by Jaide Fox
Bastard.
Her scalp stung as her fist tightened on her drying hair. The heat vent made her skin feel scorched with the added fire of her anger. Orcha released the twisted tendril she’d clenched in her fingers, trying to calm down. Anger and regret, depression and sadness. Was she doomed to feel nothing else but misery?
She would not as long as these thoughts filled her mind.
Finally, realizing her hair was as dry as it would get, she stood from beneath the blower and tightened the belt of the azure robe Torin had provided her with. Beneath it, she wore nothing—at his insistence. She was to be part of the show, a display of erotic art to titillate the voracious crowd.
Disgusting mongrels.
Torin regarded her and smiled. “You look lovely, even with that angry slant to your eyebrows. Do you not ever smile or is a frown the most you can conjure on your face?”
She flattened her face into a deadpan. “I have nothing to smile about.”
Torin took her hand, standing nearly eye to eye with her. She hadn’t realized they were almost the same height. He reached up to touch her chin but she turned her face. “My beautiful, angry Amazon warrioress.”
She wanted to pull away from his touch. His hands felt rough and warm on her hands, not unlike the last man to put hands upon her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Torin sighed. “Ancient cultures and legends. I’ve had many lonely nights, spent reading and pouring through books of other worlds. It is a passion of mine.”
“Your mother must be proud,” she said, and when the smile fell from his face replaced by a frown, a wave of guilt rushed over her.
“Let us go and get this over with,” she said.
Torin punched a keypad and the door slid open. “You’ve no idea of what we’re walking into or you would not be so hasty. Or so rude.”
Chapter Five
There were three sets of double doors marking the entrance into the main hall. Silvered metal etched with ornate scenes of trees and high spired buildings reminded Orcha of the outside world she’d seen briefly when she landed upon Antares.
Torin led her to the first set of doors and pushed them open. Almost at once, her ears were assaulted with the din of hundreds, perhaps a thousand voices all chattering at once. Dinnerware, utensils, and glassware clinked as servants waited upon circular tables filled with Antarian guests. Interspersed with those were ShadeShifters and their mates.
She saw the men dressed in loincloths, leaving their muscular, tattooed bodies more exposed than covered.
The pale, blue skinned Antarians seemed to have been awaiting their arrival. Along the furthest wall was a dais, reserved for guests of the highest class, dignitaries and the like.
Torin took her hand, enclosing her cold fingers in the warmth of his palm as he tugged her along behind him straight to the stage. She stumbled up the three wide steps, feeling embarrassed even though nothing yet had happened.
She saw, now, what he had planned. Arching high above were dangling chains from the twenty foot high ceiling. White globes glowing with soft, color changing lights dotted the vaulted ceiling, making the silver chains sparkle with life.
“You will not hurt me, will you?” she asked Torin quietly when he centered her beneath the chains.
“I thought you demanded pain and punishment? Have you changed your mind? Should I beat you in front of the gathering so they know you are roundly subdued and complacent?” Torin said in a husky voice for her ears alone.
She swallowed. It was one thing to suffer in private, but to be publicly beat? “Please,” she begged, feeling fear rise along with the heat of the tattoo on her back.
Torin smiled and touched her lips. “We perform a show. I will not hurt you. I promise.”
She nodded, shivering as he pulled the long belt from her waist and dropped it to the side. Watching her face, he took the edges of her robe in his fingers--and keeping his eyes steadily on hers—parted the silky fabric from her chest.
The slide of silk over her bare skin felt as delicious as a kiss. Air prickled along her nerves, making her nipples pucker and tighten as the robe slipped off her shoulders and puddled on the floor around her feet.
Torin’s dark brown eyes bore into her, making heat flush her chest and face. He mesmerized her with his gaze.
Beyond, the sounds of the crowd dimmed in her mind. The lights over the crowd lowered. Over the dais above them, the globes slowed their changing colors—remaining a warm yellow that burnished her skin in gold.
A servant brought a small table and sat it behind them. On it, the servant set a black velvet bag.
Torin lingered a breath longer then turned from her and strode to the table. He emptied the black bag, revealing long and short lengths of silk in red and black.
Returning to her, he touched her lips with his forefinger then slowly drew it down, over her chin and neck and along one collarbone. He traced a path down her arm and encircled her wrist and moved behind her with slow deliberateness.
She realized his exaggerated and sensual movements were a part of the show. Her body came alive at the slight touches, the caress of his rough fingers as he stood behind her and took her other wrist and drew both hands to cross behind her back with her fingers pointing up.
The moment he wove the silk between and around her wrists, she released a pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she held. Her breasts rose and fell as she tried to calm the quickening beat of her heart. She clenched her fingers, feeling the blood rush into her arms as he tightened the binding just enough to keep her from breaking free.
Circling back around, he took her shoulders and guided her to the floor, making her sit on her knees in supplication. She lowered her face, heated and nervous, fluttering and alive as he wound first one black length of silk in a crossing pattern around her breasts and stomach and then red.
The X pattern made her breasts plump and swell, pinched in her waist, and brought blood rushing to the surface. Her pulse threaded strong and vibrant.
His hands found the back of her neck, gathering her hair up to reveal her face to the crowd. Her cheeks flamed at the vulnerability, the lack of her hair to shield her from their scrutiny. She could see their faces, rapt and curious, watching and missing nothing.
Orcha closed her eyes to them, concentrating on the feel of his hands as he caught all the tendrils of hair and tied them in a bundle on the top of her head. The dangling ends continued to tickle her face, but he’d removed the barrier to allow his audience a view of her tumultuous emotions.
“The face betrays so much,” he murmured in a voice husky with desire. “Agony and ecstasy are one and the same, my warrior woman.”
His deep voice caught her attention and she opened her eyes to find him watching her.
“Shall I continue?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” she said, swallowing with an effort.
Determination made his face look hard in thought. He kept flashing his eyes up to hers, checking on her comfort, the effect each knot had on her, each tie as it was added to her body.
Torin straightened from his knelt position on the floor and raised a hand to the ceiling as the chains were lowered to his awaiting palm. From there, he wound more ties between the last loop of the chain and her back. She couldn’t see them, but she felt them as they were added and tightened.
Suddenly, the weight of her body shifted. The bindings around her chest and waist constricted, forcing her to breath in shallow gasps.
Murmurs in the crowd increased, chattering as she was hauled up from the dais and dangled like a jeweled pendant before them.
Torin moved faster now, twining one leg to the other, always alternating his colors. Below her knees, her calves came together, then her ankles and then he bent her legs and connected her ankles to her waist.
Why was he breathing so harsh, so heavy? She wondered. Was he as affected as she? He had to be.
He was close enough she could see a sheen of sweat on the muscled expans
e of his chest and stomach. The scattering of hair that pointed down his belly drew her eye to his loincloth, and she could see he was semi-erect.
The observation caused a ripple of arousal to rush through her veins and center deep in her belly. She bit her lip, stifling a moan as his hands touched her thighs and he centered her before the crowd.
Torin grabbed her chin, resting his head against her forehead. His lips neared her lips, and the breath of his lungs seared her, making her yearn for his kiss. He controlled himself and straightened, turning to the crowd, he spun her for all eyes to see.
“Watch them, my beauty. Do not close your eyes. They are here to see you, Orcha,” he said, husky and hot in her ear before he spun her slowly once more. “You have a life worth living, if only you could see it,” he whispered.
Orcha willed her eyes to look at them. Seeing their favorable expressions and interest made her feel like a living piece of art, but more than that, the way Torin looked at her stirred a fire within.
She thought about his words, taking them to heart.
Finished with his display, he eased her back to the floor, taking as much care remove the ties as he had winding them on. The brush of his fingers against her skin made her tingle with anticipation.
Her hands were the last to be freed, and he gathered her in his arms and brought her against his chest. Forced into close proximity, she could hear him breathing, just barely, above the chaotic clapping of the audience. The scent of his clean skin enveloped her with spicy, masculine deliciousness.
The hand on her back felt warm and reassuring, rubbing circles around the tattoo on her spine. He seemed to want to block the crowd from the moment, tenderly placing a hand on top of her head and unleashing the twists of her hair to scatter around her shoulders and hide her face. Torin brushed his lips against her forehead—an act of tenderness that surprised her.
The move left her feeling strange and confused.
He released her enough to drag her robe back up and around her body, then took her hands and helped her to her feet. The bowed before the audience, and she blushed to see and hear the crowd’s approval.
She wanted to despise Torin for making her feel vulnerable and awakened to emotions other than grief and anger, but it took too much effort to stir at the present.
Chapter Six
Orcha followed Torin to their table, girding her nerves now that she walked amongst the gathering.
She noticed not even a dozen of the women she’d been enslaved with were at the gathering, and wondered if they just hadn’t arrived yet or if they were being kept busy elsewhere. As she was seated that she noted they were garbed in practically nothing—or just enough to entice their mates to look at them and nothing else. She realized she shouldn’t feel shy about her body or the display Torin had made of her for one and all. She hadn’t, really, been uncomfortable about being naked—she was fit and had nothing to be ashamed of or anything particularly remarkable about her.
In her eyes, she was a normal, typical female except for the untreatable virus that had bound itself to her DNA.
What had bothered her, though, was the emotional response she’d had in giving up total control to him.
Torin gave her a quizzical look but remained silent and watched her eat. Even that act seemed intimate with his lingering gaze.
Orcha picked at her food, saying nothing as she nibbled morsels of cheese and fruit.
Kittana arrived, pulled along by her mate, and dressed in little more than dangling jewelry.
Kittana spared her a look, but the dark blond, angry eyed man commanded the red headed woman’s attention. There was something between them already, though Orcha could not put her finger upon what that might be.
The man tugged at a gold collar around the female’s throat, pulling her into his lap. He turned to Torin. “I see you enjoy the spoils of battle, Torin.”
Orcha lifted her chin, immediately resenting the assumption that she was some prize to be won and tamed—even if it was, technically, true. She could tell by the tone in his voice that he was the kind of man she despised.
Torin gave a chuckle and pulled Orcha from her chair into his lap. “Indeed. Though my tall Amazon warrioress is a hard broken prize. Aren’t you, Orcha?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Orcha grit her teeth, giving him an evil eye as she nodded in pretense and took a morsel of meat in her fingers.
She could feel Kittana watching her reaction through introductions.
Torin bared his teeth, clearly enjoying aggravating her. The man had a sick sense of humor. “I enjoy it so much more when they resist. It makes their submission so much sweeter,” Torin said, grabbing her wrist and nibbling the food from her fingers.
Orcha stared at him, caught somewhere between anger and arousal at the feel of his warm lips sucking at the sensitive tips of her fingers.
She opted for righteous indignation.
When he released her hand, she picked up a slice of cheese and stuffed it in his mouth to choke him off from further talk. He bit her finger in warning, making her draw her hand back from the sting.
He licked his lips, holding steady with her gaze.
“More,” he said, “I’m famished for your attention, my warrior woman. I might just eat you if you continue to starve me.”
“Are you incapable of feeding yourself?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably on his hard thighs.
He grunted, planting a hand on her lap to hold her still. “Your coccyx is digging into my leg.”
She wiggled again, digging her butt bone into his thigh with purpose. “Perhaps if you allowed me to return to my seat you could be more comfortable.”
“But then I would miss the sweet pleasure to be had from your fingertips,” Torin said.
“I scrubbed the floor of your bathroom before we came here,” she gritted out through a toothy, too sweet smile as she offered him a bright orange slice of star fruit.
He wrapped his tongue around it and scooped with his lips. “You lie,” he said. “I taste no foulness on your delicious skin.”
She arched a brow. “Do you make a habit of licking the floors then, that you’d know I have not been cleaning?”
Torin laughed. “I believe you are piqued with hunger, or you would not be so feisty. Here, it is my turn to feed you. Watch the teeth, my dear.”
Orcha rolled her eyes and ate from fingers.
He leaned close to her ear. “Would you like to know where my hands have been?”
She practically choked. Actually, she did choke. Orcha coughed and clutched her chest then gave him an angry look at his amusement at her expense. “Where?” she strangled on her question.
“Only on your exquisite skin. The ties. What did you expect me to say?” he said, waggling his brows.
She glared. “You are a sick man.”
He fingered a tendril of her hair with growing familiarity. “I’ve never denied that I am not.”
The excited murmuring of the crowd surrounded them, breaking through Torin’s incessant teasing. Servants bearing enormous crystal clear pitchers on their shoulders mingled through the tables.
Orcha watched the amber liquid slosh as servants bent and poured. Filling empty glasses with the golden fluid, the scent of citrus filled the air.
“They bring the drink early tonight,” Navarre said, directing the statement to Torin.
“Ah! The drink,” a fellow member of their table said, eyeing the two couples. The dark haired ShadeShifter had either not been successful in the games or he’d left his newfound mate in his quarters. Orcha could not be bothered to remember his name.
“What is this?” Orcha asked, picking up her glass and sniffing the glittering golden liquid. It had the faintest smell of alcohol to it. Perhaps a liqueur from one of the citrus fruits?
Torin idly fingered Orcha’s hair. “It has been a long fought battle to find mates for us. They combed the galaxy looking for women who could be our equals and survive our…appetites. No doubt the
promise of seeing us finally in action has gotten them excessively excited.”
Orcha wondered what he meant by that. Despite their refined air, she knew the Antarians delighted in spectacle—if they did not, they would not have gladiatorial games so often.
She took a sip of her drink. The moment the fluid passed her lips, it seemed to encourage her to down the entire drink as if she were dying of thirst.
Torin chuckled, holding her close to breathe into her ear. “You’ve just swallowed one of the most powerful Antarian aphrodisiacs, Orcha. How do you feel?”