Sailmaster's Woman

by Annie Windsor

  Wherever Ki’s mate had been, she was in ecstasy and thinking only of her lover-to-be.

  In those few seconds, Ki became a believer in the magic of shanna. From the moment he brushed the thoughts of his soul’s mate, he could think of nothing but her. Fari was leading the main attack because Ki’s actions were of a single purpose: finding and retrieving his shanna from the slaver’s stinking grip.

  She had been so relaxed when she touched his mind, so happy and satisfied in her fantasy of him. Now, she was terrified and in pain. Someone was using a stick on her, maybe choking her. She might be dying.

  If Ki had to slay every OrTan in the galaxy, he would reach her before that happened.

  “Shanna!” he bellowed, blinded by smoke and gore. “Dora, Shanna. Dora!”

  Strength, my beloved. Strength.

  She needed his encouragement. Her life force was slipping away, clawing to hold onto his mind even as he pierced three worthless OrTans with one thrust of his sword.

  How could she be so connected to him already? Was she Ardani? Some other type of psi-gifted species?

  Ki rounded a corner and found himself facing a row of doors, maybe twenty in all. He knew he was near the ship’s center, and these were the Pleasure Rooms, the core of what the OrTan slavers offered—anything a being could desire, for a price. And the slaves held in thrall, some by their own choice, some by obedience collars and pain sticks.

  His shanna was somewhere in one of those rooms, being tortured. The OrTans had stolen her from her home, kidnapped her into bondage and forced who knows what upon her.

  How long had she been a prisoner?

  He kicked open the first door.

  A blue Coscan woman screamed, covering her single gigantic breast. The furry Denovan who had been suckling it fell backward.

  Ki snorted in frustration. “Get to the decks if you desire rescue,” he told the Coscan. “My priest will remove your collar and take you home.”

  The woman gave Ki a grateful smile while the Denovan grabbed his hairy staff and began relieving his own prick. He would cause the woman no problem, Ki knew. Denovans were by nature gentle and passive, though they had terrible trouble finding the interspecies mates they desired. Most humanoids could not tolerate their rotten egg smell.

  Ki turned to the next door and broke it down with one thrust of his boot. It was empty.

  Roaring with the agony his bride-to-be was transmitting, Ki used his shoulder to batter down the third door. Five tiny Nostans stood against the back wall, huddled around a statuesque Bandu woman wearing the obedience collar.

  “Topside,” Ki instructed, battling his urge to move on before he ensured the safety of his rescue.

  The purple Bandu made a graceful bow. Baring her teeth, she ripped off her collar, screaming with pain and triumph since she realized no OrTans with sticks would appear to get her back in line. As the collar skittered across the floor, the Bandu picked up one of the Nostans and used him to flatten his companions. Ki knew this one would be fine. No species in its right mind would challenge an unfettered Bandu, for obvious reasons.

  Door after door, he found rescues or vacancy. With each fruitless kick, he grew more desperate. His shanna had faded to nothing but a sliver of light in his mind.

  And then he kicked open the last barrier to find none other than Lord Gith, the Vice-Emperor of OrTa. Galactic law prevented Ki from slaying the royalty of another culture, even during rescues.

  But Gith was holding Ki’s mate by her neck, as if she were nothing more than a child’s plaything.

  Galactic law suddenly seemed less important.

  The shock of seeing his soul’s mate, of being near her real, physical body for the first time, nearly drove Ki over the edge. His pa-mark fairly crackled, making his muscles flex and flex again. She was perfect, every splendid inch of her. Not Ardani, no. A primitive, likely from the planet called Earth. Naked and vulnerable—and in terrible danger. Who knew what the OrTan trash had done to her?

  Roaring like the wild Ardani of old, Ki stormed into the room.

  Gith dropped Ki’s unconscious prize, then snatched her up again, using her for a shield. His pain stick hovered like a snake beside her neck, and Ki knew if he made the OrTan flinch, the woman would suffer unspeakable agony.

  He bared his teeth at the thought, and a low growl rose from his throat. Ki’s mind was spinning so violently he could barely focus—yet Gith’s hateful face hovered ever-present in his field of vision.

  The OrTan’s eyes went wide as he recognized the Ardani mating fervor.

  “Unhand her,” Ki snarled. He swept his diamond blade back and forth, mimicking the many ways he planned to slice Lord Gith, Vice-Emperor or no.

  “Or what? You cannot kill me without facing your own death sentence.” Gith wrapped a scaly arm around his captive’s already-bruised throat. “I have as much right as you to claim my mate. This wench is already mine!”

  The OrTan’s assertion that he had bedded the woman made Ki’s gut roil. If OrTan royalty had hunted, wenched, and laid first claim to this female—no.

  No!

  He would kill Gith and have done with it, laws and treaties be damned. Nothing would keep him from his soul’s mate now that she was within his grasp. The Council might banish him or put him to death, but at that moment, Ki Tul’Mar could have cared less.

  Gith lurched sideways, dragging the woman with him. She roused, whimpered and began a feeble struggle only a finger’s length from the double-crescent end of Gith’s stick.

  Ki bit back a howl and steadied his blade while the OrTan’s eyes darted left and right, searching for escape. His grip on Ki’s prize loosened, as did his grip on his own thoughts.

  Ki’s lips curled as Gith’s thoughts leaked like spilled water.

  The OrTan had been lying.

  He hadn’t touched the woman, except to kidnap her and attempt to kill her. That claim was no claim at all, by any stretch of galactic law. A fierce swell of triumph caused Ki to snarl again, but not because the law was now on his side.

  Because the woman he desired was fully and completely his for the taking. He eased forward, bringing his diamond blade up, then drawing it back to ready position.

  Gith jerked his pain stick under the woman’s chin, almost touching her flesh. “Stay back, or I will kill her.”

  “And then I will cut you.” Ki’s senses were on high. Every movement, every color or sound seemed like a scream. “One scale at a time. And feed your organs to fergilla beasts.”

  If only he could get a clear field, just for a moment.

  Gith seemed to ponder Ki’s threat, and the two men circled each other. Ki’s shanna was always between them.

  Tentatively, the Sailmaster reached out toward his beloved’s mind, much as he spoke to the sails on his frigate. Psi connections were a tricky thing before mating, especially with a primitive female, one who possessed no direct connection to pa—but this splendid woman had reached him once before. Maybe…

  Shanna. Shanna!

  Her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

  “Orion,” she murmured.

  Ki felt both a thrill at the sweetness of her voice, and puzzlement. Orion must be some primal term of endearment.

  Shanna, he psi-whispered, confident that the OrTan collar would translate for him. The OrTan beast holding you captive—he is attempting to claim you. To assert you have already shared his bed.

  His beloved’s enraged expression excited him

  I claim you, too, in the name of all that is right beneath the stars. Ki’s pa-mark sizzled as he asserted his thoughts. But you must agree. You must choose me out loud, for all to hear.

  For a moment, the woman hesitated. Her eyes shifted from Gith to Ki, and Ki caught a snatch of her thoughts.

  … between the devil and the deep blue sea…

  He frowned. It must be some sort of oath.

  “What are you doing?” Gith pulled the woman closer. “Are you so bold as to mind-speak to my claimed mate?”


  Ki’s shanna—Elise. Her name was Elise. Ki read it in her thoughts. The sound was so unusual that it almost distracted him even as she made gagging noises at the thought of mating with Gith.

  Say it, my beloved. Choose me. Free me to rescue you!

  “I—uh.” She pulled back and made eye contact with Gith. “Thanks for the ride, but I’ve never touched you by choice, and don’t care to. I choose him. That god-guy, right over there.”

  Gith’s hiss of fury was instant. He shoved Elise away from him and raised his stick to strike her.

  Ki lunged forward with his blade and pierced the beast at his shoulder, flipping him away from Elise like a fish on a gig. Gith’s pain stick clattered on the floor.

  Elise stooped, grabbed it, and whirled around to face Gith even as the OrTan smashed at Ki’s diamond blade and tried to grab the warrior to free himself.

  “Leave him alone,” she yelled, surprising both combatants, who momentarily froze.

  Ki gave her a hungry, appreciative stare. By the stars, she was fighting for her own freedom. And for his well-being, too. His shanna had a warrior’s heart.

  How unusual. How exciting.

  Lorelei, his mind whispered, and he found himself grinning. The mating fervor nearly overtook him, but Gith staggered back and looked like he might charge her.

  Elise raised the stick. “Try it, you scum. I’ll cook your stupid green nuts!”

  The collar clearly translated her meaning, because Gith’s hand dropped to protect whatever type of family jewels he might have.

  Ki moved in then, crowding Gith, herding him toward the door with deep swipes of his diamond blade. The OrTan’s scales made wet sounds on the stone floor as he inched around the edge of the room. His lizard-like eyes kept flicking to Elise, looking half-furious and half-aroused, and for one long moment, Ki considered killing the fergilla for his impudence.

  His conscience fought with him, insisting his murderous urges were the mating fervor talking. Lord Gith was far from worth the trouble his slaying would cause. For now, Elise was the only thing that mattered.

  “You will regret this,” Gith growled as he dodged through the portal and into the smoking hallway. “I will go to the Council!”

  “Then go, while your legs are still attached.” Ki thrust his blade toward Gith’s scaly thighs. The monster screamed as the diamond blade came within inches of his prick, then shot Ki an angry look before fleeing farther into the passageway.

  From behind Ki, Elise whimpered and dropped the pain stick. A soft thump let him know that she had fainted.

  Ki lost all thought of Gith, and all reason. He turned quickly, ripped off his tunic, knelt, and wrapped his vulnerable shanna in its soft, white cloth. She was murmuring and thrashing as he scooped her from the filthy skull floor and held her tight against his chest.

  “You are safe, beloved,” he whispered into her golden hair. She smelled of strange flowers and places he had never seen. “I will guard you with my last breath.”

  At that, his shanna relaxed and drifted to sleep, but not before she called him Orion again.

  Chapter 3

  When Elise woke, she knew she wasn’t in a pleasure bed made of air. She was in someone’s powerful arms.

  Orion!

  The man who had saved her from the mange-lizard had her cradled against his naked chest, and she was wearing his shirt. It smelled almost leathery-like, with heavy, sweet spices. He was striding through fire, ignoring the smoke and heat and people screaming, like he did this hero stuff every day.

  Elise caught glimpses of other men like Orion, battling with swords that seemed to be made out of diamonds, or rubies, or sapphires. Each blade had a slightly different color, which seemed to change as the warrior swung the weapon. Alligator creeps dropped like ugly green flies. Naked people of all shapes and hues ran past, headed in the same direction as Orion. Up, up, up, and out a large portal into a glowing darkness.

  Darkness couldn’t glow, of course.

  But this darkness did.

  Holding tight to her savior, Elise peered around his muscled arm and caught her breath.

  They were floating in outer space!

  No, no. Wait. They were on a ship with a black deck.

  And now they were on something like a gangplank, crossing over to—

  “Oh, my.” Elise’s eyes widened.

  The silver pirate’s ship she had been dreaming about waited for her like a ghost frigate. It looked like something out of Peter Pan or Brigadoon. Massive silver sails rippled against the endless constellations, and ropes and riggings twinkled in the ethereal black-glow. There were at least fifty men working cranks and wheels, and each of them looked up as Orion carried her onto the ship’s shiny deck.

  Elise was shocked, overly aware of her barely clothed state, yet too excited to focus on her humiliation. I swear, the sails and the wood—they look like they’re made of stardust. And the stardust seems…it feels…alive. It’s almost like I can hear it, whispering.

  She should have been cold on a ship’s deck in outer space. Freezing, even. And she shouldn’t have been able to breathe. Her skin was warm, though, and her breath came easily.

  Do not be afraid, murmured a strong voice in her mind, and she knew it was Orion.

  My name is not Orion, beloved. It is Ki Tul’Mar, Sailmaster of Arda. Though if Orion is a term of endearment, I will gladly accept it, along with your attentions.

  Elise stiffened in the pirate’s arms.

  Her attentions? What did that mean?

  Did this guy think that just because he rescued her from the alligator freaks, he could fuck her?

  Laughter floated through her brain. There was a heat behind it, yet it was gentle, like an intimate tickle. Yes. Of course I will.

  “Like hell!” Elise smacked at his rock-hard shoulder. “Put me down.”

  Ki Tul’Mar laughed at her again, this time out loud.

  “Put me down, you jerk!” Elise hit him again, though she was half afraid he’d drop her into nothingness and she would float away like some half-naked balloon.

  We have inertial dampening, and an atmospheric shield. It surrounds the ship, beloved. You would not float away.

  “Then…put…me…down.” Elise’s anger iced her words, but the pirate or king or Sailmaster or whatever he was paid her no more mind than if she were a child throwing a tantrum.

  “In good time,” he said, and the rich timbre of his voice made Elise shiver.

  Arrogant bastard. And I hope you read that thought, buddy. Stay out of my head. Got me?

  There was no answer, so Elise assumed the big bully grasped her message. Still highly annoyed, she struggled against his grip, but Ki Tul’Mar only shifted her until she was seated in his arms. She felt the hot grip of his hands on her ass, kneading. Touching her in an intimate, possessive way, in front of people.

  Even as she pushed against his chest, the incredible firmness of his muscles made her mouth go dry. His eyes were so black she thought she might fall into them, and his hair, so long and thick—she wanted to touch it and then trace the perfect line of his strong jaw and dimpled chin. On his chest—oh, my. The strangest tattoo. It was silver and shimmering like the ship’s sails, and shaped in intricate flame patterns. Elise reached out to touch it, but Ki caught her hand while still using his spare arm to hold her in check.

  “That would not be wise,” he rumbled. The husk in his voice was unmistakable. “If you connect with me more completely at this moment, I will lose all restraint.”

  “Sire,” said a man approaching quickly from the left. He was as tall as the warriors now streaming back to the frigate, blades still drawn—but this man had no sword. He was dressed in deep purple robe. There were patterns on his cheek, like a henna tattoo, only made of that same almost-living glitter in the sails and on Ki’s chest.

  Ki stopped massaging Elise’s backside and turned, holding her out so quickly she didn’t have time to react.

  The robed man passed his han
ds over her head without touching her and said, “She is unharmed. The simple healing pass should stop any bruising, and the collar has been on but a few stellar hours. Removal will be without risk.”

  Elise focused on the purple-robe guy. “You can take it off? Without it killing me?”

  “Yes, Grace.” The man nodded.

  “I’m not Grace.” Elise smiled. “But take the collar off anyway, please.”

  “It is a term of respect, my lady. I am Akad, the priest of this vessel, and I would be honored to assist you.” The robed man held out his arms to accept her, but Ki held on with a growl. Elise felt his breathing grow rapid, and her skin prickled.

  “Sire, I must take her below.” Akad sounded patient, but fearful. “Only for a few moments, and you may stay outside the entire time.”

  “Inside,” Ki snarled.

  “A-As you wish.” Akad shrugged, and Elise realized that most of the triumphant warriors had stopped celebrating to watch this exchange.

  “And I will carry her,” Ki added.

  The implication was clear. No one, not even this painted man in a robe, was to touch her.

  God, he is so arrogant!

  Elise fumed inwardly as the sea of warriors and deckhands parted for them to enter the first of three main holds. Elise sensed their eyes sweeping over her barely-covered body. Her heart pounded harder at the thought, and she fought a wild urge to let the shirt fall open and see if one of them would rescue her from Ki.

  Somehow, she figured that was unlikely.

  Akad held the door for Ki, and as he carted Elise into the silvery passageway, she heard Akad whisper to the nearest man, “Fetch Fari. Make haste!”

  Ki’s giant strides carried Elise so quickly that she couldn’t get her bearings. Doors, bays and bins streamed by in a blur. A couple of times, she saw murals. Strange paintings of three wild-looking women, with fangs like small tigers and sliver fire on their faces.

  The sights, the strange, cloying smells—everything was so new, so bright and overwhelming. “Slow down,” she begged, hoping she wouldn’t get sick.

  Again, Ki ignored her. He made a broad turn, then hauled her into a room full of flat gray tables covered with naked women wearing collars like Elise’s. Some of them were touching each other, hugging like frightened children, or long-lost friends. Others were touching each other in a more intimate fashion.