Shadower (25 page)

The engines roared to life. They were taking off, whether or not she was strapped in. She stumbled her way into the cockpit, bracing herself against the wall as the hoverlifts surged and the ship listed momentarily. Sabin corrected the angle, and she slid into her seat, securing her harness.

They blasted away from the planet in one of the roughest takeoffs she had experienced. She didn't object. As far as she was concerned, they couldn't get away from this wasteland fast enough.

"Get to work, muckworm."

Normally, Radd was a low-key kinda guy, but he was starting to get a little ticked. He dug in his heels, slouching against the ship. "Nope. Don't work when I'm chained."

He knew that would get Lionia's kerani, and it did. Her narrowed eyes sparking like a nova, she clenched her magnasteel dagger so hard, her knuckles turned white. He was getting damn tired of that knife, too.

"You're not in a position to resist, serpent. You're a prisoner, with no rights. I order you to repair this ship."

"I will. When ya remove the chain."

The dagger whipped against his windpipe. "I will not allow a serpent free reign to slither around our camp. You would terrorize the other females."

"Naw, I wouldn't. I've never terrorized a woman in my life. Every female I've ever had dealings with has left with a smile on her face."

She struggled to maintain her composure. He knew she wanted to carve him up bad, but had given her word she wouldn't. He admired her honor—was mighty grateful for it, matter of fact.

"Some of our females are innocent," she growled. "You couldn't be trusted around them."

Best as he could tell, the only carnally innocent females on Risa were Celie and Lionia. Celie's youthful innocence was obvious, and Lionia still wore the Zarian virtue chain around her waist. "Ya talkin' about Celie? She's just a girl. I prefer women who've filled out some." He took a moment to appreciate the lush form before him and added, "Like you."

He moved before she could react. An upward chop to her arm jolted the dagger away from his throat. Grabbing her wrist, he gave an efficient twist, loosening her hold on the weapon. He snatched it with his free hand and pressed the point against her throat. "You're disarmed," he stated calmly. "I claim challenge."

Incredulity chased shock in her eyes. "Only Zarians issue challenge."

Usually only Zarians were brave enough to challenge another Zarian. But Radd was confident he had the situation well in hand. "I possess your weapon," he pointed out. "By Zarian law, I have the right to claim challenge. Unless ya choose to dishonor yer law."

Her face flushed. Fury, then blood lust, darkened her eyes. "A death challenge?" she asked hopefully.

"Naw. Mental challenge."

She was obviously disappointed. Good thing he'd beat her to the challenge, and got to choose the type. He didn't stand a chance in a physical contest, especially one to the death. Taller, and in prime physical condition, Lionia would have pounded the neutrons out of him, then carved him into space debris. He was quick on his feet and knew that invaluable wrist twist, but other than that, he couldn't boast any great strength. He even hated exercise. It was a useless expenditure of energy.

He could hold his own in a battle of wits, however, even though the highly intelligent Zarians spent as much time acquiring knowledge as they did physical strength. Next to mutilating their enemies, they loved nothing better than showing off their impressive intellects.

As the one being challenged, Lionia was entitled to pick the topic and launch the first question. But Radd felt certain he knew what subject she would select. He'd overheard a conversation that had clued him in on her intellectual passion.

"I choose Zarian star system astrophysics."

Yes!
Successful strike. Hiding his satisfaction, he nodded in agreement and withdrew the dagger from her throat, slipping it into his utility belt. "All right."

Lionia considered a moment. "How long is Zaria's orbital period around its sun?"

She was a sneaky one. "Zaria's in a binary star system," Radd answered. "Has two suns. Takes 507 standard cycles to orbit 'em."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, knew he had surprised her. His turn to challenge. "What is the spectral class of Zaria's suns?"

She gave him a look that clearly expressed her low opinion of him. "One is an F5, the other a G2. What is the equatorial diameter of Zaria?"

He grinned, enjoying the game. "Hmmm, let's see. I'd guess about 4,921 kilometers."

That seemed to startle her. She jerked her head to acknowledge his correct answer. He contemplated his next question. "What is Zaria's distance from its closest sun?"

"1.2 astronomical units," she answered without hesitation.

He had her. "Nope."

Fire flared in her eyes. "What do you mean by that, serpent? I know more about the Zarian star system than all the knowledge contained in your scrawny brain."

Nonchalantly, he pulled out his pocket computer. He held it up so she could see it had been off during the challenge, then activated it. It opened in a program on the Zarian star system.

"Cheat!" she spat, stepping forward to see the display.

"Been off the entire time." Radd scrolled to data on the star system's habitable zone. "See? Zaria is 1.25 AU from Marius, not 1.2."

Her chest heaved and color suffused her face. "Slime! Muckworm! You cheated!"

"Did not. Never looked at it. 'Sides, it was off." He shrugged. "But if you want to renege, nothin' I can do about it."

She drew herself up, haughty despite the blow to her warrior pride. "I never go back on my word or my obligations."

"As the loser, you must obey all my orders for an entire cycle," he reminded her.

If she clenched her fists any tighter, her palms would bleed. "I'm well aware of the consequences," she growled.

He was gonna enjoy this. "First order: Take off this chain."

Her movements jerky, she pulled the sequencer off her belt and slapped it onto the lock plate on his ankle. The mechanism whirred, clicked, and opened. Radd shook his leg free of the shackle and kicked it back toward where it was attached to the side of the ship.

He returned his attention to Lionia, who stood ramrod-stiff. "Now, take your hair down."

"Why?" she snarled.

"I'm not sure you're allowed to question orders, but I'll tell ya why. 'Cause I'm gonna kiss ya. Long and hard and wet."

"What?" Her composure slipped even more, her voice rising above its normal, husky growl. Her sun-bronzed skin paled, incredulity filled her jewel eyes. She probably had no idea how revealing those eyes were. He wasn't gonna tell her, either.

"You heard me. Makin' out. Me. You. Now."

"Zarians don't kiss," she informed him, defiant and beautiful.

"Yeah, well, I like to improvise." He planned to foray far beyond lip alignment, but would never force a female against her will. He was confident he could rev Lionia's thrusters and breach her shields. After all, he knew almost as much about women as he did about spacecraft. And he was very good with his hands. "So back to your hair. Take it down."

Her eyes narrowed. "What does that have to do with kissing?"

"It's just part of the routine. Ambience and all that."

She stood there sullenly. "Loser obeys the challenge winner," he reminded her. "Take it down." Glaring at him, she reached up and yanked the clips from her hair. The sumptuous waves fell in twisted coils to her shoulders. Yep, he had her right where he wanted her.

He sauntered closer and combed his fingers through the glossy strands, shaking them out. She was something else with her hair all glorious around her like an aurora. Ignoring her involuntary flinch, he rested his hand over her breast, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers. "Beautiful," he murmured in awe.

"You mock me."

He looked up, finding wariness and uncertainty in her eyes. Not only did she not trust him, but she'd apparently never been told how exquisite she was. Like a Starcraft MS-6000 fighter in free flight.

"I say what I mean. You
are
beautiful. So's your hair."

Taking her hand, he tugged her toward the ship hatch. She resisted, and he pulled hard, jolting her forward. Practically dragging her to the ramp, he backed up the incline until they were eye level. Sifting his hands through her hair, he cupped her face. She tried to jerk her head away, and he tightened his hold. "Be still," he ordered, tracing her exotic cheekbones with his thumbs.

Her skin, tanned as golden as an Elysian sunset, was smooth and supple. He moved his thumbs to gently test the texture of her full lips. Then, their gazes locked, he started to lower his mouth to hers. She hissed and he pulled back. "No bitin'," he warned. "I'll bite back."

Promised retribution kindled in her eyes. She was not a happy spacer. He might have to go into hiding when his cycle was up. It'd be worth it, though. He again lowered his mouth to hers. Applied light pressure. Teased and nibbled. Contact. Ignition. Liftoff.

He'd planned to go slow, to let her acclimate to male/female relations. But somehow they rapidly progressed to major acceleration. Lionia took to kissing like a Shen to secrecy. Once she got the hang of the mechanics, she seized the lead, grabbing his hair and yanking him closer.

They wrestled to the floor just inside the hatch. Moments later, her soft growls of pleasure drifted on the air. "Oh…oh, oh, ooooh…By the gods!
Your hands
!"

*  *  *  *

Upon departing Nissar, Sabin immediately broadcast an alert to all his contacts, offering a hefty personal reward to anyone who could lead him to Galen. After that, he stared out the starboard portal, his face hard, his expression distant. Moriah didn't attempt conversation.

They traveled for hours with an interminable silence heavy between them. She tried to concentrate on her computer screen, but the gruesome images from Nissar invaded her mind. She suspected Sabin was experiencing the same images. Her stomach churned, thinking about what he must be going through. How could anyone forget such horror even once, much less twice?

Shuddering, she checked the chronometer. It was way past time for the evening meal. She didn't care, having lost all appetite. Thankfully, the time signaled the close of one of the most awful cycles she'd ever experienced. She rose from her chair, suspecting she'd never be able to sleep. "Sabin."

Silence met her, and she wondered if he'd heard her. "I'm turning in," she continued. "If you—if you need anything, let me know."

He didn't answer, his focus somewhere out in the vast expanse of space. She could find nothing else to say. How could mere words ease the horrors of today? Or the curse of being a Shielder, endlessly hated and hunted? She could only begin to imagine what Sabin's life must be like.

She went to her cabin, her heart heavy. Once there, she stepped out of her flightsuit, realizing for the first time that the stench of smoke and death had infiltrated the fabric. Sickened, she stuffed the suit into the refuse bin. She'd wear the rhapha before she'd ever touch the defiled garment again. Better yet, she'd borrow one of Sabin's flightsuits.

But first she had to get rid of the odor that clung to her skin and hair. She took a lengthy hot shower, ignoring the rules on water and electricity usage. After drying off, she eyed the rhapha draped across the chair. She felt certain Sabin would still be up. She'd ask to borrow a flightsuit now, so she wouldn't have to deal with it tomorrow.

She slipped into the tight rhapha, struggling to fasten the side closure. Then she wrapped the large scarf over her chest and headed for his cabin. She sounded the tone, getting no answer. He must still be in the cockpit. Perhaps that was for the best. She wouldn't intrude on him tonight, just help herself to a flightsuit and tell him about it tomorrow. Entering the cabin, she halted, surprised.

Sabin was slouched in his massive chair. His clothing appeared clean, and his hair looked damp. He must have showered. The torn, filthy flightsuit, bloodied from the carnage on Nissar, lay in a heap nearby.

"Excuse my intrusion," she said. "You didn't answer the tone and I thought you were still in the cockpit. I just wanted to borrow one of your flightsuits and—" She faltered as he swung his head toward her.

His eyes were dark, despairing pools of pain. The stark desperation wound around her heart. Drawn like debris to a black hole, she went to him, sinking onto her knees before him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't imagine how you must feel."

His eyes locked with hers, colder than Atara's glaciers. He jerked his arm toward the recessed storage. "Take a flightsuit, then get out."

His agony pulled at her. She'd always had a soft spot for anyone in pain. She placed her hand on his arm. "Sabin—"

He knocked it away. "You're right. You can't imagine," he rasped hoarsely. "Can't imagine watching your father, sister, mother being murdered, blasted to smithereens at close range. Can't imagine lying beneath the dead weight of your mother, who shielded you with her body, her blood running into your face. Hearing the screams, the pleas for mercy—" He broke off, pivoting the chair away.

Sickened, Moriah moved to face him and slid her arms around him. "I'm sorry," was all she could say. He turned back, probably as stunned by her impulsive action as she was. Her heart pounding, she looked into his tormented eyes. She froze, time suspended, mesmerized by the smoldering emotions she saw there.

Images—not of death this time, but of Sabin—flashed through her mind. Him carrying the terrified boy in his arms, as carefully as if the child were more precious than gold, his big hands infinitely gentle…those same hands stroking her body, bestowing exquisite pleasure. Him handing her the child, anguish pooling in his ebony eyes…those same midnight eyes burning with passion as his gaze roamed over her bare skin. She raised her hand to his face.

His voice raw with torment, he whispered, "Help me, Moriah. Help me. Make me forget."

His need, his suffering, sparked a heated rush through her veins. She was sucked into an emotional maelstrom more powerful than any black hole. "Sabin—" she began, but his mouth crushed down on hers, halting all words, shattering all barriers.