Wicked Beloved (12 page)

She could only read the most basic signs, so
she had to ask most of her questions at the information kiosk, and
its staffer scrutinized her in the same way one might a juicy piece
of fruit. In fact, quite a few of the spaceport personnel looked as
though they wanted to abduct her. She might have forgotten what a
valuable commodity Tellurians were, but these men hadn’t.

As all her hopeful questions were rebuffed
with ugly truths, she was forced to face the fact that the only
ships traveling to Earth were going to be slaving vessels. Which
made sense, she supposed. It wasn’t like Earth had interstellar
trade.

But judging from the money-grabbing behavior
of the shifty-eyed group of slavers pointed out to her as
Earth-going, they would most likely take her money and then shove
her in with the chattel to be sold, not nicely honor a ticket to
transport her home. With her luck, she’d be bought by another
monster like her first master. Or worse.

Dodging unwanted advances from a gang of
aliens at the exit, she hurriedly returned to Dzer-Jin’s apartment
feeling somewhat disheartened…and slightly relieved—a feeling she
hated to admit, even to herself. But it wasn’t like she had a whole
lot waiting for her on Earth. Exploring a new planet could be fun,
especially with Dzer-Jin beside her.

That evening she spent
chastising herself for being pretty okay with resigning herself to
staying with her current master. She had to start thinking of him
like that. Negatively. Her
master
. Don’t think of him by
name.

She was already far too
fond of him, thanks to her brain’s psychological defense
mechanisms. That’s what Stockholm syndrome was, right? A coping
mechanism to aid survival. Her growing affection for
Dzer-Jin,
stop it
, her
master
wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything. In fact, it was
annoying as hell.

Even more annoyingly, on the third day she
missed him. She wanted to hear his gravelly voice. She wanted to
watch him mix all those strangely shaped and colored ingredients in
his kitchen to create a delicious meal. She wanted to gaze at the
night sky, so familiar and yet so different from the one she was
accustomed to, while he explained this part of the universe to her.
She wanted him to continue teaching her to read. And she wanted to
feel his incredibly strong, hard, warm body snuggled up against her
in their bed.

His
bed, she corrected herself. Everything here in this flat was
his, including her. She tried to raise a little righteous
indignation over that, but it was undermined by her recurring
desire to see him again.

Which led, on the fourth day, to her
worrying about his welfare. He was on a hunting trip. What if
something happened to him? He was alone, and she didn’t even know
where. He could be out in some desolate woods bleeding to
death.

What if he
was
bleeding to death?
Or his vehicle had an accident? And what if his transmitter
couldn’t get a signal? Who would help him?

She should have asked to go. She could have
just stayed in the car, or whatever their equivalent was. At least
then she’d know if something had gone wrong. Then if he didn’t come
back in a reasonable amount of time, she could have gone for help.
The way things were, she had no idea when she should alert the
authorities. Or who the authorities even were.

So on the sixth day, when he returned, she
could have squealed with excitement.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Dzer-Jin held his arms up away from his
sides, out of her way, as his pet threw herself upon him and
hugged, her cheek pressed against his chest.

“
Welcome home!”

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the
main room before she’d come tearing in from the kitchen. It was odd
to have something alive, greeting him, in his flat. Not unpleasant.
Just odd.

She seemed glad of his return. He wouldn’t
have expected it. With him gone, she was free to do whatever she
pleased. His presence she might understandably associate with
servitude. That she seemed to enjoy his company instead
was…gratifying.

She released him and stepped back. “You have
perfect timing—I just made bala. You want some?”

He nodded and followed her to the kitchen
where she poured him a mug. She looked very natural and at home in
his kitchen. He wondered when he had gotten accustomed to sharing
this space.

“
So, everything go okay?”
she asked, handing him his drink with a smile.

“
Yes. I was
successful.”

“
Congratulations!” She
glanced at his hands, empty except for the mug. “But you didn’t
bring anything back.”

“
No. I’m not the type who
needs trophies.”

Her brow furrowed. “I mean, now we can’t eat
whatever it was. You don’t just kill an animal for nothing.”

He coughed and took a swig of bala. He
wasn’t certain precisely why he had never told her his profession.
Perhaps he sensed it would frighten her. Or change her feelings
toward him. She didn’t have a normal attitude toward violence.

He could only do so much dancing around the
question, but he decided to try. “You would not want to eat what I
hunt.”

He watched her swallow and then busy herself
with her bala. “Don’t tell me you only do it for sport.”

“
No. Not for sport.” He
waited for the question he could feel coming. He could see it
forming in her eyes as she glanced askance at him. And he could see
her reluctance to voice her thoughts. “Do you have a query for
me?”

She nodded.

“
I shan’t harm you,
Ahno’ee, no matter what you ask.”

Staring into her drink, she whispered,
“What… Would you mind telling me… what do you hunt, Master?”

“
Individuals, mostly.
Every once in a while, a group.” He drawled the words with
dispassionate nonchalance, watching for her reaction.

Her eyes jumped to him,
wide. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly before she turned and drank
from her mug. When she glanced back at him, she blinked several
times before she could speak. “You
are
psycho,” she
whispered.

“
What?”

She shook her head as if refusing to voice
those words again. “You kill people. That’s what you do?”

“
Yes.”

She blinked again, several times, in the
pause that followed his blunt answer. “Is this a job or a hobby?”
Her voice squeaked.

“
Job. One would have to be
pretty sick to do it for a hobby.”

She bit back a giggle that
was only just this side of hysterical. “We
are
talking about killing people?
Making them dead?”

“
Assassinating them.
Yes.”

“
For your
government?”

“
Sometimes. I work for
anyone who can pay my rather substantial fee.”

“
And that’s legal
here?”

He smiled, idly amused at
the question. “Yes. There’s a professional Guild and everything.”
The incredulous expression on her face convinced him more
explanation was necessary. “I get my assignments through them, the
Assassins’ Guild. You needn’t worry. There are evaluation
procedures and technical requirements for prospective clients and
marks. Not that they really need that. Nobody’s innocent.”
Except maybe you
, he
considered adding. She wasn’t listening, though.

Her eyes remained wide. But she wasn’t
focusing on him now. He could tell she was thinking back. “You
could have killed me at any time.”

“
I would not do
that.”

“
Why not?” Her breath
hitched. “You’re a professional killer.”

“
Assassin,” he corrected.
“And it has no bearing on my responsibility to protect
you.”

She drank more bala. “What if you were asked
to kill me?”

It was an absurd question, but he held on to
his patience. “First, the Guild would never assign such a conflict
of interest.” She started to protest so he held up a hand to
indicate he wasn’t finished. “But if they did, I would refuse.
Second, if such a job did arise and they assigned it to someone
else, you still needn’t fear. They would never touch you.”

“
No?”

“
No. Because they would
have to get past me. Satisfied?”

Again came the hysterical giggle.
“Satisfied? No. But no longer about to climb the walls in a
complete panic? Yes.”

“
Good. Because I am the
same as I have been. I haven’t changed. Only your knowledge of me
has.”

“
Okay. True. Good
point.”

He stepped toward her. She flinched but held
her ground. He was glad of that, at least. “Do not fear me.”

“
I’m trying not to.” She
huffed out a nervous laugh.

He stepped forward again. This brought him
almost up against her. He looked down at the top of her head. She
trembled but did not move away.

Standing this close roused the urge to take
her into his arms, but he refrained from so much as touching her.
She must decide to trust him first. “What can I do to prove I’m
harmless when it comes to you?”

* * *

He was standing so close to her. She
responded with a breathy giggle. “Oh, you’ve never been harmless.
You’re… addicting.”

“
How so?” He sounded
vaguely confused.

There was no way of
answering that intelligently.
You’re so
profoundly attractive I’d rather you loved me than return to
Earth.
That wasn’t lame at all. So she
merely shrugged and remained silent.

He took a deep breath. “Touch me.”

“
What?”

“
I have used you before.
It is your turn to use me. There is nothing you can do that would
change my peaceable attitude toward you.” He drew his knife so
swiftly it was as if it formed in his hand by magic. He flipped it
about and handed it hilt-first toward her. “I will not defend
myself.”

“
I don’t
understand.”

“
I wish to assure you I am
no threat to you. You may do as you like with me. If you need
advice…” He took her empty hand and placed her palm on his chest.
She felt unyielding muscle and the solid beat of his heart through
the thin fabric of his shirt. “This would be one area where I am
most vulnerable.”

He crossed his wrists behind his back and
stood, waiting.

“
If you think I’m going to
hurt you, you’re wrong.” She held the blade down by her side.
“That’s not how we build trust where I come from.”

“
Then how would you
proceed in your culture?”

She thought of the various team-building
seminars she’d attended for work and almost laughed. Not really
applicable. For one thing, they assumed you didn’t work with
killers.

Although she wouldn’t mind doing with him
that exercise where you fell backwards into someone’s arms. She
patted his muscular chest. On Earth he would be so out of her
league it wasn’t even funny. Her hand skimmed down to rest on his
abdomen and his belly muscles twitched in response. He had to be
just sensitive or ticklish there. He couldn’t possibly be…

Her hand crept lower, to the front of his
trousers, and cupped him, her palm pressing against the fabric.
“You’re aroused.” She was surprised by just how evident his
excitement was.

“
Yes.” His voice rasped.
“But I shan’t interfere with you. Unless you specifically ask me
to.”

“
Mind if I test
that?”

* * *

A deft movement of her hand and he couldn’t
stop his hips from pushing toward her, seeking greater contact,
more pressure. His breathing quickened and he clenched his fists,
striving to remain still.

Hand still on him, she stepped to his side
so, though they were shoulder to shoulder, they faced different
directions, with the length of her arm along his abdomen and chest
the only contact between them.

He turned his head, following her, trying to
catch her expression. A snick of pain told him he was biting his
lip. Her fingers fluttered on him and frustration made him bite
down harder.

This was ridiculous. He had a right to his
slave, whether she was willing or not, whether she was frightened
or not. He wanted her. He should throw her down and take her. Yet
instead here she was, teasing him, in control of him, and he
allowed it. Only pair-bonds…

He killed that thought immediately.
Pair-bonding, with the enduring fidelity, tenderness, and
commitment that entailed, was an acknowledged perversity no one
admitted to—certainly not assassins.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent.
No heady, delicious fear present, but an emotion just as thrilling
filled his nostrils. She desired him.

Deftly she pulled at his trousers’ magnetic
fastenings, wriggled her hand inside, and wrapped gentle fingers
around his length. He gasped and almost choked on air caught in his
throat. Why she had this strong an effect on him when her touch was
too tender he didn’t understand. He burned for her to grasp harder,
to rub faster. But he held still, waiting for her lead.

“
Do you want me?” she
whispered, her lips tantalizingly out of his reach.

“
Yes. Need you.” Shallow,
panting gasps interrupted his speech.

“
But I can still walk
away?”

The moan she wrung from him sounded
mortifyingly passionate. He swallowed and struggled to form words.
“Of. Course.”