Donovan's Woman (3 page)

Gryff parked the Landskiff on the side of the road, stepped out, and stretched his back and shoulders. Rounding the front of the craft, he looked in the cockpit window and saw Marri staring back at him. “You all right in there?”

She nodded.

He looked at her a moment, then grunted softly as he realized that she expected him to open the door for her. He did so with a grimace.

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered irritably, and with a shake of his head, he turned his back on her and sauntered into the tavern.

Gryff glanced at his surroundings. Like most such places, it offered food and drink in addition to rooms for the night. There were only a few customers at this time of the day. A sky pilot perched on a stool at the counter, exchanging war stories with the ebony-skinned man behind the bar. A couple of local farmers shared a table near the door, a man and a woman huddled close together in a booth, apparently oblivious to everyone else.

Gryff led Marri to a booth in the back corner and slid in beside her, shielding her from the view of any casual observer.

“How long will it take us to reach Tarnn?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been there.”

“But you know where it is? How to get there?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it.”

A bored-looking waitress sauntered up to their booth. She took their order, winked at Gryff, and sashayed away.

“What’s in Tarnn?” Gryff asked, his gaze lingering on the waitress’s curvy behind.

“A place to hide.”

He lifted one brow, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, he said, “You’re gonna have to tell me exactly where we’re headed sooner or later if you want to get there.”

“A cloister,” she said.

“A cloister!” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. “You’re gonna take holy vows?”

“Yes.” Once she committed her life to the church, her brother would have no reason to come after her. And though she didn’t really want to spend the rest of her life behind high stone walls, at least she would be safe from his treachery. And Annis would be there.

Gryff shook his head, wondering how such a lovely creature could even contemplate living a sequestered life. He knew all too well what it was like to be locked up. Just thinking about it filled him with despair. Sometimes he still had nightmares about the men he had killed in the arena. About the tiny cell where he had spent the majority of his time. The humiliation of being at Serepta’s beck and call. The sting of the whip slicing into his flesh when he displeased her. The hot irons she had laid across his back and belly…

“Gryff? Gryff, are you all right?”

His head jerked up at the sound of his name. Marri was staring at him. “What?”

“Are you all right?” she asked again.

He took a deep breath, willing his heart to stop pounding. “Fine.”

“You’re hiding something, too, aren’t you?” she asked candidly.

The arrival of the waitress with their food spared him the need to answer, at least for the moment.

* * *

Marri stared out the side window of the skiff. They had driven for miles, yet the scenery never changed - brown dirt, brown plants. The land was arid and mostly uninhabited. Once, they passed a dilapidated space port. Such places were usually busy; this one had been virtually empty.

Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, she recalled the events of the last few days before she had met Gryff. She remembered the fear that had engulfed her when she woke up in a small room and realized she was a prisoner with no memory of who she was. She recalled hitting one of the men over the head with a chair and squeezing out of a tiny, narrow window. She didn’t remember anything after that until she lifted her head from the bar in the tavern and saw Gryff staring down at her.

She slid a glance in his direction. Not for the first time, she wondered how he had known about the two men the wolf had killed, and where the blood on his hands had come from if it wasn’t his. Had the wolf been a pet? She dismissed that idea as soon as it occurred to her. If the wolf was a pet, wouldn’t Gryff have brought it with him?

With a sigh, she closed her eyes again.

Gryff eased the kinks out of his back and shoulders. They had traveled about five hours since leaving his place. It would be dark soon. Night fell quickly at this time of the year. They needed to find a safe haven to spend the night.

An hour later, he found a suitable place to park the skiff. The woman was still asleep and he saw no reason to wake her. Climbing out of the vehicle, he circled around to the back and opened the hatch. A light came on as he stepped into the cabin. Gryff shook his head as he glanced at the interior — a pair of narrow cots covered with well-worn blankets, a small metal table, two metal benches, a cold storage compartment, and a heating element. A tiny lavatory with a toilet and small sink took up space in the far corner. There was a closet the size of a shoebox next to the lavatory, a tank that held drinking water. Newer, more expensive models came equipped with entertainment cubes, kitchens, and bedrooms.

He had ordered a couple of meals to go from the tavern. Removing them from the carry sacks, he tossed the trays into the heating element and hit the timer. Leaving them to heat, he went back to the front of the craft to wake Marri.

“Hey.” He shook her shoulder gently. “Wake up.”

She woke with a start, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t!”

“Easy, princess.”

She glanced around. “Is something wrong?”

“No, we’re gonna spend the night here. Come on,” he said, stepping away from the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

She followed him to the back of the skiff, paused at the hatch when he stepped inside.

“Come on in,” Gryff said. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm and dry.”

It was with a great deal of trepidation that she entered the craft. The living quarters of the skiff were reminiscent of the shack, save that the shack had been a little bigger.

Gryff jerked his chin toward the small table located midway between the front of the cabin and the rear. “Sit down.”

With some reluctance, she sat on the edge of one of the grimy benches, watching in silence as he dropped two covered plates on the table before sitting across from her.

Removing the cover from his plate, he began to eat.

Marri stared at the food in front of her. Like everything else in this godforsaken land, it was mostly brown. What was she doing here, in this place, with this man? It was like a horrible dream that kept getting worse.

Picking up her fork, she took a bite, though she hardly tasted what she ate. She was tired and homesick and afraid. She wanted a bath. She wanted to wear her own clothes. She wanted to sleep in her own bed. She wanted her life back.

She looked up to find Gryff watching her. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I was just wondering who you really are and why your brother wants to kill you.”

“Because he’s insane,” she retorted. “I don’t think sane people kill their siblings, do you?”

“Siblings?”

Marri looked away. The man didn’t miss a thing. She hadn’t meant to let that slip out. She would have to be more careful in the future.

“Who else did he kill?” Gryff asked.

“No one.”

He lifted one brow, tacitly calling her a liar once again.

“I can’t prove that he killed anyone, but I…” She had felt her brothers die, but, fearing that no one would believe her, or that they would think she was some kind of sorceress, she had never mentioned it to anyone. Though sorely tempted to tell Gryff everything, she resisted. She was afraid to trust him, afraid to trust anyone. Someone had drugged her morning tea. Artur wanted her dead. The fact that he had sent his assassins after her proved that, even if she couldn’t prove anything else.

Gryff ate the last of his meager meal, then lit a cigarette.

Marri wrinkled her nose against the smell. She had never known anyone who smoked. She glanced at his scars, wondering how he had gotten them. After a few minutes, her curiosity overcame her manners.

“Were you in a fight?” she asked, gesturing at the scar on his cheek.

He grunted softly. “More of them than I care to remember.”

“Why? Don’t people like you?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound, or in the way his eyes narrowed.

“It wasn’t my choice.”

“They why do it?”

“Like I said, it wasn’t my choice.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He looked at her for a long moment while he decided whether to tell her about his past or not. Muttering, “What the hell,” he took a deep drag on his cigarette, then stared at the glowing end. “I was a slave,” he said, his voice bitter. “I spent five years in an underground cage, fighting in the arena to please my mistress.”

He watched Marri’s eyes, those beautiful blue-green eyes, widen in horror. “Who…

where?” She shook her head. “How awful that must have been!”

“You have no idea.” Had a mere mortal captured him, he could have escaped with ease, but Serepta was no mere mortal.

She had been blessed with magical powers. Not satisfied with magic alone, she had sought the Dark Gift, which turned her into a vampyre. The combination of witchcraft and preternatural power made her invincible. She had captured beings from all over the galaxy and matched them against each other in her underground arena. Gryff had fought men and women – human and inhuman - from other planets once a week, sometimes more often, for five long years. The winners had lived to fight another day. Serepta had other uses for the losers who survived.

In the beginning, fighting had been a way to release his anger, his frustration at being caged like a wild animal. Serepta had loved it best when he fought in wolf form, when he savaged his opponent with teeth and claws. The sight and scent of fresh blood excited her, as did the sounds of men in torment. On those nights when she didn’t have a suitable match for him, she chained him to a post and whipped him until his back was raw, until, in spite of his determination to resist, he had cried out in agony. And then, with his back raw and bleeding, she licked the blood from his flesh. Her saliva healed his wounds, but the touch of her tongue on his skin was even more painful than the bite of the lash. As bad as those nights had been, the nights when she had chained him to her bed had been worse.

“Gryff?”

He looked up. Lost in the past, he had forgotten Marri was there.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why don’t you turn in? We’ll be on our way again at first light.”

She looked at him a moment, her eyes filled with sympathy, and then she took off her shoes and slid, fully-clothed, into the nearest bunk.

Gryff stared out the window. He could feel the woman watching him. What would she think if she knew how bad it had really been? Would she look at him with the same revulsion he felt for what he had done, for the lives he had ruined to preserve his own? Serepta had vowed he would never escape her. He feared she was right. Even if he destroyed her, he would still bear the scars she had inflicted on his mind and his body.

Clad in nothing but a loincloth, he stood with his feet braced, his arms drawn up as far as they would go, his wrists tightly manacled to a bar over his head. Behind him, he heard Serepta flicking the whip, its snake-like hiss warning him of the pain to come. Dread coiled deep in his gut. His hands clenched into fists, his whole body tense as he waited. And waited. Damn and blast, what was she waiting for? Why didn’t she just get it over with? Sweat beaded across his brow, dripped into his eyes. Damn! He stared at the far wall, concentrating on how much he hated her, imagining all the ways he would kill her if he could just get his hands on her.

Soft laughter filled the air. And then the whip curled around his body, singing a familiar song of pain. He gasped, surprised as always that anything could hurt so much. And yet it wasn’t just the pain that made him cringe. It was the humiliation of standing there, helpless and at her mercy. Soon, he knew that he would give voice to the agony she inflicted, knew he would promise to do whatever she asked if she would only lay the whip aside…

Gryff swore under his breath and the images receded. Would he ever be free of her? Of the shame and humiliation? There had been days, weeks, when she forced him to remain in his wolf form. She had treated him like a pet hound, forcing him sit at her side, compelling him to sleep on the floor at the foot of her bed. She had taken him outside and made him hunt rabbits so she could have a new fur cloak. She conjured a magical collar that had no lock and no key. It was an amazing piece of work, in that it obeyed her commands. At her word, it wrapped around his neck. At her word, it fell away. At her whim, it prevented him from shifting from man to wolf, or wolf to man. It also had the power to inflict pain so intense as to render him momentarily helpless. And then, to make certain he couldn’t run away in either form, she conjured a magical chain that extended or retracted at her will even as it had kept him under her control.

He rubbed his hand over his neck. Even now, months later, he could feel the weight of that accursed collar.