She pulled down the wall-enclosed bed and stripped off the blanket. Refolding the covering lengthwise, she laid it down the center.
“Now all I have to do is make sure I don't touch him.”
She set her hands on her hips.
“I can do this. I can keep my hands to myself, for Senth's sake. I have to keep Senth safe. I have to give him up.”
She forced herself to nod agreeably. “You're more than human, NarrAy, remember that. You can do anything you decide to. You're a Better. Act like it. Put him first!”
This is going to work.
This is going to fix everything.
The door opened, and Senth walked in smiling, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.
This is going to kill me.
Chapter Seventeen
Tarth, Tarth City
Imperial Palace, Stable—Sample Level
Khyff awoke in bed alone, stretched, and remembered Destoiya's rich and throaty cries.
He had made her beg.
Twice.
To protect his brother, he would use every nuance and artifice gained from half a lifetime of whoring and depravity. Endure any perversion she asked for, perform any self-defilement she liked.
He rose and tried one of the doors.
Damn it! Khyff leaned back against the wood. He sighed. What did you think, Khyff? She was going to invite her newest whore to wander through her palace?
The window was sealed and, at an angle, revealed the same fibrous reinforcements as the windows in prison. The portal overlooked an inner courtyard six floors below. Except for the flowers and statues, the area was no different from the exercise yard in jail.
If I had Senth's skill with locks, nobody'd ever hold me prisoner again.
The second door connected to a blue-tiled bathroom.
Khyff relieved himself, then went to the mirror and examined the gash in his lower lip, a souvenir from Destoiya's teeth.
Ball-busting power hungry bitch.
He splashed water on his face and patted it dry. The towel in his hand was just like the ones Stalkos kept in the expensive suites.
This place is nothing but a glorified brothel.
He reached for the bottle of lotion on the sink, and only just stopped himself from hurling it across the room. Like the slakehouse, no doubt spygear watched his every move. He pumped lotion onto his palm and rubbed it into his skin.
Stop brooding like a stupid whore and start thinking of a way out of here.
Exhaustion dragged at him, a narcotic he couldn't shake.
Unsure when he might get more, he drank as much water as he could, and hauled himself back to bed, pulling a pillow beneath his chest.
His sexual exploits last night would have netted Stalkos a small ransom in coin. Khyff tried to summon gratitude that even though the Conqueror had locked him up when he wasn't working, like Stalkos usually did, at least she hadn't chained him to the bed.
Sometime later, the sound of running water woke him. Khyff struggled to a sitting position in the middle of tangled sheets.
Dark-haired male twins dressed in black exited from the bathing room.
“Who the hell are you?” Khyff worked at unwrapping the sheets from around his legs.
“I'm Triss.” The one on the right walked toward him.
“Stay away from me!” Khyff wrapped the sheet around him and got up on the opposite side of the bed. “What do you want?”
Triss held up his hands. “Her Majesty assigned us to serve you.”
Both men were handsome and muscled. Absolutely identical faces. Gold tags sat on the upper right of their chests.
The other twin threw open the heavy drapes. “I'm Trey.”
Khyff shielded his eyes from the sudden light.
“Triss will never give you details, which is how you can tell us apart. Or, just look at our nametags.” Trey tapped the gold tag and smiled. “We promise not to switch them.”
“We started running water for your bath.” Triss gestured toward the door leading to the bathroom. “We're here to bathe and dress you.”
“I'm a big boy, thanks. You can go.”
The twins grinned at each other, then turned back to Khyff.
“All the new guys say that.” Trey opened the bathroom door. “You're no less macho because servants shave you or give you a manicure.”
“Some other time.” Khyff tossed one end of the sheet over his shoulder like a toga.
The twins shared another glance, and Triss set his hands behind him, deferring to Trey.
“The men in the stable are Her Majesty's personal favorites, Khyff.” Trey leaned against the open door. “If we touched you in the least inappropriate way, we'd be sold within the hour. Believe me, we're not here to hurt you.”
“I'm in Her Majesty's stable?”
“Yes. You're being promoted to toy at dinner, one of the highest levels. Your rank provides you with two servants.” Trey gestured between himself and Triss. “If we fail to care for you in a manner befitting your station, we'll be disciplined.”
“I can still bathe myself, thank you.”
“As you wish.” They inclined their heads.
Khyff grunted, but he padded into the cool blue bathroom.
Triss directed him toward the full marble tub and turned off the water.
Khyff ignored him and relieved himself first. When he at last stepped into the steaming water, he peeled off the sheet only after he was submerged. He handed the dripping cloth to Triss, who carried it to another part of the room.
The heat pampered Khyff's overworked muscles and he sank into it, stretching out his legs and leaning back. Triss pointed out an array of icons on a panel at the edge of the tub.
Khyff touched the neck icon. Hot pulsating water pummeled his neck and shoulders, stroking his muscles. He sighed audibly and tapped every button on the panel. Powerful streams of water shot all around him, massaging every point of his body, churning the water into a froth of white.
Heavenly. He closed his eyes, opened them again swiftly and checked the location of the twins.
Triss was pulling towels from a closet while Trey laid out grooming tools near a barber's chair.
“Tell me more about this level stuff.” Khyff spread out in the water to reap the effects of the massage.
“Sample level is a test of personality and skill.” Trey paused in his work. “Novice is training and toy is for the experienced. If you earn Her Majesty's highest favor, you move to keeper. Inside the stable, everyone nicks the terms. Right now, you're a sip. Novice is slurp. Tonight, you'll be promoted to swig, and keeper is swallow.”
Khyff smiled thinly at the obvious references. Tell me where my brother is and I'll be impressed with your knowledge.
Triss handed him a natural sponge and offered the choice of two white bottles of soap with fancy lettering on the labels. Nothing familiar about either one.
Khyff examined the sponge. “Do you stock Her Majesty's favorite scent?”
Triss hesitated, returned the bottles of soap to a shelf, and offered another, identical to the first two.
Had Triss thought to trick him, or was this a different scent in a similar bottle? He pushed the sponge under water and squeezed the air out of it. Bubbles fizzed to the surface.
Triss sighed and held the soap out at arm's length. “Alitus wears this one.”
Khyff made him wait a moment while he considered it. He took the soap and inspected the label as if he could read what it said, then flipped open the lid and sniffed it.
A smooth blend of citrus and amber, the same fragrance he wore when meeting female clients for the first time. They must have repackaged it for the stable. How would he ever recognize his when all the bottles looked the same?
“Who is Alitus?”
“A favorite.”
“Free, or slave?”
“I'll answer that.” Trey motioned Triss aside and sat beside the tub on a low stool. They were eye to eye. “Wha
t you really want to know is whether you're a slave. This morning, when she assigned us, Her Majesty made it clear we're to treat you as a highly favored guest.”
Khyff gave him a prison face, revealing nothing. “So, I'm free to go.”
“No.” Trey smiled. “She was quite clear about that, too. She has plans for you. The other members of her stable are curious as hell.”
I'll bet they are.
“Her Majesty's never installed a free man in her stable before.”
“And what happens when she tires of me?”
“Many a man's fortune has been made by his association with the Conqueror.”
Which tells me nothing about my fate, or Senth's. All right, let's find out what else you know.
Khyff nodded. “So, tell me more about this Alitus person and why I should care whether Her Majesty prefers the scent he wears.”
“Alitus is Her Majesty's highest favorite, her personal assistant. He has his own staff, an enormous budget, his quarters take up an entire floor of the stable, and it's no secret he has the Conqueror's heart as well as her ear.”
Great. Competition for a prize I don't even want.
Trey stretched his legs and crossed his ankles. “Would you like to know about the sex toys he uses on her and the flavor of lubricants he stocks, too?”
Khyff drizzled soap onto the sponge and lathered it. “I'd like to know what kind of tales you'll tell the others about me.”
“It's my job to answer questions and take care of you. No one else.”
“Uh huh. And the Conqueror was a virgin last night.”
Trey laughed. “Believe what you like, Khyff, but we're here to serve you. If that means answering questions, explaining the use of new sex toys, finding a special book on positions for intercourse, anything you want. Just ask.”
“Why don't you start by telling me about those flavored lubricants.” Beginning with his arm, Khyff scrubbed, cleansing his body of the Conqueror's touch. “I'll jump in with questions as I think of them.”
* * * *
Tyran Sleepliner Manc'eor Neth'e
Business Class, Berth Sierra Forty-one
Senth went still when NarrAy turned to look at him. In that moment, with her hair down and her face so full of concern, she took his breath.
It was more than her incredible beauty, or her lush curves. More than her perfect mouth, her sweet lips. NarrAy herself. Her loving acceptance. Her willingness to trust him.
The woman owned his soul.
All he wanted to do was give her the rest of his life.
Senth held out the red roses, and she accepted them without looking into his eyes.
“These are for you, too.” He offered the box of candy. “They're dark chocolate. Your favorite.”
“Thank you, Senth.” She took them from his hand.
The brush of her fingers against his electrified his senses. She jerked back at the touch.
“I shouldn't have walked out like that, NarrAy. I was wrong not to talk to you.” He stepped closer.
She flinched back, her lowered lashes covering her eyes. She set the chocolates on the small desk.
“I'm so sorry, NarrAy. I'll never do that again. I promise.”
He reached for her hand, but she turned aside, shoulders slumped. “Senth…”
“Aww, sweetie, I'm so sorry! I was a slack-minded stupid ass to treat you that way.” Senth shifted from one foot to the other and rubbed the back of his neck. “Please forgive me.”
NarrAy brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled their fragrance. A little smile played at the corners of her mouth.
Fftt-fftt sha kee! A purr rose up in Senth's chest, blocking words. If it would make her smile, he'd buy her roses every single day for the rest of his life.
Mercy, god, she was beautiful.
“I … I was … um…” Words faded as his purr took over. “NarrAy.” Senth shook his head, trying to stop purring and control his breathing so he could speak. “Petals.” He gestured blindly. “Scatter. On the bed.”
“Oh, Senth!” NarrAy turned her back on him, clutching the roses to her breast.
His purr ceased, and he hurried toward her. Taking the roses from her, he set them beside the candy and drew her into his arms.
“What is it, sweetie? What's wrong? Tell me.”
NarrAy's body conformed to his as if he'd been made to be a part of her. The way her head fit against his chest, just below his shoulder. The way her arms reached all the way around his waist—surely his body had been designed to comfort her. Love her. Take her.
“Whatever I did that hurt you, baby, I swear I won't ever do it again. I'm so sorry, NarrAy. I love you, baby. Please, please, talk to me.”
*
“Stop.” Senth's tenderness almost undid her resolve. Before her desire could sweep them both into passion, NarrAy pushed her hands against chest, forcing herself out of his arms.
How am I ever going to get through this?
“NarrAy…”
“Don't touch me, Senth.”
She stumbled back a step, not allowing herself to meet his eyes. If she saw his desire, she would drown them both in lust. Her pheromones were already rising. She had to put distance between them or she'd lose control. She'd give in to what her body craved, instead of doing what was right for Senth.
He reached out with both hands, inviting her touch.
She forced herself to focus on the scar on his hand. Made herself picture him with a knife impaled through his flesh, suffering a beating while Saint-Cyr watched and approved.
NarrAy turned her back. No! Not my Senth. Not my tiger. I'm not going to let that monster hurt him.
“Senth.” She hugged her arms around herself, trembling with the desire to let down her pheromones. “Senth, you c-can't touch me any more.”
“What?” He moved closer. “Why, NarrAy?”
She crossed the room. If she said it was for his own good, he'd convince her otherwise. She wanted him to convince her.
“I … you…” NarrAy fought to control her shaking. “You're too…” She bit her lips, unwilling to hurt him just a little, even to save him from worse pain later.
“I'm what, NarrAy? Tell me. Please. Whatever it is, I'll change it.”
Oh, god. How can I do this?
He came toward her, and she held up a hand to stop him. “No, Senth! I mean it.”
She backed away, still not letting herself look at him. She did not want to see the hurt her words inflicted. If she let him see her pain, he might discern her true motives, and Senth would never knowingly let her protect him from his own master.
“You're too young.”
When he did not respond, she let herself glance in his direction.
He was standing with his head down, expressionless, hands at his sides.
“Young?” He echoed the word as if it were foreign. “I thought age didn't matter to you? It doesn't matter to me.”
“A lot of things don't matter to you.”
He frowned, lifted his head to stare at her. “Like what?”
Hating herself, NarrAy gestured to the flowers. “Stealing expensive roses to impress me.”
His mouth dropped open. “You think I stole those?” He gestured to himself. “I bought those flowers with money I earned.”
“Earned how, Senth?”
He looked away.
“I see. You stole the money, too.”
“Believe me, I earned every drak.” His pale eyes narrowed at her. “I did not steal your gift, NarrAy. You mean more to me than that.”
“If that's the way you see it, Senth, you don't know the difference between right and wrong.”
He sputtered. “You hired me because I was a thief. It's a little late to complain because I am one.”
“I hired you for a job paid for by the resistance. The job is over, Senth. It's finished.”
He stared at her. The hurt of her words flashed a look of pain across his face.
NarrAy made herself say the re
st.
“And so are we.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tyran Sleepliner Manc'eor Neth'e
Business Class, Berth Sierra Forty-one
“NarrAy, I love you.” She could not mean they were finished. It could not be over between them. “I thought you loved me.”
“It could never work between us, Senth. O'Venna promoted me, and I don't have time to play around any more.”
“I don't understand.”
“As soon as I get back, I'm taking a new position. The prototype will go into production, and there's an influx of new leaders. I'll be in charge of hiring and training an entirely new staff.” She folded her arms. “I've had a lot of fun with you, but I can't wait around for you to grow up.”
Those words punched him like a fist to the chest.
“You were good, Senth, and I enjoyed you, but I just don't have time for boyish games.” She flipped her hand in the air. “And I certainly don't have time to bail you out of whatever scrapes your hyperactive inner child gets you into.”
He couldn't breathe. His vision swam. With effort, Senth walked to the door and pressed his forehead against it, eyes closed.
“I'm sorry, Senth, but that's the way it has to be.”
I swore I'd never walk out again without talking it through. He remained there, frozen, rooted to the floor. A man keeps his word.
He could not bear it if she laughed. Senth turned and leaned back against the door, slid down it and laid his arms across his upraised knees. He rested his head, thoughts fracturing with disjointed images.
NarrAy in stiletto heels, mincing ahead of him in the starport. Saint-Cyr and his predatory raven's eyes. NarrAy, wet, covered with bubbles. Khyff's face caught in a silent scream in an alley. NarrAy sleeping next to him, curled in his arms, sharing his pillow.
NarrAy spurning him.
When he got home, Saint-Cyr would know immediately that he'd had sex. He'd see every guilty secret. No way his master could not know. NarrAy had changed everything about him in a fundamental way.
I don't walk the same, don't talk the same, don't think the same. His chest ached with pent up emotion. Don't hurt the same.
At the Mercy of Her Pleasure Page 17