Kieran (Tales of the Shareem) (3 page)

Kieran released her and held up his hand. “Stay there.”

He said it sternly, like he would to a dog, then turned and strode to a tiny alcove kitchen. As she’d observed at the dockyards, he could move fast and quietly despite his size—size that was all muscle, Felice could see from the body-hugging tunic.

Kieran returned with a container of water. No water vapor collected on the outside, which meant a) this climate was dry—no kidding; and b) the container was thermally protected.

Felice didn’t care—that was her mind noticing things. Her lips, tongue, roof of her mouth, and throat cried out for the liquid. As soon as Kieran put the container into her hands, she lifted it to her mouth and began to gulp. Water spilled down her chin and trickled under her work coverall.

“Careful.” Kieran was sitting next to her—right next to her—his hand steadying the cup. “You’ll bring it all up again. A slow drink. Then another.”

Felice dragged in a breath and tried to take a calm sip. Her parched body, though, wanted to suck it down.

“You don’t have a breath mask,” Kieran said.

“What?” Felice spilled more water, and Kieran caught the slipping cup.

“You don’t have a breath mask,” he repeated. “Every off-worlder is assigned a breath mask when they come off their ship. For the sandstorms.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So where’s yours?”

Kieran was watching her. His gaze spoke of suspicion, but also interest. Felice sensed behind that a great hesitation in him, as though he held something back from her—from everyone—and always would.

Felice shrugged. “I don’t have one. Must have missed the handout.”

“No you didn’t.” Kieran’s gaze pinned her, and the way he leaned into her meant she’d never get around him to run. She’d been good, sure, but that had been back when she’d been fit, well fed, and rested. “It’s the law,” Kieran said. “You wouldn’t have been allowed off the ship without it. You a stowaway?” He tipped the cup to help her drink again, ending up with his hand at the back of her neck. “To Bor Narga? You must be insane. That’s the only explanation.”

Felice pushed the water away and licked her lips, reflecting that it felt good to have them wet again. “Not the only explanation.” She drew a breath, deciding to tell him.

A huge risk, but Felice also knew she wasn’t wrong that Kieran didn’t trade people. His eyes had told her. There were those who approved of slavery, those who were indifferent about it, and those who abhorred it. She wasn’t sure which Kieran would turn out to be, but she knew he wasn’t in the first category.

“I’m a slave,” she said in a rush. “
Indentured servant
as they sometimes like to call it. But I’ll never work off my indenture, so it’s the same thing.”

Kieran’s brows lowered, his gaze narrowing to a keen, soul-baring stare. Just when Felice decided she’d been wrong, and that he
would
turn her in, Kieran gave a savage laugh.

“Yeah?” He held out his hand for an old-fashioned handshake. “Well, so am I. Nice to meet you, Felice. What kind of slave are
you
?”

*** *** ***

Kieran gulped down his own glass of water, hearing the sterilizer shower humming in the bathroom. He’d sent Felice in there after she’d finished getting hydrated, so she could clean the filth from her body. She was taking a long time—he’d even had opportunity to run an errand—but then, she’d been seriously dirty.

She hadn’t answered his question about what kind of a slave she was, except in a vague way. Apparently she’d been sold to TGH Corp pay a debt of some kind—TGH Corp was Trans-Galactic Hauling. They sent cargo ships of all sizes absolutely everywhere, delivering everything anyone could think of. They even made it to Old Earth, which explained how Felice had ended up so far from home.

Today, while a large part of the ship’s crew took shore leave for the Crystal Mountains festival, Felice had taken her chance and left the ship, which was where Kieran had found her.

Kieran usually liked the festival, but he’d missed most of it this year, on account of running errands for Rees. Most Bor Nargans didn’t believe in the Crystal Mountain gods anymore, but any excuse to eat, drink, and play with singing spheres wasn’t dismissed. Kieran’s friend Rylan, another Shareem, had come to the capital to display the singing spheres he made, and sell a few through dealers. That was the excuse Rees had come up with for Rylan leaving his mountain hideaway.

Kieran might not have the lightning-fast thought process that Rees did, but he was Shareem enough to read women. And this woman was holding something back, something she didn’t want to tell him, not even when Kieran had proclaimed that he was a slave too.

Not really a slave, Kieran had amended. But not a free person either, a statement that had puzzled Felice, but she’d been too tired to ask him. Later she’d demand a full explanation. He’d seen that in her eyes as he’d sent her into the bathroom.

Kieran needed to report to Rees about what he’d discovered in the dockyards, but for some reason, he didn’t want to tell him about Felice. Not yet.

Rees would expect Kieran to turn the young woman over to him, or at the very least, send her on her way, so the Shareem could continue their plans. Felice couldn’t know about anything they were doing. One hint that the Shareem were conspiring would bring termination to them all.

Hell, Shareem thinking about taking a walk together could bring termination. Patrollers were that nitpicky.

The shower went off. The bathroom door opened, then slammed shut the next instant.

Kieran set down his water glass and walked to the closed door. “You all right in there?”

“What happened to my clothes?” Felice’s voice was muffled by the thick metal.

“I put them in the incinerator,” Kieran said. “They were disgusting.”

A brief silence. “Hand me the robes then.”

She meant the sun-blocking robes she’d lifted from a man on the street. “Can’t. I gave them back.”

Her startled noise was almost a squeak. “You
what
?”

Kieran leaned on the door to speak through it. “While you were in the shower, I gave them back to the man you snagged them from. He’ll need them.” Kieran had passed him on the way to meet up with Felice—everyone knew the man from Solaris V who couldn’t afford to leave Bor Narga because he spent all his money on ale. He’d complained of a walking pile of dirt who’d stolen his robes while he’d dozed.

“Yeah?” Felice said. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

“
Kieran,
I don’t have any clothes.”

Her words were exasperated, her tone worried. Kieran only heard the way she said his name, her voice shaping the syllables.

“We’ll find something for you,” he said.

Silence fell while Kieran waited outside the door, and Felice waited inside. After a while Felice asked, “Find something when?”

“I don’t know. When do you want them?”

“
Now
would be nice.”

“Why?”

The door thumped softly, as though something had struck it. “Because I can’t come out until I have something to wear.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Kieran . . .”

Kieran didn’t much care what she was talking about as long as she kept talking. He liked her voice. “There’s no one here but me, Felice. You’re safe. No one to see you. We’ll find you something before we have to go out again.”

“No one to see me,” Felice repeated. “Except
you
.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She hesitated again, as though trying to come up with a good answer. “Do I have to explain it to you?”

“Yes. You do.” Kieran leaned his forehead on the door, somehow knowing she was doing the same thing on the other side. “I’m Shareem, Felice. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“Or I can stay in here until you bring me clothes. And another drink of water.”

Kieran grinned at the door. “If you want the water, you have to come out and get it. There’s nothing in the bathroom but sterilizers.”

The noise within sounded like a low scream. “All right then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m coming out.”

The door slammed back into the wall, and Felice charged out, straight into Kieran.

Chapter Three

Felice rammed into Kieran’s tall body, and Kieran’s arms came around her, steadying her. She ended up against him, her nose in the linen of his tunic.

“See?” he said, his voice going low. “Not so bad.”

Easy for
him
to say. He was gorgeous. Every part of Kieran was exactly right—as large as he was, the proportions of his body were precise. He was warm too, hotter than any human had a right to be, but he was comfortable with himself in his thin tunic, nothing wrong there.

The chain on his biceps glinted as Kieran ran his hand down Felice’s bare back. “Not so bad at all,” he said.

She should jerk away, command him not to touch her, scream in terror. She’d been through too much to be able to fight him off right now. But Kieran’s touch was soothing, demanding nothing.

“Do you want sex?” he asked in a voice that should have any woman rushing for the nearest bed.

Felice sucked in a breath. “What?”

“I don’t have a lot to offer you,” he said. “I like you, but I don’t have much to give. A cup of water, a place to stay, and sex. I can give you pleasure, as deep as you want, as much as you want.”

As much as you want . . .

Holy crap, how did he know how to say things like that? As though Kieran understood exactly what Felice needed, and promised she’d get it.

“No,” Felice said, but it was tough to spit out the word. “Thanks.”

“Why not?”

Felice pulled back enough to stare up at him. He didn’t look hopeful, or offended at the rejection, he’d simply offered, the same as he’d offered the water.

“I just met you,” Felice said. She tried to smile. “Give us a chance to get to know each other, all right?”

Kieran looked puzzled. “That’s a requirement on Old Earth?”

“Not always.” Felice had to be truthful. “It’s a requirement for me, I guess.”

“All right.” He shrugged. “Let me know when we’ve gotten to know each other enough.”

Felice didn’t try to back away from him. She was naked, but the fabric of his tunic against her skin gave her the illusion that she was clothed—protected from the world. A strange feeling, but a nice one.

“Are you saying you’re ready for sex anytime?” she asked, inhaling the clean scent of him.

“I’m Shareem.” He said the phrase as though that should be explanation enough. “Sit down. I’ll bring you more water.”

“No . . .”

“You need to rest.” Kieran gently but firmly removed her arms from around him and eased her away.

Felice backed up, slamming her arms over her body to cover herself. “No. I don’t . . .”
want you to see me.
She couldn’t finish.

“Felice.” Kieran’s voice slid over her like a warm blanket as he closed his hands around her wrists.

Felice’s heart beat faster. “All right,” she said, voice harsh.
“See?”

Kieran took a step back, though he kept hold of her wrists, pulling her arms open. He looked her up and down, taking in everything, including the lines of burn scars that snaked from the middle of her chest down to her abdomen.

Not just burn scars. Brands.

Kieran gazed at her with calm regard, not shock or disgust. “Who did this to you? The slavers?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It was done when I chose . . . the life I chose.”

Felice hadn’t been ashamed of her body at first when the scars had defined what she was. Later they’d changed into a reminder of her naivety and of loss, and she hadn’t liked to reveal them. To herself, to anyone.

“They do this on Old Earth?” Kieran’s eyes were quiet.

“No,” Felice said quickly. “On a colony, where I trained. So I could be identified in case of . . . accident.”

She expected more questions, like what kind of accident could make her unidentifiable except for brands, but he only frowned. “Seems unnecessary. And cruel. I have this.” He lifted her hand and laid it on the chain on his biceps. “It doesn’t come off.”

The black chain was warm from his skin, flexing with his muscle. “They make people wear this on Bor Narga?” Felice asked.

“Not everyone.”

“Only . . . Shareem? What are Shareem, exactly?”

Kieran watched her face as Felice slid her fingers around the chain on his arm. “You didn’t answer what kind of slave
you
were,” he said.

Felice shrugged. “A working one. I’m strong, so they had me do a lot of loading and carrying, that kind of thing. Nothing else,” she said quickly. “It was in the contract.” But loading and carrying meant that she was worked like a draft horse, with far less comfort and care than horses got. “What do they make
you
do?”