Marked for Surrender (2 page)
Impatient with her own depression, she ripped off the latex bodysuit she was still wearing and changed into workout clothes. Maybe if she exhausted her body, her mind would shut up.
Just as she was about to head down to the workout room, her computer pinged again. She was going to ignore it but noted the incoming message had a council tag on it.
She sighed and clicked open the notification. It requested that she call Councilwoman Yalani.
When she was connected to the council chambers, she was amused to find Christmas carols piped through her earpiece. Then Yalani appeared on the vid screen. “Mistress,” she said respectfully.
"Councilwoman,” Andia responded. “It is my honor to serve."
That was how the vow always began. Every Mistress said it. “It is my honor to serve.” The irony of their rote little saying in view of the job they did wasn't lost on Andia. The council, made up of submissives, were served by female dominants. A strange arrangement even Andia didn't understand completely, but it seemed to work. The council members shaped law on Nylar, and the Mistresses enforced it. Power was balanced because male dominants, the driving force behind Nylar's economy, military, and education, deferred to the council in justice.
"Andia, normally I don't embroil the Mistresses in our council politics,” the woman said with a smile. She was a pretty woman, gentle and yet strong. She and Andia had communicated often since Yalani was the southern region's representative. Her mouth showed some strain, and her muscles were tensed despite the smile. “But this time, I must inform you of a...situation."
Andia raised her eyebrows. A situation? Usually, the Mistresses were called whenever these little upsets were finished. She'd had no indication from any of the vid streams that there'd been problems on the council.
Yalani continued, “Though the council is divided about their guilt, two men are being sent to Muan."
Andia gasped. The council had to be unanimous to commit a dominant male to a conclave. Petty criminals could be reformed. The criminally insane were dealt with medically. Only the truly unrepentant and traitorous were broken by the Mistresses.
For two men to be sent despite dissent on the council was new. “What has changed?” Andia was shocked to see Yalani glance over her shoulder as if she was afraid of being overheard.
Her light blue eyes were wide and frightened. “A male dominant has taken three of the councilwomen as his submissives. I don't understand why, but they follow his every command.” Yalani bit her lip. “Those who protest have...resigned."
"Resigned?” Andia shook her head. “I've heard of no resignations. What is going on? Who is this male dominant?"
"Pavlik."
A shard of fear ripped along Andia's nerves. Master Elron Pavlik. Powerful, handsome, a man who commanded the respect and admiration of many Nyrals, Pavlik owned Vezera Enterprises. The company was diversified into vid streaming, nightclubs, clothing, and globe lights. His hand reached over Nyral economics so far that news of his possible demise eight months earlier had caused global panic. He seemed to be a man who understood the advantage and perils of power.
The fact that the man might be orchestrating some injustice stunned Andia. “Yalani, I think you'd better explain."
"A case involving two men was brought before the council,” Yalani said quickly, breathlessly. “They were accused of being traitors to Nylar, selling corporate secrets to the Blueshift Brotherhood."
Corporate secrets? Those were usually innocuous, certainly not deserving of the Mistresses’ type of justice. What the hell was going on?
Yalani lowered her voice. “Listen to me, Andia. Pavlik believes, as many do, that you are blinded by your hatred for those who sympathize with the Brotherhood.” She glanced over her shoulder again. Her nerves made Andia tense. “I know that's not true. Pavlik has insisted on sending these two men to you even though the Mistresses are considered our highest level of punishment."
"If they've cooperated with the Brotherhood—"
"I don't think they have,” Yalani said, her gaze steady. “I believe they are completely innocent and that Pavlik wants them out of the way for reasons of his own."
"If members of the council believe this, then—"
"Andia, two council members resigned,” Yalani said. “Yet you've heard nothing. What does that tell you?"
"That someone is keeping it under wraps."
"More than that. It's dangerous to disagree with Pavlik. I'm saying that because I think you'll know immediately that these men are innocent.” A sound behind Yalani made her jump. “I have to go. Watch your back, Andia."
The screen went blank, and Andia sat in her desk chair, stunned. How was Pavlik able to manipulate so many of the council members? And how was he able to get two members to resign and keep it quiet?
Andia shook her head. What could she do about it anyway? Even if she thought someone was innocent, the council had the last word and gave her orders.
It was all crazy. The Brotherhood was a scourge that she needed to stamp out. If the council believed these men had assisted the terrorists, then it was her job to break them.
Though Andia hadn't spent much time away from Muan, she had educated herself about the rest of the galaxy. Other planets viewed Nyral society as “kinky.” Male dominance emphasized with whips and handcuffs was only practiced in special clubs that catered to the “deviant” nature.
Of course, in these clubs, female dominance wasn't viewed with the bias it was on Nylar. Male submission wasn't common out there, but it wasn't abhorred and squashed the way it had been for centuries on her planet.
It was odd how aggressive male submissives were demanding their rights from the council. And it was equally strange that the council, made up of mostly female subs, had stamped down on the fledgling protests.
The bigotry confused Andia. Her parents had raised her to be open-minded and nonjudgmental. The only hatred she had was for those who helped the Brotherhood.
But all that was beside the point. She was getting distracted. Yalani said the council had sent two innocent men to be punished.
What did Yalani expect her to do? She shoved away from the desk and strode toward her door. She'd do what she had been going to do before Yalani called. Go work out to deal with the malaise that seemed to have taken over. This council situation only emphasized her loneliness, her isolation. She'd have to let it go for now. And ignore the helpless feeling that washed over her.
At least Zevon could see his lover. For months, since the accusations had first surfaced, Zevon and Christophe had been separated. For Zevon, it just angered him, creating a whirlwind of rage that only made him seem guilty. Christophe seemed to shrink within himself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Zevon should have known the information Christophe had stumbled on was dangerous. Even worse, they had hidden their relationship from friends and colleagues, creating an air of secrecy that had nothing to do with corporate secrets.
In the hovervan, shackled as if they were dangerous animals, Zevon studied the man he'd loved for years. Christophe's light brown hair was cut short, different than he'd worn it when he was free. His usually clear blue eyes were dull, almost dead. Had the guards hurt him? Zevon curled his hands into fists. Damn them. Damn them all.
Why hadn't Christophe spoken to him? He wouldn't even look Zevon in the eye. Did he blame Zevon for what had happened? Well, why not?
They'd met at a Vezera Christmas party three years earlier and immediately discovered parts of themselves they couldn't share with anyone else. When had Christophe first knelt at Zevon's feet? Somehow there hadn't been a moment of shock, as if both of them knew this was what they sought.
Christophe was a male submissive. And in Nyral society, that dynamic was unacceptable. So they lied. If both of them had been switches, perhaps it would have gone unnoticed. But Christophe was a submissive to his bones. The Nyral population had no trouble with kink. But they were cruel to those men who were labeled as submissive by nature.
Christophe had always been able to hide his true self. Well, until he'd met Zevon. When they were together, Christophe couldn't resist his need to surrender. Zevon had submissive tendencies he had difficulty accepting, and he certainly wasn't the same kind of dom most of his friends were. The attraction between Christophe and Zevon had exploded into secret meetings, intense sessions, and hidden sex.
Had he created the atmosphere of secrecy around them or had Christophe? It didn't matter. When Pavlik had needed a patsy for his dirty little practices, he found two idiots who everyone believed were liars.
Should Zevon have revealed the true nature of his relationship with Christophe? No. The fallout from that was no better than being sentenced to the Mistresses.
He blinked and tried to ignore the rock in his stomach. The Ball Breaker. He'd heard from a guard that he and Christophe had been sentenced to the most vicious, most hated Mistress on Nylar. Few had her reputation, and none had her track record.
So why was part of him tight with anticipation? He was a dominant male, but he had those moments with partners when he wished he was the bottom, taking that cleansing pain for himself. Well, he knew what would happen. He would be broken by the Mistress.
"This was my fault, Z.” Christophe finally spoke, and his voice was low and gritty, like he hadn't been using his voice much.
"Shut up. It wasn't.” Why couldn't he speak comforting words? Why did he always growl his responses at this man he loved?
Those blue eyes, once so bright and filled with life, stared at him. “If it wasn't for my...deviance—"
Zevon surged forward, forgetting the chains for a moment. They rattled and jerked. “Shut up, damn you!” He couldn't stand the way Christophe's gaze slid away. “It's not deviant,” he insisted.
"My submissive nature is the secret that got us into this, Z. If I'd been braver or...” Christophe studied the floor of the hovervan.
"Pavlik is the only one to blame.” Zevon wanted to touch Christophe, to drive that sad, defeated expression from his lover's face. The dominant in Zevon was hungry for its submissive, and for the first time, he considered that he would never have Christophe again.
Mistress Ball Breaker would take that away from him.
He slumped against the side of the hovervan. He hadn't been able to stop the inevitable accusations. Zevon had underestimated the ability of Pavlik to manipulate the vid streamers. Vezera led the way in defense inoculations against Blueshift Brotherhood bioweapons, and most Nyrals wouldn't believe the company could have been involved in providing goods to the enemy. Christophe had believed justice would prevail since they were innocent.
But neither of them would throw the other one to the wolves by revealing the true nature of their “friendship.” Suspicion and righteous anger had carried public opinion against them. Zevon's proof that Pavlik had been selling arms and weapons to the Blueshift Brotherhood, given to the council, was never revealed, and Zevon was called a liar by the members. The member he'd given the data stream to was absent from the council meeting where Zevon had been convicted of a crime he didn't commit.
Still, he'd have taken it as his due since he'd collected the information against a powerful man. But Christophe had been dragged into it. Granted, Christophe had been the one to come across the shipping anomalies that began Zevon's hunt for the truth, but the man hadn't deserved this.
Worry for Christophe rolled through him. What happened to male submissives sent to the Ball Breaker? Would she change the very nature of this man he loved?
He groaned and buried his head in his shackled hands.
Stars, Christophe wanted to touch Zevon, comfort him, protect him from the punishment he didn't deserve. It was bad enough he could see dark bruises around his lover's left eye and around his wrists. Christophe gritted his teeth. All his fault. Everything.
If he hadn't been such a fucking coward, Zevon wouldn't be facing this Mistress with the fearsome reputation. Christophe had been afraid to reveal what he was. All his dominant games were a joke, a pale comparison to the power of submission he found with Z.
Even now, in this sterile hovervan, facing punishment, he experienced the same pull to Zevon he'd felt the first time he'd shaken the man's hand. Everything about Zevon made Christophe want to kneel, submit, yield his very soul.
Now that Zevon wasn't studying him, he drank in the man he hadn't seen for months. Black hair, dark eyes, polar opposite from Christophe in every way. The stubble on Zevon's face only added to his dangerous demeanor. Only Christophe had been able to access and divert Zevon's rage.
Bits and pieces of Zevon's life that he'd shared had been treasures Christophe hoarded. His mother had died when he was eight, and his father had been broken by her passing. Zevon had done what he always did when faced with a crisis: he worked like a demon, his anger hot and volcanic beneath the surface.
Something primal and basic lay just out of Christophe's reach when he and Zevon touched. Love had not been enough. Once, during a particularly intense session where Christophe wore stripes from a cat-o'-nine-tails, he had attempted to access that part of Zevon, the thing unresolved. But Zevon had deflected and disseminated.
Christophe loved him, believing foolishly that he would have all the time in the world to discover everything about him.
Not anymore.
Now they faced the Ball Breaker. Christophe didn't worry about himself. He was a male submissive. He loved to bend to the will of a dominant. For him this would be a freeing experience.
But what about Zevon? What would this do to him? Christophe realized it didn't matter. If Z came out of this a broken man, Christophe would still love him.
If he could get rid of the guilt.
If he hadn't come across the information that exposed the fact that Pavlik had been using the company as a cover for his destructive bid for power, Zevon never would have felt compelled to seek the truth.
