Asteria In Love with the Prince (37 page)

Chapter Twenty Three

Everything was the same and yet everything was different.

There were slaves, either naked or in lingerie and heels. There were men, lounging around on the couches and chairs, sipping drinks and watching. The low, moody lighting was just as before. And yet it
felt
different. When I’d been there with Jagor, the atmosphere had been complex: it had been about sex, sure, but people had been in couples – there’d been an air of excitement and fun, casual chatter alongside the approaches.

Now, though...now the atmosphere was one of hunger: of single (or single for the night), men wanting to slake their lust. Here, they had no need to ask the permission of a slave’s owner. Here, they could approach any woman who caught their eye. My heart beat faster as I moved away from the safety of the door. I could feel tens of eyes on me, that Asterian male gaze; so intimate and raw, hitting me like a hot wave. It was disconcerting, being so obviously wanted. It also, despite my fear, sent ripples of desire straight down to my groin. It didn’t matter that I was there with a different purpose: that much male lust washing over you would make anyone flush – or at least that’s what I told myself.

I tried to walk fast, while still appearing casual. I had to find the white-haired man before someone else chose me first. What if he wasn’t here? I couldn’t just wait around for him. Not unless I was prepared to serve some other man in the meantime. And if I did find him, what then? Was I really ready to— My mind recoiled. One thing at a time.

I was skirting the edge of the club when the man leaned out of a side room, his hands braced on the doorposts. Not a tall man, but stocky and fit. He was stripped to the waist and grinning, his eyes devouring me. “Good timing,” he told me. I looked over his shoulder and nearly screamed. There were five men in there, all naked, standing around drinking. On a bed in the center lay a slave, just as naked. Her eyes were closed and she was panting, limbs akimbo. “I think we tired her out,” the man smiled, following my gaze. “Why don’t we see if you have more energy?” And he reached out and grabbed hold of the ring set into my collar, pulling me into the room.

A heavy hand slapped down on my shoulder. “Sorry,” a voice behind me rumbled. “She’s with me.” The half-dressed man looked up in anger, then I saw him blanch and he released me, backing away.

I turned to see a stranger… and what a stranger. He was as tall as Jagor and almost his equal in looks, but in an entirely different way. Where Jagor’s hair was almost black, this man’s was as blond as a California surfer’s. Where Jagor’s deep green eyes reminded me of forest and the lush outdoors, this man’s were a clear, bright blue, almost cold in their intensity. I caught the end of the expression that had made the other guy back off, and I could see why it worked; he had a certainty, an intensity in his eyes that made you listen. He could have been a priest, in a different life.

“First time?” he asked, not unkindly. I nodded. “Then perhaps we should ease you in a little more gently.” He reached up to my neck, and before I could react, he’d clipped a leash to my collar.

As he led me through the club, my mind was working frantically. What could I do? I couldn’t deny him, or he’d order me thrown out of the club…and I’d lose any hope of rescuing Jagor. But could I really…my stomach lurched.

He took me back into the main room, found a quiet corner and sat down on a couch. “Sit,” he instructed. And indicated his knee.

I sat, as if lowering myself onto a hot stove. He was in jeans, and when my bare thighs touched them, I could feel the warmth of him seeping up into me through the fabric. I hovered there, not daring to put my weight on him. I was sideways across him, and his face was close to mine, his breath hot against my neck.

“Relax.
Sit.”

I had no choice. I let myself sit fully across his thighs. Then he was turning me gently, so that I faced out towards the room. His hands were warm on my hips.

“That’s better. Put your head back.”

I let my head go back, resting it on his shoulder. His firm, muscled chest was pressing against my back; I could feel every hard indentation through the thin t-shirt he wore.
This is wrong, this is wrong,
my mind screamed. But what else could I do?

He spoke quietly, right in my ear. “Try not to react,” he told me. “I’m a friend.”

A friend?

“Stay sitting there and look like you’re having fun if you want your plan to work, Exkella.”

A jerk went through my body, like I’d been hit with an electric shock. I tried to rise, but his hands were gripping my hips, keeping me tightly against him. “B
e still!
I’m after the same thing you are.”

I hesitated, then allowed myself to go limp against him. His hands loosened. “Good. I’m Alvek. I’m leading what’s laughably called the rebel army.” When I didn’t try to get up again, he continued. “Hendel told me the coup leaders would be here. I knew you were still on the run; I had a feeling you might try to get in here. I wasn’t expecting the blonde wig, though.”

It was maddening, not being able to speak. But I could feel eyes on us, and if they saw my lips move they’d know something wasn’t right. Telessa had said the silence rule was strictly adhered to.

He shifted under me, the feel of his strong, muscled body against mine making me stiffen. “I’m sorry, Exkella. I know this is inappropriate. But I couldn’t let you walk around alone in here. You’d be on your knees or on your back as soon as—Look who just walked in!” I looked across the club and everything seemed to stop. He was there: the white-haired man, and beside him his bald second-in-command. Three soldiers strode in front of them, machine guns across their chests, another three behind. The crowd parted in front of him: they knew who he was, or could guess from the escort. The group made for the back of the club, and I could see the white-haired one gazing at slaves, picking out the ones he wanted.

Then he locked eyes with me and he stopped dead. I saw a flicker of a smile on his lips. What did that mean: that he wanted me? Or that he knew who I was? He didn’t move on, but he turned, scanning the room.

“You’re wondering how I knew. It was your walk,” Alvek whispered. “You don’t walk like a slave – you forget, when you’re nervous. But remember I was looking for you – no-one else here is.” He gazed around. “And they’re all distracted by wanting to fuck you.”

The coarse words snapped me back to reality. It was suddenly very aware of his warm thighs against my ass, his hands still loosely on my bare hips. Did I trust him? How did I know he was who he said he was?

“So what’s your plan? Get close to the mystery man and hope he spills secrets while you….” He trailed off, as if sickened. I realized he didn’t want me to do it any more than I did. “I’d never let you put yourself in danger like that….” He sighed. “Not if I had a better plan. But I don’t. I—Kiss me!”

It was so sudden, I almost forgot and said
What?!

“He’s looking over here,” Alvek hissed in my ear. “We have to make it look real. Kiss me, Exkella!”

And his body was twisting, letting me sink further back against his shoulder, his mouth coming down possessively on mine—

God! Jagor!

I gave a kind of panicked moan as our lips met, and then we were kissing, his hand coming up to smooth through my fake, blonde hair. My body froze, but I didn’t push him away.

I have to....

You can tell a lot about someone by their kiss. He was urgent and strong; the need to make it look good, even if I was passive. And underneath all that, something else. I felt the movement, at the very corners of his mouth – a tiny twitch of a smile, swiftly hidden. It wasn’t all for show.

And however much I didn’t want it, however true I was to Jagor, something about the kiss sent a fine, shining thread of passion straight down to my core. He wasn’t Jagor; was so utterly different, in fact…was that why?

He broke the kiss, leaving me gasping. The white-haired man had moved away. Alvek eased me up to sitting; I couldn’t meet his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Exkella,” he said humbly. But there was an undercurrent in his voice. He wasn’t
that
sorry.

“I have to go,” I said stiffly, and stood. He sighed and unclipped the leash, but just as I turned to go he caught my hand and stared up at me, his meaning clear:
You don’t have to do this.

I stared back at him, wondering how much he could judge through the mask. Could he see how scared I was? How desperate I was to get going and take those first few steps towards the white-haired man: because if I hesitated, I knew I’d never go through with it.

With a last, long look, he grudgingly released me…and I plunged into the crowd. I forced Alvek from my mind, forced myself to concentrate on what I had to do. How would I attract his attention? Approach him? Shed what few clothes I had right in front of him? Dance?

I could see him now. Facing away from me, that long, shining white hair unmistakable. I started to panic: however I approached him, it would seem suspicious; he’d guess.

And then I remembered how he’d been when I met him, back in this same club weeks before. How I’d tried to resist him, and how that had only encouraged him. A horrible, sick calm descended on me. I didn’t need to approach him at all. I had to do the opposite: make him think he was doing all the chasing. I had to make myself prey.

There are few things worse in life than not being able to see your fear. Did you ever walk into a room knowing there was a spider in there, and search every corner, terrified, until you found it? Imagine walking into the same room with your eyes tightly shut.

I walked past him, deliberately looking the other way. Waiting for him to notice me, the hairs rising on the back of my neck, my spine tingling as I imagined him looking at me. I was a deer, caught in the hunter’s scope, completely unaware. I thought I could feel his eyes on me, sliding down over my shoulders, my ass, my legs. I was almost panting with fear: could he see that?

“You,” and I recognized the voice immediately. “Come here.”

I turned slowly, as if uncertain if it was me he was talking about. He was lounging like a king on a throne, flanked by his second in command and his soldiers. Every eye had been drawn to me by his words; it felt like a spotlight had been thrown on me.

I had to resist. I glanced away into the room, as if debating. As if there was another owner who would save me.

“I gave you a command!” he said.

I took a deep breath and walked towards him on legs like wax.

“I saw you with another, just now. Did he finish with you already?”

I was right in front of him; close enough to touch. I looked in the direction of Alvek and nodded.

“Don’t worry,” he told me, smirking. “I’ll last much longer.” He sat back, studying me. “I always did like blondes. Come, sit on me.” He gave a nasty chuckle, and his retinue obediently joined in.

I sat. It was utterly different to when I’d done it with Alvek; that had felt merely
wrong
, like I was cheating on Jagor. This was like putting my head between a monster’s jaws.

“There,” he said, and his hands closed on my thighs. “Much better. You’re a nervous one, aren’t you?” He suddenly moved his mouth to my ear, and I jerked in shock. “Skittish. But I know what you’re like on the inside. I know what you came here for tonight.”

I could feel the cold fear knotting inside me.

“You want more than your husband can give you, hmm?” His hands were on my arms, now. Rubbing. “Has he been treating you too kindly, perhaps? Do you need to know what it is to be a slave, again?”

My whole body was tense – I wasn’t even shaking, I was so tightly wound.

“Get up,” he said. I stood.

“Take off your clothes for me,” he told me. “For us!” he corrected, indicating his entourage with a sweep of his hand. It wasn’t enough for him to see me, I realized. He wanted to command me – to dominate me – in front of his underlings. I felt reality cracking open the protective shell I’d built around myself. I couldn’t go through with this, couldn’t show myself to this man. I glanced towards the exit of the club. I could run, and be out of the place in minutes. This whole idea had been a bad plan—

His phone rang, and I stood, frozen, while he answered it.

“What? No, he can’t: I don’t want them talking.” He smirked. “Remind him he isn’t the prince anymore.”

My heart suddenly slammed into my throat.

He looked at me; saw I was still dressed and put his hand over the cell phone’s mike. “Are you disobeying me?” he asked mildly.

I can’t!

He’ll have me thrown out! I have to listen to this call!

With shaking hands, I unfastened my bra. I saw his gaze rake over my body; saw him grin. He started speaking into the phone again, but he kept watching me.

“Tell him he’ll see them tomorrow at the palace. When are you taking him? No, do it earlier. Four. The roads will be quiet. Keep it low profile; just the SUVs.”

I hooked my panties down my legs and slowly slipped them off, leaving me in suspender belt, stockings and heels. The white-haired man motioned me closer with one finger as he finished the call.

“You can do it without me. Any word on the Exkella? I’d dearly love to have her under me, before this is over.”

He reached up and gripped the ring on my collar, tugging me until I was standing between his spread knees. With one hand, he traced down the length of my spine. My breasts were inches from his face.

“Fine. Keep looking.” And he hung up with a theatrical sigh. “Now. How shall we sample you first?” he asked.

I felt the panic rise in me. I had what I needed, but now I was going to have to…. He was gripping the ring of my collar: I could try to pull away, but that would only excite him more. I looked around the club. Even if I screamed, no-one was going to help me: not with the soldiers there. I was in too deep: he was going to—