by Cathryn Cade
She forced her gaze up to his face. Which was the weirdest part, because the helmet was more of a mask.
Silvery cerametal, pale as his garment, the headpiece covered his skull and face, flaring to accommodate his wide jaw, and curving down under his chin, leaving only his thick neck bare. There were two apertures for his eyes, two smaller ones for his nostrils, and a screened one over his mouth, as if he was some kind of dangerous predator who must be muzzled.
Ilya barely noticed it though, because a strange feeling was rushing over her, chasing the lust before it like a wind over the Frontieran prairie. It felt strangely like terror mixed with ... hope.
He had beautiful eyes, long and thickly lashed, with heavy lids. Eyes that she'd seen before—on a beloved face, of the man she loved. Var's eyes.
On a strangled gasp, Ilya forgot her fear and glided across the room to him, her gaze locked with his.
“V-Var ... ?” she choked. She lurched to a stop, ice filling her.
These eyes were enticing, but this close, they no longer seemed familiar. Even in the shadow of the mask, they were the wrong color.
Var's eyes had been light, the pale blue of sun-burnished Frontieran skies, startling in his tanned, weathered face. This man's eyes were a deep, dark brown. And they didn't droop at the outer corners as Var's had, they pulled taut, as if this man had Tauryan blood.
Also, those eyes were inspecting her raptly as a prairie gyrehawk, cataloging her reactions, searching out each weakness and vulnerability. A predator, eying his next kill.
Ilya retreated a step, then stopped, anger flaming in her chest to replace the alarm.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling with disappointment and gathering rage. How dare this perfect stranger invade her space, breach her privacy, even her emotions?
“And what the hells are you doing in my office?” Had he been sent to frighten her—which unfortunately had worked—or even to get rid her?
“I am VX-900,” the man said. His voice was a deep, smoky husk of sound that shivered through her like a caress, even with his measured, nearly monotone delivery. “I am here to guide you.”
It took her a long moment to process this. She shoved her little flashbomb back into the pocket of her vest and scooped back two rebellious braids from her face, holding them on top of her head while she stared up at him.
He watched her do so. “Guide me?” she repeated blankly. “The hells you say.”
The slender, chic female in the hoverchair had been here to guide her. This man was a guard, or an enforcer—not a guide.
Anger burned hotter in her chest. “Who sent you?”
“I am here to guide you,” he repeated. He turned and strode the few paces to the divan, picking up her duffle in one hand as if it were empty, instead of weighted with a change of clothing, her best tech and a few other things she refused to leave behind, some of them heavy.
This was when Ilya realized he had not entered her office through the main door. To do so, he would have had to walk through her line of sight. It was as if he'd simply apparated—which was not possible, unless he was a holovid. And he'd just proven he wasn't by picking up her duffle.
“And how did you get in here?” she demanded. “This is a private office.” She glared from his magnificent self to the wall behind him, searching for apertures in the wallcovering. She found none. More intel she didn't have.
“Follow me.” Ignoring her question, he walked toward the wall. It opened silently, revealing a passageway.
Ilya blinked. Whoa, there was some nice tech. She'd definitely be learning how that worked, and who was responsible for it. And then reaming their ass for thinking they could use it to access what was supposed to be her private space, and perhaps even draw her somewhere else, somewhere she didn't want to be.
“Hold on,” she called, her voice loud in the narrow space. “Follow you where?” If his boss thought she'd follow meekly to some dungeon, he or she could think again.
He turned, and she forced her gaze from his tight, round ass and the deep, broad vee of his back, which his brief garment only enhanced. Quark, he was pretty.
“To your quarters,” he said.
Ilya nodded warily. “Okay, lead on. You can show me how to get something to eat around here too, before you leave.” She'd follow him, and see what she thought when they arrived. If she didn’t like it, she’d make him bring her back.
Even a male this big could be hurt by her weapons.
She followed him along the passageway, which was narrow but appointed in the same luxe fashion as the office behind them. In the close confines, she caught a dizzying whiff of male scent, a little sweaty and uncut by any cologne or scented soap.
“Are you for real?” she whispered, watching the chiseled perfection of his brawny calves as he strode along before her.
Ahead of them, another hatch opened silently. He strode through into a large sitting room furnished again in the same hues and fabrics as the office. Beyond, through a wide doorway, she glimpsed an enormous air bed.
Her guide set her duffle down on an ottoman, and turned to face her, eyeing her through his mask. A quiet, menacing behemoth of a man.
“I am VX-900,” he said. “I am here to guide you.”
Okay, so he also had excellent hearing. Ilya blew out a breath that ruffled her braids, and set her hands on her hips. She forced down her unruly thoughts of just how she'd like him to guide her, and gave him her most menacing glare.
“Yeah, I got that,” she snapped. “I wanna know who and what you are, and who sent you?”
He gazed at her for a moment, his gaze flicking away then back as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he spoke. “I am ... an enhanced human.”
Her mouth fell open. She realized this when his gaze fell to her mouth, but she was too busy trying to take it yet another shock.
“An enhanced human?” she repeated. “Shit, I thought you were ... well, never mind.”
She'd thought he was a bot until she'd smelled him. Then she'd just gotten lost in watching him move. “Wait a sec. An enhanced human. You mean, like a—”
Yeah, don't insult the huge, muscular man with whom you're all alone in a strange place, by calling him names. But another term for enhanced human was cyborg. Here, on this space station? What the hells was a cyborg doing here? And what kind of tech was running his brain? The kind that led him to view her as a target for violence?
“Okay,” she said, forcing her lips to turn up in what she hoped resembled a polite smile. “Thanks for guiding me, VX. You've been great. Uh, just show me how to order some food, and you can get back to ... whatever your other duties are.”
Then she would go and find the IGSF officers who were supposed to be around here somewhere, and have a chat with them. Because she wanted to know what the quark was going on aboard this station.
“I have no other duties now. I will bring up a menu of food and drink for you,” he said.
Food? Right, that's why her legs were shaky—she was hungry.
Ilya perched on the corner of one of the black leather divans and watched raptly as he used the com embedded in one ear of his mask to bring up a holovid menu. Her stomach growled at the images of trays of artfully prepared foods and equally artful drinks.
Mmm, looked like eating was going to be no hardship at all around here. Other than meals cadged off her friends back in camp, she'd been subsisting on protein tubes and the occasional crispie, when she remembered to eat at all.
“I'll have that one.” She pointed.
“This is only the first screen,” he said. “There are foods available from all over the galaxy.”
“These are fine, believe me,” she said. “Get me one of those platters with the fruits and meatrolls. And some tea—Pangaean green. And some of those crispies with the bits of—is that chocolate?” Her mouth watered. Oh, she loved chocolate, and by the time she got to the last supply shipment, the treat had been long gone, purchased by the othe
r women in camp.
“As you wish.”
“And, uh, get yourself something too,” she offered. If he ate with her, she'd get to watch him for a while longer. And she was as hungry for the sights and sounds of a man his size as she was for the meal, even if he wasn't strictly a real man any more.
He shook his masked head once. “I partake only of a special diet.”
She stared at him. “What—can't you chew with that mask on?” They didn't make him suck his nutrition through some kind of tube, did they? That would be inhumane. She'd send for someone and get the mask off now.
Again he answered obliquely. “I eat only in the quarters.”
Not his quarters, the quarters. That was weird. Ilya filed that in her lengthening list of items to be explored later, at length. Because why would this man, or whatever he was, turn down the chance to enjoy a fancy meal with the new boss? Unless employees, or whatever he was, were only allowed substandard fare.
No, that didn't fly. One look said he received top quality nutrients, in whatever form. Couldn't build muscles like those on less.
“And who decides all that for you?” she asked. “Whoever sent you here?”
He made his selections and dispersed the holovid menu. Then he simply stood, gazing down at her. “Your assistant requested my presence.”
Ilya cocked her head in disbelief. “You mean the woman in the hoverchair? She's your boss?” That couldn't be right. The woman, Plata—no, Playa—looked about as scary as a fuzzy rock rat. Hardly the type to control huge beings like him.
“She requested my presence,” he repeated.
Ilya huffed in disgust. “Yeah, and you're about as informative as a blank holoscreen, big guy.”
Never mind, she'd get to the heart of this place, rip it open and study it all she wanted. Then decide whether to let the place survive, or whether to send the inhabitants off to find employment elsewhere.
“I am not here to be informative. I am here to guide you.”
For the first time in weeks, humor bubbled up. Ilya snickered. “Some would say those are synonymous, y'know?”
He simply stared, silent and taking up way more space in this big, gaudy room than one male should be capable of. Okay, no sense of humor there. Well, at least he was a gorgeous hunk of male.
Ilya's stomach growled, loud in the quiet room. She rubbed a hand over her midriff, her fingers bumping over the pockets of weapons and tech.
Her guard, or whatever the hells he was, watched the movement, and his dark gaze slid over her as if he'd drawn one of those huge hands over her bare belly. Except, why would he be interested in her? She wasn't exactly the femme fatale type, even when she was cleaned up.
Not that she was interested in him either. Except as a quick fuck. Sex would relax her nerves, which were on edge and likely to remain so until she took the controls here.
But he probably had females lining up to partake of his magnificence, and anyway, he worked for her so that'd be awkward. She needed to make sure everyone here knew she was the boss before she opened her legs to anyone—and that any such shenanigans were purely consensual.
The idea of this man, or any other believing he had to fuck her to keep his livelihood made her itch. Or maybe that was her slovenliness.
“I'm going to take a showerdry,” she decided, eyeing another set of open doors across the room, beyond which she could see an elaborately appointed lav, all black and gold. “You make yourself useful and keep others out until I'm done, yeah? Since no one here seems to respect my space yet.”
And she'd take her laser into the showerdry with her, in case he himself didn't stay out.
“I will allow only the food servers to enter,” he told her.
He spread his legs, crossed his arms and stood, facing the main doors of the room. The pose would be scary as hells to anyone trying to get in here.
She, on the other hand, was used to being surrounded by grouchy warriors. She wanted to walk slowly around this one and admire from all possible angles ... then maybe lick him, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
“Right,” she muttered.
She tore her gaze from him and grabbed her duffle to lug it into the lav with her. She didn't trust anyone with her toys, especially a big cyberbot-guard-spy, lickable or not.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The lav was even more luxe than it appeared from the outside. It was the biggest one Ilya had ever been in, and every surface glittered with black cerametal veined with cream. Supposed to look like some kind of rock, she was pretty sure. All the fitments were gold, but she knew that must be faux because who the hells would use real metal for buttons to open doors and cubbies?
But what stopped her in her tracks were the holovids that appeared the sec the doors slid shut behind her. Before every wall shimmered images of beautiful females—and they were not alone. Every quarking one of them were being taken in one aperture or another by a male. And the males were definitely not human—some of them weren't even humanoid. Nearly all the women were crying, some even screaming in pain.
Disgust rose in an ugly tide. “Hey!” Ilya bellowed. “Big guy—in here!”
The door opened almost immediately, and he filled the opening, giving her an inscrutable look through his mask. “How may I serve you?”
“I'll tell you how,” she said, gesturing sharply at the holovids. “Get rid of those.” And as soon as she had her hand on the controls of this place, she'd be getting rid of whoever was responsible for them.
He stood stock still for a sec, and she turned to glare up at him, her face hot with embarrassment at being forced to witness these degrading acts in front of a stranger. Gah, she wished she could scrub her brain as well as her body in the showerdry.
“Do it,” she ordered. “Or go find me someone who can. This shit does not fly around here—not anymore.”
“I will remove them from these quarters,” he said. A few manipulations, and the holovids winked out. Ilya was vaguely surprised not to see slime hovering where they'd been, like the trail of some foul creature.
She shuddered. Vadyal had not only been a slaver, but a vicious voyeur who liked rape and bestiality. “God, that's beyond disgusting.”
“Many of our customers find such images arousing,” VX-900 said in his usual tones of expressionless smoke.
“Not anymore, they won't,” she told him. “This is my place now, and I'm gonna Clean. It. Up. That shit makes me feel dirty just watching it.”
“May I assist you in cleansing yourself?” he asked.
What the hells? She eyed him sharply, her cheeks even hotter. But she could find no innuendo in his dark gaze. Okay then, he was indeed a full-service 'guide'.
“No. I got it,” she said. “You wait out there, in the sitting room.”
When the doors closed behind him, she made sure they were locked—although he probably had the code to unlock them if he wished—and only then undressed.
Her vest she hung carefully on the hook just outside the showerdry stall. Her knit tee, cami, pants and panties all fell to the floor in a heap on top of her boots and stockings. Phew, she might decide to toss this clothing in the recycler. She'd brought two changes of pants and four shirts, so she could get by for a while.
Ilya was half afraid to step into the huge, ebony showerdry stall, but no more holoporn assaulted her, only hot water and steam. She laid her small laser on a shelf and sniffed the gelsoap. She grimaced at the overly sweet, cloying scent, but then used it anyway, scrubbing her scalp and body twice, and then tipping back her head to let the hot water stream through her long tangle of braids and down her body.
When she was clean, she made a few desultory turns under the jets of warm air, but stepped out, still damp, to fish in her duffel for clean panties. She yanked on a clean tee of faded green, soft pants of equally faded brown, pulled her mass of wet braids back on her nape with a soft tie, and padded barefoot out into the sitting room, not bothering to bring up a holomirror to check her appearance. She
knew what she looked like, and if others didn't like it, too bad for them.
Except that not only had her meal arrived, another being had invaded her sitting room. A tall, voluptuous blonde had twined an arm and a leg around VX-900, one hand on his massive chest, the other way too close to his belt. She was cooing something in his ear.
Ilya was tired, hungry and she'd had it with beings invading her space uninvited.
“Who the hells are you?” she demanded, striding across the room to the big serving tray hovering beside a table and chairs arranged under a faux window, with holovid of a forest scene framed in ebony.
Ilya reached for a plump roll bursting with thin slices of fowl and creamy spread. She took a big bite and chewed, waiting for the blonde to unwrap her long, painted nails from VX's belt and look to Ilya. This the woman did, but with flared nostrils and eyes narrowed in displeasure.
She was beautiful in a pampered, enhanced way that Ilya would never be. She was also tall enough, on long slim legs and platform sandals, to look VX in the eye. Tossing her long blonde curls, she put her hands on her hips and looked Ilya over.
“I am Taarina,” she announced. She spoke Galactic with an accent that reeked of Serpentia.
Ilya finished chewing her mouthful of tasty meat and fresh bread, and swallowed. She raised her brows. “That supposed to mean something to me?”
The blonde blinked her long, sooty lashes. “Well ... I am the star dancer in the big show. Every night in the big auditorium?” she went on, her voice rising with incredulity as Ilya demonstrated her lack of recognition by continuing to devour her sandwich.
“Okay,” Ilya said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sucking a bit of meat from between her teeth. “That doesn't explain what you're doing in my suite.”
Taarina frowned imperiously. “Just as you have not explained what you're doing in the owner's suite, you raggedy little female. Who are you, the new CEO's maid, or cleaner?”
Ilya's smiled, showing her teeth. “Yeah, I'm the new cleaner. The new boss cleaner—in charge of cleaning up this entire station, and everyone on it if I choose. So why don't you take your bitch ass back to wherever it is you came from, before I start with you.”