Her brows rose. "You're expecting company?"
He shook his head. "I always like being prepared. And people know better than to bother me. But there are those wanting to make a name for themselves--" He stopped and frowned at her. "Never mind. Just don't open the door."
He strode to the door and jerked it open, slamming it behind him and making her wonder what he'd been about to say before he stopped. Shaking her head at the mysteries of the male mind, she stared around her, wondering where to start.
She wouldn't have long before he returned, and she planned to make good use of the time. She knew Gren would never willingly reveal details about himself, not to her, a peacemaker. So she began snooping through the room, hoping for a hint of the real man behind the sword.
As she looked, she couldn't help recalling how thoroughly they'd made love, and secretly wondered when and how they would again. She flushed and threw herself into her search, reluctantly admitting to herself being captured by Gren wasn't torture at all. That to this point, it had been more an exercise in the erotic arts.
But she'd be shot before she'd admit it. Her newfound sexual imagination burned at thoughts of Gren doing things to her she'd heard of but never had the nerve or interest to pursue. Silk scarves came to mind and she felt her heart race.
"This isn't good," she muttered to herself as she studied the contents of a dusty drawer. The warrior within her now bowed to the sensual woman within her, growing in power, and she had a hard time finding the will to battle her back. Just imagining Gren deep inside her made her want to lay down and accept everything on his terms.
She slammed the drawer shut and muttered a curse. This was why she'd been smart to avoid sex before. A little bit of pleasure and she was almost willing to forego a lifetime of learned caution.
Her jaw clenched tight, and she resolved to stay strong. "Great sex or no, I won't be anyone's puppet." She yanked another drawer open, this time not so careful to conceal her foraging. "If Gren thinks pleasure will make me more pliable, he's got another thing coming."
Chapter Eight
Gren strode down the street, his thoughts in turmoil when he should have been focused on the mission. Fifteen women's lives were on the line, and he couldn't stop thinking about making love to Temis.
Get a grip, he mentally admonished himself, harnessing his Theshan abilities for a clearer focus. It took him the length of the dusty street before he managed to take hold of his senses and banish Temis from his thoughts.
He entered Margo's, his favorite eating establishment, and left carrying a heavy sack filled with fruits, nuts, and a juicy cooked rak flank for Temis. He didn't eat meat, an extremely uncommon trait among the system's inhabitants, but his Theshan abilities worked better on a diet devoid of animal flesh.
The sweet smell of ripe fuave and maneo root made his mouth water, and he realized he hadn't eaten in two days. The meal Rafe had brought him in his cell had gone uneaten while the lawman had briefed him.
He left Margo's and headed east, toward an unsavory establishment that catered to Reykhold's true underbelly. A diverse group of cutthroats, thieves and slavers filled the bar under the lingering smell of vomit and body odor mixed with sour ale.
Keeping a straight face when he wanted to exit the crude dwelling, he nodded to Maruk, the pub's monstrously large security guard, and made his way to the back, where the infamous informer Ceril undoubtedly sat.
Sure enough, Ceril sat looking bored, listening to a scruffy looking miner drone on about hidden Mornian mines and treasure maps.
Gren had to grin. Ceril's fleshy lips drew into a thin line and the paunch around his middle shook as he drew in a deep breath. "Get out!" he shouted, having apparently lost patience with the fool seeking a backer. "I cannot believe you wasted my time with treasure-hunting drivel!"
For a large man, Ceril was surprisingly quick. He kicked the miner with an overly large boot, stunning the man with the ferocity of his strike.
Scurrying away, the miner gave Gren a wide berth. Gren shook his head and settled himself across from Ceril with a knowing grin. "Bored, are we?"
Ceril grinned, his teeth surprisingly straight and white, the only clean things on his person. Like most occupants on Reykhold, Ceril sat covered in the pale gold dust that covered everything from the streets to the buildings in town. Known for his ability to appropriate anything for the right price and as a font of information, Ceril's particular odor and common grunge did little to dispel his popularity with the dregs of the underworld.
"Gren! I'd heard you were in town. Took you long enough to come and see me." Ceril's crafty eyes narrowed. "Though from what I heard, you've your hands full of voluptuous peacemaker."
Gren lifted an eyebrow. "Ceril. You know better than to listen to gossip."
The large man chuckled. "Word has it she's ripe for the Sale, if you were so inclined."
"The Sale?"
"Come on, Gren. Don't play innocent with me. You've no doubt heard about the major slave trade happening a week from tomorrow."
Gren's mind raced. He hadn't expected Ceril to have so much information on the missing women. Interesting that the big man knew so much and wanted to share it freely. "What's so major about this trade?"
"You've heard about the massive abductions on Mardu?"
Gren nodded. A man of his reputation had to keep his ears open to all major criminal activity in the system. So he would have had the knowledge regardless of his dealings with Sernal.
"Those Mardu women are the ones to be auctioned." Ceril belched and motioned for another glass of ale.
"And you think I might be interested because...." He dangled the bait.
"Word is already circulating through space that your little peacemaker is worth at least fifty thousand beks, unmarked and properly subdued."
Gren allowed his disbelief to show. "I captured her yesterday. How the hell did word of her disappearance spread so fast?"
Ceril shrugged. "Most likely one of her shipmates leaked it for some currency. You know those peacemakers." He sneered, his attitude like so many others. "They arrest those of us trying to make a clean living, but have no problem using us to their own advantage, legal or otherwise."
Gren nodded with understanding. Rorn Fenhal topped his list of detestable lawmen. "So you're telling me Temis Freya is worth fifty thousand beks at auction?"
"At least," Ceril concurred. "But I heard you can get a lot more if you find your way into the auction's private party."
Gren pursed his lips as if in thought. Someone wanted Temis very badly. The question was, did that someone want her unharmed and returned to Sernal's folks, or for his own malicious play? He was betting on the latter.
"Where and when?"
Ceril grinned, and Gren figured the hefty criminal would be cut a large finder's fee when Temis was sold. A likeable fellow and impressive drinker, Ceril nevertheless was not one to be trusted. "Like I said, a week from tomorrow, midday. The where is still being debated. Most likely an uncharted sector beyond Jaron."
"I'll be in touch." Gren stood to leave. "I take it Drorna is still in the slave trade?"
"Yes, but I told you you'll get much more for the woman if you attend the auction." Ceril looked worried.
Gren smothered a grin. "I need some clothes for my little slave. Can't have her wearing her peacemaker's finest at the auction, can I?" he added sarcastically.
Ceril beamed and gave him directions to Drorna's newest location, several doors down.
"One other thing," Gren paused and looked around him, glad of the privacy surrounding Ceril's table. He lowered his voice. "I need a small cruiser with fighting capabilities and a sennight's worth of provisions."
Ceril nodded. "Your standard provisions?"
"Yeah. But throw in some rak meat as well. Oh, and I've a peacemaker shuttle to use in trade."
Ceril grinned. "Perfect. That will cut your payment in half."
"By two-thirds."
Ceril paused, his eyes narro
wed as he calculated his profit. "Fine. Two-thirds it is. You know where to wire the beks."
Gren left by a back door, conscious he'd picked up some followers. He paused by the reflective window of a nearby storefront and noted two large men trying to blend unsuccessfully with their surroundings.
"Should have shed the peacemaker boots," he muttered as he eyed their top-quality rak-hide leggings. He continued to Drorna's, his senses alert for trouble.
To his relief, Drorna stood alone on the bottom floor of the slave house. Frail in appearance yet strong in mind, Drorna's sweet smile and innocent blue eyes gave the impression of a grandfatherly type. In reality, the older man could shred a tome to ribbons with his trader's tongue.
"Gren." The old man's eyes widened, then narrowed as if he smelled potential business. "I thought you avoided the slave trade as a matter of principle." He looked beyond Gren and his eyes showed a hint of disappointment.
Apparently Gren's 'barbaric' display of ownership with Temis on the city street yesterday had done its job. "No, Drorna, I'm not going to sell her to you." The man sighed with regret. "I need some clothes appropriate to her new station."
Drorna's eyes lit and he motioned Gren to wait. He returned shortly with an armful of clothing. "I happened to notice her with you yesterday," Drorna said softly as he carefully displayed the clothing on a nearby table. "Such beauty wasted on a peacemaker." He shook his head. "But on a trained pleasurer ... take a look at the blue set."
Gren contained a grimace. Every article of clothing on the table was short and sheer, just what he'd been afraid of. But what else would a slave wear? Especially when her owner planned on selling her?
Staring at his choices, Gren selected several pair of matching tops and bottoms, to include the dark blue set that would barely cover her breasts and ass. He paid Drorna with the beks he'd kept for emergency currency and left the House just as the slaves began to rouse.
One young woman traipsed down the stairwell wearing nothing and looking worn and tired until she spied Gren. Then the glow of avarice appeared in her eyes and her downtrodden expression turned to one of allure, of suggestion.
Both disgusted and spiritually pained by the display, Gren left the House quickly, damning Drorna and his kind to everlasting hell. What once had been an attractive young woman was now an addicted, hopeless prostitute with little remorse and even less self-worth. He knew their kind all too well, knew the hurt of watching the life drain out of them.
He clenched his jaw tight and returned to Nikos to find Jora still guarding the back. "Don't you ever sleep?" he grumbled.
"Two hours a day," Jora answered with a chuckle. "We Raggas don't coddle our young like so many other races." He sneered at Gren good-naturedly. "What's wrong, Gren? Not enough sex to keep you happy last night?"
Gren forced a grin, pushing thoughts of the slave trade away. "There's never enough sex to keep me happy."
Jora chuckled and motioned him to pass.
"Jora," Gren warned on his way up the stairs. "I've got two peacemakers watching for a way in. Don't disappoint me."
Jora nodded, a militant gleam in his inky black gaze. "The only way they'll pass by me is if I'm dead. And believe me, I won't go to my grave silently."
Satisfied the Ragga would maintain protection over his hideaway, Gren returned to his room, pausing outside the doorway.
He'd been so distracted by Drorna's he hadn't thought about Temis since entering the slave house. Would she be as receptive and friendly as she'd been earlier? He hoped not. He didn't think he could handle any more temptation. Then again, knowing Temis, he thought perhaps she regretted their intimacies as much as he did. If that were the case, the warrior would be back, a hard-hearted peacemaker vying for order over a situation she couldn't control.
He entered cautiously to find his room in complete disarray. Much as the disorder aggravated him, he couldn't contain a small grin. So, the warrior had returned. Thank fate. With her resistance added to his, he might just make it through the mission without fucking her senseless.
"Took you long enough," she growled from the corner of the room. "I'm starving."
With another silent thank you to whoever watched over him, he tossed the bag containing food onto the room's only table. "Enjoy."
She quickly perused the contents of the bag before settling into the rak meat, and he gave himself credit for anticipating her needs. Temis hailed from Zephyr, a fierce planet that produced some of the best fighters in the system. And they were well-known for their fierce appetites.
He emptied the contents of the clothing bag onto the bed, sorting through the different outfits and praying they fit larger than they looked.
"What is all that?" she asked around a mouthful of food.
Gren straightened and stared down at his handiwork with a frown. "These are your clothes for the remainder of this mission."
She approached, her hands full of food and drink, and stared blankly down at the bed. "You're kidding, right?"
He sighed. "I told you before, Temis. Slaves have little rights and even less to wear. For my cover to hold, I have to try to sell you. In order to do so I have to showcase your wares." He gave her scantily clad form a heated perusal. "Trust me, our scheme is already working. Parading you around in any of that," he paused and motioned to the rags on the bed, "is sure to keep us in the auction loop."
He explained his visit with Ceril.
She finished her food and set the drink back on the table. "Are you going to fill Sernal and Rafe in on what you've learned?"
"Later." He mentally calculated their timetable. "We need to show you off downtown and then get off this planet before Rorn sends any more peacemakers to keep an eye on you."
"More peacemakers?" Her lavender eyes darkened with concern.
"We've got two outside keeping watch. They're too sloppy to be Sernal's men. Besides which, I've got a feeling once we're in the open they'll make a play to snatch you back."
"No, we can't have that." Temis approached the bed and held up the blue silken top and bottom. After a moment she sighed. "You need to dangle me out there so Rorn keeps his attention away from Sernal. I'll change and be right back."
Gren felt a bit disappointed she hadn't argued overly about the clothing. But apparently even she realized the necessity of playing out this role.
He sat down at the table and filled his body with nutrients while he tried to master the control he would need dealing with Temis in such skimpy attire. The sexual drive he'd been master of since his sixteenth year flared out of control again at thoughts of Temis in next to nothing, and he swore silently at his pubescent excitement.
Should have soothed my cock earlier in town.
To his shock a vehement No! filled his mind and he started out of his seat, his hands reaching for his absent sword still on Sernal's ship.
He glanced around, his mind and body poised for attack. Expanding his senses only proved he and Temis shared the hideaway alone, confusing him all the more.
"Well?" Temis' voice floated through the air like a physical caress, her husky voice a prelude to the vision that soon followed.
Gren stood motionless as he watched her sashay forward. The thin silk stretched taut to encase her generous breasts, the material barely enough to hold the round globes tight, plumping them for inspection.
The pale skin of her corded abdomen invited touching, looking soft as velvet and just as luscious.
His eyes lowered further to the thin triangle of silk protecting her golden curls, framing the muscular expanse of long leg that seemed to go on forever.
Swallowing to bring moisture to his suddenly dry throat, he glanced up to see Temis watching him warily. Her pink cheeks told him she found the outfit highly uncomfortable, but her stubborn refusal to protest showed him she understood why he'd brought it.
"It's typical slave garb," he said, aware his voice sounded overly deep. He cleared his throat and strove to keep his eyes on her face. Damn but he was as hard as a
pike. "I figure one or two turns around town to gather a few supplies should do the trick."
He frowned down at her bare feet. "There are thin sandals in the bottom of the bag."
Still flushed, she nodded and bent over to remove them from the bag. Gren clenched his teeth at the sight of her taut ass. The backing of her bottoms was a small square that when she stood, would cover most of her cheeks. But bent over like that, the material sliding over her skin like warm water, she was an invitation few would be able to resist.
He lunged forward and grabbed the bag out of her hand, careful to minimize physical contact with her. "Here," he growled and stalked back to the food on the table.
She gave him a quizzical glance before sitting on the bed to don the footwear. Flat soles strapped to her feet by long cords wrapped around her calves. When she finally stood, she stared at him in the eye, almost daring him to say something crude.
Not wanting to disappoint her, he leered and winked. "Damn, Temis, but half the town will be a walking hard-on this morning."
She blushed bright red. "You are so crude." He noticed she carefully avoided looking at his crotch.
"But honest. If we had more time...." he let his words dwindle and looked down at himself.
He felt her answering heat, a wave of feminine craving that hit him hard. "There'll be no more of that," she spat, though her body and mind protested her words.
Good. The more she protested, the better his chance of steering clear of her treacherous attraction. All too easily he imagined her wrapped around his body while he rode her to climax. Just the thought of doing so jarred something deep within his mind, a union of spirit too encompassing for a loner like him.
"Temis?" he asked in a low voice, determined to avoid the uncomfortable feeling of togetherness at all costs. "Did you hear someone say 'no' in here earlier?"
She refused to meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"
His study sharpened. She knew something, and to his surprise, he couldn't read her mind. His attempt to pry into her thoughts, to make her tell the truth, fell flat.
"No. You said 'no.'"
Winner Takes All Page 8