Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series)

by Cade, Cathryn

  The LodeStar Series

  Book 2,

  Creed of Pleasure:

  The Space Miner’s Concubine

  LodeStar Series, Book Two

  Published by Cathryn Cade

  Copyright 2013 Cathryn Cade

  Cover by Gilded Heart Designs

  Edited by Red Circle Ink

  ISBN: 978-0-9889469-2-7

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at cathryncade@cathryncade.com.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.cathryncade.com

  Dedicated

  to Jessa Slade @ RedCircleInk,

  for her peerless editing & insightful ideas

  to Donna Antonio

  for being the reader every author hopes to find

  and

  to Corrina Holmes

  for her fabulous beta reading skills.

  Chapter One

  Frontiera City, Frontiera

  Kiri te Nawa set out a plate of cookies on the table where Stark and his youngest brother sat, mugs of hot coffee before them. Stark’s Frontiera home overlooked the gentle southern coastline and the blue expanse of the Southern Sea.

  The coffee was Pangaean dark, the finest grade available and what she’d be serving in her new coffee shop at the Frontiera City spaceport and possibly more locations in the future. She’d brewed it herself in Stark’s new coffee press, ordered just for her.

  He was spoiling her, to make up for her ordeal, she knew.

  She accepted this, because once Logan Stark was set on a course of action it was extremely difficult to deter him. Also, she felt she deserved it. Weeks on a creaky old scow of a spacecraft run by near-pirates had left their mark on her. She was eating and sleeping more than usual, recovering her strength and equilibrium.

  She was not, despite his clear desire that she do so, sleeping with him or giving him any indication when or if this might resume. Instead she was focusing on what she wanted to do with her life, and on whether she wanted Stark to be a part of that. The hurt over what he’d done while he thought she’d betrayed him ran deep—much too deep to deal with quickly.

  She’d been on planet only a few weeks. This was the first time she’d met Creed, Stark’s youngest brother, in person. Although he was quiet, watchful and reserved, she liked him at once. He had Stark’s beautiful manners and when she spoke, he focused on her with the full force of his bright azure gaze. That, combined with his tall, lean body and handsome, boyish face made him very attractive.

  Now Creed turned that rapt attention on the plump cookies, laden with chunks of chocolate and nuts. “What are those?”

  “Cookies. Have one.” She pushed the plate closer to him. The poor guy had been in the wilds too long if he didn’t remember cookies.

  The lean man took one of the flaky treats in his big hand. He examined it, sniffed it and then carefully took a bite. His eyes widened, and he took another bite—a huge one. A look of bliss came over his face as he chewed. “Mm-mm.”

  Kiri exchanged a look with Stark. He shook his head at her, although he looked pleased. “You’ve created a monster,” he told her. “I hope you’ve more of those hidden somewhere.”

  Creed merely raised his brows at his brother as he grabbed two more of the cookies. “You can buy more. And so can I. I’m taking as many of these back with me as I can buy. Where’d you get them?”

  “Rose Masterson’s new bakery. Maybe she’ll share her recipe,” Kiri teased.

  The warrior grimaced, his mouth full again. “My housekeeper can do muffins and breads, but she’s not much for sweets. I’ll have to ship these in.”

  Kiri stared. “Ship in cookies?” Creed lived on a frontier outpost, a mine that was a few hours away even in a fast cruiser. How much credit would that cost him?

  Stark chuckled and reached over to touch her hand. “That’s how things are done here, kitten. Plenty of credit, not many places to spend it. Hard-working settlers are willing to pay for what they want.”

  She was still watching Creed. “You won’t send a pilot just for these … will you?”

  He looked at the rest of the cookies on the plate. “Worth it, but no. Always have supplies coming in, ore coming out.”

  “What about coffee?”

  He shrugged. “Still importing from Pangaea, but I hear they’re growing it experimentally in the south.”

  “If it grows here, you’ll have a new supply of beans on planet,” Stark reminded her.

  She nodded demurely but her heart beat faster. Not having to import coffee beans would cut costs astronomically. She could expand her new coffee shop to a whole chain of shops in other settlements. She’d make a fortune. Then, when Stark’s men found Kai, she could make a comfortable home for him. Neither she nor her brother would ever want for anything again. And they’d be together.

  Maybe she’d even invest in one of those coffee farms.

  Creed rose. “Thanks for the meal and the cookies. Sorry to eat and cruise, but I have supplies to pick up and now a bakery to visit.”

  “Glad you made it in,” Stark said. “I’ll be out in a few weeks, visit the mine, spend the night. Kiri too, if she’s interested.”

  “I am,” she agreed. “I’ve never seen a mine.”

  “Hole in the ground,” Creed said.

  She gave him a quick look and saw that his blue eyes held a latent twinkle. “Oh, you,” she said. “I’m thinking it’s a bit more high tech than that.”

  “It is,” Stark assured her. “Very high tech.”

  Creed said goodbye, and Stark walked him out. When he returned to the dining area, Kiri was putting away the rest of the cookies. She looked at him.

  “I like your brother. He needs a Natan.” Natan was Stark’s butler and cook.

  “He needs ... someone.” Stark’s gaze was thoughtful.

  Had Kiri only known the trouble her innocent remark would spark, she would never have spoken.

  * * *

  New Seattle, Earth II

  Taara Ravel was going to die, alone in a cold, dark, wet alley.

  Well, not really alone, because the thugs who had sprung out of the inky shadows were clearly sentient beings. But they certainly didn’t count as anyone who would care about her passing, except as a task accomplished. One fashion sales clerk raped and murdered—check!

  All because she’d brought out Daanel’s trash. The disposal chute was plugged, so she’d opened the back door of Le Chic D to toss it on the pile herself. Now she dropped the bioplastic pac of garbage and leapt for the door into the crowded back room of the boutique, terror lending speed to her already quick reflexes.

  But one of them was faster.

  “Get her!” A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back from the door. Taara let out a cry of pain as she was slammed back against the closed hatch, the huge hand now at her throat, gripping so tightly she could hardly breathe. The one breath she managed filled her nostrils with a noxious stench of unwashed animal and sour clothing.

  Oh goddess no, a Mauritanian. The huge beings were known for their barbarity and lack of any semblance of compassion. They were barred from most cities on the planet
, but some still found a way in.

  Taara hung, choking and struggling, as the second figure loomed close, foul breath damp on her face.

  “Listen, girl. Tell your cousin he pays, or this shop is next. Get it?”

  Taara tried to speak, but could emit only a gargle. They were from the gang who’d been attempting to extort Daanel’s credit? She wasn’t going to die? At least not yet.

  In a horrible way, knowing they were the extortionists who’d been defacing the shop with acidgel spray-painted threats was a relief. Although they might decide to flatten her the way they had Daanel’s little hovie—it had been a smear of bright green on the landing pad, as if an aerotank had been set down on it.

  She struggled to speak, could not, so tried to nod instead. She clawed at the brawny arm holding her, fought to bring up her legs, although they were trapped between a broad body and the hatch. Anything to loosen the grip on her throat. She was suffocating, her lungs begging for air.

  “Let up a bit, you big skrog, you’ll kill her.”

  The hand on her throat loosened and she sucked in a loud, hoarse breath.

  “Yeah, we don’t wanna kill her,” the one holding her rumbled in a cruel parody of affection. “How about we take turns with her instead? She’s a tasty little Serp girl. I like Serps, they can fuck all night and still take more.”

  Taara sucked in another precious breath, hands clawed, ready to fight as long as she breathed, even with terror shuddering through her. No, please goddess, not back to rape. Females died from Mauritanian assault.

  Oh, why had she ventured out of the shop? New Seattle was a hotbed of crime, but events had been escalating lately, with so many out of work and outworlders brought in to fill the available jobs. Gangs and crooked unions battled at night in the streets, while the overworked police struggled to keep order.

  The gangers were growing bolder by the day. Extortion was the new payday. As a shop-owner, Daanel had become a target weeks ago. The links sent to his com promised worse if he didn’t send a large amount of credit to a blind account.

  Daanel, a slender, brash but quirky Serpentian who lived a life of fashion, work and partying, went supernova. He linked the police, he linked the local news reporters, many of whom shopped at his boutique, he rallied the neighbors in his bohemian but fun neighborhood.

  The police showed, were grim but not optimistic in a city ridden with crime of every kind and with roaming gangs. The news reporters were apologetic—this was not big enough news. The neighbors were frightened they would be next, so backed away.

  When his apartment was broken into and most of his furnishings and belongings destroyed or stolen, Taara had insisted he move in with her. Tight quarters in her small apartment, but her neighborhood was a little better than his, being farther from the docks.

  She’d also begun commuting straight to Daanel’s boutique after her own job at an exclusive boutique and spa, lending him help and moral support. On this planet where chaos seemed always a heartbeat away, family was the core to which they clung.

  “If you—let me go—he’ll pay,” she managed. Anything to get free.

  Fetid Breath shoved his face near hers again and drove his hand between her legs, cupping her in a lewd, painful grip. “If he doesn’t pay, we’ll do both of you, Serp girl. And then we’ll give you to the others. You won’t like them—they’re not nice, like us.”

  The one holding her laughed. “Nice like us. Good one, Arb.”

  “No names, skrog-brain. All right, let her go. And get the door, like a gentleman.”

  “What’s a … whatchu said?”

  “Never mind, you idiot. Just do as I say.”

  With a rumble of anger, the Mauritanian dropped Taara. She fell to her hands and knees, coughing and gagging. Each move of her bruised throat burned like acid.

  “Give your cousin our message,” warned the smaller thug. “We know where you live and where you work, so don’t think you can hide from us.”

  The Mau opened the door, used his huge booted foot to shove Taara inside and slammed the hatch after her.

  She lay on the floor among shipping containers, racks and stacks of merchandise and shook, breath sobbing through her bruised throat, tears of rage, fear and helplessness burning her eyes.

  “Taara?” called Daanel from the front of the boutique. “Was that the door? Where are you, sweetie?”

  Light, quick footsteps, then his loud gasp of shock. “Taary! Goddess, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh goddess, what happened?”

  He dropped to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms, patting her for injuries. “Okay, I’m linking the police and parameds. Hang on, sweetie, hang on. I’ve got you.”

  He linked, while Taara did as he said and hung on. Not much else she could do at the moment.

  When he was finished talking he laid his cheek on her hair. “Taary, you went out back—why? I told you to leave the trash for morning, that alley is dangerous. Anybody could be hiding out there—and they were.”

  “I know,” she croaked. “Should’ve listened to you. Oh, D, we h-have to get out of here. Now.”

  “Out of here?” Her cousin, his narrow face pale under his golden Serpentian coloring, cast a wild look around the storeroom. “Is there a bomb?”

  “No. I mean we have to get out of this city.”

  “Okay.” His face crumpled. “Oh, goddess, I shouldn’t have involved you in my mess. Taary, did they … rape you or hurt you?”

  “Just my throat,” she insisted. “But you’re next, D. We have to get away from New Seattle.”

  And she was going to make sure that happened. No matter whom she had to beg for help.

  She knew just where to start. With the wealthiest, most powerful man she knew—Logan Stark.

  Chapter Two

  Taara Ravel stared at the man hovering via holovid image in the middle of her tiny sitting room. She sat on her small sofa, amid brightly hued cushions and even a holovid vista of dunes in a Serpentian desert, blue sky soaring above. The app had been expensive, but so worth it. Each time she looked at the golden sands she felt again the freedom of her childhood, playing under the burning sun.

  She was not enjoying their effect now.

  “You want me to … what?” she asked. Her voice rasped through her dry throat, still sore from the attack. The bruises were hidden underneath a cheap but fashionable scarf.

  Logan Stark’s face remained calm despite her reaction. “I believe I was quite clear. I want you to seduce my youngest brother.”

  That’s what Taara thought he’d said. She was just having trouble believing he’d said it. Logan Stark, space magnate and owner of the galaxy’s newest space cruise line, wanted her, a fashion sales clerk, to agree to prostitute herself … with his brother?

  What kind of man even conceived an idea like that, much less proposed it as calmly as if he were suggesting she link the man for a date?

  She swallowed hard as her stomach cramped with nauseating force. Most of the fluids in her body seemed to be roiling in her middle.

  She’d been nervous about this interview, frightened even, but she’d worried Stark wouldn’t remember who she was, or that she wouldn’t get through his many layers of security and assistants. Or that when she finally did, it would be too late.

  Never this.

  “In return,” Stark went on, his deep voice smooth, “I’ll do as you’ve asked. I’ll make sure you and your cousin Daanel are safe from whoever is threatening you on Earth II by moving both of you—and his clothing boutique—to Frontiera.”

  Taara shook her head, hoping the motion would clear the thick, noxious New Seattle fog, which had apparently settled in her brain. “I—I thought you’d help us,” she accused, hurt pushing up her throat in a thick, suffocating layer. She swallowed hard, forcing it back.”We’re Kiri’s friends.”

  At the mention of his mistress, Stark’s face softened a little—at least she thought it did. But he continued to regard Taara with that enigmatic gaze, the same st
eely gray as the fog.

  “This is why I’m prepared to help you. But as Kiri herself will tell you, I never do anything without a price of some kind.”

  Taara could believe that all too well. She set her jaw, afraid if she spoke she’d scream obscenities at him. One thing was for sure, when this little interview was over, she was going to link Kiri and tell her a thing or two about her lover, or patron or whatever he was.

  When he waited without speaking, she lifted her hands helplessly. “Why … why do you want me? There must be plenty of beautiful, experienced courtesans you could hire.”

  Women who were willing to use their bodies to make their way in the galaxy.

  She was not. Just the thought sent chills over her skin and deep inside her, to join the nausea. She felt as if she’d been given bad gesics or drunk too many blue stars, her favorite club drink—except that she did not feel the lovely, floating sensation the drink gave her. Instead, she felt like screaming.

  He nodded politely. “A fair question. I want you precisely because you are not a courtesan. You are warm-hearted, loyal, amusing and beautiful. That’s what my brother needs, not the practiced attentions of a professional.”

  Taara scowled. He may have just complimented her, but she still wanted to get her legs around his business-suited neck and squeeze until he choked. She could do it, too. Half-Serpentian, she knew some awesome fighting moves. She’d show him amusing.

  And anyway, what kind of repulsive troll needed his big brother to get him a woman, even if he did live at a remote mining outpost? Stark owned a fleet of space ships, didn’t he? His brother could probably have a stream of females in and out every week, if he wished.

  She’d narrowly escaped rape at the hands of the gangers who had delivered their warning in the alley behind Daanel’s shop. To be forced to have sex with another male, a stranger, did not seem much better.

  Ignoring her shudder of distaste, or perhaps because of it, Logan Stark reached out one large, manicured hand, manipulating a com unit on the gleaming expanse of desk before him.