Star Crossed

by C. Gockel

He found he could chuckle. He slowly clapped his hands. “An excellent performance. You have quite the capacity to be—”

  “—annoying?”

  “I was going to say charming.”

  “Well, if I was going to stay, I’d keep being charming, but I think I’d like to return to my cell. I’m tired. Not even slightly hungry.” She gave an obviously fake yawn.

  “You will be spending your night here.”

  She tensed, then her chains started clinking again.

  “If I’d known I was going to spend the night chained to a chair, I’d have peed before I left the cell.”

  Peed? He arched his brows.

  “Jeez, what is it with the guys in this galaxy? Don’t any of you have bodily functions?”

  “Oh.” He felt himself flush. “I will arrange something before we go to bed.”

  She jerked and her cheeks paled, but her gaze narrowed dangerously and her hands bent into claws.

  “You’ll need help with that, too.”

  He found he was again glad she could not reach him.

  “The chains will also secure you to the bed, if necessary.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze getting even more deadly.

  “Well, ick.”

  “You are an adult, and experienced in the ways of men—”

  Her body jerked again and her eyes widened for a moment, before her lashes swept down to hide her expression.

  Surely he could not be wrong. “I saw how you acted with the men of your ship, and saw the way you looked at them. I do not expect to be the first, or even the last to mate with you, Sara.”

  It was hard to imagine a time when he would not want her, but he had felt this way before. Her head turned toward him, tipped to the side, as she studied him for a long moment before her lashes again covered her eyes.

  “Well, you were the busy little judge of all things during your short time among us. I guess I’m not really surprised someone like you would look at someone like me and see a prostitute.”

  He had not heard that word before, but he did not ask her what it meant. He just knew. Her fingers started tapping on the table again. Had he misjudged the situation? Not that it would change the outcome. She was not Dusan. She could not be anything but a companion. It was their way.

  “It was not my intention to insult you, Sara. I merely wanted to assure you that your past is the past. What concerns me is the present.”

  She looked at him again, and held up her hands. “This present, you mean?” She rattled them.

  “I would be happy to remove the chains, once you have assured me that you will not try to escape.”

  “If I promise not to escape, can I still kick your ass?” Her head tilted. “Cause you seriously need an ass-kicking.”

  He had to smile. She was braver than many men he had fought.

  “Perhaps I had better spell out the terms of our arrangement in more detail.”

  “If it doesn’t include kicking your ass, I’m not really interested.”

  He went on as if she had not spoken. “I realize you will need time to get used to this, to me. But you must understand, you will be sleeping in that bed with me tonight. Whether anything other than sleeping happens is up to you.”

  Once a woman shared a bed with him, had to sleep in his arms, it was harder to retreat when it was time to mate. Fear, even bravado could not be maintained indefinitely and were blunted by kindness, by tenderness, and by the enforced closeness. And in that time between sleeping and waking defenses were more easily breached. Once breached, there was no going back. He leaned back in the chair, watching emotions flicker through her eyes too fast to read. She started to say something, but stopped. The tapping got faster.

  “You’re going to let me say no? Now why don’t I trust you?” She rattled her chains again.

  He half smiled and shook his head. “For a short time, I will restrain myself, if you will give me your word that you will not try to escape. If you accept the inevitability of your situation.”

  She blinked, just the once.

  “The situation?”

  “You will be my companion, both in bed and out, until I—” he hesitated.

  She did not. “Until you lose interest.”

  Looking at her beautiful, willful face, it did not seem possible to lose interest in her, but… “Yes.”

  “And when you lose interest? What then?”

  He felt a flicker of irritation, but he also felt something else. Knowledge might provide her with incentive to please him, but he found he could not look into her clear, gray eyes and tell her what came after. He had never thought that much about the companion pools on the ships and outposts. They existed to keep the men happy when they were away from their bond mates. It was the way things were, but she sat there looking at him with such contempt in her eyes, it suddenly seemed ugly to think of her in a pool of women, at the beck and call of which ever man wanted her. Looking at her now, the thought of anyone but him touching her made him oddly angry.

  As if she’d followed his thoughts, she said, “So far, I’m still at ick.”

  He clenched his hands, fighting the urge to slap her for making him feel uncomfortable, for making him question their ways. She acted as if she had a choice. She would do what he told her and she would like it.

  “So what do these companions do when they aren’t companioning?”

  “There are tasks…” Surely she knew the kinds of things women took care of?

  “Right. Let’s see if I can guess these tasks. Washing, cleaning, cooking. All that fun stuff you guys hate to do for yourselves.” She shook her head. “And let’s not forget barefoot and pregnant—oh, but I bet you wouldn’t want little bastard supreme leaders interfering with the companionship.”

  “If there is offspring, it would be raised in our home world. It would not inconvenience you.”

  That cold, dangerous look flashed in her eyes again before she hid it with her lids. It was a shock to realize that not only could she kill him, but if given the chance, and she would without hesitation. He could almost feel her hands around his neck. He shifted, stretching his neck to get rid of the feeling.

  “It? Offspring? Why do I get the feeling the kid wouldn’t end up in the supreme leader digs—at least not in the front rooms.”

  The bloodline must be maintained. It was their way.

  “You’d turn your own kid into a slave.” Her gaze swept him with a look of cold contempt. “You really are a piece of work. A jumped up little piece of shit in a supreme leader suit.”

  His hand lashed out and her head snapped back against the chair.

  He did not know what the word meant, but he knew it was not a compliment. “You will not disrespect me.”

  His handprint was livid on her pale skin and a trickle of blood started at the edge of her mouth.

  “Too late for that.” She leaned forward, so she could reach her mouth with her chained hands, and dabbed at the blood. “How about we try that with out the chains?”

  It took all his training and control to meet her steely gaze calmly. The slap was a mistake. She was trying to provoke him. She needed to feel oppressed to fight against him. Kindness, gentleness, and tender seduction, worked the best with a high-spirited captive. Perhaps it was time for her first lesson. He stood up, holding her gaze with his, letting her see and feel his desire for her. Her gaze turned wary, her chin tilted in defiance.

  He moved toward her, careful to stay out of reach of her hands. Approaching from the back, he put his hands on her shoulders. Her hands clenched the arms of the chair so hard the knuckles turned white. He smiled. So much passion. All misdirected. He would teach her something better to do with it. He slid his hands up the sides of her neck, caressing the warm, supple skin. The only force he applied was to tip her head back, so she had to look at him. So he could see her straight, furious mouth. The lips were full and—he rubbed his finger across them—soft. He spread his fingers across her cheeks, holding her head i
n place as he bent and put his lips on hers, tasting the sweetness as he nibbled her full, lower lip.

  “You are very beautiful, you know,” he murmured as he teased the edges of her mouth, brushing his lips across hers several times before settling in.

  He felt her shudder in surprise. She tried to turn, but he did not let her. He tasted and teased, trying to lure a response from her. After that one try, she did not fight him. She also did not respond. He could feel her will like a wall against his. But she had to work at resisting him. He could feel that, too. He tried to deepen the kiss, tried to edge her mouth open—

  She jerked her head to the side, breaking off the contact. He could have enforced more compliance, but he did not. He would let her consider this first lesson. He returned to his seat. The taste of her lingered on his mouth and he found he was hoping she would turn him down. He did not want to wait before he dived into the well of passion he could sense simmering just below the surface of her resolve. All she needed was the right touch, the right man, to release it.

  She deliberately wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her uniform.

  “I look forward to schooling you to our ways. I think you will find it less ick than you think. You are very passionate. It will be my pleasure to teach you how to use it more properly.”

  She made a short, scornful sound.

  “You will adjust. They all do.”

  “Right. Like that’ll happen.”

  “You are bright and intelligent. You will accept the inevitable in time.”

  Her gaze snapped his way. “Only with a freaking lobotomy.”

  He looked at her with a frown.

  “I’d need most of my brain removed.”

  There was a small beep and then the door slid open.

  “Our meal is here.” He signaled to the two women waiting to enter. They carried in trays, placing the necessary utensils in front of him first. He smiled at the smaller, dark-haired one. “Thank you, Fiona.”

  It pleased him to see her. She reminded him that the women did adjust. She had been his companion when her planet was taken and he still availed himself of her services when he visited the outpost. She had resisted at first, but had become pliant and willing in the end. A hint of color flushed her face. She still wanted him. There, he wanted to say to Sara, see how she still cares for me.

  He looked at Sara and her eyes were filled with horror, so much it was uncomfortable to see. Against his will his view of the women changed, now he saw them the way they looked to Sara. They were both pretty, but both moved with shoulders slightly bent, as if to ward off a blow. One had a bruise on her cheek. Not all the men were gentle. And their eyes, other than the brief flash of recognition from Fiona, were without life. The contrast with Sara’s eyes, with Sara herself, was the difference between night and day.

  Even when she closed herself off, she pulsed with life and energy. Chained she radiated angry defiance. Would she someday shuffle around a table like these women, with sad, dead eyes?

  He had a moment of repulsion and he almost relented, but even as his will faltered, his desire to have her rose to swamp him. She was different from the others. He would not tire of her. She might be a mongrel, and not one of them, but she was the descendent of Miri.

  Her gaze followed both women until the door closed them from her sight. Her lashes lowered, covering her eyes, hiding her expression. Something about the set of her mouth reminded him of her throw down. Was she plotting, planning her next move? Surely she must realize there was no move for her to make except to come to terms with him?

  “I hope you are hungry. It smells excellent, does it not? This is a rare delicacy on our home world.”

  She looked down at her plate, an odd stillness about her that made him suddenly uneasy. “Sara—”

  Before he could finish, she swept all of it to the floor between them. He stared down at the mess of food, struggling to keep himself under control.

  His voice was cold. “You should not have done that.”

  “Probably not.” Her voice sounded flat and strange. “They must have worked hard to prepare it.”

  He looked at her then. Her expression was hard to read. She took a long, slow breath, but she looked straight ahead, not at him.

  “How about we have a throw down? Winner gets what they want?” Now she looked at him, her eyes daring him to take her on.

  He was tempted to promise her anything that would get her into that bed and willing. What if he told her she could go in the morning? Eventually she would learn her future was here, that her past was just that, her past. What could she do if he did not let her go? How would she retreat, once she had given in to him? Her gaze chilled to deadly again and he found he was again grateful for the restraints holding her in place. Somehow she knew what he had been thinking.

  “Yeah, you’re a real hero, aren’t you?” Her gaze swept over him with such contempt, he almost hit her again.

  How dare she judge him?

  “Whatever it is you think you’ll get from me, you won’t.”

  The quiet resolve in her voice impressed him.

  She sat quietly, her body gathered in. No more tapping fingers on the table top. No more clink of chains. Just that implacable tone to her voice and steely resolve in her eyes.

  “You said it yourself in that song. People change.” For a minute he saw her the way she had looked singing it. It had a special meaning for her, he realized now.

  “The point of that song pretty much sailed right by your pointy little head, didn’t it?”

  He leaned toward her, smoothing back a lock of her hair that had fallen forward, wondering what her life had been like before this. It surprised him. He had never felt this curiosity before.

  She jerked her head away from his touch, her body taut with frustration. He could see and feel her rejection of her new life, of him, but he had seen other women sit where she now sat. They had all adapted. Some took longer than others, but in the end, they adjusted. She would, too. She had no other choice.

  “If you will promise not to leave, I will give you time to get used to me to this. I will help you adjust.”

  “You’ll help me? That’s almost funny, you creepy, sad little man.”

  “Do not try my patience too far, Sara. There are limits.”

  “Or what? You’ll beat me?” She shook her head. “Go ahead. Kill me. I’d rather that than climb between the sheets with you.”

  Her eyes convicted him, but of what? Wanting to share his passion with a beautiful woman? Then he was guilty.

  “You rant against what you do not know.” Now he believed she had not been with a man. It surprised him that he had not seen it before. Her people’s ways had confused him. “There are many delights to be found between the sheets, as you put it.”

  He saw her eyes brighten, either with rage or tears, but if it was tears, they did not spill down her face. Something in her expression made him feel an odd need to comfort her.

  “You will get used to this, to me, in time. You do not believe me, but there will come a time when you will beg to stay with me a little longer. They all do in the end.” In his mind, he heard her begging. For her, he might just give in.

  Her voice, her face lost all animation and he felt her retreat to some place deep inside.

  “The end I don’t have enough life left to get to that end.”

  It almost seemed like she was not talking to him, but to herself. Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh.

  “You make it sound so dreary. I am quite skilled, my other companions—”

  Her jaw clenched once. There was a pause, then it clenched again, as if she were biting back a comment. Finally, her jaw relaxed into a smile, but it was one without charm or warmth.

  “I’m sure you get honest critiques on your prowess from women who will be turned over to your men if they don’t please you.” She looked at him. “Or even if they do.”

  He almost hit her again, but managed to stop himself. It was what she wanted.
He would not give it to her. He would lure her out of hiding. He would seduce her into submitting to him. Before he was through, she would hold nothing back from him. Not her body or the key.

  Her lashes lowered, hiding her thoughts from him. She would learn not to do that either.

  “You will be surprised by what I will give you, Sara. And by what you will give me.”

  She hesitated, as if gathering strength, and then her lashes lifted again. He could see that she had found her way to a neutral place, but it had cost her. The strain showed on her face, cutting deep lines around her eyes and mouth, making her face more sharply beautiful.

  “There is a story, my people tell, about a holy man, a Jewish zealot.”

  He found he was intrigued. A story? Had a woman ever told him a story before? What did she hope to accomplish? She was up to something. He may not know that much about her, but he knew this.

  “He lived a long time ago. His name was Elazar ben Ya’ir.”

  The name sounded like a sad song, the way she said it and it softened her mouth again.

  “His country was over run by invaders. He and his followers objected to becoming slaves, to losing their right to choose.”

  Her mouth curved up for a moment and she paused, looking at him with a hint of challenge, as if she expected him to speak, to object. Now they were getting to the point of her story, but did she really think that would change his mind? She did not know him. But she would.

  “And what did they do about it?” Did she realize that by speaking to him, she was already adapting to his presence, to being with him?

  “They had prepared for war, gathered arms and stores, and retreated to a fortress called Masada.”

  The way she said the name, sent a shiver down his back. She stopped to lick her lips. He thought about offering her something to drink, but had a feeling she would reject that, too. Or throw it in his face, he thought with a slight smile.

  “Masada was formidable place, looming high above the Dead Sea. It had both natural and man-made defenses. They were determined not—to adjust.”

  She paused again, her look pointed. He smiled at her. She did not smile back. When she continued, her voice was slow, almost dreamy.