Wicked Beloved

by Susanne Saville

  She should have asked to go. She could have just stayed in the car, or whatever their equivalent was. At least then she’d know if something had gone wrong. Then if he didn’t come back in a reasonable amount of time, she could have gone for help. The way things were, she had no idea when she should alert the authorities. Or who the authorities even were.

  So on the sixth day, when he returned, she could have squealed with excitement.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dzer-Jin held his arms up away from his sides, out of her way, as his pet threw herself upon him and hugged, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  “Welcome home!”

  He hadn’t even made it halfway across the main room before she’d come tearing in from the kitchen. It was odd to have something alive, greeting him, in his flat. Not unpleasant. Just odd.

  She seemed glad of his return. He wouldn’t have expected it. With him gone, she was free to do whatever she pleased. His presence she might understandably associate with servitude. That she seemed to enjoy his company instead was…gratifying.

  She released him and stepped back. “You have perfect timing—I just made bala. You want some?”

  He nodded and followed her to the kitchen where she poured him a mug. She looked very natural and at home in his kitchen. He wondered when he had gotten accustomed to sharing this space.

  “So, everything go okay?” she asked, handing him his drink with a smile.

  “Yes. I was successful.”

  “Congratulations!” She glanced at his hands, empty except for the mug. “But you didn’t bring anything back.”

  “No. I’m not the type who needs trophies.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I mean, now we can’t eat whatever it was. You don’t just kill an animal for nothing.”

  He coughed and took a swig of bala. He wasn’t certain precisely why he had never told her his profession. Perhaps he sensed it would frighten her. Or change her feelings toward him. She didn’t have a normal attitude toward violence.

  He could only do so much dancing around the question, but he decided to try. “You would not want to eat what I hunt.”

  He watched her swallow and then busy herself with her bala. “Don’t tell me you only do it for sport.”

  “No. Not for sport.” He waited for the question he could feel coming. He could see it forming in her eyes as she glanced askance at him. And he could see her reluctance to voice her thoughts. “Do you have a query for me?”

  She nodded.

  “I shan’t harm you, Ahno’ee, no matter what you ask.”

  Staring into her drink, she whispered, “What… Would you mind telling me… what do you hunt, Master?”

  “Individuals, mostly. Every once in a while, a group.” He drawled the words with dispassionate nonchalance, watching for her reaction.

  Her eyes jumped to him, wide. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly before she turned and drank from her mug. When she glanced back at him, she blinked several times before she could speak. “You are psycho,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  She shook her head as if refusing to voice those words again. “You kill people. That’s what you do?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked again, several times, in the pause that followed his blunt answer. “Is this a job or a hobby?” Her voice squeaked.

  “Job. One would have to be pretty sick to do it for a hobby.”

  She bit back a giggle that was only just this side of hysterical. “We are talking about killing people? Making them dead?”

  “Assassinating them. Yes.”

  “For your government?”

  “Sometimes. I work for anyone who can pay my rather substantial fee.”

  “And that’s legal here?”

  He smiled, idly amused at the question. “Yes. There’s a professional Guild and everything.” The incredulous expression on her face convinced him more explanation was necessary. “I get my assignments through them, the Assassins’ Guild. You needn’t worry. There are evaluation procedures and technical requirements for prospective clients and marks. Not that they really need that. Nobody’s innocent.” Except maybe you, he considered adding. She wasn’t listening, though.

  Her eyes remained wide. But she wasn’t focusing on him now. He could tell she was thinking back. “You could have killed me at any time.”

  “I would not do that.”

  “Why not?” Her breath hitched. “You’re a professional killer.”

  “Assassin,” he corrected. “And it has no bearing on my responsibility to protect you.”

  She drank more bala. “What if you were asked to kill me?”

  It was an absurd question, but he held on to his patience. “First, the Guild would never assign such a conflict of interest.” She started to protest so he held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. “But if they did, I would refuse. Second, if such a job did arise and they assigned it to someone else, you still needn’t fear. They would never touch you.”

  “No?”

  “No. Because they would have to get past me. Satisfied?”

  Again came the hysterical giggle. “Satisfied? No. But no longer about to climb the walls in a complete panic? Yes.”

  “Good. Because I am the same as I have been. I haven’t changed. Only your knowledge of me has.”

  “Okay. True. Good point.”

  He stepped toward her. She flinched but held her ground. He was glad of that, at least. “Do not fear me.”

  “I’m trying not to.” She huffed out a nervous laugh.

  He stepped forward again. This brought him almost up against her. He looked down at the top of her head. She trembled but did not move away.

  Standing this close roused the urge to take her into his arms, but he refrained from so much as touching her. She must decide to trust him first. “What can I do to prove I’m harmless when it comes to you?”

  * * *

  He was standing so close to her. She responded with a breathy giggle. “Oh, you’ve never been harmless. You’re… addicting.”

  “How so?” He sounded vaguely confused.

  There was no way of answering that intelligently. You’re so profoundly attractive I’d rather you loved me than return to Earth. That wasn’t lame at all. So she merely shrugged and remained silent.

  He took a deep breath. “Touch me.”

  “What?”

  “I have used you before. It is your turn to use me. There is nothing you can do that would change my peaceable attitude toward you.” He drew his knife so swiftly it was as if it formed in his hand by magic. He flipped it about and handed it hilt-first toward her. “I will not defend myself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I wish to assure you I am no threat to you. You may do as you like with me. If you need advice…” He took her empty hand and placed her palm on his chest. She felt unyielding muscle and the solid beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. “This would be one area where I am most vulnerable.”

  He crossed his wrists behind his back and stood, waiting.

  “If you think I’m going to hurt you, you’re wrong.” She held the blade down by her side. “That’s not how we build trust where I come from.”

  “Then how would you proceed in your culture?”

  She thought of the various team-building seminars she’d attended for work and almost laughed. Not really applicable. For one thing, they assumed you didn’t work with killers.

  Although she wouldn’t mind doing with him that exercise where you fell backwards into someone’s arms. She patted his muscular chest. On Earth he would be so out of her league it wasn’t even funny. Her hand skimmed down to rest on his abdomen and his belly muscles twitched in response. He had to be just sensitive or ticklish there. He couldn’t possibly be…

  Her hand crept lower, to the front of his trousers, and cupped him, her palm pressing against the fabric. “You’re aroused.” She was surprised by just how evident his excitement was.

>   “Yes.” His voice rasped. “But I shan’t interfere with you. Unless you specifically ask me to.”

  “Mind if I test that?”

  * * *

  A deft movement of her hand and he couldn’t stop his hips from pushing toward her, seeking greater contact, more pressure. His breathing quickened and he clenched his fists, striving to remain still.

  Hand still on him, she stepped to his side so, though they were shoulder to shoulder, they faced different directions, with the length of her arm along his abdomen and chest the only contact between them.

  He turned his head, following her, trying to catch her expression. A snick of pain told him he was biting his lip. Her fingers fluttered on him and frustration made him bite down harder.

  This was ridiculous. He had a right to his slave, whether she was willing or not, whether she was frightened or not. He wanted her. He should throw her down and take her. Yet instead here she was, teasing him, in control of him, and he allowed it. Only pair-bonds…

  He killed that thought immediately. Pair-bonding, with the enduring fidelity, tenderness, and commitment that entailed, was an acknowledged perversity no one admitted to—certainly not assassins.

  Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. No heady, delicious fear present, but an emotion just as thrilling filled his nostrils. She desired him.

  Deftly she pulled at his trousers’ magnetic fastenings, wriggled her hand inside, and wrapped gentle fingers around his length. He gasped and almost choked on air caught in his throat. Why she had this strong an effect on him when her touch was too tender he didn’t understand. He burned for her to grasp harder, to rub faster. But he held still, waiting for her lead.

  “Do you want me?” she whispered, her lips tantalizingly out of his reach.

  “Yes. Need you.” Shallow, panting gasps interrupted his speech.

  “But I can still walk away?”

  The moan she wrung from him sounded mortifyingly passionate. He swallowed and struggled to form words. “Of. Course.”

  Suddenly she released him and stepped off several paces. Removal of her heat was like being jettisoned into the cold vacuum of space. The only source of warmth and light in the room stood somewhere behind him.

  He strove to regain control of the little gulps of air to which his normally calm process of inhale and exhale had been reduced. Literally panting for her. Pitiful. Must retire from the room, take his ease elsewhere, before his restraint slipped and he shamed himself.

  “Excuse me.” He started forward.

  “Wait.”

  Dzer-Jin halted, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “Take me.”

  “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he warned, voice rough.

  “I mean it. Take me. Right now.”

  Three strides and he captured her in his arms, bent her backward off her feet. He nipped along her jawline, pressed hot kisses against her throat, then with predatory agility, took her to the floor.

  It was all too quick, he knew that. The mad tearing at her clothes, wrestling free of his own just enough to be able to perform the deed. He needed to give her more time. Yet she returned his kisses with passion similar to his own, encouraging him, sending a blaze through his veins that would not be slowed.

  Covering her face with kisses, he moaned her name several times before his teeth gnashed with the effort of holding back his release. But her touch, her body’s urging, was too much for him. She shattered his self-control.

  Words tumbled forth in the last moments before his climax. Urgent phrases of bond-desire. To hear himself speak so, employing feeble language used by degenerates, should have killed his passion. Instead it sent flares scorching from his heart.

  He could only hope the way his heavy breathing swamped the words would confound her collar’s translator. He’d wanted to reassure her of his benignity, not confirm her suspicions of his perverseness.

  But he couldn’t stop the words any more than he could stop his movements. She owned him. He must give her everything he had, worshiping her with his body and mind.

  “I love you,” he whispered right before he climaxed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What, is it Take Your Slave to Work Day?” She propped herself up in their bed and stretched languorously. That had been the best night’s sleep she’d had in months—possibly years.

  Naked and unabashed, Dzer-Jin strode in from the kitchen, a mug of bala in each large hand, one of which she happily accepted. “I am receiving an award. I thought to share the experience with you.”

  Quickly she swallowed the sip of hot liquid she’d taken. “Oh, that’s fantastic! Congratulations. Of course I’d love to go. I’ve never been to an Assassins’ Guild. Or any Guild.”

  He cocked his head to the side, considering her thoughtfully.

  “What?”

  “We need to purchase something formal for you to wear. A gown is customary. But I reckon we can rig something trouser-like with wide legs to simulate—”

  “No, that’s okay. I can wear a gown to this. Nothing worse than being underdressed to a formal occasion.” She certainly didn’t want to let him down in front of his Guild.

  They spent the rest of the morning shopping. Fabrics wondrous to behold slipped along her skin and swirled around her ankles as she tried on various dress styles. One gown she particularly liked reminded her of a Jane Austen movie, with its free-flowing white fabric, high waist, and short sleeves. Though simpler in design than the multi-layered other outfits, sparkly stones encrusted the waist and trimmed the neckline.

  “Are these real jewels?” she asked, running her fingertips over the faceted rocks.

  “Yes.”

  “Semi-precious?”

  “Fully precious. Why?”

  “None of these gowns have price tags. I don’t know—”

  “Do not concern yourself with cost. You prefer this one?”

  She nodded. Dzer-Jin purchased the Regency-type gown and told the shopkeeper where to deliver it.

  “That didn’t look like a slave’s outfit,” she commented on their walk back to his flat.

  “It isn’t. You are attending as my guest, not as my slave.”

  A happy glow warmed her. She had hoped that was the case. “How should I act? Will other slaves be there?”

  “Slaves will be in attendance in a serving capacity.”

  “But not as guests.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Right. So me being a guest… This isn’t going to cause trouble for you, is it?”

  He gave a slight, one-shouldered shrug. “It is my award. I may break precedent if I see fit.”

  “I see.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. Much as she longed to see him honored by his Guild, she didn’t want to be a cause of shame. “Maybe you should bring someone else.”

  “You don’t wish to come?”

  “I don’t want your reputation to be hurt.”

  He shook his head. “My reputation is based on killing, not whom I bring to parties. You must come. The ceremony will be less enjoyable if you are not present.”

  “Then I’ll be there.” She smiled.

  Excitement made time crawl, but at last, with the late afternoon sun shining down, they left for the Assassins’ Guild. She found the ceremony to be interesting, as serious as an arcane ritual, with a small stadium of people in attendance. From the glittering attire, it looked like Dzer-Jin had some very important supporters. Taller than everyone by at least a few inches, Dzer-Jin stood at attention on the center stage dais, black boots polished and gold buttons shining, to receive a shiny obsidian medal, which the Guildmaster pinned to his grey tunic on a scarlet ribbon.

  A reception followed, with mingling and chatting and food. She made sure to keep close to his side. As long as everyone knew she was with him, no one would bother her. That was certain. In fact, not only was she politely treated, many of the females gave her envious glares.

  The event was sort of like attending a school
reunion with the President or a famous entertainment star. She was just getting to like the attention when she saw her nemesis.

  * * *

  A short whine of fear slipped from Ahno’ee. Dzer-Jin glanced down at her, and was even more concerned to see her skin blanching. He followed her line of sight. She was looking at Wrall.

  He ran his gaze over the senator. Medium height. Muscular. Professional clothes. Bland enough not to be an easy sniper target, but that cloth was too fitted for ease in hand-to-hand combat. Relying on show of muscles as deterrent, then. Still best to avoid in close quarters, but otherwise not too challenging a kill. No, the level of threat present was nothing to inspire the horror he saw in her eyes.

  “Why do you fear?”

  “That…that’s my original master.”

  He couldn’t have heard correctly. Senator Wrall was known for his prowess at gentling slaves. He attracted spectators whenever he used the public senatorial training halls to whip a new purchase into shape. That he would admit defeat to a Tellurian girl was unprecedented. Perhaps that was why she ended up at the shelter, where previous owners had the benefit of anonymity, and not an auction house.

  “He’s the one who failed to break you?”

  “The one who hurt me. Yes.” She shivered.

  Almost of its own accord, his arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “You’re mine now. You are safe with me.”

  Perhaps he felt their attention, for the senator turned and noticed them for the first time. Or rather, he noticed Ahno’ee. He blinked and for a second his mouth froze on whatever word he’d meant to say next. Another beat and he resumed talking, turning his back on them and subtly leading his circle of listeners in the other direction.

  Dzer-Jin frowned. That wasn’t a good sign. He’d have stayed put if he didn’t care.

  “Can we go? Let’s go. Leave. Now,” she chattered. “No, what am I saying? This is your party. I’m sorry. We’ll stay. But over here.”

  He shook his head. “I shall make my apologies to the Guildmaster.”