Shadower (17 page)

He stepped forward, his strong fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Second thoughts so quickly?" he sneered. "But you just got here. And I've been looking forward to this." He drew her inside the ship and closed the hatch. He looked down the length of her body and back up. "I see you followed my directive, at least with your clothing."

"Where's Celie?"

"On board, safe and sound."

"I want to see her—now."

"You'll see her after you and I come to terms." Keeping a firm grip on her wrist, he raised his other hand and grasped the silk scarf she had wrapped around her shoulders and chest. "Now this won't do at all. I much prefer the rhapha without the scarf. I want to see what I'm getting for my miterons." He unwound the scarf, tossing it to the side. "Much better," he murmured, his gaze roaming over her again.

She felt exposed, vulnerable to his intense scrutiny. Her breathing became labored, her breasts heaving against the skintight rhapha. Heat, trapped beneath the Saija silk fabric, flooded her body. "If you're through—"

His looked up, the promise of retribution in his eyes. "Oh, no, I'm not through. I've hardly begun. Turn around."

She should have known he would search her. The determined look on his face told her he would brook no resistance. He wouldn't allow her to see Celie until she cooperated with his little game. She turned, brushing against him.

"Place your hands against the hatch, and spread 'em."

She resisted the urge to punch him. "Haven't we already done this?"

"Obviously, I wasn't thorough enough last time. A mistake I don't intend to make again." He squatted down and raised her right foot, slipping off her boot, discovering the bottom of the flightsuit pants she wore beneath her rhapha. "Moriah, Moriah," he sighed. "You disappoint me. I gave specific instructions about your clothing."

"You ordered me to wear a rhapha," she retorted. "You didn't tell me I couldn't wear anything else." She would have worn the top of the flightsuit, too, if the rhapha hadn't fit her chest so snugly. Instead, she had folded the top into a narrow strip and tied it across her hips, to wear later.

"I didn't realize you felt the need to protect yourself from me."

Not just him, but any man. Yet she'd never admit feeling vulnerable to him. She gritted her teeth as he kneaded her foot and toes, repeating the procedure with her left foot. Then he ran his hands beneath the rhapha and slid them up her legs. If she had thought the flightsuit would offer some protection, she'd been mistaken. Even through the fabric, the heat of his touch seared her, jolting every nerve ending in her body. She stiffened, refusing to react.

But when he reached her thighs, sliding his palms along the outside, then inside, pressing against the resilient muscle, his touch ignited tremors of sensation and conflicting memories. The black images of Pax's unwelcome groping and painful invasion were there; but somehow the memories of Sabin, touching her with startling intimacy, eclipsed the ugliness. She trembled, trying to force the images away.

He rose, bunching up her skirt. His fingers slid along the waistline of the flightsuit, then he splayed one hand over her abdomen. "Want me to go lower, Moriah? Make you cry out in passion? Or were you just pretending to come apart that night in your cabin?"

Even now, the heat of his hand invaded her senses. Shame followed. How could she react to his touch like this? He was trying to humiliate her, yet her body resonated to the inexplicable energy that had sizzled between them from the very beginning. She wasn't repulsed by him, as she had been by Pax. And that represented the most danger of all. She was attracted to this man. Irrationally drawn to him, especially considering that men had caused nothing but pain in her life.

She would control her reaction to Sabin Travers, by the Spirit! She'd never give him the satisfaction— the power—of knowing she was drawn to him. "What I would like," she gritted out, "is for you to take your clumsy hands off me."

Surprisingly, he obliged, releasing the skirt of the rhapha. The fabric whispered back down her legs. Resuming his search over the thin fabric, he placed his hands on her midriff, sliding them up to cover her breasts. Again, sensation skittered through her nerve endings, and her heart hammered like a rocket coil. She wanted to jerk away and fight him, but concern for Celie held her in check. She stood stiff and unyielding, trying desperately to ignore the internal clamoring.

"You may claim you don't like this," Sabin whispered in her ear, "but I think you do."

"It's disgusting," she hissed. "Hurry up."

Despite her protest, her body
did
enjoy his touch, if the swelling of her breasts and the painful hardening of her nipples were any indication. Damn him! He might have shown her physical pleasures of the body; he might have undermined her control over her body's reactions, but that was as far as it went. She'd be free of him at the first possible opportunity. Until then, she had to endure the humiliations he obviously planned to dish out.

He took his time as he continued to search her, molding his hands to her rear before moving on. Since the rhapha left her back and arms bare, there was no need to check them, but he did, skimming his hands over her shoulders and down her bare arms. His fingers briefly encircled her wrists, then stroked her palms and fingers. Even that felt strangely erotic, and she cursed her traitorous body.

"No bracelet this time," he commented. "I assume that's where the lethean patch was hidden during your last visit."

She held her silence until she felt a tug on her hair. The neat twist came undone and her hair tumbled down her back. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

Sabin combed his fingers through the strands, sending another sensual shiver through her. "Have to be sure you have nothing hidden here," he answered, spreading her hair over her back. "And while you're on board my ship, you'll wear your hair down. That's an order."

An order?
She'd tell him what to do with his blazing orders as soon as Celie was safe. "I want to see my sister now."

"Not so fast. You and I have to come to an understanding first." He took her arm and pulled her into the cockpit. Dumping her unceremoniously into a seat, he slid into the opposite one. "I'm going to tell you what I expect—no,
demand
—from you. You will agree to my terms, will give your word of honor, for what it's worth, on your sister's life. In return, I'll release Celie, and she'll be free to go wherever she wants. That clear?"

Moriah bristled with anger that he questioned her honor, even though she'd given him every reason to believe the worst of her. But she forced herself to reply calmly. "Very clear."

"Have you told anyone about the Shielder colony?

The question caught her off guard, because she hadn't given it another thought. She had no quarrel with the Shielders, and she would never sell information leading to innocent people's deaths, no matter how lucrative. She wouldn't turn in Sabin, either. She didn't expect him to believe that, but now was not the time to alienate him. "No," she answered. "I haven't told anyone, and I have no plans to do so."

His eyes hardened. "You'd better be telling the truth," he warned. "Because I'll find out soon enough if you've lied. Even if you are being honest, I can't allow you to retain such information. So you will agree to travel with me to Elysia, where a healer will erase your memory of the colony. That's the first condition."

So they were back to that. She thought of the iridon pickup and concern knifed through her. "What? That will take at least six cycles!"

He inclined his head insolently. "At least."

Why was she so surprised? She should have expected this. Sabin was the quintessential male, obstinately inflexible. Once he fixated on an idea, he refused to let go. She calculated the time remaining before the iridon shipment arrived. She'd lose the six cycles from Star Base Intrepid to Elysia, then some downtime on Elysia for the procedure and waiting for someone to pick her up. That would leave only eight cycles to get the iridon. Still, she could do that directly from Elysia. The other women could deliver the goods they'd received on Calt.

What choice did she have? Besides, if it got Sabin Travers out of her life for good, it was well worth it. "All right," she agreed. "I'll go with you and submit to having my memory altered."

His eyes gleamed.
"Submit.
Now I like that word. And that is what you'll do, Moriah. You will comply with my every order, immediately. That's condition number two."

Outrage rolled through her. She ignored the urge to ensure he would never father children while at the same time pushing back encroaching images of Pax's leering face. Sabin did not display the cruel tendencies that Pax had shown, she reminded herself. "All right. I agree."

He leaned back smugly. "I knew you would. Condition three: You will not attempt to injure me in any way. Nor will you attempt to commandeer this ship or escape."

"Afraid of me?" she taunted, anger overcoming good sense.

"Cautious. Do I need to remind you what's at stake?"

Since he had Celie in his possession, he had Moriah right where he wanted her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She was frustrated at her ineffectiveness and his power. She'd sworn she'd never again allow herself to be under a man's control, yet here she was. "I agree to that condition as well. Any more?"

He smiled, looking for all the world like a lanrax cornering a krat. "I think that's enough, for now. Any infractions, and you make the trip in shackles. Do I have your word?"

Realizing she was clenching the arms of the chair, she forced her hands to relax.
Celie,
she reminded herself. "You have my word of honor, Captain Travers. I swear on the life of my sister that I will follow all your directives."

"Then we have a deal." He flipped a switch on the console. "Celie, your sister is here. Please come to the cockpit."

"Be right there!" Celie answered, her youthful voice jubilant. Moriah rose and faced the entry, anticipation lightening her spirits. A moment later, Celie bounded into the cockpit. "Mori!" she cried, flying into her arms.

Moriah held her sister tightly, trembling with relief. Celie was her joy, her light, her life. She was all Moriah had, and every shipment Moriah delivered, every miteron she banked, every plan she made for developing Risa, she did for Celie.

When she'd learned the girl had been taken to a Controller prison, Moriah had suffered a thousand agonies, imagined innumerable hideous scenarios. And when Lionia had returned empty-handed, with only Sabin's ominous ultimatum, Moriah's anxiety had escalated tenfold, until now. Gently, she set Celie at arm's length.

"Let me look at you, rax," she said, her voice shaky. She studied her sibling, noting Celie was freshly scrubbed and her flightsuit clean. She looked rested and happy. No bruises marred her soft skin; no shadows lurked in her dark eyes. Hesitantly, Moriah asked, "Did anyone…hurt you while you were in the prison?"

Celie shook her head, but a look of revulsion crossed her face. "It was horrible, Mori. This slime covered the floor of the cell and it had the worst smell. These Anteks wanted to—" she paused, color staining her cheeks. "—you know, force themselves on me. But Sabin was too clever for them."

Moriah's stomach clenched at the thought. "Celie, the Anteks, did they—did they do anything to you?"

Celie flashed Sabin a smile. "Nope. Sabin had me pretend to be sick, and they left me alone. I was afraid, but he kept talking to me and then his partner, Chase, got us out. Chase was really nice, too. Then we came back here and cleaned up, and Sabin fixed us amargrain and protein sticks on the replicator. He knows how to use one, Mori. Isn't that neat?"

Moriah stared at her sister, amazed. After their experiences with their father and Pax, Celie kept her distance from men.
All men.
Yet here she was, looking at Sabin like he kept the planets in orbit, and chattering away in front of him like an echobird. It appeared he hadn't mistreated her. Instead, he appeared to be her champion. "How did you get arrested?" she asked.

Celie's expression clouded, and she shifted her eyes away. "I guess I lost track of time after you left the ship, and stayed on the computer longer than I should have. Then I couldn't find my rhapha. I must have left it on Roanne's ship. I was getting ready to leave for Lionia's ship when these Anteks came on board." She raised her eyes to Moriah's. "I'm sorry, Mori, I really am. I'll try to do better."

How could Moriah be mad when Celie looked so guilty, and when she was obviously unscathed from her experience? Even if her slipup had now put Moriah in an untenable situation. She sighed, hugging Celie again. "I'm not mad, sweetness. I know you didn't do it intentionally. We'll talk about it more when I get back to—" she paused, remembering Sabin's alert presence. "When I return to the base."

Celie pulled away, confusion clouding her face. "Aren't you coming back now?"

Feeling Sabin stand up behind her, Moriah knew time had run out. She struggled to keep her voice even. "No, sweetness. Sabin and I are working on a…business deal. I'm going with him for about six cycles. But I'll be in touch and keep you updated on my plans."

"Oh." Concern filled Celie's eyes. "But what—"

"We need to get going," Sabin interrupted.

"What—" Celie started again, but Moriah cut her off with a final hug.

"Please don't worry. Just go with Lionia. She's waiting back at the ship for you. I'll be fine." She released Celie, giving her a last long look. "Help take care of Janaye, okay? I won't be gone very long."

Sabin patted the girl on the shoulder. "Goodbye, Celie."

She whirled, hurling herself against him and hugging him tightly. "Good-bye, Sabin. Thank you for watching out for me."

Her impetuous action stunned Moriah. Sabin appeared surprised as well, hesitating a moment before hugging Celie back. "My pleasure, sweetheart. Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Okay." Celie turned and smiled tremulously at Moriah. "Bye, Mori."