by Aubrey Ross
She is strongly attracted to both brothers, but she’s unsure how to express her feelings. Bluz is aggressive and intense, while Jazz is fun loving and tender. Her ability to read their minds assures her the desire is mutual, so she insists on becoming their pleasure pet for the remainder of the voyage. Jazz is more than willing to explore the possibilities, yet Bluz keeps his dominant nature carefully suppressed.
Jazz knows a past betrayal is making Bluz overly cautious, so he agrees to help Treena seduce his reluctant brother. She knows they can be happy together. All they have to do is erode the barriers Bluz has erected around his heart.
Chapter One
Treena Moreno stared into the face of death and patiently waited for her life to pass before her eyes. It shouldn’t take long. Her unhappy childhood would lead to a misspent youth. Then seven wasted years with the Bastard would culminate in this ridiculous death at the hands of two lecherous idiots!
“Do you have anything else to say before I announce my decision?” the beady-eyed magistrate asked with an arrogant sneer.
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said so far; why should I waste my breath?”
“You see --” Reverend Fatass swept his arm toward her dramatically. “-- only Satan’s whore would have no fear of death. She has used her evil charms and nubile body to bend unsuspecting mortals to her will.”
“It was my unwillingness to bend over your desk that landed me here!”
He gasped, his outrage remarkably believable. “Blasphemy! Entrust your soul into my keeping and you might yet be saved.”
She had no doubt her penance would be paid on her hands and knees. No, thank you! She’d take her chances with… A shiver of fear intruded on her bravado. Would they actually go through with it? They were small-minded and backwards, sure, but would they really drown her in the river?
“You are not her only accuser,” Magistrate Ferret-face reminded the reverend. “Only a witch could know the things she knows.”
Treena rubbed her temples. Her big mouth had gotten her into some interesting situations, but this one took the cake. The Bastard had flown to Ceallon, an isolated outpost on the fringes of Sabrotine space, and stranded her here. A final shot at a dying relationship, goodbye and good riddance.
Knowing she’d be stuck in the settlement for months, perhaps longer, she’d done her best to fit in. But becoming a country bumpkin was harder than she’d supposed. Not only were they technological infants, their attitude toward women was prehistoric.
“Can you explain how you knew where to find young Jack?”
“Lucky guess?” Calm logic had been completely useless with these men, so she loosened the stranglehold on her temper. They had dragged her out of her bed with dawn’s first light, no warning or explanation. Her bare feet still ached from the snowy trek across the village commons. “I didn’t realize saving a life was a crime.”
If she had been able to rescue the boy without assistance, she would have done so then clouded his memory. But he’d been missing for two days and she couldn’t endure the visions any longer. She’d guided the search party in the right direction as opposed to telling them where to look. Then she’d made sure someone else actually found him. There was nothing more she could do to avert their suspicion. She just hadn’t been callous enough to let a nine-year-old die.
“Everything she said was true and nothing was harmful. How can you --”
“Silence!” Reverend Fatass lunged for his wife so suddenly the poor woman tried to meld with the pew. Fate loved her little ironies. Not only did the village church double as a courthouse, Reverend Fatass was the driving force behind this farce.
“We tolerate no witchery of any kind. We are a God-fearing people.” The magistrate squared his shoulders and turned to his audience.
Treena crossed her arms over her breasts and tried not to shiver. Body heat alone had raised the temperature in the church, but she still wore nothing but her calf-length nightgown. The entire village had turned out for this charade. No jury of her peers or defense attorney. The reverend and the magistrate were prosecutor, jury, and judge. That only left… executioner. Her insides twisted and her mouth went dry.
“Mistress Treena was embraced by this community despite her oddities.” This sounded a lot like a closing statement. “We provided her with an opportunity to become a productive member of our society and she repaid us with treachery.”
“Is it treacherous to save a life?” Jack’s mother objected in a tight, quiet voice as he paused to take a breath.
“She also made rash accusations and created conflict.” Magistrate Ferret-face showed no sign of softening toward the accused. It might be because Treena strongly suggested he take responsibility for the young woman he’d impregnated and abandoned in a shanty on the edge of town. Much to the chagrin of his wife. “She intentionally stirs the flesh with her immodest garb and bold demeanor.”
Well, that much was true. She had a curvy figure and enjoyed showing it off. Everyone here made their own clothes and she couldn’t thread a needle. She was only here until she could catch a ride going anywhere else, so she hadn’t seen the need to alter her appearance.
“She was swimming naked in the forest pool,” Reverend Fatass added. “Some satanic ritual to be sure.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous.” Not the swimming naked part, just making skinny-dipping a satanic ritual.
“You deny baring your body to the moonlight?” the magistrate asked.
“It’s called a bath. You should try it sometime. The question is, why was a man of God lurking in the forest… or was he following me?”
“You’ve bewitched him,” someone offered.
“We are all bewitched.”
You are all ignorant imbeciles, who beat their wives and fuck their servants. She could put up with many things, but hypocrisy pissed her off. “I agree that my ways are not your ways. I noticed an abandoned cottage near the lake where I took my swim. How about if I stay there until the next supply ship comes? I promise not to ‘bewitch’ anyone else.”
The magistrate clutched his chest and staggered back a step. “Then you admit to bewitching Reverend Pendergrass?”
Damn, she had walked right in to that. “I do not.”
“She comes to me in dreams and torments me with… unspeakable acts of depravity. I have not slept through the night since she arrived in our village,” Reverend Fatass said. “Her evil spirits must be cast out or this community is damned.”
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes, but the pit of her stomach went cold and trepidation gripped her heart. As ridiculous as this all seemed to her, they fully intended to punish her for her “oddities.”
“Are you willing to submit yourself to Reverend Pendergrass? He will --”
“It’s either fuck that depraved old man or be drowned in the river?” She’d had enough of this farce. Shoving back her chair so forcefully it toppled over, she glared at her accusers. “Is that where this is leading?”
She ignored the startled gasps at her profanity. For three and a half hours she’d subjected herself to their questions and their leering gazes. She’d been calm and honest, carefully weighing every word.
“The fact that your mind immediately leapt to that conclusion is only further proof of your depravity.” Fatass turned to Ferret-face and shook his head. “She is too far gone. I can’t save her.”
Treena snorted. “I thought God alone could bestow salvation.”
“Drown the witch.” Someone near the back of the room whispered the phrase and it rippled across the rows like a putrid wave. Their lust for violence was palpable and disgusting. Treena’s heart slammed against the wall of her chest, launching her into action.
She shoved Fatass aside and dodged Ferret-face’s hands, running as fast as her legs would carry her. She would grab her things and disappear in the forest or hide in the mountains beyond the --
Halfway down the narrow aisle someone caught her around the waist, trapping
her arms against her sides. She screamed and kicked back at her captor, twisting wildly. He laughed and shoved her toward the door.
“Drown the witch! Drown the witch!”
This couldn’t be real. Her captor was tall and strong, the blacksmith perhaps or a woodcutter. He propelled her out of the church, a mob following in their wake. Cold air stung her nose and snow crunched beneath her bare feet. She screamed again and someone slapped her hard enough to snap her head against her captor’s shoulder. Lights burst in front of her eyes and bile rose into the back of her throat.
“Please don’t do this,” Jack’s mother cried, hanging off the arm of Treena’s captor. He flung her aside and trudged onward.
Treena dug her feet into the frosty grass and scratched at her captor’s forearm. He ignored her fingernails and rushed her closer and closer to the half-frozen river, which meandered through their charming village.
“This is crazy!” she cried. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Silence, witch.” Someone thrust a handkerchief into her mouth. She tossed her head and pushed with her tongue, trying to dislodge the wad. They reached the river and Fatass leaned in close, whispering into her ear, “It’s too late to save your corrupted body. Concentrate instead on your immortal soul.”
The smug pleasure in the reverend’s tone reinforced her terror with fury. She renewed her struggle, kicking up her legs and throwing her weight forward. Her captor stumbled and others joined in. Hurtful hands and pinching fingers added indignation to the mix.
They forced her to her knees on the sloping riverbank and she managed to dispel the makeshift gag. “You can’t -- do this!”
The reverend knelt beside her and grabbed the back of her hair. “Admit your evil deeds and beg for mercy. I might yet spare your life.”
She looked into his lust-filled eyes and her blood ran cold. Fucking her was no longer enough. He would degrade her and abuse her in ways she didn’t want to consider.
“Go to hell,” she snapped. “I’ll meet you there!”
With the help of the other men, he bent her forward. She twisted and thrashed, sucking in a frantic breath before she hit the water. Icy liquid slapped her face and filled her nose. She jerked against their hold and fire branched across the back of her head, a shocking contrast to the frigid deluge.
Panic clawed through thought and speculation. There was no glorious light, no cosmic review of her life, just the dismal realization that she was about to die.
She was dragged from the rushing current. Gasping and sputtering, she frantically blinked the water out of her eyes.
“Are you sure death is preferable to redemption?”
“Fuck you,” she said with less conviction.
He forced her deeper, submerging her to the hips. Pain crawled across her skin as the freezing water rushed over her exposed flesh. She clawed at anyone she could reach and turned her head sharply to bite one restraining hand. Sound distorted, amplifying her thundering heartbeat. She could not die like this. She would not!
As if impacted by the ferocity of her desperation, her burly captor let go. The reverend was off balance and stumbled. His weight pushed her under completely. She elbowed him in the stomach and tugged her hair free of his hurtful grasp. With violent kicks and weakening strokes, she propelled herself toward the surface.
Jazz leveled his pulse pistol at the apparent leader of the mob, ready to fire again. Omid fished their prize out of the frosty river. She fought like a tigress, deaf to Omid’s reassuring words.
“You have no right to interfere.” The leader had a long, narrow face and cold dark eyes. “This woman has been justly convicted and sentenced --”
“Get her out of here! She’s done nothing wrong.” The woman’s defender was grabbed from behind and silenced before she could say more.
Omid lost his grip on the accused and she landed on her hands and knees in the snow. She coughed and gasped, her long black hair streaming to the frozen ground. More naked than not, her slender body shook with violent shivers.
Glancing at the men they’d blasted to make sure no one was seriously injured, Jazz focused on the leader. “It looked a lot like you were trying to drown her. Did I misunderstand what I saw?”
“Drowning is the sanctioned punishment for witchery.” His chin came up, but he took a step back each time Jazz advanced. “Water is the only medium capable of trapping the evil. Fire only makes it stronger.”
“You think she’s a witch?” Holy Mother Creator! Did such superstitions still exist? “Omid, cover this brilliant individual.” As soon as his lieutenant shifted his weapon, Jazz unzipped his coat and went to one knee beside the woman. “Would you like to get out of here?”
She looked up through the dripping strands of her hair, her fathomless eyes wide and disbelieving.
He draped his coat around her, careful not to touch her. “Your destination is up to you, but I’m taking you inside until you warm up.” He smiled, hoping to put her at ease.
“Thank -- you.” Her voice rasped and her body trembled as he helped her to her feet. Her bare feet!
She clutched his arm and straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin to a defiant angle as the crowd parted for them. Her movements were measured and Jazz felt pain lance up his legs with each step she took. “Sweetheart, don’t be frightened. I’m going to pick you up. Your feet can’t take much more of this.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw they were out of sight of the mob, and collapsed into his waiting arms.
Jazz quickly snapped his pistol into the holster strapped to his thigh, then swung her high against his chest. Her eyes drifted shut and she went completely slack. “You want to explain this to Bluz or should I?”
Omid chuckled. “He’s your brother.”
“Yeah, but he likes you better.”
The Chrysalis looked nearly as conspicuous in the open field as it would have if they’d landed in the center of the provincial village. They didn’t need assistance or supplies, just an opportunity to power down all systems so they could repair the engines. Jazz had gone to ask permission for a short stay and the ruckus led him to the river.
“Maybe I can stash her in my cabin and…”
Bluz stepped into view at the top of the ramp leading into the cargo bay. “What the hell is that?”
Jazz laughed. “A woman. Has it been so long, you’ve forgotten what they look like?”
“You’re not bringing her on my ship.”
“The Chrysalis is half mine.” They reached the bottom of the ramp and the woman stirred in his arms.
“Why is she all wet?”
Omid snickered, but Jazz resisted the urge to piss off his brother with a smart aleck reply. “The enlightened people of this village were trying to drown her in the river. They think she’s a witch.”
“Is she?” He put his fists on his hips and narrowed his gaze.
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t stay here, sir,” Omid said. “We might have made a few enemies during her rescue.”
Shaking his head, Bluz stepped to one side and allowed them on board. “Can you ever leave the ship without getting into trouble?”
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Omid admitted.
They trudged up the alloy ramp, their footfalls echoing in the empty cargo bay. As Jazz passed his brother, Bluz was presented with his first unobstructed view of their guest.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“Damn indeed.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“To my cabin.” They didn’t have an infirmary. The Chrysalis was a sleek, fast smuggler. She operated with a minimal crew and reserved the majority of her space for cargo. Bluz was clearly displeased with the decision, but he offered no alternative.
“We need to get out of here,” Omid reminded them. “It won’t take long for those bastards to rally. If they show up with pitchforks and plowshares, we can ignore them. I’d rather not find out the hard way that they’re more advanced than
we thought.”
“Can we limp out to the inner moon?” Bluz asked. “You said the atmosphere was breathable.”
Jazz headed off across the cargo bay. He was head of security. They didn’t need his input to determine their next destination.
“I don’t want to risk losing auxiliary propulsion as well as our main thrusters. I’ll find a clearing away from the other settlements.”
“Carry on.”
Bluz hurried after him and Jazz smiled. His surly big brother might pretend to be indifferent to all things romantic, but Jazz knew better. There had been a time when Bluz chased skirts more aggressively than he did, and that was saying a lot.
“Does she need a medic?” His gaze returned again and again to the woman, worry creasing his brow. “Why is she so still?”
Their “medic” specialized in pulse burns and broken bones. Jazz suspected all she needed was warmth and reassurance. Coming that close to death tended to rattle a person. “I think she’s in shock. Wouldn’t you be if you’d nearly drowned?”
“What kind of people still drown witches? Are you sure she’s still breathing?”
Jazz glanced down at the tempting swell of her breasts, visible between the gaping sides of his coat. “She’s still breathing.” He triggered the privacy panel to his cabin with a voice command and placed her on his bed.
Even soaking wet, her hair formed perfect ringlets, a hint of silver shimmering in the black. Her oval face was divided by a pert little nose. Pale and slightly parted, her lips were lushly curved and smooth. High cheekbones added dimension to her delicate features and a thick fringe of black lashes rested against her ivory skin.
“Let’s get her out of these wet clothes.” Jazz ignored the pressure rising in his crotch and the heat saturating his blood. His hands trembled as he spread his coat and loosened the laces at the front of her… Was it a nightgown?