date signature on the bottom corner of the vid.
J’are frowned.
“I don’t know. I seem to remember my food tasting awful but then, it was never very good. Mistress Zangelo didn’t believe in rewarding bad bodyslaves with good food. I was more likely to get the pain prod for dessert than anything decent to eat when I was defying her.”
“What a horrible woman!” Imani burst out before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, when J’are raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s just…I’m not from here. And it’s hard to understand how anyone could treat another person so horribly.”
“I take it you come from a more enlightened society?” J’are inquired.
Imani sighed.
“I’d like to think so but unfortunately, it’s not. I guess it’s just not as blatant as what goes on here in Yonnie Six—although it certainly was in the past.” She shook her head. “That’s one of the reasons I became a Councilor in the first place—to fight against injustice and inequality.”
“Well, I thank you for coming to fight for me, my Defender,” J’are said gravely. “I would have been executed if you hadn’t come.” He nodded at the vid, which Imani had paused. “Play the rest of that, would you? I want to see who framed me and put me in the hole.”
Imani unpaused the vid-clip and they watched together as the shadowy, cloaked figure came into the room and smeared blood all over J’are and his cage and the floor around it.
“Well, whoever they are, they certainly did a thorough job,” he muttered as they watched the shadowy figure slink away.
“So you don’t recognize anything about them?” Imani’s heart sank. “I realize it’s a long shot since the vid is so dark and they’re basically hiding their face but anything at all? The way they move? Something?”
“Sorry, no,” J’are said. He frowned, concentrating on the screen. “Though by the size, you can tell it was either a female or a very small male. And there aren’t many small males on Yonnie Six, since the Mistresses like their bodyslaves big and muscular as a sign of status.”
“Is that why your original Mistress picked you?” Imani asked curiously. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added quickly. “I just thought—”
“No, it’s all right.” He shrugged, indicating that he didn’t mind talking. “I was only a young one of five or six cycles when old Mother Hownow came and took me away from the forests and jungles of my home world.”
“Mother Hownow?” Imani asked.
“That was what she wanted me to call her,” J’are told her. “I was an orphan and she wanted me to think of her as my mother.” He shrugged. “In time, I did. She was always very kind to me—she even wanted me to be her heir.”
“Yes, I heard that in court,” Imani said cautiously. “I understand that’s kind of a radical idea here on Yonnie Six. Having a male heir,
I mean.”
“Radical?” He snorted. “Try insane. Saying you want a male heir makes everyone think you’re out of your fucking mind. But that was Mother Hownow. She was…eccentric to say the least.”
“It’s not crazy where I come from,” Imani told him. “In fact, in our not-too-distant past in a lot of places on Earth, it was women who weren’t allowed to inherit.”
“Role reversal. Interesting.” J’are nodded. “Well, Mother Hownow thought she could make a difference. Of course, she’d counted on having me Claimed by some understanding and loving Mistress before she died.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “That…didn’t happen. Unless…” He looked up at her and Imani felt again like those pale green eyes were piercing right through her.
“Yes, J’are?” she asked softly, her heart beating in her throat.
“Did you…Claim me last night? In the courtroom?” he asked hoarsely. “I know it sounds crazy since we just met but I have this persistent memory…”
“I guess I did. Or well, I sort of did.” Imani shook her head. “It’s kind of complicated. You—or rather, your feral side—thought I had come to Claim you. And I kind of went along with it to get you to calm down.”
He frowned.
“So you only told me you had come to Claim me to make me calm during the court appearance?”
“I’m sorry,” Imani said. “I guess I still don’t fully understand the, er, implications of ‘Claiming’ someone. I haven’t been working for the Kindred for very long,” she added, apologetically.
“It’s all right.” J’are shook his head. “I should have known it was too good to be true when I woke up with you in my arms. So beautiful and curvy.” His eyes roved over her body and Imani was suddenly acutely conscious that she was still only wearing the thin white nightgown that showed the points of her nipples clearly. “I should have known a goddess like you wasn’t for the likes of me,” he murmured.
“J’are, I…I don’t know what to say.” Imani’s heart was thumping. “I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
Unleashed by the Defender: A Kindred Tales Novel Page 9
