His Human Hellion (Ultimate Passage Book 2) (15 page)

Marissa

The blonde and the redhead led Marissa to a room, she was still clad in a towel-like cloth from the bath. She lay on a mattress, waiting for the next step, and closed her eyes.

Marissa was asleep when the two women returned, shaking her gently, rousing her from the deepest sleep and
the most rest she’d had since she left Texas—no, make that Earth. Both were attired in diaphanous sheer veils, head-to-toe, one in pinkish hues, the other in blue. Both had shimmering hair and glossed lips. They helped her up and dressed her in an outfit not much different from their own in a light green.

Marissa looked in the mirror, twirled around. There was no way she could wear this. It was sheer. Her nipples poked through as if announcing her arrival, the strip she’d left between her legs a few days ago played peekaboo as she spun around. Shoot, she could even see the outline of her ass. She looked at the blonde. “I’m not wea
ring this. What is your name?” Odd that she should ask the name of the woman who had two fingers in her a couple of hours ago. She blushed at the memory,

“Cinia.” The blonde plucked at the fabric, pulling it out, making the sheerness even more obvious as Marissa’s nudity beneath the garment was more pronounced. “You have to wear it.”

“No I don’t. Where are my clothes?”

“They were filthy. Insect-infested. Saraz ordered them destroyed. Burned. Even the smoke stank.” She tittered at her own joke, ran her fingers over Marissa’s hair, down, touching her nipple, tracing the contour of her breast.

Marissa pulled back. Saraz wasn’t here to order her to behave this way, why was she?

The redhead brushed Marissa’s hair, her touch gentle, almost a caress. “My name is
Taya.”

“Saraz isn’t here, why . . .”

“Why are we enjoying you?”

Marissa nodded.

“We are here with no other interaction, neither male nor female. And as far as male goes, there is only Saraz. So . . .” She pulled a one-shoulder shrug, as if to say, what other options do we have?

Marissa didn’t understand it, but thankfully she wasn’t in the position to judge, and if she could get out of here, she’d never be in their position, never have to do the same.

Finn came to her mind, and just as quickly, tears sprang.
What was with her?
The crying came so easily. God, she missed him. Would she ever see him again?

“What you were saying, about helping me. Does that still stand?”

Taya and Cinia locked eyes, then turned her way. “Yes, but we must go through with this dinner that Saraz has planned. After that, then we will put a plan into action.” Taya smoothed the fabric of her own dress.

“Why are you helping me? Really?”

“You may bring about a change we do not want. And we do not want to have to share Saraz. Not with you, and not with a prophecy.”

Taya
tied Marissa’s top over her cleavage, arranged the folds so that they didn’t conceal anything.

Marissa pulled away.

“Do not do anything to arouse suspicion. You must be a willing participant, at least as far as Saraz can see.”

Taya
pinned a gold clip into Marissa’s hair, stepped back and studied her handiwork. She swiveled Marissa so that she could look in the mirror. “Beautiful, wouldn’t you say?”

Marissa had to agree. She’d coiffed her hair artfully, piled high, ringlets and curls slipped out of the arrangement, framing
her face. Marissa’s skin glowed a golden color from the bath and lotions they’d applied. Cinia reached toward a plant that grew in a corner of the room, she stripped a leaf off, peeled and picked at it until she had a dainty stick with a slightly thicker end. Taking a tiny pot off the table by the mirror, she opened it, and swirled the leaf’s stem in it. Pulling it out, she turned to Marissa. “Close your eyes.”

Marissa closed them.

“Be still.”

Marissa held her breath. The brushy stick traced the outline of her upper eyelid, near her lashes.

Cinia blew on her eyes. “Now open them.”

Marissa opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. Cinia had outlined them, giving her an exotic look. Combined with the golden hue of her skin, Marissa barely recognized her normal tomboy-ish self. “Wow
. What did you do to my skin?” She waved her arm, the gold color shifted and shimmered with her movement.

Cinia simply smiled, turned to
Taya. “I think we are ready.”

“Wait. If you want me gone so badly, and don’t want Saraz to be into me, why are you doing this?”

“If we did not do what we are supposed to do, Saraz will be angry. Then if something should happen, like your disappearance, he’d know.”

Business as usual. Got it.

Final touch, Taya handed Marissa a pair of shoes that were very close to ballet slippers in a green and gold color. It reminded Marissa of the rich colors she’d seen at the dress store on prom dresses. She slipped them on.

The three of them made their way out of the room. Marissa was curious. She hadn’t explored Saraz’s place much. She definitely had never seen a room here that would hold
forty people. And that’s how many women he said he had here, and that they were all going to dinner. She would love to explore this dark, dank, majestic, presumably medieval castle. The last thing she’d ever expect to find on another planet, that was for sure. Cinia and Taya led her down a long hallway, stone walls and stone flooring marked her passage. The walls were interspersed with candles placed in mirrored bowls, casting eerie disco-light. The hallway ended with a double door made of dark wood. From the other side of the large door came the sound of merriment and music. Women’s laughter merged with what sounded like flutes.

Taya
turned around, hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

No.
“Yes.” May as well get it over with. Put on a pretense of being a part of a family or a harem or something. Then she could get the show on the road.

Taya
opened the door, pushing it with both hands. The heavy wooden door opened slowly, revealing a Great Room, much like the ones Marissa had seen in King Arthur movies. The spacious area was dominated by a long table made of a wood so dark it matched the door. There were at least twenty-five to thirty chairs on each side of the rectangular table. At the end, farthest from Marissa was a chair worthy of being called a throne. Tall-backed, intricately carved, the heads of beasts with open mouths perched on the arms of the chair. A plush fabric in crimson covered the back, and from what she could tell, went all the way down to the seat. It was empty, but Marissa knew it belonged to Saraz. No one had to tell her this.

The room was filled with Asazi women, a hive that whirred with business and merriment. All of the Asazi women were dressed seductively, in the same see-through veil tops and skirts. They ranged in age from early twenties to what would pass for middle-aged, at least with humans. Marissa wondered what middle age was for Asazi. They were a buzzing mass of womanhood, glittery, shimmery, chatting, and giggling.

Speaking—thinking—of Saraz, she glanced around the room, seeking her host. Though she’d have thought he’d stand out, even in a room filled with posturing, vamping Asazi women.

Ah, there he was, in the middle of a circle of admiring fans. Saraz raised his head from a petite brunette, spied Marissa, smiled, and beckoned her over.

Marissa fought to plaster a smile on her face. It was no easy feat because he repulsed her. What with his overt advances and leg-muscle-disabling ways.

“Marissa.” His voice bo
omed over the din created by forty-or-so giggling, clamoring, chatting Asazi women.

The room fell silent.

“My lovelies, I present an honored guest, Marissa. She is carrying Bearer, and you all know how much I have anticipated the fruition of the prophecy.”

The room filled with the ooohs and aaahs of womanly voices as all turned to face Marissa, their backs to Saraz. Thus he was unaware of the dirty looks cast Marissa’s way, though she saw them in full force.

The women clapped, the applause predictable and deafening, reverberating off the walls. It was as phony and contrived as the smiles attached to the tiny-scale-laced skin of the Asazi faces of his concubines.
Aren’t you a concubine too, now?
The voice of Marissa’s doubt crowded out the sound of applause.

Saraz sat Marissa on his right. She spent the meal trying to figure out which of the women she had displaced, looking to see which was giving her the dirtiest of looks, but they were all equally dirty, equally vile. Why were they so against her? Against his fulfilling his prophecy? Not that she believed in all that crap.

Taya sat next to Marissa, a smile too bright to be real on her own lips.

Marissa leaned in, inhaling Taya’s flowery-musky scent. “Why do the
y hate me so much?”

“You will bring a change, none of us are sure about this change. All we know is that it does not bode well for any of us.”

“That’s why you and Cinia are willing to help me escape?”
Not out of the goodness of their hearts, it would seem.
“I guess if I don’t survive Midland, it won’t devastate any of you.”

Taya glanced down, guilt evident on her features. “It is not personal.”

The hell it isn’t.
“Let’s just get through this meal so we can do what we have to do.” Marissa turned away from Taya and smiled at Saraz.

He watched her with narrowed eyes. She hoped his hearing wasn’t supernaturally good and cursed herself for her recklessness. The dinner lasted longer than Marissa wanted
. Then again, two minutes would have been two minutes too long. Groups of the women would rise, leave the room, sashaying veils billowing they would return with food-laden platters

Marissa turned to Taya for an explanation.

“We do not have servants. We share responsibilities when we have special events.” Taya waved her hand in a grandiose manner. “Events like this.”

“What about you and Cinia? She’d noticed they hadn’t participated in serving.

“We are exempt. For now.”

Marissa raised a brow in question.

“Current favorites. Hierarchy.” Taya added.

And the ones with the most to lose, ran through Marissa’s mind. This explained their eage
rness to assist in her escape. Many courses later, stuffed with foreign food she couldn’t taste because of the stress and anxiety, Marissa pushed back from the table, assuming the whole affair was over—ready for it to be.

Saraz clapped twice, hands raised high. “Let the entertainment begin.”

Marissa snapped her head his way, frozen mid-push.
What? More?
“What entertainment?”

Four women danced in, doing backflips, forward flips and other types of gymnastics Marissa hadn’t bothered to learn in her misspent youth. Another four women played musical instruments.

“Seriously?” She looked at Saraz. He beamed with pride and expectation. As if her opinion on this entertainment thing mattered. She forced a smile to her face, did a fake clap.

One woman played a flute, two had drums of a sort, the fourth a set of maracas. Half
way out of her chair, Marissa sat back down. “Shit,” She muttered under her breath. And so she suffered through the acrobatics, gymnastics, belly dancing, and music playing. The rest of the evening Saraz kept glancing her way, as if seeking her approval, still.

Moments like that almost made it easy to forget he was a dangerous, shape-shifting creature on a mission to take
her baby—almost. He almost made it easy with his attractive looks, eagerness to please, and blatantly over-the-top sexiness.
He’s a nut that believes in a wacked out fabricated prophecy,
she reminded herself—over and over again.

A couple more hours of the entertainment drained Marissa. When Saraz closed the night’s festivities, she almost burst into tears of joy and relief.

Saraz held a hand out to Taya and Cinia. “Shall we retire?”

Marissa’s almost-tears of joy threatened to become tears of dismay and to spill over. No, he
couldn’t take her allies away.

“Marissa?” Saraz raised a brow. “Join us?”

Fuck no,
she wanted to scream. Before her filter could give out and throw her into a heap of trouble, two other Asazi women approached, both very young.

Taking Saraz’s hands, they
smiled beguiling smiles at him. “We have a request.” Their voices sang out in unison. He looked at Cinia and Taya as if checking in with them.

“Go. It is fine.” Cinia stepped closer to Saraz on tiptoe, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Yes.” Taya agreed, kissing the other corner.

He put
his arms around the two newcomers and turned her way again. “Marissa?”

She feigned a yawn, even a stretch, for effect. “I think I’ll call it an early night.” Marissa turned toward the heavy, dark, double doors, then turned back. “Where am I staying?”
She didn’t want to say:
Where is my room
, because that had a ring of permanence she wasn’t willing to fake.