The Captive (10 page)

“I just saved your life.”

She had the decency to look ashamed, but she didn’t unlock
the manacles.

With a weary sigh, he stretched out on the ground, though
with his hands and feet shackled, it was next to impossible to get comfortable.

Ashlynne watched him carefully, unable to believe he was
actually going to sleep! But there would be no rest for her, she thought. Even
with his hands and feet shackled, she didn’t trust him. The minute she closed
her eyes, she knew he would be on her, and once he had the controller, she
would be at his mercy.

She stared at him for a moment, then gazed at the sky again.
It was full dark now, and she was hungry and tired. And alone with a slave. Her
fingers tightened on the controller. She would use it if she had to. Just
because he had saved her from the Hodorians didn’t mean he could be trusted. He
was a slave, a man sentenced to live out the remainder of his life in the mine.
Suddenly the strength went out of her limbs and she sank down to the ground. Tears
stung her eyes. Her throat felt tight and thick. Burying her face in her hands,
she wept bitter tears, crying for her parents, for Magny, for the loss of
everything she had ever known, everything she had loved. All her life, she had
been loved and cared for. She had never wanted for anything. She’d had the best
education available, the finest clothes money could buy, the security of a good
family. And now, none of it meant a thing. Better she should have learned how
to survive in the wilderness than how to paint a landscape or sculpt or
entertain foreign diplomats.

Falkon’s jaw clenched as he listened to the girl’s sobs. He
had a ridiculous urge to go to her, to gather her into the circle of his arms
and assure her that everything would be all right. She was such an innocent,
she would probably believe him. At least until tomorrow.

He knew about the jungles of Tierde, about the slime-pits
and the blue fire-sand. While imprisoned in the mine, he had heard numerous
tales of men, slave and free alike, who had been lost in that jungle, never to
be seen again, heard a dozen grisly stories of the cannibals and renegades who
hid in the depths of its green heart, heard of the wild animals and wilder men
who preyed upon the weak, the foolish, the unwary.

With a sigh, he closed his mind to the sound of the girl’s
tears. He had no comfort to give her or anyone else. All he wanted was his
freedom and five minutes alone with Drade.

He fell asleep, a smile on his lips, as he contemplated
squeezing the last breath of life from the man who had destroyed his home and
murdered his family.

Niklaus Hassrick scowled at the tele-screen. “Dammit, Drade,
what the hell happened?”

The image on the screen shrugged. “We made a mistake.”

“A mistake! A mistake! Is that what you call it? You damn
fool, you were supposed to wait until she was here.”

Drade shrugged again. “What’s done is done.”

“That’s all you have to say? Is that what you want me to
tell Lord Brezor? I’m sorry, but what’s done is done?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“You’d damn well better hope I do, ‘cause if I go down, I’m
taking you with me. What’s happening there now?”

“Everything’s under control. The mine itself is undamaged.
As far as everyone knows, it was an unprovoked attack by the Hodorians.” Drade
frowned. “Two of my men were found dead a short distance from the house.”

“What happened to them?”

“I’m not sure. I think one of the servants must have killed
them and escaped through the back wall. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. The
jungle will take care of whoever it was.”

Niklaus ran a hand through his hair. This whole thing had
gone from bad to worse. It had all seemed so simple at the beginning. He swore
under his breath. There had to be a way to make it work. A forged letter from
Marcus, perhaps, bequeathing him ownership of the mine? Or papers alleging that
he had bought half the mine? One way or another, he had to gain control of the
mine, it was the only way to fulfill his bargain with the Cenian ambassador,
the only way to save himself from ruin.

“Hassrick?”

“You’re sure she’s dead?”

“The house was leveled. No one could have gotten out.”

“Someone killed your men.”

“Yeah, but I’m willing to bet it wasn’t the girl.”

Niklaus grunted softly. At the sound of his father’s voice,
he muttered a quick goodbye and broke the connection.

He would find a way out of this mess somehow.

His future, his reputation, depended on it.

Falkon sat up, his body tense, his ears ringing with the
sound of a woman’s scream.
Maiya
…

It took him a moment to realize the scream had come from
Ashlynne.”What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked gruffly.

“A…a spider.”

“What?”

“There was a spider on my arm. It…it scared me. I hate
spiders.”

Falkon grunted softly, then turned away. A spider. “How
about releasing me?”

She hesitated a moment, then activated the release
mechanism.

Falkon stood up. After stretching his arms and legs, he
walked to the tunnel’s opening and peered through the vines. Dawn was breaking
over the distant mountains. The rising sun splashed the sky with brilliant
streaks of ocher and fiery shades of crimson. He heard the trilling of birds,
the rustle of the leaves on the trees outside the tunnel, the shriek of some
wild animal.

He glanced over his shoulder at the girl. Her hair fell in a
tangled mass of silver blonde curls down her back; her face was smudged with
dirt. Her dress was ripped along the neckline, revealing one softly rounded
shoulder and a tantalizing glimpse of smooth creamy flesh. She didn’t look so
high and mighty now, he mused. “Let’s go, princess.”

“Is it safe?”

Falkon shrugged. If there were men prowling the jungle, the
birds wouldn’t be singing. Indeed, the moment he stepped out of the tunnel, the
jungle grew silent, almost as if it were holding its breath.

Ashlynne stepped warily to the mouth of the tunnel, the hand
in her pocket fisted around the controller. She saw Number Four standing a few
feet away, his head cocked, as though he were listening to something only he
could hear, and then he began walking east.

She felt a peculiar lurch in her stomach as she looked at
him. He wore only a pair of tight-fitting breeches and a pair of black boots.
The early morning sunlight cast blue highlights in his long black hair. She
stared at his back, pity rising within her when she saw the ugly marks left by
the lash. His arms and legs were long and well-muscled.

The thought of those arms, the strength of them, made her
tighten her hold on the controller. She would have to be on her guard every
minute, she thought, else he over-power her and wrest the controller from her
grasp. She would be helpless then, completely at his mercy. Blackguard that he
was, he would probably trade her to the Romarians in exchange for a way off
Tierde.

Falkon looked over his shoulder, frowning when he saw the
girl staring at him. “I’m leaving,” he said, “with or without you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so.”

Slowly, Ashlynne drew her hand out of her pocket, the
controller pointed at his back. “You will wait for me.”

Falkon glanced at the controller, then back at the girl. He
had no doubt she would use the thing. She had done so before. “Right.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he watched her step out of the
tunnel. The hand holding the controller was trembling. A muscle twitched in his
jaw. One slip of her thumb and he would be writhing on the ground at her feet.

He choked back the anger that rose in his throat like bile.
It was maddening, humiliating, degrading, to be at the mercy of another and
even more so to be at the mercy of a mere girl. There was a good chance he
could jump her and wrest the controller from her grasp, but not now. He would
bide his time for just the right moment.

“You’ve been injured!” She gestured at his arm with the
controller, felt the nausea rise in her throat as she stared at the ugly black
burn across his right biceps.

“Yeah.” He glanced at the wound. The skin of his upper arm
was raw and red, black around the edges.

“Does it…does it hurt very much?”

“Damn right.” He took a deep, calming breath. “Are you ready
to go now?” He forced the words through clenched teeth.

“Shouldn’t we…your arm. Shouldn’t we tend it first?”

“I don’t know how, unless you’ve got a medi-kit hidden in
your pocket.”

Ashlynne shook her head.

“Let’s go then.”

“I’ll follow you. Mind you go slowly. I…I won’t hesitate to
use this if I have to.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he muttered. Pivoting on his
heel, he started walking, slowly.

Gradually, his anger melted. It was the first time in months
that he had been outside the mine compound or the
jinan
. The sun felt
warm, soothing, on his back. A deep breath filled his nostrils with a myriad of
scents—earth and trees, the perfume of wildflowers, the stink of a rotting
carcass, the heavy smell of damp tree moss.

Falkon walked steadily toward the rising sun. If he
remembered correctly, there was a star base located on the eastern strip of
Tierde. He could leave the girl there. With any luck, he would be able to steal
a cruiser and get the hell off this rock. Free, he thought. Soon, he’d be free
again. He lifted a hand to his throat. With any luck, he’d soon be free of the
heavy collar and the shackles, too

The laser burn on his arm seemed to throb in time with his
footsteps, increasing as the day went on until it was a constant pulsing pain.

At noon, they stumbled onto a deep green pool surrounded by
gigantic blue ferns and a profusion of flowering vines.

Falkon paused at the edge of the pool, his mouth watering as
his gaze swept over the surrounding area.

Ashlynne licked her lips. “Do you think it’s safe to drink?”

Falkon nodded. “Probably.” Judging from the variety of
animal tracks, the pool appeared to be a watering hole.

She started to take a step forward, but he held her back.
“Hold on.”

Years of training to be a sky pilot had taught him never to
rush into unknown territory, but to wait, to study the lay of the land.

Ashlynne looked at him, annoyed. A flash of movement caught
her eye and she glanced at the pool to see a small reddish-brown spring-cat
approach the pool. The animal scented the air, then lowered its head and began
to drink.

Falkon let out a sigh of relief when the cat disappeared
into the forest. He’d been pretty certain the water was safe; the cat confirmed
it. Hurrying forward, he dropped down on his belly and buried his face in the
pool, then drank deeply. The water was cool and sweet. He was aware of the girl
kneeling beside him, taking delicate sips of water from her cupped hands. When
he had quenched his thirst, he lowered his wounded arm into the pool, closing
his eyes as the cool water eased the burning ache.

When she finished drinking, Ashlynne scooted away from
Number Four. His nearness made her nervous. He looked dark and dangerous
sitting there beside the pool. Water glistened on his bare arms and chest, his
jaw was shadowed with the beginnings of a beard, his trousers hugged his long,
muscular legs like a second skin. She wondered what it would be like to explore
the hard muscles of his arms, to run her fingertips over his flat muscular
stomach…she shook her head, horrified by the direction of her thoughts. He was
a mercenary, a killer. She would do well to remember that.

Glancing up, she saw him watching her, a bemused expression
on his face. Mortified, she realized she had been staring at chest. A rush of
heat flooded her cheeks. Her first instinct was to look away. Instead, she
lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“You want to see the rest?” he drawled. “I could strip down
for you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean!” The lie tasted sour
in her mouth. Impossible as it seemed, she felt her cheeks grow even hotter.

“You own me,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see it all?”

She had never been so humiliated in her life. She wanted to
die, to disappear, to never see him again.

“Ready to go, princess?”

“Yes,” she replied curtly, “as soon as I wash this stuff
from my hands.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Frowning, she scrubbed at the flaky greenish
substance under her fingernails. It looked like paint, but it couldn’t be. “And
stop calling me princess.”

He rose fluidly to his feet and held out his hand, his dark
eyes dancing with amusement.

He was laughing at her! Ashlynne glared up at him. Refusing
his offer, she stood up and wiped her hands dry on her skirt.

“Afraid of me?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m hungry,” she said imperiously.

“Well, I’m sure that’s a first. Come on, let’s go.”

She had never been hungry before. The gnawing ache in her
belly helped keep her mind off the humiliation she had endured at the pool. It
was bad enough to realize she had been staring at him, wondering what his bare
skin would feel like beneath her fingertips. It was positively mortifying to
know that he had been aware of her thoughts.

It seemed as though they had been walking for days when he
finally found a place to rest. Ashlynne’s legs felt like rubber as she sank to
the ground. Her hand ached from holding the controller, yet she dared not put
it down. It was the only protection she had.

She felt her cheeks grow warm as her stomach growled loudly.

She was hungry and thirsty and tired. She wanted something
to eat, a glass of sweet wine, a warm bath, a soft bed to sleep in. She wanted
her parents… Hot tears burned her eyes. They were dead, and she would never see
them, or her home, again.

Sunk in the depths of her own misery, she began to cry.
Unconsciously, her hand tightened on the controller.

A sharp cry of pain penetrated her grief. Looking up, she
saw Number Four writhing on the ground, his body straining, every muscle taut.

Instantly, she released her grip on the controller. “I’m
sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident!”

She watched helplessly as he continued to writhe in agony,
her own anguish forgotten. His body twitched uncontrollably as hundreds of tiny
electrical shocks pulsed through him.

Gradually, the spasms stopped. Eyes closed, he lay on the
ground, his body bathed in sweat, his breathing harsh and uneven.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured contritely. “So sorry.”

“Why?” Just a single word, filled with condemnation.

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

He opened his eyes to stare up at her. She flinched at the
pain and contempt she read in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“No need to be. I’m just a slave. You could kill me and no
one would care.” With an effort, he sat up. He wiped his sweaty brow on his
forearm, then sat there, staring at her, until his body stopped trembling and
his breathing returned to normal. “I don’t suppose you’d consider giving me
that thing? Or throwing it away?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” He stood up slowly and took a deep
breath. When he looked at her, his eyes were cold. “If you ever use that damn
thing on me again, I’ll break your neck.”

Ashlynne scrambled to her feet and backed away from him. “I
said it was an accident.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“But I’m hungry. And tired.”

“So am I, princess.” Without another word, he turned his
back to her and started walking.

There was nothing for her to do but follow him.

At dusk, he found a shallow stream. The bank was
criss-crossed with animal tracks. Ashlynne sat on a stump, the controller in
her lap, watching Number Four fashion a snare from a sturdy brown vine. “Do you
think that will work?”

“You’d better hope so.”

He put the finishing touches on the snare, covered it with a
thin layer of leaves. “Come on.” Without waiting to see if she followed him or
not, he moved away from the stream, taking cover behind a stand of timber.

“How long will we have to wait?”

“I don’t know.” He sat down with his back against a tree,
his legs drawn up, his arms resting on his bent knees. He had never been so
tired. The wound in his arm throbbed monotonously. “As long as it takes, I
guess.”

After a moment, Ashlynne sat down across from him. Silence
stretched between them. It made her uncomfortable. “Do you have a name?”

“You mean besides Number Four?”

She flinched at the bitterness in his voice. How degrading
it must be, she thought, to be called by a number instead of your name. What if
she had been imprisoned? What if no one called her Ashlynne anymore? Using a
number instead of a name was so cold, so impersonal, almost as if that person
was no longer human. For the first time, it occurred to her that stripping a
man of his name was like stripping him of his identity, his dignity. Why hadn’t
she realized that before?

“I’d like to know it,” she said.

“It’s Falkon.”

Falkon
. She repeated it in her mind. It was a strong
name, one that suited him perfectly.

“And yours is Ashlynne.” His voice, deep and rich, caressed
her name like a prayer.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Thank you.”

Silence dropped between them again.

Ashlynne stared into the distance, fighting the urge to cry.
Everything she had ever loved was gone. Her parents, her home, her best friend,
her pretty little chestnut mare, the security she had taken for granted all her
life. They were all gone, wiped out in a blast of laser fire, and she was alone
and afraid, more afraid than she had ever been in her life.

She slid a surreptitious glance at Falkon. Dark bristles
shadowed his jaw. She saw him touch his arm and wince. What if the wound became
infected? Even though she didn’t trust him, even though she was afraid of him,
she didn’t want him to die, didn’t want to be out here alone, at the mercy of
the jungle and its inhabitants.

“Why were you sent to the mines?”

He turned to look at her. His blue-gray eyes seemed to be
weighing her, judging the reason for her interest. “I went to Riga Twelve to
fight the Romarians.”