Ivar's Prize

by Amy Pennza

  “I do my best to buy prisoners as soon as they arrive on the surface,” he said. He dropped his hand from his neck. “Everyone has a chance to rise through the ranks and, eventually, earn their freedom. The rules are simple. All slaves start at the bottom, doing the least desirable work. Those who stay out of trouble move up. Anyone skilled with kaptum is sent to the mines. Harvesting kaptum is the most important work we do here, so mining is at the top of the food chain—literally.”

  She couldn’t find fault with that. “Sounds fair.”

  He stepped closer, his broad chest filling her vision.

  With anyone else, she might have moved back, but something about him pulled her. Flustered, she lowered her gaze, afraid of what he might see there.

  “Do you understand what that means?” he asked. “Those rules apply to everyone. The second I allow someone to break them, I risk mutiny. Every slave starts at the bottom, in the pit you saw. Everyone—man or woman.”

  She brought her head up. He meant her—that she would start in the garbage. The image of one of the twisted, shivering piles toppling over popped into her brain. Tolbos saw little rain, and it had minimal cloud cover. What would it be like to stand in that pit at midday, with the bloated suns bearing down?

  “There’s an alternative,” he said, his voice low.

  Her gaze flew to his. “Your…proposition?”

  He nodded.

  The urge to glance over her shoulder at the bed was overwhelming. He was so close—one deep breath and the tips of her breasts would brush his chest.

  “Stay here, with me,” he said. “As my personal slave.”

  The heat in his stare could have set her hair on fire. He wasn’t talking about sweeping the floor or doing his laundry. “I thought…” Her voice trembled, and she had to start again. “I thought everyone had to start at the bottom.”

  “Not a bed slave.”

  Oh God. “H-how is that fair? You said that breaking the rules risks mutiny.”

  “Men outnumber women twenty to one on Tolbos. My men understand bed slaves. But to give you an easy job—to skip you ahead in the ranks—goes against the rules I created. If I can’t follow my own rules, why should they? I’d lose their respect, and then I’d lose control.” His mouth turned grim. “But even if I didn’t—if the worst case scenario didn’t happen, and they didn’t rise up against me—you’d still be a target. Worse, a challenge.”

  A challenge. Something to be conquered. Subdued. That’s what she’d felt on the platform. All those hard stares. Like it or not, she was a commodity in this place. A ripple of disgust cut through the desire clouding her brain. Spencer’s haughty face rose in her mind, his words taunting her. He’d been right, after all. She had assets to trade—willingly or unwillingly. She could either work her way to freedom in the pit like everyone else, or take the easy way out by earning it on her back.

  “I can’t.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth again. Without closing the distance between them, he lifted a hand and placed his thumb against her lower lip. It was the barest connection. One step back would break it. She whimpered.

  “You can. And I promise you’d enjoy it.” Almost leisurely, he pulled his thumb from her mouth and sucked the tip into his own.

  A holo-vid reel of images flashed in her mind like pops of light. Her on her knees in front of him. His hands clutching her hips as he thrust into her from behind. His dark head between her thighs.

  His eyes gleamed, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking—and for a wild second, she wondered if he’d somehow put those scenes in her head. The imprint of his thumb seemed to burn against her lip, and her skin felt tight all over. Unable to stand the pressure, she stepped back. She touched her mouth, then dropped her hand when his gaze settled there. Sleeping with him would hardly be a sacrifice.

  No, sharing his bed wouldn’t be the hard part—that would come later. Eventually, she’d have to leave this room. She’d have to face other people, and what would she see? The assessing, speculative look Spencer had worn? The sneers of the auction crowd?

  And what of the women she’d seen earlier? When she’d asked Ivar if he had a harem, he’d shrugged. She wouldn’t be a bed slave; she’d be one of three bed slaves. She was a starship officer, the youngest lieutenant commander in Council history…or at least she had been.

  Her circumstances had changed. Drastically. But had she?

  “No,” she said.

  Ivar looked startled at the vehemence of her tone. “Nadia?”

  “I’m—” It was ridiculous to say sorry. He’d just asked her to be his bed slave! She shook her head. “The answer is no.”

  6

  Nadia surveyed her new home with tired eyes. Home was an optimistic word for it, considering it wasn’t the least bit homey. After she’d rejected Ivar’s proposition, he’d led her down to the mountain’s second level, where the lowest slaves stayed. Although deep, the cave was so narrow she could spread her arms and touch either side. She’d tried stretching out on the floor, but the thin shirt had provided no padding between the hard rock and her aching joints, so she’d settled for leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her, and she gazed around the tiny space, which held nothing more than a low wooden table and a small earthenware pot.

  She looked at it. Or should that be Tolbosware? In either case, she hadn’t quite worked up the nerve—or the need—to use it. Dehydration had its perks, after all.

  Before he’d left her, Ivar had explained that new arrivals had to take it easy with the water—and any food they consumed. Since everything on Tolbos had kaptum in it, the body needed time to adjust. New slaves were also confined to their caves at night. “All privileges are earned,” he’d said.

  She sighed. This was worse than the Academy.

  Weariness made her head bob, and she closed her eyes. Immediately, Ivar’s face rose in her mind. She gasped and straightened, blinking rapidly. She’d done the right thing by refusing him. She couldn’t sleep with a man she’d just met, let alone agree to be his bed slave.

  A lick of warmth curled low in her belly. She shifted on the hard stone. His proposal was insulting, and she was not going to think about it.

  Or him.

  To distract herself, she tried to pick out conversations among the murmuring voices coming from the surrounding caves. She caught the odd word here or there, mostly men talking about the stew that had been served at dinner and plans for the next day. Two men nearby discussed work on a drift mine being dug on the north side of the mountain.

  Her knowledge of mining was rudimentary at best, but she knew that meant digging horizontally into the mountainside. Tolbos was similar to Mars in that it was dotted with numerous solitary mountains. She wondered if all the mines were tucked away inside like this one.

  She’d always assumed that Tolbos’ warlords were locked in constant battle to control the richest mines, but now that she thought about it, endless wars and conflicts would leave little time for actually harvesting kaptum. Ivar had said the Council’s ships dropped supplies around mines that produced. Maybe he and the other warlords cooperated to supply the Council with kaptum.

  A scuffling sound brought her head up sharply. A tall shadow loomed in the cave’s opening. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding.

  “It’s all right,” a familiar friendly voice said. “It’s just me.”

  “Porter.” Relief made her knees weak.

  He stepped inside and gave a low whistle. “Not even a blanket, huh?”

  She tried to keep her voice light. “Starting at the bottom.”

  His smile was sympathetic. “Yes, that’s generally the way things work around here. Resources are scarce, and we’re all expected to earn whatever comforts we get. I’m sure you’ll scavenge enough tomorrow to earn a blanket, though.”

  He lifted a bag she hadn’t noticed before. “I brought you a few things you’ll need.”

>   She pressed against the wall so he could slip past her. He set the bag on the table and withdrew several items. His big, lean body made the room seem even smaller. Although he was technically more handsome than Ivar, the warlord was actually the more attractive of the two. Porter’s looks were refined and polished, but they lacked the edge that made her heart pound when he looked at her.

  “Nadia? Are you okay?” He’d finished unpacking the bag and stood staring at her with a concerned look on his face.

  She shook herself. “Oh! Yes. Yes, I am.” She smiled. “Just tired.”

  “Well, your pants are here. I got them fixed. No luck on the shirt, though. It was too torn up, so we’ll use it for scrap.”

  She picked up the pants and held them against her. “That’s okay. I wasn’t fond of it anyway.”

  He laughed. “I can’t blame you. Prison chic isn’t really my favorite look either.”

  She grinned. “I don’t even mind that they’re prison-issue. I’m just happy to have pants again.”

  His gaze dipped to her bare legs. “Well, if anyone can make prison clothes look good, it’s you.”

  An awkwardness settled between them as the compliment hung in the air. Her cheeks heated. She’d always blushed easily—an inconvenient trait. Sometimes, she even blushed when other people looked embarrassed.

  She pretended to study the seam where the rip had been repaired. After a minute, he cleared his throat and picked up a small jar he’d set on the table. “Ah, here’s some salve for your skin. It’s greasy, but you need it if you’re going to be outside for more than a few hours. The suns throw off more radiation than you get on Earth or a starship.”

  She took the jar and unscrewed the lid. Inside was a milky white goo that looked like glue. No, not glue—snot. “What is it?”

  “Sap from the Tolbos tree. When the Council first started sending prisoners down about ninety years ago, they ran a bunch of experiments. The trees have a natural resistance to radiation poisoning. The good news is you won’t always have to use the salve. Something about it changes your DNA enough to give you a built-in shield. For the first six months or so though, you’ll want to really coat every inch of exposed skin before you go out.”

  She sniffed at the jar and wrinkled her nose. “It smells terrible.” She held the jar up to the cave’s single torch and peered at it.

  “I know. But it works.”

  She bit her lip. “Um, Porter…”

  “What is it?”

  “How many mines like this are there? On Tolbos.”

  “There are no other mines like Mount Holok.”

  “Ivar named himself after the mountain?”

  Almost gently, he said, “Actually, the mountain is named after Ivar.”

  She glanced up, as if she could see through the layers of rock to his lair. “Is he like…head warlord or something?”

  “He’s not really one for titles.” Porter moved to the cave’s entrance. “You’re tired. I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “Wait! How many slaves does he own? What did he do to get sent here?”

  He braced a hand against the rounded stone opening. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him. Good night, Nadia.”

  She clutched the jar of salve as she watched him go, belatedly calling out “good night” as his footsteps faded away. His demeanor had changed the moment she’d started asking about Ivar.

  She groaned and slid down the wall. She should have stuck to asking about the garbage pit. He’d seemed willing enough to talk about that.

  She sighed and rolled the mended pants into a sausage shape, then lay her head on her makeshift pillow. Her stomach knotted, the fear of what lay ahead making her heart pound with nerves. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep breaths. Tomorrow would come—there was nothing she could do about that—but at least she could face it bravely.

  Her mind wandered back to her conversation with Ivar. He’d called her brave when she’d put her hand on the entrance to his cliff room. She didn’t feel brave now. In her mind’s eye, she saw the leering faces of the men at the auction. The magistrate panel had taken her freedom. Since then, she’d experienced one loss after another—her fertility, the ability to breathe regular oxygen…but nothing compared to the loss of dignity she’d felt on that platform.

  Growing up, the only thing she’d aspired to be was a starship officer, and she’d worked her whole life to achieve her dream. Yet here she sat, huddled on a cold stone floor, in a place where none of her achievements mattered. Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling. She couldn’t really be angry at Ivar for owning slaves—not when the entire planet ran on slave labor and the Council only sent food to mines that produced. And anyway, his system was much closer to indentured servitude.

  But he hadn’t bought her to work in his mine. She lifted her fingers to her mouth. He’d bought her to share his bed. His voice, low and wicked, flowed through her mind like a dark river. “I promise you’d enjoy it.” He didn’t seem like the type to break his promises. “Bed slave,” she said against her fingers.

  Her voice echoed off the narrow walls. Bed slave. Bed slave.

  She lowered herself to her side and hugged her knees to her chest. Ivar had said he gave everyone an opportunity to earn their freedom. She wasn’t afraid of hard work—especially if it meant reclaiming even a fraction of what she’d lost. She was attracted to him, but she couldn’t act on that attraction if it meant trading her self-worth for an easier life. She was no one’s bed slave.

  No matter how nice he was to look at, she wouldn’t call any man master.

  7

  Ivar woke to a tickling feeling on his thighs. He yawned and tried to shift away from the sensation, but the tickling followed him. Just as he was about the throw the blanket off and investigate, a warm, wet mouth closed around his shaft, and he groaned.

  Soft feminine curves rubbed against his skin, and the wicked mouth sucked at him greedily, making blood pound in his cock. He threw his head back as he reached down and tangled his hands in the soft hair spread over his thighs. Visions of long red curls and a lush pink mouth floated through his brain. A smile curved his lips as small fingers cupped his sac. Just one night in his bed and she knew what he liked already.

  A soft sigh next to his ear brought him fully awake. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see a tousled blonde head on the pillow next to him. He lifted the sheet to reveal another blonde head bobbing slowly up and down his shaft.

  “Ivar? What’s wrong?” Eleni said sleepily beside him. She snuggled closer to him, her bare breasts pressed against his arm.

  “Nothing.” He leaned up and dropped a quick kiss on her temple. “Go back to sleep.” He reached down and gently grasped Annika’s head. “Anni, love, not now.”

  With a popping sound, she released him from her mouth and allowed him to draw her up his body and settle her on his chest. A frown pulled her fair eyebrows together over calm blue eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  He hid a smile at the question. She had a point. He’d never been one to turn down a morning blowjob. “No, love.” He smoothed her tumbled hair back from her face. “I just want to get an early start today. You two sleep in.” He eased her off his chest and slipped from the bed, grinning when she curled into the warm spot he’d vacated. Eleni snuggled against her, their legs tangling under the thin sheet.

  Ivar padded naked into the adjoining chamber and walked to the edge of the drop. The first rays of the twin suns crept over the horizon, and their light touched the edges of the garbage dump that circled the base of the mountain like a medieval moat. The piles looked harmless enough from this distance, but he knew from personal experience that they contained numerous dangers.

  After half of Earth’s population had been decimated by war brought on by rising sea levels and food shortages, the Council had passed strict waste management regulations. He’d been told that dropping so much as a gum wrapper on the ground on Earth was enough to earn a lengthy prison s
entence. The draconian rules had done much to restore the human home planet, but humans were still a waste-generating species. All that garbage had to go somewhere, so why not a planet filled with society’s rejects?

  Ivar eyed the cloudless sky. Garbage ships came about once a month, dumping everything from old fossil fuel-powered cars to kitchen scraps. The Council had even begun emptying Earth’s old landfills, digging up great swaths of earth and replanting them with precious grass and trees. He closed his eyes and recalled rare pictures he’d seen of lush green lawns. The color didn’t occur naturally on Tolbos—the closest imitations were old bits of green clothing or the stray shard of glass.

  Or a pair of jewel-bright green eyes.

  He stepped closer to the ledge and peered down at the pit, his legs braced wide on the stone floor. Movement at the far right side of the crater drew his attention. A vehicle crawled through a path carved out of the trash. In front, several people walked, periodically bending over to pull things from the piles. He saw Nadia right away—her red hair shone like fire in the dawn sunlight.

  He moved back. Shadow fell over him, but he still had a clear view of the ground below—and of the exquisite female who’d invaded his dreams.

  She dipped to pick something up, and his cock hardened at the memory of catching flashes of her breasts every time she’d moved yesterday. Without sleeves, the shirt had gaped at the sides, giving him a perfect view of her generous breasts and the occasional pink nipple. The thin material had clung to every curve, reminding him of the firm, silken skin he’d felt when he’d held her against him on the platform. She had a scattering of tiny golden freckles on her chest and more on the bridge of her nose. Aside from those minute markings, her skin was a creamy, flawless porcelain. Her features were refined, even exotic, with high cheekbones and a full mouth.

  And eyes that shot fire any time she was challenged.

  He’d known she was brave the moment he’d locked gazes with her at the auction, and the courage she’d shown facing her fear of heights had impressed the hell out of him. Then she’d looked him in the eye and said no to sharing his bed.