Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (17 page)

This brought the suffocating fear back. Who was she, really? A woman who lived for the approval of a man, or an independent woman who decided for herself what she did and where?
 

Searching desperately for some reinforcement of this notion, she was rewarded with a lancing pain in her temple so sickening she lifted her hands to her head, palms to either side in an attempt to press back the throbbing pain.
 

She moaned. Maybe she’d never really been anyone special at all, and that was why she couldn’t remember.
 

“Stop,” he rapped. “Calm, that’s it, bunny. No need to get in a tailspin. You’re safe.”

He was eyeing her the way his servant had earlier, as if she might implode, leaving him to clean up the mess.
 

Flushing with embarrassment, Zaë swallowed her objections. She wanted out of here, which was the important thing right now. The collar was an annoyance, but one she could live with, as the male slave at the auction did. And if the Storm put it on her, perhaps she’d remember if she’d worn one before.

She slid from the bed and walked to him. She fastened her gaze on the middle of his chest. “Very well. I’ll wear it.”

“Turn around.” His voice was soft. The quiet snarl of a top predator that needn’t be loud to assert his authority.

She turned her back to him, and stood, waiting.
 

“Lift your hair aside.”

She obeyed, and his hands appeared before her, the necklace or collar glinting in his grasp. It settled on her collarbone and then lifted higher, snugging around her throat. The metal was smooth and cool. His warm fingers brushed her nape, and she heard the snick of the fastener. She shivered at the intimacy of the touch.
 

His hand settled on her nape, his palm heavy and hot, his fingers closing around the side of her neck. Warming the metal of the necklace, burning his touch into her flesh. He exerted pressure, turning her. She found herself facing a holovid mirror. In it, her head and shoulders were reflected, with his broad shoulders and torso framing her. She looked small and feminine against his larger, more powerful, angular mien.

With her hair spilling to one side, the collar was fully visible. It gleamed on her slender throat, the blue stones winking in their swirls of silvery iridium. But in no way did it spark any familiarity.
 

His hand moved, his calloused thumb stroking the collar and her throat above it. Pleasure shivered through her, arrowing down to her breasts and lower. She lifted her arms quickly, crossing them over her telltale nipples. She darted a look at him to see if he’d noticed, and found that of course he had. His mouth was set in a curve of satisfaction.

“There,” he said. “Now everyone will know you’re under my protection.”

“You said it was just for surveillance—to keep me safe.”

“Did I?” Now he sounded amused. “Then it must be so.”

He gave her a squeeze, and let her go.
 

“May I go out now?”

He nodded, but then held up one hand. “First, you tie your hair up, or braid it or something.”

“But I—”

He laid a finger, warm and calloused, over her lips. His gaze hardened. “You don’t go out of this tent with your hair down, Zaë. Show me you understand.”

“Yes, I hear you, but I don’t understand,” she said, bewildered. “Is this some custom of your—your tribe? I saw other women outside with their hair loose.”

“No, it’s a custom of mine. One I just instituted. You have a lot of hair, all of it different shades of blonde, from platinum to gold, all of it beautiful. Don’t want the men seeing it streaming around your shoulders, your breasts—makes a man want to see you wearing only that.”

“
Oh
.” At his graphic words, her cheeks burned, but her mind raced. He meant he wanted to see her like that. But then why didn’t he simply order her to disrobe?
 

She looked away from his adamant gaze. She certainly wasn’t asking him
that.

Shaking her hair to one side, she gathered the mass in three bunches and began to braid it with quick, practiced movements.
 

He leaned against the cubby, watching.
 

Finished, she lifted the thick end of the braid from her breast. “I need a fastener, please.”

“Right.” He rummaged again, and held up a metal clip. “How about this?”

She took it hesitantly. It was delicate and lovely, made with a swirling design and set with blue stones that glittered in the glowlamp light.
 

“This is iridium,” she breathed. “And those are sapphires.” What if it fell out of her hair and was lost?

He gave her an odd look. “Yup, same as the necklace. You going to argue with every damn thing I give you?”

“No. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burning, she fastened her braid with the clip.

His gaze slipped over her, and he nodded once. “All right. You can walk the main area in camp. Stay in sight of this tont, and let me know whenever you’re outside.”

“How will I let you know?”

He touched her ear, and she gave a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Oh, my comlink. Of course.”

“Just link me. I’ll answer.”

“But wait—it doesn’t work. The slavers said so.”

“Huh. Let me look at it.” He leaned close, then reached up and pressed the edge of the unit.
 

Oh!” Zaë started as a voice spoke in her ear. “Com unit is on.”

She smiled at him excitedly. “It works. So, I will now say ‘Storm’ and you will answer?”

 
“No, you say ‘Master’ and I’ll answer.”

Fine, then she wouldn’t link him at all. But when he turned away, she followed him. “Are you going to your work now?”

He snorted. “I don’t work, bunny. I let others do that, and then I help them out by lightening their profits.”

She froze in her tracks, a chill of dismay flooding her. “You are a—a thief?”

Hand on the outer door flap, he looked over his shoulder. The sunlight slashed across his face, limning his glare in molten silver. “I’m whoever and whatever I choose to be. And be damned to all who think I care if they judge me.”

Which clearly included her, as he turned his back on her, and stalked out without waiting for an answer. Oh, no, now she’d made him angry again. She was never going to last here without getting sold away.

Still, a thief? She stood in the middle of his luxurious tont, arms wrapped around herself, and looked with new eyes at the beautiful things that lay around her. Was all this stolen without thought or care from other beings?
 

She touched the necklace around her throat. Was it stolen as well? Had some other woman wept at the loss of her treasure? Perhaps even cried out in terror as he ripped it from her throat? He said he’d purchased it on Serpentia, but perhaps he was lying.
 

Zaë’s skin crawled at the thought. She hurried back into the bedroom, and looked around. She could see no controls, and she had no idea how he’d brought up the holomirror. She ran to the mirror in the lav and yanked the collar around so that the latch was in the front.

But try as she might, she couldn’t get it open. She faced her reflection, her eyes brimming with despair, her face flushed. She was breathing hard, fighting tears of fury with every breath. She had thought him a hero, but he was nothing but a thief, a brigand. Not much better than the slavers he’d bought her from.

She had exchanged one captivity for another. She was still trapped, and now she had to wear a collar just like the male slave at the auction.
 

And what was that on her comlink? She hadn’t had much time to look in mirrors lately. She turned her head and peered at the delicate shell pink of the small, sleek attachment. There was something dark on it, amid the creamy pearls. One of the pearls had turned black.

She didn’t remember anything about the comlink—had it been a gift, or had she chosen it herself to match some favorite ensemble, now lost? She only knew the black pearl didn’t fit.

It wouldn’t scrape off under her fingernail, so she had to abandon the effort. She stared woefully at herself in the mirror.
 

“Slave girl,” she muttered to herself. Her face was…just her face. Oval with high cheekbones, blue eyes and a silly mouth that was too soft. But at least if wasn’t unfamiliar like her surroundings. That was a relief. What if she’d looked in the mirror and seen a tattooed face, or even a blue one?

She primmed her lips as she regarded her braided hair. The clip was very pretty, but it wasn’t hers. Even her comlink was marred. It was damaged on the outside, she on the inside, her mind as black as the pearl.

She fingered the smooth shell of the unit again. She could use it to link someone outside the camp—but whom? She stared at herself, and the sight of her own wide, bewildered eyes sent even more despair rushing through her.
 

“Think!” she ordered her reflection. “Use your head.”

But when she tried, pain shot through her skull, a lance of agony so fierce she nearly fell to her knees. She bent over and hung on to the cool cerametal of the commode, gasping for breath.

Turning away from her reflection, she dashed through the main room.
 

Chapter 11

As soon as she stepped out into the bright sunshine, Zaë stopped, squinting around her in consternation. The camp was busy, with beings headed this way and that, but when she appeared, every one of them seemed to have time to stare at her.
 

Meeting the unfriendly gaze of the tall, red-haired woman, Zaë looked away quickly. The lean man with messy brown hair beside her watched Zaë speculatively.
 

She turned in the opposite direction.
 

A woman in a long, loose sleeveless dress sat outside one tont. She had a sparkling chain swinging from her ear to one nostril, a messy pile of dark red hair—hers dyed the hue of blood roses, heavily made-up eyes, and a toddler playing at her feet. Zaë smiled at the baby, and then the mother, but received a suspicious stare in return.

After that, Zaë quit meeting the eyes of those she passed. She skirted the last of the tonts on this end of the camp, and found herself near the pen of catamount ponies. They were sleek and well-fed, resting quietly in the shade of a large, spreading tree in the afternoon heat, their long legs folded, long tails wrapped neatly over their flanks.

A young one saw Zaë and gave a chirrup of interest, and galloped over to peer at her, triangular head poked under the lowest bar. It blinked its long lashes, tilted eyes bright as it gazed up at her. Its tail lashed playfully.
 

Pleasure lightening her steps, she moved closer. She could see the crackle of the energy pen holding the graceful creatures, so she stayed clear as she knelt and held out her hand for the catamount to sniff.

It darted back skittishly, but then slunk back to sniff at her. A long, sandpaper rough tongue darted out to lick her hand. She chuckled. “How do I taste, little one? I wish I had a treat to give a fine fellow like you.”

“He’ll taste your fingers, you’re not careful,” said a voice behind her.
 

“Aye, clear to the knuckles,” added another.

Zaë peered over her shoulder and saw no one. She looked up into the tree, to find a pair of youths watching her from their comfortable perch on two spreading branches. They were grinning at her, but not in an unfriendly way.

“I’m good with animals,” she said. Or at least, she thought so. She flinched as the usual pain lanced behind her eyes. She focused on the catamount, which growled and lashed its tail at her, moving back and then forward. “Oh, I wish I could play with you,” she said wistfully.
 

“Let her in with them,” said a new voice, this one feminine, and hostile. “I’m sure the catas would love to have a new toy.”

“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.”