Sunsinger

by Robyn Bachar

  “Thank you for your help today,” he said. “When I saw the wreckage of the Constitution, I feared I’d have to tell Tali her father was dead.”

  Andee paused. His polite words were contradictory to the energy he projected. “I am glad to have helped. I wish we had been able to save more.”

  Loren nodded, his arms folded over his chest as he scrutinized her. “I know what you are.”

  “Oh? Are you referring to my role as the lady of your house, or the savior of your mate’s father?” she asked. But Andee knew. The question was, what did he intend to do about it?

  “I’m referring to the fact that there is only one sort of empath who trains in death. A liathlinn.”

  “Trains in death,” she repeated. “I will have to remember that one for my swordmaster. Have I done something to offend, Lieutenant, that you would accuse me so?”

  “Your family has done more than enough.”

  She bit back a sigh. “Whatever Wylarric said to you, I apologize for it. He had little respect for anyone.”

  “Not him. Jace.”

  “I see. Is that why you struck him?” Andee had witnessed the lieutenant sucker punch Jace not long after Jace had brought his mates home.

  “He tried to steal Talena from me!”

  “Such is the nature of males when a female is in phase, or so I am told. I haven’t been in phase yet.” Andee completed the series of moves and started again. “It seems a bit of a leap from stealing a mate to stealing a soul. You must think House Morningstar is populated by psychopaths. Let me assure you, Lieutenant, that Najacen isn’t the man you think he is. I don’t doubt that he has traded sharp words with you, but those words are part of his image.”

  “What image? Arrogant jackass?”

  “Yes.” She paused and turned, lowering her swords. “He has a good heart, and he will be a good lord and mate. You needn’t worry that harm will come to Talena or Sabine on his account.”

  “And you know that because you’re an aleithir?” Loren asked. His anger cooled, but he still simmered with mistrust.

  “Yes.”

  “And not a liathlinn?”

  With measured care she sheathed her weapons and then folded her hands. “I would have thought someone with your experience would have outgrown such tales. Or have you been researching scary bedtime stories to tell your daughter?”

  His expression darkened. “That isn’t an answer. I know liathlinn are real. I met one who served House Nightfall.”

  Damn. That could complicate things, both in dealing with Loren and House Nightfall. A liathlinn under Lord Bildanen’s command would be extremely dangerous.

  “I do not answer to you. I answer to my mate,” Andee pointed out. “You are the head of the Sunsinger shadow swords?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will this suspicion of my motives affect your service to me as your lady?”

  Loren paused, his brow furrowed as he mulled over his answer. “I’m not certain,” he finally admitted.

  “I appreciate your honesty.” Andee regarded him quietly. In addition to being Talena’s mate, he was Captain Hawke’s as well. Andee rather liked the captain; a brave, strong warrior, Captain Hawke had served the Cy’ren with distinction. “Perhaps you should resign if you cannot overcome this conflict of interest.”

  His jaw clenched with a low growl. “I will not abandon my position. I have a responsibility to protect Lord Degalen—”

  “As do I,” she interrupted. “Galen is my lord, and as such he has my service.”

  “And Jace doesn’t?”

  “The purpose of this match was to foster an alliance between our houses. One would hope that Jace and Galen share a similar purpose. But whether or not my mate chooses to use my abilities is his decision, not yours. Galen has faith in me, and thus far he seems to think that I may be useful for more than spreading my legs and providing him with heirs.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he began.

  “Of course it wasn’t.” Andee’s tone became increasingly frosty as she continued. “I’m sure you only meant to imply that I am a violent psychopath who intends to betray my mate at my first opportunity out of some sense of loyalty to my brother, who never wanted to be lord in the first place and has no ill will against Galen.”

  Andee turned on her heel and marched out of the armory. She hadn’t even set foot in House Sunsinger yet. Would all the members of her new house view her with such suspicion, whispering behind her back that she was a devourer of souls?

  Gods. What had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” Malcolm said, flustered. Galen followed him and ignored his protests, and Malcolm wanted to scream. He reached the corridor with the guest quarters, and cursed as he realized that he didn’t remember where his quarters were.

  Galen took his arm and steered him into the room he shared with Andee.

  “I just said I don’t want to talk to you!” Malcolm snapped as Galen hauled him through the door. “And you can’t push me around just because you’re some kind of Cy’ren royalty. If I’m not free, then I’m still property of the Collective, and only they get to boss me around.”

  “You are free. Or you will be, once we’re rid of Bildanen and the Syndicate again,” Galen assured him.

  “But the Archivist said—”

  Galen snarled something in Cy’reni that sounded suspiciously like “fuck the Archivist”. Malcolm’s eyes widened, and he stepped back, bumping into the cold metal wall behind him. Squaring his shoulders, Malcolm poked Galen in the chest.

  “You. Don’t. Know. So don’t tell me that you can help me when you can’t, or that you understand what I’m going through when you haven’t lived a single day in my shoes.” Malcolm inched away, still holding a hand up as though attempting to ward the Cy’ren off. “I don’t feel well. I need to shower and sleep, and I don’t know where my room is. Andee knows.”

  “Your room is here,” Galen said. Scowling, Malcolm began to argue, but Galen held his hands up in surrender. “You are welcome to stay. Please. I will not bother you. I apologize for not telling you about the arrangement with the Archivist. I should have consulted with you about it. I’m…” Galen hesitated and sighed wearily. “I’m afraid I’m making a mess of this. I am out of my element.”

  He eyed Galen, wary but curious. “What is your element?”

  Galen smiled ruefully. “The Sunsinger archive. I suppose I’m better suited to reading history than making it.”

  Malcolm nodded—he’d rather be back on the jump station, jacked into his chair doing normal work for his regular clients. He retreated to the bathroom and locked himself in. Malcolm’s rightful quarters probably didn’t have its own bathroom. The benefits of wealth and power, he mused as he stripped. Galen was the definition of privileged.

  Malcolm hung his clothing in the laundry unit, both relieved and irritated that he hadn’t brought the clothing he’d been given by the Morningstars. It was very nice clothing, but it wasn’t his. As a slave, Malcolm had never had anything that belonged to him and him alone. Everything belonged to the Archivist, just as he did.

  Malcolm rinsed his mouth until he could no longer taste the bile, and then he overindulged in the steamy shower and almost fell asleep on his feet. His clothing was still in the cleaning cycle of the laundry—apparently the machine disapproved of the dirt ground into it—and Malcolm wondered what to do. Wait until the machine finished, locked in the bathroom? It was nice for a bathroom on a starship, but not somewhere he’d want to spend an hour or two, and there was no telling when the machine would spit out his clothes. They were pretty ripe. Alexi had been in charge of reminding Malcolm to do the laundry, not that he’d ever been good at it himself. Malcolm had always joked that Alexi was allergic to clothing, because he preferred to wear as little of it as possible.

  Malcolm’s reflection stared back at him from the depths of the foggy mirror. He looked like hell—his hair needed to be cut, stub
ble lined his jaw, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But all those details paled in comparison to his suit of ink. Maybe it was time that Galen saw the tattoos—it would help him understand how deep Malcolm’s trauma ran. The tattoos told the story of his slavery more eloquently than any fumbled words would.

  Malcolm took a deep breath, steeling himself before his resolve could fail, and then stepped into the main room without even a towel wrapped around his waist. The lights had been dimmed, with only the desk lamp providing illumination. Galen sat at the desk and stared at the data screen.

  “Please get some rest. I promise I won’t…” Galen trailed off when he looked up at Malcolm. Murmuring in Cy’reni, Galen rose and crossed to him. Mesmerized by the sight of the ink that covered the indexer from the base of his throat to the tips of his toes, Galen reached for the image tattooed on Malcolm’s chest, but then paused when he remembered himself. “What are these markings? They cannot all be slave marks.”

  “That depends on how you define slave marks. They prove my master’s ownership as much as any simple rune would.”

  Galen’s eyes widened. “The Archivist did this to you?”

  “Every inch of it. He used to call me his favorite canvas.” Malcolm grimaced and twitched at the memory. Archivist de la Cruz considered himself an artist with a tattoo needle, and enjoyed inflicting pain on his slaves.

  “But why?” Galen asked.

  “Because he could. Because he wanted to.” Malcolm shrugged. It was the simplest answer, though the Archivist’s motives were far from simple.

  Galen’s fingers traced the outline of the radiant golden cross inked on Malcolm’s chest. “What does it mean? I don’t recognize the language.”

  “It’s an ancient Earth language called Latin. It’s not spoken anymore. And it’s iconography from an Earth religion.” Malcolm’s breath hitched at the Cy’ren’s continued investigation. For the moment Galen seemed to have forgotten that Malcolm was naked, or hadn’t noticed at all, but Malcolm’s cock bobbed with interest at his lover’s touch.

  “I know very little about human religions. Is this jewelry? Do they have meaning as well?” Galen touched the golden ring pierced through Malcolm’s right nipple—both of Malcolm’s nipples were pierced—and Malcolm gasped at the jolt of sensation. “I’m sorry! Did that hurt?”

  “No,” he groaned in reply. Malcolm caught Galen’s wrists and held them tight. “It hurt like hell when the markings were made. I was strapped to a chair and jacked into the data stream. It was some kind of twisted test to see if I could focus on a search or create a file while under duress. The Archivist had all kinds of tests that he put his data miners through, involving pain, pleasure or both. He’s a controlling asshole who gets off on having all the power. I can’t go back to that.”

  “He will never harm you again. I swear it.”

  “But will you?” Malcolm countered. “You have all the power, too.”

  “No.” Galen’s expression filled with horror. “I would never. I…” He paused for a steadying breath. “I never wanted to be lord. It should never have come to me. I don’t want power over you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the arrangement with the Archivist. I promise that from now on I will be completely honest with you. I want this to work. I want—”

  Malcolm caught Galen’s face in his hands and kissed away any further conversation. His taste was addictive, strong like a shot of whiskey. Emboldened, he ran his hands through the short, thick weight of the Cy’ren’s white hair. Galen drew him close and traced his slender fingers down Malcolm’s back in a slow caress. He cupped Malcolm’s ass and pulled him tight against him, desperation adding a frantic edge to their kiss. Malcolm moaned and unbuttoned Galen’s jacket, eager for the press of skin against skin.

  “Apology accepted. You’re wearing too much.”

  “I…” Galen hesitated and swallowed hard, drawing away with a guilty expression. “Perhaps we shouldn’t. Andee isn’t here.”

  “Yes she is,” Andelynn said. Both men jumped, startled. She stepped from a shadow on the other side of the room with an encouraging smile. “Please don’t stop. You’re so lovely together, and so hungry for each other. I want to watch you explore that.”

  “You don’t mind watching?” Malcolm asked. He’d always preferred observing to participating when Alexi took him to the brothel, but he had wondered if he was alone in such preferences.

  Andee’s smile broadened as she closed her eyes, her head tilted as though listening to distant music. “I feel your passion, your pleasure in each other. It’s like being intoxicated, but drunk on sensation instead of alcohol. Why would I disapprove?”

  “Some females would be jealous of sharing a mate,” Galen pointed out.

  “And I pity such small-minded people. Your pleasure is my pleasure. Besides, why should I be jealous when I can join you after I watch?” Andee grinned, and Malcolm chuckled at her wicked expression. “Now strip, my lord. I want to see how handsome you both are when naked and entwined.”

  “God, yes,” Malcolm agreed.

  Without waiting for Galen’s reply, she stripped her own clothing and then positioned herself in the desk chair. She motioned for them to continue, and then parted her thighs and began stroking her sex. Malcolm’s breath caught at the erotic sight—she was so beautiful, watching them with hooded eyes as she touched herself. She dipped two fingers into her sex, and Malcolm moaned. Her mouth had been incredible, but he wanted to bury his cock inside her and ride her as Galen had.

  Galen lurched into motion and pulled his jacket off, and when he was naked as ordered he tumbled Malcolm back atop the bed. Their questing hands roamed each other’s bodies as Galen tasted Malcolm with a long, scorching kiss. Galen was clumsy but eager, as though wanting to experience everything at once. Malcolm smiled softly and hoped that there would be time for them to truly enjoy each other. Then again, a lifetime would hardly be enough for that. He could spend an eternity with Galen and Andee and still want more. Malcolm pictured a future with Galen and Andee, where they would spend each night curled up warm and safe together, knowing that tomorrow would bring another good day, instead of another panic attack-inducing emergency. It was a pretty dream, but as soon they returned to Cyprena Galen would be a lord again and their affair would be over.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Galen admitted. “I don’t know where to start, or how to please you.” He stroked Malcolm’s cheek, and Malcolm smiled up at him lazily.

  “That’s all right. No one does at first. We’ll stick to the beginner-level stuff for now—mouths and hands,” Malcolm said. For a moment Galen’s brow creased with thought, and then his eyes widened. He nodded and swallowed hard.

  Malcolm turned to look at Andee. “Is there any cultural issue with who tops and who bottoms?” She quirked a brow—the analogy might not translate—and Malcolm tried again. “About who is penetrated and who does the penetrating?”

  “Ah. That’s a fair question,” she said. “Among the shadow swords the winner in a sparring match would usually do the penetrating, but I suppose it is a question of what one enjoys most. The male who won would take his pleasure from the loser, or losers.”

  “Is that an issue among humans?” Galen asked. “I don’t want to offend you.”

  “I won’t be offended by anything you ask of me,” Malcolm assured him. “I might say no… I’ve never really been able to say no before. But I asked because the Archivist was particular about being on top in all things. He used sex as power.”

  “I understand. I don’t want to have power over you,” Galen repeated.

  Malcolm believed his sincerity. Galen hadn’t meant to hurt him, and Malcolm wasn’t going to let Galen’s screw-up drive a wedge between them.

  “You do, just not like that.” Malcolm glanced at Andee with a shy smile. “You both do.” He caressed Galen’s bare skin, running his hands over his back, his ass, his thighs. Malcolm tilted his hips up to grind his hard sex against Galen’s body, and Gale
n’s cock pulsed against his abdomen in eager reply. He moaned as he imagined how good that cock would feel buried deep within him.

  “I’ve wanted to do this since the day we met.” Galen kissed a hot, hungry path down Malcolm’s chest until he settled between Malcolm’s thighs and took his erection into his mouth. Malcolm gasped, and his back arched at the instant pleasure of his lover’s lips and tongue.

  The mattress shifted as Andee joined them, kneeling near the edge of the bed. She continued to stroke herself as she instructed Galen on the finer points of sucking cock. Her whispered directions were almost enough to drive Malcolm into climax—her enthusiasm and confidence were damn sexy, and reminded him of Kai. Malcolm clenched the bedcovers, his breath quick and his pulse racing as pleasure surged through him. His hips shifted, thrusting into the wet heat of Galen’s mouth. Galen was a fast learner, working Malcolm’s shaft with firm, sure strokes of his hand while his tongue tormented the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock.

  Malcolm warned them when he was close to orgasm, the memory of nearly choking the first time the Archivist came in his mouth an experience that Malcolm didn’t want to inflict on another, and Andee drew Galen away. She encouraged him to continue stroking with his hand, and Andee massaged Malcolm’s balls as she and Galen brought Malcolm to an exquisite orgasm that left him gasping for air.

  Galen licked his lips and lowered his mouth to Malcolm’s softening cock, licking the come from his shaft and purring his approval at the taste. Malcolm’s hands fisted in the bedcovers as his hips tilted to give Galen better access.

  Andee grinned and stroked Galen’s back. “Kiss me, a’mhain.”

  Galen’s tongue stroked one last lingering taste over Malcolm’s cock before he straightened and met Andee with a passionate kiss. Malcolm watched with interest—he was sated for the moment, but they were beautiful together. Andee nipped Galen’s bottom lip and earned a hungry growl in response. Galen nudged her to lie beside Malcolm as he positioned himself between Andee’s thighs.