Читать книгу The Bid - JAX - Страница 7

“That fucking bitch!”

The resonant roar was punctuated with a mighty crash as the Baron Wheyn Majum grabbed up the nearest piece of furniture and flung it into a wall clear across the room. The table shattered into splinters and glass, spraying a kickback of debris for several feet.

The Baron’s guard, Captain Hyde Sozo, watched his employer pitch his fit with darkly amused eyes, though he knew better than to show any other outward signs of his humor.

“What bitch would that be, sir?” he asked, although he already supposed he had a pretty good idea.

The Baron turned on Sozo in fury, jerking an indicative finger toward the guard. “That highborn whore is going to regret the day she thought to send a slave to spit in my face on her behalf!”

“I assume the auction didn’t go well?” Sozo ventured as he hitched a hip onto the corner of a nearby writing table. He swung his leg absently, the hilt of the frizzon blade tucked into his boot catching and refracting light again and again.

“She sent that blond, muscled confection of hers to the auction house so she could buy a new toy for herself, while publicly cutting me in the process,” Majum growled as he marched angrily to his desk and broke open a smoking blot, taking a deep draw on the hand-rolled combination of herbs and narcotic. “Damn but he was a prize, Hyde! Never have I seen anything like it. Drakoulous’s confection comes damn close, but he doesn’t have the bellcat eyes this one had. And this new one was bigger. Rougher.”

“Impossible to bring to heel?” Sozo queried archly, knowing very well what it was that pleased his boss.

“He would have cut his own throat before obeying me,” Majum agreed with dark avarice in his black eyes. “I knew it the minute the auctioneer said he’d fought free of the stasis field more than once.”

The captain laughed out in sharp disbelief. “That’s impossible. Unless the Rhou has been buying substandard equipment or forgetting to calibrate before using it.” Sozo shrugged a shoulder grudgingly. “Still, even then it’s an impressive trick.”

“So you see why I was willing to pay a pretty price for him,” the Baron remarked as he watched the guard captain reach for the decanter resting on the table he was using, filling glasses for them both. “And now she has him! Gods, what a matched set they will make if she breaks him alongside Najir. I’d like to punch a fist through her conniving skull.” Majum’s leather glove creaked as he fisted a hand violently for emphasis.

Sozo caught up both glasses and crossed to hand one to the Baron. “I always wondered how she got that first barbarian under her control. Remember his auction? He’d already killed one of the assistant handlers. You wanted him bad, too.”

“Don’t think I don’t remember that,” Majum spat after tossing back half of the drink in a single swallow. “That was the first time she fucked with me over a slave. I should never have let her get away with it. Now she thinks she can do it again? She’s going to pay prettily for this, I promise you that.”

“All right, barring that opportunity at the moment, I have a question for you,” Sozo posed, giving Wheyn a crooked grin. “Rhou has peddled flesh to you for years. He knows damn well what you like and that you will pay those pretty prices he so enjoys. All he has to do is send you an invitation to the auction when he knows the right tidbit has come along.”

“You said there was a question,” Majum grumbled irritably.

“He’s made a great deal of gem off of you over the years, Wheyn. Inviting you guarantees him a sale. He knew you’d come and you’d buy. So why would he extend an invitation to your bitterest enemy?”

The Baron frowned as he pondered that for a moment. “It was a public auction. She needed no invite.”

“Fair enough,” Sozo agreed, “but Drakoulous hasn’t been seen at an auction since she bought her last confection. Now, how do you suppose she knew she would want exactly what was at this auction at this precise time?”

“Because she’s a spying little whore who needs to have her head hung from the High City walls!” the Baron hissed. “Gods! What I wouldn’t give to get that woman in my dungeons!”

“She isn’t your type,” Sozo reminded him dryly.

“Oh, she’s exactly my type. She can feel pain, can’t she? After that, the rest is details.”

Captain Sozo watched the Baron’s aristocratic features very carefully as the acting Master of House Majum took a seat in his chair, stretching out his athletic frame a moment before kicking up his feet. Sozo had been protector and companion to the Baron for the better part of fifteen summers now, and he knew just about every expression the man had and knew exactly what it meant. Right now, it meant Majum was plotting something. That was the only time he ever looked so smugly thoughtful.

“Careful, Wheyn. The Chamber has sanctioned feuds between the Houses. They still go on, everyone knows that, but you have to make sure anything you do can’t be proven back to you or you’ll pay the price of exile.”

“I know. I have a few ideas nonetheless. And I know you’re always willing to help me out.”

“That’s my job,” Sozo chuckled. “Besides, it’s fun to watch you work. You are a true artist.”

“Thank you, Hyde. It’s so good to have one’s skills appreciated.” The Baron grinned at his companion as he toyed with his glass. “But it’s your skills I’m looking forward to utilizing. Tell me, old friend…you wouldn’t happen to know anyone exploitable in the Drakoulous House, would you?”

“Are we talking exterior guard or internal servant? Any slave will turn on their Master given the right motivation. Commoner servants are always buyable. But her House is notorious for being tough to sway. Loyal bunch of bastards. Luckily, you and I both know no amount of loyalty is foolproof.” Hyde’s expression turned deeply thoughtful. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll find some cracks and see where we can stick a wedge. What do you have in mind?”

“Just find me that wedge and we’ll go from there.”

Vejhon tried to draw open his eyes for the billionth time, and to his shock they actually began to obey the command. Feeling heavy, as though he were working against an intense gravitational force, he blinked open his eyes and tried to focus on anything he could. At the same time, he attempted to assess himself for any new damage or any further undesirable circumstances.

It was easy enough to remember the situation he’d found himself living in ever since he had been drugged, taken captive, and spirited away from his home planet so many months ago. Back before all of this, he’d been Vejhon Mach; Colonel Mach of the esteemed Valiant Forces, to all those who knew anything about the war ravaging his homeworld of Wite. The Valiants were the glory of Wite’s global armed forces. They were the lead victors in some of the most decisive battles fought against the Creet alien invasion. Vejhon was a warrior born and bred, a notorious hero and leader who had very few equals in both his prowess and the cunning of command needed to outsmart the unwelcome Creet bastards.

He had become a target because of it.

It would’ve been better had the motherless Creet simply assassinated him, but he supposed that was the point. The Creet knew the fate they’d consigned him to would cause him far more suffering; payback for all the Creet lives he’d taken and destroyed with such relish as a patriot of Wite, while at the same time robbing his homeworld of a much needed commander.

He had been on his way home, actually, for the first time in months, when he’d been ambushed. He took pride in the fact that despite being pumped full of tranquilizing narcotics, he hadn’t gone down easily. He had fought his attackers hard, breaking a few necks in the process, searing faces and descriptors into his memory for later use when he would exact his revenge for this atrocity against him.

When he’d awakened in a holding cell aboard the first in a series of cargo transports, to say he went a little bit crazy was an understatement. He had known the minute he’d woken up in that cell, staring down at a long line of cells filled with other captives, exactly what was happening. The slave trade in other quadrants of the galaxy was lucrative and rampant, enough so that kidnappings and pirating were a realistic fear for anyone traveling the spaceways. The idea that he, the colonel of the Valiants, was now reduced to being enslaved and on his way to be sold in some distant market, was horrifying and absolutely untenable.

He had fought it every step of the way.

So much so that they had been forcing him into stasis now for long periods of time to keep him tame. During these times he was aware of very little and recalled almost nothing, but he still fought for consciousness at the very least. It was not in his nature to relinquish control of himself, and anyone who thought to teach him otherwise was in for a damn nasty surprise.

But Vejhon wasn’t all brawn and bluster, so he was extremely cautious as he came awake slowly this time. He felt as though he had been sleeping for ages, the hangover effect from being in stasis longer than recommended. When he’d last been brought awake, he’d been in yet another cell and on display for yet another trader. The trader had demanded consciousness as proof of Vejhon’s senses being fully intact. The flesh peddler had almost lost a limb when he had tried to touch the merchandise and the merchandise had taken a good gnash at his arm.

But who knew how long ago that had been, and how many trades had taken place since then? Fury broiled up beneath Vejhon’s skin, pumping adrenaline into his rousing systems and speeding up the waking process. He knew full well the things that could be done to him while in stasis, against his will and desire and he none the wiser for it. It sickened him to think of all the possibilities, and it fueled his outrage as he opened his eyes to view his latest prison.

It was so opposite of what he had expected, Vejhon began to doubt he was even awake. After months being trapped in small seven-by-seven-by-seven cubicles, stark but for the warped reflections of himself in the metal plating, the vast expanse of a well-appointed and outrageously large room was completely opposite in scale. Wary of the luxurious trappings, his belly tightening as his mind began to deduce the meaning of the change, Vejhon slowly took in the room, its obvious exits, and anything he could use as a potential weapon, should he find opportunity to escape.

The central piece of furniture in the cell—and it was a cell, he realized, as he flexed his hands and wrists in the manacles binding him tightly to the wall—was an enormous bed, covered in rich, dark furs that looked lustrous and soft even from his distance. The bed was at least nine feet long and twice as wide, laden with a multitude of colorful and unusual looking pillows. Banners of colored fabric streamed down casually from the ceiling, wrapping softly around the frame in various places.

Besides the bed there were long, cushioned sofas, lounges, and chairs all arranged in a cozy conversation corner. A pair of cushioned tables were set up a short distance from there, and behind them was a bathing area with a very large oval tub set down into the stone of the floor with steps leading into it. Otherwise, a few paintings and rugs were the only additions to the delicate moss green stone that lined both the walls and the floor of the entire room. The ceiling was a mosaic of a million small tiles placed perfectly together to create a swirling, graceful design that seemed to meander aimlessly and have absolute purpose all at the same time.

It was a room of wealth and comfort, something that translated no matter what culture or planet he was going to find himself in. It stood to reason that he had just become the latest toy in someone’s personal playroom. Someone who could afford to buy rare and expensive flesh. And considering the time it had taken for him to travel to this destination, he’d be safe in assuming he was a rare creature indeed to these people.

Vejhon looked down at his own body, grimacing at his nudity. He was far from surprised. Slaves, he had been told, were not allowed clothing until their master bought some for them. Since he had no master as yet, he would remain nude. It was meant to be devaluing, he supposed, but it didn’t quite work that way for him. He’d worn better and he’d worn worse than his own skin before, and he had no problem at all with being naked. What he did have a problem with was this interminable confinement. He was lashed so securely to the wall, spread-eagle and perfectly flush to it, that he had no range of motion except with his head. His muscles and joints were stiff and more than a little sore, but he was also pleased to see that the impulse programs in the stasis fields had been put to use, keeping him at close to his usual bulk in muscle. Still, it was a lazy reward and did nothing to keep his flexibility and reflexes in practice.

He quickly grew bored and started looking around the room again, searching for advantages in the details. This time he took better note of the immediate area around himself. There was a closet of some kind. And a strange stand shaped from metal that bore many heavy hooks. Odd devices of all shapes and sizes hung from these hooks. Some were made of metal, others of some kind of hide. Still others were studded with valuable gemstones and glittered under the recessed lighting that ran along all the edges of the room. Just looking at the strange paraphernalia made his entire body go tense, his imagination filling in the blanks with dread and disgust.

It was easy to surmise what he had been bought for. All he had to do was look at the bed. A gripping anger clutched at his chest as though it would suffocate him. It would be bad enough if some female alien came strutting in there thinking she was going to own him and tame him, but he could think of a worse option yet. If he’d been bought by a male of some species with homosexual tendencies, Vejhon would either be free or dead by nightfall. Perhaps so in both scenarios. But if a male thought to touch him, to make use of him in such a way, blood would fly before Vejhon would ever allow it.

His keen hearing picked up the approach of footsteps from somewhere outside of the room, but it wasn’t until then that he realized that while there were many windows, there were no obvious doors. Even the closet was more of a wardrobe, a large piece of furniture exclusive of the walls around it. But the footsteps gave him an idea of which direction to pay attention to. He tensed tighter and tighter, every muscle in his body winding up in preparation for…anything.

When the wall to his left gave off a soft pneumatic hiss, drew back an inch, and then slid open about four feet to the right, it revealed something a little different than he had been expecting, but no less contemptible.

A couple. One a male, a large fair-haired man built like a soldier…built like Vejhon himself. His skin was a smooth tan, dark enough to indicate a great deal of time spent out-of-doors, the tone just uneven enough to show that it wasn’t a racial coloration. His stride was confident, his eyes immediately fixing on Vejhon in watch of whatever potential threat he might pose. It was a look Vejhon was quite familiar with, having trained it into soldier after soldier over time. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed by that wariness. After all, here he was tethered hand and foot to a stone wall, naked and weaponless, where most people would dismiss him as non-threatening. But he could see quite clearly that this other warrior was taking nothing for granted and he wasn’t about to trust his captive in the slightest.

As for the woman…

She closed the door with a brisk wave of a hand over a hidden sensor and crossed over to him without any hesitation or fear. She made a subtle gesture and her giant companion stopped where he was, taking a watchful stance as she moved to stand before Vejhon at a minimum of arm’s length. Had his hands been free, he could have reached out and grabbed her around her delicate little neck.

After months of having strangers assess his flesh in a careless and dismissive manner, it was actually very noticeable a difference when he realized she looked nowhere but into his eyes. She was just a few inches shy of about six feet tall, he guessed, but since he was nearly seven feet tall himself it still made her seem small to him. She wore an arresting crimson-colored gown that was very close to being sheer as it clung to a noticeably generous shape. She was slender without being too slim, the fabric of her dress swaddling round hips and ass, and high, proud breasts that would easily fill a large man’s hands.

Perhaps he assessed her body first because of a subconscious need to bring her down to his level of exposure, but it didn’t take him long to become intrigued by the other things about her that were so markedly different. First, there was the long cord of her hair. It came over her shoulder and was banded with gemmed clasps once every six inches or so for nearly the entire length of her height. It was also the most amazingly pure black he had ever seen. Like a sleek Surrey eel, it caught light and gleamed, equal to the adornments that confined its length. The women of Vejhon’s homeworld, just like the men, were all fair. Blond to white, at most red to the lightest of browns. He had never seen a woman with black hair before.

Nor had he ever seen one with skin the color of the noonday sky. Her coloring was shades of sky and powder blue, a fascinating fairness of an entirely different sort. Her complexion was flawless, even luminescent if he had to give a descriptor, but it was most definitely blue. Soft, delicate shades that only darkened around the edges of her clothing, leading him to think her racial coloring deepened as it flowed over her breasts and other private areas. Her lips were dark, a mix between a deep violet and a midnight red, and he suspected a match to the large, dark nipples tipping her breasts, which he could see against the fabric of her dress.

Her eyes, which had never once moved from his as he had made his assessment of her, were dark and sultry, a blend between midnight blue and black. They were like the night sky on his homeworld. They were set in the face of a beautiful woman, framed by thick, boot-black lashes and delicate arching brows. Her cheekbones were an elegant, aristocratic sweep beneath otherwise soft curves of a lush and pretty face. She looked young, and had he been another type of man he might have believed her air of innocence, but he had lived through too much war to ever assume anyone was capable of innocence.

He flicked one more assessing glance over to the male standing guard behind her. The two were clearly not of the same race, probably not even similar species. Not that such couplings were unusual, what with space open to anyone and everyone who could afford to travel it, but it wasn’t lost on him that the other male could easily have come from his own homeworld.

Vejhon had too many questions and despised being in a position that afforded him little leverage in demanding answers. The realization was burning furiously in his eyes as he crashed gazes with the woman he could only assume considered herself his owner. The very idea made his hands curl into defiant fists, instigating a step forward from her wary and watchful bodyguard behind her. Again, a single soft gesture with her hand brought him to a halt. She hadn’t even turned to look at him, nor had she spoken a word. Her bodyguard simply resumed his watchful stance, the muscles in his body tensed tightly as he anticipated any possible trouble. The subtle communication made it very clear to Vejhon who was the dominant between them.

He suddenly wanted to laugh in her face. If she thought that she could get him to behave like a well-trained pet, like she had with this other male, she was going to be sorely surprised.

“Welcome to your new home,” she said at last, her voice a low, sultry rasp that caught him by surprise. It made her speech feel intimate and decadent; and while it suited the courtesan’s body she boasted, it was out of place coming from the back-drop of her angelic countenance. “I can only imagine what you are thinking and feeling after what was, no doubt, a long ordeal. I was promised you were not abused, and I hope that is the truth.”

“This entire atrocity has been an abuse, lady,” he snapped irritably.

“‘My Lady,’” she corrected him gently. “I know there is much for you to adjust to in the coming days, but it is important that you address me with respect. A slave can be put to death if he is observed being disrespectful of nobility, and whatever you may be feeling now, you do not strike me as the sort of man who would relish a death of that type of shame.”

Vejhon had been ready to shoot back one of his best barracks retorts, but now he hesitated. There was logic to her request. Logic that centered on the benefit to his life and safety, rather than her desire to have him kowtow to her. He narrowed his eyes on her, wondering if he was being artfully played.

“I am no slave,” he gritted out between tight teeth.

“Your present circumstances say otherwise,” she noted. “But I realize that you were slave to no one before you were brought to this part of the galaxy. You were, no doubt, a powerful and independent man where you come from.” She took a single step closer to him, bringing her close enough to elicit a sharply indrawn breath from her guardian. “However, on a planet full of people who look exactly like me, you will be known as nothing but a slave. You will stand out in every crowd, you will be coveted, and you will no doubt be captured or killed if you try to travel this world without the protection of the House that owns you.”

“No one owns me,” he hissed, outrage making him jerk at his manacles. To her credit, the serene beauty did not even flinch.

“Perhaps not your spirit,” she acquiesced softly, “but so long as you are on this world, I own you. Your body is my property and your fate is mine for the choosing. Believe me when I tell you, your circumstances could have been far more horrific than even your worst imaginings, and very almost were. One day, you will realize you owe Najir a great debt of thanks.”

Vejhon looked back at the big blond male when she nodded toward him and mentioned his name. Najir. He looked back to his “owner” and abruptly wondered if she had a name or if she would insist on “my Lady” and nothing else.

She took a couple of steps back, her movement an effortless glide over the smooth stone. Now she began to assess and contemplate him as a whole, her blue-black eyes making it easy to follow where she was studying him from one moment to the next. Vejhon was overcome by a mixture of confusing emotions as her gaze moved liked a warm, physical touch over his skin. Impotent fury, total bafflement, and now an unexpected response of pride and stimulation as he watched the contented pleasure that altered her expression. She was vastly satisfied with his body, according to that look, and for some reason he was glad of it. So much so that, as her eyes stroked toward his groin, his cock began to respond to her inspection. Vejhon cursed himself for the hot-blooded reaction, not understanding how he could betray himself by growing hard before someone who had bought him. He most certainly was not going to perform for this woman like the good little slave boy behind her. Gods only knew what all of Najir’s duties entailed. He probably fucked her pretty brains out twice daily, getting hard on command just as he had been trained to do.

Like a pet. Sit. Stay. Fuck.

His disgust and anger at the thought helped him get his body back under his control. For the moment. She was looking dead into his eyes again now and he knew she was fully aware of his momentary response. After all, he was chained naked to the damn wall; it was pretty hard to hide. What he didn’t understand is why she didn’t gloat or take obvious pleasure in the small victory over him. This was a war. They were going to be battling one another for some time to come, didn’t she see that?

“Very well,” she said at last. “Let’s start with the basics. What is your name?”

“Colonel Vejhon Mach, commander of the Valiant Forces in the army of Wite.”

“Here you are only Vejhon,” she said, actually sounding regretful. “Perhaps Jhon for short, if you like it.”

“Why do you bother asking me my opinion on things after you remind me that I have no choice to begin with!” Vejhon rattled his bonds, shuddering with outrage and straining toward his captor as though force of will alone would free him. “You’ll call me what you want to call me and you won’t give a damn what I think of it!”

Her dark eyes watched him, looking almost a little sad, until suddenly she moved forward and came right up to him. She reached out, her hands graceful and elegantly manicured, her slightly pointed nails painted to match her gown. Vejhon was completely taken off guard, not only that she went to touch him in spite of his rage, but because her light blue skin gave him the false illusion that she would be cold to the touch.

Instead, as her fingertips skimmed his temples and her palms moved to cup his face, he found her to be incredibly warm. She smelled of a rich perfume, something probably blended solely for her that enhanced both scent and pheromones. It reminded him of the aromas of chocolate and sex, a deadly sweet combination both sultry and inviting.

She moved close, her body near enough to radiate warmth against him. She angled his head to assure he was looking down into her eyes. “Things”—she breathed softly against him—“are not always what we assume. I would think as a trained warrior you would know this.” He felt her thumb stroke over his lower lip, the caress so oddly disturbing to him in its intimacy. She felt as though she were radiating into him, like a sun he must soak in for warmth and life. His rage, so pure and powerful only a moment ago, dissipated like an out-washing tide.

“Vejhon, I’m sorry your life was taken from you. I regret so deeply what you have lost in the process of ending up here. However, if you can bring yourself to accept that you can have a new life here with us, I promise you it will be just as fulfilling if not more so than that which you have left behind.”

“If you regret it so badly,” he countered roughly, “then why not simply send me back? Why do you do this? You perpetuate this misery when you buy flesh off of peddlers like some bauble or a new dress! You make the market that encourages them to steal people from their worlds and lives! From their families!”

“I did not make this market, Jhon, and even if I never bought another slave, it would not impact a trade spanning thousands of cultures on dozens of worlds.”

“One less culture on one less world can be a beginning to an end,” he rasped in frustration.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” she agreed. “But we are discussing one slave, in one household, in one room at the moment. When you were taken from your world, your captors injected you with a pestilent deterrent. A dormant genetic virus that, once it is released, cannot be recalled. This virus will only become active when brought into contact with something common and uniquely indigenous to your homeworld. If you ever step foot on your planet again, you will die within hours of doing so. So when I say you cannot go back, I am not speaking with my personal gain in mind.”

He had known this. He had been told this again and again, from captor to captor, as they encouraged him to give up his fight to be free and return to the world he loved and defended. But he had never believed them.

He believed her.

It struck him like a physical blow, sucking all the oxygen out of his body.

“It is a cruel practice, as is a great deal of what slave traders do to others like you. I do not deny that.” Vejhon felt her stroking him along his temples, the caress soothing the shock from his system. She leaned in and gently touched her mouth to his, kissing him softly. It was completely non-sexual, like a sister or a mother might do to comfort a loved one. It only made his head ring with more confusion, even though it eased him physically. “I will make you this promise, Vejhon,” she murmured. “If you invest your trust in me, I will help you to become a part of your new world. I will help you replace what you have lost as best I am able.”

“I have lost my freedom, my Lady,” he growled, stressing the title with contempt. “Will you replace that?”

“As best as I am able,” she agreed with a nod, amazing him with the sincerity she managed to put behind the vague remark.

“How stupid do you think I am?” he bit out, jerking his head out of her hands since it was the only thing he was truly free enough to do. “Your approach is sweet as sugar, but your promises are as bitter and incomplete as a wine turned to vinegar.”

She stepped away from him the instant he began to balk against her touch, and Vejhon tried not to miss the warmth of her closeness to his bare skin. The ambient temperature of the room kept him from being chilled, but her absence made him want to shiver nonetheless. Yet another reaction he couldn’t understand any more than he could control it.

“Very well,” she said with resignation and a sigh. “We shall have to come about this by a more difficult route.”

“Lady, if you thought this was going to be easy, then you aren’t near as smart as I thought you were.”

The insult did not affect her, but it certainly didn’t sit well with her boy toy behind her. The other slave was clearly so inured and enamored of his mistress that he took offense whenever she was insulted and threatened. How had she taken a man of such obvious power and managed to mold him into this disgusting display of obedient loyalty? Vejhon couldn’t escape the tendril of dread working through him that told him that if he didn’t entrench himself against this woman with every last cell of resistance and strength in his body, looking at Najir was as good as looking at himself in the future.

“Najir, you are dismissed.”