Dark Warriors: A Dark Lands Anthology (Darklands) (16 page)

Muttering something under his breath, Dagon joined her.

Trying to ignore the way his six pack rippled and grateful that table hid the most significant part of him, she tried for a business-like air. “So, whom am I supposed to be judging today? Did a couple of ladies get into a cat fight last night, or what?”

He looked at her through his lashes and touched a button on the table. Hair pick suspended, she stared at the holographic security recording of five women crawling through the ducts. Clarissa and Cherry she recognized, and the others were familiar. It didn’t take long for warriors to enter the ducts and flush them out.

It was the second recording of Kelsa trying to enter the ductwork that made her sit up, though. She looked at Dagon’s inscrutable expression. This wasn’t going to be good.

“The council and I need to make an example of them. If you do not judge them, we will. I suggest you take up your authority.”

A lump rose in her throat. “I’m biased.”

He studied his goblet, swirled the drink inside. “Then you will have an interesting time pronouncing a judgment that is stiff enough to deter others from following their example. Be aware that we will overrule you if you fail.”

Lovely honeymoon, she thought with disgust. She didn’t want to be a part of this; the other women would hate her forever. Kelsa might despise her, and then where would she be? Pity all this hadn’t occurred to her when she’d taken the assignment. Judging her friends wasn’t something she was going to enjoy.

Later that day, robed in majestic splendor and coiffed, manicured and made up, courtesy of her private stylist, Tzara Vana T’Siantal sat on her throne and tried not to squirm. Dagon sat to her right, looking far more functional and comfortable in usual battle ready garb. He’d assured her that official appearances required full regalia, and there was nothing more official than a judgment. With time she might be able to change the prevailing fashions, but as the moment she was stuck with what the last generation of women had deemed royal garb.

Oh, joy, she thought in dismay. What fool had decided a tiara of stiffened braids was sexy? Sure, it looked kind of cool with the jewels in her hair, but she was afraid to move lest the whole thing shift sideways and leave her looking like the court jester.

A pompous looking council member entered the chamber, leading the miscreants, including Kelsa, in his wake. He bowed elaborately, then pronounced, “You see before you the would-be runaways, your Majesties. You are aware of the details of their case, and the court hopes to hear how you’ll punish them.” He ignored his queen’s darkling look and backed to the side, into the small crowd of spectators. Kynan was there, looking inscrutable, as was Ser, though Jen was nowhere in sight.

Vana envied her. She tried to make eye contact with Kelsa, to let her know she wasn’t enjoying this, but Kelsa looked glumly ahead, as if expecting to be beheaded at any moment.

Vana suppressed a sigh. “While I can’t view this in the same light as the council, I have agreed to pass a deterring judgment. Since no one was harmed in the…excursion, and no property was damaged, I think we can avoid chopping off any extremities.” No one laughed, so she gave up on her attempt at humor. “In the eyes of this society, the servitude of women is seen as degrading, definitely a fate to shield them from at all costs.

“On the other hand, the offenders seem to have an abundance of time on their hands to plan mischief. That being the case…Cherry, since you used to be a beautician, you are sentenced to the service of cutting men’s hair. Clarissa, your garment design skills will be needed to produce some clothes that might suit our Earth sisters better.” One by one, she assigned the women to occupations she thought they might enjoy, noting the relief in their faces. Had they thought she’d order them beaten? Before she could get to Kelsa, though, the men’s growing murmur of outrage drowned her out.

“Silence! One at a time,” Dagon thundered.

“You can’t force them to work! Think of their reputations,” one man protested, aghast.

“It’s out of the question,” another responded, looking grim. “Far too cruel.”

Vana raised her brows and waited for silence. “Am I not just? Would you suggest taking away their favorite toys or tapping them on the hands? We are not your soft females—Earth women thrive on just this kind of discipline.” When there were no more outbursts, she looked at Kelsa. Her heart was beating fast at the effort it took to maintain her official mask, and she knew Kelsa wouldn’t enjoy her servitude. Sometimes a friend just had to intervene, however. “Kelsa Gram, I sentence you to two weeks as Kynan Kingfriend’s personal servant. I will supervise the arrangement to make certain there is no impropriety, but you will take care of his every need, barring sharing his bed.”

That brought a riot of protests, loudest among them Kelsa’s, but Vana stood firm. “Justice has spoken.”

Dagon waited until the room was cleared before smirking. “Rough justice, indeed. I’m impressed. Kynan didn’t seem to know whether to protest or gloat.”

Vana grimaced. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Either that or thank you.” He stroked her hand, his expression warming. “You look hungry. Maybe we should go back to our room for an early meal.” Sparks danced in his eyes.

Trying to ignore the heat he caused, she made a face. After all, he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess. “You couldn’t get me out of these layers.”

Smirking, he helped her rise. “Try me.”

Kynan stared at his mutinous “servant” thoughtfully. “That’s quite a look for you.”

A glob of green goop dropped out of Kelsa’s hair and landed on her shoulder with a wet splat, continuing on a slow slide down her chest. Hoping to avoid him, she’d wandered into the garden adjacent to his rooms. There she’d discovered the zooloo bird, and its propensity for sacrificing one of its many eggs to protect its brood from interlopers. She was wearing the smelly results of its efforts with something less than pleasure. “I need to use your shower.”

Face suspiciously straight, he waved her toward the bathing chambers. “Please. You’re about to drip on the rug. I’d hate for you to have to clean it.”

That earned him a dirty look. Muttering under her breath, Kelsa hurried into the bathroom, grateful it had a lock, and slammed the door. She didn’t trust Kynan to not to take advantage of the situation, though he’d placed no demands on his “servant” of yet. It might be just a matter of time.

Once clean, she turned off the spray and reached for a towel, belatedly realizing she didn’t have any clean clothes to replace her smelly stuff.

A knock sounded on the door. Suspicious, she opened it a crack.

Kynan stuffed some clothing through the gap, making no move to try and widen it. It was a sea-green brocade robe with swirls of colorful design.

Good manners got to her, and she had to admit he’d been more gentlemanly than she’d given him credit. Properly dressed, she poked her head out the door and sought him out in the living room. “Thank you. For the robe, I mean.”

She surprised an odd look on his face, one of nostalgia mixed with longing. It was quickly gone, and his eyes slid from hers. “It was my father’s wedding robe. You would look odd in my tunics.”

Her eyes widened and her heart did a little skip. “Oh. Um, mind if I use your clothes washer? I can throw in a load of your laundry while I’m at it.” She might as well, since she was technically (temporarily) his servant.

“Feel free, but I have no dirty clothes. It’s through there.”

The washer was easy to find, but she was frowning as she threw in her soiled clothes. It shouldn’t bother her that he was a neat freak, but it did. The man needed to get a life. Why, if she lived here, the place would look like it, not like a bare bones motel room. Other than the weapons on the wall and one or two hunting trophies, the man lived like a monk.

She grimaced as she recalled how like a monk he really was. Had the man ever been kissed before Vana’s wedding? He was in his thirties, in good health, tolerably good looking, and his chances of getting a date had been slim to nil.

Grimacing at that train of thought, she shut the clothes washer and surveyed Kynan’s barren, pristine room. So he had a steady job: the man kidnapped women for a living. It wasn’t much of a recommendation, and being an alien wasn’t going to boost his image.

Well, they all had their problems.

Shrugging off her thoughts, Kelsa went to his kitchen to rustle something to eat. While she was slicing a platter of fruit, nuts and cold meats, music started coming from the living area. Deciding Kynan must have turned on his music player, she carried the platter and a couple of frosty drinks out to him. Once there, she blinked. Kynan was the source of the music. Obviously lost, he was seated in his chair, pressing the keys of a guitar with attitude. A driving rhythm, soulful, angry and oddly tender, filled the room with haunting melody. While Kelsa couldn’t have identified the type of music, she instantly liked it. Enthralled, she quietly set the tray on the table and sat on the couch, unable to take her eyes off him.

“That was beautiful,” she said softly as the last notes died away. “Play something else.”

He smiled at her, a hot, roguish smile, and danced his fingers over the keys. This time he sang in that rough, smoky voice that sent chills over her skin and kisses of pleasure down her spine. Oh, he was good, and by the look in his eyes, he knew it.

When he finished this time, he set the instrument down. “I haven’t eaten,” he explained, reaching for some nuts. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said absently, looking at the “guitar”. “Growing up, I always wanted to play an instrument but we could never afford it. Once I got older, I figured it would be too hard. It’s the kind of thing you should pick up when you’re young.”

Blue eyes searched her face. He joined her on the couch, setting down his fruit drink. He handed her the instrument and showed her how to hold it. “Cradle it in your arms like a lover and stroke the keys. It’s not hard.”

The slumbering passion and confidence in his eyes was her undoing. “I’m not good with that.” Flustered, she stared blindly at the guitar, trying to quell her reaction to his nearness. The memory of their kiss fluttered between them, an invitation to deeper exploration. They knew it would be good…

Kynan stroked her jaw, gently tilting her face up. “It’s not hard,” he said softly, a different meaning in his expression. His head moved closer. “Just move to the music.” His kiss was soft, achingly sweet, an invitation to pleasure.

Swept away, intoxicated by his scent, his taste, she let him remove the guitar and ease her down on the couch. Just a little, she told herself, certain he would stop if she asked, positive she was the one in control. His weight made her moan and she hissed with desire as he settled a knee between her thighs. Gasping, she arched into him, desperate for his touch. She was starving, for no one had ever made her feel as he did, or had ever touched her as reverently. Kynan knew the value of a woman, made her feel special and intensely desired.

It went to her head.

One moment she was kissing him as if he were oxygen to her flame, and the next she was encouraging him to open her robe. She knew how stupid that was, but with every nerve leaping at his touch, the warning was easy to ignore. She had to have more.

“Be mine,” he whispered in her ear, dragging his head up from feasting on her nipple. “I cannot wait. Please have me.” He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her neck.

The words rocked her. When was the last time a man had begged for her love? She moaned as one calloused hand stroked her inner thighs, lighting fires. Now was not the time for thinking. “I…ahh…okay.”

The next thing she knew, Kynan was eight inches deep in her, and reality had given her a rude shake. It stung, a surprise in itself, for she had thought the pain wouldn’t happen the second time.

He was shaking. “I can’t wait.” With an anguished cry, his body jerked, then stiffened. He muttered an oath, then collapsed on her, shaking his head against her neck in self-reproach.

Stunned at the speedy conclusion to her sudden madness, Kelsa tentatively pushed at his shoulder. Embarrassment was starting to set in, and she wanted to crawl away. She cleared her throat. “Are…are you done yet?” Even as she said the words, she felt his body stir within her.

Kynan raised his head, his blue eyes brimming with sorrow. “I’m sorry. It was my first…” He bit his lip. “You deserve better, little one. May I try again?” Tenderly, he brushed her mouth with his, kindling slumbering fires. In between kisses he murmured adoration, refusing to move within her until she arched, demanding his love. Then he took her fast, yielding to her frantic demands until they both climaxed in a blaze of glory.

Kelsa Elizabeth Gram had just joined the ranks of the enemy.

Vana gaped at Dagon. “No way!”

He crossed his feet and leaned back against their bedroom wall, smugly studying his nails. “Yesterday. He would have told me before now, but he was…occupied.” The smirk grew wicked.

Stunned, Vana sat staring at him, unable to comprehend the news that her man-hating friend had given it up to an alien warrior who reeked of masculinity. “They were only together one day!”

Dagon shrugged, pushed away from the wall and moved to his liquor cabinet to pour a celebratory glass. “These things don’t take long. Kynan knew what he wanted. Obviously, he convinced her that it was what she wanted, too.” He raised his glass in salute. “Congratulations, my love. You have the wisdom of a sage.”