No Mercy (7 page)

Oh, fuck. Gia looked up but decided to keep her mouth shut, if only to save herself a fractured skull. These people looked so much like humans she kept forgetting that they weren't. She remembered Gen telling her about how the pirates onboard Zan's ship had a very specific hierarchy, and Zan as the captain had first dibs on any plundered loot. Was that caste system part of his home culture? And here women were part of the booty.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Z
an observed the ground assault team that had been dispatched to investigate the downed alien vessel from his hiding place under an ice shelf several meters above the crash site. As he'd predicted the ship had come down over a frozen lake. What looked to be a giant pulley system was set up over the hole, like a big ice-fishing rod and reel. Zan had gone ice fishing during his time on Earth and found it to be a boring and cold and usually fruitless pastime. Better to have a warm-blooded Earth woman spread naked on a pallet of furs before a roaring fire for a day than to huddle over a frozen lake, but now he appreciated the efforts. If the stinger could be retrieved, he and Gia had a much better chance of escaping before his father discovered he was here. Of course they'd have to repair whatever damage had been done to the ship, if it even could be repaired. That would take time he couldn't afford to lose.

Three men stood on the gangplank of their hovering ice cruiser, weapons at the ready. The rest of the strike team formed a semicircle at the base of the mountain. The way they fanned out to cover ground proclaimed that they were vetted military, probably lifers exiled to the Arctic North for political reasons. Xander was nothing if not predictable, and he had the uncanny ability to sense when a highly ranked man might garner enough support to lead a rebellion. All of his competitors got shipped to this desolate and incredibly boring post. Combined with the fact that the bastard didn't age and the people of the Hosta System were completely fucked.

What would these men, some of whom had been decades without a woman, do to Gia? Zan knew how irritable his crew became when they went weeks, even months, without a port of call. Fights broke out, and he'd been forced to toss more than one good man into the hold until they reached a populated star system. The sexy little pilot would be a treasure worth fighting to the death for.

Once the search party moved out of sight, Zan slipped and slid his way down the mountain, the snow-caked thermal blanket helping him blend in. Though he was weaponless, he had the element of surprise on his side. The men guarding the ship wouldn't be expecting him to just walk right up to them. If he could get his hands on one of those sidearms, he could take out the other two and steal the shuttle.

After that his plan grew fuzzy. Part of him wanted to head for the nearest city with a launch port, try his luck stealing a shuttle capable of off-world travel and take his chances in space. That instinct he recognized coming from the piece of him that valued survival at any cost. The other half of him was fixed on locating Gia. It was asinine; his chances of finding her were slim, those of finding her alive and relatively undamaged even less.

I want to taste her again.
He'd lost a piece of himself when he'd used his mouth to pleasure her. She'd enjoyed his every touch so damn much, didn't hold herself back at all. The flow of her honey was genuine, so unlike the whores he'd grown accustomed to after the last few decades, who cried out false words of praise for any man with coin.

And she had his memories. If she were tortured, he had no doubt she would reveal the location of the Infinity Pool. After Isabella's death he'd vowed never to reveal the location to another soul, the cost of immortality being too high. But Gia knew it, and if she was still alive she could relate her insight to others.

Hidden behind a snow-covered boulder, Zan refocused on the task at hand. The guard on the left had lowered his sidearm, clearly cold and bored. The other two laughed over some sort of shared joke.

Ditching the blanket and knapsack, Zan approached them from behind. One arm went around the first man's throat, the other to his weapon. One quick yank and the firearm was his, and he didn't hesitate to stun the other sentries.

His captive struggled for air, but Zan kept the supply neatly choked off until the man's body sagged in his arms. After rolling all three off the gangplank, he ran to retrieve Gia's pack and blanket and then moved quickly toward the cruiser.

It had been designed as a mobile base, with room enough to house twenty men for weeks on end as they patrolled this desolate area. Shedding his leathers, Zan stepped into the heated shower stall to defrost his extremities and then donned a thermal uniform.

The patroller was unfamiliar to him, had been updated since he'd served his stint in the frozen northlands. But almost a century's worth of piloting experience had him assessing the controls with a practiced eye. Thrusters, break, vertical climb, and the disk to maneuver the large hover ship. Everything else was incidental to getting him where he needed to go.

A grid map of the area showed him the terrain and the location of the nearest military training facilities. Before their first ranking, young men from the major cities were sent to the frozen Northlands to learn survival skills. Not all of them made it back home again. The political exiles were their trainers, teaching them how to take orders and how to hunt and track over inhospitable terrain. They were nothing more than packs of runts with weapons that made them more ineffectual because they thought they knew something. If one of those teams found her, they would turn the alien female over to the auctioneers, as protocol dictated.

No, the real problem was the veterans, the hardened men who had survived banishment and lived in an environment where life had no right to thrive. They resented his father and wouldn't easily give a good-looking woman to the auctioneers if they had the opportunity to keep her for themselves.

According to the grid, the largest underground training facility was only a few kilometers from the cave where he and Gia had spent the night. If she'd kept her heading, she would have passed right by it, triggered their perimeter alarm, perhaps even been caught up in one of their hover snares.

The more he thought on it, the more sure he was that that was where he'd find her. If they turned her over to the auctioneers, he could sell this vessel and buy her back. If, however, the veteran in charged wished to keep her . . .

Fuck, he had to get her out of there.

Rubbing a hand over his stubble, he swallowed his distaste and started the engine. Once the cruiser's course was set, he got up and went back to the facilities. The face that had haunted him would now be his trump card. Poker was a human pastime he liked much better than ice fishing, and he'd learned the value of bluffing. Staring at his reflection, he reached for the razor.

It was time for a shave.

 

“No.” The man in charge, the one with the cold eyes, waved her assailant off. “We need to contact the auctioneers.” He gestured Napoleon forward. “Put her in an empty dormitory until they come by to retrieve her.”

The beast that had struck her curled his lip. “Sir, allow me to take her down.”

Gia's heart pounded double time. If the second-in-command got her alone she was sure he'd rape her. She'd fight him off as best she could, but she didn't know if she could for long. Better to take her chances with Napoleon.

Commander Fenton looked back to her, and she tried to convey her silent plea with her eyes.
Don't let him get near me. Please.

Gia hated being so helpless, but as long as she still had breath in her body, she'd do whatever it took to keep going.

Those blue eyes narrowed again, and then waved his second off. “I'll escort her myself. Return to your duties.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Unless she was seriously misreading him, Commander Fenton had no sexual designs on her. Of course, being locked up was not the ideal scenario, but her body needed food and sleep, preferably in a real bed for a solid eight hours. Better to be imprisoned and wait for the auctioneer to show up. With any luck she could get her hands on some of that survival gear all the military types wore.

Fenton didn't touch her, just lifted his chin to indicate what direction he wanted her to walk. He moved with an almost lethal grace, and Gia knew even with a full night's sleep under her belt she couldn't take him out without a weapon. The doors hissed shut behind them, and she fought the urge to make small talk. He obviously wouldn't appreciate it.

At his full height, Fenton was almost as tall as Zan, his hair just as dark. From what she'd seen, all the men here were brunettes, and she wondered if her blond hair might be the equivalent of waving a red flag in a bull pen. The words
meat grinder
flashed in her mind, but she shoved the grisly image aside.

“Turn left here,” Fenton said. Unlike Napoleon, he knew enough to remain several paces behind her. His sidearm remained strapped to his hip.

“Thank you for not leaving me to Large and Ugly. I wasn't looking forward to getting any better acquainted with him,” she commented.

No reply, not so much as a snort. She resisted the impulse to check for a pulse. They continued on in silence.

“In there.” Fenton nodded to a curved arch. At first glance it looked like just an alcove, but another hiss and what she had thought was solid wall parted to reveal another room. A large raised platform, almost a dais, sat off to one side. The mattress on top was round and the linens were a deep purple color. Gauzy purple curtains draped down artfully around the bed, giving the space a more exotic feel. Off to the side stood a tall piece of furniture, either a dresser or a wardrobe taking up one corner. Everything in the room looked lush and expensive, a far cry from the kinds of military barracks she was used to.

“Sanitary facilities are through there.” He nodded at the archway to her left. “I'll see to it that someone brings you a meal.”

Damn, was she a prisoner or a pampered guest? Most of the hotels she could afford back on Earth weren't this luxurious “Whose room is this?”

A shadow crossed his face, what might actually be a flicker of real emotion. “It belonged to our last camp follower. She died during childbirth two cycles ago.”

“I'm sorry,” Gia said, though she wasn't sure why. What did it say about her that they stuck her in the dead whore's room? Best not to dwell on that.

“Don't try to leave. I'll have guards posted to the door. More than one man around here is looking to fuck, and they might not take no for an answer.”

“Okay.” Really, what else could she say?

Fenton studied her a moment longer. “You really are a pilot?”

“Top of my graduating class, 2097.”

“I have never heard of Earth. It must be billions of miles away. How did you come to this system?”

She shrugged. “Damned if I know. May I ask you a question?”

He nodded once.

“What's going to happen to me now?”

“Alien females command a high price. The auctioneer will assess your value and put you on the block. You will then be sold to the highest bidder, with a percentage of the profit benefiting those who discovered you.”

“That's you.” She didn't know how to feel about that. “So why did you bother saving me, if you are just going to sell me?”

“My station has needs. Our equipment is outdated, our energy supply limited during the long winter months. Patrols have frozen to death because we have not been able to afford the technological upgrades necessary to find them in time. Why should I let one man or even a dozen men get their shafts wet if it means lowering your value and possibly costing men their lives?”

She shivered, and it wasn't just from the cold room. “I get the message.”

He stared at her a moment. “You are brave for a female, obviously highly skilled to pilot an interstellar vehicle. A few cycles ago I would have kept you for myself.”

“Gee, thanks.” Rolling her eyes seemed a bit immature, but she didn't know how else to take his half-assed compliment.

Fenton nodded once more, then left. Gia sank onto the bed and tried to keep her shit together. Fuck, Zan had been right about all of it. She should have listened to him.

No! She was not going to wallow in self-pity. Any fate was better than freezing to death on the surface.

She quickly stood up to explore the room. The wardrobe came equipped with several outfits, all sexy and decadent and nothing even remotely suitable for winter wear. The camp follower was just about the same size as Gia though, and a billowy pair of pants and what looked like a camisole caught her attention. Maybe she'd get cleaned up and change into the outfit. The idea of sleeping naked in a professional's bed just didn't appeal to her.

The sanitary facilities were quite civilized, with a large tub almost the size of that platform bed. Bottles of oils and lotions in a variety of bottles and colors lined the dressing table. Gia chose a red one and uncapped the little stopper. It smelled sweet and spicy all at once.

She should just crash out, try to rest and revitalize herself as much as possible, but she couldn't get the idea of a bubble bath out of her mind now that she'd seen this tub.

Turning on the hot water, she stripped out of her clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. Stepping into the tub, she sighed and had just closed her eyes when someone opened the door to the outer room. Figuring it was the food Fenton had promised, she called out, “Just leave it on the bed. I'll be out soon.”

“How about I join you instead?” a deep voice growled.

Opening her eyes, she stared into the lust-filled eyes of Large and Ugly.