Snick-snacking, one of its limbs rose above its body and stayed there, swaying. Watching her?
Truth or lie? “I think I’m a slave, or maybe a prisoner.” Had it said weapons training? “You choose.”
Collar marks still evident. Slave then.
“Your name again?” She took a tiny step closer. “Can you speak aloud? You have...” She counted. “Eight legs?”
“Speaking aloud is my normal, though it uses more energy and I’m only partly recharged. I am a Diccano 3.” The sound of it speaking was close to human or Mekker in tone. “I did say I taught mathematics, string theory, dimensional dynamics? I can count. I must also say, I’ve never found another humanoid who could detect my postulations without speech.”
“This is bizarre to the nth,” she added, whispering.
“I heard that.”
Sarcasm? Could a mechling be sarcastic? This thing showed too much personality. And why was she believing it? “Are you a self-aware artificial intelligence? Are you...”
Was it sane?
The thing pranced onto a seat and settled, folding its legs neatly. She curled her hands into fists and took two backward steps.
“How can I teach you if you run away?” That almost sounded pleading.
“Not sure I want to be taught by a spider.”
“Is that bad?”
“If you bite me, yes.” This conversation was drifting into Alice in Wonderland territory. “You would teach me?”
It did sound sane. Just, this was so weird.
“Yes. With permission from the king.”
Fuck that. “He’s not here.”
“We seem to be at an impasse then. I could teach you the bokarin ceremony?”
Tempting. It didn’t appear to be hostile, and why would they leave anything bad behind?
To kill intruders, silly.
Well, she was going to chance it. The thing talked to her. Damn huge plus there.
“You could show me that. You’re sure you’re not sun-mad?”
“Sun-mad?”
“It’s a term the Mekkers use to describe mechlings that have suffered a rearrangement of their...minds.”
“I don’t recall the term. If a slang term, it was used very little when I was last awake.”
How long ago was that? She was dying to ask.
Ask!
“How long?”
The black eye globules spun slowly and migrated over the top of the dome, reminding her of a nature program where frog spawn floated on the surface of a pond.
Spidery legs plus egg spawn. Creepy as fuck. If it’d been black and not white, she’d be screaming.
Possibilities were crawling about in her brain. It might teach her, if she could finagle the permission thing. What if she could get it to teach her how to fight? What if Ryke found out? If nothing else, it’d be a curious thing to try. She might even learn how to punch a knife through his throat.
He was being nice, remember? Wasn’t going to torture or fuck. Anymore.
Pffft.
“Show me this ceremony.”
“Sit then. It’s a drinking ceremony the king offered his enemies to placate them while they discussed war and trade and similar. I will look for the kitchen supplies.” All its legs waved and snicker-snacked, making her stomach squeeze in.
That appearance. Tutor or not she needed to do something. A previous room had contained possibilities for disguising it.
“While you’re ummm preparing, I’ll go fetch something. Okay?” She pointed over her shoulder.
“Of course. Do you have a name, a nomenclature, you wish me to use?”
“Call me Gio.”
“I shall.”
Then it zipped backward and over the pond and through an opposite exit like an alien bug with the marines after it.
“Fuck,” she whispered again, shaking her head.
The room contained exactly what she needed.
She ended up seated opposite this Diccan whatever while it poured a fuming black liquid into a cup. One for her, one for...it. Gio blinked and swirled the liquid. Bokarin ceremony? Imagine it’s tea? It smelled like moldy socks.
“How old is this? Can it kill me? Is it safe?” Worried she’d insulted this Daccan...Diccan, she looked up.
It sat on the opposite curved seat, legs tucked around and under the seat. One leg held an identical fuming cup. “Though a few hundred years old, I assure you this is delicious. And safe.”
A black curly-haired wig now sat on its dome – glued on by the tape she’d found on the underside of the wig. Mekkers must go bald too. Placing it had been worrisome but the mech had sat still and not reacted.
“Okay.” Gio pulled a disgusted face and declined to drink, yet. “The wig suits you, and makes you less scary.”
“I endeavor not to scare my pupils, if you are to be one. We need the king, however. Drink. It seals friendship, fortifies the flesh against laz bolts, makes you live extra years.”
“Yes. It does?” She squinted but raised the cup, took a sip. Whatever it was, it ran down her insides like liquid fire ants, prickling, and hot. “Ohmigod.” She clutched her throat and slowly the burn ebbed.
“Yes. The first anyway. The other two aspects may not work with humans. You said your species was human?”
She had. Gio nodded, still numb of throat.
“Yes. I don’t know what it does to humans.”
Remind her to drop this thing into the Engine Sea if she died in agony.
“I’ve decided you’re not a Diccano.” Besides, she’d end up calling it Dick. Not happening. “Can I rename you, Aunt Mary?” Hilarious to name this spider thing that, but, why not?
“You may label me what you will.” It raised its own cup, placed it where a mouth might be, at the edge of the dome, if it had a mouth.
The funny thing was...she smiled. She was enjoying this. If it wasn’t really self-aware, it was doing a fine imitation. She adjusted the folds of the dress where they fell across her lap. Then she took another sip, grimaced through the burning, coughing a few times.
“Good.” And wisely she set the cup down.
Its...no, Aunt Mary’s, eye globules drifted to the front, beneath the fringe of the wig. “Is this the current king?”
From the boot sounds, someone else was in the room, behind her. Ryke, of course.
Now the shit would hit the fan. She feared what he would think.
I shouldn’t fear. I shouldn’t. But it was done. The happiness had evaporated. His hand landed on her shoulder.
“What is this you’ve found, girl?”
“Are you the king?”
“The king? No, but I’m her king.”
“A king without limits rules poorly, a king with limits rules what he desires.”
Gio eyed her, it, sourly. Dear Aunt Mary, queen of pithy sayings. Guess she’d given it a gender transplant.
Chapter 18
Gio had tied back her hair into a bun at some point. Dry, it shone as if rendered in golden metal. Ryke trailed his fingers through the wisps at her nape while examining this mechling she’d found. It was one that spoke. Surprising. This was no ordinary place – the long-abandoned residence of a king. What other surprises might it hold?
She’d perched a wig on its head and that’d made him smile as he’d approached.
“What are you?” The ridiculousness of anyone so decorating a mechling. Humans too held surprises, a spontaneity.
“I am a Diccano 3 but this young woman, Gio, has chosen to label me Aunt Mary, sir.” It lowered the white cup it held to the seat.
“Are you dangerous, carrying weapons? How is it that you’ve survived this long?” Ryke narrowed his eyes. He had a lot more questions, such as how she had found it.
“I am not dangerous. I was a tutor to the king and his children, his servants and his slaves. I do not carry weapons, though some...” He flourished his limb-tips around and over the cup. “Might call this cup a weapon. I survived due to the unusual quality of my bra
inware and power cells.”
A cup the size of his palm was a weapon? Did this mechling deal in abstract concepts?
“What brainware? Power cells that aren’t related to waik crystals?” Mekkers had used alternate materials before coming to this world, yet those too would surely have decayed?
“My brain and power cells are composed of material sourced from the center of a sun. I was expensive to create and I cost, approximately, as much as a small bladeshifter battle hub.”
“I see.” Whatever a bladeshifter was. This mechling could hold Mekker history from before the Last Days of the War. It’d all been lost in the great glitch, the blurring of data and memories. “You’re durable then?”
“Very, sir. Though I am still recharging. The power to the residence is a little unreliable currently.”
The wiring would likely to be less functional than this mechling. “Aunt Mary?” He tweaked Gio’s hair.
Gio cleared her throat before replying. “It’s a pleasant, non-threatening name. The mechling scared me at first.”
And so the wig and insulting label. “I should be thankful you’ve not called me names too?”
“I would never...ever do that. Could I be tutored? Would you allow me to learn from it?”
What was she planning? “You? What can you learn from this?”
Aunt Mary tilted her dome. The wig stayed in place. A miracle. “I have a variety of learning modules, sir.”
“List them.” He pulled on her hair so she had to lean backward or fall. Soon she lay where he wanted her, forced to look up while the mechling droned on.
“Alphabet, arithmetic, black hole theory, boskonians, batching...”
“What are you planning? My downfall? My death?”
“Nothing! We have an agreement. Niceness.”
Eyes like a small, trapped creature looked up at him – wide, unblinking. “But hardly innocent,” he murmured, following up on his thoughts. The vibrantly red dress pooled and dripped about her on the seat, her hair had fallen beautifully and swayed beneath her. Loops of it were uncurling still. Alluring. Far too alluring.
His distance mode failed. She pulled at him in relentlessly, as if he were the prey being hauled in, and he would never be happy being prey, whether witting or unwitting. It made him want to do those bad things and their agreement was barely written, still wet. Perhaps he should’ve insisted on a blood-signed contract.
Or not. This way he could break it and not suffer.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her swallow drew attention to her neck and he leaned over, intending to bite her there. This was not fucking. Instead of biting, he kissed her there then shifted and found her mouth. A woman’s mouth always surprised him. So soft. Vulnerable. He liked vulnerable even more than soft. He bit her lips, lightly, pulling, while holding her at the neck.
Her sharp gasps reminded him of better times.
What was he doing again?
Courtship required kissing.
Ryke’s mouth remained on hers long after her eyes closed. When he lifted away, her breathing was irregular, harsh, unsettled. Her eyelids flickered, opened fully and he gazed within at her blueness.
“No penetration,” she said quietly.
Her hands had wrapped about the seat’s edge – gripping tightly, her fingers a blotchy red and white. Perhaps she feared he’d drop her. He weaved his fingers deeper, tunneling into her hair and her face tightened with pain.
He kept his mouth harsh, firm, considering her and his answer. “There was none.”
“Your tongue was in my mouth.”
“Yes. That wasn’t fucking.”
“It was penetration.” For a brief moment, her own tongue slipped between her succulent lips. He remembered the taste of her and of her tongue. How slippery she was inside, and how wet she could be, at both ends.
“Insolence. Every breath you take involves being penetrated by air that’s been in my lungs. Would you like me to peg your tongue to the seat while we debate this?”
“With?”
Stars above she’d already lost some of her fear.
“Something very sharp and pointy.”
“This conversation worries me, sir. I am not supposed to allow damage to occur to people.”
Aunt Mary had stepped to the floor and wavered there at waist height, balancing on the ends of her legs.
“Go away and recharge fully. No, you do not have permission to teach this slave.”
It whisked off.
Disappointment flickered across her eyes. “Getting a bit technical before, weren’t we?”
He waited.
“I mean, with the pointy description.”
He stroked her forehead. “If you knew how on edge I am, how much you risk.”
That made her give a little. He felt and saw the writhing of her muscles as she tried to sink away from his hands. Of course he held her tighter.
“Nice has limits. I can’t allow this. I will have to teach you a lesson, and it won’t be a lesson like that mechling’s.”
“Oh.”
“Just oh?” The tips of her breasts rose and fell nicely, with the shape of her nipples visible through the cloth, and they were within reach. So he reached for one, found it made a perfect handful, and he squeezed.
Her mouth fell open and Gio squeaked and drew rapid breaths before venturing, “That’s not...” Her throat moved as if saying words were difficult. “Nice.”
Mouth. That mouth. He imagined it closing on him, sucking. “It’s not?”
Breast or mouth? Decisions...
Ryke thumbed around that opening, where all her squeaks and gasps came from, then into it. He ran the pad of his thumb along her little teeth. If he pushed her to the ground he could stick his cock in there.
Not. This Time. Instead, he let his fist squash into her hair.
“I have prepared meals being brought here. You will eat, and then I will do something appropriate to your misdemeanor. This way I will know where you are while I sleep tonight.”
“But you told me to wander.”
“I did, didn’t I? I didn’t tell you to answer me with disrespect. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.” He traced from her jaw then down her neck to the tip of one breast which he brushed, seeing if it would harden and rise. It certainly made her wriggle. “Your squirming amuses me.”
“Well –”
He clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling whatever answer she’d thought up. “Do I need a gag?”
Finally, after several taut seconds, she shook her head.
So he did as he’d said, after stripping the red dress from her. He let her eat the food Badh had sent. Then he leashed her to the bed in the room where she’d last slept, gathered the plates, and left them outside the entry. In the morning he’d put more thought into how they’d get meals in future.
Then he showed her his latest obsession. The cage.
With the right-hand door open, he could see the hinges were strong, and there was enough room for her to lie down, if she curled up. Some towels would do as bedding, so he retrieved those and threw them in.
“Put your arms out front.” When she extended them, he slid the long gloves up her arms, buckling only the wrists. He couldn’t help but notice her obedience, in spite of his flagrant disregard for what she thought nice should be.
“In.” He gestured and made her crouch, then put her in the cage, rolled her to lie on her side.
Uncomfortable but nothing severe.
There was a definite pleasure in seeing her looking out at him. “Remember to behave in future. Tomorrow you will tell me what you were planning with that mechling.”
“I planned nothing. The mechling knows nothing.” She pleaded with her expression more than anything.
“About?”
Sullen, brow wrinkling, she remained silent.
“But you do know, don’t you?”
He had to react or jeopardize his control. He could feel the lie melting off her tongue. Obedience
and insolence in one female, yet he couldn’t be too un-nice, if there was such a word.
Nice, yet punishment? Something that asserted control. If she kept this up and he didn’t rein her in, he’d be grinding his teeth.
Before he’d entered the room with the pond and walked up behind her, he’d seen something he could use. When he’d spotted those disemboweled and torn cords dangling from the ceiling, his sadistic senses had tingled.
As he walked back there to fetch them, he also walked through his logic.
He’d brought little with him, hadn’t had time or foreknowledge. Only the accuator, the suit, gloves, leash, gag, the old collar. Though perhaps there’d be gear he could unearth in some room. For now, those cords would do. If he went too far, she’d not help him find a portal mage...that was his reasoning, wasn’t it?
And the mask. He’d forgotten that, though he wouldn’t use it. She’d have to be really bad to warrant that since it scared the fuck out of her.
Break her – that’d been his aim, long ago, a day ago. Who was breaking now? His goal was shaky at best. At first he’d thought being here was a mistake. If he was honest, he understood why she feared the claustrophobia of the mask. It was how he felt when above. Up there, he suppressed the doubts that crawled through his head, because it was required for survival.
He’d craved freedom and had thought he could get it above, where he wouldn’t be a reviled decker, except he was that, still. His face marks never faded. People knew them if they got a proper deep look. He’d had all the power and nothing else. There’d been no one he could trust except for Gyle...
What the fuck was he doing with her again? The opposite of what he wanted. Obviously.
There were the cords.
None of them seemed to be functional. He didn’t want to destroy anything that still worked. From the char marks, there’d been a minor explosion, but years ago.
He leaned on the wall and pressed his hand over his pants, grabbed his pumped-up, very hard cock, and squeezed. Just a minute to get calm and he’d return to her.
Don’t fuck. Don’t penetrate. Ridiculous.
That didn’t rule out orgasms. He would just tie her tits to the cage bars, or her nipples, for a while, to tease her. Something like that.
Branded Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 3) Page 12