Savage

by Tana Stone

  Good, she thought. He should be as frustrated as she was. She’d like to see how he liked it, if the tables were turned.

  Caro could hear the thudding of his feet as he stormed around the camp, but she closed her eyes and tried to ignore it. Let him be a child. She wasn’t going to make him feel better about what he’d done just because he was under some delusion that this was for her benefit. She refused to make any of this easier for him. Nope, she was going to go down kicking and screaming.

  With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine that she wasn’t tied up in a tent in the middle of a giant desert. She could almost force herself to believe she was back on the ship—the old bounty-hunting ship that had been her home.

  She could imagine the beeps of the computers and the hum of the engine that had been her constant companion. Holly had kept the old engine purring, despite its age and how many hits they’d taken, and even now, the memory of the throaty rumble of the ship made her smile. She inhaled the scent of engine fuel that had never seemed to fade, hearing the metallic echo of boots against the steel floors as she walked onto the bridge.

  In her mind, Caro sank into the pilot’s chair, resting her hands on the smooth console. She knew the controls so well, she could have piloted the ship blindfolded. Her fingers danced across the surface as she punched in coordinates, and the acceleration pushed her back into her seat. Her heart pounded, like it always did when they made a successful escape, and she turned to grin at Danica.

  But it wasn’t Danica. It was her old captain from the Valox resistance. He wore a torn uniform, and blood trickled down the dark skin of his forehead. His eyes were wild as he bellowed orders, and Caro spun back around, glancing desperately at her controls again. The scent of charred fuel came from the fire that was consuming their engine, a fact confirmed by the shrieking alarms.

  She wasn’t on the bounty-hunter ship anymore. She was back in the last battle she’d fought in with the Valox resistance. Caro desperately wanted to open her eyes and be anywhere but that moment, but she couldn’t. The images filling her brain kept her rooted to the memory, a memory so bad she’d spent the past few astro-years trying to make up for it.

  “Can you get us out of here?” the captain yelled over the siren and the cacophony of panicked voices.

  “Yes, sir.” Caro focused on her controls, but another blast almost knocked her out of her seat. The officer at the console next to her flew back, hitting her head hard on the floor and lying still.

  Caro froze. Her best friend on the ship—the friend she’d joined the Valox resistance with—was lying inert, with blood pooling around her head. She could hear the captain’s commands as he screamed at her to return to her post, and it was only then that she realized she was kneeling next to her friend’s motionless body, blood slick on her hands. Another blast jolted her from her daze.

  She’d staggered back to her post and managed to get the ship away from the battle, but not before their shields had failed and their weapons had been disabled. When she and a handful of remaining crew members had abandoned ship, the captain and most of the crew were dead.

  When she opened her eyes, she was panting as if she’d run a race, and she could taste bile in the back of her throat. She’d tried so hard not to remember that day, but it was always there, waiting for her. Ready to remind her of her failure and how many people were dead because of her.

  She’d made up for it, though, she told herself. She’d been the most dedicated pilot any crew could ever hope for, and she’d tried to do nothing but keep her new crew out of danger since she’d joined them. Since Danica had taken a chance on her.

  Which was why she couldn’t lose track of her overall goal. She had to get back to her friends, so they get off the sand planet together. They were a team—a crew—and they were the closest thing she had to a family.

  Caro steadied her breathing and thought. What would Danica do? The captain was always good with strategy, and came up with most of their plans. Of course, she’d never been in quite this situation before. Tori would have clawed her way out, and ripped Rukken’s throat out in the process. Not exactly her style. If it was Bexli, she’d just shapeshift into a smaller creature and slink away. Too bad she wasn’t a shapeshifter. If Holly was the one tied up, she’d flirt her way out of there.

  “That’s clearly not an option,” she muttered to herself.

  Rukken came into view again and bent over the fire, his stomach muscles rippling. Heat ignited in her core, and she looked away, then looked back slowly. Or was it?

  Twelve

  Rukken jabbed at the fire with a stick. How could she not understand that he was trying to keep her safe? Did she not see that Zatvar was dangerous? He’d killed at least once before. He could not let her anywhere the Dothvek.

  Maybe if you had not been so angry last night, he thought. Maybe if you hadn’t let your fear take over, she would still be talking to you. He flashed back to their meal around the fire the night before. She’d been almost friendly to him. Now she wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

  He added more dry grass to the fire, and it flared brighter. It’s for her own good. She almost died when she tried to get away. Next time, she might not be so lucky, and he might not be fast enough. If she’d run into a giant sand serpent or scorpion on the sands, she would have undoubtably been killed. Dread washed over him, and his skin went cold despite the heat of the suns burning off the chill of the night.

  “Yoo-hoo,” she called, from inside the tent.

  He turned and saw her smiling at him. He was so confused, he just stared at her.

  “I changed my mind about the tea,” she said. “I’m actually pretty thirsty.”

  Was this the same female who’d been shooting daggers at him with her eyes only a little while ago? He poured a fresh cup of tea and stepped into the tent, but looked down at her for a moment. “Is this a trick?”

  She tilted her head at him. “How could me drinking something be a trick?”

  He craned his neck around her to see that her hands were still tied behind the tent pole before he knelt down in front of her and held the clay cup to her lips. She drank eagerly, her throat moving up and down several times before she stopped.

  “Thanks,” she said. “This stuff grows on you.”

  Some of the liquid trickled down her lips, and he brushed it away with a finger, his gaze lingering on the soft pillow of her lower lip. Heat coiled in his belly, and his cock swelled.

  Caro’s dark eyes widened, and he realized he’d groaned out loud. He stood quickly, backing away. “I am sorry. I did not mean—“

  “It’s okay,” she called out as he turned to leave. “You don’t have to go. It’s a little lonely in here all by myself.”

  He hesitated and turned around. “You wish me to stay? I thought you hated me.”

  She laughed, but it was not much more than a nervous giggle. “There isn’t much point in giving the silent treatment to the only other person within miles. Unless I make up a bunch of imaginary friends to keep me company, and I’d really rather not have to resort to that.”

  “Imaginary friends?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess Dothveks don’t have imaginary friends?”

  He stepped back inside and crouched to one side of the tent opening, shaking his head. “We do not.”

  “Too bad. I was an only child, so I had a bunch of them. The outpost I grew up on didn’t have a lot of other kids, so my make-believe friends were sometimes my only company.”

  “What is an outpost?”

  Caro shifted against the pole, obviously trying to get comfortable. “Like a small community on another planet. Earth set up a bunch of scientific and research outposts on alien planets. My parents were part of a scientific delegation on Parnos III, in the Valox sector.”

  Rukken did not know what most of these words meant. He knew there were other worlds beyond his—he’d seen the occasional starship flash across the sky—but his people had never desired interaction
with offworlders. He only knew his planet and the sands. It seemed almost impossible to imagine worlds beyond his, filled with creatures that were unlike him, and it made fear flicker in his chest.

  “Are there many of your kind out there?” He jerked his head heavenward.

  “Humans? A decent number. At this point, there are probably more out in space and on outposts than on Earth. We kind of wrecked that generations ago.”

  “You wrecked your home world? Why would you do that?”

  She laughed again, but this time it sounded real. “It happened way before my time, but it’s a good question. I guess people just got selfish and greedy. Money mattered more to them than keeping the planet healthy. Eventually, they destroyed most of it. Once the environment was decimated, it was only a matter of time before people started dying from natural disasters, illness, and starvation. Anyone who could leave, did.”

  Rukken wrinkled his nose. These humans did not sound so clever. It was well known that to lose your connection with your planet was to invite disaster. The Cresteks had done just that and had brought a deadly virus down upon all of them. It was why there were few females left, as the illness had struck only them.

  “Is this outpost where your family lives very far from here?” he asked.

  Her smile faded. “It’s gone. So are they.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. It’s fine.”

  He heard the break in her voice. Clearly, it was not fine. “My family is also gone. I lost my father to the sands and my mother to the illness brought about by the Cresteks.”

  “Were you young?”

  He jerked his head up—the Dothvek gesture for no. “I was old enough to take care of myself, although some Dothveks might disagree.” He leaned back on his heels. “I got into a good deal of trouble after they died.”

  “That makes sense,” she said. “People handle loss in a lot of different ways. I joined a pretty dangerous resistance to fight back at the aliens who’d attacked my outpost.”

  He rested his elbow on his knees. “You were a warrior?”

  “A pilot, but for a resistance movement, so I was kind of a warrior. It was my job to get our fighters in and out of tricky situations, which is the same thing I do with my bounty-hunting crew.”

  He studied her. She looked too small and frail to be a warrior, but she was brave enough to run off on the sands by herself, so she obviously had the heart of a warrior. Maybe she didn’t need his protection as much as he thought she did.

  Rukken gave his head a rough shake. No. She still did not know the dangers of his planet. Her bravery could not protect her from those. And she was no physical match for him or any Dothvek. “What is a pilot?”

  “I fly ships.”

  “Like the one that crashed on the sands?” he asked.

  She twitched. “You saw us crash?”

  “It was difficult to miss a fiery slash across the sky, but I did not approach. I knew the Cresteks and Dothveks would investigate.”

  “And you’re supposed to be exiled,” she said.

  “And I did not imagine there would be survivors.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I’ll have you know I was able to steer the plane and control the descent enough so that no one died.”

  “You are a good pilot, then?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I like to think so.” She met his eyes. “Have you ever imagined leaving here?”

  “This camp? There are not so many with water and protection from the winds like this.”

  She shook her head. “Not here. Your planet. Have you ever thought about visiting other worlds?”

  He recoiled slightly, biting back the response that rushed to the tip of his tongue. Despite being exiled from his clan, leaving his planet had never occurred to him. It was not something his kind did. The planet and the sands were as much a part of them as anything. The idea of floating around in the blackness of space made him shiver. “Dothveks are bound to the sands.”

  “Not all of you,” she said, half under her breath.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that one of the Dothvek warriors jumped on a spaceship with my friend, Tori. They’re out in space somewhere, and we’re hoping they can get back to us.”

  He almost fell backward. “A Dothvek? Flying in the sky?”

  She nodded, grinning at his shock. “Vrax. Apparently, he’s as impulsive and reckless as Tori. They’d make the perfect couple, if she wasn’t so completely hostile to the idea of dating.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Dating?”

  “You know? A guy and a girl—or a guy and a guy or a girl and a girl, whatever floats your boat—getting to know each other, going out, yadda yadda yadda, before they get married.”

  The translator in his ear must not be working. He tapped at it. “Yadda?”

  “Sorry. It’s an expression that means ‘other stuff.’” Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink that made his own body heat.

  “And humans do this other stuff before they are mated?”

  She shifted, her eyes not meeting his. “Usually.”

  “So, we are dating?” He asked.

  “What? No!” Her pink cheeks deepened to red, and she jerked her gaze to his. “Why would you think we’re dating?”

  He moved closer to her. “We are getting to know each other before we are mated.”

  “We’re not going to be mated,” she spluttered.

  He eyed the pink flush that had crept down her neck and now bloomed across her collarbone, his cock hardening against his leg. “We will see.”

  Thirteen

  Okay, this was not going according to plan. She was supposed to be charming him so he would let her go. He was not supposed to be getting her hot and bothered.

  Rukken sat so close to her she could feel the heat from his body pulsing off him. She could definitely see the significant bulge tenting the animal skin he wore around his waist. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and he held her face, looking at her as if he wanted to devour her. For the briefest moment, Caro wanted him to. For the length of a heartbeat, she wished he would lean closer and kiss her. She wanted to know what his lips would feel like against hers, and whether his beard would feel as scratchy as it looked. Then the snap of the fire outside brought her back to reality.

  “You must be hungry.” He stood and headed outside before she could protest.

  Actually, she was hungry. The last thing she’d eaten was some tough snake meat the night before. “Please let it be anything but snake.”

  She watched him disappear from sight and then reemerge, unwrapping something from a packet of leaves and returning to the tent, squatting down and holding it out to her. Caro eyed the glistening, yellow balls. “What are these?”

  “Tam tam.”

  That explained absolutely nothing, although she thought they looked like a kind of fruit. He put one to her mouth, and she took a hesitant nibble. Tart and a little sweet. Not bad. Some of the juice dribbled down her chin, and onto her lap. “You know this would be easier if you untied me and let me feed myself.”

  He made a quick upward move of his head. “Impossible. You will try to run.”

  Caro sighed as more tam tam juice dripped on her leg. At this rate, her clothes—her only clothes—would be soaked in sticky juice. “It’s daytime, and there’s nothing but sand as far as I can see. Where am I going to run where you won’t find me?”

  He seemed to consider this for a moment, then jerked his head up again. “I prefer you like this. Safe, and not sinking into a pool of lightning sand.”

  “And I prefer not to have more food on me than in me.” She cut her eyes to the yellow droplets falling onto her lap.

  His eyes widened and his face colored, as he hurriedly attempted to stop the dripping fruit. His motions only made more liquid splatter on her, and she closed her eyes as some droplets hit her cheeks and rolled down her neck. She groaned. Having sticky juice dry on her breasts was not
going to be fun.

  Rukken put the fruit back in the leaves and appraised her. “I will clean you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” The last thing she wanted was the big barbarian who’d tied her up to have an excuse to put his hands all over her. His accidental touches had been unsettling enough.

  Rukken ignored her, his gaze scouring her bare flesh as he wiped off any moisture with his large, callused fingertips. Instead of feeling rough like the tough skin should feel against hers, his touch was like feathers.

  Caro held her breath as he ran one finger down the length of her neck, tracing a trail of juice to the hollow of her throat. His gaze was intense, and his eyebrows pressed close together as he wiped the yellow drops from her cheeks and then one from the corner of her mouth.

  Her heart raced, and she was sure he could not only hear it but feel the erratic beat. Closing her eyes, Caro tried to ignore the heat inflaming her cheeks. It felt like his rough skin brushing hers had left scorch marks behind, evidence that she was not so indifferent to him, after all.

  She parted her lips involuntarily as he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, and he stopped suddenly. She opened her eyes, and she saw that his expression had changed. He was no longer concerned and diligent, his gaze focused on his task. Something else dark and dominant flashed beneath his eyes.

  “Untie me,” she said, but there was no force in her request, and she was not even sure it was what she wanted anymore.

  “I cannot.” His voice was husky.

  Rukken locked eyes with her, his hand cupping her face and tilting it up. He stroked a finger along her jawline, his breathing labored as his gaze shifted to her mouth. Caro was sure she’d stopped breathing altogether.

  She knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted whatever was next. She wanted more of his touch, more of his hands moving across her skin. She could almost feel what his lips would be like moving against hers—soft and warm, the scratchiness of his beard adding a welcome sting to the pleasure. She could definitely feel that he wanted her. His need was a pulse that seemed to radiate off his body like heat, and she wasn’t sure where his desire ended and hers began.