DeTano nodded at her, his face solemn. “DeKieran doesn’t know it now, but he’s going to need your skills. He’s going to need all the help he can get. We sent good people after DeAlbero. We never heard from them again. I can only assume they are dead.” DeTano broke eye contact with her for a moment. “You have the thanks of a grateful people. Just put on a convincing act. That’s all you need to do.”
Numb, she allowed High Lord DeTano to show her out the door. DeKieran will know I’m not acting.
~ ~ ~
The flight clock in Steffania’s stateroom on the star luxury-liner showed an elapse of three days, six hours, fourteen minutes and seven seconds since she and Ramsey DeKieran had thundered away from the interstellar space hub orbiting Triton. From the time Ari DeTano had ushered her out of the royal apartments until now, anxiety had shredded her temper until she had reached a state of rabid annoyance. All I need is the white foam at my mouth. Forceful knocks tattooed her door. Ramsey DeKieran – again. Will he never leave me in peace!
At least the High Lord had gotten them a cabin with two separate bedrooms. She appreciated the extravagance. The staterooms on the Queen of the Stars luxury starliners were the epitome of sophisticated inter-galactic travel. She had to hand it to Quantum Starlines. Those people did classy extravagance exceedingly well. After briefing DeKieran on how to use the cornucopia of technological conveniences onboard, Steffania had locked herself in her en-suite bedroom, equipped with every possible on-board service. She had never left.
“You’ve been hiding for the past three days, Rickard. We will be on Vxloncia in another two. Sooner or later you will have to come out.” Ramsey knocked again. “Captain, you’re just delaying the inevitable.”
Steffania sighed deeply. DeKieran was right. She’d donned the pathetic excuse for clothing that Vxloncia allowed its females the first day in the hope she’d become accustomed to the nudity. She might as well face him now. I’m doing this for Verdantia, for my adopted people, for the future generations of the Verdantian race. She crossed to the door, unlocked it and then stepped back several feet. “It’s open.”
“Really, Rickard, I . . .” Ramsey’s voice died away as he walked through the door. He closed it quietly then faced her, a wolfish gleam in his eye. He walked around her slowly. “Nice. Very nice.” He gently fingered the small ruby hanging from the ring in her pierced nipple and she stiffened. “That’s not where I told the medico to put it,” Ram drawled.
“I told him if he pierced my clit I would kill him,” Steffania snapped back. Her building anger obliterated her discomfort in standing before him nude. The gilded thong and diaphanous skirts could not count as clothing.
He just shrugged and grinned. “Most women like it.”
“How would you like your cock pierced?” she threw back.
He laughed. “The medico told me he didn’t pierce you at all.”
Steffania could feel her face flaming. “I, ah, I...my nipple was already pierced,” she said quietly.
“Hmmm.” He circled behind her and stopped. His warm breath washed her shoulder. “Who else wanted you pierced, sweetheart? Someone on Verdantia? Or did you do this for yourself?” One fingertip stroked lightly down the side of her neck. His low, commanding voice caressed her with intimacy. Her hard nipples tingled and gooseflesh stood up on her arms. Between her legs, the delicate tissue flushed with heat. No, no, this is not happening.
Steffania turned and shoved him. She might as well have shoved the wall. She staggered back two steps. “I’m not your Vxloncian slaaf. This is just an act. It’s not real.”
With a slow smile, Ram murmured, “We’ll see.” He held out a velvet jewelry box. “Here, this is for you. You will need this on Vxloncia.”
“I am almost afraid to open it,” Steffania retorted. She turned her back to him and flipped the snap lid open. On a white satin bed lay a wide golden choker of fine meshed links. It resembled a flat snake made of sumptuous precious metal. A small clasp linked the two ends. A tiny gold padlock to secure the collar around her neck lay separately on the white satin accompanied by a small charm – a golden gryphon with ruby eyes. The collar was a blatant, gloriously exorbitant, declaration of possession.
She stood motionless, staggered by how desperately she wanted to turn and beg Ramsey to put it on her. The fine mesh of the collar would meld itself to her in the most unobtrusive way. It was the sort of thing she would only notice when it was gone; when the symbol of his possession no longer wrapped her neck in its heavy, secure embrace. Oh, god, can I do this again? Can I handle the gutting disillusionment one more time? She took a deep breath. She could do it – as long as she remembered that the collar around her neck meant nothing and DeKieran was not her true dominus.
“You would stand out without some mark of ownership. Put it on just before we get off the ship.” His deep voice vibrated inside her.
It’s beautiful. “What is the significance of the gryphon?” She listened intently for his answer but the silence stretched longer and longer. She turned to look at him. “DeKieran?” His expression was remote, his eyes shuttered.
“Put the collar on before we disembark,” he drawled. “Wear the gryphon on your nipple ring – or not – please yourself.” He left her standing there holding the jewelry box.
What just happened? Steffania stared after him, her brain turning over their dialogue, searching for a clue. Putting the jewelry box on her bed, she activated the voice command feature on the stateroom console. “InterLinc, this is stateroom 2004, access galactic web interlinc. Password, 07bluedagger180.”
Welcome to galactic web interlinc, Steffania May Rickard. How may I assist you?
“InterLinc, association: Gryphon, mythical animal, DeKieran, Ramsey, Verdantian male.”
Gryphon: old Earth mythology—half lion, half eagle, symbol of strength and unity. Association: emblem of Verdantian noble house, DeKieran. Estates and holdings dispersed, Nuovo Terra solar date 4634. Lord Ramsey Melborn DeKieran last surviving male, struck from lineage Nuovo Terra solar date 4640. House status: defunct.
“That was not particularly helpful,” she muttered to herself then thought of another way to phrase her need for information.
“InterLinc, time line, Verdantian male, DeKieran, Ramsey, thirty-two. Birth to present.”
The emotionless voice of the onboard InterLinc recounted the dry facts of DeKieran’s life, as sparse as those it provided for the symbolism for the gryphon. Nevertheless, the spare entry painted a vivid picture of a lifetime of brutal loss, abandonment and betrayal, of gains made only to be destroyed by a conspiracy of cruel events, miring him again and again as he struggled to free himself. Orphaned and dispossessed, Ramsey DeKieran had found the military to be his salvation. He’d been a fine soldier, rising rapidly to officer status, praised for his courage and leadership abilities.
Again, fate dealt DeKieran a cruel cut as he appeared poised to redeem himself. His young wife had died under unexplained circumstances. The evidence against him had been damning – too damning for some – complaints had been filed about its veracity. But DeKieran had convicted himself of murder in the eyes of many when he’d vanished before coming to trial.
Reading between the lines, Steffania sympathized. No one with any power spoke in Ram’s defense. A footnote mentioned questions from one Lieutenant Eric DeStroia, but evidently the now influential Supreme Commander of the Verdantian Horse, a mere lieutenant at the time of the trial, had lacked the clout to influence the trial’s outcome.
Tried in absentia, the Verdantian military discharged Ramsey dishonorably and put a bounty on his head. Now, years later, High Lord DeTano considered giving him a pardon. Steffania knew Doral DeLorion wanted Ramsey dead for the abduction of Doral’s sister. Now someone high up had evidence that might exonerate DeKieran. Did Eric DeStroia reopen Ramsey’s case? Was this mission to Vxloncia the barter to stay Doral’s hand? Steffania shook her head in confusion. Obviously, there was much she didn’t know.
Steffania stood and crossed to the bed. Ever the sucker for an underdog, Steffania opened the velvet box and removed the gold gryphon. She slid it onto the ring piercing her nipple. I am going to trust this man until he gives me reason not to.
Her fingers caressed the gold collar, still on its bed of white satin, and her thoughts turned inward. She had known since early womanhood ordinary sex didn’t do it for her. She found it stupidly ironic. ‘Obsessively controlling’ – that’s what people called her. Nothing thrilled her more than planning and executing “impossible” missions – plotting out each variable, predicting every possible outcome.
The fighters that comprised her mercenary team were her family. Steffania had heard them compared to the old Earth ninjas. She had personally vetted and trained each male and female soldier in her unit. Over the years, the Daggers had developed the reputation as precision killers of uncanny ability. Steffania’s skill set and those of the elite Blue Daggers she commanded surpassed special. She was no helpless female – never had been. She was death clothed in a body of female allure and fiercely proud of it.
But in sex, she needed the surrender. She craved a man strong enough to take the control out of her hands. I hunger to be dominated, for someone who doesn’t see me as a ball-busting female. She would yield everything to a man masterful enough to command her obedience. But she had never found one strong enough – or discreet enough. It wouldn’t do for the Blue Daggers to know their commander wanted domination during sex. Most of all, she had never found anyone she could trust with her desires who didn’t try to crush her – body and soul. Disappointment had followed disappointment until she had quit looking. To find strength paired with sensitivity, or dominance tempered with love? It didn’t seem to exist.
~ ~ ~
Lying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, Ram stared at the ceiling, battling old demons. He’d found the officer who had murdered Desiree and then framed Ram for the crime. As satisfying as the man’s death had been, it hadn’t stopped the vivid memories of his wife’s loving brown eyes, open in a clouded, sightless stare as he eagerly entered their bedroom after an extended absence. The scene haunted him, even years later. His loving submissive, Desiree – she’d been a miracle. She’d been his miracle, an orchid blooming in the pigsty of his life. Although her killer was dead, the old anger burned cold in his gut. Ram could only kill him again and again in his thoughts. It’s over, done, past. Move on.
He sighed, weary unto death – drained by the constant fighting and subterfuge to make his way, tired of always looking over his shoulder. That pardon...shit. He scrubbed a hand over his face. A pardon had been an unobtainable dream – something he had not ever allowed himself to hope for. With a pardon in hand, he could build something to take pride in, something not based on sordid actions with criminal scum – actions he hoped never saw the light of day. Perhaps re-establish House DeKieran? Sweet Mother, now he really was dreaming. Come on, ya dumb fuck. It’s not like you to be so morbid. You’re a survivor. His grin held no humor. Just one more impossible situation to get out of, then home free. And I get to play with the delicious Captain Rickard. His grin widened. I wonder if she’ll wear my gryphon. He spent no time examining why the thought pleased him so much.
Chapter Three
Steffania held up the transparent material. And this is supposed to be a skirt? Shaking her head, she wrapped it around her waist and fastened it on her hip with a jeweled pin. Why bother? You could see all of her, including the little thong number that she constantly reminded herself not to pick at. Why don’t men ever have clothing that runs up their ass crack?
She gave half a thought to the time remaining on her contraceptive/STD inoculation. Good for another three months. As a mercenary, she stayed on it. A female soldier must protect herself from the consequences of rape or unprotected sex. Another male convenience she envied. Men never feared an unwanted pregnancy. She opened her bedroom door and walked into the living area of their stateroom. Whoa. Someone had been to one of the ship’s high-end stores. He hadn’t brought those clothes from Verdantia.
A darkly dangerous Ram sprawled at ease, tossing tidbits into his mouth from a platter of delectables with one hand while swiping through page after page on a lap linc-screen with the other. His dark hair sat neatly at collar length. He had trimmed his heavy shadow of a beard into an elegant goatee. Dark synth-leather encased his lower limbs and hugged like a second skin, outlining a promising bulge in his crotch. The uniform then flowed down thickly muscled thighs, fitting snugly into heavy leather boots laced up to mid-calf. A wide leather belt studded with loops for knives and throwing stars, some filled, some not, wrapped his trim waist. His right upper thigh sported a Razar 88K, the newest in high-power side arms, tied down in a holster. A synthetic, cyberskin annealed itself to his upper body and delineated every muscle the man had, from his heavy pectorals – his nipples were hard – to his ridiculously well-developed abs. A heavy, black, synth-leather battle-jacket hung off the arm of the chair. Shit. Sex on a stick. Steffania could feel the damn warmth start between her legs. And this crotch rope won’t hide anything.
The bold admiration in his eyes when he looked up to see her before him didn’t help. Steffania stood proudly erect and stared right back, just as bold. In her line of work, a body was an asset to hone to peak proficiency. She had. ‘Ware any man who thought her full breasts and lush hips signaled a weak female. For the first time in what seemed forever, she had abandoned the tight braid for a free-fall of orange-red hair that just tickled her butt. She had darkened her light eyelashes with a semi-permanent dye and rimmed her golden eyes with a fine line of dark grey. A smoky grey powder swooshed across her upper lids. In keeping with the Vxloncian custom, a careful scroll of grey pencil detailed the skin at the outer corners of her eyes, and tiny jewels adhered to one curlicue line. According to her mirror, her eyes looked exotic and twice their normal size. Her full lips glistened with a ruby-red stain that matched the stones in the gold gryphon dangling from her piercing. The heavy gold collar, the symbol of Ramsey’s ownership, caressed her neck in a warm hug of possession. The small gold lock dangled from the clasp. She assumed Ram held the key. Just an act, she reminded herself. Just an act.
Ram slowly got to his feet and moved toward her, stopping a foot away, grinning. She stared boldly into his eyes.
His gaze hardened, and his grin fell away. “Your current expression and posture, dear Captain, will get you whipped severely on Vxloncia by one of their roving, cultural ‘enforcers’ and there will be nothing I can do about it.” He gestured to the floor. “Kneel to me.”
Steffania couldn’t believe her stupidity. He was right. Vxloncian males had institutionalized the subjugation of women and enforced their oppressive strictures with officials who roamed at large throughout the population – the “enforcers”. She dropped to her knees, head down, hands behind her back, holding her elbows. “I won’t do it in public, I – ”
“Silence.” He barked. “You won’t do it ever. We will be watched, spied upon. Every move we make will be under surveillance. If you slip even once, I cannot protect you without blowing our cover. I will have to stand there and watch you be publically flogged or worse. The enforcers have been known to cut women’s noses off for disobedience.”
Eyes dropped, she stewed in silent frustration. His hand appeared in front of her face, holding a tiny circle. “Hold out your hand.” He placed the shiny dot in her palm. “This micro-disc is the latest version of a com-device that transmits thought. Where we’re going this little gadget will be useful. Those jewels you wear at your temple are a perfect cover. Put this underneath one.”
“I’d heard about these, but I’ve never used one.” Steffania eyed him warily. “I thought you weren’t up to speed on the latest technology.”
Ram snorted softly. “I don’t know shit about technology, but I can speak and read galactic universal. While you sulked in your room, I took advantage of several of the shops onboard. I found a number of u
seful ‘toys’.”
He waited until she had carefully peeled a jewel off her temple and applied the micro-disc in its place. “Here, let me.”
Ram held out his hand for the small stone. He tilted her head slightly, and his warm hand held her jaw while he obscured the micro-disc with her temple jewel. A strange tingling spread through her temple, a burst of electric pain, then – nothing.
He straightened and his arms disappeared from her area of vision.
{Thank you for wearing my gryphon.}
“It is a work of art. Any woman would be proud...wait...you didn’t say anything aloud.”
{No. I’m using thought projection. You can do the same.}
“How?” Steffania asked.
“Direct your thought at me. It’s not mind reading. You must deliberately think as if about to speak. It works if we are within a few feet of each other,” Ram answered. “You needn’t fear eavesdropping. No one else can tune in to the frequency, and even I cannot hear you more than a few arm-lengths away.”
{May I stand up now, Master?}
Ram laughed. “Stand, shoulders back, head up, eyes down, palms on your thighs.”
{Bastard.} As she stood, Steffania felt a warm hand lift her jaw up until ice blue eyes stared into hers.
“That, Captain, will get you whipped privately. And it will be my pleasure to administer it.” She stared at him, stunned, until his lips met hers in a kiss of primal claiming. Warmth flooded her as his tongue invaded her mouth. His hand at the nape of her neck pressed her into him. Mindless, Steffania yielded to his dominance, melting into his embrace with unquestioning surrender. The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun.
“What do you think you are doing?” She jerked out of his hold and snarled at his effortless command over her.
Hers To Cherish (Verdantia Book 3) Page 2