Carnage kept motionless in a tight curl in the back corner of his cage, looking impossibly small for such a big man. Diablo huffed rhythmically as he gripped a bar running across the top of his cage and pulled his body up again and again in a slow, relentless rhythm. He couldn’t get his head between the bars, so he tipped his head back, raising his chin to the bar, at the top of each motion. His lean musculature stood out in sharp relief as he lowered his body, then bulged with effort as he pulled up again. Tiny beads of perspiration made his skin shimmer with the movement.
She gave herself a mental shake and looked away. She was there to feed them, not ogle them. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Undaunted by the lack of response, she set her pack on the floor then dug out the rations.
Since the night after Mercury broke Resler’s leg she’d been sneaking in ration bars. With everything else she was doing, her conscience wouldn’t be pricked by breaking her word to Drake. She didn’t understand why the caged men had gone back to acting as if the cargo-hold was a words-free zone. If she was going to help them she needed to gain their trust. At least they were eating.
She tossed an unwrapped protein bar first to Mercury then to Diablo, who stopped his exercises to stand near the front of his cage to catch the offered meal. She still kept well out of his reach. It was better, she reasoned, not to tempt him.
“Sorry, it’s just rations again, but they’re easier to get out of the supply stores and less likely to be missed.”
Diablo’s gaze tracked her as she moved to stand in front of Carnage.
“Carnage?”
His chest rose and fell, but not even a muscle twitched in response. It felt wrong to toss his food on the floor, but she didn’t have time to consider other options. She needed to get to work.
Normally she brought her sandsilk and paints to work on, but tonight was different. Tonight she would set her plan into motion. Samantha pulled the tools she would need from the hold’s tool locker then popped the cover off of the secondary access panel for the environmental controls. It was only meant to serve as a backup if the primary access became inaccessible, so nothing was in easy reach.
Holding a small circuit tuner, she slipped her hand between two fiber assemblies, brushing against them gently and with care. She didn’t want to wreck the whole system.
There. The circuit buzzed against her fingertips as she worked the tuner into position then adjusted the phase, just off spec. Bracing her free hand on the wall next to the access, she turned her head and reached for where the next circuit board should be, stretching and twisting and working by touch. Good thing she had small hands.
Mercury fought the urge to ask Sam what she was working on.
Sam
. That’s what they called her. It didn’t fit. Nothing about her made sense to him. He lay on his back, chewing his protein bar and listening to the tiny noises she made, the in and out of her breathing.
In the cage beside him, Lo went back to his pull-ups. He hadn’t heard Carn move, so he probably still lay in the corner of his cage where he’d been, unmoving, all day. Mercury’s concern for his brothers multiplied with each day they spent headed for death and away from Carn’s mate. He’d tried to convince Carn that Drake had lied about Hera’s fate, that she was too valuable as a breeder, but how could he convince him of anything when he wasn’t convinced himself. Hera had been with them for half a year without conceiving.
With nothing he could do to help them, his mind turned back to Sam. Every day she came. Normally, she would spread a piece of shimmering blue cloth across the floor, lay on her belly, and apply some type of coloring to the material. She’d said it was the only area big enough for the task, but her explanation was as thin as new ice. He’d warned her away, but still she sought them out and put herself between him and his enemies.
He’d tried and failed to believe she could be a temptress like the one who’d betrayed Lo. But the more he thought back over her actions the more he had to accept that her actions had shown her to be something he’d never expected to encounter—a woman who put his welfare and that of his brothers before her own.
He knew she wanted him to speak to her but he’d long ago developed a habit of talking to humans only when absolutely necessary. They always found a way to use his words against him. He’d accepted that she wasn’t like the others, but some small measure of sanity warned she might be just as dangerous.
Dangerous, because he’d begun to look forward to her visits. Dangerous, because he’d begun to trust her presence. Dangerous, because thoughts of fucking her had become as automatic as the breathing.
Her voice softened when she directed her words to him. Females did such things to signal a willingness to mate. The thought tightened his muscles with eagerness. A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest at the unwanted response. Each night she came added to the agony of wanting that made his body ache more surely than any beating. If this was what Carn felt when Hera was near—
“Drake complained about his dinner again tonight.”
Her voice broke into his thoughts. The sound of the whip-master’s name on her lips angered him. He growled and she laughed. A sound that curled inside him and made him shiver with need. He wanted to feel her laughter against his skin.
“This time he actually had something to complain about. I made sure to overheat his meal. It was probably rubber.”
She always made a point of mentioning the whip-master. It always made him growl. He suspected she did it just to hear him respond.
“I’ve been doing a bit of research.” The clank of her tools against something inside the panel accompanied her words.
He closed his eyes, listening as much to her tone as her meaning.
“This planet we’re headed for, it’s some kind of private game preserve. They’ve taken your kind there before. I couldn’t find anything out about what will happen though.” Unmistakable notes of worry hid behind the quiet melody of her voice. “They’ve never brought any of them back.”
He heard her shift and then a quick gasp of pain. He twisted, eyes snapping open, resolve gone—swamped by the need to assure himself that she was unharmed.
She’d already dismissed whatever small hurt she’d suffered and gone back to her task. Her hair was tied back in a knot, but the shorter strands around her face clung wetly to her temples. A fine sheen of perspiration made her skin glisten. She stretched and shifted to push up the sleeve of her jacket. The soft swell of her breasts drew his eye as she moved.
His body hardened at the sight.
He knew she wore the concealing jacket, always wore high necks and long sleeves, to hide the color that appeared when she grew angry. She’d claimed it had something to do with Cirrillian biology. He didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it worried her.
She pushed at the sleeve again.
He snarled as his wisdom and caution failed him. “Take it off.” He knew the words were barely recognizable, garbled by his growl, but his body burned with the need to do more than remove her jacket.
She’d gone still, not even breathing. Her hand clenched around her sleeve.
“Take. It. Off.”
“What?” Her voice squeaked.
“The jacket. It bothers you. Take it off.” He growled louder, making her flinch. “It bothers me also.”
“My jacket? Oh. It’s hot, that’s all.” Her voice lowered as she mumbled, “All part of the plan.”
Her words were confusing, but he took them as a refusal and growled in the front of his mouth. It was an instinctive demand for her to submit. A sound any female of his kind would understand, but she wasn’t one of their females.
Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t scent of fear.
He breathed slowly to calm his anger. Control the animal instinct that made him want to claim her. He rose to his haunches then moved to the edge of his cage, wanting to be closer.
“Take off the jacket.” Better, he thought. It had come out low, but without the growl. He didn’t want to frighten her. He wanted to coax her to comply.
He understood that this Cirrillian business was a secret. He wouldn’t like it if she kept a secret from him, but he liked knowing something of her that the whip-master didn’t. Even if he didn’t understand what it meant.
“I won’t tell your secret,” he promised.
Her face remained tight, but she tugged off the garment and went back to work. Barely noticeable bands of warm gold wrapped her slender arms as the muscles flexed, but she went silent. He didn’t want that. He’d come to need her flow of words rolling over him.
“Where is your cloth?”
“In my cabin. No time for that tonight.” Her arm disappeared in the wall panel and she held her breath before letting it out in a huff that relaxed her body and drew his eyes to her curves.
Mercury let out his own breath in a snort of frustration. “Tell me about the cloth.”
She stopped, studying him, eyebrows raised in delicate arches. “Now, you want to talk?”
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Okay,” she said. “I was just finishing this up, anyway.” She tapped something inside the panel then closed it and put away her tools.
“In Haverlee—that’s where I lived growing up—sandsilk is one of the few resources we have in abundance.” She moved across the floor with athletic grace, to stand just out of reach. “It’s not as valuable as real silk from old Earth, but there’s a good market for it.”
He knew nothing of sandsilk or old Earth. It didn’t matter. He would gladly listen to her talk about them for the whole of their journey. “More,” he said, afraid even one added word would give away how badly he needed her to continue.
She edged closer and sat in front of his cage. “The thread is made by sandsilk worms.” She grinned. “I know it must sound weird, but the cloth is strong and soft.”
Moving slowly to avoid startling her away, he rolled up on to his toes and crouched near the bars. He wrapped his hands around the cool metal. “Why do you put on the colors?”
“The paint? Well, when I was a girl I worked in the wormaries—that’s where they cultivate the worms that produce the silk— and I got paid in silk thread. I was never good at dyeing and making the cloth so I learned to paint the decorations.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, leaving the soft pink flesh glistening. “It’s the night sky over Haverlee,” she said. “The pattern I’m painting.”
She sounded suddenly hesitant. He hated the uncertainty in her voice.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. Her smile told him it was the right thing to say.
Once again moving slowly, he reached up and pulled at the knot of hair at the base of her skull. The lush mass of brown spilled to her shoulders, revealing strands of red and gold. He’d never seen anything like it. He pulled a handful to his nose and sucked in a breath, taking her essence deep into his lungs. “But not as beautiful as this.” Her bright green eyes widened and her scent warmed, turning sensuous and receptive.
Lo moved to the corner of his cage and sniffed at her. Mercury growled a gentle warning. Sam flinched and Lo edged back. It shifted Sam’s attention to Lo and the loss poked at Mercury’s pride.
“The place we’re going,” he said. “We go to be hunted. To die.”
She swallowed and her lips pressed together before she spoke. “I thought it was something like that, but don’t lose hope.”
He wanted to deny the possibility of giving up, but even as they spoke Carn’s protein bar lay uneaten on the floor of his cage. The odds against them weighed more heavily on them every day. “The owners want us dead. Their greed is the only reason we aren’t dead already. Humans will pay to be allowed to hunt us. They’ll use human technology to track us and long range weapons to shoot us. We won’t make it easy for them, but...” Mercury refused to accept the obvious conclusion.
“How can you know that?”
“Drake. He enjoyed telling us how it would be.”
“Never give up.” She looked suddenly serious. “Things will work out.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest. Her scent changed with her mood and he regretted his words. He hadn’t thought it through before speaking. He didn’t want to cause her unhappiness. He wanted to soothe her.
“Tell me more about your cloth. You’ll feel more relaxed and your scent will be better.”
She scoffed. “Are you saying I smell bad?”
“No. Not bad. Your scent is always good. Sweet. Honey. Female. It’s best when you’re relaxed and talking softly.”
“Charmer.” She laughed with the word, but it wasn’t humor making her eyes dilate.
He traced his fingers across her cheek, pleased when she allowed it. There was no sign of the bruise she’d gotten defending him. Her slender fingers traced the back of his hand, setting off sparks of need as urgent as if she’d touched his cock.
He traced a trail down the enticing length of her throat and across her collarbone then back. He let his fingers hover there as he watched the pulse in her throat race. It amazed him that she would allow his touch. Trust him with her vulnerable throat. It wasn’t a submissive offering, not born of fear. Only trust.
He drew a curve that followed the edge of the scoop neck shirt that had been hidden beneath her jacket. The path took him across the swell of her breast. Her breath hitched and his cock jumped at the sound.
The bands of color on her arms seemed a more brilliant gold than they had minutes earlier.
He thought back to her earlier words and repeated them back to her as he traced along the edge of one of the stripes. “Do we have time for a
biology lesson
?”
She laughed, a loud joyous laugh that came from her belly and made her cheeks red.
A loud pounding broke the spell.
Samantha silently cursed the timing and scrambled to her feet. Finally, after days of trying, she’d started to build some trust with Mercury. They’d even had what could pass for a conversation. The pounding on the door doubled, making her flinch. She pulled on her jacket, sealed it to the top and twisted her hair in a hasty knot then jogged to the hold hatchway. She looked over her shoulder briefly to see that the men were all on their feet but looking calm, then keyed in the open sequence.