Enslaved (Brides of the Kindred Book 14) (59 page)

Emily shuddered and tried to push the
nightmarish image away.

“Don’t be stupid.” Her voice echoed again
in the tiled room, making her jump but she went on, lecturing herself in the
mirror anyway. “Don’t be stupid there’s not really any
other.
It’s all in your head just like it was in college when—”

But the words died in her throat.

The eyes staring back at her from the
bathroom mirror were no longer nothing-colored. Instead they were a pure, clear
gold. Not amber or light brown—brilliant, burnished
gold
. And her hair—it was changing color too. From dishwater blonde
it went to bible black. The change was sudden and complete—as though someone had
dumped a bucket of midnight over her head. A stranger stared back at her from
the mirror. A stranger…an alien…the
other.

Emily gave a soft, breathless scream and
backed away from her radically altered reflection. She squeezed her eyes
tightly shut and dug her fingernails into her palms.

No…nonono…I’m
not seeing this. It’s an illusion—a hallucination brought on by stress. I’m
fine. I’ll be fine…finefinefinefinefine!

With a low moan, she forced herself to
open her eyes.

They were no-color again. And her hair was
the same limp, dishwater blonde it had always been, no matter how many products
she used to give it body.

“I’m Emily,” she whispered to herself.
“Emily Brooks and I’m fine. There is no other.
There is no other.”

If only she could make herself believe it.

She backed away, never taking her eyes off
the mirror, fearful lest she see herself change again. But the image stayed the
same as she fumbled behind her for the doorknob and let herself out.

Emily took a deep, sobbing breath and
leaned against the bathroom door, letting the chilly wind dry her tears.
Everything was all right. She was fine.

For now.

* * * * *

Rivin Tragar of the
Verrak
stared at his target through narrowed eyes.

She appeared to be crying.

Why—he had no idea. It wasn’t really his
business. His business was to kill her. And that had
been
his business since he had first agreed to take this contract
from the strange Dark Kindred who called himself “Two.”

So why hadn’t he done it yet?

Tragar had no answer to the question.

Well no—that wasn’t exactly true, he
corrected himself. He hadn’t killed her yet because he wanted to know what she
was capable of. When Two have convinced him to take the contract, he had hinted
darkly of a female with hidden depths—a monster buried just below the surface
that might burst through her mild exterior and leave a trail of blood and
destruction in her path at any moment.

A monster like that was right up Tragar’s
alley. He preferred to take targets who were dangerous and could give him a
good fight. Even better if innocent lives might be at stake. In fact, when he’d
seen that this female—this Emily Brooks—worked with younglings, he’d almost
taken her out from a distance at once, even though it wasn’t his usual way.
Better to break his personal protocol that than risk young, innocent lives.

But he’d delayed—stilling the itchy
trigger finger on his sonic rifle for two reasons. The first was he preferred a
fair fight. Unlike some of the other
Verrak,
he didn’t take targets at a distance. He took them somewhere safe and
secure and let them choose their weapon and fight him face to face—let them die
with honor. No matter what heinous crimes they had committed, everyone deserved
dignity in death. That was Tragar’s belief, anyway.

The second reason he didn’t shoot, was that
he saw the way Emily interacted with the younglings. During his first
observation one of them had fallen, scraping a chubby knee on the hard walkway
that ran between the school buildings. The young one had run crying to Emily,
her knee seeping blood, her eyes awash with tears.

Here
we go…
Tragar’s finger had tightened on the
trigger. Surely the sight of blood would bring out the ravening monster Two had
sworn lurked in the innocent looking girl’s breast. He was ready to shoot her
down the moment she went for the youngling’s throat.

But instead of going feral—becoming a
thing of teeth and claws and appetite—the girl he had been sent to kill
gathered the youngling into her arms. She dried the little female’s tears and
said some words of consolation—too low for Tragar to understand though he had
been studying her language for days now.

The little female had quieted, obviously
feeling safe and comforted in the arms of Tragar’s target, who still showed no
signs of attacking. Gradually, his finger had loosened on the trigger and then
he had put down the rifle altogether and just watched.

Gods, it reminded him of Kallah…the way
she was with Jalex when he hurt himself…

No!
Tragar had pushed the memory away. He took a deep breath.
I do not allow my past to dictate my
present or my future. There is no then. There is only here and now. There is
only the target.

It a
Verrak
saying—a necessary reminder since most of those in his elite brotherhood came
from a background of loss and sorrow. But though he repeated it to himself over
and over, he still hadn’t been able to kill Emily Brooks. Not then and not now,
ten days later.

He studied her—watching her wipe at her
eyes with a hand that trembled. Why was she crying? What had agitated her so?
For a moment he imagined holding her against him and asking her what was wrong.
It was foolish of course—a fantasy that could never come true. But there was no
denying she would be pleasant to hold.

She had a lush body hidden beneath her
shapeless garments—he could tell. It was a shame she didn’t wear clothing that
showed her shape but just the outline of her curves was tantalizing. Not that
he was supposed to be looking at her that way—she was only another target,
after all. Still, those full breasts and rounded hips…

A burning sensation in his left arm
brought him back to reality. It was the
narsh—
the
mark of the
Verrak—
given to him when
he first passed the trials and took the oath. Tragar looked down at the thick
black lines criss-crossing his muscular arm from shoulder to wrist. The
narsh
burned to remind him that he had a
job outstanding—a commission as yet undone.

Tragar ignored it. He was used to doing
so. He never took jobs with time limits on them, preferring to take his time
and get every detail exactly right.

I just
need to know her,
he argued with
himself.
Need to find out what’s so
special—what makes her dangerous before I pull the trigger.

And so he watched…and waited. Soon, he
would kill her soon.

But not…just…yet.

Read on for an excerpt from
Mastering the Mistress
, available for preorder
here
.

Kaylee looked at her new body slave with more than a little
trepidation. She hadn’t planned on getting such a large male—or such a wild
looking one. Despite the slaver’s reassurance that he was tamed and trained,
the look in those pale green, gold-ringed eyes made her think otherwise. But he
didn’t say a word of protest as the lumpish security Crangs led him out to the
fancy space flyer her Aunt Jamelda had left her, along with everything else in
her will.

Kaylee had wanted to let him ride in the front, strapped into
one of the passenger chairs but Lyra had put her foot down. Slaves belonged in
the cargo hold until they were properly broken, she said, and she was
determined to be certain this Havoc male was perfectly trained before she
trusted him out in public.

The whole training ritual made Kaylee nearly as nervous as owning
a slave in the first place. Lyra claimed he had to be broken to her will,
whatever that meant. Kaylee wasn’t looking forward to the process of trying to
“break” such a large male in any way.

She sighed as she thought back to her life just a month ago.
She’d been living in relative obscurity on the other side of Yonnie Six,
working as a shop girl in Tulga, a little town without much to recommend it.
Still, Kaylee had been raised there and she’d been perfectly happy until her
mother died about a year ago from an incurable wasting disease. She’d grieved a
long time, missing the kind and gentle woman who raised her. Then she’d taken
stock of her life and realized she wanted more—more of what, exactly, she
didn’t know. But she did know she wasn’t content to live the rest of her life
in Tulga.

Luckily, just at that moment fate took a hand. She got word
that her great Aunt Jamelda, her mother’s only living relative, had just passed
away in a freak cliff jumping accident. Jamelda had been seventy-six at the
time and well past her prime but in all her pictures, she didn’t appear much
older than Kaylee’s own age of twenty-three. Either she had wonderful genetics
or she was addicted to enhancement surgery. Whatever the cause, it seemed she
liked living life to the fullest and when Kaylee had learned that she had
inherited a fortune, and a mansion in Opulex—the capital city of Yonnie Six—she
had decided to follow her great aunt’s example.

Unfortunately, living up to her great aunt included keeping up
appearances. Kaylee had felt completely lost the first time she came to a
society function. It hadn’t helped that everyone there had ignored her
entirely, even after the head body-slave had announced her as the heir of the
great Jamelda.

Kaylee had wandered around feeling lost until Lyra had come up
to her. Since she was the only one who was kind enough to speak to her, Kaylee
had latched onto her quickly. Her new friend had kindly explained that her
clothing was all wrong and her lack of a body slave was a social
faux pas
which couldn’t be excused under
any circumstances.

Kaylee had invited Lyra back to the mansion her great aunt had
left her and led her from room to room as Lyra’s eyes grew wider and wider. She
had decided on the spot to make Kaylee her new “project” and together they were
changing her image from that of a poor, timid girl who didn’t know which way
was up to a sophisticated woman with the world at her fingertips.

The first step had been clothes. Looking down at the too-short
skirt she was wearing, which barely covered her panties, Kaylee felt a twinge
of unease. In boring little Tulga, the tiny skirt and low-cut top that nearly
showed her nipples would have been considered obscene. But in Opulex, where the
most wealthy and powerful mistresses made their homes, it was everyday wear.
Indeed, Lyra had assured her that her outfit was positively frumpy. She’d
already picked out some gowns for the next society fling that made Kaylee blush
just to look at them.

But I won’t be going to any society function if I don’t get
this slave trained correctly,
Kaylee reminded herself uneasily. She
thought of him sitting back in the cargo hold and felt a surge of concern. Was
he all right back there? Like all Yonnites, she didn't consider males equals,
but she didn’t like having one as a slave either. There were a few free males
living on the fringes of Tulga and everyone had been content to leave them
alone. Then again, those had been shy, quiet specimens, most of them no larger
than any of the women in town and some were quite a bit smaller. None of them
were anything like the huge, imposing male Lyra had talked her into buying.

“Well, get ready, we’re almost here!” Lyra chirped, pulling
Kaylee away from her worried musings. She was driving and she handled the fast
little ship Great Aunt Jamelda had left Kaylee like she’d been born to do it.
Her own family was proud but not nearly as wealthy as some of the mistresses in
Opulex. Also, Lyra was a second daughter which meant her older sister would
inherit everything once their mother died. Still, she didn’t seem to let this
fact bother her—she was unfailingly cheerful and if she was a little pushy
sometimes, Kaylee was willing to forgive her. After all, Lyra was her only
friend in the sprawling, impersonal city and she was happy to have her.

Lyra steered the ship into a small, private entrance at the
bottom of the towering building Great Aunt Jamelda had left Kaylee. When she’d
learned that the entire huge skyscraper was now hers, she’d been astounded.
Most of the floors were rented out to other, lesser mistresses but Aunt J, as
Kaylee affectionately thought of her, had kept the top three for herself.

The little ship settled into the private lift and was carried
right up to the top of the huge building. There the lift opened into the parking
area of the vast suite of rooms which now belonged to Kaylee. In the first two
floors there were several living areas, three kitchens, multiple bedrooms,
bathrooms, and bathing areas, a private spa and sauna with an attached
bubble-water pool, and a massive entertainment theater with dream-gas
capabilities.

But despite the wonders of the first two floors, the
third
floor was what had really caught
Kaylee’s attention. It was entirely given over to a massive dungeon complex
filled with training and punishment equipment for wayward body-slaves. She
hadn’t had time to fully explore the dungeon yet but Lyra had promised they
would be making use of all its equipment when they were training the huge Havoc
slave.