Warlord

by Angela Knight

  But none of the people moving around the room reacted. Blinking, she fell back on the bunk and scrubbed her hands hard over her sandy eyes. Her heart still thumped hard from surprise.

  Baran was still nowhere to be seen. Where was he? Was he back? Had he been hurt again?

  Was he dead?

  Calm down, she told herself sternly. Don’t borrow trouble.

  As she sat there curled in a ball, Octopussy suddenly jumped onto the mattress. She startled. “Damn, cat, don’t do that to me.”

  The Siamese looked at her and meowed plaintively. She sounded hungry. Come to think of it, Jane wouldn’t mind a bite or two, either.

  And to make a bad situation worse, she needed to use the bathroom desperately. Unfortunately, she had no idea where it was—or even how to use twenty-third-century plumbing.

  He’s not going to come back, her father’s ghost whispered. You’ll be stuck here, unable to speak the language, knowing no one, with no means to support yourself.

  Jane felt the rise of helplessness. It was bitterly familiar.

  Incompetent. She was so damned incompetent. She’d stranded herself in a time long after everything and everybody she knew had disappeared, without a way to meet even her own most basic needs. And the man she loved was God knows where, fighting and perhaps even dying while she sat in bed and did nothing.

  Incompetent, whispered her father’s ghost.

  So how did I kill Jack the Ripper?

  Jane straightened, remembering the moment when she’d looked into those snake eyes and pulled the trigger.

  If I’m so incompetent, how did I trap the most infamous serial killer in history, deliver him to Baran, and finish him off afterward?

  For once, her father’s ghost made no reply.

  Jane swung her legs off the bed and stood. She could, by God, find a fucking toilet and figure out how to use it.

  She looked around until her eyes fell on the brawny blond in the opposite bunk. This time the woman was working on what looked like a futuristic suit of armor, the parts of which were scattered all over her bed.

  She’d know where to find a bathroom. The problem was, of course, communication.

  Hell with it. Jane would figure it out as she went along. She stepped over to the woman’s bunk as the Warfem looked up at her in surprise.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” Jane announced, “Can you help me?”

  “Ke ta?”

  “Bathroom.” Ignoring her instinctive embarrassment, she began making gestures, a couple of which felt remarkably lewd addressed to an utter stranger.

  The woman, however, didn’t look the least discomfited. An expression of understanding entered her shimmering cobalt eyes. “Aaah. Sherirqi daritho an dak. Av ka.” She stood up and started across the room.

  Jane followed her.

  So much for you, William Colby, she thought. I’m done with you now.

  She was three hundred years from the life she knew, and the man she loved was off trying to kill a tyrant. But suddenly Jane Colby felt like dancing.

  Baran gulped a bottle of Charge as he strode down the corridor, Freika trotting at his heels. The drink was obscenely sweet, but it was loaded with all the nutrients his depleted body needed after that extended session of riatt.

  The Xerans had damn near had his ass that time. He’d barely made it off the base before they discovered Jutka’s body, dead with a neat beamer hole in his forehead. If it hadn’t been for the knowledge that Jane was waiting back on the ship, Baran might have ended up taken prisoner.

  But he’d been damned if he’d die and leave her alone and friendless, unable even to speak Standard. He’d been determined to get back to her, no matter what he had to do.

  So he’d killed a Xeran transport crew, stolen their craft, and roared back to the ship, ducking and darting through Xeran fire in the greatest display of piloting skill he’d ever given in his life.

  Now he was finally back home, and all he wanted was to feel her warm and silken body in his arms.

  “She’s probably starving,” he said to Frieka. “I should have made sure she had something to eat before I left. That was thoughtless. Hell, I should have made sure she knew how to find the head.”

  “And a litter box,” the wolf said. “That stupid cat’s probably shit all over the ship by now. The captain’s gonna shoot her furry ass right out the airlock.”

  Baran looked down at his partner and grinned. “Why, Frieka—you actually sound concerned.”

  The wolf glared up at him defiantly. “All I’m saying is, Jane wouldn’t like it if they kakked her kitty cat. You know how she is about that useless little hairball.”

  Baran poked his tongue into his cheek. “Uh-huh. So you’re not actually concerned about the cat.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Right.”

  “Why would I be? It’s weak and stupid and it’s a cat.”

  “And it’s cowardly.”

  “Well, no. It got in a couple of really good rakes across my nose once, and I outweigh it by at least ninety kilos. You can’t really say it’s—” The wolf broke off and eyed him suspiciously. “You’re grinning at me. If you’re getting ready to imply I have some kind of disgusting sexual intentions toward that cat, I’m going to bite you.”

  “Well, of course not,” Baran said honestly.

  “Good.” Freika sniffed and trotted ahead of him. “Step it up. They’re probably hungry.”

  But when they walked into the dormitory deck, Baran realized his bunk was empty. His heart jammed into his throat.

  “Where the hell are they?” Frieka said.

  “Let’s try the mess. Maybe somebody thought to give them something to eat.”

  They found Jane sitting over the remains of a meal with T’May Vajo. Baran felt that shiver of unease any man feels when he sees the woman he loves with a former bed partner. He pasted a bright expression on his face and walked over to join them.

  Jane looked up at his approach. Her face lit with such joy he had to grin right back. “Baran!” She leaped up and threw herself into his arms.

  Closing his eyes, he basked in the sensation of her body pressing against his, warm and solid and safe. His universe settled silently into place.

  “Good Goddess,” T’May drawled in Standard, cuddling Octopussy in her lap. “The Death Lord has been domesticated.”

  He considered flipping her off, but realized she wouldn’t understand the twenty-first century gesture.

  Instead he whispered into Jane’s ear, “God, I missed you.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  “Yeah,” she said, equally strained. “Me, too.”

  They fell into a mutual famished kiss, drinking in the sensation of holding each other again, tasting each other again. Being together again.

  Dimly he heard Freika’s voice. “So how are you, T’May?”

  “Holding steady. Are they always like this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “It’s kind of…sweet. That, or nauseating.” She sighed. “So much for my fond hopes.”

  Reluctantly Baran drew away from Jane’s mouth, silently promising his body it would get more of her very soon. “Hello, T’May,” he said in Standard. “Thanks for taking care of her for me.”

  T’May waved a hand. “My pleasure. She picks up things fast.” She pointed to one of the colorful mounds on her plate and said to Jane, “Tere va.”

  “Unidentifiable vegetable, presumably alien,” Jane said to Baran in English. “Tastes kind of like asparagus with a hint of tangerine.”

  T’May shook her head. “I don’t know what she just said, but it sounded like two cats fighting in a sack.”

  “That’s English for you,” Freika said.

  “So,” Jane said to Baran, “y’all used to sleep together.”

  He choked. “You discussed my romantic past between trying to learn Standard?”

  She shrugged. “I could tell by the way she says your name.”

  “You,” Baran said, �
�are frightening.”

  “The relationship wasn’t all that serious though,” Jane decided. “At least from your end.”

  He lifted a brow. “What makes you say that?”

  “You don’t look panicky enough.”

  “I’ll take it back—you’re not frightening.”

  “No?”

  “You’re terrifying.”

  She nodded, satisfied, and curled her arms tighter around his neck as she settled against him. “Good. Remember that.”

  He felt a wicked grin steal over his face. “And maybe you should remember that so am I.” He bent and scooped her neatly into his arms, barely feeling the weight.

  “Baran!” Jane protested, laughing. “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.” He looked at T’May as she watched them with amusement, scratching Octopussy behind the ears. “Excuse us. I feel the need to show my future bondmate another area of the ship.”

  “Like, say, the pleasure chambers on the recreation deck?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He laughed and headed for the doorway, Jane kicking her feet in mock protest.

  “So,” Frieka said to T’May just before the door closed behind him, “I haven’t had gevalope steak in a week. Mind carrying the plate for me?” To the cat he added, “I may even let you have a bite, you primitive hairball.”

  “You know,” Jane said to Baran as he carried her down the corridor, “I am capable of walking.”

  “That’s true.” He kept going.

  “You could put me down.”

  “I could.” He smiled down at her, so handsome he made her breath catch. “But I’m too busy establishing erotic male dominance.”

  She settled happily back against his muscular chest. “Kinky.”

  He laughed wickedly. “Oh, love, you haven’t seen my idea of kinky yet.”

  Jane lifted a brow at him. “This doesn’t involve a riding crop or a rubber chicken or anything, right?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Good.”

  “I have no idea where to even get a rubber chicken.”

  She stiffened. “Baran!” Her tone of outraged warning made him laugh.

  Until, as he looked down at her, the humor was replaced by something warmer, softer. “God, Jane,” he said in a low voice, “I love you.”

  She blinked at the moisture welling in her eyes and cleared her throat. “We’re in serious danger of getting gooey here.”

  “Well,” he said, stopping before a door that obediently opened, “not exactly gooey. More like hot, wet and…” He tossed her into the air. “Creamy.”

  Jane yelped as she landed right in the midst of something that sank under her weight, then rebounded so gently she barely bounced. Whatever it was immediately cuddled around her, feeling warm and far too friendly to be inanimate. She struggled to sit up as Baran stepped into the room, the door closing with a whisper behind him.

  “What the hell is this?” she demanded, eyeing her surroundings warily.

  She lay on the biggest bed she’d ever seen in her life. In fact, there was no room for anything else in the chamber. The mattress stretched from wall to wall, except for a small space next to the door just big enough to allow entry.

  The bed itself was covered with a thick silken blanket that reminded her of a comforter. She ran her hand over it cautiously.

  “Not quite what I have in mind,” Baran said. “How about…”

  To her astonishment, the comforter began to grow hair. Jane yelped and recoiled, but before she could leap up, the whole thing had morphed into a huge expanse of black fur. She touched it warily. It was as soft as a kitten’s pelt, though of course no kitten could ever grow that big.

  She didn’t think.

  “It’s not…real is it?” Half-hypnotized by the sensation, Jane found herself stroking the comforter/pelt/whatsit.

  “You mean, am I holding some poor alien hostage and forcing it to grow fur on command?” Baran asked dryly. “No, it’s not real. It’s a…Well, you don’t have a word for it. Call it a machine.”

  “Damn.” She petted the silken pelt again. “You just want to get naked and roll around on it.”

  “That’s the idea.” There was a note of lustful anticipation in his voice that made her look up. And blink.

  He’d stripped off his armor while her attention was diverted. And he was definitely happy to see her.

  “Um.” She licked suddenly dry lips. “Hi.”

  “Yes, I am.” He put one brawny knee on the bed-thing and climbed onto it. All that fascinating muscle rippled under smooth, tanned skin as he crawled toward her. “I’m also hard, thick, and long.”

  “I’ve noticed that about you.” Cautiously she backed up on the bed. His expression was distinctly predatory, and it made her nervous.

  “You, on the other hand, are small, creamy and tight.” He gave her a feral smile. “Not to mention overdressed.”

  Jane swallowed, feeling something melt deep inside her in the heat of his stare. “And what are you planning to do about all that?”

  “Actually,” he told her softly, “I thought I’d rip your clothes off and fuck you to a screaming orgasm.”

  She blinked again. Swallowed. “That’s fair.”

  “Glad you approve.” He pounced.

  Jane yelped, discovering he’d meant the “rip your clothes off” part literally. “Hey, cut that out!” she protested as he shredded the rest of her top with the gleeful ruthlessness of a small boy attacking a Christmas present. “What am I supposed to wear?”

  “Sleek, lovely Jane Colby skin,” he told her, jerking the cups of her bra apart. “Always in style, no matter the era.”

  Ducking his head, he fastened his hot mouth on one eager nipple. In seconds he had her squirming from the pleasure he inflicted with nibbling teeth and swirling tongue.

  Finally he sat back on his heels, grabbed the waistband of her jeans, and jerked. The tough denim stood no chance at all against his ruthless Warlord strength.

  Neither did the delicate silk of her panties.

  She was still gasping when he took her thighs in both big hands, spread her legs, and started driving her insane with his mouth.

  God, it felt good. That tongue of his should come with a warning label. She writhed helplessly, gasping, as he fluttered the very tip of it over her most tender flesh, driving her mercilessly toward an orgasm.

  “Stop!” she gasped, unable to take any more.

  “I don’t think so,” he growled, and gave her another long, long lick.

  “No!” she panted. “I want…I want…”

  That got his attention. He stopped and looked at her, leaning his face against her thigh. “What? Anything you want me to do, I’ll do.” Turning his head, he gave her thigh a tempting little nibble.

  “I want to be on top!” she gasped.

  He lifted a brow. “Of course.”

  “No, I mean…” She drew in a deep breath and managed to bring her desperate pants under control. “I want to be in charge this time. Dominant.”

  He lifted his head in surprise, then shrugged. “Your wish is my command.”

  Jane managed a cheeky grin. “That’s the idea.” She sat up. “Lie down on your back. I want to tie you up this time.”

  Because she was looking directly at him, she saw his eyes flicker. “All right.”

  That moment of unease reminded her of that horrific story he’d told her of being paralyzed while the Xeran tortured him. They hadn’t discussed it, but she strongly suspected the abuse had been even worse than he’d let on.

  And yet, he was willing to allow himself to be bound if she wanted it that way.

  “Just…extend your hands over your head,” she said, hastily modifying the game. “Grab one wrist, and keep them there. Don’t let go.” She watched while he obeyed, slowly stretching his big body out, assuming the position she directed. His cock bobbed, its violently blushing head touching his belly button. She eyed it hungrily, remembering all the times he’d used hi
s mouth with such hot, devilish skill.

  It was her turn now.

  Jane rolled onto her knees and moved to straddle the powerful arch of his chest. The muscle felt rock-hard between her thighs as she let her weight settle on her heels.

  He looked up at her, his eyes shuttered. Lust made his pupils glow bright red as a hungry smile teased the corners of his lips. Delicately she reached out to thumb his tiny dark nipples with both hands. He caught his breath. She smiled.

  Gently, slowly, Jane started running her fingertips over his skin, exploring the ridges and hollows of his powerful body, savoring the outlines of the hard male shapes. She combed her sharp nails through his silken chest hair, gently raking him with the tips. He made a rough, hungry sound.

  That became a muffled snort of laughter as her delicate touch found the broad hollows of his armpits. He squirmed. She grinned, wickedly delighted. “Ticklish?” she purred.

  He shot her a warning look. “Not as much as you are.”

  “Uh-uh-uh!” she chided. “Thou shalt not threaten Mistress Jane. She doesn’t like it.” Rising from her crouched position, she swung off him—but only so she could turn her attention on his deliciously massive cock. “Mmmm.” She reached out and took it in one hand. He was so thick, her fingers couldn’t close completely around the base. “What have we got here?”

  “What do you think?” he asked in a rough growl.

  “I think,” she said, “it looks edible.” Lowering her head, she ran her tongue gently up the flushed shaft, stopping just at the head.

  He actually quivered.

  Jane grinned, relishing the sense of erotic power she felt. Slowly she began to lick the thick rod, stopping now and then to nibble gently at the thick ropy veins that ran up its length.

  “Jane,” Baran gasped, and started to reach for her.

  “Hands!” she snapped, fighting to sound stern instead of breathless and aroused. “Did I say you could move?”

  He groaned and reluctantly stretched his arms over his head again.

  She rewarded him for his obedience by gently cupping his full, tight balls, stroking and cuddling them as she worked him over with her mouth. She could feel his big body shudder with each slow lick and nibble.