Shadower (3 page)

"Wrong way, lady." He took her arm again and turned her toward the landing strip. "Where's your ship? You should get off Calt—now."

She pulled her arm free. "I have business to take care of first."

"Haven't you learned? There are a lot safer places than Calt to support a gambling habit. Unless offering that luscious body of yours to any lusting male is your business. Even that would be safer elsewhere."

Outrage and disgust shot through her. "You sleazy scourge of the universe!" She raised her arm to strike him, only to find her wrist caught in the magnasteel vise of his hand.

"Temper, temper," he chided. "Is that any way to thank a man who risked his life saving your honor?"

She wondered if he was ever serious. Jerking her wrist free, she snapped, "All right then, you overgrown desert krat.
Thank you!
Now, as I said, I have unfinished business. Then I'll be all too glad to leave."

"Care to share what that business is? Perhaps I can help."

She wanted to tell him she'd never accept assistance from him, or any other man—except that she just had. But that was as far as it went. "Arius could go nova, and I wouldn't need any more help from you."

All playfulness vanished from his face, and a glittering determination filled his eyes. "Then forget it. Calt is far too dangerous for you to hang around, especially since most of the beings at Giza's just lost a lot of money betting against you. You're leaving now, if I have to strap you into your ship and set the pilot for automatic."

Oh! She'd love to shoot that overbearing expression off his face. One small problem—he had possession of her weapon. "Give me back my gun."

"You really don't believe in saying
please,
do you? Someone needs to teach you some manners."

"I don't need you or anyone else to tell me what to do. Go burn in the Abyss."

Moving like a striking serpent, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, so close, she felt every millimeter of his unyielding body, felt the heat emanating from him. He was fast—she'd give him that. Furious, she squirmed against him, and he inhaled sharply. She stilled immediately, alarmed by the physical evidence of his reaction to her.

"I
will
see you off this planet," he insisted, clamping her legs inside his own.

"I'll see you in hell first!"

"Sweetheart, we're already there." He framed her face with his hands, his thumb wiping away another patch of slime. "You know, you clean up pretty good. You need to work on the attitude, though."

"Men like you don't bring out my best side." A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she clutched the front of his flightsuit for support.

Desire flared in his dark eyes, sparking an odd rush through her veins. He must have sensed her reaction, because his expression turned predatory. "I wonder if you taste as good as you look," he murmured.

Before she could react, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her body felt sluggish, like she'd been drugged, but her senses went into overdrive, making her acutely aware of the rock hard pressure of his legs hemming her in. Of the searing solidity of his body pressed against her; the startling feel of his lips molding to hers, taking confident possession. Of the heady taste of liquor as his tongue invaded her mouth.

Her thoughts scattered like marbles in a vortex, leaving her oddly disoriented. For one mad moment, she almost savored the unique experience; the comfort and security of this man's embrace…the absurd feeling of finding a haven.

Then the black talons of horror and revulsion descended. Panic surged, and adrenaline pounded through her body. Another wave of dizziness sent her reeling. She tried to push away, but her legs collapsed.

Darkness engulfed her.…

Blazing hells, Sabin thought wryly. He knew he was good, but he'd never made a woman faint before.
Yeah, right, Travers. You're such a lady killer.
He had no idea what had possessed him to kiss her, given her obvious aversion to him. But her lush, tempting mouth had lured him into a fool's game. That, and something in her eyes, a vulnerability contradictory to her fierce bravado.

He shook away that last thought. It was lust, pure and simple, one of those inexplicable attractions that just happened sometimes. No big deal. As for her fainting, the shock from the brawl was the likely culprit.

He eased her to the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm. He was bleeding, but not heavily. He'd take care of the injury later, after he dealt with the woman. She should come around quickly. But   the dark stain seeping from her left shoulder gave him cause to reconsider. He pulled her cape back and saw ugly, raised welts through her torn flightsuit, blood oozing from them. He wanted to kick himself.

He should have blown those two goons to debris as soon as the woman had been compromised. He'd known no one else at Giza's would come to her aid. Bar fights, and betting on who would win them, were a favorite pastime there. He would have stepped in sooner, but she had displayed an impressive ability to hold her own, readily dispatching the Antek. She hadn't done too badly against two seven-foot Jaccians, either.

But if he had intervened sooner, she might not have been injured. A wound from a Jaccian tentacle could be serious, especially if the victim reacted unfavorably to the mild poison stored in the barbs. Even without a high sensitivity, the poison left the victim sluggish and disoriented for a few hours, not to mention the risk of infection.

So now he had to play healer to an overbearing female who showed no gratitude whatsoever to him for saving her hide. Hell, he didn't even know her name. Since he had no idea where her ship was and had no intention of taking her back to the settlement, his own craft was the only option. Just what he needed—an unwelcome intrusion into what had already been a miserable day.

He hefted her into his arms, staggering slightly and trying the keep the weight off his injured arm. She obviously didn't miss any meals, although from what he'd seen, her body was in top condition. The woman was tall and statuesque, nicely curved in all the right places.

Don't go there,
he warned himself. He didn't need any distractions, not with so much gold on the line for Galen's capture. And not with the horrifying rumors of a deadly virus the Controllers had unleashed in their battle against the Shielders. He prayed those rumors weren't true.

Shifting his burden more securely in his arms, he trekked across the sand to where his ship sat on a landing pad. It was a battered piece of junk, but it had seen him through many a scrape. He carried her up the ramp to the rear hatch, punched the control with his elbow, and went inside. The engineering bay was on the right. He could see Radd's legs protruding from the open stardrive casing.

"How are the repairs coming?" he called out.

"Huh?" Radd slid out and sat up, a faraway expression on his face. He was always like that when he was deeply involved in the complexities of stardrives and stabilizers and thrusters. He looked like a youth, with his mussed, dark-blond hair, and a smattering of freckles across his round face. But Sabin knew he was older than he looked, a lot more astute than he acted, and one of the best star-class ship mechanics in the quadrant.

"How are the repairs coming?" Sabin repeated.

"Uh, just fine. The new stardrive is almost in, and then I have to run diagnostics. Should be done in about three hours." Radd stared at the woman in Sabin's arms. "Who's that?"

He didn't feel like going through lengthy explanations, especially since he didn't know very much himself. "A woman."

Radd blinked his owlish eyes. "You're bringing a woman on board? D'ya want me to leave?" "She's unconscious, in case you didn't notice."

"Uh, there's only one kinda woman on this planet, far's I know. And some guys don't seem to be too picky about whether a female is conscious or not."

Outside technical ship jargon, that was the most Radd had ever uttered at one time. Sabin stared at him, bemused. "Yeah, well, I don't go in for that one-sided stuff. I like my partners more active. This lady tangled with some Jaccians and needs medical attention."

"Oh. Looks like you need some treatin' yourself."

Sabin's arm was throbbing painfully, but he'd suffered worse. "It's just a laser burn. No big deal."

Radd started back inside the casing. "By the way," he called out, his voice muffled, "your transceiver sounded twice while you were gone."

It had probably been his partner, McKnight, since Sabin hadn't checked in at the prearranged time. He'd just have to wait. Sabin carried the woman into his cabin and lowered her onto the bunk, shaking out his cramped arms.

He slipped off her cape. Her deep, even breathing reassured him she wasn't suffering an acute reaction to the poison. But her smooth skin was pale, her full lips bloodless. Despite that, despite the blotches of slime, her classic beauty shone through. Her lustrous hair had come partly undone from its twist, and he couldn't resist sliding his fingers beneath her head to loosen the rest of the strands and smooth them out. Her hair flowed like rivers of burnished copper over her shoulders and generous breasts.

Who was this woman? What business could she possibly have on Calt, outside of prostitution? But although, as Radd pointed out, that would be the obvious assumption, Sabin would be willing to bet a lot of miterons she wasn't a prostitute.

She could be a professional gamer, although that didn't feel right, either. She knew how to fight. One unpleasant possibility reared its head: she was a Controller agent. Maybe even a shadower, although he had never run into any female bounty hunters. He hoped both those possibilities were wrong. He rifled through her cloak and the pouches of miterons, until he found what he sought—her identification disc. He would check it after he took care of her wound.

She stirred, and he realized he'd better hurry and treat her injury, as well as his own. Unfortunately, he had only the most basic medical supplies on board. While he knew rudimentary first-aid, a necessity for those in his profession, he wasn't willing to spare the funds to stock his ship with such sophisticated equipment as infrared sterilizers and suture units. Not when others had needs more pressing than his own. His partner had a well-equipped medical lab on his ship, but McKnight was on the other side of the quadrant, tracking down a lead.

Sabin did have something to sterilize the wound, though—sulfomagtrite, a harsh but effective treatment. It wasn't the ideal cure, but it was all he had, and it would have to do. Stuffing the woman's ID disc into his pocket, he retrieved the antiseptic and some bandages from his supply vault. Realizing her gun was still stuck inside his belt, he tossed it inside the vault and returned to his cabin.

He quickly peeled away the top of his flightsuit and slapped a bandage over his wound. He'd clean it later. Right now the woman's needs were more pressing. He turned to the bunk. She hadn't moved. He thought about cutting her suit away, but decided instead to undo the front seam and slide it off her shoulder. The suit was ruined, but she needed something to wear back to her ship.

She moaned as he eased her arm out of the sleeve, letting the fabric rest against her chest. The shoulder looked bad, puffy and black, but the bleeding had stopped. He cleaned the wound with water and soap first. She stirred and protested, unconsciously trying to knock his hand away. He hoped she didn't wake up too soon.

Sliding a folded towel under her shoulder, he opened the flask of sulfomagtrite. "Here goes," he muttered, and poured it on the wound.

She didn't react for a few milliseconds, then the sulfo hit home. With a shriek, she came off the bunk. Prepared for that, Sabin pushed her back down. He wasn't prepared, however, for the right hook that smashed into his cheek.

"Blazing hells!" He stumbled back, and she rolled to her feet. She was halfway through the entry before he regained his senses and caught her, looping his arm around her waist and snagging her.

Her dash had apparently sapped her strength, because he pulled her back to the bunk easily enough, evading her feeble kicks. As a precaution, though, he leaned over her, capturing and trapping her hands against the mat.

She twisted and heaved beneath him, her golden eyes burning with fury. "Spirit, that hurts! Are you trying to kill me?"

"I would say it was the other way around," he responded, resisting the strong urge to rub his throbbing cheek. "You have a pretty bad Jaccian wound on your shoulder, and I had to put sulfomagtrite on it. I know it stings. Let me blow on it and—"

"I don't want your breath on me. Don't do another thing," she gritted out between clenched teeth. She tossed her head to the side, her shimmering hair fanning out like Saija silk over her injured shoulder and across her chest. Feeling the tension in her arms, her fingers digging into the mat, he knew the sulfo must sting like crazy.

"This will help, I promise." He released one hand and drew her hair away from her shoulder. He froze at the sight of her breast poised on the verge of overflowing her flightsuit, which had slipped perilously low. Abundantly rounded and firm, it swelled temptingly above the torn fabric. His body reacted immediately, the blood pounding to his lower extremities. By the Fires!

He was no untried, inexperienced youth, and he'd long ago learned to control his desires. Yet the overwhelming urge to feel the weight of that fullness in his hand, to explore its texture and taste, battled with reason. Somehow, this woman had managed to have this unwelcome effect on his libido not once, but twice, even though she had obviously despised him on sight.

Under different circumstances, he might have shown her what she was capable of
really
feeling, at least physically. But the ugly shoulder wound reminded him now was not the time to satisfy ego or physical lust. He willed his overheated body to cool. He did have to do one thing, though—remove temptation.

He reached toward her.

*  *  *  *

The man's fingers brushed against her breast, and Moriah tensed, forgetting the burning agony in her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut. A band of darkness tightened around her heart, as dread surged through her body. She'd seen the expression on his face; she knew what would happen now. She was far too weak to fight it. Deep inside, a wrenching keening sliced upward, but she refused to utter a sound.