Vanquished (5 page)

“Well, I’m not yours.”

He was tired of explaining
himself and stating the obvious. “As you noted earlier, you and your fellow female
travelers have no choice.”

“How many
others?”

He found himself answering
without thought. “Twelve.” This woman was already affecting his ability to
dissemble. Truly this was ordained.

“Are they all right? Was anyone
hurt?” She tugged against the cuff, obviously agitated.

“Your concern is noteworthy,
little one. They are fine. Being fed and cared for. And there will be no
breeding.
Yet.”
He couldn’t help himself from
describing it that way, still smarting from her rejection, while he knew that
to be ludicrous, considering he had kidnapped her for that very purpose. It
would take time—and persuasion—to help her view things differently. And he
needed to manage his male ego better.

Her glare was answer enough.

“Eat something,” he urged. This
was the last time during the holding period when she would eat by her own hand.

Her tethers were long enough to
easily reach the table and she picked at the food, avoiding his gaze. He turned
his attention to his own repast, consuming it quickly before pouring them both some
valki
. He set the glass beside her
plate, noting that she didn’t even spare him a glance. But she didn’t use her
feet against him, either.

She sat back and regarded him
after drinking most of the ale but leaving a good portion of the meal.
“So, what now?”

“I won’t force you, if that is
what you fear.”

“I don’t fear much of anything,”
she said flatly.

He believed she thought it to be
true, seeing that remote look descend upon her face yet again. If she couldn’t
resist physically, she’d withdraw emotionally—he knew all too well how that
worked. But she hadn’t met anyone like him before, and he was already producing
pheromones in great quantity. “I’ll release you so you can use the facilities,
shower if you like. But the outer door is secure and coded. Should you manage
to incapacitate me, you’ll not leave these quarters.”

“And you might never leave them.”
A flat assertion.

Vayne laughed, although he
recognized the truth in her statement. “Then neither would you. My men would be
forced to dispatch the woman who killed their sovereign, as much as I’d regret
it.”

“And then kill the rest of the
hostages.”

“No, little
warrior.
That’s not how this works. They are innocents. They will be taken care of,
placed with men who will cherish them.”

She studied him, her golden eyes
darkening with some emotion he couldn’t interpret. “And bear them mini
Shadallas.” She raised one slim shoulder. “I’ll behave, but only because I
require the facilities.
Unless you break your promise.”

“Never.”
He wouldn’t need to force her.
She would come to him and beg for his cock. Not that he would humiliate her
when she did so.

He released the cuffs, and time
stretched out between them as their proximity heightened the tension. He
scented her, a faint, spicy bouquet overlaid with the clean sweat of her
exertions outside that lift and it wove the connection deeper. He could only
imagine what touching her would do. His desire for her surged higher at the
memory of the way she’d dealt with two enormous villains. She would probably
have taken down the captain as well if not for being blackmailed into
surrendering. Vayne again reminded himself who he held captive in his quarters.
It wouldn’t do for his men to find him dispatched.

Stepping back, he motioned to the
cleansing area. His bride slipped from the bunk and gracefully passed out of
his line of sight. He gathered the remains of their meal onto the tray and set
it on a table in the corner before retrieving both cuffs and setting them down
for easy access. Then he stripped out of the restricting uniform, releasing his
sorely confined cock and blowing out his breath with huge relief. It had been a
day for sighing, and he wasn’t familiar with the emotion that produced a sigh.
For a moment, the memory of Asula etched itself on his forebrain before
essentially dissolving and being replaced with that of his little warrior.
Vayne didn’t know if that was an omen but thought he would take it as such. His
deceased wife never had power or importance in his life, regrettably, and now
was not the time to spend any thinking of her.

The shower hissed on, and he
hustled into the bathing area, snatching up the black clothing and a scrap of
fabric he recognized as an undergarment. Dropping them into the cleansing unit,
he then relieved himself with some difficulty because of his erection and
donned a soft garment to cover his lower body. He watched his lifemate step
from the shower chamber.

She was all ivory skin and
shadowed hollows, her body as honed as those on his planet who excelled in
performance sports. Small, firm breasts sat high on her torso, tipped with
tight red buds, and her feminine cleft nestled between long, slender thighs.
Tiny droplets of recycled water highlighted every dip and curve. Vayne bit back
a groan as his beast begged him to take her, dominate and make her his own.

“Where are my clothes?” Standing
without any attempt to cover herself, secure in her own skin, his female stared
at him.

“You won’t require any in my
quarters.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ah, little
one.
Your
turn of phrase amuses me, though it could become wearing.”

Staring at the front of his
underpiece, she quirked a brow, not acknowledging his gentle threat. His cock
filling again, Vayne struggled with the urge to correct her but gave in to the
greater need to laugh. He hadn’t been amused in a long time. She appeared
startled when he chuckled.

“Go to bed, my warrior.”

“Clothes.”

“Not necessary. And I already
gave you my word.”

After another assessing stare,
she eased past him. For an instant his eyes closed when pure, raw need overtook
him. Almost immediately aware of how vulnerable his lack of sight made him, he
blinked wide and looked to see her reach the bunk. She sank down on the edge,
and he saw her exhaustion as her shoulders slumped forward, her profile dipping
in concert. And he believed it wasn’t only from the day’s events but from
something far deeper and far reaching, like her concealed grief. A startling
need
to protect her coursed through his veins and he
approached the bed.

“Move to the far side, lie back
and raise your hands. I’m going to cuff you and shorten the tethers. I need to
rest, and I don’t trust you as yet.”

“So sleep elsewhere. I prefer not
to be tied up.”

“This is
my
cabin, little warrior. And we will share quarters from here on
in. Move over and raise your hands.”

She obeyed him, clearly having
weighed the alternatives, but her anger simmered, tangible and cloying. He
restrained her wrists and hooked a length of silken rope to one of the bolts,
leaving enough slack for her to roll over and also partially lower her arms to
allow blood flow, but not enough to allow her to cause him bodily harm while he
slept. He didn’t care to be garroted. How he’d actually sleep was anyone’s
guess, when his balls ached as though he hadn’t emptied them for
gordis
.

 
She was so lovely, with her round breasts
lifted as if for his touch, the long line of her waist and slight swell of her
hips drawing him in. The thin strip of dark curls on her mound was in direct
contrast to the smoothness of her labia, and he longed to open her there and
trace her inner petals, search out her nub of pleasure and find her opening. He
yearned to fuck her and wondered how he’d ever restrain himself until the
holding period was over. His beast paced within. For the first time, Vayne
cursed his culture but allowed it was steeped not only in tradition but in
solid common sense. The Shadalla had kidnapped females in the distant past, and
the rules put in place then held considerable practicality today. It was why
they’d turned to them again—with human females.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Fine.”
She bit off the word and looked
away.

“Slide farther over, my little
warrior.”

With a huff, she did as he
instructed, nearly to the wall, breasts bobbling enticingly. She then turned
onto her side, giving him the length of her back. His own breath caught as he
viewed what he’d missed earlier—the scarring of her skin, thin welts placed
precisely, one beneath the other, from her shoulders to the small of her back.
Squinting, he could see fainter marks on the fullness of her buttocks and upper
thighs. Clearly, the additional tissue there had healed more easily than the
thinner skin of her back. She had been whipped countless times, and perhaps her
flesh hadn’t healed between the assaults, the ridged lines as exact as if drawn
by a straight edge. The fine line of skin between each of them was a mockery of
what had likely been as beautiful as the front of her.

Vayne wrestled with such a surge
of rage his temples pounded and the breath stuttered in his chest. He opened
his mouth to ask her what happened,
then
shut it
tightly. The markings may well have been consensual. Many cultures practiced
such things, humans among them. There was much to learn about his intended.

She rolled her head slightly and
caught him staring, perhaps had felt the heat of his gaze. “I told you I
recognized perverts.
Your
Lordship.”

He reared back and sought the
words, any words, for she’d confirmed his darkest thoughts. He reached out and
touched his fingertips to her back, tracing the welts, feeling the silken skin
between the scars ripple as she shuddered away. Perhaps he was wrong, and he
had to know. “Did you ask for this? Want this?” It was better than the
alternative.

“Fuck you, Sovereign. You get no
more from me.”

She looked toward the wall as he
brought his reaction under control. There would be time tomorrow to address her
withholding. The process of integration had already begun. He could feel it,
unable to think of anyone but her, the empty place in him eagerly preparing to
be filled and completed. He climbed into the bunk beside her, aware of its
width, or lack of it, and relished the closeness. She wouldn’t be able to hide
from him for long.

“Sleep well, my little warrior.
We have much to discuss and explore on the morrow.”

He instructed the computer to dim
the lights and darkness crept over the room.

“My name is Neira. Don’t call me
little one, little warrior, or anything else. I don’t like it and you’re not
entitled.”

Smiling into the dark, he shifted
and fit against the back of Neira’s body, ignoring how she immediately tensed.
Neira.
He tasted it.
Neira
.
But she’d always be his little warrior, and perhaps one day she would come to
ask him to call her as such.

In time she relaxed,
incrementally, and when he was satisfied she was asleep, Vayne allowed himself
to slip into slumber.

Chapter Three

Neira came awake like the soldier
she’d been—sleep to total awareness. She woke from a dead sleep, though, not
from that curious near-wakeful state she shared with most of her
comrades-in-arms both on and off the fields of battle. So that meant her
subconscious had reason to believe she’d fallen asleep in a place of safety.

But that didn’t fit with the fact
her hands were tethered, or with the immediate surge of memory relaying the
events of the following day. It certainly didn’t fit with the presence of a
large, heated body spooning her, a very definite poke of a solid erection in
the small of her back. She was in her captor’s bed, without even the slight
barrier or protection of night clothes. She thought he’d worn some kind of
undergarment
…

“You are awake.” A face nuzzled
her hair and a mouth pressed a kiss on her temple.

Neira flirted with the thought of
flipping over and setting her teeth in the flesh of that handsome face while
bringing her knee up into that hard appendage. Instead, she inched away from
his attentions, continuing to give him her back. If she thought she might
manage to get his print on the release of her cuffs, she’d have tried it, but
the sovereign was a big bugger, and he moved well. The scar on his chest wasn’t
from some weird rite of passage, but from a knife with a big, serrated blade.
She well knew the pattern of injury, having seen a fair number over the years.
That meant Vayne Palldyn was also a warrior, not that she hadn’t heard the
stories of his military prowess. It was unlikely she’d get the drop on him.

He’d somehow missed her dagger in
the commotion, and she’d secreted it in the wash facility upon working it free
from under her tunic. She hoped there’d be an opportunity to use it and gain
her freedom and refused to listen to the practical voice in her head that asked
how she thought she might accomplish that task. She had planned to retrieve it
after her cleansing, take it to the bed to hide it there and protect
herself
but was foiled by Palldyn’s presence in the room.
And it turned out she hadn’t needed it after all. He’d kept his promise,
although the feel of his hard body had been an unsettling experience. Yet she’d
still fallen asleep…

The bunk dipped as his weight
left it, leaving her curiously chilled. As if he read her mind, Vayne flipped
the covering over her.

“Are you able to wait until I
cleanse?”

“Yes.” She really had to pee, but
she was damned if she’d fall victim to any kind of syndrome, aware of how a
twisted relationship could develop between kidnapper and the kidnapped, based
on pathetic need and gratitude for the slightest kindness. She would never
again fall into that trap.

“I require your
respect
, little…Neira.”

Damn. He’d just undermined her,
giving in to her request from the night before not to call her any pet names.
And she hadn’t missed the subtle, silky threat of correction when she’d sworn
at him the previous evening, either. This man—this alien—wasn’t to be trifled
with or pushed too far. She had much to learn about him. Long gone were the
days when she thought she could escape on her own or evade with merely her
physical skills. Being a prisoner of war taught a harsh lesson, and one she’d
take to her grave.

With an effort, not entirely
feigned, considering the energy expended outside the lift on the
Astris
after months away from
soldiering, Neira rolled over and looked him square in the eye. It was like
taking a punch to the gut. The sovereign seemed even taller than the day
before, and his muscled chest flowed easily into a flat, corded abdomen and
long, equally muscled legs. Maybe his feet were toad ugly. She tried to skip
over the evidence of his blatant masculinity but was unable to look away from
his wide cock slapping unashamed at his belly, heavy sac drawn up beneath it.
He’d shucked his garment before bed, or in the night. It struck her how…
human
he appeared, if larger than life. She supposed she wanted to see some definite
differences, the better to set him apart from her.

Her own sex expressed its
interest and appreciation, responding to this unapologetic male, dampening and
plumping despite the direction from her brain to cease and desist. Had it been
that long since she’d had a sexual relationship? It had.
And
for damn good reason.
While she had the vagrant thought that something
she had never thought to feel again had awoken in her, Neira worked hard at
convincing herself any hot body would bring about the same response. And while
she was at it, she tried to craft a verbal one with
respect
as its filler.

“I’m fine, thank you. I can wait.
Sir.”
The sarcasm was faint and she wondered if he
heard it.

With a grave nod, Vayne nodded
and turned away, but not before she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.
The bugger had set her up. Well, she was human. And he wasn’t.

That sudden reminder took her
breath. He was Shadalla.
And royalty to boot.
Sure, he
looked like most human men, yet on that grander, larger scale, his cock
included. But his features were ever-so-slightly suggestive of something else.
Something different.
Neira struggled to hold on to the
impression, but it skittered away. The rumors and supposed facts flooded her
forebrain but were too fragmented to sort through, especially under the impact
of this virile male. All her briefings had been comprised of pertinent military
information, without the gossipy snippets to flesh things out, and aside from
the ribald sexual comments, mostly speculation. Almost as if her superiors
hadn’t wanted the troops to see the Shadalla as anything other than an arm’s
length ally. She hadn’t been old enough to be in the actual war with the aliens
before they signed the treaty and joined with Earth against the Juxtant, and
she’d never fought alongside any.

The sovereign was indeed
handsome, with rough-hewn cheekbones, a strong nose, and chiseled lips. His
eyes were set widely, thickly lashed, and of a peculiar shade of blue. She was
no girly girl and had limited experience with fashion and other such items
outside of her military life, but Neira had seen the blue of the last pure sea
on the Home World before the toxic blasts, and she thought Vayne’s eyes could
be compared to that. Turquoise, maybe, with flecks of— Shit! She was supposed
to be trying to form an understanding of something that had teased at her well-honed
senses, not go all loopy and start envisioning the alien as some kind of poster
boy or something.

Her thoughts turned to the other
women on board, and she wondered what their fate might be. Vayne hadn’t touched
her, personally, if one didn’t count the press of his body against hers,
probably all night long. Every time she woke, he was
there
and there’d been no space to retreat to, so she’d endured, at
last sleeping deeply and well. But that didn’t mean the rest of the female
passengers weren’t even now being ravished. Used.
Despite his
statement that there wouldn’t be any
breeding
,
at least not immediately.
And just what the hell had that meant?

The bleak memory of her other
prisoner-of-war situation flirted at the edge of her conscious mind but she refused
to allow it access. The Home World, Earth
to
many,
wasn’t at war with anyone—at the moment—and was barely able to protect itself
as it was, should there be another invasion. Not that they were advertising
that fact. So she and the others wouldn’t technically be considered prisoners,
merely replaceable workers. And unless one or more of them had any ties to
important persons back home, well, it was unlikely any rescue attempt would be
mounted. If the businessmen who lost their cargo were inclined to seek out the
perpetrators, Neira figured it would be the pirates they’d be searching for.
Besides, the Shadalla were allies. There was a treaty.
Right.
They wouldn’t even be considered prisoners of war to be ransomed.

With an irritable sigh, she eased
into a more comfortable position and stared at the hull. This ship wasn’t that
different than the
Astris
, if a lot
smaller, with curved outer walls and no portholes to be seen. Vayne’s cabin was
larger than her quarters on the disabled ship but as Spartan in its amenities.
One would have thought royalty would’ve been entitled to something far more
luxurious. The bed was comfortable, but it was hardly spacious. The new
reminder of how she and her kidnapper had been pressed together so closely in
the night made her cheeks
heat,
and she impatiently
thrust that aside as well. He’d already told her what her future held, and
she’d do well to be formulating a plan to foil him. She was no broodmare,
although her fertility hadn’t been compromised as far as she knew, despite
what…
don’t go there, Neira. Just don’t.
She
simply had no interest in a husband, let alone a kidnapping, alien husband. She
had no emotional interest in sex, truth to be
told,
and no recent physical interest, even if Vayne was sex on the proverbial stick.

“I will arrange for another
meal.”

Her heart thumped in her chest.
She hadn’t heard him approach, and that frightened her. What scared her more
was the way her skin prickled at his proximity. She stared at him, determined
not to show anything other than implacable calm. She donned her battle face,
and thought she might have managed it, despite how his bare chest drew her eyes
like a magnet. All that rippling muscle and golden skin… She swallowed, her
mouth dry as dust, and fought against the weakness invading her. What on Earth?
That’s the point, Neira. He is nothing on
Earth and it stands to reason there is something else operating here to attract
you.

Now wearing what passed for
underwear, Vayne somehow looked more naked than when he’d sauntered, totally
nude, to the cleansing chamber. As in the night before, the garment sat low on
his narrow hips, drawing attention to that ridge of muscle only very fit
humanoid males developed. And in turn, that V shape drew the eye to what the
fabric covered. Neira resolutely dragged her gaze up to his face—and the dagger
he held pinched between two fingers of the hand resting up against the
doorframe.

“If you care to use the
facilities now, Neira…” She supposed there was no need for any more
conversation. She was damned if she’d acknowledge the small weapon, annoyed
with herself for not having hidden it better. She was also certain he would
have accepted her attempt at such subterfuge. All prisoners reserved the right
to try and escape. It was an unwritten rule across cultures—species—although
the reaction to the attempts varied. The sovereign’s body language didn’t
denote any violent intent, so she
relaxed,
a little
surprised she could read him so well.

With a nod, she shifted to allow
him access to the cuffs, watching him set the dagger down across the room.

“I’ll store this with your
interesting baton, little warrior. At some point they’ll be returned to you,
and perhaps you’ll spar with me.”

Biting her cheek to stave off an
unconsidered response, like saying she’d take that opportunity to beat the
ever-loving shit out of him, she concentrated on keeping space between them as
he freed her. But she couldn’t avoid the feather light trace of calloused
fingertips down her forearms that made her want to shiver. And when he rubbed
her wrists where the cuffs had caused some slight reddening, she had to bite
harder to control a more visceral reaction.

She reminded her body again that
any attractive male could take the edge off, if pure fucking was suddenly back
on her menu, and that this one wanted far more than she was prepared to offer.
Or was capable of, for that matter.
Neira was desperately
aware of her own fragile emotional state. She was totally unsuited to be
anyone’s lifemate,
let alone a
mother.

She tugged free and slid past
him, unsure if he’d allow it, and wondering what she would do if he didn’t. He
was definitely having some kind of effect on her, and the loss of control made
her want to scream. If she did that she wouldn’t be able to stop. The breath
she didn’t know she’d been holding huffed out of her in an audible
whoosh
.
She gained the cleansing room without any interference and huddled on the
commode, shaking with repressed adrenaline and hoping Vayne wouldn’t invade her
privacy.

At length she regrouped and, after
a wary look at the door, examined her face in the polished metal above the
small sink. She could see it. The terrified, frantic animal behind the façade
she’d painstakingly rebuilt after the team had stumbled upon her and Alexi
Petrov. It had taken months of self-discipline and military-enforced
therapeutic input to regain
herself
, or at least what
passed for Neira Grekov. The therapy itself, with the intrusive machines and
psychotropic medications, had been nearly as bad as what she’d experienced at the
hands of the Juxtant. Maybe worse, because she well knew her former bosses
weren’t interested in her recovery so much as painting a soothing public
relations picture. But they’d succeeded in repressing her memories, or at the
very least giving her the tools to combat them—until now.

If those vids featuring her
rescue and subsequent return to the Home World hadn’t been splashed across the
tabloids, she had no doubt she’d be in the same place as Petrov. Put down like
an animal beyond hope and buried deep. Instead, she’d been the poster child for
the military for a brief time, a hero, the prodigal daughter,
all
those terms to make the public feel warm and reassured.
Alexi Petrov hadn’t even been noticed as they featured her as the commander in
the trenches of that final push against the Juxtant. One of theirs brought home
from the enemy to the bosom of her soldier family, to be treated and cured.
Healed.
Right.