Highest Bidder: 1 (Mercy) (7 page)

She cried out, a wall of squirming tension crashing over her. Her nipples were painfully hard where they rubbed against Dreylan’s chest. The wicked friction fed the consuming tension, turned her blood to lava. Gods save her, she was going to come.
Not yet. Not yet. This feels too good.

As if hearing her thoughts, Dreylan pressed his mouth to her ear. “Don’t fight it, Naya. We have a lifetime to take it slow.”

He raked his hand from her ass to the back of her right thigh. With each penetrating stroke, he pulled her leg higher, pushing deeper into her sex, filling her, possessing her. Completely.

The fire in her body erupted into an inferno. Spasm after spasm of heat convulsed through her, a throbbing, clenching pulse in perfect harmony with Dreylan’s savage thrusts. She screamed, unable to stop, scraping her nails down his back in a vain attempt to save herself from perishing in the explosion. “Gods, yes! Yes!”

Dreylan continued to drive into her, each stroke growing wilder, faster than the last until, with a roar that seemed to shake Port Mercy’s very orbit, he came, his seed pumping into her in thick, hot streams.

He collapsed to the mattress, rolling onto his back and taking her with him, his arms curled around her body, his legs entwined with hers, his cock still buried deep in her cunt. Dragging in a shaky breath, he smiled up at her, his fingers trailing little circles on her back. “I didn’t realize you were so religious.”

Naya burst out laughing, her cheeks flooding with warmth. “Me either.” She giggled. “The monks would be impressed.”

Dreylan smoothed his palms up her back, over her shoulders, to tangle his fingers in the tousled mess of her hair. “Oh, I’m sure they were impressed with you long before now.” He tugged her head down, brushing his mouth over her lips in a soft kiss that sent fresh jolts of hunger straight to Naya’s center. “But they can’t have you back, so they’re just going to have to deal with it.”

He deepened the kiss and Naya willingly accepted it, opening her mouth to his seeking tongue, greeting it with her own. Contented bliss and smoldering desire threaded through her. She’d never felt so completely free, so utterly whole.

A lifetime being prepared to lose the very essence of who she was had created in her a sense of detachment. Why become emotionally invested in herself when she would lose all she was with one simple act of sex? Yet here she lay, with the man of her dreams, no longer a virgin and still very much the same person she’d always been.

She smiled into the kiss. Transformed or not, she knew her heart was no longer hers. Dreylan Tarq, the highest bidder, hadn’t bought it. He’d earned it. For that reason alone, she loved him.

Pulling away from the kiss, she gazed down into his face. Gods. She
loved
him. A man she’d known for barely six hours. A man she’d dreamt of her whole life.

She loved him. Utterly. Irreversibly.

Which made what was to come all the harder.

Snuggling against his chest, she closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, willing it to permeate her heart forever. The only connection she could take with her.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, fighting the bitter tears threatening to sting her cheeks. Dreylan had been correct. They
couldn’t
put their desires ahead of the people of a whole planet. No matter that she had found her one true mate, no matter that she’d never be as happy again, she couldn’t destroy the one chance a desperate race had for survival. New Earth needed her. She had to go to Premier Pretorik Ipari. She had a duty to perform, a position to fulfill. The agreement between New Earth and the GU stipulated her planet would become a member of the union on consummation of her marriage to Ipari.

She would go to Premier Ipari and pretend Dreylan had never touched her, never entered her. She would give herself over to the GU leader and do everything in her power to make him believe she was what he expected her to be—a virgin
riephia
.

If letting him use her body—even if only once before he discovered her deception—saved New Earth, then that’s what had to be done.

He would most likely kill her on discovery of the truth, but perhaps, if she was persuasive, he would listen to her pleas and not abandon her home planet to the brutal marauders already descending upon it.

Perhaps, if she offered herself to him as a sexual slave, he would allow New Earth its needed place in the union.

If she were lucky, however, if the gods truly watched over her and her people—as the monks oft asserted—Ipari would believe she’d become everything he wanted. A lifetime watching the monks temper and contain their emotions had taught her how to do the same. If the gods
were
on her side, Ipari would never know the woman he believed his perfect mate was actually someone else’s.

She would do that for her people.

He could take her body every night, deceived or not, but she would forever belong to Dreylan, her dream lover, her highest bidder.

She pressed her palm to Dreylan’s heart, feeling its rapid beat slowly return to normal. “My soul is yours,” she said.

“And mine yours,” he murmured back. “Forever.”

“Forever,” she repeated on a whisper as two hot, fatalistic tears finally defied her will and slipped from her eyes, branding her cheeks with grim resignation.

* * * * *

He walks through long grass, letting the tips of the bowing blades brush his palms. The soil is cool beneath his bare feet, as cool as the gentle breeze lifting his hair from his face. A frown creases his forehead. It has been many solar cycles since his hair reached his eyebrows, his cheeks. And for that matter, the field he walks no longer exists, lost to time and civil war.

The field of the dream invader, where a lunar cycle of fasting moves a potential adolescent invader into either the dream plane or the dreamless sleep.

He never sleeps here. Here he destroys enemies, shatters sanities and crushes uprisings.

Here he grew stronger, stronger, until no other dream invader could best him.

Here he learned the terrifying power of a nightmare.

And the terrifying cost.

The soft grass turns to slicing blades and he lifts his palms, studying the fresh blood seeping from the tiny but deep gashes in his flesh. The pain radiates up his arms, lancing at his heart, and his body turns icy.

Let me take your pain away.

Naya forms on the air, soft and delicate, her eyes silver, her lips the color of an Ezilian rose. She takes his bleeding hands in hers and lifts them to her lips, a smile dancing in her gaze.

A wave of rapture rolls through him and his heart hammers into life. She removes his hands from her lips and shows them to him.

The blood is gone, replaced by a kiss that shimmers like the new stars on Equox Eve.
Because I love you
, she says, and her voice comes not from her mouth but from the heavens. It plays over his body like a caress and he pulls in a deep breath, the air sweet and no longer tainted with bitter memories.
Because I did not change
.

She gently presses her palms to his jaw and heat melts into his body. She smiles again, the expression sad.
But now I have to go.

No!
he cries, reaching for her.
You can’t.
His hands slip through the misty shape she’s rapidly becoming and his heart screams.
No.

Naya’s lips feather his own, a final kiss. A gentle farewell.

I must, and you understand why. It is one of the reasons I love you, and one of the reasons you love me.

Naya!
he calls, desperate to hold her to him, but she’s just a wisp. Smoke. Particles of reality floating in a dream.
Naya, no!

My soul
, the wind whispers.

My heart
, the blades of grass cry.

Dreylan drops to his knees, the soil hard and brutal. He looks for his love.

But she is…

Gone.

Dreylan sat up, the sheets of his sleeping station tangled around his legs. He peered into the darkness of his rental unit, his heart already knowing what his eyes were learning.

Naya Kistara was gone.

“Blowjob to blow your mind,” the Slessorian hooker covered in poorly inked tattoos called from her service booth. “Special offer for you, cowboy, two orgasms for the price of one.”

Dreylan ignored her, and everyone else on Level 7. He had to find Naya. Now.

He pushed through the crowd. Or rather, the crowd melted away from him. Which was a good thing. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with fuckwits
.

An image of Naya, as insubstantial as mist, flashed through his head and he scowled.

Dream invaders didn’t have dreams the way other beings did. For invaders, dreams were meant to be entered, not experienced. But not for Dreylan. And he had never spoken of his erotic dreams of Naya. That he was able to dream at all would be viewed as an abnormality. He’d heard of others of his kind having their minds invaded and wiped by the Ezilian government for merely mentioning the possibility of experiencing a personal dream. The horrific fate of those invaders was a cautionary tale with a profound lesson—one did not confess to dreaming without invasion unless one wanted his mind utterly destroyed.

Dreylan had been half convinced the dream memories of Naya were the product of an over-traumatized mind. The things he had done inside other people’s heads…the mental exertion it took to work such malevolent chaos… It would not have surprised him if
his
dreams were the first signs of his failing sanity.

Until he’d seen Naya standing on the dais in the slave markets, that was.

And now Naya—the woman of dreams he never should have experienced—had left him.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles popping at the brutal pressure. His dream of her last night still haunted him. She’d told him that she hadn’t changed, but was that true? Why would it be? Why wouldn’t she change?

For the same reason you dreamt about her? Twin souls? Soul mates?

He didn’t know.
Riephia
lore was lost to time and Old Earth’s self-destruction, yet an itch of doubt niggled at his consciousness. If she
had
changed, would she know it? And wouldn’t his ideal mate be the type of person to put the needs of the many over the needs of herself?

If that
was
the case, wouldn’t Naya feel compelled to fulfill her duties as New Earth’s emissary? Wouldn’t she deliver herself to Ipari to be his bride, as the GU contract specified? Dreylan’s ideal mate would sacrifice herself for those weaker than she, those who were vulnerable and most in need of help.

Is that what was happening now? Had Naya transformed into everything he wanted, only to believe she must give herself to another?

A growl tore from his throat and he balled his fists.

Gods, he was going insane. He needed clarity, confirmation where none could be had.

He needed answers.

He needed to find Naya. Not just to crush her body to his and make her scream with pleasure, but to get those answers.

“Tar—”

He pulled his blaster and leveled it at the man blocking his path before his name finished barking from the man’s lips.

“For fuck’s sake, Tarq!” Mak held up his hands, palms out. “Don’t fucking vaporize me yet, okay?”

Returning his weapon to its holster, Dreylan glared at his ex-partner. “What are you doing here, Mak?”

“Premier Ipari sent me to find out the status of your purchase.”

“Bullshit. For you to be here
now
, you’d have had to leave the premier’s office only a few hours after I did.”

Mak grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”

Dreylan ground his teeth. “Ipari really is a bastard.”

“Yeah. And that sub-orbital wanker really doesn’t trust you.” He chuckled. “Wonder why?”

With a grunt, Dreylan pushed past Mak, continuing to the docking bays. Naya no doubt was trying to procure a flight off Port Mercy. He had to stop her.

“So, where’s the
riephia
?” Mak asked, jogging to catch up.

A ghost of an image flickered through Dreylan’s head—Naya fading to wispy smoke. He fixed his stare on the looming docking stations and kept walking.

“Where is she, Tarq?”

“Why?”

“I have to take her back to the premier.”

Dreylan barked a mirthless laugh, shooting his ex-partner a look. “You honestly think you can take something from me I’m not willing to give?”

Mak grinned. “No.”

“So why are you
really
here?”

“Hey, if my old partner’s about to declare war on the premier of the free worlds, I want to be on the winning side.”

“What makes you think I’m declaring war?”

Mak’s smile grew gleeful. Malicious. “Aren’t you?”

Dreylan didn’t answer. He continued to the docking bay, Mak following like a faithful Felinia. A quick check of the docking platform’s vessel logs confirmed Dreylan’s gut fear. Naya was gone. On a Falcon-class ship piloted by one Kylun Echo, heading for GU quadrant 1 alpha. Batrium Nuun’r Prime. GU Headquarters.

Which could only mean she was heading for Ipari’s offices.

Fuck.

The sharp buzz of Mak’s com bit into Dreylan’s building agitation. He turned to the Terran and scowled again. His ex-partner pulled the small device from his jacket and studied the encrypted display, a frown pulling at his eyebrows. He lifted his head. “The SOB is wanting an update.”

Dreylan’s lips pulled away from his teeth in an empty smile. “Let’s give him one.”

He strode through the docking level, reaching his ship before Mak did. The gangway lowered and he climbed aboard, sitting at
Fier’strom
’s com station. “Ipari still maintains his personal link?” he asked, not needing to look over his shoulder to know his ex-partner had joined him in the cockpit.

“Yeah.”

Dreylan nodded. “Good.” He activated the long-range com. Static crackled through the connection for a sharp burst, followed by a voice he knew and despised so deeply.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“You know, Ipari, for a man of such high office, you really sound like a half-breed Zondarian.”

“Where’s my bride, Tarq?”

“Naya is not your
anything
, Premier.”

The man laughed, the sound smug. “So the merciless Dreylan Tarq has fallen in love. Or is it lust? Regardless, the
riephia
is mine, and you will hand her over to Peace-Keeper Wylsen immediately.”

“Don’t you want to know what I learned in her dreams, Ipari?”

Silence followed his question. Stretched through the infinite reaches of space for a moment before… “Tell me.”

“I learned you’re a power-hungry bastard.”

“I thought you knew that already,
friquc
.”

Dreylan smirked. “There’s an old Ezilian saying. A
friquc
is so named by one even lower.”

“Where is my bride, Tarq?” the premier snapped, irritation strangling his words.

“A true leader wouldn’t blackmail an entire race to save a vulnerable planet, Ipari,” Dreylan snarled. “A true
man
wouldn’t need a
riephia
to stroke his pride either. I’m giving you one chance to do the right thing. Approve New Earth’s inclusion in the GU
without
enslaving their
riephia
.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I gain another planet to contribute to the GU’s coffers—which I have complete access to, by the way—and a wife who will become exactly what I want the second I stick my dick in her cunt. What man doesn’t lust for a woman who meets his every desire?”

Dreylan narrowed his eyes, an icy calm falling over him. “Approve the petition, Ipari, without Naya, or you will regret it.”

Ipari laughed, a genuinely surprised sound. “What are you going to do to me, Tarq? Oh, I’m so scared I’m pissing myself.” He snorted with contempt. “There’s nothing you
can
do. There is nothing
anyone
can do to me. I’m the premier of the GU.”

“There’s plenty I can do. One last chance.”

The man laughed again. “You’re as impotent as a New Earth eunuch, Tarq. I took your wife, your job, your reputation. You couldn’t uncover proof of a relationship between me and the Mentuans before I destroyed your career. How do you propose to harm me now?”

Dreylan flicked Mak a quick look. His ex-partner stood beside him, one hand resting on his blaster, the other on the com link’s activation button, his eyes unreadable. “I don’t need proof to know what you’re capable of.
You
allowed the Mentuans to enter GU space,” he said. “
You
allowed them to kill everyone aboard Aimyl’s shuttle.”

“An unfortunate accident,” Ipari said, the indifference in his voice making the statement all the more hideous. “My campaign for the office of premier was expensive. I made sure the peace-keepers stayed away from certain sectors and the Mentuans agreed to pay me a small commission on any ‘product’ they procured in GU space. Aimyl wasn’t meant to be aboard that vessel. The raid wasn’t meant to turn violent. ’Tis a pity. I had so looked forward to fucking your wife.”

Dreylan’s icy calm almost cracked. He clenched his fists, imagining the man’s neck under his fingers. “You deserve to suffer.”

A smug chuckle wafted through the com-link. “Maybe, but I won’t. Now hurry up and give the
riephia
to that fat fuck Wylsen before I give the order to blow Spaceport Mercy out of the sky.”

“You won’t want her anymore. She’s no longer a virgin.”

There was a static-filled pause. And then, “Good. I can’t think of anything better than fucking the woman forever imprinted as yours. There’s a sense of destiny being fulfilled.”

Like Death claiming a soul, Dreylan smiled. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Ipari.”

He killed the com link, a tingling tension spreading through his body. Turning to Mak, he gave the peace-keeper a steady look. “Did you get that?”

Mak nodded. “Every word. Recorded for prosterity.”

Dreylan’s jaw bunched. “Good. How long until nightfall on Batrium Nuun’r Prime?”

Mak gave the PDA on his wrist a quick scan. “Half a solar cycle. Why?”

“You know that war you mentioned?”

Mak nodded again.

“It’s about to begin.”

* * * * *

He lifts his head, staring into the mirror. The face staring back at him is his own, Pretorik Ipari, but somehow
not
his own. The wind assaults his face like fingers of ice, delving into his cheek, his eye sockets, slipping into his mouth, down his throat…and a skull stares back at him from the mirror, a grinning skull with flayed flesh and weeping—

He blinks, looking at himself again. No skull, no skin hanging from stark white bones in bloody flaps. His gut twists. Odd.

Turning from the mirror, he crosses his office, approaching the bed under the far window. Someone is lying on it, stretched out straight beneath a sheet.

A moan fills the silence, soft and throaty. His heart quickens and his skin prickles. He knows that moan…

Except the last time he heard it, the sound was pleasure-filled. Now it sounds like death.

His feet continue to move him to the bed, one footfall after another. The thumping of his heart turns to a deafening canon and he tries to stop. He doesn’t want to see who’s on the bed.

Another moan licks at his ear, the sound dry and fluid at once. Like blood trapped in breath. His feet continue to move, taking him closer to the bed, to the corpse…

Gods yes, it’s a corpse. It’s decaying and rotten—

It’s Aimyl, the person waiting for him beneath the sheet.

Pretorik.

The bloodstained sheets billow from the bed and he catches a glimpse of the corpse stretched on the slab.

Aimyl. Beautiful,
alive
Aimyl reaches for him. Tarq’s wife reaches for him and her flesh is dead. Rotting.

Come fuck me, Pretorik. I’m waiting for you.

His throat clamps shut and he tries to stop walking, but his feet won’t let him. They keep moving, one footfall after another. Forcing him closer, closer. The stench of death sinks into his lungs, death and ozone. The screams of a thousand dying slaves stab at his ears and he flinches. Disruptor flashes blind him and shadows writhe away from the pyre, sliding against his face, clammy fingers of nothingness that seek his heat, revealing she who awaits.

Rotting flesh. Bloated. Charred and stripped of life.

Pretorik
, the soft, husky voice calls from full lips glossed in fresh blood as the shadows claim the bed.
Pretorik. My cunt waits for you. Come stick your cock in my pus-filled—

He opens his mouth. He needs to get away. He needs…he needs…

He needs to stick his cock in her dead, weeping sex and—

Pretorik?

Aimyl Tarq steps out from the shade of the ancient Ioki tree, the twin Mendovian suns streaming through her hair, turning the thick honey tresses into a golden cloud. A small frown pulls at her eyebrows, turns her beautiful face to a picture of haunting perfection.
What is wrong, Pretorik
? she asks, walking to him through the long grass, her flesh hanging from her face in flaps, her eyeballs dangling from their sockets on ropes of veins and arteries.
You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.