The Captive (6 page)

He looked at her over the edge of the book, one dark brow
raised, and then he turned the page and began to read again.

His voice was low and husky, mesmerizing, making her wonder
what it would be like to have him read those same words to her, and mean them.

my whisper slips past

hiding desire

holding it fast

this need to have

this want

to feel

listen as you

move…

taste as you moan

I want you

please just once

let me know your
passion

take me into

your sweetest hold…

our whispers mix

with the night

let’s dance

with pleasure

see if the love

covers as words

push inside

I love you

you know this is
true…

so be with me

let

me

have you

Falkon swore under his breath as he closed the book and
tossed it back to her. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was wasting
his time reading romantic poetry to remind him of what he was missing, what he
had lost.

Ashlynne caught the book, almost dropping the controller as
she did so. It occurred to her that remaining in Number Four’s presence was the
most dangerous thing she had ever done, far more dangerous than going swimming
at midnight with Magny, or sneaking into the mine compound. There had been a
door between them at the mine, nothing stood between them here but a few feet
of space.

It filled her with a sense of daring, being this close to
Number Four, even as she assured herself there was nothing to be afraid of as
long as she had the controller. Remembering how quickly Number Four had turned
on Dain, she hadn’t put it down for a moment. It gave her a sense of power,
rather like the feeling she had when she rode Artemis in a headlong gallop down
the beach. The mare was bigger, stronger, faster, yet she controlled it.

Number Four’s bold stare made her suddenly uncomfortable and
she took a drink of water from the glass sitting on the rock beside her.
Watching him over the rim of the glass, she saw him lick his lips and it
occurred to her that he was probably thirsty. It was unseasonably warm, and he
been working out in the hot sun since early that morning.

Slipping off the rock, she stood and held the glass out
toward him. “Would you like a drink?”

“No.”

“You must be thirsty.”

“I don’t want anything from you or your people,” he said
brusquely. “Nothing except my freedom.”

“You’ll never be free again.”

“And you’ll never be anything but a spoiled, arrogant brat
with too much time on her hands.” He watched her cheeks grow red, felt himself
tense in dreadful anticipation as her hand tightened on the controller. “Go
ahead, do it,” he challenged, and wondered what perverse devil had goaded him
into saying such a thing.

Ashlynne’s thumb hovered over the top of the controller, but
the memory of the pain Dain had inflicted on Number Four stayed her hand,
though why she should care if this odious creature suffered was far beyond her
comprehension. He was a slave, after all, an enemy to her people, to everything
fine and decent. Surely he deserved whatever he got.

Nevertheless, that one moment of hesitation took the fire
from her anger. With a wordless cry of annoyance at her own weakness, she flung
the contents of the glass in his face.

He glared at her, water dripping from his nose and chin.
Damn, in his own country, no one would dare treat him like this. He took a step
forward, rage boiling up within him, only to halt in mid-stride as the sound of
her laughter filled the air.

She was laughing at him! Had he been a free man, he might
have laughed, too. But not now. There was no room in his life for laughter,
there was no room for anything but soul-shattering hatred and bitter regret.

Turning on his heel, he stormed down the path.

* * * * *

He vowed not to speak to her again, not to look at her
again. He would ignore her as if she didn’t exist.

And yet, somehow, she seemed to be everywhere.

If he was cleaning the stables, she was there, currying her
pretty little chestnut mare.

If he was pulling weeds, she was at the other end of the
garden, her nose stuck in a book.

If he was chopping wood, she was sitting at her easel,
painting.

If he was exercising one of the horses in the corral, she
was there, watching him through those wide green eyes.

And always, he was aware of the controller in her hand, of
the absolute power of life and death it gave her over him, just as he was aware
of the attraction that hummed between them whenever their eyes met. He wondered
if she felt it, too, if she even knew what it was.

Today, he was mucking out the stalls. And she was currying
her horse. The groom, Otry, was sleeping in one of the empty stalls. He was an
old man who looked on Falkon as a godsend. Under other circumstances, Falkon
would have liked the man.

In spite of all his good intentions, Falkon couldn’t keep
from watching the girl, couldn’t help but notice the way her riding pants
outlined her long slender legs and shapely thighs, couldn’t ignore the swell of
her firm young breasts, or the way her thick silver-blonde braid swung back and
forth as she brushed the mare’s sleek chestnut coat.

He swore under his breath as he dumped a shovel full of
manure into a barrel. It was just that she was a woman, he told himself, and he
had been too long without a woman. It had nothing to do with the soft, slightly
husky sound of her voice as she spoke to the mare, nothing to do with the faint
flowery perfume that was noticeable even over the strong scent of manure and
horseflesh that filled the air. He told himself that after months of enforced
captivity and celibacy, he would have responded the same way to any woman, any
humanoid female. Right now, even one of the green-skinned street walkers of
Hodore would have looked good to him.

Seemingly unaware of his heated gaze, the girl tossed the
curry comb aside and ran her hands over the mare’s neck.

He watched each movement, each stroke of her pale slender
hands, his imagination running wild as he imagined those slim fingers playing
over his body, massaging his back, sliding seductively along his thigh…

With a violent oath, he turned away, hating her, hating
himself.

“You can put Artemis away now.”

Her voice, feminine yet slightly husky, carried an inbred
note of authority. Born to luxury, she was a young woman who was accustomed to
giving orders and having them obeyed. Unfortunately, he was also accustomed to
giving orders, not taking them. Months of slavery had taught him the futility
of disobeying, but it had not made captivity any easier to bear. Bad enough to
take orders from the overseers and guards at the mine. He would not take them
from her, as well.

Hands clenched, he turned around to face her.

She met his gaze squarely, then lifted one hand, offering
him the mare’s lead rope.

She frowned when he made no move to take it.”Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I’m through here, for now. You may put Artemis in her
stall.”

“May I?”

Ashlynne frowned. “Are you going to put my horse away, or
not?”

Fighting the urge to grab the rope and wrap it around her
pretty little neck, Falkon took a deep breath, then reached for the lead.

Ashlynne stared at Number Four’s hand. His palm was callused
and smudged with dirt, his fingers were long and brown and strong, the nails
broken and uneven. His fingertips brushed hers when he took the rope.

He saw her eyes widen in shock at his touch, and then she
jerked her hand away. As if she had touched something incredibly vile.

Unreasoning anger roared through him. Without thinking, he
took a menacing step toward her. The controller was in her hand in an instant,
her thumb poised over the activation panel. One touch, and every muscle and
nerve in his body would be screaming in agony.

Ashlynne tightened her hold on the controller, her heart
pounding as he halted in mid-stride. His blue-gray eyes had darkened to the
color of cold stone.

She drew herself up to her full height, irritated that she
still had to look up to meet his gaze. “If you know what’s good for you, Number
Four, you will put my horse away.”

“And if I don’t?” He forced the words through clenched
teeth.

She looked at him, obviously perplexed by his disobedience.
“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so difficult.”

“It’s your horse. Why don’t you put it away?”

“Because it’s your job.”

“Why? Because I’m a slave?”

She lifted her chin imperiously.”Yes.”

“Go to hell.”

“How dare speak to me like that! I demand that you do as I
say.”

“Say please, and I’ll consider it.”

Anger turned her eyes from sea green to deep emerald.”I will
not!”

“Say it.”

Her hand tightened on the controller. “Do as I say.”

Falkon shook his head, his whole body tensing as he watched
her. She was soft and spoiled but not easily intimidated. He had to know how
far he could push her; needed to know if she had the guts to use that damnable
weapon. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out. Last time, she had
let Dain unleash the controller’s power. But Dain wasn’t here now. There was
just the two of them.

She took a deep breath. “I’m asking you for the last time.”

“And I’m saying no, for the last time.”

She hesitated, her expression uncertain, and Falkon took a
step forward. If he could wrest the controller from her grasp, there was a
chance, however slim, that he might be able to escape over the back wall. He
was willing to risk whatever dangers the jungle might hold if it meant a chance
at freedom.

His hands clenched. He’d never get a better opportunity, he
thought, and made a grab for the controller.

Wild, unreasoning panic rose within Ashlynne. Warnings went
off inside her mind. He was the enemy. A mercenary. A man who had killed women
and children without remorse.

Fear for her own life overrode every other thought as she
jerked her hand back, and activated the control panel.

The controller’s effect was immediate and irrevocable.

With a strangled cry, Number Four crumpled to the floor, his
body turning and twisting, curling in on itself in an effort to escape the
excruciating pain splintering through every nerve and cell of his being.

Transfixed, Ashlynne stared down at him. Horrified by what
she had done, by the pain she had willingly inflicted, she lifted her finger
from the control panel. But there was no stopping it once it had begun. Unable
to watch any longer, she turned and ran out of the barn.

Gradually, his muscles relaxed. Badly shaken, his body still
trembling, Falkon rose to his hands and knees. Head hanging, he gathered his
strength, then lurched to his feet. He had underestimated her.

It was a mistake he wouldn’t make a second time.

* * * * *

Early the following morning he was at work once again,
trimming the branches from a tree near the side of the house.

He could have used a ladder; instead, he had climbed the
tree simply for the fun of it, something he hadn’t done since he’d been a boy.

He climbed higher, and now he was on a level with the second
story. Overcome with curiosity, he leaned forward and looked in the window, and
knew immediately that it was Ashlynne’s room. The walls were painted a soft
pearlescent pink, the carpet, which looked to be over an inch thick, was white.
There was a large round bed with a pink flowered spread and a matching canopy,
a desk and chair, a shelf that held books and trinkets. The room was as pretty
and feminine as the girl who lived there.

He drew back a little when the door opened and Ashlynne
stepped inside. Closing the door, she sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off
her shoes, peeled off her stockings. She fell back on the bed, lifted her arms,
and stretched. Rising, she pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it on
the bed.

Falkon felt his mouth go dry, thought he might fall out of
the tree when she started to remove her skirt.

She turned abruptly, her eyes widening when she saw him
staring at her. With a little shriek, she grabbed her sweater and yanked it
over her head, then crossed the floor and opened the window.

“What are you doing? How dare you spy on me! When I tell my
father, he’ll…”

“I wouldn’t tell your father if I was you.”

“Well, you’re not me! And I will tell him. And he’ll have
you whipped.”

“No, you won’t.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I will.”

He shook his head. “I wonder what daddy would say if I was
to tell him that his daughter and her friend were sneaking around the mine
compound late one night.”

She stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t!” she exclaimed,
and then shrugged. “He wouldn’t believe you any way.”

“No?”

“No,” she replied firmly. But what if he did? She’d never be
able to see Magny again if her father found out what they had done.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he said, grinning impudently, “if
you’ll keep mine.”

“Oh! You are the most…the most, oh, I don’t have a word bad
enough for what you are!”

“I could teach you one.”

She glared at him. “I’ll just bet you could!”

“In several languages.”

“Oh, you are the most impossible man I’ve ever met.”

“But handsome,” he said. “Don’t forget handsome.”

Embarrassment washed over Ashlynne as she realized he had
heard them whispering about him outside the hut that night.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t you go away?” And so saying,
she reached out the window and gave him a shove.