by Ruby Dixon
Of course, I always come up with excuses for touching him, because I can't quite resist. I'll hold on to his arm when I don't need to, or slide a bit closer in bed. He still showers with me, because the silence in the bathroom terrifies me. I don't know what it is about that small room, but as soon as the water comes on and drowns out my hearing, I panic. He stays with me and talks to keep me company, and I suspect I could probably try to shower on my own at this point because I need to work on being independent…but I don't want to. Part of me loves the thought of him watching me soap up. It turns me on even though I'd never admit it to him.
Half the time I'm not even sure I want to admit it to myself. I feel like I shouldn't be attracted to him. Like the last thing I should be thinking about right now is sex.
But oh god, is it EVER the first thing on my mind. I'm just so entranced by how caring and protective he is. How big and strong and curiously gentle with me, which seems to surprise everyone because he's known for his bad temper and like of picking fights. He's not like that with me at all. I've never felt unsafe around him. That's part of my worry—that I feel so safe around him I'm attaching feelings I shouldn't be having. I can't trust my own judgment. How much time has to pass before I can, though? Will I ever? Or am I always going to be traumatized?
I remember what he told me when I first arrived—that I'll never get over being “broken.” I'll just get better at it. He's right. I wonder if it's okay to be broken in this way or if he'd think badly of me. I wish I knew.
Absently, I turn my thoughts to the comms as something familiar pings. I pause the comm-scanner on the channel I'm on and listen in to the conversation.
“When's the shipment due?” someone asks in an alien language that sounds very familiar.
17
IRIS
It takes me a moment, but then I recognize the sounds, the harsh, unpleasant-to-the-ear tones of the alien language. It's the language of the orange aliens that kidnapped me. My skin prickles and I want to turn the channel.
But I don’t.
“You know the lord is angry and wants his toys soon,” one says.
“I know. We're working on it.”
“The lord wants to know if there are any virgins,” the first one hisses. “He's still angry about the last one going missing.”
My skin prickles with awareness, my breath speeding up.
“There's a handful of them. There's bound to be one that hasn't had her cunt ripped apart by every alien dick in the sector.” A crude laugh. “Or you want me to personally check them out?”
“I don't care what you do. I'm just saying that the lord will pay double for a virgin. A docile one. He doesn't like it when they fight.”
“He's missing out, then. That's half the fun.” More crude laughter.
I feel like I'm choking. Like there's not enough air in the ship. Heck, in the entire universe. They haven't said a name. I need to hear a name before I completely freak out. I don't remember the lord's name exactly, but I'd know it if I heard it. Besides, how many lords are there out in the universe looking to buy virgins?
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm hearing things that aren't necessarily true, that it's all in my head and I'm just piecing things together from my past experience. They might not even be talking about humans.
“Does he have a preference?”
“A preference for what?”
“They come in different colors. Brown, pale pink, or that ugly pasty shade that looks like they lived in a cave all their lives. And the hair—yellow hair? Orange hair? Black hair? No hair?”
“Mmm, what do you got?”
A laugh barks through the line, and I jump in my seat at how loud and rough it is. “Friend, I can make whatever he wants happen. If he likes them with yellow hair, they'll have yellow hair.”
The other laughs. “Just as long as they're docile.”
“Oh, they'll be docile by the time they get to him, never fear.”
Goosebumps prickle up and down my arms. I feel sick. They still haven't mentioned a name and I'm growing more anxious by the moment, because I need to hear it. I don't know what I'll do if I confirm it, but I have to find out the answer for my own peace of mind.
The first one grunts. “Give me a few days to arrange things. You'll be in Sector 7 at the arranged meeting place?”
“Of course. Bring your cargo and I'll bring your pay.”
“Will do. Give Lord Unto'Abarri'Nil Vohs Bekhinto, Lord of Nine Sunrises and Ruler of the Thirteenth Moon my regards.”
“Learned all his names, eh?”
“Naturally.”
“Ass licker,” the other says with amusement. “I'll tell him you're bringing his toys.” He terminates the comm.
I hit the button on the panel that'll notate the time and frequency of the comm and then rip my earpiece out. I'm panting as if I ran a mile, and there's a cold sweat on my body.
“Everything all right?” Sentorr asks in that distracted voice of his. Probably isn't even looking up from his panel.
“Just…a headache. Think I'll skip listening for now.” I just need to get away from this. From the thought of Lord Unto-whatever buying more virgins. More docile girls that he can use and abuse. More girls that might have their eyes gouged out because they're bad at obeying like I was.
I don't know what to do with this information. I think about passing it along to Alvos and the others, but the thought terrifies me. What if they go after him and something bad happens? What if Lord Unto-blahblah kills them? Imprisons them? Catches them and finds me?
I retreat off the bridge, stumbling down the hall toward the chamber I share with Alvos. I run into a wall and smack my shoulder hard, but I don't care. I just need to get away. For once, the quiet of my chamber will feel good. It'll be a place I can hide away from things instead of a place that traps me. I slap my hand against the panel several times, my entire body shaking with terror and anxiety. I think of the aliens that held me down, that brought their knives toward my eyes and laughed when I screamed. “This wasn't our idea,” one told me in a mocking, cold voice. “Lord's orders.”
Lord Unto doesn't think of humans as people. We're just things to be bought and broken in, like horses. He wants a bunch of docile animals for his stable. I loathe the idea. I should tell the others what's happening, let them swoop in and teach Lord Unto a lesson. Steal the other girls away from him.
But…what if something goes wrong and I end up back in his hands? I push through the door of Alvos's room as it opens and move toward the bed, nearly falling over it in my haste. I crawl under the covers and pull them over my head, but that doesn't stop my shaking. I still don't feel safe. I rub the end of my cut-off pinky and touch the scars under my ribbon. Is he doing this to someone else? Hurting them like how they hurt me because I didn't matter? Because I wasn't a person in their eyes?
How do I let this continue?
But…everything's going so well here. I feel safe for the first time in ages. Even if I'm still learning how to be useful, the others are kind and friendly. I like Fran and Cat. I could be happy here.
I could be happy with Alvos. I could love him. He sees the broken parts of me and doesn't care.
Now that I've heard that comm, though, I'm going to worry about who else is trapped with him…and if I can be brave enough to ask the others to rescue them. Or if I'm going to be selfish and say nothing at all.
I don't know what to do.
18
ALYVOS
We get back from the cantina late. I stink of smoke and bubblers, but I'm still eager to see Iris. I've missed her tonight, and even though I normally love a day in the cantina—because someone's always bound to get into a brawl in a space station bar—I found myself impatient to get back to her side. To tell her about the things I saw that day and hear her thoughts. To just listen to her voice or curl up in bed around her and talk of unimportant things. I like just being with her, and hours away from her feel like wasted time.
When we get back
on board the Fool, though, Cat and Fran are both drunk and passed out on one of the rec room couches, a tablet tucked under Fran's chest and both females with empty beer bottles scattered around them. Both Kivian and Tarekh find this incredibly amusing, and scoop up their mates, carrying them off to bed. I check for Iris on the bridge, since I know she prefers Sentorr's quiet company over being alone, but she's not there. Huh. I find her in my chamber, huddled in the bed with the covers pulled over her head, sleeping restlessly. As I watch, she turns over in the bed and makes an unhappy noise, kicking the blankets off her feet. Normally she sleeps so quietly. Maybe she drank some of the beer, too.
A protective surge of affection washes through me as I gaze at her sleeping form. I can't wait to pull her in my arms and just feel her body against mine. To wake up with her and talk about the day before. To breathe in her scent and the sight of her like a besotted, lovesick fool—the ship's new name is an apt one, it seems. Amused by my own thoughts, I head into the water closet to rinse off the cantina stink before I get into bed with her.
I get out a few moments later to see her still moving under the blankets. Her mouth is pulled down in a frown, and there's a sheen of sweat on her body. She lets out a whimper as I approach, and her head thrashes on the pillow I got for her.
A nightmare. A bad one, it seems. I crouch quietly by the bed, unsure if I should wake her or let it play out and hope it subsides. She's still easily spooked, my lovely Iris.
I can't stand to see her suffer, though, even in her dreams. I kneel beside her and touch her arm. She cries out, flinching backward, obviously terrified.
“It's me,” I whisper. “You're having a nightmare.”
Her face grows tense, and for a moment it looks as if she's about to sob. Then she grabs my arm tightly and runs her hand up and down my arm. A sigh of relief escapes her. “Fuzzy skin. It's you.”
“I'm here,” I tell her. “You're safe.”
I'm hoping that my reassurance calms her, but she still looks distraught. “Not safe. Nowhere's safe,” she mumbles, pushing her hair out of her face as she sits up.
“You're wrong.” I sit on the bed next to her and rub her arm, trying to soothe her fears. She sometimes has nightmares, but she's always so very self-contained when she wakes up. Tonight, she's distraught. I've always said that I'd rather see real, genuine emotion from her, but I've been lying to myself. I hate seeing her like this. I hate that she's terrified and I can't do anything to ease that fear. “I'd never let anything happen to you. You're mine.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, they seem to hang out there in the air. Of course she's mine. As the days have passed and she's woken up in my arms every morning, it's just reaffirmed what I've always felt—that Iris is mine and she's meant to be my mate. I've just never told her such a thing for fear of scaring her…but I can't take it back now. In a way, I'm glad it's said. Now she knows how I feel.
But now I've given her yet another thing to be afraid of.
Her hands move up my arm, feeling her way. They go to my shoulders and then she puts them on my face, touching my jaw.
I remain still because if she wants to explore me, I welcome it. I love her touch, and I crave the moments that she reaches out for me. It makes me hope that someday things won't be as one-sided as they feel at the moment. She touches my cheeks and nose, and then my lips. She leans in.
For a brief flash, I think she wants to breathe in my scent, the way I sometimes breathe hers in when we sleep.
But then her mouth is on mine, and I realize that this is something very different. Her lips press urgently against me, and then I am shocked to feel her tongue slick against the seam of my mouth. A bolt of lust rocks through me and I clench my fists against my legs, determined not to grab her and somehow ruin this moment.
This is kissing. This is what I catch Fran and Kivian doing all the time. This is what Cat does to Tarekh that turns him into a foolishly grinning idiot. Humans do not have the same hygiene laws we do, and they think nothing of pressing mouth against mouth, of letting tongues dance together as if they are mating. And Iris is kissing me. Her mouth is hungry on mine, and when I part my lips at the touch of her tongue again, she makes a soft sound in her throat and deepens the kiss.
It is like nothing I have felt before. Both intimate and sweet, I can feel every movement of her body, can feel that her tongue is slick and smooth and without a single ridge like a mesakkah tongue has. It rubs up against the length of mine, and then Iris gives a little moan. I'm stunned at how good this feels…and how she is finally, finally welcoming me with her body and caresses.
I kiss her back, trying to rub my tongue against hers like she does to me. It feels awkward, but she does not complain about my lack of expertise. Her arms go around my neck and she makes another soft moan when I tease the tip of my tongue along the part of her lips.
“Make me forget,” she whispers. “Remind me that I'm in a good place.”
“You're with me,” I tell her between presses of my mouth to hers. I am hungry for more, so much more. I love the feel of her slight body pressing against mine as we kiss, and my cock aches, my needs long suppressed. “In my bed. In my arms.”
“Take my virginity,” she whispers, rubbing up against my chest. “Make it so no one wants to buy me ever again.”
19
ALYVOS
Her strange words make me pause. Of all the sexy, enticing things I imagine her saying…those are not anywhere on the list. I pull back. “What?”
“Kiss me,” Iris says, leaning in.
“That’s not what you said.” I gently pull back from her, studying her lovely face. I don’t even care about the scars—they don’t mar the beauty of her features. “What do you mean, make it so no one buys you?”
“I…nothing.” The grip she has on my shoulders becomes desperate. “Please, let’s just leave it be.”
This isn’t like her, though. Iris never mentions being a slave. It’s like it’s easier for her to compartmentalize that part of her life and move past it. So for her to bring it up means that something has pushed it into the forefront of her mind. “Was this what your nightmares were about? What brought them on?”
Her hands clench in my tunic. “Just promise me that I’m safe here.”
I can feel her trembling. “Of course you’re safe.”
She nods and holds herself stiffly for a moment before letting her shoulders slump. For a moment she looks exhausted and fragile, and I wonder again what brought this on. “It’s just a bad dream,” I tell her, stroking a hand down her arm. “I’m here and I won’t let anyone touch you.”
“Thank you,” she says, hiding behind her politeness again. But she lies back down in the bed and pulls the covers tight against her body.
I reach out and caress her cheek, and she grabs my hand and presses her mouth to my knuckles. “I'm sorry about kissing you.”
“Why are you sorry? I liked it.”
“I just don't want things to change between us.” Iris's low whisper sounds full of fear. “I don't think I like change. Not anymore.”
I can't deny that I don't want things to change between us—I want more from her than just friendship—but now is not the time to push, especially when she's so fragile. I'm worried, though. This flash of vulnerability isn't like her. Not when she's used to hiding everything behind a polite smile. I want to haul her into my arms and stroke her hair until this fear of hers eases, but I'm not sure she'd welcome my touch. Even now, despite that fierce kiss, she's pulling away.
I pull the blankets against her shoulders and tuck them along her body. “Let me undress and I'll join you in bed.”
She nods and I strip my clothes off, distracted by concerned thoughts of the human so close by. I've never thought of Iris as truly fragile until tonight. Mentally strong, yes. Delicate but with a steel core. Damaged but made stronger for it. Tonight, she doesn't seem like any of those things. She seems smaller, terrified, and it pulls at my heart.
I want
to help my mate, but she won't let me…and she doesn't even know she's my mate. I think of the way she offered herself to me, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Not just because of the words she used—make it so no one ever buys me again—but because I was tempted.
Lost in my own thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize she's addressing me when she speaks. “Do you ever let strangers on the Fool?”
“Strangers?”
“Like…customers. People that you work with for jobs.” Her body is tense.
“Rarely. This is our home and we prefer no one invade it unless we want them there.” I shrug off my tunic and toss it into a nearby chair, then pull off my belt and kick off my boots. “Besides, we don't trust our clients enough to invite them into our home. We do our business in cantinas.”
“So no one would find me if I never left the ship?”
Is that what this is about? Who does she think is going to find her? I sit down on the bed next to her and gently reach out to touch her shoulder. “Iris, who do you think is looking for you?” When she doesn't answer, my frustration and concern grow. “I can't help you if you can't trust me, love.”
Her expression is utterly calm for a long moment, so long I think she's not going to answer me. Then, she lets out a long, shuddering sigh and reaches for me. I touch her fingers with mine and when she grips onto my hand tightly, I realize she's trembling. Hard. “I was listening to the bands while you were gone and I heard his name.” Her voice is a mere whisper, as if even speaking of this terrifies her.