by Kim Knox
Why they were fucking hard against a pillar hit her. Her orgasm—she would die when she orgasmed. The knowledge didn’t kill the fierce tightness of her flesh, couldn’t stop it. Nothing could. What gripped them was beyond their control. Pain twisted hard in her chest, coalescing with the desire pounding, taking her…and the first tug of her release pulled at her, dancing bright sparks behind her eyes. “No choice.” She arched into him, taking him deeper. “None at all.”
“Ceta—”
She covered his mouth, biting at his lip, her fingers tight in his hair. No matter what, even if it was a game to him, she had to admit one thing, had to tell him. “I love you.”
Iason groaned and deepened the kiss, his hands gripping her, his lean, hard body pushing against hers, filling her, the building wave of her release promising to surge— “No. Ceta. Stay with me. Please.”
Iason’s desperate words lost themselves in the burst of light and heat that seared through her flesh. She clung to him, the push of his hips spiraling the power of her orgasm upwards… Echoing screams sank into the skin of the ship. Ceta shuddered and for an endless moment, her release burned over her thoughts, brilliant, blinding.
“Ceta…”
Pain, his pain smashed into her chest, but she couldn’t, couldn’t break away from the ecstasy tearing through her flesh, and his grief followed her down into darkness.
Chapter Nine
Heavy cloth, warm, rough and holding an achingly familiar scent, covered her bare skin. Ceta stretched and the material rubbed against her arms, constricting her movements. She settled back down, the surface under her spine yielding to her body. A smile tugged at her mouth and she relaxed into the almost comforting hold. Moving wasn’t necessary. She could simply lie there…
Where?
Ceta opened her eyes and soft, golden light touched her face. It had the warmth and scent of sunlight, light that had heated her skin for some time. Above her, red streaks of clouds covered the smoky blue sky. Dusk on Schedir-prime. She pulled in a breath, expecting cooling air and the scent of ancient stone…but the fresh aroma of open fields and grass filled her senses.
“Ceta.”
A dark shadow loomed over her and her eyes fought to focus. His face burned in her thoughts, as familiar as the scent of the cloak shrouding her. Her heart jumped. “Iason?” Relief and panic twisted inside her and any sense of calm evaporated. She jerked upright, fighting her way out of the heavy material. The milk of the living ship, frozen into a thick cream was meant only to take her life, not his. “You died too?”
Iason’s warm fingers traced over her cheek and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “We’re not dead, Ceta.”
“What?” The question burst from her. Her brain still dragged, had a sluggish pull to it from the unexpected warmth of the sun, and she couldn’t think. She closed her eyes and willed herself to focus. “Why aren’t I dead, Iason?”
“Because the ship picked him.”
Ceta opened her eyes. Where she was rolled through her thoughts, the unfamiliar fresh scents of the open air confusing her uncooperative brain. The small platform that had held the golden dish stood off to her right, evening sunlight slanting over its smooth, green-gold surface. Her gaze narrowed. Was this what the ship did as dusk approached? Opened itself up to the night and shifted its colors from dull brown to a glistening green-gold?
Iason’s words repeated through her thoughts and her attention snapped to the throne. Feodor slumped naked on the throne, his face resting on the high, narrow arm. His golden eyes stared, almost unseeing and his eyelids twitched.
“He’s still alive.”
“Not for long.” Iason offered her his hand to pull her to her feet.
Ceta’s hand slid into his and his strength, the touch of his warm skin against hers, made her heart thud hard. Iason’s eyes held hers, and the emotion, the relief she found there slid hot through her body. She willed herself to stand and not stare at him like a love-struck idiot, not throw herself at him and nuzzle her face into his neck. The cloak threatened to slip from her hips and she gripped it in a fist at her waist. It tugged her thoughts back from Iason. “What happened?”
His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her bottom lip. “You came,” he murmured, his focus on her mouth. “And I thought I’d lost you.” He pulled in a deeper breath. “But you weren’t the only one screaming. He was too.” His head jerked to their sovereign, whose chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, sweat glistening on his pale skin.
“The ship…ended…our bond.” Feodor’s voice was little more than a rasp. A smile curled his lush lips and his gaze found her. Golden eyes sparked briefly before fading back to a dull bronze. “I knew she wanted it…but I never thought she was so…close”
“Ended?”
Ceta stared at Iason. All quiet subservience had gone from his voice and a cold anger replaced it. He squatted down in front of the man who had ruled him. His mouth thinned. “What was all this about, Feodor? The candidates, the sacrifice?” Fury laced his words. “Why did all those women have to suffer and die?”
“You think to question me?” Something of their former sovereign’s power resonated in his words, but the effort flushed his skin and he sucked in more air as he struggled to sit up. Pain tightened his once-beautiful face. “I have ruled this ship, this quadrant for decades. They were nothing. Simply women to give her what she wanted.”
Ceta stepped closer, Iason’s hand pressing against her stomach holding her beyond Feodor’s reach. “Her?”
Sweat edged the sovereign’s forehead and his gaze faded further, dulling to a flat orange. He wasn’t looking at them anymore, his gaze lost to his own memories. “The ship wanted me to share power with that bitch Ursul. As if I would. I fucked her and the ship offered herself, so eager to serve after hibernating for so long.” Feodor’s harsh laughter ended in a rattle and a fit of heaving coughs. He fought to get his breath back, but his shoulders dropped and shadows darkened his face. Life drained from him. “Then I slit Ursul’s throat and this hulk and control of the quadrant was mine.”
Iason gripped Feodor’s shoulders, his knuckles white. “A man and a woman must run this ship?” The man he held didn’t seem to notice the pain, and his former paladin shook him, hard. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“The dead race that grew this ancient beast wanted balance, a blending of strengths, male and female. I denied it and the ship wanted her revenge, wanted me to join with a mate.” He almost spat the word.
“We were surrogates,” Ceta murmured.
Feodor laughed, the sound weak and rasping. “So you chose one that has a brain to go with the lush body. Yes, Ceta Lars, candidates were the mates I denied her.” He stared up at the dome, sunlight gilding the struts that arced high above them. A thin smile cut his mouth. “But her attempt to bond with these…mates…after the third tasting, killed them all.”
“But not me.”
“She bred you the perfect mate, but I didn’t see it. Until it was too late.” Feodor’s eyes fixed on her and the hatred in his bleak, orange-cast eyes sent the familiar shiver down through her flesh. Ceta blinked. It wasn’t just her hatred of the man—it never had been. Mixed in with her dislike was an older, more bitter loathing. It belonged to the ship.
Ceta blinked again and her chest hollowed. “I’m bonded.”
Iason released his hold on Feodor and his former sovereign slumped to the side of the throne. His chest had stilled. Somewhere in those few seconds, he had died hating her. “We’re bonded.”
Ceta put her hand over her mouth, her fingers gripping her cheeks hard. She stared up at the dome, the shimmer of its transparent hull catching sparks of the setting sun. She pulled in a deep breath and dropped her protective hand from her mouth. The soft scents of grass and open fields flowed over her, and something about it soothed her pounding heart. “This is insane.”
Iason pressed a panel on the side of the throne and a shimmer of information scrolled in the air beside
him. He barked quick orders to someone Ceta couldn’t see and closed off the screen.
Her legs wobbled and she wanted to sit, or failing that, possibly fall. Iason caught her, his strong hands warm and firm around her waist. He held up the thick wrap of his cloak as it slipped down over her hips.
“What are we supposed to do now? The sovereign…” She glanced at the man almost shriveled on the throne, time biting into his preserved beauty. Iason had called a crew to remove and burn him. “Feodor is gone. And we’re in charge?” The ridiculousness of that idea forced a snort. She allowed herself to relax back against his chest, the body-heated cotton of his tunic warming her bare skin. She breathed in his familiar spiced scent and her heart did a strange little flutter. “Iason?”
He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I can feel the ship, feel alien images in my head, the cool brush of space against my bared skin.” His tongue teased her in a slow slide. “Feel her power.”
Ceta closed her eyes, allowing herself to be pulled into the distraction of his mouth, his hands on her skin. “Is that how she communicates? The ship?”
His breath stirred her tongue-wet skin, raising goose bumps, and Ceta tilted her neck for more of his light caresses. Iason’s mouth paused against the curve of her shoulder. “I’ve always felt the ship in the background, a hum…but not like this.”
She felt it too. A blanket of warmth wrapped around her thoughts, a sense of belonging and relief. Ceta opened her eyes. The end of the sovereign had brought new life to the ship, transformed her into the vessel she had once been, a vessel grown so long ago. Satisfaction rubbed over Ceta’s thoughts and a smile curved her lips in response. However, questions still burned. “Why me? Why us?”
She felt Iason’s sharp grin against her neck. “Are you saying you don’t want me?” He lifted his mouth away. “Because I can always stop…”
“Funny, Iason.” She bit back a smile, wanting to sound authoritative and failing. “Mouth on neck. Now.”
Iason’s fingers tightened on her hips, biting through the thick cloth of his cloak. “Remember who I am.” His harsh whisper was the real thing, hard, commanding and damn it, he had her wet. She sucked in a quick breath as his lips brushed her ear. “We share control of this ship, Ceta. It’s all about finding balance between us.”
“That sounds like fun…”
“Doesn’t it?”
His lips teased over her neck and the sensation curled down to her toes. The warmth of the ship coalesced with her rising desire, filling her thoughts and feelings with trust. She knew then that the ship had sought her out, chosen Ceta as she’d bred Iason. “We had no choice in bonding,” she murmured. “None.”
“I find myself unconcerned.” His breath warmed her kiss-damp skin.
“But what do we do?” Ceta turned in his arms. Her hand pressed against his smooth, hard jaw and she met his dark gaze. Her stomach was in a knot. “The sovereign ruled over hundreds of planets. Do we now?”
“Yes.” A smile pulled at his mouth and his beauty had her mouth dry. “And I have no problem with that either.”
“It terrifies me.”
Iason pulled her against his chest, his strong arms a solid comfort. “We are not him. We never will be.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Now I want to sleep with you, in a bed, for the entire night. We can begin our rule in the morning.”
Ceta laughed and let out a long sigh. His scent, a hot mix of his spice, skin and sex slid deep into her lungs as she drew in a breath. The strength of his arms, the press of his lean body into hers felt too right. Though she had to wonder how much was the ship’s influence twisting through her thoughts. “Still, the simulator was no comparison,” she murmured.
His hold loosened and he tilted her chin up to him. The hard gaze of the paladin gripped her and her heart beat faster. “Rendering living people is illegal, Candidate Lars.”
Shit, she’d said the words out loud. “I never went through with it. It didn’t feel…right.”
Iason’s soft laughter let her echo his smile. “Good.” He placed a soft kiss on her mouth. “I’d hate to disappoint.”
“The assessment so far is fair to good.” She grinned at the scowl creasing above his nose. She pulled free of him, gripped the loose folds of his cloak tight to her hips and held out her hand. His warm fingers slid against hers and the contact surged through her. The ship had chosen them out of the vast multitude of humans in the quadrant to bond with her and form a needed human connection. It made Iason hers. Completely. As it made her his. The bond formed between them and the ship felt more than right. It was perfect.
“Fair?” His frown deepened. “Fair?”
“To good.”
Iason’s dark eyes narrowed on her and her pulse jumped. Simply sleeping seemed to be a forgotten strategy. Excellent. “I plan to be much better than good. I promise you.”
Ceta tugged him forward, stepping over the slowly stirring bodies of the former sovereign’s favorites. She bit back a smile at the heat in his voice, her body already thrumming for more of him. “And you’re a man who honors his word?”
Iason’s grin was wicked and her heart did an insane little flip-flop. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy testing me.”
She hit the last wide step and her pace increased, pulling him after. Iason, naked and a bed? “I’m sure I will.”