Demon's Captive (9 page)

      "Why did you do that?" There was anger in his voice, and she froze, suddenly afraid.

      "What?"

      "You could have hurt yourself." With only the very tip of him still inside of her, he wrapped her more securely in his arms and placed his lips on hers in a tender kiss. "Be more careful with my wife. I don't want her damaged."
      A small laugh escaped her, followed by a gasp as he lowered her a little, driving his thick length deeper into the wet and quivering recesses of her body. "Whatever you say."
      He set a gentle rhythm, lifting and lowering her on his cock, never letting her take more than the head of him. After a few minutes, he held her still. She felt him swell and pulse inside of her.

Chapter Sixteen

      The next few months flew by for Charity. Her language lessons started right away, and she quickly discovered the role of a wife wasn't remotely similar to her role as a torture slave. As Melmanon's slave, the crew on board his ship had been distant. They had never spoken or tried to communicate with her, and had often acted as if she weren't there.
      As his wife, however, everyone noticed her. The warriors she'd grown accustomed to on the ship were gone, though. Melmanon's new position put him in charge of civilian personnel. Like the warriors on the ship, they represented many races. Unlike the warriors, they were vastly different in size and shape. Melmanon explained they served the war tribe's military in non-warrior class positions. She privately labeled them bureaucrats, since she saw the similarities right away.       Among them, she quickly discovered she had quite a bit of power. Hope for the future burned brightly in her heart. Although she could not speak much of their language, many had learned hers in preparation to live and work among her people. She made a startling number of friends, and genuinely enjoyed the company of these foreign people.
      One person in particular became a good friend -- a young woman named Desre, her language instructor. They formed a fast friendship. The other girl was similar in appearance to her own people, though larger, and was the only person who spoke Charity's language as well as she did. In addition to teaching, Desre gave Charity insights into the workings of the war tribe and its people.
      "Desre, why can't warriors be married?" Charity watched her teacher frown in concentration and lean one hip against the edge of her desk.
      "Besides it being a law, I believe the reasoning lies in the brutal and lengthy nature of war. Many warriors spend their entire military career in space." One purple hued fingernail tapped thoughtfully against a full lower lip. "It would be impossible to spend time with your family."
      Charity chewed her own lip in concentration as she methodically reproduced the alien characters on the page. "So, in order to marry, you must retire?"
      "Oh, yes, of course."
      "What about, well, dating, or having a sexual relationship?" It made her uncomfortable to ask, but Desre seemed to take it in stride.
      "Warriors can combat-challenge each other for sex, and non-warrior service people can and do conduct affairs."
      "What is combat-challenge?"
      Desre appeared surprised by her question. Then a strange smile crossed her face. "You never attended one on board the air ship?"

      "No, I don't think so. I never saw anyone fighting."

      "Interesting. Well, they can be private, but most occur in a small arena. Any warrior can attend and watch."
      "But what do they do?"
      "In combat-challenge, one warrior challenges another to fight. There are no weapons, and they must fight in the nude." She gave Charity a vague wave of her hand.
      "Why?"
      "Well, the winner gets to…"

      Understanding dawned, and Charity gave up all pretense of working on her books. "You mean they…? But that's terrible!"
      Desre sniffed defensively. "It works for them. And it does have rules. You can't be challenged more than once per cycle, and you must be in the same year, so experienced warriors can't challenge young, inexperienced ones."
      "Why can't they have affairs like everyone else?"
      Desre sighed. "Charity, you have to understand how hard a warrior's training is. They are bred to be competitive and fierce. If they have feelings for each other, it will impair their ability to fight."

      "So, that's why they're so mean."
      Her teacher laughed, her dark hair rippling around her. "Some of them, yes. I'd say you probably got the worst of them, though."
      "Melmanon, you mean?"
      "Yes, he's well known for being the baddest of the bad." She frowned concernedly. "Is he…unkind to you?"
      "No!" Charity was quick to deny. "He's…so hard, so tough."
      "It isn't entirely being a warrior that does that to you." Pulling another chair up to the desk, she sat down and placed her hand over Charity's. "He's probably been on the outside his whole life. Being different is a big part of our society, but he's different. There are few of his race left, and all are males. I would bet, before he met you, he never intended to marry at all."
      Charity bowed her head. "But why me?" The question was almost a whisper.
      "Oh, how can you ask that?" Desre squeezed Charity's hand. "You are so sweet, so good. How could he not have chosen you?"
      "I don't understand him, Desre." Charity looked around the beautiful room, and waved her hand. "He gives me all this, and I know what he wants in return, but I don't know if I can give it to him." Catching the look on her friend's face, she gave a sudden laugh. "Not that, silly. That we do all the time." She sobered. "He wants me to feel something I'm not sure I can."
      "Are you sure you don't feel it already?"
      "I" -- she blinked, startled by the insight -- "I've never been this physically close to anyone. It's the emotions I can't define."
      "Give yourself time, my little friend. You've only been his wife a few short months. You have the rest of your lives!" Charity raised luminous eyes to her, wide with apprehension. "If I don't give him the response he wants soon, t
hat may not be too far away."

* * * * *

      
That evening, after the house had emptied of the many bureaucrats who worked in her husband's office, and her own personnel had left, Charity wandered aimlessly through the rooms. In keeping with war tribe tradition, the house was a leftover from her civilization, though the interior sported several modifications befitting the man who ruled the planet.
      An entire section of the house contained offices where Melmanon worked during the day. Another section was her personal floor, including an office, a small receiving room, and several other undesignated rooms.
      Downstairs, there was a lovely library full of books, mostly from her country. She knew it was strictly to please her. Since their marriage, he had provided many pieces of her old life. He had even gone so far as to give her projects that allowed her to make decisions about her people, how they lived, and what liberties they were granted.
      Just inside the doorway of the kitchen, she stared at him. During the day, he wore the clothes of a ruler. The leather garb they had both worn on the air ship had been replaced with pretty dresses for her and somber attire for him. Now, though, at the kitchen counter eating leftovers from their formal dinner earlier, he wore only a towel wrapped around his hips. His hair was still wet from the shower. The small tracks of water that ran down his neck and onto his bare back quickly evaporated.
      "Hungry?"
      She stepped fully into the room, and walked around the counter. "No." She smiled at the large plate of food in front of him. "But I don't think many people could be as hungry as you."
      He stabbed a steamed vegetable and waved it menacingly at her. "It's the food on this planet. Too many plants, not enough meat."
      She laughed. She knew how much he'd come to like the meals here. Since they relied on the agriculture of the planet to sustain them, most of the meal preparations had been under her supervision. She, of all people, knew how to prepare local dishes. It had been a small bone of contention that she preferred less meat be served, but after a few meals, he had displayed a marked enthusiasm for the fare.
      Charity left him to devour the remainder of the vegetables while she poured a glass of fruit juice. She took a seat at the breakfast bar and gazed out into the darkness beyond
the windows.
      "Charity?" Pulled from her thoughts by the soft query, she looked up and saw he'd put
his empty plate in the sink and stood at the counter, watching her.
      "Yes?"
      "Is everything all right?" It was a question he asked her more and more, despite his ability to read her mind.
      Suddenly frustrated with the pretense, she asked, "Don't you know? Can't you read my mind?"
      "If you want me to, yes. I've been giving you the privacy of your thoughts."
      Her surprised expression was quickly replaced by confusion. "You can turn it off?"
      "No." He gave her a small smile with no teeth. "It's more like I'm not focusing on it. It's on all the time, but I have to narrow it down to one person, and to sort through for the meaning."
      It was the first time they'd ever talked directly about his differences, and Charity hesitated, uncertain how far she could go.
      "I remember, before…" She trailed off, unwilling to be specific about the dark time of her capture.
      "Before we were married?" His voice was low, as if he were afraid of scaring her into silence.
      "Yes, when we first met. You said something, and I heard it." She touched her forehead and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You can talk that way?"
      "I can send a thought to you, yes." This time, sharp teeth flashed in the smile. "I could even send you my memories or fantasies." His meaning was clear in the predatory flame that flared to life in the darkness of his eyes.
      Charity wouldn't be distracted though, and she persisted in her questioning. "And you can see mine, too?"
      "Yes." A memory of her experiences came back to him, and he recalled the fond images she carried of former lovers. The familiar jealousy quietly surged, reminding him of the tenuous hold he'd had lately on his self-control.
      In his efforts to prove himself to Charity and adjust to his new status in the nonwarrior class, he had suppressed all outward signs of his dominating nature. He had soon discovered that presenting a mild-mannered façade was the only way to combat the impression his appearance made. Unfortunately, restraining his aggressive nature both in public and in private was wearing him down. The only thing that kept him in check was the difference he had seen in Charity.
      She'd bloomed, making friends and taking an active role in her new life. In private, she was more open, more affectionate. Whenever the temptation to slip the leash on his brutal self reared its head, he brought to mind the growing trust between them.
      "Melmanon?" Charity's voice broke him from his reverie, and he realized she had been speaking for some time.
      "I'm sorry. I'm more tired than I realized." He extended his hand. "Are you ready for bed?"
      She gave him a small nod and rose, taking his hand and letting him pull her close as they left the kitchen and headed up the stairs.

* * * * *

      In their room, Melmanon tugged off the towel and draped it negligently on a chair. Charity removed her light robe and hung it carefully in the armoire on her side of their suite. The room was beautifully decorated with elegantly carved furniture. She knew it was authentic, since Desre told her that it had been procured from nearby cities. It was far lovelier than anything she had possessed in her former life.
      Seated at the vanity that still delighted her with its whimsy, she selected a large silver-backed brush and began running it through her hair. In her reflection in the beveled mirror, she saw the healthy blush on her cheeks and the fit shape of her body under the lovely slip she wore. Her eyes told her that she had never looked better, but melancholy gripped her. At first, she had attributed it to the emotional upheaval in her life, but the changes had been nothing but good.
      She had friends, a beautiful home, a purposeful life that involved her in the reshaping of her planet, and a bonded partner who treated her well. It had come to her today, though, that the reason for her malaise was Melmanon. He wasn't himself, not the being she'd gotten to know on the air ship. As frightening as that person had been, he was familiar. Since they'd come here, there had been no sign of that man, not even in bed.
      Her conversation with Desre earlier had helped her understand the old Melmanon a little better, but brought her no closer to comprehending the new one. It was that uncertainty that caused her so much inner turmoil.
      Suddenly aware she had stopped brushing her hair, Charity rose from the small stool and went to the bed where he waited. Sitting on her side of the bed, she felt his hand come to rest at her waist. With a strangled sob, she whirled, burrowing her face into the hot curve of his shoulder. Uncontrollable trembling shook her as tears coursed down her cheeks and soaked his skin.
      Melmanon frowned in concern over her head. With her wrapped tightly in his arms, he laid back against the mountain of pillows she loved so much and held her while she cried. The temptation to look into her mind was strong, but he resisted. She wouldn't sense it; he was more concerned it would provoke his temper.
      He rubbed her narrow back gently through the silky fabric of her slip and waited for the storm to pass. The suddenness of the outburst was no less startling than the fact that it had never happened before.
      As the sobs began to subside, he turned her so she rested in the curve of his arm. Able to see her damp, flushed face, he used the edge of the sheet to wipe her tears away. At last, a final shuddering sigh escaped her, and her breathing evened out. In moments, she was asleep.
      Lying awake in the semidarkness of their room, he tried to piece together her behavior. Since their arrival, the dynamic in their relationship had changed on every level. Emotionally, she was holding back, as if she were still concerned about incurring his displeasure. He had been prepared for that, especially after his actions on the night of their marriage. His loss of control in the air courier had definitely set him back in his efforts to win her love.
      The increasing comfort between them had grown proportionately to his restraint. Deep inside, he acknowledged that if he behaved as he wanted to, he would lose any chance to convince her of his love. On the other hand, being someone else would never really allow her to love him. Torn in his thoughts, it was a long time
before he drifted into sleep.