Beyond the Shadows (15 page)

“Quiet,” the Kronalen demanded. Yara felt a burning sting in her arms, and then weakness stole through her body. She fought to maintain her grip on the chains and her fragile hold on consciousness.

“I apologize for the boy,” the Kronalen continued. “He’s a distraction. I’ll put him down.”

“No,” the Ankarlen stated. Yara’s eyelids felt so heavy. She couldn’t keep them open. Staying awake felt like a struggle against a mounting tide, but her life depended on it. “For now, leave him. You ask for how much?”

“Eighty thousand bars of conductive trillide.” The Kronalen moved to block the door. Yara couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Her arms stretched above her head, tingling from lack of blood flow. She wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

 

 

“YOU SPEND TOO MUCH TIME IN SMOKEHOUSES,” CYN COUNTERED, IMITATING the odd speech patterns of the Rasso-Ankarlen. So far, his disguise was flawless. Now he just had to play the part. “You can have forty for her and the boy.”

Cyn spared a glance back at Yara, even though he couldn’t let his worry show on his face. He was losing her to the tranquilizers. The Kronalen bastard that took her was the lowest kind of scum. If the man hadn’t insisted on showing his
wares
inside the security of his own ship, Cyn would have slit his throat, stolen Yara, and been done with the leech.

He let his glance drift down the long, smooth lines of her athletic body, and his stomach churned in protest. She was too beautiful to suffer this way. He had to get her out of there. Immediately.

Then again, he had to be careful, or he’d end up chained beside her.

Xan had his back and thankfully subdued the Hannolen youth. Cyn didn’t want to see the boy killed either. He looked at the boy and saw himself, years ago. The pain of it burned like a fresh wound in his mind. As it was, he was fighting with all his concentration just to keep old visions from distracting him.

“Forty, don’t insult me,” the Kronalen complained. “She has not been off this ship and is untouched. That alone is worth at least an extra twenty.”

Cyn wanted to agree to whatever terms the Kronalen offered just to get her out of there, but he knew it would be an immediate red flag. Ankarlen were nasty negotiators.

“Forty-five. She shows no proof she is worth any more than that.” Cyn tried to maintain an aloof expression, but the subdermal pinchers he’d inserted to shape his eyes and cheeks hurt like a bitch. He just hoped his grimace looked somewhat like a superior sneer. He didn’t have that much trillide. He only had one thing of worth, his ship.

“Why don’t you feel her out?” the Kronalen suggested. “She’s quality.”

The chains rattled as Yara flinched and tried to pull away. Her fear was so stark and clear on her face, it broke him. He felt his stomach clench. He couldn’t touch her like this. It went against everything he believed in. He held himself to a strict code of honor, and this would be the deepest, most terrible violation of that.

“No need, her condition is evident.” Cyn brushed off the Kronalen who circled around and eyed Yara with a hungry look on his ratlike face.

“What kind of a Rasso are you?” he asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “Your people love their bed pets. Perhaps you prefer the boy?”

“Pit fighters are needed stock for the pits. New bed sports hold no interest now.” Cyn risked a sidelong glance at Xan. Though he was dressed in a simple slave tunic as part of the ruse, the pirate was armed to the teeth. They both figured no one would check a slave for a small arsenal of weapons.

“
I
could demonstrate her fitness,” the Kronalen leech suggested with an evil grin on his face. “If you’re not interested in keeping her clean, I might as well try her out. I’m not selling her for less than sixty.” He moved up behind her, and again Yara pulled on her chains as a helpless gasp escaped her beautiful lips.

He had to stop this.

“Don’t touch her,” he growled.

The Kronalen laughed. “Feel her out if you’re interested. Then we’ll discuss price.”

Cyn closed his eyes behind the shades protecting him from the blinding lights.

He had no choice.

 

 

“TOUCH ME AND I’LL BITE YOU UNTIL YOU BLEED,” YARA PROMISED.

 

The Kronalen flesh trader laughed his low, sickening laugh. “See? Fierce.”

What was she going to do?

She couldn’t defend herself. She couldn’t defend Ishan. She didn’t even know if the boy was still alive.

Her heart thundered an erratic, painful rhythm in her chest. She could barely feel her arms, the only sensations in them a deep, numb ache and the sting of the cuffs digging into her wrists.

She felt the Ankarlen’s presence as he drew closer to her. The drugs swam in her mind, but the sharp sting of her terror gave her clarity.

Somehow, she’d kill him. She swore it to herself.

Her body tensed, waiting for hot, ugly hands to grope her body, but they didn’t come. She could feel the heat of him in the cold compartment. It enveloped her, making her feel less exposed, but he did not touch her.

She tried to open her eyes again but couldn’t.

The tickle of breath caressed her neck. “Forgive me, Pix,” he whispered, so low she almost didn’t hear him.

Oh sweet merciful Matriarchs
! Her heart pounded harder as she almost collapsed with dizzy relief.

Cyrus
.

How did he find her?

The tips of his fingers barely touched her jaw, trickling over her sensitive skin as a sudden rush of adrenaline coursed through her blood. She turned her head away from his touch.

She had to think. This was all a ruse. He was pretending to be her buyer. She had to play along, or they’d all be dead.

Why did he come for her?

Jerking her face away from his touch, she tried to muster the strength to pretend to resist him. His fingers burrowed into the hair just behind her ears, while his rough thumbs smoothed over her cheekbones. He turned her head one way, then the other. She pushed into the touch, wanting it to look like he had to force her, but the stronger contact with his warm hands felt safe as he cradled her face.

He brushed at a cold trail of her tears with his gentle touch, and a hot, stinging tear spilled out of her eye to re-form the damp trail.

His warm palm circled one of her wrists. He gave her a light, reassuring squeeze, then let his hand slide slowly down her forearm and the backs of her tired arms. He massaged the ache in the muscles of her back and neck, his hands strong and forceful in the touch. It was part of the act, a pit-master feeling a fighter’s potential strength, but he managed to relieve her pain with it instead of harm her. The rush of relief that followed in the wake of his touch made her dizzy mind swim and her heart stumble.

Dear sweet Creator, I am going to die
.

She let her head fall forward, pretending to faint, even though it wasn’t too far off the mark. Every cell in her body screamed as it came alive for him.

He brought his hands lower around the backs of her shoulders and kneaded her weary muscles. She fought to breathe as the comforting touch drove her mad with relief.

His hands skimmed over the bare skin of her collar bone, tracing along the edge of her wound.

She preferred the hard touch. Force was something she was used to while sparring. Touch was a means of control, of power. The light touch was something different, something she could barely understand.

She had no control here. Her life was in his skilled hands, and his touch tortured her. It teased her and awoke something powerful and primal.

She felt caged, trapped, but so damn alive she had to fight not to roar like some wild cat in heat.

What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be thinking like this. She should not be turned on by this. It was so wrong.

His fingers danced along the sides of her breasts, and she moaned low in her throat. His warm palms slid over her nipples in a soft and modest caress.

By Fima the Merciless, he was killing her.

And it felt so good.

It had to be the drugs. She’d gone completely out of her mind. She shouldn’t want his touch. It should repulse her.

Forgive me
. His whispered words echoed in the deep parts of her mind.

A shiver raced down the backs of her legs as his gentle hands drifted over her stomach.

His intentions became suddenly clear.

He had tried to get out of touching her, he was doing everything in his power to keep his touch light, and he wanted her forgiveness for touching her at all.

He respected her.

And what was worse?

She trusted him.

Great Ona, if this was a test of her will, she was failing miserably.

His hands sank lower, until the tips of his fingers brushed the top of her thigh and drifted toward the juncture of her legs. Her body responded with a blaze of damp heat. The pulse of her need thrummed in her head, her heart. She was no virgin. In her youth, bold and secure in her place among the Elite, she had commanded a lover. But the rules had been different. She had control. She touched him. He did as he was told.

Now helpless and in the hands of a man who ignited everything in her, her body recognized what it wanted, what it needed.

Her heart stopped. She inhaled but couldn’t exhale as his powerful fingers pushed between her legs.

Ona, forgive me
. It was her turn to beg.

Her mouth dropped open as his fingers remained still. She still couldn’t push the air out of her lungs. She expected his thick fingers to work into her, feel her, but he remained so still. She realized he wouldn’t do such a thing, and instead of being relieved she wanted to throw him on the floor and take her pleasure from him as if he were a simple object for her lust, but deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t possible.

She pulled against her chains.

She gasped and tried to pull away from him. She couldn’t take the stillness in his hand another moment. She wanted far more. She had never wanted anything like this.

She felt her pulse deep in that place as it throbbed against his hand. She dangled from her chains, limp and weak as he pulled his hand away. He reached behind her and slid his hands from her lower back, over her buttocks and down the backs of her thighs and calves, bringing him down on one knee before her.

Her ecstasy tore through her like beautiful torture, and she let out her breath in a hard rush of air. She could feel the heat of his breath on her stomach, then lower as he touched his forehead for only an instant to the soft swell of her lower abdomen.

His position reminded her of a pilgrim before a holy shrine, seeking forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive. She didn’t want him like this. She wanted him fierce, raw. She wanted him over her, in her, never beneath her.

If he ever chose to worship her, she’d be a sacrifice screaming beneath him, not a shrine.

She had been a shrine too long.

“What do you think?” the Kronalen asked. “Does she smell good enough to taste?” Cyrus stood and pulled away from her but not before her imagination placed his mouth on her most intimate place. She fought back a low groan as she hung in the chains.

The icy air of the compartment closed in around her, filling the void where his body heat had soaked into her skin. She could still smell the rich, dusky scent that had clung to his bed. She tried to hold on to that as tightly as she held her breath.

“She is acceptable, but there is no way to prove she is untouched as you say,” Cyrus answered.

“You’re just trying to talk her down. You know she is quality. I won’t take less than sixty,” the Kronalen insisted. Yara cracked open her eyes, needing to see him, though she couldn’t recognize him.

Cyrus paced with slow, deliberate steps across the room. “You’ll accept a macro-capable I.S. Cruiser modified for smuggling for the Azralen and the boy.”

Yara’s gut dropped to the floor as she hung limply from her chains.

He would trade his ship?

What was he thinking?

“Does it fly?” The Kronalen sounded skeptical.

“Don’t insult, trader, or your head will feed my bears.” Cyrus sounded cool, in control, not like he was trading away his home for a woman he barely knew.

Something wasn’t right.

Why had he gone after her?

It didn’t make any sense.

“I want another ten for the boy,” the Kronalen pushed.

“He’s worthless. You would dispose of him. However, he might be useful as bait and practice for the Azralen. You will give me the boy as a tribute to my patience.” Cyrus’s voice gave her chills as he spoke about both of them as if they weren’t human. The Ankarlen manner of speaking without ever referring to oneself to foreigners only made the cold denial of their humanity more distressing.

She knew it was an act, but the thought that anyone could actually dehumanize another in such a way terrified her.

She tried to stay calm. Yarini, her ancestor and the guardian of justice, would protect them. They had to make it out of this.

“I could still sell the boy on the blocks,” the Kronalen insisted.

“The crowd will laugh. He barely lives,” Cyrus insisted. “His price wouldn’t cover the auction fees.”

“Fine,” the Kronalen acquiesced. “Transfer the command codes to this ship. I’ll confirm its condition with my man there and pick it up on my way back through Gansai.”

Yara’s relief almost made her faint as she hung from the shackles. She watched the Kronalen hand over the control pin for the slave bands to Cyrus.

She was safe.

The men exited the room, and the lights finally turned out, plunging them into near darkness. The chains went slack, and Yara collapsed to the floor.