The Choosing (The Pruxnae Book 1) (4 page)

He reached
forward, intending to dry her face. She jerked back, her stare withering and
cold. He left his hand hanging in the air, waiting for her to come to him,
channeling the patience Gared had counseled. Finally, she eased toward him and
allowed his touch. Her skin was soft under his fingertips, supple, and she
sighed, murmuring softly as he stroked away the remnants of her sorrow.

When Ziri
calmed, he directed her to help him load plants onto the cart, then showed her
the
Yarinska
’s greenhouse, such as it was, one of the rooms he’d cleared
out for her. He was hopeless with plants, always had been, something Alna
teased him relentlessly about. During long journeys, he made do with dried
fruits and vegetables, but there was no substitute for fresh. He’d brought
along seeds, soil, and extra water in the hopes of finding somebody like Ziri,
with a talent for growing things and a willingness to take on the chore so
they’d have fresh food to supplement their stores.

Ziri wandered
into the greenhouse, her gaze roving carefully over the long, covered tables
running down the middle, the growing lights hanging from the ceiling, the
shelving along one wall, complete with braces for tying down larger plants, and
the hydroponics equipment along another.

Ryn had done his
best to maintain the room and now was glad for it. Later, he’d help her bolt
down her plants and protect the dirt from the occasional glitches in the
Yarinska
’s
artificial gravity systems. First, though, he wanted to give her another gift.

They unloaded
the plants, went back for a second round, then retrieved one of the storage
crates and hauled it to the other room he’d set aside solely for her use. It
had once served as officer quarters, but since he’d refitted the
Yarinska
to function with a minimal crew, he no longer needed it for that. He did what
he could to help Ziri understand that this space was hers by hauling her books
and clothing back and helping her arrange them in the storage units embedded in
the walls. She unrolled her sleeping mat in a corner, and he bit back a laugh.
He had no intention of allowing her to sleep alone, especially with only a reed
mat and a thin mattress to protect her from the
Yarinska
’s frigid floor.
She’d figure that out. Eventually.

Once she was
settled in, he prepared a light midday meal. As with the first meal he’d made
her, she refused nothing and ate with the zest of somebody who appreciated the
nourishment she was offered. She surprised him by helping him clean up afterward.
More surprising were her attempts at learning his language. She pointed to
various objects and repeated their names as he spoke them. From time to time,
she’d touch each object again, naming them as her finger moved from one to the
other.

The pleasure he
found in her willingness astounded him. It was such a simple thing, and though
he didn’t believe for a tick that she’d settled into a complacent acceptance of
her situation, he admired her for making the most of it. After Gared had
rescued him from the Sweepers, Ryn had heard many, many stories of captive
brides and husbands, most cautionary tales designed to warn young Pruxnæ away
from rash behavior toward their future mates. Some, though, were legends of how
it could be. Fairy tales, he’d always thought, and then he’d seen Ziri and
realized that all along, he’d hoped for exactly that kind of mating, with a
woman who’d recognize him as he’d recognized her.

He fully
expected her to try to escape, would be disappointed if she didn’t. She seemed
too spirited to accept her situation so easily, but she also seemed
quick-witted enough to understand that cooperation would offer more
opportunities than resistance.

At least, he
hoped she was.

After the midday
meal, Ryn escorted Ziri to the room housing her plants, showed her how to use
the com, and left her there. She poked her head out of the room’s door and
watched him walk down the corridor like he didn’t have a single care to worry
over, leaving her unfettered and unsupervised, apparently to do as she pleased.

This had to be
the strangest kidnapping on record.

She shook her
head and turned her attention to the room itself. It was maybe three times her
height in width and four in length, and here, at least, she knew exactly what
to do. She pushed the sleeves of her borrowed shirts up to her elbows and
maneuvered the potted plants Ryn had taken from her home out of the main
walkway. Thankfully, he’d brought the three smaller ones from her kitchen, too.
Each held a hodgepodge of precious herbs gathered from across Tersi and from
nearby star systems. She would’ve hated losing those in her absence, with no
one there to care for them.

A pang of sorrow
stole her breath. She swiped the back of one hand across her forehead and
forced it away. Ryn seemed like a kind man or at least a gentle one. If she
could learn to communicate with him, maybe she could get him to see reason, or
maybe she could learn why he’d taken her and negotiate with him as her father
would.

Neither was a
perfect plan, but they seemed preferable to a prolonged fight. At least this
way she could be productive and fill her time with meaningful work. If he
chained her again, she’d be stuck on his soft sleeping pallet staring at four
stark walls, a temptation he’d surely surrender to eventually.

She rummaged through
the cabinets and stumbled across tiny paper packets. She shook several and the
contents rattled. Seeds, maybe? The writing was unfamiliar and, inconveniently
enough, none contained pictures of the fully-grown plants as a guide, so she
couldn’t be sure. She sighed and replaced the packets, then nosed through
bottles of unfamiliar liquids, paper packages of odd-smelling crumbs, and an
assortment of tools and miscellaneous items needed for growing and maintaining
healthy vegetation.

Maybe this was
the reason he’d taken her. Maybe he’d strolled by her house, seen the yard, and
decided he needed her to grow his food.

She snorted out
a laugh. What a ridiculous idea. The sex slave notion had more merit, would’ve
if he’d acted on it. Ziri slammed the cabinet door shut and scowled at it. She
was thankful he hadn’t forced her, but if he had, at least then she’d know what
he wanted and wouldn’t be playing an endless guessing game.

After a full
sun’s pace spent exploring every nook and cranny of the room, Ziri tracked Ryn
down, hoping to somehow talk him into helping her secure her plants and maybe
even mime the contents of the seed packages.

Which should at
least be entertaining. How did one mime salad greens, anyway? And fertilizer. That
should be a fun one.

She was still
smiling when she found him in the instrument panel room. She rapped lightly on
the inside wall. “Ryn?”

He swiveled
around, an almost smile curving his lips, and gestured her forward. She
squeezed through the two chairs and perched on the edge of the empty one,
studying his hands as they flitted across the array of knobs and buttons and
depressions. What was he doing?

He tapped her
knee and scooted back in his chair, watching her expectantly. Right. Follow the
leader, his favorite game. She wiggled backwards, seating herself fully, and
strapped herself into the chair. He tapped on the panel under the depression
that turned the viewscreen on, placed her hand there when she didn’t move
quickly enough. Obligingly, she slid her fingers over it, then gaped at the
uncovered view.

Light bisected
the screen, revealing a powder gray curved surface on the right half, matched
by an equally curved surface on the left that was thrown into deep shadow. Were
they inside something? A tunnel, maybe?

Ryn caught her
attention and pointed to a toggle. He gripped it lightly and moved it slowly,
and as he did, the view on the screen shifted, scanning upward along the curved
wall. The edge came into view, and above it, a field of stars. Not a tunnel then,
or if it was a tunnel, they were near its opening. He let go of the toggle and
jerked his chin at it. She took that as an invitation to experiment, and did,
moving the toggle around in various directions, gaining a larger understanding
of their surroundings as the view shifted.

The ship jolted,
startling her into letting go of the toggle. The viewscreen bobbled, then
focused on a slightly elevated view. A faint pressure settled on Ziri’s chest
as the engines strained. Their thrum vibrated through her feet and up her legs.
She inhaled slowly and clutched the arms of her chair. Ryn’s left hand pressed
a lever steadily upward along the panel. With his right hand, he flicked
switches. The viewscreen focused on a light gray, pockmarked surface. It
receded slowly and became a moon, and the images she’d seen clicked into place
in her mind. The ship had been sitting at the bottom of a large crater, and
now, it was resuming its journey.

He tapped her
knee again and exhaled, gesturing for her to do the same. As soon as she had,
he popped his hand down on the panel and the world swirled around her.
Not
again
, she thought, but it was too late. She
popped
into darkness,
cursing Ryn abid Alna the whole way down.

* * *

Ziri came to
with a groan. Gentle hands pressed her into a soft surface and a familiar voice
murmured to her. She pushed Ryn’s hands away and squinted at him through
narrowed eyelids. “Would you stop doing that, whatever it is?”

His lips
twitched and a mischievous humor lit his dark eyes.

“Oh, go ahead
and grin like a lanoo,” she said. “That handsome mug won’t get you far with
me.”

He unfastened
the straps holding him into his seat, stood, and held a hand out to her in his
Come
on, I’ve got something to show you
way. She undid her own straps and slid
out of the seat, took his hand and let him help her up.

Because she was
dizzy, not because she was beginning to find a strange comfort in the way he
held her hand. Of course, she didn’t. He’d kidnapped her. That he was handsome
didn’t make the act less atrocious. That he held her gently, as if he treasured
her touch, didn’t pardon his actions. So what if his thumb stroked over her
knuckles, creating a tingly awareness along her skin? That just meant she was
weak and a tad lonely for the comforts of the familiar, that was all.

They ended up in
the cargo bay. While she’d been happily poking around in the plant room, he’d
transformed one corner of the large space. A rectangular, padded mat delineated
the area, its garish red a stark contrast to the surrounding dull gray floor.
Two cylindrical bags were suspended on sturdy cables between the high ceiling
and the floor.

“Ziri.”

She swung her
head around. Ryn slipped off the boots he wore and stripped out of his socks. She
sat down and stripped off the thick socks he’d given her. Well, this should be
fun, just another fascinating day getting to know her kidnapper as they sped
away from her home world.

He unzipped his
coverall to his waist and shrugged out of the top half, then tied the sleeves
around his hips, leaving his upper body bare. Ziri trained her eyes on her
dirty toes, far away from the well-formed width of his chest and the lean bulge
of his muscles. She sucked in a breath. He had no hair on his chest. She’d
never seen a man above the age of twenty Galactic Standards without at least
some hair sprinkled along his pectorals and sternum, yet here was one. Her gaze
wandered to him. Had he been born that way or had he done something to get rid
of the hair there?

Ryn cleared his
throat and gestured her up, seemingly oblivious to the way her eyes clung to
his bare skin. She blinked her curiosity away and shuffled into the center of
the mat two arm spans away from him, deliberately fixing her eyes on his and
not on the hard muscles of his naked torso.

He held his hand
out and, when she placed hers in his, he balled her hand into a fist and bumped
it against his chest. He let go of her hand, stepped back, and flicked his
fingers toward himself.

Come and get me
.

Ziri rolled her
eyes. Like she was stupid enough to attack a man so much bigger than her.
Honestly, what was he thinking?

He wiggled his
fingers at her, and she shrugged. Ok, then. She balled her fist up and swung
slowly at his forearm, not bothering to put her weight behind her blow or use
any of the early training her parents had forced her into.

Ages ago, when
they’d had some hope of her choosing a proper occupation.

Ryn snagged her
wrist and tugged her off balance, using her own momentum against her. She
stumbled and squawked, and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t twisted her arm around
and pulled her against his chest, her back to his front, his arm a firm anchor
under her breasts.

“Ziri,” he
chided, and out came a long string of softly spoken words that sounded an awful
lot like a scolding. He jostled her with his arm, then let her go, and she
stepped away from him, her temper sparking. So, he wanted a fight, did he?
Well, she was happy to oblige.

He gestured
again, and this time, she went at him full throttle, throwing her weight behind
what should’ve been a solid right hook aimed at his smugly set jaw. He ducked
back and easily deflected her blow. Oddly, the smug expression was replaced by
a satisfied grin, flashing even, white teeth and the hint of a dimple below the
scar marring his right cheek.

Ziri’s hands dropped
to her side. Wow. If he’d used that grin on her the night he’d taken her, she
would’ve come along quietly, just so she could watch happiness light his face,
lifting it beyond stark, cold beauty into warm wickedness.

Ryn nodded and
gestured again, and again she swung at him, this time with her left hand,
aiming for his ribs. He blocked her swing and jabbed lightly at her stomach,
stopping short of hitting her. She scowled down at his hand. She had to hit him
sometime, right? He couldn’t always get the better of her, no matter how bad
her defensive skills were.

She tried again
and again to land a blow or block his punches, tried for what felt like a host
of sun’s paces, and still didn’t break through. By the end of their workout,
her energy had fled and sweat soaked her skin under the clothes he’d lent her,
but his soft, approving smile was worth it. So was the satisfaction she’d
gained taking a few well-earned swings at him. So what if she hadn’t hit him a
single time? At least she’d gotten a fair try at it, and it had felt really
good taking some of her frustration out on him.

Why he was
teaching her how to fight, though, was beyond her, and that he was instructing
her was clear. He’d stopped her several times, adjusting her swing, showing her
combinations, encouraging her to use her feet, knees, and elbows, all the while
speaking to her in that smooth, patient voice, but for what purpose?

When they were
finished, he took her hand and led her back to his room. Once inside, he
stripped down and dropped his coveralls into the hatch he’d shown her, the
black pit where he stuffed clothes willy-nilly. He tucked his boots into a wall
unit, then walked into the bathing area dressed only in skin-tight, thigh-length
underclothes similar to the ones he’d worn last evening. She peeked into the
room, curious, and hissed in a breath. The broad expanse of his back was
crisscrossed by thin scars, some no longer than a fingernail, others extending
from one side of his broad back to the other. How had she not noticed that?

Ryn glanced over
his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, and she shook her head. Now was not the time
to ask him about those scars and how he’d gotten them. Later, though, after she’d
learned enough of his language to convince him to take her back to Tersi, she’d
be sure to ask.

He turned on the
shower and inclined his head toward the water, and the smell of her own body
wafted to her nose. A bath would be just the thing, followed by a hot meal and
a good rest. She eyed him warily. Was he asking her to join him or offering her
the water first?

He shrugged and
tucked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, then stripped them off
without a hint of modesty. Ziri goggled, her gaze caught by the well-formed
lines of his nude body and the semi-hard length of his manhood. She whirled
around, but it was too late. His physique was etched firmly into her mind from
the top of his dark head down the hairless width of his chest past the growing
rigidity of an erection to the tips his toes.

Well, at least
now she knew that he had hair on his torso, just not on his chest.

She pressed cool
hands to her warm cheeks and forced his image out of her mind. This wouldn’t
do, not at all. She couldn’t be attracted to him, absolutely couldn’t. He’d
kidnapped her, held her against her will, and hadn’t even had the decency to
spare her, a near stranger, his nudity.

She blocked out
the sounds of his bath and rushed out of his bedchamber to the one containing
her own possessions. Toiletries, clothes of her own, if she could scrounge up enough
to keep her warm, and then she’d take over his shower and scour her own body
clean.