Rebel Heat (15 page)

“May I have my own room?”

Zilor looked at her as if she’d just asked him to strangle a kitten. “And leave you unprotected? Garin would have my head.”

“But Nazerel isn’t protecting me.” She held up her bound wrists as evidence. “I need protection from him.”

Zilor laughed and slapped Nazerel on the back. “You have far to go with this one, brother.”

“I’m well aware.”

She seethed as they walked through the ship, but even her anger couldn’t keep her from noticing how many men they passed or how far they traveled. They took an elevator from deck three to deck sixteen. The corridors were wider here, less claustrophobic, yet the crewmen still eyed her with obvious displeasure.

“Are females not allowed on board? Why is everyone glaring at me?”

She’d looked at Nazerel when she posed the questions, but Zilor answered, “It’s your outfit. It’s disrespectful for a female to appear in public in masculine garments.”

She waited until he looked away to roll her eyes. What utter bullshit.

Zilor showed them to an apartment easily twice the size of the first. This one had a sitting area as well as a large bed. A bank of built-in cabinets extended the length of the far wall and a compact kitchenette was tucked into one corner, a workstation in another.

“The bathroom is through there.” Zilor pointed out a door to the right of the kitchen area. “You’ll have to register with security before you can use the data terminal, but I’ll officially assign you the room. Once the room is assigned the door only responds to the resident. That will help keep your ‘guest’ safe. Everything else should function normally. Do you need anything else?”

“I need to speak with your brother,” Nazerel grumbled.

“He’s aware and he’ll summon you as soon as he’s available.”

“Any chance of borrowing some clothes for Morgan? We don’t want to agitate the crew every time we leave the cabin.”

Zilor looked at Morgan intently for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I appreciate it.”

With a distracted wave, Zilor left the cabin.

“So what exactly is considered acceptable clothing for a female?” Morgan hadn’t meant to sound so bitchy, but her patience had worn out hours before. “I’m not going to be wrapped up like a mummy.”

“I’m not sure what a mummy is, but I don’t think you’ll object to Rodyte garments. I saw females on Earth wearing similar clothing.”

“What’s their objection to what I’m wearing now?”

“Pants are for males. Females wear skirts and dresses.”

“Seriously? Females aren’t allowed to wear pants?” Actually, she should have expected this. Everything she’d read indicated that their treatment of females was archaic. It was more surprising that they allowed females to cover themselves at all.

“Rodytes celebrate the differences between males and females rather than trying to meld the two into one as you’ve done on Earth.” He shook his head then shuddered. “I’ve never seen so many effeminate males and masculine females. At times it was hard to tell one from the other.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “There are certain cities where that’s more of a challenge than others. Las Vegas is definitely one of them.”

“Well, there is no such confusion on Rodymia.”

He sounded so superior, she had to challenge him. “There are no homosexuals on all of Rodymia?”

“What does sexual orientation have to do with anything?”

Now she was confused. Rather than delve deeper into an issue that had no bearing on her current situation, she waved it away. “Never mind.” She held up her bound wrists. “Will you please unlock these cuffs, so I can take them off?”

“Do you promise to behave yourself?”

“Of course not,” she shot back automatically.

“Then the cuffs stay locked.”

“We’re on an alien spaceship. What do you expect me to do?”

He moved toward her, his expression suddenly serious. “Zilor has a sense of humor. Garin does not. I expect you to be respectful and obedient. If I don’t control you, Garin will. He cannot allow anyone to interfere with the smooth operation of this ship. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand why you dragged me along. I’m a liability, not an asset.”

“You have details I didn’t have time to confirm and a perspective that will be important once we start building a strategy.”

“A strategy for what?” She was thrilled to hear him admit she had a purpose other than warming his bed, but she didn’t understand what he was hoping to accomplish.

“I’ll explain it all tonight.” He pulled the key out of his pocket and released the locks. “If I can’t convince Garin to join my cause, the rest is moot.” He deftly unbuckled the straps and freed her from the cuffs. “If you embarrass me or cause any sort of disruption, I’ll strip you naked and chain you to the bed. There are seven thousand male warriors on this ship. Zilor wasn’t exaggerating. You must be protected.”

She rubbed her wrists as she sank deeper into depression. She was a stranger in an alien dimension. She had no money, no form of identification. She could barely speak the language. Even if she managed to escape Nazerel and find her way off the ship, what would she do then? She had no way to contact Earth and it was highly doubtful anyone would help her. She’d been in some challenging situations before, but she’d never been this helpless.

He tossed the restraints on the bed and moved to the bare expanse of wall between the desk and kitchenette. “Display exterior view.” The wall shimmered then transformed becoming a stunning image right out of a high-budget sci-fi movie. A small section of the space station filled most of the screen while the wedge of hull visible in the sharply angled view indicated the massive size of the
Undaunted
. And beyond the sharp angles and gleaming lights of both structures stretched the vast blackness of space.

She was in outer space. Even faced with visual proof of her situation, it was hard to believe.

Moving up beside him, she felt mesmerized by the grandeur of the surreal setting. “Have you been on this ship before? You seem pretty familiar with everything.”

“The
Undaunted
has been in service for less than a year, but I’ve been on Garin’s other ships.” He stared at the display and offered no more information.

She didn’t want to care about his past, tried to be as indifferent to him as he was to her. But she was curious by nature and so many things about Nazerel didn’t fit his profile. “You were allowed to come and go as you pleased? But Varrik said—”

“Varrik was a sweeper. He had no reason to leave the Shadow Maze. And his uncle was controlling and cruel. North forced restrictions on his tribe that my father disregarded. No one in Tribe South was a prisoner. No one was forced to participate in a life they despised. Varrik told the high queen what she needed to hear so she would consider him a victim of circumstance.”

“You’re inferring that he lied, that his stories weren’t accurate.”

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he pivoted toward her. “His stories were more or less accurate within Tribe North. But each tribe was led by a different elder.”

“If this is true, why did no one speak up? Why didn’t you?”

“We weren’t given the opportunity to object. The queen’s forces barged in and ‘freed’ us from centuries of tradition. No one asked us if we needed or even wanted to be rescued. They rounded us up like livestock and transported us to the City of Tears.”

“Why didn’t you teleport to safety if you were so opposed to being rescued?”

“And desert my men?” The idea was clearly abhorrent to him.

She’d read through Varrik’s report, or rather skimmed the information. The details hadn’t seemed important at the time. “Your traditions terrorized females and separated mothers from their children. Surely you see the cruelty of such practices.”

“Our way of life was different from the norm. That doesn’t mean it was evil. I did a lot of reading while I was on your planet. The Spartan culture wasn’t the only one I found intriguing. Stories about the American West were particularly interesting.”

She wasn’t surprised that he’d felt an affinity for Native Americans. Parallels between the two cultures were easy to draw. In fact, she’d used the analogy herself a time or two. Still, she wanted to hear his conclusions so she could better understand his perspective. “In what way?”

“Native Americans were considered soulless savages and many of their traditions were ridiculed. They were feared and despised by those who did not understand them. And when others thought they knew what was best—and coveted their land—they were forced to abandon everything that made them unique and adopt the mannerisms of their enemies. Their way of life was not evil. It was just different. The Great Spirit was no less real to them than the God of the missionaries determined to ‘save’ them.”

It was hard to argue when she agreed with most everything he’d said. “Freedom is important to you.”

“Of course.”

“What about your captives. I threw the first punch, so to speak, so you could argue that I deserve everything I’m getting. That’s not true of the other female captives. They’ve done nothing other than be born female and their freedom was stolen along with their children. How would you react if your offspring was stolen from you?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the display again. “It was necessary.”

“No, it wasn’t. Forcing your will on your captives is just as wrong as having Varrik’s decision forced on you. You can’t complain about something of which you’re also guilty. It’s hypocritical.”

He accepted the criticism with a stiff nod. “Still, we could have changed without abandoning everything we were. We were never given that option.”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she said nothing. He had some valid points and his willingness to debate made her even more curious to find out what he intended for that evening.

“Rodymia is much smaller than Earth, but it is more densely populated. If that’s where Nazerel has gone, how do we even start to find him?” Lor shook his head as a sigh of frustration escaped his mouth.

The office/lounge felt smaller than it had moments before. Varrik moved behind Echo’s chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. The position was both protective and comforting. “He won’t be on
Rodymia.” Varrik waited until Lor looked at him to continue. “He’ll be on whatever ship Garin Nox is commanding.”

“Who is Garin Nox?” Elias’ long stride made pacing the room difficult. He was only able to take three steps before he pivoted and headed back in the other direction.

“Nazerel’s cousin,” Varrik explained. “Elder South was born Vortar Nox, youngest son of a very powerful Rodyte family. Rather than live in the shadow of his older brother and accept whatever scraps life left for him, Vortar joined the Shadow Assassins. He quickly rose through the ranks until he challenged the First Son of South during the transition festival and became Elder South. Garin Nox is the eldest son of South’s brother, which makes him Nazerel’s cousin according to human genealogy. Last I heard, Garin was about to be named
pferitor
, or general. I don’t know his current assignment.”

“Nazerel is cousins with a Rodyte general?” Elias sounded doubtful, yet the dread in his expression made it obvious he believed every word. “Why didn’t he go straight to Rodymia when he decided to leave the City of Tears?”

“Sevrin promised him a mate with Mystic abilities. Someone like Echo. Wouldn’t that have tempted you?” Varrik shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was a man of action, debates and endless conversations always made him restless.

“How often did Nazerel sneak away from the Shadow Maze to visit his cousins?” Lor grumbled.

“There was no sneaking involved. South encouraged the visits. And the answer to your question is a couple of times a year. There are three Nox sons. As I said, Garin is the oldest.”

Without explanation, Lor stood and walked over to his workstation. He didn’t bother to sit down. With a few hand gestures he found what he needed. “General Garin Nox is assigned to the
Undaunted
.”

“Damn.” Varrik rubbed Echo’s shoulders as much to calm himself as to comfort her. “I didn’t realize it had been commissioned. It had yet to launch last I heard.”

“What is the
Undaunted
?” Elias wanted to know.

“The Rodyte version of an aircraft carrier,” Lor told him. “I saw some early specs of the ship. It’s enormous.” Lor returned to the seating area, but didn’t sit down. Elias followed him, stepping to his side as Lor continued. “If that’s where Nazerel has gone, it’s time to involve High Queen Charlotte. We can’t start a war with the Rodytes over one man.”

“One man, his human hostage, and all of Sevrin’s research,” Elias reminded. “If this general gives the documentation to Quinten, he could easily pick up where Sevrin left off.”

“Overlord Lyrik is a better choice than High Queen Charlotte,” Varrik decided. “A military man will respond best to another military man.”

Lor shook his head with sudden vehemence. “Not in this case. Overlord Lyrik can’t go anywhere near Rodymia.”

“And why is that?” Varrik didn’t understand Lor’s reaction.

“Lyrik killed Pern, or at least Quinton holds Lyrik responsible for his brother’s death. It was actually an incorporeal entity that ended Pern’s life, but—”

“Sounds like a story for another day,” Elias suggested.

“Fine. But I don’t think a diplomatic approach is the right strategy.” Varrik shifted his hands to the back of Echo’s chair.

“I doubt the Rodytes want a war over one man either,” Echo mused. “I think we should find the
Undaunted
, figure out where the general is, flash to his location and explain that all we want is Nazerel and his hostage. There is no reason for the Rodytes to be involved.”

“Garin will hand over Morgan and keep Nazerel,” Lor predicted.

“Is that an acceptable outcome?” Elias looked at Varrik, but Lor responded first.

“No. Nazerel was the driving force behind this rebellion. He must stand trial or the others will become even more belligerent. The only way to permanently end this rebellion is to capture Nazerel.”

“What about the report. We can’t just leave that information with the Rodytes,” Elias insisted.

“You’re right,” Varrik said. “Recovering the report is as important as rescuing Morgan.”

“I didn’t say that. Nothing is more important that rescuing Morgan.”

“Let’s focus on Morgan.” Lor grew even more agitated. “I’m not sure we can do anything about the report. Thanks to Flynn, that ship has sailed. We could demand that they return the report or even steal it back from them, but we have no way of knowing who has seen it or how many copies exist. Besides it’s more than likely Sevrin was forwarding updates to her uncle every time she made any sort of progress.”

“We won’t know what is or isn’t possible until we assess the situation,” Echo stressed. “Which means our first step is locating the
Undaunted
.”

* * * * *

“How is this less offensive than my pants,” Morgan cried as she looked at her reflection in the portion of the wall Nazerel had just transformed into a mirror.

“I told you it wasn’t about modesty. It’s about respect. Your pants might have covered more skin, but now you’re unmistakably female.”

“Yeah, a little too unmistakably.” She tugged on the neckline of the dress, but the stiff material wouldn’t budge. The fabric was gorgeous, a shiny midnight blue with a muted geometric pattern. It was the style she found objectionable.

“Truth be told, the only females on board are pleasure givers.”

She scoffed as she tried to find an angle from which she didn’t look like a trollop. “That explains a lot.” A robot had delivered three dresses an hour ago. This was the least revealing of the three. The strapless bodice molded to her torso like a corset then the skirt flared dramatically to just below her knees. Her breasts swelled boldly into view and her waist looked incredibly small. If she weren’t on a ship with thousands of men, she might not have felt so self-conscious.

“I think you look lovely.”

Her gaze snapped to Nazerel’s, sure he was mocking her. But his expression was unreadable, except for the obvious hunger in his eyes. She acknowledged the compliment with a tight smile as he moved up behind her.

“You should wear your hair up.” He gathered the thick mass and held it near the back of her head. “Your neck and shoulders are breathtaking.”

She eased to the side and shook her head, freeing her hair from between his fingers. “I’m not trying to steal anyone’s breath.”

He lowered his arms and closed his hands into fists. “You don’t have to try and I think you know it. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

She knew that look, the literal burning deep in his eyes. “Nazerel.” The warning sounded more like a sigh as he pulled her into his arms. “Zilor could be here any minute and I—”

His mouth silenced her, lips firm and demanding. He pressed her against him, his arms much more gentle than his mouth. His tongue caressed her lips as it eased deeper and deeper. She tried to resist him, wanted to remain passive until he gave up and turned her loose. But this was Nazerel. He never gave up and he never surrendered.

Gradually she relaxed into the security of his embrace. She stroked his tongue with hers and wrapped her arms around his back. He’d changed into a uniform similar to Zilor’s. The pants were neatly tailored, but the shirt’s clingy material outlined every bulge and ripple of Nazerel’s torso. Her hands moved over the impressive terrain with hungry appreciation.

“I was unable to put myself to sleep,” he whispered then kissed her again. “All night I lay there, surrounded by your smell, aching for the warmth of your body.”

She was saved from responding by Zilor’s arrival. Nazerel called out a greeting without releasing her. Their visitor hurried into the room and a knowing smile parted his lips, making him appear even more rakish. “Well done, Nazerel.” He assessed her appearance with a less that polite sweep of his gaze. “She would look beautiful no matter what she wears, but this is much more respectable.”

She shook her head and wiggled out of Nazerel’s arms. “The Rodyte definition of respectable is confusing.”

Zilor started to explain, but Nazerel stopped him. “She understands. She just doesn’t agree.”

“I see.”

“Do I have time to fix my hair? I wasn’t quite ready.” She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Not that anyone was looking that far down.

“Of course,” Zilor assured her with another charming smile.

“Garin isn’t typically patient, so don’t dawdle.”

She started to point out that he was the one who had slowed down her preparations, but didn’t want to argue in front of Zilor. Nazerel’s demeanor changed whenever his cousin was around. Nazerel became more assertive, more intolerant, more Rodyte.

Not wanting an audience, she grabbed the bag of toiletries they’d gotten from Phil and went into the bathroom. Or the Rodyte version of a bathroom. She’d needed a guided tour from Nazerel before she understood how everything worked. There were no fixed objects in the perfectly square space. Various appliances could be flipped, rolled or pulled into view depending on what the user needed. She pulled out the counter then touched the wall directly in front of her and uttered the word Nazerel had taught her. The surface above the counter became reflective.

Nazerel was right, her hair would look best up, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of following his advice. She combed out the tangles, then French braided it at an angle so the end rested over one shoulder. The simple style confined her hair and left her shoulders bare. She seldom bothered with makeup, but the dress called for a different look. She darkened her lashes with mascara and smoothed on a subtle lipstick.

She walked into the outer room and slipped her feet into the black flats also provided by the robot. “This is as good as it gets.”

Zilor looked at Nazerel as if she’d said something outrageous. “Is your female blind?” Nazerel must have responded telepathically, because Zilor said, “I see.”

“We better get moving,” Nazerel suggested. “Garin hates being made to wait.”

Nazerel walked at her side, his hand pressed against the small of her back. Zilor walked in front of them and it didn’t take long for Morgan to suspect he was warning everyone off with some sort of signal. Those who couldn’t duck into an adjoining corridor plastered themselves against the wall and turned their heads. No one made eye contact with her or Nazerel.

“Why is he doing that?” She glanced at Nazerel, though he didn’t seem surprised by the crew’s odd behavior.

“Having an unclaimed female on board is never a good idea. Zilor is just making sure everyone behaves.”

“But how do they know I’m not…” Scent. They would smell her mate if she had been claimed. But all they smelled was female, so she was fair game. She shivered. It was all so animal.

Zilor turned down a short corridor that only led to one doorway. “You should address him as General Nox, not Garin. We use his given name because we’re family.”

“I understand.”

“This is his private quarters, but he expects protocol to be followed at all times.”

“Don’t speak to him until he first speaks to you,” Nazerel warned. “And even then it’s best if you only answer his questions.”

“O-kay.” And she thought human protocols were needlessly formal. Apparently Rodyte generals were treated like English royalty. “Can I look at him or should I fold my hands in my lap and keep my gaze lowered?”

“Once he acknowledges you, you’re free to look at him,” Zilor told her. “If he chooses not to speak with you, then you basically don’t exist.”

“In that dress.” Nazerel chuckled. “He’ll want to know all about her.”

Zilor didn’t seem amused by the thought. “Which is why you should have claimed her before you brought her here. You are far too trusting of our familial ties.”

“Meaning she’s not safe with you?” Nazerel moved directly in front of him, chest puffed out, eyes instantly blazing.

Before Zilor could answer the challenge the door slid open and Morgan forgot to breathe. A man stood there, his shoulders nearly spanning the doorway. Though similar to Zilor’s uniform, this man’s shirt was accented with gold. He wasn’t as tall as his younger brother and his features weren’t as perfect, but he emanated authority without saying a word. His hair was short, his dark gaze sharp, the blue rings clearly visible though at the moment they weren’t glowing.

He glanced at the two men who looked like they were about to come to blows then held out his hand to Morgan. “I’m General Nox. Nazerel never told me your name.”

“It’s Morgan.” She placed her hand on his palm and his fingers closed into a firm yet painless grip.

“Welcome aboard the
Undaunted
.” He pulled her across the threshold and into his private domain. But then the entire ship was his domain.

Unwilling to smile and pretend she wasn’t bothered by the fact that she’d arrived in chains, she licked her lips and chose her words carefully. “I appreciate the welcome, sir, but I’ve been brought here against my will.”