Unbound (35 page)

“We’re in the clear.” For the first time since she noticed the bogey, she took an easy breath. The pirates weren’t coming back, not with their apparent damage. They wouldn’t be able to catch up with the
Castel
again.

A longer look made her conscience itch. Was the damage so severe the pirates couldn’t bring it back under control? If they couldn’t, they’d be trapped on the
Eikki
, continuing on that vector forever. Until supplies ran out or life support failed.

Asrial shuddered at the thought, the skin on her arms prickling. They were pirates and had nearly succeeded in boarding her, but she wouldn’t have wished such a fate on her worst enemy. It was a slow and ugly death.

Romir crossed his arms over her chest, his chin on her shoulder. “You are troubled.”

She leaned into him, taking comfort from his solid presence. This time was different. Unlike the other pirate attack, she wasn’t the lone survivor. “That could have been us, the
Castel
.”

“They deserve it.”

A slight course correction increased their divergence from the
Eikki
’s tumbling track. Asrial smiled at the result: one less detail to worry about. She turned her attention to damage control. As expected, the explosion that broke the grab net had strained the
Castel
’s systems. The port side had taken the worst damage. Shields there were down to 15 percent—hopefully it was nothing she couldn’t fix. She needed those shields for entry when they got to Maj.

Hull integrity was compromised, several sections glowing red and amber on the schematics. Even the corridors showed possible breaches. Damage control automatically sealed the affected holds; the
Castel
could still Jump, but she’d need a shipyard before she could use those holds again. Repairs to those were beyond her capabilities.

The magnitude of the job they faced was daunting. “This will take days, decs even, if we do it ourselves.”

“I am not going anywhere.” Romir affirmed his promise with a warm kiss on the side of her neck. “Not without you.”

 

 

Confident that the
Castel
was secure, Romir sat in silence while Asrial queried the ciphers on her panel. The heart of the starship was intact, but even if he told her it had not suffered any serious damage, she would want confirmation.

He watched her gladly, amazed that he could do so. He had been so sure that that time would be the last when he succumbed to his prison’s call. But though he was confident he would remain free for now, he kept his arms around her. He needed that contact, the sturdy warmth of her body, the spicy scent of her hair, the tickle of her curls.

Asrial finally leaned away from her panel, tipping her head back to smile up at him. Satisfaction lit her brown eyes and eased the lines of strain on her face. “Slight change in plans: I have to inform the Patrol about the pirates. I don’t think the
Eikki
’s in any condition to get anywhere without assistance.”

“You are too kindhearted.”

Waving a limp hand, she brushed aside his comment. “Not really. You’ll notice I don’t plan on assisting them myself.”

Romir smiled, keeping his opinion to himself. His
biba
was too kind for her own good. Witness the care she had given him, a nameless djinn foisted on her by circumstances. A more cautious woman would have left him to his prison and sold it to be rid of him—but not Asrial.

Her next words only confirmed it. “So, Nudra 4 to report the attempted jacking to the Interstellar Patrol and repairs to the
Castel
. Then next stop: Maj.”

“You should rest.”

A doubtful hum met his suggestion. Asrial twisted around in his embrace and looped her arms around his neck, warm concern shadowing her eyes. “First things first.”

She drew his head down for a searching kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth to lick and linger, to tease and tempt. Such fervent intimacies and the spice that was uniquely Asrial. His entire being leaped to the carnal summons in a flash of delicious sensation.

The tight clasp of her soft lips around his tongue sent sweet lightning streaking through Romir. Heat and wanting, the response she elicited from him felt as new and as precious as the first time he had touched her. He sank into her kiss, surrendering all to her possession as she sucked his tongue and stroked him with hers. Strong and urgent, the seductive caresses consumed him, waking the scorching passion in his heart that burned only for her. That first kiss strung out into kisses, deep and lush and poignant with yearning, neither of them willing to release the other, the fear of loss too recent, the need to touch too strong.

Asrial arched up, the soft mounds of her breasts pillowed against him, their hard tips painting lines of fiery awareness across his chest. She filled his arms so perfectly, as though she had always been meant to be there, the same way she filled his heart.

Sensation piled upon sensation, magnifying the hunger boiling in his loins, winding molten threads of desire through his limbs. She knew him so well, knew how to touch him to best effect and fight the call of his prison, the call that even now dragged on him like an anchor.

Long, blissful moments passed in that sensual exchange of lick and thrust, glide and suck before Asrial broke off to whisper, “I was so scared. You disappeared.” She ducked her head, but not before he saw tears welling up in her eyes.

“I am here. I will always be here,” Romir promised her recklessly, spurred by the hot wetness trickling over his chest and the desperate strength with which her fingers gripped his shoulders. So rarely did she speak of her own needs, her fears, for her to speak of them now hinted at a depth of ice-edged horror he had not suspected.

Bending down, he captured her mouth to resume the quest for pleasure, to reassure her of his continued presence—and to reassure himself as well. Asrial was safe. That was all that was important. His strength had been sufficient to protect her this time.

As desire resurged to sweep all concerns away, one faint thought lingered: it had not simply been a weaver’s strength that had broken her enemy’s trap but . . .

Djinn
strength.

Their descent into
Maj transpired with a feeling of surreality. Once more, glowing clouds parted to reveal dark blue water and an edge of land. Only this time she had the luxury of admiring the view. Though guiding the
Castel
down took most of her attention, this time, her approach was slower, her destination closer. The coast, not the mountains. Lucky for her, since it put less strain on the plasma shields. They’d stopped at Nudra 4 just long enough to get the worst damage fixed. The
Castel
was now reasonably intact, but its systems were running at less than nominal—even the shields were up to only 78 percent.

Asrial flew the
Castel
parallel to the coast in search of a good landing spot, one with easy access to the ocean.

Romir leaned toward the screen with hungry eyes, reminding her of the other difference from her last visit to Maj: this time she wasn’t alone. “This is not as I remember my home.”

“Has it changed that much?”

“It is peaceful.” Indeed, it was . . . and they were the only people on Maj. What an indictment of the Mughelis.

The desolation in Romir’s voice told her more than words that it would be best not to seek more detail. She’d refrained from asking before, reluctant to stir painful memories and remind him of the woman he’d lost; now she vowed to leave it be. Nothing good would come of dwelling in the past.

A good spot appeared—a broad sweep of relatively flat sand with sufficient space for the
Castel
, an easy slope, and gentle waves. She set down, her heart pounding with more than the usual excitement of a fast entry. The antigrav held up, allowing the
Castel
to land with barely a shudder.

Asrial pressed the release for the shock harness and turned to Romir. “Ready?”

He stood with his hands on the secondary board, head bowed, the curtain of his hair concealing his expression. “You should not do this.”

Surprise froze her in her seat. She couldn’t believe her ears. “
What?
I thought you wanted to be free. What happened to change your mind?” His enslavement was an abomination. How could he now want to remain a djinn?

“Perhaps I do not deserve to be free. You don’t know all that I’ve done as a djinn.” He didn’t look at her, his answer delivered in a low monotone heavy with guilt.

Her temper flared, ignited by his unthinking and wrong-minded acceptance of responsibility. “What the Mughelis forced you to do is irrelevant. I know that given a choice, you wouldn’t have done any of it, so that’s beside the point. Don’t hide behind the past.”

“I can better protect you in this form.” He cupped his right hand over his tat.

“But odds are your prison will pull you back one of these days.”

“You can summon me.”

“No! That would make me your master.”

“I would not mind.”

Her heart trembled at the sacrifice he was offering, that he was willing to make—for her. Tears filled her eyes and choked her throat, making it difficult to speak. “If anything happens to me, if someone were to steal your prison, you’d be trapped forever.” She forced the words out, breathing through her nose so the tears wouldn’t spill over.

Jumping to her feet, she glared at him. “I won’t risk it.”

Romir finally turned to face her, his expression haunted. “But—”

“I won’t.” Asrial fled the piloting chamber before she embarrassed herself by crying. Fighting for composure, she prepared as though this were just another strike instead of the most important undertaking of her life, trying to be methodical in her approach though her sight blurred with irritating regularity. Stunner, spare charge, med kit, comp. No need for the lamp or tool kit. She added towels and—on a spark of desperate optimism—the jumpsuit in Romir’s size that she’d bought on Eskarion 5 while waiting to transit to the Rim.

She’d reached the work cabin before he joined her. He said nothing when she picked up his prison, walking by her side to the hatch. She cradled the flask against her chest, half-afraid he would try to stop her.

A steady breeze blew across the
Castel
, carrying the smell of hot metal from the cooling hull overlaid by those of unfamiliar vegetation and seawater. It tickled her nostrils, acrid and comforting after numerous safe landings, and was slowly left behind as they descended the slope to the shore.

Their approach couldn’t be more different from that time in Salima: in broad daylight instead of the stealth of night; on foot, not by grav sled; sparse shrubs, not meadow and thick moss; heat instead of coolness.

Heat and humidity quickly turned her sweaty, her curls rioting and clinging to her cheeks. The sand scorched her feet through her boots, swishing as it shifted under her weight—and only hers. Romir’s steps were silent as always. Insubstantial. As though he weren’t there.

The desolate dunes flowed down to the ocean, to the sparkling waves ruffled by the restless wind. The rhythmic ebb and rush soothed. No wings broke the sky, and the scan of the water had returned a safe reading. A lone tree near the shore offered dappled shade, its gnarled roots attesting to a long history of resisting sun and surf.

Asrial set her precious load at the foot of the tree, above the line of wet sand, then released the seals of her boots. Sitting on a towel, she pulled off her boots, then her socks. The sand felt strange to her bare soles, not quite powder but not grit. Pushing her pants down, she undressed slowly, discomfited at baring skin under this alien sun, in this alien world, even if it was the world the Lomidari originally came from.

“Do not do this,
biba
.” Romir knelt beside her, casting her in deeper shadow. With stiff fingers, he tipped her chin back, forcing her to look at him. “My freedom is not worth the loss in power. I could not have done what I did to the pirates were I not djinn.”

Again, his first concern was her safety. The calm look on his face said he’d made his peace with his decision. His selflessness sent a pang through her heart. She couldn’t accept it.

She shook her head, her wet curls stinging her cheeks. “I couldn’t save my parents. I can’t heal Amin. I can’t bear to leave you trapped.”

His silver eyes darkened to stormy frustration as he gripped her upper arms, his jaw set in a hard line. “I do not want this. You violate my choice if you do this.”

Asrial stared at Romir, stricken by his implacable refusal. Freeing him would mean losing his love? Did he see it that way? Would pressing on in spite of his objection be a betrayal, treating him as if he were no more than a djinn? “I—I want a normal life with you. To have your children. To grow old with you.”

He reared back, his fingers no longer biting into her skin. White showed in his eyes, their pupils thin, smoky rings. “You—”

She cupped her breasts, conscious of the transience of health despite medical advances. “I’ll grow old, or I might get sick or injured like Amin. If that happens and I lose this body that helps you stay free, I don’t want to lose you to your prison. I can’t bear for that to happen, not if I could’ve stopped it. Let me try.” Tears spilled over, etching hot lines of wetness down her cheeks. Straining to read his face in the shifting shadows, she ignored them. Air came in short gasps that hurt her chest; she couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

“You—” Romir pulled her into his embrace, pressing her face to his chest, holding her tight. His shudders shook her, his heat branding him into her senses. “
Biba
, you shame me.”

Hope flickered to uncertain life. “Then . . . ?”

“I want that, too.”

Relief sent more tears splashing down. He kissed them off her cheeks, murmuring soft words she didn’t understand. But she didn’t need to understand; his voice simply augmented the tenderness behind each gentle kiss. This was the man she wanted beside her for the rest of her life.