Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) (29 page)

At this, she looked up at him, her gaze soft. “Thank you, Creed. That means a lot.” Then she gave him a little shove. “What would mean so much more is if you would get your fine ass over there and fix things with my girl.”

“Guess you’ll give me no peace till I do.”

Taara had just finished her dance, and was listening to her partner blather on about something, her back to Creed. The fool was leaning over her, his gaze pasted not on her face but lower. Creed’s neck swelled as he saw where the man was staring—right down the front of her shimmering gown, what there was of it.

Then she stepped back, and the guy grabbed her, sliding his arm around her waist and leering at her, clearly with the idea that he was a prize she’d want to win. Or maybe he just didn’t care what she wanted, didn’t see that she deserved to make her own choices and have every man here bow in respect.

With a low growl of rage that began deep in his gut and swelled upward, Creed stepped forward to show him how wrong he was.

Taara had endured a dance with Martin Foresman, F City councilman, eligible bachelor. He might be handsome in a polished way, although he looked ridiculous in his green hopper costume. He was also a self-important ass. Now she’d had enough. She wanted his whiskey-laden breath out of her face, and his sweaty hands off her body. So when she refused his offer to view the inside of his hotel room upstairs, and he grabbed her, she lost it.

She kicked him in the shin, which only made him snicker. And when she tried to twist in his grip and give him a real kick, her skirts tangle around her legs.

“Let me go,” she said furiously, shoving at his chest. “Or I’ll scream. I really don’t think you want to end up owing me a forfeit, do you?”

“Aw, c’mon.” he pulled her closer. “You know you want me. I’ve heard about you Serp girls, hot little pieces. Show me some o’ that.”

Taara opened her mouth to give him something else—some public humiliation. The Harvest Ball was governed by a set of rules that were arcane, but set in Frontieran stone. Anyone who caused affront to another, must pay in some way. The greater the affront, the greater the payment. Refusal was not an option.

Then she heard a sound behind her that sent a chill down her spine. The snarl of a predator. And one that everything in her recognized.
Creed.

“Let her go,” he commanded softly, just behind her.

Foresman blinked and then frowned over her shoulder. “Who are you? Go ‘way, I’m with the lady.”

“She is a lady,” Creed agreed, so close she could feel her skirts brushing his legs. “But you’re not treating her like one. Now let her go, or I’ll make you.”

Foresman’s arm tightened on her waist, and Taara gasped as he squeezed the breath out of her. “She’s mine,” he snarled, spittle spraying her cheek. “Saw her first.”

“Let go!” She gave up on subtlety and clawed at his throat over his cravat. If she didn’t get away from him, Creed would make him. She could feel violence emanating from him in dark, heavy waves.

Then the arm around her waist released her with a suddenness that left her reeling. One strong hand on her arm set her straight, then Creed surged through the crowd, Martin Foresman borne before him like his hapless prey.

The other dancers melted away, turning in a wave to watch as Creed shoved the drunk councilman through the open doors of the balcony, lifted him with one swift movement and tossed him over the railing into the darkness.
 

A chorus of gasps echoed through the music. Creed ignored them all. He looked over the railing, then turned back to the crowd. Taara caught her breath. He was beautiful—a warrior triumphant, fierce and masculine. His azure gaze swept over the crowd and found her.
 

As their eyes met, everything in her thrilled to him, urged her to run and throw herself on him. Just in time, she remembered again the way he’d sent her away. So, instead she stiffened her spine and lifted her chin, and waited for him to return to her, which he did, prowling back through the crowd.
 

Taara glared at a few women who eyed him with blatant interest. One even went so far as to drop her fan in his path. He stepped over it without pausing, and Taara smirked at the look of chagrin on the woman’s face.

When he neared her, Taara plied her own fan, eyeing him over the edge. “I could have taken care of him, if I wasn’t wearing this gown,” she said.

His face, taut with violence, relaxed in a smile so slight that probably no one who didn’t know him would see it.

 
“I don’t doubt that, caramel girl. Be a shame for you to tear that gown, though. You look like my iridium ore come to life.”

She beamed at him. “Oh, you recognized it.”

“I recognize
real
treasure,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. “The most valuable kind.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Creed, that’s …” Dangerous, that’s what it was. She was making it too easy for him. She needed to remain cool and calm, borrow from his arsenal.
 

She straightened, and fanned herself slowly, letting her gaze wander down over his extremely well-fitted suit. “That’s very observant of you. I see you are crafted of mountain stone, yourself.”

He sighed. “Your cousin’s idea. Think it may be a comment on the hardness of my head?”

She smiled demurely. “Perhaps. Anyway, thank you for rescuing me. You didn’t kill the councilman, did you?”

“No, there’s a bunch of thick shrubbery beneath the balcony—that’s where I tossed him. The slimer may have a sore head and some scratches, but he’s in no danger.”

“Oh, good. Well, you probably have many people to see, so I’ll let you go.”

His eyes narrowed. “Just one. Although she’s trouble enough for a crowd.”

“Me?” She fanned more quickly, as heat raced over her skin.

“Uh-huh. Things have been quiet since you left. I haven’t had a decent fight in weeks. Now here you are, and what d’you know, a rescue.”

She bridled at the goading gleam in his eyes. “I certainly had nothing to do with bringing those pirates, and you know it, Creed Forth.”

“True.” He stepped closer. “You brought excitement of a different kind.”

She scowled up at him. “It wasn’t my fault that silly councilman is drunk tonight, either.”

“No. But it’s your fault I’m feeling intoxicated, though I haven’t had a drink.”

“Then who will save me from you?” Now they were flirting, and it was more exhilarating than blue stars.

He stared down at her, his gaze darkening. “I could ask the same.”

Her spirits plummeted. He still didn’t trust her. Her breath catching on a sob, Taara turned away, her skirts swirling out behind her.
 

Only to be caught in a powerful grip once again—so welcome her knees weakened, sending her back into the shelter of Creed’s big, hard body.
 

“Don’t,” she moaned. “I can’t do this again.”

“Can’t let you go,” he said into her hair, his voice harsh, as if it was being dragged out of him. “Not again. Come with me. We need to talk.”

“Why? So you can say hateful things to me?” she demanded, her voice trembling.
 

“No, so I can tell you nothing’s right, not without you there. So I can tell you that I’m sorry. That I should have listened to you, should never have sent you away.”

This time, Taara went obediently as he swept her across the dance floor, arm around her waist. She scarcely noticed the fascinated gazes and murmured comments of those they passed.

Daanel met them at the edge of the dance floor, glaring at Creed. “Is everything all right here?” he demanded. “Taary?”

Tony moved up behind him, the look on his face saying he was prepared to back Daanel in any play. Since the two of them were dressed as fantastical black and iridium wasps, Taara bit back a half-hysterical giggle, storing away the look of incredulity in Creed’s gaze for later. Now, she just wanted them out of the way.

“Thank you, D,” she said. “And Tony. Everything is fine. Creed and I are going to talk.”

Daanel nodded, and stepped aside. “Link if you need us.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Creed promised.
 

Chapter Nineteen

Prepared to go anywhere Creed wished, Taara was nonetheless surprised when he escorted her to the bank of glass and cerametal elevator tubes in the lobby of the hotel. She’d assumed they would walk out onto one of the shaded balconies.

“Why aren’t you staying with your brother?” she asked as they stood waiting for one of the sleek tubes to whisk back down.

“Because I’m not happy with him,” Creed said quietly. “We’re speaking, finally, but I still have issues with the way he treated you. Although, I might not be here if it weren’t for him, so that evens the score somewhat.”

Hurt jolted her. She tugged to free her hand from the crook of his arm. “I thought you wanted to see me.”

He didn’t let her go. Instead he looked down at her, his hand over hers, his thumb caressing the back of her wrist. “I am here to see you. I was still letting my old demons rule my actions. Knew I was wrong, couldn’t quite break out of it.”

An elevator stopped before them, and Creed moved to step forward. But another couple hurried into the tube, a huge blond man costumed as a silver moon moth in what Taara’s expert eye noted was a custom tailored suit, and a pretty, flushed woman in shimmering gold who looked strangely familiar. She was hanging on the man’s arm, standing very close to him.

Creed gave the man a strange look. The other man gave him a somewhat piratical grin and shook his head. The elevator shot skyward, carrying the pair up and away.

“What was that all about?” Taara asked.

“That was Jark Steele, a frontier pilot. He flies his boss in to LodeStone once in a while. The woman I don’t know, but … she’s holding a weapon on him.”

“She was? I think she’s some kind of celebrity—I’ve seen her face on holovids around the city. Should we call the police?”

Creed thought about it. “Nope. He didn’t mind, so why should we?”

Taara shook her head. “This whole city has gone crazy tonight,” she told him. “They take the harvest very seriously here.”

He led her onto the next elevator. “It’s important,” he noted. “This is a new start for most. Survival depends on good yields, whether crops or other products.”

She gazed at the soaring lobby and the party, receding as they rose. “A new start,” she said a little bitterly. “Some of us are off a-and stumbling.”

Creed’s arm slipped around her. He pulled her close against his side. “Some of you were pushed into things you didn’t want. I’m here to let you know the choices are now all yours.”

Taara looked up at him uncertainly, drinking in his handsome face. Hope unfurled cautiously inside her, but she was afraid to let it free. “What does that mean?”

He lifted his free hand to her face and brushed back a wayward curl from her cheek. “I’ll explain. Then you’ll tell me what you want. Fair?”

Hope blooming stronger, she nodded. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Creed’s hotel room was as luxe as the rest of the hotel. A fire crackled in the hearth, a cozy sofa drawn up before it. Glowlamps floated in corners, lighting the sitting room and a bedroom beyond, with a huge bed. Figuring this was probably the only time she would be here, Taara tried to soak in the ambience.
 

Ignoring the bedroom, she walked to the fire, taking care to stay back far enough that the delicate metals in her gown wouldn’t melt.

Creed followed her. He braced one hand on the stone mantel and looked at her, his face gleaming with red gold light.

“Told you I was an orphan,” he said abruptly. “‘Abandoned when I was three or four. In a crèche for a while, then someone bought me out.”

Shocked, but delighted that he was at last sharing his past with her, Taara blinked at this. “He bought you?” They’d sold a child?

He nodded, his face stoic as only he could be. “Those places are always low on funds. Run with charity and government funds. This one was in the worst slum in New Seattle. Pimp bought me.”

“The monster.”

He nodded, and went on. “Don’t remember much. Being hungry, getting hit a lot. Huddling together with other kids to try and stay warm at night. Do know we were all being groomed to service creepers who want kids, the younger the better. Which the pimp was one of. My good fortune, the first time they actually set me out, Logan and Joran found me. They took me and ran. Pimp followed us, Logan jumped him in an alleyway with a blade, cut him and beat the shit out of him. Told him if he ever tried to find me again or got back in business around there, Logan would finish the job.”

Taara didn’t realize she was crying until Creed reached up carefully to wipe her wet cheeks with his thumb.

“You know the Zhen-Lou target slime like that pimp. Hells, the one I killed, they were after themselves. They showed me how to make sense of my life, make it mean something that I’d been saved.”
 

She nodded, reaching up to take his much larger hand in hers. He curled his hand carefully around hers, and held it. “They taught me to center myself, live in the moment, focus on what I could do, cut out everything else. I got … a little too good at it.”