Vanquished (12 page)

“You’ll
entertain me as I make my preparations. Alleviate my boredom.” His tiny smirk
worried her more than any leer or ignorant comment would have. The casual way
he shoved her away underscored how weak and incapable she actually was, worn
down by the torture and lack of food and water, not to mention the anguish of
losing her troopers. Her cleanliness and fresh clothing was but a thin veneer,
and one that had given her false hope, cleverly chosen so this psycho could rip
it away.

Baraith
sauntered to the door but paused before exiting.
“The other
Marine?
His name is Petrov. I believe the two of you will provide an
excellent distraction.”

There was no need to relive the
memories of the ensuing days. The human body tended to forget the pain
inflicted on it, but the mental and emotional aspects were a different matter.
If it had only been Neira…but Petrov was part of it and used as a most
effective tool to break her down. Alexi Petrov shouldn’t have made the Corps
with his slender build and girlish good looks, but those very attributes hid a
remarkable Marine, tough and resilient, and very talented in combat. But it was
his appearance that drew Baraith, and Neira found she’d do anything to save him
from that sick bastard’s attentions. And Baraith had known it from the
beginning. And in the end Petrov wasn’t tough or resilient enough.

Letting those memories go,
surprised at how she could view them so dispassionately, she answered Vayne. “I
don’t remember anything that would mean something to the Home World. The time I
spent with Baraith didn’t exactly involve talking strategy or politics.” She
sounded matter-of-fact, as though the things that had taken place
were…distanced somehow.
Like they had happened to someone
else.
Even her body felt relaxed and under control.

A big hand stroked down her back
and up again. Vayne’s deep voice rumbled above her. “Was there anyone else
there?
Besides you and Petrov?”

Flickers of Petrov begging
Baraith not to punish her for some imagined infraction on his part teased her mind
and she forced them aside, deep sadness coloring the memories as she accepted
that she hadn’t saved Petrov in the end. Worse, she’d undermined his male ego
and natural need to protect the vulnerable—women and children—by negating his
sacrifice and asking for the torture instead.
Because he was
her trooper and she, his sergeant.
Time-honored roles
that meant nothing in the long run.
Tears welled up again and there were
too many to brush away. Neira truly wept for the first time in forever, maybe
since she was a child, and a part of her wondered that she was comfortable
weeping in this alien’s arms. He didn’t speak again, merely shifted her closer
and offered that comfort, his big body supporting her without any discernible
effort.

When she thought past the
perverted innovations Baraith initiated almost every day, forcing her to pull
rank on her trooper to spare him irreparable physical harm, she delved deep and
recalled Somar inserting himself into the room on occasion. The monarch had
been irritated by the interruption—the alien didn’t share his amusements with
others—but had settled when his procurer whispered a name or gestured to
someone hovering outside the door. Baraith would abandon his twisted play and
vanish for hours, sometimes not returning for a few days, giving both Neira and
Petrov time to regroup, or pray for release. Alexi had come to hate her in the
end…

She was exhausted, sucked dry,
and no closer to fulfilling Vayne’s speculation. “There wasn’t anyone there I
recall. Somar was there, and he spoke some names to Baraith but I can’t
remember them. But
whomever
it was must have been an
equal—or somebody he needed.”

“It may come to you,” he soothed.
“How do you feel?”

“I’m okay.
Tired.”
It was very peculiar. Normally, even traversing the edges of those memories
created panic attacks that immobilized her, so she avoided that at all costs.
Perhaps it was the medication.
Or maybe
it’s Vayne.
And maybe it could be any Shadalla who thought her to be his
chosen.

“Do you wish to sleep? Or would
you care to dress and walk with me?”

“Leave the cabin?” She sounded
pathetically hopeful, and it wasn’t only to put some distance between them.

His chest rumbled with laughter.
“Yes, Neira.
I understand how confined you have felt, but I
believe you are well enough to move about.”

Even though he didn’t acknowledge
the primary reason she was confined, Neira found she really didn’t want to
fight with him. Not that she was going to acquiesce and become his lifemate,
actually bear his children. A vision of a toddler, big for his age, with
Vayne’s golden skin and amazing eyes sprang, lifelike, into her mind, and she
blinked rapidly to fragment the picture. No. Not Ever. She was going to
withstand him, refuse him and lead her own life. The lonely, empty life she’d
known to expect after gaining her freedom from the military.

He didn’t insist she wear the
paca.
Instead he provided another
floor-length shift, the soft material covering her completely, from throat to
toes, and a thought occurred. “Is this the normal apparel on Nibiru?”

Vayne’s eyes flickered and she
braced for a lie. “No. You would be veiled and hooded as well.”

“Excuse me?”

“We are evolved, Neira, from the
predators we once were, but that doesn’t change the fact some of our less
disciplined males react…strongly…to females, whether or not they are their
chosen.
Especially now that there are so few of them.
Home World women are particularly appealing, and those of us fortunate enough
to have found our brides cherish and protect them.”

“Oh, spare me.” She remembered
hearing of the customs of other cultures on Earth before the blending, and what
Vayne shared smacked of fundamentalism with a hefty dash of misogyny. “I’ll
never hide myself away like that.”

“Then you’ll remain in my home.”
Oh, he was acting the boss of her, and it rankled. The idea of being cherished
and protected—he’d spoken of that before—burbled in her head like a sweet,
refreshing stream on a hot day, but there were too many strings attached.

“You forget I haven’t agreed to
be your—” She almost said broodmare but realized she was already treading on
thin ice. And she really wanted to leave the cabin.

“You haven’t, little warrior. But
I am hopeful.” He didn’t look hopeful. He looked as though it was a done deal
and so she stuck the needle in.

“Your kind lack self-control.”

When he drew himself up and
loomed over her, she supposed it should have been intimidating, but his
features no longer reminded her of Baraith, and while Vayne could make her
captivity uncomfortable, she had absolutely no fear for her safety.
Her physical safety.
Her emotional well-being was another
matter, because damned if she didn’t want to retract her little dig.

“Insinuating there
are major difference
between our species is frivolous,
Neira, and a distraction you utilize when you feel threatened. I am certain you
don’t fear me, so why push so hard? As for self-control, we pride ourselves on
possessing that quality.” His smooth voice once again covered that underlying
steel resolve.

“Then why cover the women?”

“Come. I grow tired of this
pointless conversation.” He reached to draw her to her feet.

Yanking her arm away, she shook
her head. “You either don’t trust your brethren or you don’t trust your
lifemates. I wonder which it
is?
”

Neira stood without Vayne’s help
and slipped around him to approach the door. The silence drew out. Then he was
behind her, one big hand stretching to authorize the lock to open. He didn’t
speak as they made their way down the corridor, although he kept her close and
she could feel the unsettled emotions rolling off of him. His crew treated him
with respect but didn’t fawn, and she liked that. He was a natural leader, at
least her kind of leader, as the war stories had indicated. She didn’t want to
approve of him, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

Her outfit was quite comfortable,
affording her ease of movement and keeping her warm yet allowing her skin to
breathe. The idea of having her head and face covered made her sweat a bit,
however, and she moved a little quicker at the thought.

“Neira?”

Alarmed at how he picked up on
every little nuance, even away from the confines of his cabin, she pretended
not to hear him, craning her neck to feign an interest in one of the display
panels.

Slipping an arm around her waist,
he tucked her against him as they moved along. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”
She smiled and tried not to melt
against him. She was so not a
girl
.

The warmth of his breath stirred
the longer tendrils of hair on her crown and she was again reminded of how big
he was, despite her own above-average height—for the women of her species. “How
tall are Shadalla females?”

Vayne halted in his tracks and
she stuttered to one beside him, having no choice, given his hold on her. He
looked down at her and lifted a brow. “Perhaps two handsbreadth taller than
you, and they are even more athletic. As a rule they are heavier with larger
breasts and rounder…hips. And aside from a lack of body hair, Earth and
Shadalla females are alike in their genital anatomy.”

TMI.
Neira didn’t care to think about
what he preferred. She was comfortable with her sparse landing strip of curls,
close cropped out of habit, like the hair on her head. Keeping clean on the
battlefield wasn’t the easiest thing, and soldiers had enough to worry about
without personal hygiene being an issue. So she merely nodded to indicate she’d
heard the information and decided not to ask anything more along those lines.
Besides, it felt ever more intimate, talking and sharing with her captor.
Your husband.
Your lifemate.
She
struggled against the little voice.

Noting how the crew observed her
was next on her list of things to do, anxious to determine if she might truly
be in need of protection. The big males did indeed cast their gazes over her,
thoroughly and with great interest, but she detected no hint of salacious
intent from any of them. And Neira was a master at recognizing such things.
There was, perhaps, regret in their regard and even envy. That, she could
understand, considering the dearth of available Shadalla females, and no doubt
all women would garner looks and appraisal, but there was nothing disrespectful
she could detect. Armed with her observations, Neira was going to pursue her
earlier challenge with the sovereign at another time.

Vayne steered her in the crew’s
mess and helped her into a chair. It should have grated against her independent
spirit, but that part was taking a vacation, because the rest of her
appreciated his chivalry—and wanted to preen in the face of it. Had she always
had this need to be cared for so solicitously?
Cherished
, Vayne called it. There had never been the opportunity so
perhaps he was awakening it.

“I will bring refreshment.”

 
Neira watched him stride toward the galley and
appreciated his fine form. She found herself smiling, something she did so
rarely even before her time on Ureses. Her body had been aware of him since the
beginning and totally stirred to life that first time she’d seen him naked and
erect, hard for her. But since then she’d been simmering, like a pot on the
stove, ready and waiting for whatever flavor of the day required its contents.
Her emotional instability had taken precedence earlier, allowed her to manage
and sometimes ignore the sensuality Vayne effortlessly oozed for the most part,
but now her arousal was boiling over. Her breasts weighed heavier, the nipples
pricking into tight nubs, and the saddle between her thighs, all plump folds
and slick juices, couldn’t be ignored. Yet ignore it she must, because she
understood there would be no quick fuck, no mutual satisfaction of primal urges
with Lord Vayne Palldyn, Sovereign of the Southern Range, planet Nibiru.
Unrequited lust shouldn’t make the middle of her chest ache, and she rubbed at
it surreptitiously, shifting her weight to squeeze her legs together.

The last time she’d had sex was
maybe a month before that last battle, a long time ago for many, but Neira
hadn’t had even the slightest urge to pleasure herself, let alone seek out a
partner since being rescued. The time in therapy had equally doused any thought
of sexual intimacy…and the memories that leaked past the drugs had stomped
anything rising from the ashes of her butchered libido, flat.

She spied Vicky a few tables
over, with the Shadalla officer who had apparently believed her to be his
chosen, and thought to go and speak with the young woman, but the pair were
clearly having a moment. It was almost sickeningly sweet, and most certainly
sappy, the way Vicky gazed up at Leric, her tilted head resting on his
shoulder, his arm wrapped snugly around her. Neira could almost taste the
hormones wafting through the air and found them unpalatable. Her arousal dimmed
and her belly clenched. Vicky appeared
…
under
the influence, altered.