Lord of the Storm

by Justine Davis

  “Wolf,” she breathed, staring at him with horror-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never thought—I didn’t understand. I never meant . . . Eos, I’m such a fool.”

  “No. You’re many things, Captain Graymist, but never a fool.”

  Shaylah drew herself up, straining for control. She gulped in a breath of air to steady herself. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, formally this time. “I didn’t realize the horrible position I was putting you in. You may go.”

  He watched her for a long moment. He looked bemused, but Shaylah got the impression it was at himself rather than at her.

  “Is that . . . an order?” he finally asked.

  “I thought it was what you wanted,” she said, confused.

  His mouth twitched, and Shaylah could have sworn it had nearly been a smile. “Are you saying I have a choice?”

  “Of course you do. I wouldn’t . . . force you, one way or the other.”

  “I’ve not been confronted with choosing what I want for some time,” he said slowly. “Perhaps I should make sure I know exactly what I’m choosing between.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If I stay . . . exactly what will you expect of me?”

  “I told you. I expect you to do—or not do—whatever you wish.”

  “But not to pleasure you.”

  Damn, she thought as color flooded her cheeks again, why did she have to blush so easily, especially with this man? In her discomfiture, her words came out sharper than she intended.

  “I’m sure that will be a great relief to you.”

  “Not necessarily.” He looked at her steadily. Then, consideringly, as casually as if he were discussing the meal they’d just finished, he said, “What if that was what I wished to do?”

  Shaylah’s chin came up. She might be feeling like a flustered schoolchild, but she was also a captain in the Coalition Legion, and it was time that self-discipline was exercised.

  “All things considered,” she said as coolly as he had, “I’m sure that is not the case. And I find I have an excess of pride in this area. Forcing someone to mate with me is not my idea of pleasure.”

  He shrugged, seemingly unruffled by her tone. “It would not be any hardship to pleasure you, Captain. You are very beautiful.” He lowered his gaze for the first time since she had told him she had put away the controller. “And I think you would be . . . gentle. Not like the Carelian.”

  “Stop it,” Shaylah grated, that subservient tone scraping over her nerves. He looked at her, and something she saw there widened her eyes. “You did that on purpose again. You knew how I would react. Is that your way of making sure I won’t change my mind and force you?”

  He didn’t deny it. But before he looked away, a strangely pensive expression crossed his face. “It might be . . . nice to mate in freedom, even if only for a while.”

  Her legendary Coalition calm was having trouble coping with the images his words brought to her. In desperation, she seized on something that had piqued her curiosity.

  “Could you?”

  His head came up. One corner of his mouth twisted as he looked at her. “I’ve been trained well, Captain. The Coalition has developed whoring to a high level.”

  Shaylah recoiled at the bitter answer to what had been an innocent, instinctive question. “I only meant . . . I thought Triotians didn’t mate outside of bonding.”

  His gaze sharpened as the bitter smile deepened. “True. I’d be in a great deal of trouble if my world still existed, wouldn’t I?”

  “Of course not. I’m sure you couldn’t be blamed for what you were . . . forced to do.”

  His level expression reminded Shaylah with painful effectiveness that that was exactly what had happened when she’d forced him to leave her last night. The bitter irony of her own words made her grimace.

  “Besides,” he said, “haven’t you heard? Bonding is a myth, a fantasy. One male, one female for life is an official Coalition impossibility.”

  Involuntarily she shook her head. “No.”

  He lifted a brow. “You . . . believe it exists?” he asked.

  “I know it does. My parents were bonded.”

  She knew she’d truly startled him then. He stared at her. “But you’re not . . . Triotian.”

  “No.” She smiled. “Well, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “Not unless being . . . conceived on Trios counts.” She blushed, feeling it stain her ivory skin, despairing of ever learning to control it. “But no, I’m not Triotian. Not like you are.”

  Pain flickered in his eyes in the instant before he lowered them again to hide it. “I was Triotian. I don’t know what I am now.”

  She tried to smother the pang that shot through her at his words; she’d seen him in pain, she’d seen him debased, she’d seen him surprised, but she’d never seen him so close to defeated.

  “Wolf . . .”

  She reached out tentatively. Her fingers encountered the bare, sleek skin of his shoulder. She sensed him stiffen, but only vaguely; she was too fascinated by the odd little jolt that had gone through her at the contact, making her fingers tingle.

  She drew back her hand, looking at it as if she could find an explanation for the sensation there. She raised her gaze to him; he was sitting rigidly straight.

  “If you want to go,” she began, “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  There was something in his voice that set off a warning signal inside her, and she’d learned the hard way not to ignore such signals.

  “What is it that I don’t understand?”

  “Nothing. What is your command?”

  “I told you, the choice is yours.”

  “Choice?”

  It came out sharply, as if against his will. That alarm clamored again, louder. She thought again, of that moment before he’d turned and left her that first night, that moment when he’d almost told her what would happen to him if she sent him away.

  “Wolf? Nothing will happen. I will tell Califa that you . . . pleased me.”

  He looked at her silently, but Shaylah was beginning to learn to read him now, despite his carefully schooled impassiveness.

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  “What is your command?” he repeated flatly, dully.

  Frustration exploded through Shaylah. “Damn it, Wolf! Do I have to order you to answer me?”

  He shrugged.

  “I will get an answer,” she warned vehemently.

  He got up, walked stiffly to the counter, reached into her bag, and pulled out the controller. Without a word he turned back and held it out to her.

  “No!” She struck out, sending the unit flying off of his palm to bounce across the foot of the bed. Her stomach churned. “I won’t use that. I hate it. And I won’t make the choice for you, either.”

  Silence spun out between them; green eyes held blue, searching. At last, so softly she could barely hear the words, he spoke.

  “There is no choice, Captain. There never was. You made sure of that.”

  “What do you mean?” Shaylah’s eyes widened. “What do you think we’ve been talking about?”

  “I only pursued it because I was curious about why you wanted me here. If you send me back now—”

  “But I said I’d tell Califa you pleased me, that I just changed my mind about the rest of my leave.”

  “Major Claxton will presume you did so because I displeased you in some way. A second failure.”

  “But it’s not true!”

  “Was it true the first time?”

  “No, but . . .” The nausea that had been threatening rose in her throat. “You can’t mean you’ll be punished like that again?”

  “No.”

  Shayl
ah let out a sigh of relief. Wolf just looked at her, much as her father used to when she said something exceptionally naive. Foreboding swamped her.

  “What . . . is the penalty for a second failure?”

  He held her gaze for a long, silent moment.

  “Wolf?” she whispered.

  “Death,” he said flatly.

  SHAYLAH SHIFTED on the bunk, curling her legs up under her as she leaned against the wall. She looked at Wolf, who was watching her intently.

  “You must be enjoying this,” she muttered, taking another gulp of air to try to steady herself; she was more than a little embarrassed at her outburst, especially when she’d blurted out the ridiculous order that he stay here, or she’d kill him herself.

  “A Coalition captain—a medaled hero, at that—in tears?” His mouth quirked wryly. “I should be enjoying it, I suppose.”

  She wiped at her eyes again. “But you aren’t?”

  He let out a long breath. “If you were a typical Coalition captain, I’d be having the time of my life.” His mouth moved again into that odd expression that could almost have been a smile. “But then, a typical Coalition captain wouldn’t be crying in the first place.”

  “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “No,” he said softly, “a typical Coalition captain attacks without a qualm, slaughters an entire race without blinking, and wouldn’t cry at the destruction of an entire world, let alone the plight of a lowly slave.”

  “The Coalition hasn’t destroyed anything for years,” she said defensively, not mentioning the fact that it hadn’t had to because no one had had the strength to fight back for long.

  Wolf’s voice was deceptively casual. “Five years, to be exact.”

  Shaylah flinched. “I was still in the Academy then. I wasn’t part of the Trios campaign.”

  “No. You just keep the system going now that there’s no one left to fight back.”

  “I . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. He had echoed her own thoughts, and she could think of nothing to say. They sat for a long time in silence, Wolf rubbing at his wrists—healing now, thanks to her treatment—Shaylah staring at his bowed golden head.

  “Wolf?” she said at last, tentatively.

  He looked up.

  “If you knew what would happen if I sent you away again, why did you try so hard to make me do it?”

  He looked away again, staring at his wrists as if they’d changed in the space of seconds.

  “You were testing me, weren’t you?” she asked softly. “To see if I meant what I said?”

  He shrugged.

  “You thought I was . . . tricking you? That I was lying about why I wanted you here?”

  “I’ve seen cleverer traps,” he agreed, “but none baited so temptingly.”

  Beyond the flush of pleasure at the implicit compliment, something else struck Shaylah. Something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at her. It all came together for her then, all the images of him she’d been receiving since the first time she’d looked up and his presence had slammed into her soul.

  “Who are you, Wolf?” she whispered.

  He raised his head, and for the briefest of moments she saw something flash in his eyes, something vital and alive and oddly noble. Then it was gone, and he was saying mechanically, “I am called Wolf. I am conquered, a slave of the Coalition.”

  “You may be enslaved,” she said slowly, “but you’re not conquered.”

  He drew back, one hand lifting to touch the golden collar. Shaylah saw the movement and shook her head.

  “If they think implanting that has beaten you, then they’re fools.”

  He lowered his hand sharply, as if he hadn’t realized he’d moved to touch it. “In that case, I am fortunate that most of the Coalition forces are not so . . . astute.”

  Shaylah studied him for a moment. “You’re doing this on purpose, too, aren’t you? Letting them think you’re broken, that you have no real fight left? Until you can . . . do something?”

  His eyes narrowed. “If that were true, I would be the fool if I admitted it. Especially to a Coalition captain.”

  Shaylah scrambled off the bed, her bare feet making little sound on the floor as she began to pace. She had never felt so utterly confused. When her mother had died, her father’s presence had given her direction. When she had gone off to the Legion Academy and flight school, her drive to become a pilot had been her life. But now she was face-to-face with the dark side of the career she’d chosen, and she didn’t know how to deal with it.

  Wolf had made her face it. Just by his existence, in this place, with that cruel band about his neck, he had made her face it. And it did nothing to ease her confusion that he was the first person she’d actually wanted to talk to in eons. The first person who’d said anything other than what a good Coalition citizen was supposed to say. The first person in so very long who had challenged her, made her think. And he was a slave, a captive, all that was left of a race of beautiful, intelligent, peaceful people whose lives and world had been destroyed by the Coalition.

  “All I wanted to do was fly,” she murmured as she came to a halt before the large mirror.

  “And now you don’t like the price?”

  She whirled back to face him. “I don’t like the fact that you, and others like you, have paid it.” She crossed the room and stood before him. “Please, Wolf, just for this time . . . forget what I am. I want no past, no rank, no Coalition to be part of this.”

  “If that is your command.”

  All of Shaylah’s newly awakened sensibilities rebelled at his resumption of the old, subservient tone. “No commands,” she said harshly. “No orders. Just a request between . . . friends.”

  One golden brow lifted sardonically. “Friends? It would not be wise to let that radical idea become known, Captain.”

  “It’s not radical,” she ground out. “It’s the way it should be.” Her gaze fastened on the gleaming collar. “If I could, I’d—”

  “You’d what? Free me? You can’t.”

  “I know,” she said miserably. She turned away, walking back to the mirror. She stood there, head down, unable to face her own reflection.

  “It seems I have a choice after all,” Wolf said after a moment. “Whether to spend this time as slave to a Coalition captain . . . or to spend it living an illusion of freedom.”

  Shaylah lifted her head, catching his reflection in the mirror. He was watching her, his vivid green eyes alight with something she didn’t recognize. His hair fell in a shaggy mass, golden and gleaming, down to the broad, strong shoulders. His face was more taut somehow; he reminded her once more of that last lion, caged but not defeated, captured but not mastered.

  Perhaps she was a fool, she thought suddenly, uncertain why it occurred to her now, except that it had something to do with that look in his eyes. A fool to pass up the chance to have this man, for however short a time, under whatever circumstances, in her bed.

  Certainly no male she’d ever met before, on any world, had had this incredible effect on her, making her heart pound and her blood race at the very sight of him. A mating with him would be fierce, intense, and maybe a little wild, and she felt her body respond to just the thought. The rest of the cosmos thought nothing of mating so casually; why should she?

  No, she told herself, looking away from that reflected golden image. Not that way. If she never had him at all, it would be better than having him because he had no choice. Wouldn’t it?

  He was behind her, close, heat radiating from his body, and she hadn’t even heard him move. She smothered a startled cry and spun around to face him. That avid look was gone now, but she had the oddest feeling it was only hidden, concealed easily by a man who had been forced to become expert at burying himself alive.

  As
he looked at her, Shaylah felt as if she were waiting for something much more momentous than a simple decision on how these days would be spent. And when his answer came, her joy was all out of proportion to the simple words.

  “If you’re no longer a captain, what am I to call you?”

  “My name is Shaylah,” she said, and she couldn’t stop her smile as she looked up at him.

  SHAYLAH DREW IN a deep breath of the air tinged with the sweet scent of blue Triotian roses. Another spoil of war from a destroyed world, she thought, then pushed away the bleak thought.

  They’d done well, these past few days, keeping to their bargain and avoiding any mention of the Coalition. Or of its prisoners. Only at night did it come back to her, when Wolf quietly took his chosen spot on the floor beside the bed. She hated it, but she didn’t know what to say. She’d tried to get him to take the bed while she slept on the padded bench, but he refused, saying he was used to the floor.

  “Good night, Shaylah,” he would say, and she would curl up in the big, lonely bed and hug the sound of her name on his lips to her as if it alone could keep her warm.

  There was, of course, another solution, but even the idea of sharing the bed with him caused such a maelstrom of emotions within her that she could barely breathe, let alone speak. She had set the limitations of their relationship; she couldn’t change them now because she felt this inexplicable need to have him just hold her.

  Now, in the garden, she turned her head to look at Wolf. He was sitting barely a foot away from her, his legs crossed, his elbows resting on his knees. The slight breeze stirred his thick hair, the light from the twin suns gleaming on the lightest strands, forming a golden halo around his head. His body was beautiful even at rest, she thought, long, leanly muscled, broad shouldered, and narrow hipped. She dragged her eyes away before they went any farther; that damn trewscloth didn’t do much to hide what little she hadn’t seen of him.