Vanquished (8 page)

“I want to return home.”

“Me too.”

“Same.”

The agreement came in a soft
chorus from Sheera and Alondra, and he watched their men’s lips tighten.
Eltrast sent him a glance and flicked a similar one toward Neira. Clearly the
weapons’ officer had expected Vayne to have already convinced his own chosen to
accept her fate and encourage the other brides to follow suit, to lead by
example. Vayne swallowed down a strange urge to laugh—it appeared the sovereign
wasn’t all powerful and knowing when it came to his female.

“We aren’t allowed to spend time
together,” Neira said softly. “I suspect our hosts fear we’ll plot against
them.”

Vayne was on his feet, reaching
to tug her up and escort her back to their quarters, when she continued. “But I
was a soldier, and I don’t pretend to understand such relationships.
Romantic ones.
However, the Home World won’t be sending
anyone to rescue us, because they won’t know where to begin to look. The
Shadalla are our allies, remember, so Nibiru will be the last place they’ll
consider.” The faint irony in her tone was overshadowed by how earnest she
sounded.

“The sovereign has promised that
none of you will be harmed, and in fact will be treated extremely well. I don’t
mean to undermine your hope, but sometimes it’s important to accept what you
can’t change and embrace it if you can,” she carried on, and Vayne found
himself sitting again with no memory of doing so.

“Leric told me most of that,”
Victoria said. “But I didn’t know what to believe. I wanted to believe him
…
”

The other two women nodded and
cast glances at their mates, though Vayne thought he detected
a certain
warmth in their looks.

Jurlek’s female added, “I
wondered if they took us to pay back the military and the politicians for what
they did. The genetic disease, I mean, that Jurlek told me about. But then I
realized we don’t mean anything to the people back home. We were all sent out
on the
Astris
because we have nobody.
Nothing to return to, no reason to return.”

Vayne registered the faint tremor
in his chosen mate and noted her sudden pallor. He stood again and nodded to
those around the tables. “It is as my bride has shared. You will be revered as
lifemates, our brides, and very well treated. You will want for nothing.”

Neira didn’t protest as he
clasped her elbow and urged her to her feet. She hadn’t touched any of the food
before her. The faint smile she gave the other women didn’t encompass his
crew—those she gave a quick inclination of her head. He had the sensation his
little warrior was holding on to her control by the tiniest measure.

Vayne spoke over his shoulder,
directly to the females. “We may speak more at tomorrow’s evening meal, and I
would hope you discuss any further concerns with your mates and formulate
additional questions.”

Walking Neira back to their
quarters was like escorting a mechanical being. Her slender form was rigid and
moved with nothing of her usual grace. And it wasn’t his imagination that she
felt cold—colder than that morning. Her body was like a barometer, reflecting
her state of mind. He kept silent as they passed various crew members going
about their duties, noting their curious—and envious—glances, behind the
obeisance.

He released her upon entering the
sleeping room, and she halted immediately, staring straight ahead. A deeper
flicker of worry lashed his senses and he was uncertain if he should touch her.

“Please remove the
paca
, Neira.”

With jerky movements, she
complied. Keeping a wary eye on her, he rummaged through his stores until he
found another long garment for her to don. He’d often keep her naked when they
were in his home, but he sensed she required clothing at this moment.

Taking the
paca
from her hands in order to put it safely away, he passed her
the dark length of material and was relieved to see her tug it over her head
without comment or visible reaction. His relief was immediately replaced with
anxiety and he decided to address it.

“Tell me what is wrong, Neira.”

Again, there was nothing coy
about her, no prevarication. Yet she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I just told three
women to lay down their arms and surrender, accept the inevitable.”

“And that was the best thing, the
correct thing to do.” He wouldn’t admit he might see it differently, had it
been him taken and en route to an alien planet to mate with strangers and
continue their line. He did what he had to do.

“I don’t have to like it.” Her
voice quavered slightly.

“Ah, my bride…I am sorry. But I
must do what is right for my people.”

“And what does that make me?
And the other twelve women on this ship?”
She nearly
whispered her questions.

Vayne stared at her, uncertain.
This female again unsettled him. “I don’t understand—”

“
Your
people
,
Sovereign.
What are
we
to you?”

“You will be my people too,
Neira,” he said as gently as he could and leaned to put his arms around her,
seeking to offer comfort.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” The words
were delivered with venom anointing every syllable.

“You are my bride.
And to be the mother of my children.
Of course I will have
to touch you.” After her reassuring, albeit brief, speech to the other women,
he was at a loss as to her response. He’d assumed, despite the way she’d
retreated, that she’d included herself in that helpful speech.

She finally lifted those golden
eyes to stare into his. “Then you’ll do it against my will, without my consent.
And your children won’t have a mother. In truth, I’ll be merely a vessel.”

His other self came surging from
the depths and writhed against the barrier of his skin. It had happened twice
now in this woman’s company, and that part of him never surfaced unless on the
battlefield. Shock and dismay warred with outrage and fury, and he clung to his
control. He thought they had come farther… “As you say, little warrior. But I
assure
you,
you’ll be longing for my touch and begging
for my seed. And children will be borne of our joining, strong and willful
warriors. Your maternal skills won’t be required.”

Her gaze searched his and once
again he saw her go, retreat someplace deep inside her he thought he might
never find.
Dark, pained resignation.
The blazing
amber of her irises faded and leached into a pale facsimile, and for the first
time in a very, very long time, Lord Vayne Palldyn, Sovereign of the Southern
Range, planet Nibiru, Shadalla, wondered if he’d finally reached the end of his
vast capabilities.
Foiled by a female, one half his size and
not even of Nibiru.

Chapter Five

Vayne left his quarters, and
Neira supposed it was because she’d drawn the line in the sand with her earlier
impassioned assertion about him having to take from her what he wanted, by
force. She’d meant it and she’d stand by it. But at the same time it made her
feel like a total hypocrite, reassuring Vicky, Sheera and Alondra,
encouraging
them to accept the
kidnapping and subsequent life with the alien men who had chosen them.
Implying that producing children to repopulate Nibiru wasn’t such a
bad deal, when she personally had no intention of complying.

She told herself it was necessary
to do what she’d done. It was like being in charge of a division of new
recruits, looking out for their best interests and giving them good direction.
But a leader didn’t ask troops to do anything they themselves wouldn’t do, and
in this case she simply couldn’t. She could barely manage to keep her roiling
emotions in check as they fought to be released, constantly triggered as they
were in this situation. Because it wasn’t like she would react in any
predictable way, arousal
be
damned. Where were those
medications she’d eschewed upon leaving the military, now when she needed them
most?

Intellectually, she knew that the
Shadalla weren’t like the Juxtant. At least she thought they weren’t. They were
much the same size and coloring, but the Juxtant were fearsome and loathsome to
look upon, their features vulpine, black eyes dark and soulless, and their
barbarism knew no bounds. And the Shadalla allied with the Home World to defeat
their common enemy, so she could believe there was a considerable difference.
Except Vayne had broken the treaty.
With good reason,
a tiny voice in her head argued.
Genocide is heinous.
Ignoring the inner
commentary, she considered the fact of the restraints on his bunk. The Juxtant
favored bindings as well…and other things. She pushed past that and wondered if
the sovereign anticipated the need to bind his lifemate, that she wouldn’t be
willing. It might explain the eyebolts. Or it might not.

They were well placed, in any
event. She was once again in the cuffs and tethered to the bunk, gathered up in
an eye blink after her ultimatum and efficiently secured. Vayne had moved with
such speed and determination she’d only managed a token resistance. At least
she was clothed, if in another one of those loose, shapeless dresses that
covered her from beneath her chin to the floor, over the comfortable underwear.

He’d left her there without
additional commentary, and she had settled after a while to consider her
predicament. For certain she’d made things more difficult for herself but took
consolation in believing the other women she spoke to were in better emotional
shape as a result. Her thoughts turned to the rest, sequestered someplace on
the ship. They had to be frightened no matter how Palldyn reassured her. Would
it help them to hear what she’d said to the other three? Alondra’s words came
back to her and she wondered if it was significant that all the passengers on
the
Astris
had no one back home. It
had been the other woman’s comments that struck home to point out just how
truly alone Neira was, and it all became too much.

Her mind worried over the thought
until the door panel hissed open and Vayne strode inside. Despite her banked
anger, her traitorous body once again woke up and took notice. Had
he
noticed how difficult it had been for
her to reject his touch? It was like her bones melted and her muscles went lax
when he came close, desire pooling between her legs as her breasts ached and
her nipples pinched into painful nubs. Even the simplest drift or clasp of his
fingers shut all her good sense down—until the lack of control unlocked her
terror. Everything was then washed aside in the deluge, and she couldn’t
consider what being bound to this alien would mean: the loss of her whole self.
Never.
She hadn’t given over to the Juxtant,
and Vayne wasn’t going to break her, either, despite the difference in his
technique and what he wanted from her.
Because, in the end,
it meant the same thing.
Total surrender.
Trapped in that cycle forever.

Her traitorous body worked harder
to prepare her for him as he approached, even though her arousal cooled a tad
when he wordlessly stripped her of the shapeless clothing as well as the
undergarments, ignoring her efforts to retain them. He ripped the fabric free
rather than loosen the cuffs, and his mastery both titillated and terrified
her.
Madness.
After tucking her beneath the cover of
the bunk, he climbed in to take up his usual position behind her.

“Sleep well, little warrior. We
have much to discuss tomorrow.”

Like she could
drop off after that comment.
Squirming into a more comfortable position, she tormented herself by counting
his heartbeats, a strange echo causing her to lose track. She thought she
sensed when he fell asleep, his deeper breaths ruffling her hair—a curiously
intimate sensation. For a moment she allowed herself to entertain the idea of
belonging to a man like Vayne, to have a purpose in life again, if a very
different
one,
and the shard of pain penetrating her
chest literally took her breath. Perhaps flirting with insanity wasn’t such a
good idea. She slipped into an uneasy slumber on that thought.

****

Vayne woke her with a press on
her shoulder and she struggled into awareness to see him standing beside the
bunk, fully dressed. It wasn’t like her to be unaware of movement around her
while she slept and she hadn’t even awakened when he’d left their bed.
His bed.
Her throat felt tight and she tried to swallow
against the sensation. She was losing her edge. Without a word, he released her
cuffs and stepped back, his big body clearly alert for any acting out. She
worked her arms to alleviate the stiffness, stupidly wishing for his earlier
actions to soothe them, before slipping from the bunk to hurry to the cleansing
room. Vayne’s flat affect and expressionless face made her more uncomfortable
than she cared to admit, and when she emerged to see him regarding her just as
impassively, she had to fight down an insane urge to apologize.

“Please sit.” His courtesy was at
odds with his cool demeanor.

Blinking, she saw the food
arranged on a tray beside the bed and made to go to the chair alongside. He
shook his head and gestured to the bunk. Confused, she sat where he indicated,
and he pulled the chair forward, dropping into it.

“Must I cuff you?” It sounded so
offhand, careless.

“No. I’ll behave.” And there was
that need to please again, like a child acknowledging the loving supremacy of
the other being in the room.
Dependent on him for everything.

 
She watched as he carefully loaded an eating
utensil with some morsels of meat and a vegetable and raised it to her lips. He
was back to feeding her, and there was no reason for it.

Leaning back, she said, “I can
feed myself.”

Vayne shrugged, and the food fell
from the fork to the plate. “It is our tradition for the holding period.”

“What’s that, this holding
period?” At least he was talking to her, although why that should matter was beyond
her. She certainly wasn’t rethinking her edict.

There was no guile in those
turquoise-blue eyes as he answered, but she still had a sense he was
withholding.
Maybe lying by omission.
“It’s a period
of time in which Shadalla males court our chosen, accustom them to our
individual personalities—learn about the other.”

“Like dating?”
Not that she had ever dated. She
hadn’t had the time or the opportunity. Sexual contact had been spontaneous and
her partners usually from the ranks. It hadn’t seemed to matter if she saw them
outside of soldiering. What she knew of them was important enough—she knew them
as warriors, men to have your back, trustworthy and stalwart. They always used
protection—easily available to the troops—and any intimacy came from the bond forged
through combat and nothing else. There had been nothing to compare to the
incredible appeal this Shadalla held for her.

“Similar to your dating process,
I suppose. We are somewhat more…intense.” He offered her another forkful of
food and fixed her with a calm stare.

Extremely hungry, the evening
meal ignored despite his efforts to provide for her, she slowly parted her
lips. Her hands lifted at the same time but subsided to the coverlet at the
nearly indiscernible shake of his head. Well, she’d promised.

The flavors of the food burst
over her tongue and she swept it off the fork to chew and swallow rapidly. It
was foreign, being fed by his hand once again, but at least they weren’t at one
another’s throats. The fear she harbored and kept under desperate control then
stretched a little and began to raise its head.
You are giving up your power, soldier.
She breathed deeply, and the
scent of Vayne, something clean and earthy, doused her terror and silenced the
eerie voice. She was able to accept another mouthful, and another, until she
was full, sipping at the cup of ale he offered afterward.

The enigmatic look on his face
gave her pause, but she thanked him politely and was rewarded with a slight
curl of those appealing lips. She found herself leaning forward, involuntarily,
and jerked back, and whatever had been building between them was broken. He
sighed.

“You’ll be restrained at night,
and while I am on duty—”

“I understand you think I’ll try
to do you harm in your sleep,” she said, unable to hide her scorn. “But what
kind of trouble do you think I can get into alone in here? There’s no access to
anything important.” She’d scanned the area closely, so she knew. The screen on
the wall wasn’t accessible to anything other than his thumbprint, so she wouldn’t
be able to even gather information. “And if you fear I’ll lie in wait for
you…I’m well aware of the Shadalla’s policy about hostages.” They never
negotiated.
Ever.
There might be an exception made in
the case of the sovereign, however.

“I’m not concerned about you
causing trouble or lying in wait, little warrior.”

She chafed at the nickname but
supposed he was within his rights after the barrier she’d thrown up between
them earlier. He hadn’t called her Neira since. “So what’s the issue?”

“I won’t allow you to harm
yourself as you consider your limited options.”

The figurative hand squeezing her
belly made her regret the meal she’d consumed, and she couldn’t seem to catch
her breath. She contented herself with a raised eyebrow and hoped she didn’t
look as stunned as she felt. When? How had he seen her ever-present, weary hope
for death?

“Do you think I haven’t paid
attention to my chosen? That I haven’t seen and felt the despair you strive to
hide? Will you tell me your story so I might completely take your pain?”

Her belly released in an
anguished gush of sensation and she broke out in a fine sweat, unable to break
away from his intent stare. Her hands scrabbled at the coverlet and found
enough purchase to lever her weight and allow her to back away slightly. The
heat of his gaze stretched out between them, as strong a tether as the one
attached to his bed, and she couldn’t break free from it either.

She hung there, poised between
telling him, sharing her deepest, most shameful secrets, or subsiding into the
depths and hugging the agony to herself, when the com on the display sounded.
The male voice spoke in a dialect her translator failed to interpret, but
Vayne’s body stiffened and he muttered in the same language. She fell backward
on the bed. Her quivering, shaking form seemed to belong to someone else as she
pretended relief he’d backed off. Regardless, concern etched his features.

“Breathe, little warrior.” His
big palms swept over her arms and down her sides and eased the shivers, and she
became aware he was tucking the cover around her, sealing in some warmth. He
attached the cuffs and whispered an apology, but she detected his resolve as
she gained a modicum of control. Had he given her that merely by his touch?

“I have something to attend to I
am unable to ignore, but I will be back to discuss the other reasons for your
restraints.
The more…pleasurable ones.”

She peered after him as he strode
from the room, not at all distracted by the other reasons he referenced. He’d
done it to address her upset reaction, and indeed she had established a little
more control. She already knew what he alluded to and hadn’t pulled any punches
when she called him a pervert. Though he’d have to go a long way to top the
Juxtant… She yanked her thoughts away from that direction and focused on the
fact he’d gotten into her head after only two days. There
had
to be something else operating here. Hadn’t she thought that
earlier? She cast her mind back to all those briefings she’d attended and
flipped through any and all extraneous information she’d stored in her brain in
regard to the Shadalla. But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with
anything regarding mind control or Shadalla mating rituals.

****