Vanquished

by Allyson Young

  “What convoluted thinking just passed through your mind?”

  Ah, now he was being condescending, paternal. Asshole. She forced a smile. “I’m still not interested in being your mate and broodmare.”

  His sensuous mouth flattened for an instant and his eyes iced over before he visibly collected himself. “Your body tells you—and me—otherwise, little warrior. I take exception to you referring to yourself in a deprecating manner. And you think too much. I expect it’s a combination of your military training and what you suffered at the hands of the Juxtant.”

  The shrug she attempted was spoiled by a shudder and Vayne scooped her up and held her close, his warm breath stirring the hair at her temple.

  “Share with me, Neira. The medic will administer whatever medication you require, but this thing festers in you.”

  “I don’t talk about it. I had therapy.” Her assertion came out muffled against his shoulder and while she knew she should be pulling away from him and keeping her distance, she couldn’t do it. She was back to feeling protected and safe.

  “We’ve extracted part of your medical file,” Vayne offered, and it gave her the strength to lean away and look at him. He made no apology for being so intrusive into her life and she eased apart to sit farther away than she thought he’d allow.

  “How did you get access to my information?”

  “Tools of the trade, the secrets of war. We keep our friends close and our enemies closer.”

  “But, the treaty.”

  He scoffed. “Your own experience tells you how honorable the old-world leaders actually are. Even the heads of the military have no honor. We will always have evidence of this.”

  She would have liked to delay further, but resigned herself to dealing with him sooner than later. “So you accessed my file.”

  He caught up her hand and pressed it between both of his, and she felt her pulse fluttering like a small bird in a living, warm cage. “They tried to erase your memories of captivity, but there was disagreement as to how successful they were. It makes me wonder why they were so desperate to cleanse your mind instead of heal it.”

  Tugging her hand free, she wrapped both arms around herself in a poor facsimile of a hug and forced her eyes to meet Vayne’s. Her breathing almost instantly slowed and her heart rate calmed. He stared back at her with openness and acceptance reflected in those turquoise orbs.

  Striving for a calm tone, like the one she used to report to her superiors, she said, “I learned what they did to Petrov. There were certain drugs I couldn’t avoid, the ones administered through intravenous, but I didn’t always take the others. So while I was sedated and met with any number of shrinks, all provided by the military, I was able to avoid a lot of the heavier stuff.”

  She didn’t add that she had allies amongst the hospital staff, soldiers like herself who did their best to keep her educated and updated as to what was planned for her. They were the ones who smuggled out Alexi’s files and information to others who secreted them so she would have leverage to secure her discharge. It had been a delicate balancing act but she’d succeeded, if not without considerable help. Neira hoped her friends and allies remained undiscovered and were safe.

  “You were interrogated extensively about your time with…the Juxtant.”

  Trepidation coiled in her belly and mounted swiftly. She was not thinking about that time. Nor sharing any part of it with him. “I don’t recall.”

  “Neira.” Once again it was as though he was looking straight into her inner self, learning all her secrets. “I suspect you possess something, some piece of knowledge perhaps those on the Home World either wish to obtain, or to keep you from sharing it with others.”

  Swallowing back an immediate negative response, a literal pain grinding in her head, she considered his supposition. He was basing it on certain facts that didn’t necessarily stand up to close scrutiny. The Outriders might be searching for someone else—or the pirate captain had been misled. There were a number of different explanations, and she preferred to believe them, regardless of a swirling sense of dread that Vayne was correct. She shook her head.

  “We will keep searching, and it may occur to you.”

  “I have so much to thank you for, Sovereign,” she retorted, sarcasm shoring up her denial. “Kidnapped, my future mapped out in a manner I’d have never entertained, and now you want me to think about a time in my life that…that will tear me apart.”

  She was nearly whispering toward the end of her attempted rant, and absurd tears welled. She scrubbed at them with the heels of her hands and Vayne wrapped her up again, tucking her head beneath his chin. Breathing in his scent, she settled in his arms and cautiously thought about that first day she’d made Baraith’s acquaintance.

  “Neira Grekov. Of the Orion Marines. So very few of you left. Two that we know of.” The Juxtant was big. Bigger than either Somar or Modeed, even though the vulpine features were the same, the wide, dark eyes with no pupils, soulless and cruel. It was like looking into the abyss. He wore his clothing with casual elegance on his tall, muscular body but she intuited the evil behind his trappings. She kept silent and wished there had been any kind of weapon to be fashioned from the objects in the room.

  “I am Baraith. Monarch Baraith.” At her sudden tension, he smiled, sharp teeth gleaming in the available light. “Ah, my reputation precedes me. Well deserved, I assure you. The Juxtant are losing this war, Neira Grekov. I find myself reevaluating my future in the little time I anticipate is left.”

  “What possible role can I play?” She could have slapped herself for responding.

  He’d been on her before she saw him move, a hand shoved into her hair to snag the short strands and yank her head back. His breath was fetid, hot, and she saw the craziness in his eyes. She regretted her offhand comment even more in that moment. She’d been afraid when at Modeed’s mercy but interrogation was expected. This was so very different. Modeed had a job to do, a goal to attain. Baraith had no use for her other than as something to use for his amusement, to toy with, break and discard. However long it took.

  “You’ll entertain me as I make my preparations. Alleviate my boredom.” His tiny smirk worried her more than any leer or ignorant comment would have. The casual way he shoved her away underscored how weak and incapable she actually was, worn down by the torture and lack of food and water, not to mention the anguish of losing her troopers. Her cleanliness and fresh clothing was but a thin veneer, and one that had given her false hope, cleverly chosen so this psycho could rip it away.

  Baraith sauntered to the door but paused before exiting. “The other Marine? His name is Petrov. I believe the two of you will provide an excellent distraction.”

  There was no need to relive the memories of the ensuing days. The human body tended to forget the pain inflicted on it, but the mental and emotional aspects were a different matter. If it had only been Neira…but Petrov was part of it and used as a most effective tool to break her down. Alexi Petrov shouldn’t have made the Corps with his slender build and girlish good looks, but those very attributes hid a remarkable Marine, tough and resilient, and very talented in combat. But it was his appearance that drew Baraith, and Neira found she’d do anything to save him from that sick bastard’s attentions. And Baraith had known it from the beginning. And in the end Petrov wasn’t tough or resilient enough.

  Letting those memories go, surprised at how she could view them so dispassionately, she answered Vayne. “I don’t remember anything that would mean something to the Home World. The time I spent with Baraith didn’t exactly involve talking strategy or politics.” She sounded matter-of-fact, as though the things that had taken place were…distanced somehow. Like they had happened to someone else. Even her body felt relaxed and under control.

  A big hand stroked down her back and up again. Vayne’s deep voice rumbled above her. “Was there anyone else there? Besides you and Petrov?”

  Flickers of Petrov begging Baraith not to punish her for som
e imagined infraction on his part teased her mind and she forced them aside, deep sadness coloring the memories as she accepted that she hadn’t saved Petrov in the end. Worse, she’d undermined his male ego and natural need to protect the vulnerable—women and children—by negating his sacrifice and asking for the torture instead. Because he was her trooper and she, his sergeant. Time-honored roles that meant nothing in the long run. Tears welled up again and there were too many to brush away. Neira truly wept for the first time in forever, maybe since she was a child, and a part of her wondered that she was comfortable weeping in this alien’s arms. He didn’t speak again, merely shifted her closer and offered that comfort, his big body supporting her without any discernible effort.

  When she thought past the perverted innovations Baraith initiated almost every day, forcing her to pull rank on her trooper to spare him irreparable physical harm, she delved deep and recalled Somar inserting himself into the room on occasion. The monarch had been irritated by the interruption—the alien didn’t share his amusements with others—but had settled when his procurer whispered a name or gestured to someone hovering outside the door. Baraith would abandon his twisted play and vanish for hours, sometimes not returning for a few days, giving both Neira and Petrov time to regroup, or pray for release. Alexi had come to hate her in the end…

  She was exhausted, sucked dry, and no closer to fulfilling Vayne’s speculation. “There wasn’t anyone there I recall. Somar was there, and he spoke some names to Baraith but I can’t remember them. But whomever it was must have been an equal—or somebody he needed.”

  “It may come to you,” he soothed. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m okay. Tired.” It was very peculiar. Normally, even traversing the edges of those memories created panic attacks that immobilized her, so she avoided that at all costs. Perhaps it was the medication. Or maybe it’s Vayne. And maybe it could be any Shadalla who thought her to be his chosen.

  “Do you wish to sleep? Or would you care to dress and walk with me?”

  “Leave the cabin?” She sounded pathetically hopeful, and it wasn’t only to put some distance between them.

  His chest rumbled with laughter. “Yes, Neira. I understand how confined you have felt, but I believe you are well enough to move about.”

  Even though he didn’t acknowledge the primary reason she was confined, Neira found she really didn’t want to fight with him. Not that she was going to acquiesce and become his lifemate, actually bear his children. A vision of a toddler, big for his age, with Vayne’s golden skin and amazing eyes sprang, lifelike, into her mind, and she blinked rapidly to fragment the picture. No. Not Ever. She was going to withstand him, refuse him and lead her own life. The lonely, empty life she’d known to expect after gaining her freedom from the military.

  He didn’t insist she wear the paca. Instead he provided another floor-length shift, the soft material covering her completely, from throat to toes, and a thought occurred. “Is this the normal apparel on Nibiru?”

  Vayne’s eyes flickered and she braced for a lie. “No. You would be veiled and hooded as well.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We are evolved, Neira, from the predators we once were, but that doesn’t change the fact some of our less disciplined males react…strongly…to females, whether or not they are their chosen. Especially now that there are so few of them. Home World women are particularly appealing, and those of us fortunate enough to have found our brides cherish and protect them.”

  “Oh, spare me.” She remembered hearing of the customs of other cultures on Earth before the blending, and what Vayne shared smacked of fundamentalism with a hefty dash of misogyny. “I’ll never hide myself away like that.”

  “Then you’ll remain in my home.” Oh, he was acting the boss of her, and it rankled. The idea of being cherished and protected—he’d spoken of that before—burbled in her head like a sweet, refreshing stream on a hot day, but there were too many strings attached.

  “You forget I haven’t agreed to be your—” She almost said broodmare but realized she was already treading on thin ice. And she really wanted to leave the cabin.

  “You haven’t, little warrior. But I am hopeful.” He didn’t look hopeful. He looked as though it was a done deal and so she stuck the needle in.

  “Your kind lack self-control.”

  When he drew himself up and loomed over her, she supposed it should have been intimidating, but his features no longer reminded her of Baraith, and while Vayne could make her captivity uncomfortable, she had absolutely no fear for her safety. Her physical safety. Her emotional well-being was another matter, because damned if she didn’t want to retract her little dig.

  “Insinuating there are major difference between our species is frivolous, Neira, and a distraction you utilize when you feel threatened. I am certain you don’t fear me, so why push so hard? As for self-control, we pride ourselves on possessing that quality.” His smooth voice once again covered that underlying steel resolve.

  “Then why cover the women?”

  “Come. I grow tired of this pointless conversation.” He reached to draw her to her feet.

  Yanking her arm away, she shook her head. “You either don’t trust your brethren or you don’t trust your lifemates. I wonder which it is?”

  Neira stood without Vayne’s help and slipped around him to approach the door. The silence drew out. Then he was behind her, one big hand stretching to authorize the lock to open. He didn’t speak as they made their way down the corridor, although he kept her close and she could feel the unsettled emotions rolling off of him. His crew treated him with respect but didn’t fawn, and she liked that. He was a natural leader, at least her kind of leader, as the war stories had indicated. She didn’t want to approve of him, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

  Her outfit was quite comfortable, affording her ease of movement and keeping her warm yet allowing her skin to breathe. The idea of having her head and face covered made her sweat a bit, however, and she moved a little quicker at the thought.

  “Neira?”

  Alarmed at how he picked up on every little nuance, even away from the confines of his cabin, she pretended not to hear him, craning her neck to feign an interest in one of the display panels.

  Slipping an arm around her waist, he tucked her against him as they moved along. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” She smiled and tried not to melt against him. She was so not a girl.

  The warmth of his breath stirred the longer tendrils of hair on her crown and she was again reminded of how big he was, despite her own above-average height—for the women of her species. “How tall are Shadalla females?”

  Vayne halted in his tracks and she stuttered to one beside him, having no choice, given his hold on her. He looked down at her and lifted a brow. “Perhaps two handsbreadth taller than you, and they are even more athletic. As a rule they are heavier with larger breasts and rounder…hips. And aside from a lack of body hair, Earth and Shadalla females are alike in their genital anatomy.”

  TMI. Neira didn’t care to think about what he preferred. She was comfortable with her sparse landing strip of curls, close cropped out of habit, like the hair on her head. Keeping clean on the battlefield wasn’t the easiest thing, and soldiers had enough to worry about without personal hygiene being an issue. So she merely nodded to indicate she’d heard the information and decided not to ask anything more along those lines. Besides, it felt ever more intimate, talking and sharing with her captor. Your husband. Your lifemate. She struggled against the little voice.

  Noting how the crew observed her was next on her list of things to do, anxious to determine if she might truly be in need of protection. The big males did indeed cast their gazes over her, thoroughly and with great interest, but she detected no hint of salacious intent from any of them. And Neira was a master at recognizing such things. There was, perhaps, regret in their regard and even envy. That, she could understand, considering the dearth of ava
ilable Shadalla females, and no doubt all women would garner looks and appraisal, but there was nothing disrespectful she could detect. Armed with her observations, Neira was going to pursue her earlier challenge with the sovereign at another time.

  Vayne steered her in the crew’s mess and helped her into a chair. It should have grated against her independent spirit, but that part was taking a vacation, because the rest of her appreciated his chivalry—and wanted to preen in the face of it. Had she always had this need to be cared for so solicitously? Cherished, Vayne called it. There had never been the opportunity so perhaps he was awakening it.

  “I will bring refreshment.”

  Neira watched him stride toward the galley and appreciated his fine form. She found herself smiling, something she did so rarely even before her time on Ureses. Her body had been aware of him since the beginning and totally stirred to life that first time she’d seen him naked and erect, hard for her. But since then she’d been simmering, like a pot on the stove, ready and waiting for whatever flavor of the day required its contents. Her emotional instability had taken precedence earlier, allowed her to manage and sometimes ignore the sensuality Vayne effortlessly oozed for the most part, but now her arousal was boiling over. Her breasts weighed heavier, the nipples pricking into tight nubs, and the saddle between her thighs, all plump folds and slick juices, couldn’t be ignored. Yet ignore it she must, because she understood there would be no quick fuck, no mutual satisfaction of primal urges with Lord Vayne Palldyn, Sovereign of the Southern Range, planet Nibiru. Unrequited lust shouldn’t make the middle of her chest ache, and she rubbed at it surreptitiously, shifting her weight to squeeze her legs together.

  The last time she’d had sex was maybe a month before that last battle, a long time ago for many, but Neira hadn’t had even the slightest urge to pleasure herself, let alone seek out a partner since being rescued. The time in therapy had equally doused any thought of sexual intimacy…and the memories that leaked past the drugs had stomped anything rising from the ashes of her butchered libido, flat.