by Amanda Milo
“Hey,” I protest—but Ekan’s ready for it, and although he doesn’t look up from examining the cards, his smile spreads right before he tugs me down onto his lap.
“This is a terrible hand,” he informs me.
“A lost cause?” I ask.
“Ha,” Ekan kisses the side of my face, messily and loudly—not sexy at all, yet somehow… super sweet. “With me in the frame, nothing is a lost cause.”
“Your legs are going to fall asleep,” I warn him.
Ekan gives me a genuinely confused look.
“I’m too heavy to sit on your lap,” I whisper.
Ekan’s eyes drop to my cards—now our cards, and his brows twitch. Not up, not together—they just twitch. “I’m not sure whether you’re insulting me, or yourself, but I’m ordering you to stop.”
Not sure what to say to that, and deciding to ignore the flutter in my stomach that doesn’t feel like Baby, I tackle another concern. “What did you steal?” I ask him. “And why do you smell like… smoked...?” I’m not quite sure what he smells like. But I rub my nose, because whatever it is, it’s making me itch when I try to inhale at him.
“Smoked spices,” Tiernan answers. “We’re now the proud purveyors of a bay full of spices and salts.”
I sit bolt upright. “You risked your lives for a couple of McCormick’s racks?!”
Tiernan’s eyes almost glow. “Who is McCormick—and what sort of spices does he carry?”
I wave him off. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. Are spices really a commodity?”
Tiernan spreads his hand, and Ekan adjusts his hold on me, his arm banding gently around my stomach. “We’re flying in space, past planets who’ve had variable success at being terraformed. Everything mineralized and grown on sunlit soil is a commodity.”
When I think on it, it doesn’t seem so outlandish. Once upon a time, East India spices were big business for the rest of the world to get ahold of on Earth. They were used in everything from food to medicine. And Tiernan’s right. It’s not like cayenne pepper is growing by itself in outerspace—same for deposits of minerals. Moreso for minerals I’d think, because Tiernan’s shown me the greenhouse where they’re obviously growing some things, but there aren’t exactly going to be mineral caves stalactiting on pirate ships out here in the great black.
“Huh,” I say finally, and settle in to see how a real card game is carried out among pirates.
We play like that, the guys all joining in to give me pointers on how to cheat—and of course, with Ekan directing my hand, we win.
Also because Ekan’s the one directing my hand, we suddenly have screwball stakes. “I demand sexual favors,” he insists without warning.
Prow drops his cards. “Ugh, count me out of this.”
Oquilion’s making a face too. “Sorry, narra. You two are going to be playing alone.”
Tiernan uses the flat of his hand to slide his cards away too. “You won’t get me under this vekwit for all the credits in the known universe.”
I can’t help it; I’m laughing. My hands slap over my sides to hold my stomach, and in this moment, I feel carefree. I’m surrounded by good company, I feel their kinship; I’m feeding off of it, the friendship is that strong. My stomach is full of warm, pretty decent food, and I might be feeling a bit under the weather, but I’m still feeling good.
The alienman I’m sitting on spreads his hands over my thighs, holding onto me, but surprisingly he’s not trying to take further liberties—despite claiming that I owe him favors of a sexual nature for tapping into his luck source powers.
Still chuckling softly, I lean back, into Ekan’s front, and just… relax.
“Tired?” he murmurs.
“I’m good,” I tell him. And that’s how I fall asleep; wrapped up in Ekan’s arms, in the scullery just off a pirate ship's galley, filled with thieving, cheating aliens I’m starting to like a lot.
CHAPTER 18—BETH
BETH
I wake up on a bed, Ekan’s bed, with his hand running over me idly.
“Awake?” he asks. He taps my throat softly with the side of his thumb. “Tiernan said you should have another draught before you drop off for the night. It’ll help your throat feel well in the morning, or so he hopes.”
“Okay.” I yawn and stretch before I try to roll towards my other side—and can’t. “Help me turn over, please.”
“Sure,” Ekan says agreeably, and he’s so quiet, I wonder if he’s tired or if he’s getting sick too. I haven’t known him long, but he doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of guy that can be quiet.
Conversationally, I offer, “At my size, they call this capsizing.”
Finished rolling me, he pats my hip, reaches over me for the mug, and hands it to me—then he helps me sit upright when he sees it’s taking me effort to manage too. “If you hadn’t noticed, I need no help finding trouble. Don’t try to bait me into commenting anything about your size.”
I suck in a breath to argue for the sake of arguing—heaven help me, but with Ekan, I’m starting to find squabbling is fun—but I must catch spice motes off of Ekan that somehow haven’t critically attacked me til now—and without warning, I sneeze.
I leak pee.
Horror fills me. This isn’t like ‘Oops, I wee’d a little when I laughed’—this is a flood of pee.
Ekan draws back his knee, which he’d just been sliding between mine like I might not notice, or protest, if he moved stealthily enough. And with his lips starting to softly graze the side of my face—like as long as he doesn’t kiss my germ-ridden mouth, all systems are safe to go—he asks, “Is my leg… getting… wet?”
I push back from him, cursing.
“Is this normal?” Ekan asks slowly—but not hesitantly. Something about his tone strikes me as odd, but I’m too appalled at my body to examine it or guess what his motivations for asking are.
“I’ve heard it can be,” I tell him. “Oh my goodness, I’m so, so so sorry—”
“Will this happen again?”
I wince. “Was there peppery-type spices in the ones you stole? Because I could be wrong, but I think a whiff of something clinging on you set me off. How are you not sneezing?” I cover my face. “I bet if I suddenly coughed, it’ll happen too.” I moan into my hands.
“For how long?” Ekan asks in a weird voice.
I wince. “If I had to guess, I’d say until I deliver.” Ekan pulls my hands away from my face. Forced to meet his eyes, I add, “But hopefully not! Hopefully it’s a one-off thing. I’m so embarrassed.”
But I don’t get a chance to burn in my mortification. Ekan’s jackknifing off the bed, even while he’s starting to strip naked. “Up, up, narra—let’s not waste this opportunity! We’re going to use your body’s warfare against your admirers.”
I try to resist, I try to stop him from towing me off of the bed with him. “At least let me clean—”
“I’ll take care of it—let’s hurry. We can’t waste this opportunity.” Thankfully, he stops stripping once he’s taken off his shirt. I’m really not at a place to appreciate the sight and it’s kind of a shame for the view to be wasted.
I try to appeal to the good in him, if he has any. “Tell me I’m misunderstanding your evil plan. You want to pawn me off on the other guys, knowing that I could urinate on their beds?”
“Narra, I’m counting on it.” He stops suddenly, and for one wild moment, I think he’s seeing reason right up until he asks, “You should have that draught.”
I narrow my eyes.
“For your health, you should hydrate.” He widens his eyes and holds out his hands in a placating gesture. Then he ruins it by adding, “Considerably.”
He reaches over me, grabs the draught, and presses Tiernan’s mug into my hands. He makes me finish all of it, and tries to get me to work on a refill as he drags me into his diabolical plans.
As I’m towed along behind him, I ask, “You’re not going to warn them, are you?”
He chuckles a
s if my question is the epitome of absurdity. “Of course not.”
“You’re a terrible person.”
“Why? Because I want to laugh with my crew?” he asks so innocently, I’d almost believe him.
“You want to laugh at them—that’s not the same thing at all!”
He rolls his shoulders back, like this distinction is negligible to pirates—and maybe it is. But this prank is gross. And messy. And that’s exactly his point—because who wants to have sex with someone that’s sick, sneezing, and involuntarily urinating on themselves, you, and the bed you sleep on?
None of them will want to get romantic with me like this, and it will be hard to forget after this, so his plan is terribly effective. But this isn’t right. This isn’t a harmless joke. I would be—well, pissed if someone did this to me.
I tug back on my trapped hand, attempting to hold onto some dignity even while my thighs are wet with my urine. “I have to warn them what could happen if I sneeze.”
“You won’t warn them,” he warns me.
Over my protests, and with relentless—if gentle—force, Ekan ushers me to Oquilion’s room, and tells me in a low enough voice so as not to be overheard, “If you spoil my fun, I’ll have to find alternative ways to enjoy myself.”
“Do I even want to know?”
He squeezes my hip, squishing me into his side. “I’ve always wanted to freeze brand my name on my woman. It’s a common practice among Na’rith groupings,” he shares.
“That’s… That’s so...” I sputter, “Savage! That’s barbaric!”
He rolls his shoulders again. “I gather it’s quite erotic for the participants.” His dirty, dirty eyes heat as he waves his hand over my backside, indicating my ass. “I once saw a female with nine names climbing up to an indecent place.” His eyebrows bounce, and he grins at me. “Care to hear where I think you’ll like my name taking you?”
My retort is a witty, “I’m so mad at you right now,” because Oquilion’s just opened his door to us, looking surprised and confused.
I want to warn him. But I also believe that Ekan just might do something crazy—like freeze brand his name on me.
“I’m cautioning you: she’s disgusting in bed,” Ekan intones gravely, like he’s fully disclosing my condition to his friend.
Oquilion’s brows rise imperceptibly. Which is a funny look with his hair spiked all over the place from sleep. “Of all people, I’d have thought you would appreciate that quality in a female.”
Ekan inclines his head almost demurely. “Oh, I do, I do—but her illness is off-putting. You’ll see.”
Oquilion looks at me with a heaping measure of welcome sympathy—and a lot of heat. And because I feel disgusting, it’s especially flattering to be considered any level of attractive at the moment. With a huff (that comes out sounding like a congested snuff), I yank out of Ekan’s grip and stride into Oquilion’s room.
“Oh Beth darling?” Ekan calls with syrupy, saccharine concern. When I spin on my heel (as much as I’m able in my condition) I’m just in time to catch Ekan’s balled up shirt as it flies through the air. “My narra is comforted by my scent when she sleeps,” Ekan informs Oquilion.
What a damn liar. Not that his smell isn’t nice—but that’s not why he’s doing it, what a cheater!
Through slitted eyes, I refuse to return his jaunty wave goodbye, and I can’t muster up a return smile for Oquilion either as he struggles to hide his pleasure at my presence in his room.
He dims though when I stop at the side of his bed, refusing to climb on.
“You don’t have to…” he starts. “I can take the floor.”
If anything, I should be the one taking the floor. But if I do that, I’ll kill my back and probably hurt myself. Pregnant women are not built for roughing it. “Don’t be silly,” I tell him. “Thank you for taking me in—I just don’t want to make a mess in your bed...” Ekan already told him I was disgusting. I can say that much, right? But I’m reluctant to get too daring. I’d bet all these pirates’ money that Ekan’s got his ear pressed up against the door, listening so he can enjoy the joke—and making sure I don’t spoil his fun.
Oquilion takes my hand, looking very sincere when he says, “Don’t worry about a thing, Beth. Everything I own will wash. Are you feeling all right?”
“Fine,” I say glumly, which makes him chuckle as he nudges me to get on and pick a side.
Like Ekan, Oquilion has only one pillow to his name. We both stare at it until Oquilion asks, “Do you want the pillow or your first mate’s shirt?”
He doesn’t even sound covetous when he says ‘your first mate.’ I can’t do this. “What’s a freeze brand?” I ask in trepidation. Like my body is a ticking time bomb, I oh-so-carefully shift to my side and opt to rest my head on my curled up arm.
Oquilion’s brow furrows and he shoves Ekan’s shirt under my cheek. “Why do you ask—”
“*ACHOO!*”
Warmth spreads, a horrifying warmth, and I know when it hits Oquilion, because he rolls to his back with a hissing chuckle. “I knew he had an ulterior motive, I knew it! There was no way he’d hand deliver you to me without a hidden agenda.”
My face is on fire and guilt is giving me heartburn. Oquilion waves my feelings away though, and helps me up to the bathroom. The nice thing about your owner not providing you with panties is that you have no panties to get wet when he does his best to help you piss on his friend’s bed, and the material for this mini skirt just needs a wipe down.
When I’m all clean, and my cheeks no longer feel like they’re on fire, Oquilion pulls me into the comforting wall of his chest for a very nice hug. I relax against him, breathing his non-spice scent in. Under my ear, I feel his voice when he asks me, “All better?”
“Hmm,” is all I’ll commit to, and this makes him man-snicker.
I’ll note that this also sounds good under my ear. Oquilion is so nice.
He asks, “How tired are you feeling exactly?”
My eyes pop open. My alarm bells are being tripped by whatever I just heard in his tone—something devious. “Whhhhy? It’s time for bed—what do you think?”
His hands slide up my arms and give me light squeezes. “Aw, narra, I’m going to owe you an apology and a nap.”
I’m already shaking my head no, but he just gives me a clever smile that says he’s up to no good. “As much as I regret to disturb you again, we have to show Prow. Believe me: Prow deserves you.” He quickly corrects: “Uh, deserves this.”
My mutters of disbelief are ignored as he tows me across his room, and jerks open his door.
And lounging in the corridor across from us, shoulders against the wall, is Ekan. Grinning like the Cheshire cat—and holding up a mug of steaming Tiernan’s-brewed-tea.
“You can’t have her back,” Oquilion says. It would make me feel all adored and wanted—if he didn’t immediately follow it up with barely restrained excitement in his deep voice as he declares, “We have to give her to Prow!”
“I know it!” Ekan crows—and they look so happy together.
Good. They can keep each other company after this, because I sure won’t.
I fume.
Ekan presses the mug into my hands and they make me drink two hydration sleeves on the way to Prow’s before Oquilion is knocking on their victim’s door, trying to kill his gleeful smirk before it can look too suspicious.
Ekan whispers a low reminder. “Act sick.”
“I AM sick, you insensitive pair of donkey’s asses—”
Ekan brings his fist to his chest. “Are donkey’s asses handsome then? Or do they look more like him?” He points to Oquilion, as if he’s uglier than sin.
Unperturbed—refusing to be perturbed with all this upcoming fun to be had—Oquilion’s eyes are basically doing a breakdance. He knocks again, bringing his knuckles and the heel of his hand to the door in a pounding beat.
I shake my head and glare at them both. “Shame on you two,” I whisper.
The door finally opens. Like Oquilion, Prow’s hair is also tousled in sexy disarray, and his eyes are dangerously narrow-squinted—until he sees me at Ekan’s side. “Beth?” Concern is plain in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Doggone it; he’s sweet. Before I can say a thing, Oquilion clears his throat and offers, “To answer your question, liquid nitrogen applied to a metal branding implement is an effective method of freeze branding maverick… stock.”
My spine snap-freezes. Liquid nitrogen. The element that is so cold, it froze the mercurial shame-shame finger-wagging T-1000 Terminator when Sarah tried to shoot his evil ass dead and failed.
Prow blinks in sleep-foggy confusion. “What?”
Ekan waves at me, indicating strongly that I should go in. “Beth is disgusting with her sickness. Do you want her?”
Tight lipped, I keep my nose in the air and refuse to look at any of them.
Prow makes a mumbled protest about them both being assholes—endearing him to me—as he takes me by the elbow and tucks me into his side.
The cursed shirt—the offending item of clothing that Ekan liberally, intentionally resprinkled nasal-itchy peppercorn-like grinds on as he and Oquilion marched me here—is tossed to me again before Prow’s door is slammed in their twinkling-eyed faces.
Like the nice guy he is, Prow gives me a hug, says sleepy, reassuring things, and it’s not long before I’m in bed with him, pulling a sneeze-n-pee on him too.
Prow falls out of bed laughing.
He races to meet with the other two idiots in the corridor, and proving he’s no more mature than his friends yukking it up in the hallway, he immediately shoves the refilled mug that Oquilion’s holding into my hands and urges me to drink it. Stonily, I do, and against my will, I listen to formerly-nice-guy-Prow making giddy plans to use me as the ultimate weapon of mass destruction: he wants to set me up to play the Trojan horse for Tiernan.
“No,” I refuse stubbornly.