Cyberella: Preyfinders Universe (10 page)

“Wow.”

“Looks like there’s more than one way to get down.” Torgeir leaned on the terrace stone beside her. “Thirty-second trip compared to twenty minutes?”

“About that,” she agreed. “Looks scary.”

“Yes. I’ll stick with the hoverflow shaft. My big feet would never stay on one of those boards.”

Something scared this warrior?

Strands of his long, unbound hair wafted in the wind and his big shoulder and arm muscles bunched as he leaned out, peering downward. The sun seemed to like him and glinted gold across his skin. The man was enticing, physically, that she had to admit. He turned and caught her looking then took her hand in his.

He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles and smiled.

“Come.”

She kinked an eyebrow.

Where was this heading?

He winked. “Only shopping. Though we may need provisions, a native guide, and pack animals just to get to ground level.”

“Food?” This she could do.

“Yes and if I can find you some sexy clothes, I’ll be buying those too.” With his hand on her ass, he guided her toward one of the bedrooms. “First, what do you have here already? Dresses?”

“No.” She couldn’t help smirking. “Black pants and tops like this.” She indicated what she was wearing. “Uniforms. You said you looked in my storage on the ship.”

“
Tsk.
That has to be rectified. It’s much more interesting to watch a woman take off or put on a dress than a uniform. Luckily, I rescued your skirt and corset outfit from the ship’s laundry. You’ll find I packed it in with your stuff.”

He what?

He was going to watch her? That hand on her ass suddenly seemed far more possessive. Though she halted and opened her mouth to protest, the look in his eyes told her he was waiting for her to do that. She subsided. Best to appear compliant and save her energy for things she could win. The three wishes were far better than him pulling slave master status on her.

Though if she pressed him, might this repentant slave owner give up entirely and let her go?

There was a hardness to him. He’d fought years of war, killed. She doubted Torgeir ever gave in on something he really wanted to win. And he wanted to win her. She must be secretive and careful.

“I won’t watch this time,” he added softly, but he pulled gently on her hands until she had to move to him then held her about the waist. “Nothing in the wish rules said I couldn’t do this either.”

One of his hands slid up to her back. The firmness of that hand, arriving close to her nape, seemed to shudder into her mind in one hit and she had some sort of mini-orgasm on the spot.

Fuck.

I imagined that.

He came in for a kiss at the same time as he dragged her body into his, molding his thigh between hers. She grunted at the squeeze of hard male muscle onto her clit. This was a long and slow kiss that smothered thoughts, submerging her in the little intimate sounds and movements of two people breathing, face to face, of sighing, of licking...it was mouth fucking done exquisitely right. From where his lips caressed hers, a tide of warmth swept inward.

Her moans were barely more than sighs and she thought, inaudible, until he whispered, “I love your sounds.”

When his tongue demanded entrance she refused at first, but as the onslaught of his kiss continued, she parted her mouth. Her resistance, today, was nonexistent.

At the sound of Dresdek’s footsteps, her eyes sprang open.

Torgeir patted her ass. “Go get dressed.”

That instruction, along with that dismissive gesture, riled her, no matter if his wish had a thousand rules, and she hesitated.

“Go. Unless you want me in there too?”

One glare said it all. She stalked into the room, trying not to seem too bothered though sure he watched. The feel of his lips and his taste lingered in her mouth. His body had been hard against hers, in more ways than just muscle. At least this bedroom had a door. She shoved it closed. When she was sure he couldn’t see her, she propped her shoulders against the wall and inhaled, then pressed her hand between her legs. The tremors in her thighs disturbed her.

“Man.”

She pried herself from the wall. The corset and skirt were indeed in her backpack. The skirt looked shorter than she remembered and she screwed up her nose.

It was only after she’d changed that she noticed the other pack flung in the corner. Dresdek must have moved it in here with hers, while she was on the terrace. It was the bag Torgeir had brought. The bed was large and would be classed as king-size on Earth. The blue covering, like the linen underneath, was clean but plain.

She sat down and stared sourly at the light gray walls. Every wall in here was gray, stripped-back stone. Someone needed a lesson in color schemes.

Did Torgeir expect to sleep on this bed with her? She might need the Great Wall of China constructed to keep him away from her, right down the middle. Or maybe to keep her away from him? Ugh, if there was such a thing as human catnip, he was it. Man-nip? She snorted.

Had
she orgasmed from his hand on her back?

This would be a long, looong week. Getting aroused every time he touched her or said anything in that gravelly voice was going to be a trial and a temptation all at once.

Her ankle itched and she reached down to scratch it. Then she stared. That spot on her left foot had become spongy, as if under the skin had changed. They’d said it was some neurological damage from whatever the Bak-lal had done and that it was nothing to worry about.

Right.
She straightened, set her mouth in a firm line. No worrying would be done. She was definitely not going to explode open then have a little alien jump out of the hole and eat everyone. No worrying. Except...what had happened to the cotton shirt she’d once worn under the corset? If the hooks containing her boobs popped, she was going to show off the whole deal. Would that get you arrested on a planet where everyone seemed to be multiplying like rabbits?

*****

The markets surrounded the base of Horuk for miles, or so it seemed, washing up to its edges in a tide of money-hungry, shouting, babbling people. A few stray pet dog-things and other weirder creatures wandered about snuffling. For all her local knowledge, they might have been deadly predators if not for their garbage-eating habits and how everyone ignored them.

She became accustomed to the noise. They found out it took forty minutes to circumnavigate the pyramid, though a lot of that walking time was spent dodging people and shops. They filled their packs with food and necessary small things. Cheap plates and cups, high-sorb towels, cleaning stuff. Their room had much supplied, but not all. The taxi ride to ferry things from the
Finatar
would be expensive. Everything here was either expensive or super cheap because it was only made to last the shortest time that a customer would think satisfying.

Dresdek had peeled away to do his own thing by the time Torgeir found the clothes shop. They’d passed a few she’d suggested. This one, a booth that was open on three sides, looked ready to sail away on the next good wind, it had so much colorful and fine cloth billowing in the fitful breezes.

“Here.” Torgeir nodded. “I recognize some of this.”

Oh my.
From what? His slave girl days?

Ella stepped in after him, dreading what he’d choose. She’d had boyfriends before, but never any who’d wanted to buy her clothes. Or she thought not. As always her memories were so jumbled she had trouble being sure. They’d glued her back together, rescued memories but not done a perfect job, then they’d pumped in all sorts of other info. Languages, emotional bypass, translator and databases, even a good smattering of knowledge in a couple of employment types to help her get a job. She knew something of cybernetics, something of trade, something even of piloting a ship, and nothing, out of all those, was perfect.

I am
one fucked-up jigsaw of a woman.
Ella squared her shoulders. She’d survive. That was her best attribute – survival genes.

Getting through the next half an hour was agonizing. Once some clothes had been chosen for her to try on, Torgeir sat in a chair and waited for her to emerge from the tiny change room. She supposed twirling was expected. She didn’t do twirls. He seemed amused by
her lack of catwalk skills. When she came to the more see-through items, he was looked both amused and predatory. Her blushes grew redder and hotter
, as far as she could tell.

The last, a gossamer translucent dress that made her nipples clearly visible, had her stomping to him and whispering harshly, “You cannot expect me to wear this?”

Another male customer paused to stare.

“I do. Though it may not be on you for long.”

Smug and he was assuming far too much.

“It’s...it’s...too you know.” She vaguely swirled over her breasts with her open hands.

“Yes. It is and they are beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes but he merely chuckled.

“Now I will have to buy it.”

When they returned to the entrance to Horuk, the same boy was there, selling the hover boards and apparently his hacking skills from the handwritten sign propped on his cart.

Torgeir was talking to Dresdek and she slowed. “Hello, you’re a hacker?”

He might not be great at it but perhaps he could lead her to someone who
was
great.

“Yes. My name is Plito. Pleased to meet you, miss.” He offered his hand and she bent to shake it. The boy couldn’t be more than sixteen. “Would you like to buy a hover board? They’re excellent at transporting you swiftly down Horuk.”

“Not today, but I may ask you about hacking.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The men were approaching. “Another day though. Are you always here?”

“Most early mornings and late afternoons, yes.” He smiled.

She rummaged in her purse. Solid coins were sometimes used here where digital currency had a habit of vanishing. “Here. Thank you, Plito. I’m Ella.”

“Thank you, Miss Ella.” He saluted her with a hand to his forehead. “This is a big coin. I’ll keep some of it as your credit toward some hacking.”

Honest too. “Okay.”

Now that was a start. The code could not be as unbreakable as Torgeir thought. Nothing was ever impossible or perfect.

Incoming. Henchman 1.

The dry-voiced AI announcement with that henchman label made him smile, as always.

Found her, sir. On the planet Riptide. We tracked the Finatar. Salvage rights now owned by Torgeir Rakkel. She’s with him and a cyborg called Dresdek. Do you want us to acquire her? There are signs she may be bondmating with the Sicar Lord.

He hit reply.

No. Do nothing violent. The last attempts were chaotic. I wish to remain seemingly harmless, to sink into the background. We will pass through there in a month or two. This many ships slow our progress through the ’verse. We will have to terminate the bondmating using a slow-release nanochem so that she’s sexually receptive again in 3 months. That should be long enough a gap to deter this Torgeir. However, find out what she needs, wants. Perhaps she will come to me willingly. Play with that concept.

Yes, sir. It shall be done.

*****

Though Dresdek returned to their rooms, he immediately packed and left. The last sounds were of his boots tinkling as he shut the door. Without him, the place was emptier than seemed possible. She stood in the center of the living room aware she was alone with Torgeir. Now there were two bedrooms for two people. That had to be a plus?

Well, alone except for Mimi. Ella checked the spot above the door and could just make her out, blended with the pale rock up there. She’d arrived a few hours ago via the terrace.

Her feet ached so much from the walking that the incessant ankle itchiness faded to the background. The evening meal was yet to be eaten. They’d bought a selection of the local spiced and preserved meats and salads – things that would keep, though the power here had so far been reliable. The smoked fish had smelled divine.

Her stomach grumbled as Torgeir walked up behind her and said, without touching her. “Go choose one of the dresses to wear.”

She turned, puzzled and suspicious. The almighty Torgeir was letting her choose?

“Then we’ll talk, out there.” He indicated the terrace. “I’ll put together a tray of food and some of that Kiana wine.”

Talking? Stunned, she watched him walk to the main kitchen. The man must be ill.

Of all the dresses, one had made an impression on her – a red dress with silky fabric and colors that changed hue into subtler versions of flame along its length. The way it clung to her curves, accentuating her breasts, curving in at the waist, then flowed down to calf length like a flower blossom as yet unopened said elegant yet sexy. She never wore dresses but this one had beckoned to her.

She twirled, yes twirled, before the cracked head-high mirror glued to the bedroom wall, and she grinned. Gorgeous.

For this, she might just forgive him for making her try on all the see-through ones in public.

Venturing out onto the terrace wearing the garment seemed as dangerous as putting your hand through the cage bars to pat a hungry lion. She rarely dressed up, certainly not since leaving Earth, and Torgeir had plans to seduce her. She settled in the rickety chair that awaited her at the equally rickety table. A platter of food and wine sat on the table though both bottle and glasses seemed likely to be plas-g. Was everything here synthetic?

She laid her hand on the table and dared to meet his eyes. “With the cities covering this world, do they still have trees? Is this really timber?”

“I doubt the table or chairs are timber but they might be antique plas-g. Furniture’s been made out of it for centuries.”

“Uh-huh.” She tapped her glass with her fingernail. It sounded duller than glass. “Are we really discussing furniture?”

He slid an empty plate to her with a fork and knife resting on it. “Find what you like. The bread’s great too. Ella, I’m trying to be nice to you. I can see that bondmating is a foreign idea. I have a feeling my own desires are greater than yours at this point, though...” He smiled. “That will change.”