by Amy Pennza
Her eyes looked…haunted. For the first time, he sensed she’d given up. His gut twisted. She rolled slowly to all fours, then sank to her stomach on the mattress, her long hair like a red curtain on the white bedding.
He stared at the graceful curve of her back. The rope felt heavy in his hand. He uncoiled it and knelt next to her. She squeezed her eyes shut as he bound her wrists together at the small of her back, then wound the rope around them, tying it off in a complicated knot he was certain she couldn’t wiggle out of.
“Why not use kaptum?” she asked, her voice muffled by the blankets.
He checked the strength of the knot. “Because I can’t control it while I sleep. And because I don’t know the extent of your skill with it.”
He picked up the second length of rope and secured her ankles the same way he’d done her wrists. He rolled her to her side and stared down at her, his palms on his thighs. “It’s a shame you won’t get an opportunity to report that to your superiors.”
“How many times do I have to tell you I have no idea what you’re talking about?” Her voice was tired. Defeated.
No matter. “Save it,” he said. “I’ve heard it enough for today.” He grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and stuffed it unceremoniously under her head, then flipped the edge of the blanket over her. Satisfied she wasn’t going anywhere, he pulled the blanket to his hips and rolled onto his stomach.
She turned her head so he was in her line of sight. “I can’t sleep like this.”
“I’m not particularly interested in how well you sleep.” He punched his own pillow into a more comfortable shape and sank into it with a groan. He closed his eyes and concentrated on falling asleep despite the burn streaking across his ribs.
And the presence of the delectable female body lying next to him.
After a minute, she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “Ivar…please. I don’t like being tied up.”
He spoke without opening his eyes. “I don’t like healing from a stab wound. Now go to sleep.”
15
Nadia listened as Ivar’s breathing grew heavier and his body relaxed into sleep. She sighed, and the anxiety she’d felt since he’d accused her of being a Council spy finally eased. If he was trying to keep her on edge, he was doing a fine job of it. She closed her eyes, her cheeks heating as she recalled being forced to relieve herself in front of him. It had been humiliating, yes, but a small part of her had felt strangely…stimulated by performing such a private act in front of an audience.
And when he’d pressed the cloth, then his palm, between her legs, she’d nearly thrust her hips into his hand, desperate for more. The urge had confused and angered her. How could she respond to a man who treated her so unfairly? But she had.
She looked at him. His dark head was turned away from her, so she felt safe letting her gaze roam unrestrained down his body.
He was impressive clothed. Unclothed, he was magnificent. She’d never really viewed the male anatomy as something beautiful, but his body was a work of art. For such a big man, he carried himself with a gracefulness that was impossible not to admire. His chest and arms looked carved from the same golden rock as the mountain, and his penis…
She squirmed and tugged at the rope that bound her wrists. He was completely smooth, which should have looked strange but instead merely emphasized his imposing length. His taut buttocks had flexed as he’d moved around the room lowering the torches, and his cock had swung heavy against his leg when he’d walked toward the bed.
A cunning intelligence burned behind those golden eyes, and she sensed that he would use his mind just as readily as brute force when it came to achieving his ends. If he was telling the truth—and she had no reason to doubt him—he wasn’t even a convict, but a native born on this strange kaptum-rich planet.
With a quick glance to make sure he was still asleep, she tested the bonds around her ankles. He’d left her a little slack, so the rope didn’t chafe, but she definitely wouldn’t be able to walk.
With a shuddering sigh, she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to find a comfortable position for sleeping. If tonight was any indication, she needed to be as rested as possible when it came time to face off with Ivar again in the morning. She needed her wits about her if she had any hope of convincing him she wasn’t some Council spy. Otherwise, who knew what sort of punishments he was capable of inflicting?
And who knew if she was capable of stopping her traitorous body from responding to them?
A soft shuffling sound penetrated Ivar’s consciousness, pulling him from the depths of deep sleep. He turned his head and blinked groggily, trying to figure out if he’d dreamed it. It was still too dark to be morning. His room didn’t have windows, but the ledge in his antechamber let in enough light to lift the shadows even in here.
The noise sounded again—this time right beside him. His gaze was drawn instantly to Nadia. He propped himself up on an elbow so he could peer down at her face. Her eyes were closed, and a small frown puckered the skin between her fair eyebrows. As he watched, she tossed her head on the pillow. Fabric rustled. She made a gurgling sound deep in her throat, and he extended his hand, but let it hover in the air when she spoke.
“Please, don’t do this!” Her shoulders twisted, and she struggled against the rope he’d tied around her wrists. Her brow was damp with sweat, the sheet tangled around her hips. “I’ll be still. I promise.” Her eyes flew open, wide and frightened and staring blankly at the ceiling.
The hair on the back of his neck lifted. He waved a hand in front of her face, but she wasn’t tracking. Whatever she was seeing, it wasn’t in the room with them.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan of protest vibrated from her chest. “I won’t move, sir. You don’t need to immobilize me.”
Her whole body stiffened, the veins in her neck bulging. Her back arched slightly off the bed, her nipples stabbing upward from the centers of her plump breasts.
He nudged her shoulder. “Shhh, Nadia,” he murmured. “It’s a dream. Just a dream.”
“Don’t cancel me, please.”
Cancel? Whatever dreams haunted her, they were violent. Tenderness swamped him. He stroked her hair from her brow. “I won’t,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure what he was promising.
She continued tugging feebly at her wrists, her chest heaving occasionally in a mournful sigh. Eventually, he tipped her to her side and untied the knot, freeing her from the restraint. Immediately, she quieted, and the signs of strain disappeared from her features.
He slumped back against his pillow, one arm bent under his head. He watched her for a few minutes, trying to decide if he was being a fool. Everything about her indicated she’d been sent to Tolbos to carry out a mission. She was a synth. She’d been genetically engineered to be a botanist, something that would have been cultivated in her since birth. The implications of her presence on Tolbos were staggering—and more than a little terrifying.
He felt the full weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. Power was never something he’d craved. Like Nadia, he’d been born to a certain fate. Life on Tolbos was all he’d ever known, but he knew the majority of the planet’s inhabitants felt the lack of civilization keenly.
The mountain’s very existence depended on the Council’s goodwill. If the supply ships stopped coming, the fragile society he’d helped build would crumble in short order. The fields glowing beyond the mountain represented much more than personal pride. Every root that took hold in the barren soil was another step toward independence—toward shrugging off the lawlessness and often violent competition for the basic necessities of survival.
His gaze drifted over Nadia, who’d turned toward him, her slender arms pillowed under her cheek. Her full mouth was open slightly, her breaths slow and even. He looked up at the ceiling he’d helped his grandfather chisel from the rock.
He’d been raised on stories of the Council’s cruelty. As a leader, he’d heard one tale of injustice after another from the pr
isoners who’d been sent to toil in the kaptum mines. The human home planet had nearly been lost, and the Council had overcompensated for that near-disaster by creating a harsh society that left no room for youthful mistakes or lapses in judgment.
Was Nadia just a product of that system? Based on what he’d learned tonight, there was a story there. She’d said her parents had died long before she was born—had simply donated the genetic materials necessary for her conception and entrusted their future offspring to the Council. What kind of parent did that? What kind of government encouraged it?
He tried to picture her as a little girl being raised with other synth children in a sterile environment. Prisoners had told him of the droids that were a constant presence on Earth and the starships. Half-servant, half-police force, they kept a watchful eye over the population. Had Nadia been raised by nothing more than a series of computers? Fancy, lifelike computers, yes, but computers nevertheless?
It was a kind of slavery.
She was just as much a victim of the Council as anyone else on Tolbos. He touched a finger to one rose-tipped breast. She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. He studied her face—the long sweep of her eyelashes against her high cheekbones, the elegant nose and dark red lips. Everything about her appealed to him. Even now, his balls felt heavy and tight. He’d never felt so attracted to a woman.
Which was, he realized, precisely what the Council had counted on. If his tastes had run to dark hair and brown eyes, he had no doubt a woman matching that description would be lying in bed next to him right now. Victim she might be, but Nadia Green was also here for a reason. Until he knew what that was, he couldn’t afford to let his cock influence his decisions. He could feel sympathy for her, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—trust her.
He slid his hand under his pillow and curled his fingers around the kaptum blade he’d left there. He sat up and twisted a little, testing his side. Not too bad. He’d have to ask Annika to take a look at it. Some people were so naturally skilled at healing they could do it without putting much thought into it, but he wasn’t one of them. Even minor work made him feel like he’d been punched in the brain.
He left the bed and walked across the room, knife in hand. At the curtain, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. Nadia’s face was calm. Peaceful. He pushed the curtain aside and moved to the ledge.
The sky was the dull, cold gray of predawn. Across the pit, the fields glowed a muted blue, like the embers of a dying fire. They would wink out as soon as the suns rose. He squinted into the distance, trying to see the individual rows. Kaptum changed shape. It exploded when overheated or agitated or sometimes just for the hell of it. But the pulsing, blinding glow—that was new. His best guess was that the kaptum reacted with the plants somehow. Photosynthesis or something.
The knife heated in his palm—a comforting sensation that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He reformed the metal in his mind, feeling it shape and reshape itself in his grasp.
A soft sound behind him made him turn his head.
“We have a problem,” Porter said. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the ledge.
“Besides the one sleeping in my bed?”
“The sentries caught a pit worker in the fields about an hour ago. He claimed he was trying to help a runaway bed slave.”
Ivar stared down at the pit. “Brown hair, kaptum blast on one side of his face, missing an eye?”
“Yep.”
“Where is he?”
“In his cave. Under guard.”
A thick, dark rage simmered in Ivar’s veins. She’d planned everything, and she’d done it right under his nose. Literally. He’d noticed her little lunch chat—had entertained a fantasy of finding her new friend and making the good side of his face match the bad.
“Ivar,” Porter said. “There’s more.”
Ivar looked at him.
“There’s talk. Just rumors for now. The sentries saw your shirt soaked in blood last night. They saw you bring Nadia in.”
“And?”
“There’s talk she’s a spy.”
Ivar swore.
“I’ll do what I can to stop the rumors, but you know how the miners are. They’re worse than a bunch of old ladies with gossip. You might have to—”
Ivar slashed the air with his hand.
He knew what he had to do.
16
Nadia stifled a yawn as she helped Eleni straighten the sheets on Ivar’s bed. The blonde woman had appeared at first light. She’d offered Nadia a bundle of clothes and said she was there to keep Nadia “busy.”
It hadn’t taken long for Nadia to realize Eleni was a jailer. A talkative one. Her definition of “busy” involved maintaining an incessant stream of chatter interspersed with unending chores. She’d spent the entire morning directing Nadia to clean, scrub, and polish everything from Ivar’s desk to the stone floor—all while talking nonstop. Nadia hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise.
She’d woken in the bed alone, and the space next to her had been cold. Ivar must have risen well before the suns. She had no idea where he’d gone or when he’d be back, and each time she opened her mouth to ask Eleni, she was pointed to another cleaning task.
Nadia smoothed a hand down the sheet and straightened. She’d had enough. Time to cut the crap. “Eleni,” she said, interrupting the other woman mid-sentence, “I have to ask. Do you know what Ivar plans to do with me?”
Eleni gave the bed a final pat before meeting Nadia’s gaze with steady blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think you’re here to help me clean.”
They stared at each other across the bed, taking each other’s measure. Finally, Eleni said, “You have to be honest about why the Council sent you here.”
“I have been. And they didn’t.”
Eleni narrowed her gaze. “Rumors are flying that you were sent to wipe out our food supply.”
“It’s not true. I’m a botanist.” Every time she said it, she felt more ridiculous. A top-secret botanist spy? Any minute now, Eleni was going to smile and admit how stupid that sounded. Ivar would walk in, and they’d all have a good laugh.
Eleni didn’t smile. She glanced at the doorway and lowered her voice. “Do you realize how serious this is? The Council has sent spies before.”
Nadia’s heart thumped. “What happened to them?”
“They were executed,” Ivar said from the doorway. He was dressed head to toe in black. The hilt of his broadsword rose over his shoulder.
Bile burned Nadia’s throat. She swallowed repeatedly. Her legs threatened to collapse, so she sank onto the bed.
Eleni walked to Ivar. She stood on tiptoe and said something in his ear.
He grunted. With his gaze fastened on Nadia, he swept a hand down the back of Eleni’s hair and patted her ass. She slid past him and left the room.
Ivar crossed to his desk and pulled the broadsword and harness over his head. His movements were smooth and easy, as if he’d never been hurt. He set the sword on his desk and looked at her. “Do you know where I’ve been?”
It took a moment before she could trust herself to speak. “No.”
“Talking to Rogan. Sound familiar?”
Her heart sank. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong.” His face was as hard as she’d ever seen it. The sensual lips were flattened into a thin line, the dimple nowhere to be found. “I warned you what can happen if I lose control here. There are rules, and breaking them means facing the consequences.”
“What will happen to him?”
He stared at her, his face an angry mask. “Aren’t you worried what will happen to you?”
She inhaled slowly, and when she spoke she tried to inject as much sincerity as possible in her tone. “Yes. But I don’t know what else to say to convince you I’m not what you think I am.”
“This repetition is becoming boring.”
Anger brought her surging to
her feet. “Really? I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want you to be bored.”
“Where did you learn to use kaptum?” He ground the words out like he was holding onto his temper by threads.
“Nowhere. How many times are you going to ask me the same questions?”
“How many times are you going to lie to me?”
“I’m not lying!”
“No more acting. No more games.” His eyes flashed. “Your little stunt with the pit worker has people talking. Ironically, it may be the only thing that saves you.”
She could only stare at him. Maybe if she stood there long enough, he’d deign to tell her what new hellish development awaited her.
“You told Rogan you were a bed slave, and you better hope people believe it. Now strip.”
17
The buzz of voices echoed up the spiral stairs. Nadia’s heart beat a frantic rhythm as she stumbled behind Ivar. He held her wrist in an uncompromising grip. She had to think of something she could say to dissuade him from parading her naked in front of the entire mountain. Panic made her thoughts erratic. This is crazy. I can’t do this. He can’t do this.
He stopped in the massive archway and faced her. “Keep your head down. And for both our sakes, don’t say anything.”
“Both our sakes?” she hissed. She tugged at her wrist. “I’m the one with no clothes on.”
He yanked her against him. Her breasts brushed his chest. “Right now, you need to be a bed slave. A convincing one.”
She arched away.
He grabbed the back of her head and put his forehead against hers. He pitched his voice low. “If they think you’re a spy, they’ll kill you. I’m the only thing standing between you and death.”
“If you do this, I’ll kill—”
“Don’t threaten me.”
The whisper-soft threat sent chills up her spine.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re a spy.”
Desperation made her bold. “Why don’t you just kill me then?”