Enslaved (Brides of the Kindred Book 14) (11 page)

“Ugh!” Trin made a face. “I threw it away as soon
as I got you aboard
The
Alacrity!
I can’t bear those things!”

“I fucking hate them too,” Thrace said steadily. “I have good
reason ton. But your crew needs assurances and I can tell you still have some
doubts as well. So dig it out of your trash bin, dust it off, and put it on
me.”

Trin looked at him uncertainly.

“You’re
sure
about this?”

“Positive. Once we get to the ship I’ll wait in the
pod with the doors locked until you get the collar and bring it to me. Bring
the crew too—let them watch you put it on. That should put their minds at
ease.”

“And all this just so you can pay your debt?” Trin
still couldn’t believe it.

His pale eyes flashed.

“You’re damned right, Trin. I won’t go through life
owing anyone so much as one fucking credit—let alone fifty thousand of them. I
pay my own way.”

Trin suppressed a small smile.

“You know, if you’re going to remain my slave and
it’s going to look convincing, you’re going to have to start calling me
Mistress
.”

Thrace
cleared his throat and looked at her.

“I can do that…Mistress.”

The word sounded strange in his deep, gravelly
voice and yet right somehow in a way Trin couldn’t define. She looked at him
for a moment more and made her decision.

“All right,” she said at last. “We’ll do it. You’ll
remain my slave until I can sell the Jaxite crystals on Yonnie Six. After that,
we’re even and you’re free to go. Or I’ll drop you off wherever you need to be.
Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He nodded his head. “Mistress.”

Chapter
Eleven

Thrace
didn’t know why he’d asked to stay on as Trin’s
slave. Oh, he knew the outer reason—the one he’d given her—that a Havoc always
pays his debts. But there was more to it than that, though he hardly wanted to
admit it, even to himself. The plain fact was, he was reluctant to leave her.

Maybe it was the way she’d felt in his arms, the
scent of her hair and skin, the helpless way she trembled against him as he
tried to warm her. Maybe it was her soft voice, her sweet laugh or that warm,
feminine scent that followed her everywhere and seemed to get into his brain
somehow. Thrace
didn’t know—he only knew he wasn’t ready to leave yet. And even if it meant
putting back on that fucking pain collar and calling her his mistress, he was
going to stay until he was damn well ready to go.

His only reservation was that he felt bad about not
going to look for Solar right away. But his First Mate and best friend was a
resourceful son of a bitch. He would land on his feet wherever he was. Thrace
promised himself as soon as he had seen this thing through and paid off his
debt, he would go looking for the other Havoc. In the meantime, he had
unfinished business that he had to see through before he could consider himself
free to hunt down his friend.

Consider
yourself free—right,
whispered a
sarcastic little voice in his head.
Why are you really doing this, Thrace?
What is it about this female that makes it worth giving up the chance to go
free and putting that fucking pain collar on again? She doesn’t even
like
males and she’s damn sure never
going to let you have her. Even if she would, it’s not like you’d want to bond
to her—you’re Havoc remember? ‘We do not bond’—it’s your fucking code. So what
the hell is wrong with you and why are you doing this?

Thrace
didn’t have the answer for the little voice.
It’s
the debt,
he told himself stubbornly.
I have to pay my debt. Only then
can I truly be free. Only then can I leave. Not before.

At last they docked with
The Alacrity
and
Trin went out to get the collar. Thrace stayed in the pod waiting
for her, trying to steel himself for what he had to do.

It had been his idea, of course and it was a good
one—the only way she and the rest of her crew could trust him. But still, when
she returned, holding the hated black leather strap studded with silver spikes,
Thrace
was surprised at the rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He had
to swallow hard and clench his jaw to keep himself in control.

Let’s
fit you with a collar, my boy,
whispered the
voice of his old Master.
I think it might teach you some respect…

He closed his eyes, breathing hard.
Stop
it…fucking stop it! That’s over and done. This isn’t the same at all. The
collar is for show this time—just for show!

“Thrace,
are you all right?” Trin’s soft, concerned voice made him open his eyes and
look up at her. Speaking of this all being for show, he saw that the crew was
crowded behind her in the entrance of the pod. There was Sidna, the ship’s
medic staring at him with hard, uncompromising eyes and the navigator, a female
in her forties with short blonde hair and a curious gaze. There were others too,
whose roles he didn’t know, but all of them were female and all had skeptical
looks on their faces. Clearly they would take some convincing.

And
you sure as hell can’t convince them that you’re doing this willingly if you go
fucking berserk while they’re watching. Get hold of yourself, Thrace!
he lectured himself sternly.
Just get through
this thing. Once the collar’s on it won’t be so bad. Remember who’s going to be
holding the remote—it’s Trin, not the Master.

“Thrace?”
Trin asked again and he nodded shortly.

“I am well.” His voice came out stiff and halting
and he tried again. “I am well and ready to be collared.”

“I don’t believe this,” Sidna said flatly. “You’re
saying he’s staying on as your slave willingly? And he’s also willing to wear
the collar—the one that almost killed him?”

“He is,” Trin said steadily, looking at Thrace
though she was answering the medic. “Thrace volunteered to wear the pain
collar so that you and the rest of the crew would know he is not a threat. I
have the remote and I
will
use it if it looks like he is trying to harm
any one of us.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Thrace said stolidly. He took a
deep breath. There was nothing to do but get it over with. Taking a step
towards her, he fell to his knees on the cold metal floor at her feet.
“Mistress,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse and gravely. “I submit to you
and offer my neck for your collar. I will serve you until I die or until you
set me free.”

Trin cleared her throat. “And you submit to my
collar and my will of your own volition?”

“I do,” Thrace said hoarsely. “I will
belong to you body and soul. I will protect you with my life, shield you from
harm in times of danger, and pleasure you in times of peace. To the last drop
of my blood, I…am…yours.”

Those words…the words he had always refused to say.
He said them to Trin now. They brought back more memories—an evil tide of
poison from the past that threatened to drown him.
Say it!
the Master
screamed.
Say that you’re mine! Fucking say it, boy!

Thrace
bowed his head, trying to drive the tide back, to
banish the past.
Gods…

“Thrace…”
Trin reached out tentatively and stroked his hair. It was a gentle touch—the
same way she might soothe an animal on the verge of panic. Thrace found himself soothed by it
now.

He couldn’t help himself—the memories had undone
him and for a long moment he couldn’t push them back. He leaned into her touch,
looking for reassurance, needing her scent and the warmth of her hand to know
it was safe to do this…safe to submit to the collar he had so hated in the
past.

Not
the Master,
he told himself over and over.
She’s
not the Master.

Why
the fuck are you putting yourself through this?
demanded the sarcastic little voice in his brain.
Why
endure the pain and the rush of bad memories? Is it really just to pay a debt?

Again, he had no answers. He simply held still
under her touch, breathing her warm, feminine scent and trying to calm his
screaming nerves. Even surrounded by B’Rugh’s goons he hadn’t felt this fucked
up—this threatened. In a moment he would be able to bury the past again. But
for now, it was all he could do to hold still and let this happen, all he could
do to submit to the collar for her sake though he still didn’t know why exactly
he was doing it.

“Thrace,”
Trin whispered again and her hand moved lower, caressing his cheek, cupping his
jaw.

A warm current seemed to flow through him at the
skin-to-skin touch and at last his labored breathing became easier.

Not
the Master…
The past began to recede.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Trin asked in a low
voice, for his ears alone.

Thrace
looked up at her. “I have to,” he murmured. “It’s
the only way you can trust me.”

She looked troubled but at last she nodded.

“True. All right—here goes.”

Thrace
held his breath and closed his eyes as she
fastened the hated black collar around his throat, making sure it wasn’t too
tight as she fit it in place.
Not the Master…not the Master, not the Master…

“There.” She said at last, cupping his cheek again.
“It’s done.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Thrace
could barely get the words out. Turning his face,
he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. It was the final gesture of
submission—kissing the hand that collared him.

He knew it was the correct gesture because it was
what the old Master had demanded of him. But he had never given the old Master
that satisfaction or said the words he had spoken to Trin, no matter how much
the Master shouted and raved and hit. No matter what…
other
things he
did.

Now he gave the gesture of submission to Trin without
hesitation, just as he had given the words.

Why?

He still didn’t know.

The
debt. I just have to pay off the debt.

The debt. Right
.

“Rise, slave,” he heard her say in a strange,
slightly strangled voice. “I claim you as my own and demand your utmost respect
and loyalty at all times. You will serve in whatever capacity I deem necessary
and you will not be free until I say you are. Until I remove this collar and
give you your freedom you are mine.”

So she knew the words too. Was that from being
around the mistresses of Yonnie Six? Thrace wondered as he looked up at
her and got slowly to his feet.

He heard an uneasy murmur from
The Alacrity’s
crew as he stood to his full height and towered over all of them. But Trin held
up a hand to quiet them.

“You all saw the ceremony,” she said in a clear,
ringing voice. “You see that Thrace
is wearing the collar and I have the remote.” She lifted it high, letting them
all get a good look. “You can go about your business now with confidence that
you’re safe.”

“I don’t feel so very confident,” the navigator
said, frowning. “Why would he let you put the collar on him in the first place?
Why come back when Sidna had set him free to go his own way?”

“To pay a debt,” Thrace answered before Trin could
speak. “You may not think much of males but my people are honorable. Captain
Trin…my Mistress, paid a great deal of credit to buy my life. When I have paid
that back, we have agreed she will set me free and let me go my own way. Until
then, I am her humble, obedient, and
willing
slave.”

“Well…” The navigator looked somewhat mollified. “I
guess we’ll see about that. But I hope she shocks the hell out of you if you
try anything.”

“I will,” Trin said steadily. “You don’t have to
worry about your safety—none of you do. The remote is now keyed to my heat
signature and palm print alone. No one else can use it and no one can take it
from me. Here, Sidna—try.” She held out the remote to the medic and waited
until the older female unfolded her arms and reached for the small black
rectangle.

“Ouch!” She jumped back as a bright spark flashed
between her fingertips and the remote.

“See?” Trin said, smiling grimly. “Perfectly safe.”

“How do we know
he
can’t take it?” one of
the other crew members demanded.

“If Thrace
so much as touches the remote it will cause his collar to deliver a very
painful shock,” Trin announced.

“Let’s see it,” Sidna said.

“No, I won’t be needlessly cruel. He—” Before she
could finish, Thrace
reached for the remote.

The moment his fingertips brushed it the pain
collar delivered a current of electrical pain so strong it made his entire body
feel like he’d been dipped in boiling oil.

“Gods!” He gave a hoarse gasp and fell back to his
knees, his hand clenched into fists and his heart pounding. Son of a bitch that
hurt!
But he well knew how necessary it had been.

“Thrace!”
Trin knelt by him at once, putting the remote carefully to one side where
everyone avoided it like the plague. “Are you all right?” she asked, looking at
him anxiously.

“Fine.” He looked up at her, panting. “Just…had to
do it.”

“No, you didn’t.” She looked back at the crew who
was still standing there, staring. “Go on, all of you. Back to posts. And
Nanda,” pointing at the navigator. “Set a course for Yonnie Six.”

There were several subdued murmurs of, “Yes, Captain,”
and the crew immediately disbursed. All except Sidna who stood there staring at
him for a long moment, a stony, disbelieving look on her face.

“Sidna, you too.” Trin frowned at the medic who
shrugged.

“As you wish, Captain.” But she gave Thrace
another hard look before she walked stiffly off, her soft soled shoes
whispering along the metal floors.

*
* * * *

Thrace
tried to laugh but it came out sounding more like
a croak to Trin.

“She doesn’t like me,” he muttered, nodding at
Sidna’s retreating back. “Doesn’t like me one damn bit.”

“Because she doesn’t know you yet. Or trust you,”
Trin said. She was still kneeling beside him, keeping one arm on his muscular
bicep and watching him anxiously. From the moment she’d produced the collar,
something had been wrong.

She’d seen his eyes go wide and the almost panicked
look come into his face. She’d never seen that look on him before—not on the
display platform in the Flesh Bazaar, not when he woke, chained to the cot and
helpless, and not when they were surrounded and outnumbered by B’Rugh’s thugs.