The Starlight Rite

by Sinclair Cherise

  “Kinae Dain, can I assist?” interrupted a servant, appearing at Dain’s elbow. The servant’s black tunic had red piping.

  “I would appreciate your assistance, yes. Have her stripped and washed. If Blackwell has a suitable drape, she may wear that. Then return her to me, please.” Without even looking at her, Dain walked away.

  The servant picked her up easily. She shuddered as her oversensitive nerves spasmed. He carried her down a garden path that Mella suddenly recognized. Not a Zarain Enclave path, but an Arewell path—and this was an Arewell servant.

  Dain had brought her back to Blackwell’s party.

  * * *

  Not much time had passed—not nearly enough time—when the servant returned her to Dain. Mella’s indenture bracelets had been clipped together at her back, pushing her breasts forward. The servants had dressed her in a nightgown. The bodice dipped almost to her nipples, and although the gown reached her ankles, the material could hardly be sheerer.

  The servant bowed to Dain and Blackwell, then left. Released from his hard grip, Mella shook her loosened hair forward, trying to cover some of the bare skin.

  Dain gave a short laugh and tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

  Mella didn’t move. She’d seen him mad before, but his anger this time seemed different. Colder.

  Blackwell stood beside him, his gaze frozen. “I’ll beat her for you.”

  Fear streaked down her spine. Dain wasn’t the only angry one. Why was Blackwell furious?

  “Mella,” Dain said softly. “Do you want to talk to me now?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “May I use your whipping post, Blackwell?”

  “By Ekatae’s sands.” Blackwell scowled. “You don’t like dealing out that much pain. Give me the form, and I’ll sign it.”

  Dain shook his head. “No. The responsibility is the owner’s. I gave my word to the Indenture Hall. Mella will survive a caning, and I will survive a few nightmares.”

  “You’re too law-abiding for your own good.” Blackwell growled something foul sounding under his breath. “I’ll set up the whipping post.”

  Mella trembled. Dain would beat her. With an effort, she controlled her breathing. It was just pain. She could take pain, especially only ten hits. Welts didn’t sound good, but it wasn’t like being sliced open with a whip. Was it?

  She looked up to see Dain’s face an inch from hers. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, more between his eyes. He appeared as unhappy as he’d sounded.

  “Mella.” He cupped her cheek in one hand. “You will receive ten strikes with a cane.”

  She could only stare at him. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed painfully. At least he didn’t look like he’d enjoy it any more than she would. She turned her head to watch him cross the room to Blackwell, his shoulders straight, posture proud.

  The little thief raised her chin when Dain returned, and he felt a surge of pride in her. Many women would have been in tears by now. Pleading. Not a Zarain or Arewell woman, of course, but the other kinlines didn’t breed for bravery.

  Grasping her by the arm, he guided her out the back door and across a wide lawn to the small discipline area, where Blackwell waited. As moonlight glimmered on the metal post, nausea swirled uneasily in his stomach. But he couldn’t postpone this. Dain glanced up at the quarter moon. Neman had almost set.

  At the post, Dain unclipped Mella’s cuffs.

  She yanked away, spinning around. Her punch grazed his chin before he grabbed her fist and secured her wrists in front.

  Blackwell snorted a laugh. “Feisty little thing, isn’t she?” He handed Dain the chain running through a ring at the top of the eight-foot post. Dain clipped her indenture bracelets to it and turned her to face the pole. Blackwell yanked the other end of the chain, raising Mella’s arms until she stood on tiptoe, then secured the chain to a clip on the pole. “Ready for you, Cousin.”

  Dain rolled her nightgown up and tied it into a knot at her waist, baring her buttocks. Stepping back, he caught the long, slender stick Blackwell threw him. He swished it in the air a couple of times to get a feel for it.

  The muscles in Mella’s legs tightened as she identified the sound. Dain closed his eyes for a second, remembering being in the same position, how he had anticipated the searing pain to come. Don’t prolong the wait. Get it over with. He met Blackwell’s worried eyes and shrugged. His responsibility.

  “Stubborn wulkor.” Blackwell stepped closer to Mella and growled, “Worthless unshuline, you count for him. Out loud.”

  Gritting his teeth, Dain slapped the cane against her ass.

  She jerked. “One,” she spat out. Her fair, tender skin reddened immediately.

  Another hard strike. “Two.”

  The sound of wood on naked flesh twisted Dain’s stomach, and he swallowed. To be forced to cane a helpless person was the ultimate irony. Three more, quick but strong. He had to make welts; the hall would check.

  Mella’s voice began to tremble.

  Two more.

  “Seven.” She sobbed then.

  His gut tightened until he wanted to vomit. Forcing it down, he gave her the final three. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  “Ten.”

  With his jaw tight, he undid her nightgown, to cover her, and then released her from the post.

  Her legs wobbled, despite her attempt to stand on her own. She turned her head away from him.

  “Scorch it all.” He lifted her up. And with his arms wrapped around her and her softness against his body, his nausea disappeared. The world felt right.

  And yet he could feel her choking back tears, and his heart wrenched inside his chest. But reality was what it was, and a man couldn’t demand that a woman return his affections.

  She didn’t, and he needed to remember that.

  Nonetheless, he’d hold her until her tears stopped.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Warriors, we are locking the doors,” someone called. Still in Dain’s arms, Mella frowned as Dain moved faster toward the building, followed by his cousin. As they walked through the back door, one of the Arewell retainers snicked the lock. Why would they lock people in?

  Once inside, Dain set Mella on her feet, keeping one hand on her arm. At the loss of his body’s warmth against hers, she wanted to cling and ask him to hold her more. Why, oh why, couldn’t he have been the man she’d thought he was?

  What if she was wrong?

  But every time she considered that, the memory of the restaurant and seeing Nathan laughing with him returned. I’m not wrong.

  “How well is your Earther female going to handle the Starlight Rites?” Blackwell asked, staring down at her.

  Dain frowned. “When she asked me to bring her, I was pleased. I thought… But she planned to escape, not to participate.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Blackwell. I don’t particularly care.”

  “I’m no truth-reader, but even I can tell that’s a lie.” Blackwell scowled at Mella before turning his glare to Dain. “You do care. And you’re worrying about her stupid Earther sensibilities, aren’t you? Tenderhearted as a mother pyr.”

  “Inbred greiet,” Dain responded, but without any pleasure in the insult. “But yes, having every man here take her might be too much for her. You owe me a favor, Cousin. I call it in tonight. Give her the choice of goddess or guest.”

  “You would waste an Arewell debt on…this?” The scorn in Blackwell’s voice sent a wave of humiliation through Mella. Despite what she’d done, Dain still wanted to protect her. “So be it, Cousin. I accept the call of the debt.” Blackwell bowed, then turned to Mella.

  “Stupid Earther, you got yourself into this,” Blackwell snapped. “You have two choices. You can be the avatar of Artema tonight—touched by everyone, but taken by only one. Or you can be a guest and join the regular rites, and every man here will touch and take you. Choose.”

  Mella’s stomach sank. The smell of sex filled the air, and her upbringing screamed for her
to run. But they’d locked the door; she couldn’t escape. “Neither of your choices appeals to me,” she said, trying for dignity.

  “And dishonest unshulines don’t appeal to me. We both have things we must tolerate. Pick one, or I will choose for you.”

  Dain had called in a debt to let her be whatever this goddess thing was. “Goddess.”

  “Good choice,” Dain said in a dry voice that grated along Mella’s nerves. He glanced at Blackwell. “Do you have an extra play patch?”

  Blackwell’s dark brows rose. “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  Blackwell held up a hand, and a servant appeared almost instantly, bearing a tray of drinks as well as a small metal box.

  Dain removed something from the box, ripped the paper open, and stuck the patch to her arm just above her indenture bracelet.

  “What is that?” Mella asked.

  Dain gripped her chin. “From this point forward, you will stay silent.” His eyes were cold. Indifferent.

  She pressed her lips together to hide their quivering. Dropping her gaze, she blinked against the burn of tears. He was doing no more than what would have happened already if someone else had bought her. Damn them all. No person had a right to do this to her.

  He stepped away from her, leaning hard on his cane, and she knew he’d have fully recovered by now if she hadn’t damaged his knee. Because of her, he still limped.

  Emotions swirled through her, a piercing symphony of guilt and hatred and fear. She looked up to see the men studying her, waiting for something, and suspicion thickened in her chest. What did he put on me? She opened her mouth to ask, caught Dain’s dark stare, and shut her mouth before making a sound.

  Suddenly a tremor ran through her, followed by a wave of heat.

  Blackwell chuckled. “It’s kicking in. Permission to touch?”

  “Yes. But even with the patch, she won’t appreciate it.” Dain stepped behind her, and his hard hands curled around her cuffed wrists.

  Blackwell laid his fingers lightly on her breast, fondling her through the gown. She gasped and tried to jerk back, but was halted by Dain’s unyielding grip. Fire burst through her as Blackwell ran his hand over her, circling her nipple with his thumb.

  Her body flamed, the V between her legs turning wet.

  Blackwell chuckled. “The patch is definitely in effect. Do you want to do the honors of binding her?”

  Binding? She remembered the equipment with people fastened to it. What kind of place was this? She shuddered, wrenching around to stare up at Dain. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  Dain’s eyes still held the coldness of interstellar space. “You begged me for something once before and played me for a fool. It will not happen again.” Dain stepped away and glanced at Blackwell. “I’d appreciate it if you’d secure her.”

  Her throat closed when he turned his back on her, and her vision blurred with tears, despite the growing heat in her body.

  With a merciless grip on her arm, Blackwell pulled her toward a stage at one end of the room. Her attempts to struggle had about the same effect on him as a buzzing fly would have; in fact, she doubted he even noticed. “Please don’t do this.” She gave up any chance at dignity and begged.

  “You’ll get no sympathy from me. Srinda told me the story, how you almost ruined his leg trying to steal from him. Then he not only buys you but treats you more like a guest than an unshuline. You’ve hurt him badly, Earther. Is this the way off-planet women act toward someone who is kind to them?”

  “I-I…” She shook her head, unable to even swallow against the pain in her heart. She tried to look over her shoulder, to find Dain, but Blackwell gave her a shove, and she staggered up the steps.

  On the stage, he stopped in front of a metal post, backed her up to it.

  She gasped when the welts on her bottom brushed the cold metal, and then she heard a click as something fastened to her wrist cuffs. Pulling her emotions under control, she looked up to meet hard blue eyes. “What will happen now?” She tried to move, but he’d locked her cuffs to the post.

  “Ah, more lessons for the Earther. Dain thought you might not like being taken over and over by strangers from moonset to moonrise, so you are designated to represent the goddess.” He knelt and buckled a cuff onto her ankle.

  “What does that mean?”

  “A man who can bring a goddess’s avatar to joy with his hands alone has good luck during the year.” He cuffed her other ankle. “Later tonight, rather than having shulin with all, the avatar of Artema gets to choose her mate.” He smiled at her coldly. “You will be taken tonight, but by only one, and you get to select whomever you wish.”

  She lifted her chin. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then as the host, I’ll use you myself.” His gaze ran across her body. “I’d not find it a hardship to bend you over and release into you, Earther. Dain has been my friend since I was seven, and I’ve never seen him look like this.”

  There was nothing she could say.

  “Spread your legs open,” he directed. “And keep them open.”

  She shook her head. “I will not.”

  His grin didn’t reach his eyes. “I love feisty slaves.” Walking over to a nearby pole, he grabbed a chain and returned to attach it to one ankle cuff. He did the same on the other side, ignoring how she’d clamped her legs together. After standing, he motioned to a burly man. “Take the right, Darwell. She refuses to place her feet for me, so I intend to spread her wide.”

  Darwell barked a laugh and walked over to the other pole. A second later, the chains tightened, inexorably dragging her legs apart, despite her efforts to keep them closed. Open…then more open…until her legs wouldn’t separate farther. Only her cuffs clamped to the post kept her balanced.

  A hand grasped her chin, tilting her head up to meet blue eyes with the warmth of a glacier. “A valuable lesson for you, unshuline. Anytime I am refused, there will be no further request, and I will take what I want without compassion. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, shivering with fear and embarrassment.

  “I like seeing you tremble, little slave.” He pulled a knife from a boot sheath, and she cringed. Rucking her gown together, he sliced it up the center in one stroke, then let the pieces fall down her arms. He stared, his lips curving. “No wonder Dain kept you to himself.” Callous fingers caressed her breasts, making her body go rigid. Burning heat sizzled through her as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples.

  “Don’t touch me, dammit.” She tried to jerk away but only succeeded in making her breasts shimmy within his grasp. He rolled one nipple between his fingers, and electricity shot straight to her clit. She bit back a moan and hissed instead, “You bastard, get your hands away from me.”

  Even knowing he might hit her couldn’t keep the words back. Blackwell glanced at something over her shoulder. She started to look, but he pinched her nipple—hard. When she gasped, a rolled-up cloth was shoved between her lips. She felt someone tie the gag behind her head.

  She let out a scream and heard only a muffled sound…and Blackwell’s laughter.

  “There’s a pretty pink color,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I’m going to touch you some more, and then I’ll leave you for the others, although I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit.” His thumb and fingers grasped her chin as he forced her to look at him. She felt his other hand stroking her intimately, probing at the lips of her pussy.

  Her eyes widened in shock. Heat flared inside her, and she dampened.

  Blackwell chuckled, watching her intently as he spread the wetness in increasingly wide circles over her labia and up over her clitoris.

  She jerked, struggled as his finger rubbed the nub in a demanding rhythm. She could feel her clit swell and harden, and a throbbing need grew inside her.

  “You’re a responsive one, all right,” he murmured. “Dain didn’t give you a strong dose, but he knows you well, doesn’t he?” With a low laugh, he released her face and stepped back.
Raising his voice, he announced, “This soft Earther is the avatar of Artema tonight. Pleasure her as you will.” Without another look, he walked away.

  No no no. She struggled against the bindings as two men approached. Typical Nexans, tall and dark haired, one had disconcertingly pale green eyes, the other had a white scar running down his face, with more white lines tracing across his hands and forearms and stomach. Clad in the usual loose black Nexan pants, they wore nothing to cover their heavily muscled chests.

  The scarred one caught her chin, turning her face from side to side. “She’s had a dose of aphrodica.”

  “There’s a patch above her cuff. She still doesn’t look too happy about this,” the other said. He eyed her. “But she’s a pretty little goddess.”

  “Well, Brother, let us do our duty to the goddess, then.” The scarred one licked his finger and circled her left nipple with a wet touch, sending fire through her body. When the other man did the same on her right breast, she arched uncontrollably. They laughed, and their rough hands fondled her breasts without hurting her. The pinches on her nipples stopped just short of pain; the scratching from callous fingers only increased her sensitivity. When they finally moved back, her breasts were swollen and tight, with red, distended peaks. Her body burned with need.

  “Good start,” the scarred one said. “We’ll continue. I’m not finished playing with these toys yet, so you may have the bottom.”

  Green eyes crinkled. “My pleasure…but not hers. Not yet.”

  As abrasive fingers closed on her nipples, she saw the green-eyed one kneel, and she shook her head and moaned.

  Firm fingers stroked through her folds. “I like how open she is,” he murmured. “Blackwell doesn’t usually chain them this tight.”

  Scarred One chuckled. “Maybe she annoyed him. He gagged her too.” His fingers pinched her nipple as he studied her face. “You must have quite a mouth on you, girl.”

  “Ah, but she has the softest maline, Brother.” A hand cupped her, brushing through her folds a few more times. Then his thick finger opened her, sliding into her. She made a sound, strained, trying to get away from him even as arousal shot through her. “By Mardun, I’d like to taste her.”