by Cathryn Cade
But she'd figured out a way to get a little revenge, which the crèche directors would discover when they tried to sell her mats.
The cover of her loom was pulled partially down, with a carefully finished mat draped over the top, so her current work couldn't be seen. And when it was finished, she'd bundle it into the nearest crate underneath other mats finished this morning.
She knew, because she'd watched, that the older kids responsible for inspecting the finished work were careless, and didn't bother to look at more than the top few before closing the crates and loading them onto the hovercart for transport.
They could leave her in here all day and night, but they wouldn't get any profit out of her.
Nobody got anything from her she didn't choose to give. She might be small, but she was tough. And in the two years she'd been in this place, she'd learned that she could either let the harsh system beat her down, or she could find ways to hit back.
“Interesting,” said the male voice, closer to Ilya now. “And do the children's fingers generally bleed while they're doing these pleasant crafts? Or is this one an anomaly?” A hand reached over Ilya's shoulder and grasped her wrist, lifting her right hand, turning it to expose her palm and the pads of her fingers, both raw and red.
“Well,” the directress said, her voice thin and pinched. “Ilya is an exception. She is here as a consequence.”
“A consequence of what?” the man asked, still holding Ilya's wrist as dispassionately as a stick, her hand elevated. The gazes of every child in the place were fastened on Ilya's hand, fear and repulsion writ on their pinched, pale faces.
“For modifying the equipage in our tech training class to play a cruel trick on your predecessor,” the woman answered, and Ilya's skin crawled at the satisfaction rich in her tone. Uh-oh.
Only one reason Ilya could think of that she'd be so happy to impart that intel.
This must be the new tech instructor.
“I see.” The man let go of Ilya's wrist, and she pulled her hands into her lap and hunched her shoulders protectively, holding her breath, waiting for whatever would happen next.
What happened was not good. The man reached to push back the cover of her loom, and expose what lay beneath.
The directress drew in a sharp hiss of sheer outrage, the sound carrying over the quiet clack of the other looms.
Ilya peered at her mat, and a tiny surge of triumph cut through her chill of fear.
In the middle of her soft blue mat were woven in nearly matching darker blue, the words 'Quark U'. This was one of her favorite sayings. Some of the other mats said 'Help Us' or 'Eat This'. Once she'd woven in 'I'm Hungry', but only once, because while that was nearly always true, it was also pathetic. And she was not pathetic, she was pissed.
Not that any of her mats would ever make it to the sale rack, but creating them assuaged her hunger pangs. She missed a lot of meals as punishment for infractions against the many rules in the crèche.
This particular infraction was gonna get her tossed in the dark confinement cubicle the children called 'the hole', probably for at least twenty-four hours. Worth it, she told herself stubbornly. And when she got big, she was gonna come back and beat the shit out of the bitch that ran the place.
But first, she had to live through whatever they did to her.
Her hair was seized in a painful grip as her head was wrenched back.
“Get up!” the directress demanded through her teeth, her face livid. “You're going into confinement. And while you're there, you may consider whether you wish to continue being fed and clothed here, or trying your luck on the streets. You know what happens to little girls out there, don't you?”
Ilya did, because the adults here made sure all the children heard every horror story of pedophilia and abuse they could glean from the news.
“Yeah,” she managed, her voice small and thin. “They use kids however they want, like you—but they least pay us for it.”
The directress made a noise like one of the big steam cookers in the kitchen when it was boiling its contents to an unidentifiable mush, and her face darkened even more.
The man’s cool voice cut through the suffocating tension. “Give her to me. She's clever enough to parse a way to work that design in while creating these little ... pieces. I can channel that, and I will.”
“She must be punished first.”
“I'll handle it,” the man said, and his quiet voice sent a chill deep into Ilya's heart.
But whatever he planned couldn't be any worse than what the directress would do, she told herself.
And at first, it wasn't.
* * *
“Did he beat you?” VX asked, his deep voice rough, his heavy brows drawn together.
“Nah,” Ilya said, patting his chest. “That wasn't his style. Master Perro was more the type to freeze with a look. I think he must've been part Indigon, or something. He had a dry wit, could goad you on with a look or a few words, but when it came down to it, he was about as warm and cozy as an ice gelpac.”
“Why did he save you? Did he use you for sex?”
Ilya lifted her head and gave him a look of disbelief. “Uh—no. Why would he want a scrawny little kid who was all eyes and hair?”
Then she correctly interpreted the look on his face. “Oh, you mean was he a pedophile? Nope. Not sure he even had any interest in sex.”
“Then why did he want you?”
She leaned her chin on his hand and petted the heavy curve of his bicep with her other hand. “He figured that if I was smart enough to pattern the weaving loom at random, I'd be skilled at tech. Turned out he was right. See, there were four of us kids that he'd found in the crèche, all of us with a knack for tech. After his other classes were through, he taught us advanced skills. Enough to manipulate tech, and begin inventing our own.”
“Ah, gotcha. How long did you study with him?”
She traced a line across the broad plain of his pectoral. “Four years, until I was seventeen. We started small at first. He let us mess about with the tech in the crèche—locking the bitch out of her office, turning the lights on and off and in classrooms, that kind of thing. Then we moved on to the streets.” She grinned reminiscently. “Blazed a path through Michigan Quadrant till the cops upped their patrols.”
“Then what happened?”
Ilya sighed. “Then we learned why he really wanted us—to steal for him. He started us out small, like it was all just us clever techs joking around. But our targets got larger and larger, until we were breaking into scrapers and stealing valuables. Some of the small stuff he let us keep. The larger items he sold. Then he told us we were gonna break into a jewelry store—one of the most exclusive in the city.”
She shook her head, gazing bitterly into the past. “We were so stupid—so gullible. He had our egos so inflated we thought we could do anything, right under the noses of the cops and private security. But we weren't that smart—we got caught.”
“You went to prison?”
“Not me. When the cops showed up, I hid under a display cupboard. I was the smallest. While they were rounding up the other kids, I managed to crawl around the edge and slip into the hovie of one of the private security guards. Zipped down to the street, and into the markets. I figured if I could just get to Master Perro, he'd help me make a plan to rescue the others. Spent the night hiding in the markets, and waiting for him to answer my link ... but he never did.’
‘The next day it was all over the news, how Master Perro and the crèche had been betrayed by a band of rogue kids. He'd turned his back on all of us. So I sold the pieces of jewelry I had in my pockets, bought different clothing at a recycle mart, stole a comlink off a drunk and used her credit to get on a transport out of the city.”
“He betrayed you.” VX's massive torso was rigid under her now, his face a mask of disgust. “I can go look him up and smash him, if you want.”
Ilya leaned up on her elbows and cupped his broad,whisker-rough jaw in her h
ands, shaking her head. “No, no, big guy. That's just history now. Hells, he's probably long gone.”
He shrugged. “All right. But I'd enjoy messing him up.”
She moved, wriggling up and over him in a sinuous motion. “Yeah, but right now ... how about we work out that aggression of yours in a more ... fun way? If you want to, that is.”
He placed his huge hands on her bare ass and squeezed carefully. Underneath her, his cock stiffened. “I want to. With you, think I’ll always want to.”
Her heart melted even as excitement squeezed low between her thighs. “That's good. 'Cause I feel the same.”
His gaze heated, and she felt a hard shape stiffen and twitch beneath her bare belly. “Yeah, you'd fit right in. Ilya—come with me. Back to Frontiera, out to the plains. See it all for yourself.”
Ilya gaped at him. Her heart skipped a beat, and then began to beat double-time. A thrill ran through her, and that bubble blossomed again in her chest.
“Uh ... me? C-come with you? Like—like ...” She wasn't even sure how to finish the question. Didn't dare to hope she knew what he meant.
“Like lovers,” he said. “And friends. Like anything you want, little star.”
“But ... you don't even know me.” She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the immense, glittering possibility he was offering her.
His blue eyes were warm and direct, his wide mouth curved up in a little smile. “I know you got more guts than most beings twice your size. Know you're smart, and funny. Know you like me.”
“You know I like you,” she repeated, giving him a look. “Maybe I just like your cock.”
He smiled slowly. “If you just liked cock, you'd have brought one or two of those young reds back here with you. You were—and still are a little nervous of me. I'm used to that, with my size. But you let me have you anyway. So yeah, you like me.”
Her face flamed, but she gave him look for look. “Seems to me, you like me. Naalia's got a lot more tits and ass than me, and so did most of the other females in the Tooth tonight. You could've had your pick of them, but you chose me.”
Now he was frankly grinning at her. “I like my sweets in small packages. And yeah, I like you, Ilya Mondas. Come with me. Live wild, live free. Be with me.”
Be wild, be free—with him.
The bubble in her chest popped, joy fizzing through every part of her, until she was lighter than air, warm clear through, and somehow safe to tease him, just a little. Make him wait on her answer while she satisfied other needs—because his big cock was prodding her like a hot, satin brand.
She moved, rubbing her belly on it and her breasts against his chest, delighting in the rasp of hair on her delicate skin and sensitive nipples. “Maybe you can ... convince me.”
A deep rumble sounded in his chest, and his eyes hooded, his nostrils flaring as his hands tightened on her ass. “Can't think of anything I'd rather do.”
She reached between them to grasp his cock, but even as the hot, satin column of flesh quivered in her grasp, he shook his head. “We'll do other things right now, little one. You could barely take me last night—you gotta be sore.”
She was, but she was also melting with eagerness to get him inside her again and produce that cataclysm of pleasure once more. “I have gesics.”
He gave her a look. “Not enough to take me again this soon. Besides, I wanna taste you again ... feel you melt all over my tongue.”
Ilya moaned as he delved one long finger carefully between her ass cheeks to stroke her vulva. “Well, when you put it like that ...”
He grinned wickedly, and stroked her again. “Good. Now why don't you crawl up here where I can get my tongue on your pussy.”
“I need to clean up.”
“Not for me, you don't. I like you anyway I can get you. The smell of us on you, that's just a reminder you let me take you there once, and I wanna do it again.”
And then he lifted her bodily up over him and set her carefully astride his head, her hands braced on the wall behind him. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and opened her with his fingers, his tongue sweeping up the wet furrow of her labia to find her clitoris.
And Ilya let him take her there again, and then returned the favor with her hands and her mouth.
And then they cleaned up, he waited while she packed up her few things, and they went to one of the port cafeterias for breakfast. Ilya said goodbye to Naalia, who looked disappointed but not at all surprised by this.
Then Ilya walked with Var to the docking bays to his cruiser, which was like him, big and powerful in a plain, no-nonsense package … and she was on her way to a new life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Somewhere on the Frontieran plains, in the present
Lady Ellianne Braveling was about to make love with her real life hero, Joran Stark, in his tont.
This made her a little sad, to tell truth—they'd made love the first time in this bed, but this would be the last. They were ready to move on to their new life together, he as High Sheriff of the Frontieran Plains and she as Lady Ellianne Braveling, and the future Mrs Stark. She could hardly wait, but at the same time she wanted to stay here where they'd fallen in love ... and where she was simply Zaë.
They'd settled the elder Bravelings in the rustic but luxurious Adamant lodge, with the assurance that Joran would have her back there by the end of the week, so her parents could spend more time with her before she became his wife, and he her first priority.
She was happy to spend time with her parents after being separated from them for months, but when Joran had asked her to come back to camp with him, the place he'd spent the last several years, living wild and free with men and women who chose to follow him, she'd agreed eagerly. She wanted to be here for a little longer, as not just a rescued slave girl, but as his woman, his fiancé, and a member of his roaming band of rogues.
Now, he lay back in the mounded cushions on his wide airbed, and smiled at her, a roguish, lazy smile that promised wonderful things for her and her alone. A smile that made her shiver with delight and anticipation.
He held out his hand to her. “C'mere, bunny.”
But Zaë slid off the bed, giving him a look that was at once shy and gleeful. “Not yet. I ... I want to use those sex gesics of yours on you. I want you to feel the way I did—all tingly and hot and ready.”
His grin turned ever more wicked, and she blushed all over as she remembered screaming his name in astonished ecstasy. “All out of those gesics, baby. Don't need 'em, not with you hot and tight around me.”
But she had a plan. “You promised I could have my turn with them. Ringi will have more of them—I'll go there. Don't you move.”
“Bunny—” He rose on one elbow, then fell back with a groan of disappointment as she rushed away.
Ringi, plump and sun-tanned with masses of long, dark red hair, was in her tont, sharing a beverage with Ilya, a small blonde, corn silk hair in a mass of untidy braids hanging in her face.
“Hello, Ringi, hello, Ilya,” Zaë said.
“Hey, girl,” Ringi said, grinning as she saw Zaë's disheveled hair and half-done clothing. “What is up with you?”
“I need some of those gesics,” Zaë confided, flushing but determined. “Um, you know. The ones for sex play.”
“Right.” Ringi shook her head sympathetically. “Sorry, what I shared was all I had. Ask to have some brought in on the next supply shipment.”
“Oh, but we won't be here then. I wanted to use them on Joran now.”
“On Stark?” Ilya rose, her eyes narrowed, a smirk drawing up her lips. “I have some you can use on your man. Wait here, I'll go get them.”
“Oh, thank you,” Zaë said, surprised by the friendly gesture. Ilya had never warmed to her, and since she'd been widowed she had been snarling at everyone, especially Joran. And since Zaë was often at his side, this meant she got snarled at too.
“No problem,” the blonde brushed off her thanks. “Not like I need sex cream anymore.”
/>
She went out, and Ringi cocked her head. “So, things are good between you and Stark?”
Zaë nodded. “Yes. Very, very good.”
Ringi chuckled and rose to give Zaë a warm hug. “I'm glad. You deserve a whole bunch of very, very good.”
Zaë hugged her back. “Thank you. So do you.”
“And I have it,” Ringi assured her. “My man and my baby girl are all I need.”
On the surveillance cam, Zaë saw Ilya striding back toward the tont. “I wish Ilya had good in her life too ... “
“I know,” Ringi said, her smile slipping away. “Her without Var ... not good.”
“You'll look after her?” Zaë asked.
“'Course I will, sweetie,” Ringi said. “Now you go on, enjoy your own man.
Zaë blushed. “Thank you. See you, erm, later.”
She met Ilya on the path. The small blonde, her eyes now concealed behind sun goggles, handed Zaë a tiny cerametal tub. “Careful with this,” she said. “Don't rub your eyes or anything, you know? It has a bit of extra ... tingle.”
Zaë hesitated. “Perhaps I shouldn't take it.” Stark might not like extra tingle.
Ilya pressed it into her hands. “Oh, you should. Believe me, men love this stuff.”
“All right. Thank you, Ilya.” She hurried into Joran's tont, the small tub that men loved in her hand. It would be fun to see Joran lose control for a change, instead of just herself.
Stark still lounged on the bed, one arm behind his head, one hand on his belly. When he saw her, his beautiful cock twitched, and rose away from his body.
“Come here,” he ordered, but in a soft voice. “Don't like waitin' for you.”
She set the tub down, wriggled out of her dress and then knelt on the bed, straddling him, which he watched with approval. “That's more like it.”
He put his hands on her hips, drawing her close, but as much as she wanted to give in and go to him, she resisted. “Not yet,” she pleaded.