by Amy Pennza
He dropped his hand from her head. His gaze moved over her face. “I…can’t.”
She held her breath. He looked like he wanted to say more. Then his mouth tightened. He pulled her through the archway.
The cavern loomed. Fear turned her guts to water. “Ivar!”
He stopped and looked at her.
“I’m scared.”
For a second, she thought she glimpsed something close to regret in his eyes. Then his face hardened. “You should be.”
He led her across the cavern and through yet another archway—this one more crudely carved. The voices grew louder as they walked down a broad hallway, around a corner, and into a low-ceilinged room ringed with wooden tables and benches. Heads turned toward them.
There had to be at least one hundred people in the room, which was obviously the dining hall. The room’s inhabitants sat hunched over bowls and plates, and the sound of cutlery scraping on wood filled the air.
Conversations died slowly as they noticed her. Almost entirely male, their eyes picked up the light from dozens of torches lining the walls. They were obviously miners, their bodies hard and muscled. Many were without shirts, their bare skin covered in old burns and scars. Several wore bands of kaptum around their biceps.
Ivar paused briefly at the threshold and then stepped to the side, fully exposing her to hundreds of curious eyes. She trembled as men nudged each other and gestured to where she stood. A low murmur rippled over the crowd.
A flush warmed her from her face to her breasts. Every nerve ending felt electrified, making her skin feel both chilled and overheated. She was hyperaware of things she wouldn’t have ordinarily noticed, from the feel of her hair brushing the small of her back to her toes gripping the rough rock under her feet.
The eyes seemed to devour her, lingering on her chest and hips. She clenched her jaw and stared back. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She wasn’t a spy.
Ivar grasped her elbow and pulled her forward. He marched her straight down the open center of the room to a long table positioned under a brightly painted mural depicting Tolbos’ twin suns sinking over the mountain. Porter and Talitha sat under it. Porter’s expression was unreadable. Talitha smirked.
Ivar pushed her onto a bench, then sat next to her and began pulling serving bowls toward him without preamble.
Talitha’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Good of you to join us, Red! We were worried you didn’t appreciate our hospitality, seeing as you were so eager to leave us last night.”
Nadia focused on the smooth wood of the table in front of her, willing the woman to leave her alone. All around her, men murmured. She couldn’t make most of it out with so many people talking at once, but she thought she heard “bed slave” and “runaway.” She shifted on the crude bench. The wood scraped against the tender skin of her backside.
Sitting didn’t afford her much protection from the eyes of the crowd, but she felt less exposed with the table obscuring her lower half, even if the absence of a tablecloth meant everyone in the room could see her stomach and legs beneath the wooden surface. She pressed her thighs together and focused on taking shallow breaths.
Talitha spoke again. “What’s wrong, Red? You didn’t like the pit? At least you found a new position.”
Laughter erupted. Nadia closed her eyes briefly. Maybe if she ignored the woman long enough, Talitha would stop taunting her.
Talitha spoke again, louder this time. “Nothing to say, Red?”
Nadia clenched her fists in her lap, hating the crude woman with every fiber of her being. The crowd buzzed. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. It was the auction all over again.
“She’s doing this on purpose,” Nadia said under her breath. “Humiliating me.”
Ivar’s voice was a low rumble. “Humiliated is better than dead. Keep your head down.”
“Ivar,” Talitha called, “your bed slave is rude.”
Something inside Nadia snapped. She surged to her feet. “I’m not a bed—”
Ivar seized her arm.
She jerked away.
He snagged her around the waist and slammed her onto his lap. She gasped and tried to break free, but his big forearm snaked around her waist. He clamped her firmly against his chest. “Not another word,” he growled in her ear.
“Let me—”
He cupped her breast with his free hand.
She froze. “Stop. Please.”
“Behave yourself, and I will.” His hand was hot against her skin. His thumb flicked back and forth over her nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak. His voice rumbled against her back. “Don’t worry, Talitha. She’ll soon learn some manners.”
The men hooted and guffawed. A few slapped each other on the back and pointed toward Ivar, calling out encouragement.
She tried to lurch off his lap, but he squeezed her more tightly against him. He pinched her nipple in warning. “Don’t,” he said against her ear. “This is not one of your starships, Nadia. Justice here is brutal and swift. These men would tear you apart if they thought you were a spy. I am one man. I can’t protect you if they turn on you.”
His low voice vibrated against her cheek. She shivered. Her thoughts grew muddled. His hands cupped her breasts, which…ached. How could she feel desire in front of so many people? Her nipples were so hard they were painful. He pinched one, and she shuddered.
The low whistles and cheers continued as he fondled her breasts and nipples. It was like the auction, but different. The hands roving over her body scorched her skin. A wave of restless need rushed through her.
He bounced her on his lap. Her breasts jiggled. She slapped his hands away. The crowd laughed. He took advantage of her flustered state by stroking a big hand down her quivering stomach and between her thighs. He used his forearm to push her knees apart.
She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.” Heat throbbed in her nipples and between her thighs.
His lips brushed her ear. “You don’t say no to me.” He spread his knees, forcing her thighs wider. Panic flooded her. She tried to close her legs. He hooked his ankles around hers and opened her wide.
Sweat broke out across her skin. They were all watching. Everyone could see. He was displaying her—claiming her in front of them like he might a trophy or a prize.
His questing fingers began spreading her intimate lips apart, baring her innermost flesh to the hard gazes of the men, who had grown quiet as they watched the display. She groaned in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. His fingers slid easily against her sex. She gasped, mortified that the men closest to Ivar’s table could probably see her wetness.
Open as she was, his fingertips dipped easily inside her, the stroking touch firm but gentle as he spread her own moisture over the slippery flesh. He pinched her clit and held it, making her suck in a sharp breath.
“Are you going to behave yourself?” he murmured, rolling her clit between his fingers.
“Y-yes,” she said quickly, hoping no one could hear the wet sounds his fingers were making as they played over the tight point of her arousal.
“Yes, what?”
She closed her eyes. She knew what he wanted her to say. She forced herself to go still and limp in his hold, terrified he would keep touching her if she defied him—terrified she would writhe and pant to a lightning-fast orgasm if he did. “Yes…master.”
He moved his hand back to her breasts, where he continued to tease and stroke her. His damp fingers spread her own juices on her nipples. She slammed her thighs shut and stared stonily ahead, trying desperately to ignore the shivering current of need pooling deep in her belly.
His fingers plucked lightly at the sensitive tips of her breasts, sending sparks of desire shooting between her legs. A shudder rippled across her skin. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. The fact that this was all happening under the avid scrutiny of strangers made the whole experience unbelievably surreal.
Eventually, he released her. She scrambled back to the bench beside him, her face uncomfortabl
y hot, the ache between her legs confusing her. She squeezed her thighs together and tried not to squirm. With her head lowered, she could see the tips of her breasts, still hard and glistening with her arousal, but she didn’t dare try to wipe the moisture away.
“You should eat,” he said, sliding a bowl in front of her.
It was yet another kind of stew. Steam drifted from the surface. Potatoes floated on the top. She looked up at him, imagining flinging it in his face. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bowl.
His eyes glinted. A warning.
Before she could follow through, a commotion in the doorway drew their attention. Every head swung toward the opening as two sentries dragged a man across the room. They stopped in front of Ivar. The man slumped between them, his head drooping. Blood dripped from a deep cut on his forehead. He groaned and stirred in their grasp. His head lifted. One eye was lost under ripples of scarred flesh. The other burned a bright blue as it fixed on Nadia.
Rogan. Her heart leaped into her throat. She’d been so worried about herself, she’d completely forgotten about him. She shifted on the bench.
Under the table, Ivar gripped her thigh. He leaned over and nuzzled her ear. His voice was so low she could barely hear it. “If you want him to live, say nothing.”
Her heart pounded. She nodded.
Ivar stood. He pierced Rogan with his stare and gestured to Nadia. “Do you recognize this bed slave?”
Rogan squinted as more blood dripped into his eye. “Y-yes. She worked with me on the garbage crew.”
“Did you try to help her escape?”
Rogan’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I…”
A sentry grabbed the back of Rogan’s hair and used it to force his head back. “Speak up!”
“I thought she was being held against her will. I just wanted to help her.”
Angry shouts burst out across the crowd. Men surged to their feet, bellowing for Rogan to be punished. A large man near Nadia stood. He flexed his arm, and a thick bead of kaptum rolled down his flesh and solidified into a knife. Around the room, others did the same. For a moment, chaos reigned.
Ivar banged his fist on the table. “Silence!”
The yelling ceased. An ominous quiet descended. Nadia held her breath, terrified what might happen if Ivar lost control of the volatile crowd. For the first time, she truly understood how precarious her situation was. Everything depended on these men respecting his authority.
Ivar looked at Rogan. “I believe you.” He raised his voice. “You left the mountain without permission. Desertion is a serious offense, and one that must be punished.”
Around the room, the men banged the hilts of their weapons on the tables. Nadia looked at Rogan. What would they do to him? My fault. All my fault.
Ivar raised his hands for quiet. “Rogan, do you admit your crime?”
Rogan’s voice was resigned. “Yes.”
“Very well. The punishment will be carried out in the main cavern.”
The benches cleared. The men streamed out of the dining hall. Ivar tossed her a disgusted glance before stalking from the table and disappearing through the doorway. She watched him go, unsure what to do next.
Porter appeared beside her, his hand outstretched. “Come on. The least you can do is watch.”
She let him help her up. “What will Ivar do?”
“You’ll see.” He tugged her to the doorway.
He kept a firm grip on her upper arm as he ushered her back toward the soaring cavern. The men from the dining hall moved with them. She shrank away from their roving eyes.
She collided with Porter when he brought them a halt. Her breasts pressed against his forearm, and she stepped back with a hasty apology.
He barely gave her a second glance. Like everyone else, his gaze was on the spectacle unfolding in the center of the cavern. Sentries forced Rogan to lie facedown on the stone floor with his arms flung out to the sides. They kicked his ankles apart. One knelt and dribbled liquid kaptum over his calves. The crowd seemed to hold its breath as the metal snapped around his legs and met the floor. It fused into manacles.
Nadia grabbed Porter’s arm. “This is wrong—”
“Hush.”
The crowd had formed a huge circle around the prostrate man, and they stood with arms folded across broad chests while the sentries stripped his shirt from his back. His head was turned away from Nadia, preventing her from seeing his face, but his back moved up and down rapidly.
She tore her gaze away from him as Ivar strode into view. He had a whip in his hand—the one from his weapons wall. Its long tail was made of kaptum links. They slithered around his arms, sliding effortlessly between liquid and solid. As soon as the links would glitter into view they would melt and reform.
The metal seemed to flow around him lovingly, as if it wanted to be near him.
Ivar stopped next to Rogan and shook out the whip. The links flew up and solidified midair. The crowd gasped. Ivar let them clatter to the ground as he knelt next to Rogan. His voice was pitched too low for Nadia to hear what he said, but he rested a hand briefly on the other man’s back and squeezed his shoulder before straightening. His face was a mask, but his eyes…
Nadia sucked in a breath. His eyes told the story. Ivar hated what he was about to do. She glanced around, wondering if anyone else noticed. Her gaze fell on the heavy kaptum links strewn across the floor. They would bite into Rogan’s back without mercy, tearing flesh and maybe even crushing bone—all because he’d given her a boost into a ventilation shaft.
Ivar looked up, his shoulders rising and falling once, twice. “Three lashes,” he called out. His arm swung back. The crowd held its breath.
With a sob, Nadia pushed Porter aside and sprinted across the cavern floor.
A deep shout of protest filled her ears. She flung herself on top of Rogan.
Then her body caught fire.
18
Ivar tossed the whip away as all hell broke loose in the cavern. A haze of black surrounded his vision, and he staggered backward, scarcely able to comprehend what had just happened. A rush of voices, all raised in frantic concern, boiled around him, and he had the vague impression of people brushing past him with a sense of urgency. He blinked, realizing at last that Porter had him by the shoulders and was shouting into his face.
“Ivar! Snap out of it, man! You’ve got to help us.”
Ivar shook his head, and the black faded, revealing Nadia’s crumpled form huddled on the ground. Her long, elegant back was splattered with molten kaptum, and the sickening stench of burning flesh filled the cavern. Rogan knelt next to her, along with Talitha and Annika, both of whom had their eyes screwed shut, their foreheads wrinkled in fierce concentration. Their hands hovered over Nadia’s back.
Her skin was smoking.
“Ivar,” Porter said in front of him. “We’ve got to pull the metal out now. The kaptum is burning her faster than we can remove it. If it damages her internal organs, we won’t be able to save her.”
“Nadia?” Ivar said hoarsely. He pushed Porter aside and collapsed next to her. His hands shook as he held them over the ruin of her back. Her sleek body was covered with blood, her beautiful hair like red silk on the hard floor.
A firm hand grasped his wrist, and he looked across her body to Annika, whose blue eyes were wide with concern. “Ivar, it’s more than I can handle on my own. Start pulling metal if you can.” She released him and closed her eyes again, her lips moving soundlessly, her palms resting lightly on Nadia’s back.
Ivar followed her lead and lowered his own hands to Nadia’s skin. He didn’t stop to think, just let the metal flowing in his veins sing to the kaptum burning through Nadia’s body. He’d been born with kaptum inside him, and it was as natural to him as blinking or breathing, but he knew it didn’t feel that way for everyone.
The best way he’d heard it described was a hybrid of animal and virus. Like an animal, it was self-aware enough to impact its environment. It could lash out at
humans who disturbed it, and it could work with humans when it chose. It could be tamed, even befriended. But like a virus, it was also capable of adapting to survive—even at the expense of its host.
Ivar was always aware of the kaptum in his body, but he could choose to pay more or less attention to it depending on his needs. And because he’d been born on Tolbos, his body was particularly suited to host kaptum. The metal liked Ivar. It thrived inside him and even healed injuries that threatened to kill him. It was the reason he’d been able to recover from a stab wound and a collapsed lung while drifting in and out of consciousness.
He called up the kaptum in his body now, making the mysterious connection between his mind and whatever awareness piloted the metal that dwelled inside him. He directed it to connect with the kaptum scattered in Nadia’s back. Her body jolted under his hands, and his eyes flew open. Slowly, bluish-gray metal bubbled to the surface of her flesh and shivered, as if hesitating while it decided where to go.
“I’ve got it,” Porter announced, dropping to his knees beside Ivar. He began waving a long metal rod slowly over Nadia’s back. Kaptum leaped from skin to rod with a soft pinging sound. His arm jerked with each contact.
Talitha made the same movements with her artificial arm. “I don’t understand,” she said softly, “that whip should have killed her. Why would she do that?”
“I don’t think she realized the links would liquefy once they struck her skin,” Annika murmured. She rubbed her hand over a patch of burned flesh near Nadia’s shoulder blade, healing the wound. Ivar became aware of clumps of miners watching them work. They’d been joined by the mountain’s other inhabitants, mostly the work crews who supported the shifts of miners who labored night and day to extract kaptum from the rock.
He was overcome with an urge to remove Nadia from their sight. He snapped his fingers at a woman holding a basket of cloth. “You. Give me something to cover her.” He waited impatiently while the woman scrambled to obey, and he snatched the fabric from her hand as soon as she held it out.
Porter and the others shuffled out of his way as he wrapped Nadia in the cloth and lifted her into his arms. He knew from the sidelong glances they were casting at each other that he was acting crazy, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of the crowd gawking at her a second longer. It was bad enough that he’d humiliated her in the dining hall, treating her like the lowest bed slave in front of his men. He wasn’t going to let anyone look at her when she was hurt and vulnerable.