by Marie Harte
“Right. Tell him I have everything under control and to leave me the hell alone.”
“Good luck with that,” Lurin grumbled. “You need anything else, let me know.”
Gren thanked him and would have disconnected the call when he felt Lurin’s tentative probe.
“What was that?” Gren asked without heat. Never before had his friend mentally trespassed.
“I’m not sure, but I distinctly feel a woman’s presence in your mind.”
“That’s impossible. She’s not a telepath.” Gren immediately envisioned Temis naked in the lav and sensed Lurin’s silent laughter.
“Ah, so the mighty have finally fallen.”
“What does that mean?” Gren asked, irritated. Why the hell couldn’t he keep thoughts of Temis at bay? And just how much had Lurin seen from Gren’s brief vision?
“You’ll figure it out,” Lurin added smoothly. “And after all the help you gave me and Mara, maybe I can return the favour?”
He ended their conversation with more laughter. It took Gren a moment to remember to disconnect the electronic transmission.
Anger burned when he realised what Lurin had meant about ‘returning the favour’.
“As if Mara would let him.” He scowled at the telecom.
“Gren?” Temis stood in the doorway to the lav, a thin towel wrapped around her.
He stared at her gorgeous body but his thoughts were on Lurin’s words. Years ago, Gren had enthralled Mara into making love with him in an effort to regain the energy needed to save Lurin’s life. His intentions had been pure even if he had derived a great deal of satisfaction from the coupling.
At the time he’d been surprised at Lurin’s possessiveness over Mara, not used to Theshan jealousy. His kind shared women pleasurably, not tied to any one female. Yet even then he’d clearly felt Lurin’s bond to Mara.
He stared at Temis and suddenly understood what had bothered Lurin about sharing his mate. Just the thought of Lurin touching Temis in any way made his blood boil.
“I was just contacting a friend of mine to let Sernal know we’re fine.” He cleared his thoughts.
A ripple of unease passed over her face, worrying him. “Temis? Are you okay?”
“Just hungry.” She glanced around the room with a wry expression on her face. “I don’t suppose you have anything clean I can wear?”
He studied her curves clearly outlined by the towel, and his libido leapt in answer. “I would say you can wear me, but I’m not clean either.”
She flushed, and it took all of his control not to lay her back down on the bed and fuck her senseless.
“Let me clean up and I’ll get us food and clothing.” He walked towards her, willing her to step away from the lav before he did something extremely undisciplined and took her against the wall, mindless of his vow to let her be.
She blinked and quickly moved to the bed, well out of his reach. Uncomfortably aware of his erection, he grumbled under his breath and slid the door behind him. He needed the brief respite from Temis’ potency.
“Talk about a nightmare of a job. When this is over, I’m having a real vacation.”
* * * *
Temis stared at the closed lav door in shock, now free to give way to the emotions rocketing through her. During her much-needed cleansing, she’d become conscious of an internal buzzing.
She’d been shocked to hear Gren communicating with another. But not out loud. The sounds she’d heard had been directly within her mind. Understanding gradually dawned. She could hear Gren’s thoughts, could feel what he felt. Her previous imaginings of his satisfaction, of what he felt when making love with her, had been real.
She was no telepath, but apparently Gren and his friend were. Yet telepathy didn’t seem to fit, not when she could also sense Gren’s feelings. That spoke of an empathic nature, something he’d somehow shared with her.
A vision of his healthy body with the earlier preternatural glow hanging over him, not to mention his incredible sexuality and stamina, had her reassessing him as merely empathic.
Temis herself could mould and sculpt her dreams. So when she’d felt his friend’s subtle probe, she’d quickly pulled her mind away, shutting everyone out. Had she known about Gren’s gifts earlier… She blushed as embarrassment struck. Had he read the desire she’d felt upon first meeting him? Had he somehow used the knowledge to make her want him enough to succumb to his advances yesterday?
No, Temis had been in control of her actions, if not her sensual nature. For once in her life she’d allowed the woman within her to take charge, and she couldn’t for the life of her regret it.
The door to the lav opened, interrupting her thoughts.
Gren walked through, his body a study of male perfection. She watched admiringly while he dressed in standard trousers and a tan shirt he grabbed from a nearby storage bin.
“Much as I like you in that,” he said in a husky voice, “I need to pick up some clothes that lend to the mission. And before you think to protest, remember, we’ve got some women to save.”
“I know, Gren. I remember why we’re here.”
“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t answer to anyone but me.”
Her brows rose. “You’re expecting company?”
“I always like being prepared. People know better than to bother me. But there are those wanting to make a name for themselves—” He stopped and frowned at her. “Never mind. Just don’t open the door.”
He strode to the door, jerked it open and slid the lock tight behind him.
Alone at last. She wouldn’t have long before he returned, and she planned to make good use of the time. She knew Gren would never willingly reveal details about himself, not to her, a peacemaker. So she snooped through the room, hoping for a hint of Gren.
As she pried, she couldn’t help recalling how thoroughly they’d made love and secretly wondered when and how they would again. She threw herself into her search, reluctantly admitting to herself that being captured by Gren wasn’t torture at all. To this point, it had been more an exercise in the erotic arts.
But she’d be shot before she’d admit it. Her newfound sexual imagination burned at thoughts of Gren doing things to her she’d heard of but had never had the nerve to pursue. Silk scarves came to mind, a firm hand tugging her hair back as he shoved her legs wider from behind and stepped closer…
“This isn’t good.”
The warrior within her now bowed to the sensual woman maturing at a rapid rate, growing in power. Temis had a hard time finding the will to battle her back. Just imagining Gren deep inside her made her want to lay down and accept everything on his terms.
She slammed the drawer shut and muttered a curse. This was why she’d been smart to avoid sex before. A little bit of pleasure and she was almost willing to forego a lifetime of learned caution.
She clenched her jaw and resolved to stay strong. “Great sex or no, I won’t be anyone’s puppet.” She yanked another drawer open, this time not so careful to conceal her foraging. “If Gren thinks pleasure will make me more pliable, he’s got another think coming.”
Chapter Eight
Gren strode down the street, his thoughts in turmoil when he should have been focused on the mission. Fifteen women’s lives were on the line, and he couldn’t stop thinking about making love to Temis.
It took him the length of the dusty street before he managed to take hold of his senses and banish Temis from his thoughts, at least for a few moments.
He entered Margo’s, his favourite eating establishment, and left carrying a heavy sack filled with fruits, nuts, and a juicy cooked rak flank for Temis. He didn’t eat meat, an extremely uncommon trait among the system’s inhabitants, but his Theshan abilities worked better on a diet devoid of animal flesh.
The sweet smell of ripe fuave and maneo root made his mouth water, and he realised he hadn’t eaten in two days. The meal Rafe had brought him in his cell had gone uneaten while the lawman briefed him.
/> He left Margo’s and headed east, towards an unsavoury establishment that catered to Reykhold’s true underbelly. A diverse group of cutthroats, thieves and slavers filled the bar under the lingering smell of vomit and body odour mixed with sour ale.
Keeping a straight face when he wanted to exit the crude dwelling, he nodded to Maruk, the pub’s monstrously large security guard, and made his way to the back, to the most intelligent informer in the city.
Sure enough, Ceril sat looking bored, listening to a scruffy looking miner drone on about hidden Mornian mines and treasure maps.
Gren had to grin. Ceril’s fleshy lips drew into a thin line, and the paunch around his middle shook as he drew in a deep breath. “Get out!” he shouted, having apparently lost patience with the fool seeking a backer. “I cannot believe you wasted my time with treasure-hunting drivel!”
For a large man, Ceril was surprisingly quick. He kicked the miner with an overly large boot, stunning him with the ferocity of his strike.
Scurrying away, the miner gave Gren a wide berth.
Gren shook his head and settled himself across from Ceril with a knowing grin. “Bored, are we?”
Ceril grinned back, his teeth surprisingly straight and white, the only clean things on his person. Like most occupants on Reykhold, Ceril was covered in the gold dust that covered everything from the streets to the buildings in town. Known for his ability to appropriate anything for the right price and as a font of information, Ceril’s particular odour and common grunge did little to dispel his popularity with the dregs in town.
“Gren! I’d heard you were in town. Took you long enough to come and see me.” Ceril’s crafty eyes narrowed. “Though from what I hear, you’ve your hands full. A large breasted peacemaker, eh?”
Gren lifted an eyebrow. “Ceril. You know better than to listen to gossip.”
The large man chuckled. “Word has it she’s ripe for the Sale, if you were so inclined.”
“The Sale?”
“Come on, Gren. Don’t play innocent with me. You’ve no doubt heard about a major trade happening a week from tomorrow.”
Gren hadn’t expected Ceril to have his information, not without some digging. Interesting that the big man knew so much and wanted to share it freely. “What’s so major about this trade?”
“You’ve heard about the abductions on Mardu?”
Gren nodded. A man of his reputation had to keep his ears open to all major criminal activity in the system. And that many women gone missing from one province in so little time would spark interest.
“The Mardu women are the ones to be auctioned.” Ceril belched and motioned for another glass of ale.
“And you think I might be interested.” He dangled the bait.
“Word is already circulating through space that your little peacemaker is worth at least fifty thousand beks, so long as she’s unmarked and properly subdued.”
Gren allowed his disbelief to show. “I captured her yesterday. How the hell did word of her disappearance spread so fast?”
Ceril shrugged. “Most likely one of her shipmates leaked it for some currency. You know those peacemakers.” He sneered, his attitude like so many others. “They arrest those of us trying to make a clean living but have no problem using us to their own advantage, legal or otherwise.”
Gren happened to agree, despite his affection for the Mardu brothers. At present, Rorn Fenhal topped his list of detestable lawmen. “So you’re telling me Temis Freya is worth fifty thousand beks at auction?”
“At least,” Ceril concurred. “But you can get a lot more than that if you find your way into the auction’s private party.”
Someone wanted Temis very badly. The question was, did that someone want her unharmed and returned to Sernal’s folks, or for his own malicious play? He was betting on the latter.
“Where and when?”
Ceril grinned. Gren figured the hefty criminal would be cut a large finder’s fee when Temis was sold. A likeable fellow and impressive drinker, Ceril nevertheless was not one to be trusted. “Like I said, a week from tomorrow, midday. The where is still being debated. Most likely an uncharted sector beyond Jaron.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Gren stood to leave. “I take it Drorna is still in the trade?”
“Yes, but I told you you’ll get much more for the woman if you attend the auction.” Ceril looked worried.
“I need some clothes for my little slave. Can’t have her wearing her peacemaker’s finest at the auction, can I?”
Ceril beamed and gave him directions to Drorna’s newest location, several doors down.
Gren paused and looked around him, glad of the privacy surrounding Ceril’s table. He lowered his voice. “One other thing. I need a small cruiser with fighting capabilities and a sennight’s worth of provisions.”
Ceril nodded. “Your standard stuff?”
“Yeah. But throw in some rak meat as well. I’ve a peacemaker shuttle to use in trade.”
“Perfect. That will cut your payment in half.”
“By two-thirds.”
Ceril paused, his eyes narrowed as he calculated his profit. “Fine. Two-thirds it is. You know where to wire the currency.”
Gren left by a back door, conscious he’d picked up some followers. He paused by the reflective window of a nearby storefront and noted two large men trying to blend unsuccessfully with their surroundings.
“Should have shed the peacemaker boots,” he muttered as he eyed their top-quality rakhide leggings. He continued to Drorna’s, his senses alert for trouble.
To his relief, Drorna stood alone on the bottom floor of the slave house. Frail in appearance yet strong in mind, Drorna’s sweet smile and innocent blue eyes gave the impression of a grandfatherly type. In reality, the older man could shred a tome to ribbons with his trader’s tongue.
“Gren.” The old man’s eyes widened then narrowed as if he smelled potential business. “I thought you avoided the slave trade as a matter of principle.” His eyes lit with anticipation.
Apparently, Gren’s display of ownership on the city street yesterday had done its job. “No, Drorna, I’m not going to sell her to you.” The man sighed with regret. “I need some clothes appropriate to her new station.”
Drorna motioned Gren to wait. He returned shortly with an armful of clothing and carefully displayed it on a nearby table. “Such beauty wasted on a peacemaker.” He shook his head. “But on a trained pleasurer...take a look at the blue set.”
Gren contained a grimace. Every article was short and sheer, just what he didn’t need to see. Temis in next to nothing. But what else would a slave wear? Especially when her owner planned on selling her?
Staring at his choices, Gren selected several pairs of matching tops and bottoms, to include the dark blue set that would barely cover her breasts and ass. He paid Drorna with the beks he’d kept for emergency currency and left the House just as the slaves began to rouse.
One young woman traipsed down the stairwell wearing nothing. She looked worn and tired until she spied Gren. Then the glow of avarice appeared in her eyes, and her downtrodden expression turned to one of allure, of suggestion.
Both disgusted and spiritually pained by the display, Gren left the House quickly, damning Drorna and his kind to everlasting hell. What once had been an attractive young woman was now an addicted, hopeless prostitute with little remorse and even less self-worth. He knew her type all too well, knew the hurt of watching the life drain out of her.
He clenched his jaw tight and returned to his apartment. Jora remained guarding the back. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Two hours a day,” Jora answered with a chuckle. “We Raggas don’t coddle our young like so many other races.” He sneered at Gren good-naturedly. “What’s wrong, Gren? Not enough sex to keep you happy last night?”
Gren forced a grin, pushing thoughts of the slave trade far away. “There’s never enough sex to keep me happy.”
Jora motioned him to pass. “Well said
.”
“Jora,” Gren warned on his way up the stairs. “I’ve got two peacemakers watching for a way in.”
Jora nodded, a militant gleam in his inky black gaze. “The only way they’ll pass by me is if I’m dead. And believe me, I won’t go to my end quietly.”
Satisfied the Ragga would protect his hideaway, Gren returned to his room, pausing outside the doorway.
He’d been so distracted by Drorna he hadn’t thought about Temis since entering the slave house. Would she be as receptive and friendly as she’d been earlier? He hoped not. He didn’t think he could handle any more temptation. Then again, knowing Temis, she probably regretted their intimacies as much as he did. If that were the case, the warrior would be back, a hard-hearted peacemaker vying for order over a situation she couldn’t control.
He entered cautiously to find his room in complete disarray. Much as the disorder aggravated him, he couldn’t contain a small grin. The warrior had returned. Thank fate. With her resistance added to his, he might just make it through the mission without fucking her senseless.
“Took you long enough,” she growled from the corner of the room. “I’m starving.”
With another silent thank you to whoever watched over him, he tossed the bag containing food onto the room’s only table. “Enjoy.”
She quickly perused the contents before settling on the rak meat, and he gave himself credit for anticipating her needs. Temis hailed from Zeyr, a fierce planet that produced some of the best fighters in the system. And they were well-known for their fierce appetites.
He emptied the contents of the clothing bag onto the bed, sorting through the different outfits and praying they fit larger than they looked.
“What is all that?” she asked around a mouthful of food.
Gren straightened and frowned down at his handiwork. “These are your clothes for the remainder of this mission.”
She approached, her hands full of food and drink. “You’re kidding, right?”