Kieran (Tales of the Shareem) (8 page)

Kieran hadn’t wanted his tongue to have all the fun. The rest of his body wanted it too.

The woman who’d kept him as a slave for nearly a year had never inspired something like this. Kieran had done what he was supposed to do and nothing more. The woman had known it, which had led to her having him beaten more than once.

Felice, on the other hand, lay still, smiling a little in her sleep.
What wouldn’t he do for her?

A warmth started in Kieran’s heart. He put his hand to his chest, not understanding why it should feel like that. But the warmth grew, and sudden moisture stung his eyes.

Kieran laid hid head between Felice’s breasts, watching in wonder as a single tear fell from his eye to the sweet, bare skin beneath his cheek.

Chapter Six

When Felice awoke, she was alone in Kieran’s bed. The rope was gone, and she lay comfortably on her side, the sheet pulled over her.

Kieran wasn’t in the room, and she didn’t hear him moving around the bathroom. She sat up, the sheet sliding away, and listened, but she didn’t hear a sound. Either the bedroom had good soundproofing, or Kieran was gone.

As Felice slid from the bed, she felt something around her neck. Touching her throat, she found a band of soft leather hugging her there.

The mirror in the bathroom showed her she wore a thin black leather choker that looked a bit like a collar, decorated with tiny chips of red and blue stones. Not rubies and sapphires, but polished stones she’d never seen before, shot through with colors at their heart. Something native to Bor Narga, Felice guessed.

The collar wasn’t tight, but she discovered she couldn’t take it off. Some locking mechanism at the back of her neck wouldn’t let her release it.

No patroller had broken in here and slapped this on her; no slaver she’d worked for would dream of giving his workers something this pretty. Kieran had slipped it on her while she slept. She touched it in wonder.

Felice assumed only Kieran could remove it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. Not yet. The mirror reflected her looking more relaxed than she’d been in a long while, her face clean, her eyes no longer puffy and red.

Felice’s hair was a tangled mess, though, and she grimaced. She stepped into the sterilizing shower, assuming its rays it wouldn’t hurt the leather and stone collar. After years of grime, she couldn’t get enough of being clean.

After that, she found a brush and pulled it through her shoulder-length hair. For the first time in ages, the dark brown silk of it shone through again. It would be a while before the hair smoothed out—she should really cut it all off and let new lengths grow—but it already looked much better.

Taking a fortifying breath, Felice opened the door that led from the bathroom straight to the front room.

Her skin warmed with the tingle of Kieran’s presence, but he wasn’t there. He was too large to hide in something as small as this apartment, Felice thought with a smile. What she felt must be the residual of him and the fabulous sex they’d had on the carpet.

Felice blushed, thinking of that sex, but she wasn’t ashamed. She’d been a bit, um . . . exuberant . . . but how could she have helped it?

The coveralls Kieran had brought home were still draped over the sofa. Felice’s smile widened. No man she’d ever known had been able to fold up clothes.

She shook out one set of coveralls and pulled it on over her bare skin, folding the other set neatly and laying it on the chair.

Sunblocking robes hung next to the front door. They were gigantic, made for Kieran, but Felice was able to drape and loop them around her body and over her head, hiding most of herself. The robes didn’t have the symbols and designs on them she’d seen on other people’s when she’d waited for Kieran at the market, and she hoped
lack
of design wasn’t significant.

Sun goggles hung next to the robes, and Felice adjusted them to fit her.

Ready, she squared her shoulders to slide open the door and see what was what on Bor Narga.

She stepped out into darkness and stopped in surprise. It was night, and she hadn’t even realized it. Felice gave a laugh, hung the sun goggles back on their hook, and walked outside again.

Because the sun was down, she didn’t technically need the sun-blocking robes either, but as she neared the end of the uncovered street, she saw passersby wearing theirs. The robes were insulating, she realized. The air was much cooler now—Bor Narga was a planet of extremes—and the robes would guard against hypothermia.

With folds of fabric pulled up around her face, Felice would blend in with the other working women in these streets. At least, she hoped she did.

She was in what was called Pas City, the sprawl that formed the industrial part of the metropolis. If she remembered her research right, this part of the city housed the workers and the lower classes, with neighborhoods growing more prestigious and wealthy the higher one went up the hills.

For now, the working classes suited Felice. If her status from her old life were to be fit into this teeming urban landscape, she’d live a little higher than Pas City, but not much, maybe halfway up the first hill. Where she’d grown up, there hadn’t been any class distinction. Money distinction, yes, but not class. Working with one’s hands or body hadn’t meant being stuck at the bottom of the social scale.

Bor Narga had no poverty, Felice had read, and she saw the truth of this as she walked along. Not everyone down here was flowing with wealth, but there were no unwashed men and women with broken spirits lingering in doorways and alleyways. The man she’d taken the robes from earlier had been from off-world and drunk.

The people here walked with purpose. Vendors, in greater numbers now that the heat of the day was over, shouted to everyone to buy, and they had plenty of customers. Both women and men wore generic coveralls, some with robes. Felice was relieved to observe many wearing plain robes like Kieran’s.

The city was a maze. Realizing the wisdom of not getting lost, Felice surreptitiously scooted a pile of sand next to the corner that turned to Kieran’s street. She did the same at the next corner, but after that, she was under colorful canopies filled with vendors, and had no opportunity to mark her path.

Looking down the market street was like viewing a long, bright tunnel. To find her way back, she’d have to remember which vendor was on which corner and hope they didn’t move in the meantime.

A couple of people she passed threw her curious glances, which made Felice’s skin itch. But they didn’t pursue her or even call out to her, so Felice kept up her competent stride without faltering. She’d found in her life that if she walked as though she knew what she was doing, people wouldn’t stop her and question her.

The wares for sale on either side of the street were fascinating, especially the colorful silks, the heaps of stones that looked like the ones on her collar—which was now hidden by her robes—and interesting little machines whose purpose she couldn’t discern.

No shopping for Felice, though. She had no money and, even more importantly, no credit strip, which Bor Nargans seemed to use for every transaction.

Felice could understand the language without problem, because the dealer she’d originally sold herself to had given her a translation implant. Not to be kind, but so Felice could understand any person who wanted to purchase her indenture. She’d fetch a better price if she could start obeying orders at once.

Felice had come to Bor Narga with a purpose—to get herself off the ship, and then quickly move beyond Bor Narga to freedom.

She realized after she’d walked a few streets that her purpose had changed, at least for the moment. Right now, it was
find Kieran
.

Oh, sure. In a city of millions that stretched on endlessly, she was going to find one man. Why not wait for him to return to his apartment?

Because Felice wanted Kieran to show her Bor Narga. She wanted to explore it with him, talk over her troubles with him, seek his advice.

Advice from a man who told her he’d been genetically and surgically altered to be a mindless sex toy and nothing else? What was she thinking?

No, Kieran was more than that. Felice had seen the emotions in his eyes, the hurt and anger about what had been done to him, the need to be viewed as a whole man. He was starved for acknowledgment, Felice had seen, deep inside himself. Maybe he didn’t even realize it.

Had he gone out shopping for a meal? Or to meet up with friends—another of these Shareem? Or to fetch a reward for returning an indentured servant to TGH Corp?

Felice gave her head a shake. She’d already decided Kieran wasn’t the type to round up slaves and herd them back to their masters. She’d encountered enough men and women like that to know Kieran wasn’t one of them.

At a vendor’s booth run by an older woman with no veils over her face, Felice decided to ask the question. The vendor sold some of the colorful silks and also bracelets and armlets that looked much like the collar that adorned Felice.

Felice examined a few of the silk scarves then cleared her throat. “I’m looking for . . . Shareem?”

The vendor snapped her dark gaze to her. She had sun-bronzed skin, pink cheeks, and eyes that sparkled with mischief. “You off-world?”

She’d have guessed that from Felice’s accent and her awkward question. “Yes.”

“And you want Shareem?”

“Yes.”

The woman laughed. “Honey, you’re brave. They’re not exactly what nice women run after. But you’re not from around here, I can tell.”

“No.” Felice did her best to sound like a naive tourist. “I just heard . . .”

“That’s all right, honey. If you want Shareem—and don’t go telling anyone else you do, or that you heard this from me—you get along this street, take two lefts, and then a right, and go to Judith’s bar. You sit there and wait. One will come along.”

Felice committed the directions to memory. “Right. Thanks.”

“Can I tempt you with a ring? Just got these in.”

“No. Sorry. They’re lovely.”

The woman started to turn away to another customer, then swiveled her head back. “Hey, off-worlder. You get yourself a breath mask, understand? Just go to a patrol station and give them your pass, and they’ll give you a mask. Don’t leave it behind, all right? Sandstorms will kill you.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“There’s a patrol station on the way to Judith’s.”

Great.
Felice thanked the woman again and strode off.

She hurried past the patrol station in the next street, fumbling with the robes a little as she passed to hide the fact that she had no breath mask. That must be why others had stared at her—she saw now that everyone on the street had masks dangling from their belts.

The patrollers in the open station didn’t call to her, even though Felice recognized one as having been at the dockyards. The robes were well-concealing. But Felice didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she was a long way past the patrol station.

Felice found Judith’s bar easily enough. It didn’t look like much. Faded hangings over the open doorway moved in the slight breeze, and the interior wasn’t a lot brighter than the streets outside.

Not many people inside it either, Felice noted as she entered. Too bad. It was easier to blend in with a crowd.

A woman with red hair caught up in a loose bun tended bar, and most of the clientele were men. Another look made Felice catch her breath. Not men . . .
Shareem
.

They were looking at her. Not all of them overtly—some only threw glances at her while others slowly turned in her direction. It was like being assessed by wild animals watching something new wander into their territory. They were trying to decide whether Felice was threat or prey.

A few women mingled among the Shareem, these dressed in either robes or coveralls. One Shareem ignored Felice to slide his arm around the woman next to him and gave her a long, tongue-filled kiss.

Felice shivered, thinking of Kieran. No wonder these guys were popular.

One particularly large Shareem stepped in front of her, blocking her way. He was almost as big as Kieran but had jet-black hair, and his face was faintly scarred. His blue gaze riveted to Felice’s neck, and she realized the robes had slipped, baring her throat.

“That’s Kieran’s,” the man said, glaring at the collar, then his gaze moved past her. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” The honest words came out of Felice’s mouth, though she wasn’t sure why she should tell him anything. “I thought he’d be here.”

“Why would you think that?” the big man growled.

“Hang on.” The bartender came around to the middle of the dusty floor. She gave Felice a look as assessing as the Shareem had. “Are you the woman Kieran met today?”

“Yes . . .” Felice said hesitantly. How they knew this, and why Kieran would tell them, she wasn’t sure.

“But you don’t know where he is?” the black-haired Shareem asked. He pinned her with a hard stare. “Kieran doesn’t let his women get far from him.”

His women?

“Ease up, Calder.” Another Shareem approached, this one with blond hair and a sensual smile. “We’re not in your pleasure palace, and you’re not the Dom of her. Hello, I’m Aiden.” The man’s smile widened. “A level one. I’m spoken for, but I gotta commend Kieran’s taste.”