Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 (4 page)

Studiously, she ignored the sound and continued eating. Her belly rumbled again. And again. Louder and longer each time.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you have a wild animal hidden about your person.”

His wry comment made her laugh. “I guess three days’ fast has made my stomach rather vocal.”

“Are you okay?” He leaned close, solicitous and intent.

Disturbed by his concern, she moved back. “Don’t worry. I won’t erupt all over your fancy table.” She patted her tummy. “That is the sound of gratitude, not gagitude.” Lifting her bowl to her lips, she finished her soup and used her sleeve to wipe her mouth.

He set his spoon down with a sigh.

“What?” She eyed the table. She hadn’t broken anything, not yet anyway, and she’d refrained from licking the bowl clean. Plus, she’d left all the silverware. She’d made no effort to steal it. Well, not yet, at any rate.

“Napkin. Ever heard of one?”

Her gaze darted around the table. “Nope.”

He pointed at the pretty spray of red fabric in a long-stemmed wineglass.

“Oh.” She plucked the napkin out and swabbed it liberally across her face. “It looked like a decoration.”

He rang the crystal bell again and, as before, the chubby girl trundled in the cart, whisked away their soup dishes, deposited two tiny plates and then disappeared.

“Like magic.” The food looked like a bright orange mountain saturated with yellow lava. A sprig of green sat on the peak like a lone tree. “What—”

“Haddock and carrot molds with vermouth sauce.”

She nodded, understanding carrot but not the rest. Using his small fork, he lifted the tree from the top and cut into the orange mountain. She followed suit. Fishy, yet carrot-sweet, the stuff didn’t taste very good. After one gagging bite, she set her fork aside.

“This course is not pleasing to you?”

“Do I have to eat it?” If he told her to eat the glop or wear it, she’d opt for putting it on her head.

“No.” He rang the bell.

While the girl exchanged plates, he poured a clear yellow wine into their glasses.

This time, she recognized everything on her plate: chicken, green beans and buttered pasta. She lifted the leg of chicken and took a big bite. It smelled and tasted like oranges. Her mouth watered, and she took another bite before she’d finished chewing the last.

When she looked over, she found him cutting into the chicken with a knife and fork. His eyebrows drew together when he saw the chicken leg in her hands and rivulets of sauce running down her chin.

She returned the chicken to her plate, remembered to wipe her face with the napkin, then struggled to cut the meat with the dull little knife. After about two minutes of trying, she slammed the knife and fork down.

“I’m going to eat this with my hands. If my table manners bother you, tough, go sit at the other end. I’m hungry, and I don’t feel much like shilly-shallying.”

Defiantly, she scooped up and tore into the chicken. She gnawed the bone clean, wiped her face, then started on the green beans and pasta. In deference to him, she used her fork.

Raw, painful hunger drove her to ignore him as she ate. He could glare at her all he wanted and think her the most vulgar woman in the Void. She didn’t care. Never in her life had she tasted food like this. If he wanted to mince his portion into itty-bitty pieces and eat it like a finicky child, good for him. He probably ate like this every night.

Anger rose in her at the riches rubbed in her face. The triple-platinum Runner, the grand ballroom prison, brandy that waltzed down her throat, gold-encrusted china, fresh food prepared by a skilled cook—what she’d seen of his den so far would literally buy her home world of Taiga, with script to spare.

Bewildered, she raised her gaze to find him watching her with a guarded expression. “Why the hell did you bother?”

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually.” He set his fork aside with a sigh.

“That you spent more to nab me than I’m worth? Yeah-huh. Remarkably Average Mary done figured it. Fill me in on why.”

He frowned at her country-simple tone. “Precisely what I’d like to know. Why.” He sipped his wine. “I want to know why you’ve been stealing my goods.”

“What do you care?” She spread her hands, indicating the riches before her. “I couldn’t possibly, in a thousand lifetimes, even put a dent in your obscene wealth.” She leaned toward him. “Are you so greedy you begrudge me a pittance for a good cause while you wallow in decadence? Christ! You really
do
need a hobby.”

“Perhaps, if you tell me your good cause, I’ll gladly stuff your coffers with my obscene wealth. I might even make your cause my hobby.” Saluting her with his glass, he gave her that enigmatic half grin and then drank.

For a moment, she sat stunned. “You think you can buy me?” She wanted to throw her wine in his face and smash every dish on the table. The threat of poison on her wrist held her still.

“No, I—”

“Everything in your world has a price tag, doesn’t it?” Shaking with fury, she stood. “To you, every person is a thing to be bought or sold, their value forever fluid. Buy me today for twenty, then sell me tomorrow for ten. Or just throw me away entirely.” She glared at him with all the loathing she could muster. “I may not know a fancy napkin, and I may not know how to eat like a trained IWOG poodle, but I sure as spit know what honor is, and you can’t afford mine.”

“I didn’t mean to imply I could buy you, I simply meant—”

“That if I confessed, you
might
help me. You figured I’d be like a farm donkey forever following the dangling carrot.” She lifted her glass. “A toast to the first person in the Void you can’t buy.” She drank deeply, then dropped into her chair.

He unfurled himself like a great banner that dwarfed the immense room. Surely, the wine made him seem larger than life.

“If I have insulted you, I apologize.” He tossed his napkin to the table with a deferential bow. “My intention was to—entice—not insult. I offered you the best of my home to compliment you as a guest, yet everything I say and do is colored in that you are not my guest, but my captive. For that, I will not apologize. You taunted me into capturing you.”

She held his gaze by sheer force of will. “You make it sound like I wanted to get caught.”

He eyed her speculatively. “You preach to me of not selling your honor, yet think I should walk away from one who steals from me, for you only steal a little bit. Would things be different if I were to steal only a little bit from you?”

He had a good point. Not that she was likely to admit it anytime soon, especially to him.

“Honor is as honor does, is it not? Explain to me how you stealing from me is honorable, but me stealing from you isn’t.”

Fidgeting in her chair, she flushed. “I guess the difference is, I steal because I have no other option. I’m a bandit by circumstance, not choice. If you could steal my honor, that would be one thing, but you seem to be of the mind you can buy it.
That
is what is insulting.”

His sleek eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

“I’m sorry I stole from you. If I could give your goods back, I would, but I can’t because they’re gone. Keeping me prisoner isn’t going to get your goods back, and I’ll never tell you where they went or why.”

His eyes narrowed, but still, he said nothing.

“My honor may be a bit rusty, but my loyalty isn’t. If I tell you, it’s not my life that’s at risk. One person, me, for all the rest?” She shrugged. “I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

“Are you the leader?”

She froze as she searched for a diversion.

A slow, quirky grin slid across his face. “You
are
the leader.”

“So what if I am?” She belied her trepidation by standing. “I don’t see how that helps you.”

“Really?” He sat and rang the crystal bell with an insistent clink.

The young girl popped her head out of the kitchen.

“More wine, Clara, and dessert.” When the girl retreated, he pointed one massive finger. “Sit down and we’ll discuss the matter over dessert.”

“I think I’ve had enough.”

“Not yet you haven’t. Sit.” When she hesitated, he flung the fragile crystal bell to the floor, where it shattered into delicate fragments. “Sit down.”

Mary did. His destruction of the fragile bell made it pretty damn clear she’d pushed him right to the edge. He was a man who few disobeyed and he’d tolerated enough of her insolence and defiance. “I won’t tell you—”

“You don’t have to.”

Clara brought in dessert and wine, then hurried away, the rubber wheels of the cart crunching through the remains of the crystal bell.

Dessert looked like two big white eyes with red pupils staring up from her plate. Strawberries ringed the strange cartoon gaze. “What the hell is—”

“Poached meringues with strawberry sauce.”

“Freaking child’s nightmare.” She shoved the plate away. “Wouldn’t your life be a lot easier if you just let me go?”

“Back to your life of crime? I don’t think so. If I have the ringleader, it’s unlikely the gang will continue to rob me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Won’t cost me but a pittance to keep you around and find out for sure, now, will it?” He took a casual bite of his dessert.

“Fine.” She shrugged. “Keep me here. Eventually you’ll get bored. Something else will come along, strike your fancy, and you’ll gladly send me on my way without a second thought.”

“I think you could keep me entertained for years. Just watching you eat is a spectacle.” He dabbed his mouth with a pristine red napkin. “You eat like an animal.”

She gritted her teeth. “Feel like trading insults? Fine.” Saluting him with her glass, she deliberately wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “By the same token, I’m fascinated by you, a man who’s mastered feminine traits I’ve never even dreamed of.” She chugged her drink, belched slightly behind her hand, set the delicate glass on the table and refilled it. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see you in a dress, you pampered pansy.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he spoke through gritted teeth. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”

“You obviously don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have strapped a luller to my wrist.” She took another slug of liquid courage. “Since I can’t strike at you with my fist, you’d best get used to my mouth.”

He leaned intimately close and whispered, “I could get used to your mouth, provided I’m the one keeping it occupied.”

She wondered what he could possibly mean. When she figured it out, a flush crept into her cheeks. When the prospect of doing that to him excited her, she flushed harder.

“You rape all your prisoners, or just the women?”

His gaze traveled from her face, to the V of her shirt, then to the juncture of her thighs. “Is that what it would take?”

Her body thrummed from fabulous food, glorious wine and the sexiest man in the Void. He could seduce any woman he wanted. Any woman he didn’t want. One wink, and women would swoon. One kiss, and pants would drop or skirts would lift.

“Since you can’t buy me, now you think you can seduce me?”

“Yes.” Cocky arrogance, probably well deserved, emanated from him.

Mary didn’t know which would give out first—her loyalty, or her resistance to the erotic lust he’d awakened in her. Captive and captor. Each time she thought of the duality, her body shivered with fear and desire.

Carefully crafted daydreams involving her shadowy hero, Overlord, always had an element of captivity and surrender. Here, clearly, was a man who could turn dark daydreams to vivid reality. More than loyalty held her back. Foolish, young-girl fantasies held her back. To him, sex was a game, a way to pass the time in an enjoyable pursuit. To her, intimacy held consequences. Not just to herself but also to everyone she fought to save.

Days without food and sleep, her belly now full, and her mind rendered silly by very fine wine, she stood. “Whatever your plans for me, at least—you once offered me a day to rest—let me have a night to sleep.” Had he any honor at all, he would grant her such a minor request.

“As I am a generous host, I will indulge you.” Seven feet of male uncoiled, reminding her she was no match for him physically.

“Should I kowtow to you now or later?” She swayed, closing her eyes against his potent smile. If he didn’t take pity on her, she would fall asleep at his bare feet.

“Follow me.”

Stepping carefully around the shards of glass on the floor, he left the dining room and strode through the grand ballroom to one of the huge doors between the pillars.

“House, this will be Mary’s room. Update and confirm.”

“Yes, Commander. Record of Mary updated with new parameters.”

The peach-colored door swung open.

“Where’s the—” As soon as she entered the room, lights blazed. “Christ almighty! Turn them off!” Mary threw her hand up to shield her weary eyes.

“House, set the lights to level three.”

The glare dropped to a soothing, warm tone. She glanced around the huge room. A span of open floor space made the bed seem a mile away. Even so, the bed looked big enough for six people. Puffs of shimmering gauze draped the four towering posters of the bed. Carpet to covers were the same pinky-orange color, like carrots stored too long in the cold. Ruffles, lace and a strong, sweet stench of flowers marked this as a woman’s room.

“Good night, Commander.” She faced him, making no effort to hide her crushing exhaustion. At this moment, she didn’t care if the room he offered came draped in black with gravestones decked about and a skull-and-crossbones flapping overhead. For a few uninterrupted hours of sleep, she’d take it.

To her shock, he scooped her up into his arms. He smelled good—citrus and pine. He felt impossibly strong—all bones and muscle. Long strides later, he tucked her into the welcoming folds of the massive bed. Warm and soft as a dinner roll, so unlike her hard-tack cabin bunk, the bed gave way below her as she melted into its silk embrace.

Being a prisoner suddenly didn’t seem so horrific. Her mind damn near stripped gears when he didn’t leave but hovered over her. All this luxury would come at a price.

She cast a wary eye over the edge of the blanket. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. This bed is your bed too?”