"You sit and listen, ask a few questions if you have to, otherwise you keep your mouth shut and your hands where I can see them,” Elyse finished.
Those cold eyes raked over her face, and she returned his gaze steadily.
"So you're telling me to stop being a bounty hunter on this trip."
She nodded.
"To stop being the law and turn a blind eye to the whereabouts of informants."
"The informants I'm talking about won't be there later. The others will be far enough in the Outlaw Sector to be out of the law's reach."
"You really think I can go blithely along and disregard everything I am and stand for?"
"Yes,” she said calmly.
He contemplated her for a few more seconds before finally drawling, “And you trust my word?"
Taking a slow sip of the hot drink, Elyse eyed him over the rim of the mug before setting it back down on the table. “If you truly want to find out about your sister, and are able to handle any means necessary to do so, then I think I can trust you up to a certain point."
"And that point would be?"
"That as soon as you have your sister or information and nothing more can be done, you'll be back to hunter mode.” Idly she traced her finger around the rim of the mug. “I know you, Shaque. Once you have what you want, all agreements are off."
He studied her intently. “And you don't operate the same way?"
"Sure I do. That's why I know what you'll do."
She was amazed to see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Agreed.” He looked back down at the handtronic.
Knowing the kind of man Shaque was, Elyse had no doubt he would keep his word. She didn't have to second guess or doubt. That was Shaque. When he wanted something, he would do anything to get it. Up to a point. That point would come after for him, and by then, it wouldn't matter. Those who counted would be well out of the way.
She'd just lifted the mug to her lips for another sip when he looked up, spearing her with that cold gaze. “Just don't presume you can push my buttons on this trip."
Now came his ground rules, obviously.
"You're not my boss. You don't tell me what to do."
Well, wasn't this interesting?
"You like to be in charge, Elyse? Well, me, too."
This was going to make for a fun trip indeed. An unexpected tingle of anticipation went through her, and her eyes gleamed back at him.
"If I think you even look like you're planning something without me or my knowledge, Elyse, I'll be on your tail so fast you won't know what hit you.” He returned his attention to the handtronic. “I'm glad we sorted that all out."
The corners of her lips quirked in sudden amusement as she leisurely continued to sip the hot liquid and watch Shaque study the handtronic. The trip was going to be very interesting, to say the least, especially when the hunter came face-to-face with the space pirates he and his pack had tried to trap many times. He thought they were going to meet some mere outlaws? Boy, was he in for a surprise.
Imagining his face in a couple of days’ time, she subdued her laughter but didn't bother to hide the twinkle in her eyes.
* * * *
Standing in the cargo hold, Shaque balanced the fighting staff in one hand, swinging it around slowly. Elyse kept an array of weapons in the cargo hold, some he'd seen before, a couple he wasn't familiar with.
The inactivity was eating at him—or something was. Unable to pinpoint the reason, he moved restlessly, feeling keyed up. Stifled. Unusual for him, as he was normally able to sit quietly for ages when travelling. Then again, he hadn't done any sparring for a while, and on the hunters’ ship, spare time was used for fighting practice as well as relaxation.
The fighting staff was well-balanced. Long, it fit squarely into his palm. An experimental swing through the air produced a hard humming sound.
Stepping to the side, he thrust with the staff, swung around, lunged forward, flicked it behind his back and spun around to catch it before it hit the floor.
The door to the cargo hold opened, and Elyse appeared. Her gaze swept over him, lingered on the staff, and then she crossed to the glass door of the wall cupboard and took down the second fighting staff.
With a flick of her wrist, she made it hum in the air as she snapped it down. Turning to face Shaque, she raised one brow in silent query.
In silent answer, he took up position in the middle of the cargo hold, watching her as she approached. Once within arms reach, she stopped and calmly regarded him.
Touching the tip of the staff to his temple in salute, Shaque took a firm grip. She mirrored his movements.
It was no surprise to him when she came in with a full frontal attack, and he brought his staff snapping up to block her side-on blow. Their staffs met with a sharp snap.
In rapid movements, she moved the staff forward, giving him no quarter, and he felt the familiar rush of adrenalin through his blood as the fighting mode took over.
Parrying and thrusting, he started to return the attack, seeking to make her defend herself instead. Being the aggressor to her defensive tactics.
Elyse wasn't having it. When his staff came down upon hers, she neatly swung around, bringing herself behind him, but he spun with her, countering her blow.
They moved faster, neither giving up. Moving around the cargo hold, they made use of the room, both being careful not to get backed into a corner.
He had to admire her moves, but then again, he expected nothing less from her.
Both had a fine sheen of sweat on their brows when Shaque's chance came, and he took advantage of it immediately.
As her staff swung around, he dropped to one knee so that it swung harmlessly over his head, the hum of it openly showing the speed with which she aimed. If it had connected, it would have knocked him silly. Shoving his staff forward between her ankles, he brought it up fast so that it was between her knees.
The look on her face when she realized his intent was one he would treasure. Her eyes widened slightly, and she made to leap back, but he moved faster, pushing on the staff so that it caught her behind one knee, unlocking her stance and sending her sprawling backwards.
Pushing swiftly to his feet, he leaped forward and brought the edge of his staff towards her face.
Moving just as swiftly, she brought her staff up and blocked the move.
Shaque started to fall to his knees astride her, but anticipating it, she shoved the end of her own staff up between his legs, the feel of the end against his scrotum forcing him to stop.
Even as he glanced down, she suddenly rolled her hips up until her knees cracked into the backs of his legs, unlocking his own stance so that he tipped backwards.
She really was a dirty fighter.
By the time he hit the floor, she was up and coming for him, but he rolled to the wall, using the momentum of the roll to hit the wall and spin back, nearly crashing into her ankles.
Leaping over his rolling body, Elyse hit the wall with her shoulder, the only thing escaping her, a soft grunt.
Shaque was back on his feet before she came towards him again.
They continued back and forth, trying to find a weakness in each other's techniques. Their breaths grew faster, heavier, the sweat starting to trickle down their temples. But neither was going to give in.
The staffs were swung with greater force, more serious, the humming from the downward sweeps loud in the cargo hold.
Elyse got the first hit when sweat made Shaque's hand slip on the staff. Her staff smacked across his wrist, and with a curse of pain he dropped that side of it. She caught him with a belt to the ribs, another to his arm and as he stumbled back, she knocked the staff out of reach of his reaching hand, making his other arm vibrate from the blow.
His back hit the wall, and she pressed the staff against his throat.
In a quick move, he brought his staff up behind her back and grabbed it with his other hand, using the force of his muscles and the staff combined to jerk
her hard against him.
She acknowledged his strategy with a raised brow and pressed her staff against his Adam's apple. “I win."
"You think?” Sliding the staff up, he positioned it behind her neck.
"I know."
They were so close he could see his reflection in her dark eyes.
"Give up?” she asked.
He smiled, and in a quick movement dropped his staff and reached up to grab her staff either side of her own hands.
Elyse moved faster, pulling back and twisting the staff as she did so to break his hold before he could get a firm grip. She kept moving her arms until the side of the staff tapped his temple, her strict control of the staff preventing it from cracking into him.
Moving just as swiftly, Shaque grabbed the staff and slipped behind her, using her momentum to his advantage. Now he had her trapped between him and the staff, slamming it back so that she was pushed back against him, the staff hard beneath her breasts.
Victory coursed through him, and he placed his mouth to her ear and breathed, “I win. Give up?"
It took him by surprise when she simply went limp, her sudden dead weight dragging him forward and down. She dropped to her knees, and again using his momentum of falling forward, she bent over.
Shaque somersaulted over her head to land on his back with a heavy thud. She followed fast, straddling his waist and laying her staff against his throat once more.
Her face was devoid of emotion but her brown eyes held a gleam. “Give up yet?"
He merely raised one brow, grabbed hold of the staff and pushed upwards.
Elyse pushed down against his move, and they were locked in a silent battle.
Feeling her weight going on the staff, he looked up into her eyes and was hit with several things at once. Her hidden delight of victory, her love of the fight, the heated scent of her from her damp skin ... and the warmth of her body on him.
Warmth? It was more like the heat from the centre of her body. The heat from the apex of her thighs seeped slowly but surely through his shirt to coat his skin with eroticism, and his abdominal muscles tightened at the sensation.
A low hiss escaped him before he could stop it.
He didn't know what exactly she saw in his eyes, but it was enough to make her lift up off him slightly and push down harder on the staff.
Shaque knew several ways to fight dirty, and not all of them were with his fists or weapons.
Abruptly he changed the direction he was pushing, and instead of pushing towards her, he pulled the staff up and away from them above his head.
Caught by the unexpected movement, Elyse, off balance, fell forward right onto his chest. The staff clattered from her hands, her chest hit his, and she barely managed to keep her forehead from knocking against his.
For three spilt seconds she looked directly into his eyes, and then she started to jerk upright.
Prepared for it, he reached up, grabbed a handful of the front of her shirt and shoved hard and fast, rolling as he did so. Within seconds she was flat on her back beneath him, her wrists shackled in his hands and held down one each side of her head.
"I win,” he said.
"If this had been a real fight, I would have killed you already."
"Poor loser, Elyse."
"Loss of reality, Shaque."
Leaning down until they were nose-to-nose, he ordered softly, “Submit."
"Never."
His grip on her wrists tightened when she attempted to move them. “Fighting words, Elyse."
"It'll always be a fight, Shaque."
Their breaths were warm on each others lips, and her scent filled him when he took a breath. Again he was aware of the warmth of their bodies, her softer curves against his when she shifted beneath him. Tilting his pelvis against hers when she started to move, he was rewarded by her sudden stillness at the intimate contact.
The warmth between them started to become hot, the heat from their bodies mingling, curling around his senses like smoke when combined with her floral scent.
A logical part of him was astounded that he actually noticed her. Noticed her as more than just Elyse, the ex-pirate and part mutant that he was destined to fight to the death.
Maybe, that logical part argued as he and Elyse stared at each other, that was the whole thing. She was dangerous, and he was drawn to danger like a moth to flame.
"Let me up,” Elyse said quietly, but even though her voice was calm, he felt the pulses in her wrists flutter and quicken.
It was enough to let him know that she was just as affected by the moment.
Am I affected? Surely the heavy thud of his heart was due to the exertion they'd both been through. And her scent. Her curves. Her danger.
"Shaque, get off!"
Her hot demand prodded the predator in him, and he lowered his head until his lips hovered just above her soft mouth.
"You even try,” she grated out, “And you'll be the sorriest bastard alive."
A lazy smile curled his lips. “Still giving orders, Elyse? In case it's escaped your notice, I'm in charge right now."
The brown of her eyes darkened, and he saw the faint glint of red too late.
Her legs swung up, wrapping around his waist in a firm grip, and he felt the strength in her thigh muscles as she rolled her hips to the side, her thighs pulling him along with her.
Their positions reversed, but he still had her wrists shackled and up above his head, forcing her to lie flat against his body, hip to shoulders. This was even more interesting. Mentally he licked his lips, slid his tongue along his teeth, and scented her like prey.
A very sweet smelling prey.
Only the prey was eyeing him back like a predator. “Don't think you can beat me, Shaque.” A predator whose hot breath dampened his lips, sending a shiver of heat through him.
Every sensory was targeted on Elyse, his whole focus on her. The red gleam called to him, the taste of danger in the way she looked down at him. The air of command that made him want to shatter it and take total control.
Take total control any way he could. Win at any cost.
Then she did something he'd never seen a person do before.
Moving sinuously up his body, her breasts brushing so tantalizingly across his face, she edged up until she was able to push her knees beneath her, the movement causing her to straddle his chest briefly, and as he looked up at her, the fire starting to heat his blood, she leaned forward, her hands flat on the floor.
Crouched fully above him, she stared down at him for several seconds, then smiled almost sultrily. Pushing upward suddenly, she flipped over and above him and away, doing a full back summersault, breaking his hold on her wrists.
Astonished, he rolled onto his stomach to see her already straightening with her back to him. She moved with a fluid grace, and once upright, she turned, looked down at him, rolled her shoulders and smiled. “I win."
He could only gaze after her as she walked out of the cargo hold.
One part of him wanted to swear. He didn't like losing. Another part of him admired her technique. The third part ... Bugger the third part. It was something he wasn't going to contemplate too closely.
* * * *
The ship came to a stop, and the girl looked out of the little space shield in the side wall of the cell. Rain teeming down obliterated the area they'd landed on.
From the corridor came the sound of voices, distant at first, then louder. Arrogant.
Her door was flung open and the slaver stood in the doorway, his apprentice by his side. She shrank back as the apprentice came forward, a youth with the light of cruelty already shining in his eyes.
Grabbing the chain securing her manacles together, he dragged her off the bunk and forced her down on the floor in a kneeling position.
Breath hitching in her throat with fear, the girl started to look up, only to get a hard rap on the top of her head. “Eyes down!"
Trembling, she tried to see the doorway from the tops of her eyes, and
she made out the slaver's boots as he entered the cell and stood aside. Another set of boots came into view, and the wearer walked across the cell to her, the steps mincing.
A hand brushed across her hair, the sweet smell of heavy perfume permeating the air. Heavy silk robes brushed across the bare skin of her legs.
"Pretty,” the voice said above her, and she was surprised to hear that it was female. When she made to glance up, a stinging slap landed on her cheek. “But too bold."
Bold? When all she'd done was try to glance up? Swallowing a sob, tears in her eyes, she trembled and kept her head obediently bowed.
"Lift your arms,” the woman ordered. “Over your head."
She obeyed, the chains clinking.
"Stretch."
Inwardly quaking, she obeyed.
"This girl has no breasts!” the woman barked out.
"She will get them,” the slaver said. “Just give her a bit of time—"
"Fool! The people who come to my place want girls who are showing more than this scrap!” The robes swirled away, the boots clipping across the floor. “You waste my time!"
"No, no! I have more. Please, allow me to show you.” The slaver followed her out, ordering as he did so, “Vax!"
The apprentice gave the girl a hard jab in the ribs with his boot, tipping her off balance with a gasp of pain. As she lay on the floor wincing, the cell door slammed shut with finality.
Whimpering, the girl got to her feet and curled up on the bunk, her face pressed to the space shield, trying to see in what hellhole the slaver's ship had landed. Celia, oh Celia. If only you were here. If only you were here!
But Celia wasn't here, and the children were alone.
* * * *
It was a bloody pirate ship. Shaque stared at the camera screen that showed the sleek, black ship floating motionless just minutes away. Elyse wasn't taking him to see mere outlaws, but bloody space pirates.
And no, not just any space pirates. Oh no. She was taking him to see one of the most wanted space pirates that raided so brazenly in the Lawful Sector, coming deeper in than most space pirates dared.
His narrowed eyed gaze saw the painting near the front of the ship. The skull with crossed bones beneath. A red rose garland sat jauntily atop the skull, and a posy of roses was painted between the cross bones. Saucy Rose was painted beneath it.
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