Light of Kaska (6 page)

In the sparsely forested field just outside the town proper, Stryker seemed to relax a little, his grip lessening on her arm. She wondered if she should try to make a break for it, then realized from the gasping sounds coming out of her throat that she’d never make it. Terror and his quick march had sapped her strength and energy. “Why?” she wheezed.

“They’d turn on you the second I was gone,” he answered without looking down at her, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

“No they wouldn’t. They know me. I didn’t do anything.” But she heard the weakness in her voice, a weakness made of doubt as well as lack of energy.

“I didn’t do anything either and look where I was. They’ll think you helped me escape. They’ll put you in my place.”

“That’s—”
Nonsense,
she wanted to say but couldn’t. The field shifted and rustled around her, night sounds in the deepening darkness. The horizon still glowed blue, but stars glittered overhead. Far in the distance, she heard a
chukra
bugle the night cry, the responses from other herds faint and fading. The sound gave her a sensation like despair.

“Did you—did you kill Clavis?” she asked in a whisper.

“No,” he answered in a clipped tone. He flicked a quick look down at her and made a rough sound in his throat, like a disgusted growl. “He deserved a hell of a lot more than he got, but all I did was knock his fat ass out and chain him to the stall.”

She supposed she shouldn’t believe him but she did anyway. What would be the point of lying to her? She was completely under his control.

A moment later, Stryker let go of her arm without fanfare as if he knew she’d follow. And she did. What choice did she have? Going back was too dangerous and there was no other immediate way off the planet besides Stryker’s ship. Even if he did mean to ransom her, she was out of options.

They walked in silence a long way, Stryker gazing around and behind them in constant surveillance while she cast him furtive glances and wondered just what he meant to do with her. Her heart battered around in her chest like a wild thing whenever he glanced her way and her mind was having trouble wrapping around the current situation. Stryker was unchained and prowling at her side. Her panther was free. And she was walking beside him. It seemed impossible. It also seemed a little more dangerous for her health than was wise.

The air cooled rapidly and she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She wished she’d brought a sweater when she’d left her house to go to Stryker. She also wished she’d been holding onto the jug when he dragged her away. She was getting very thirsty. Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten either. She thought longingly of the food she’d packed in her bag for him. But maybe when they reached his ship—

She stopped dead, startling him into a whirl, his head swiveling for danger. When nothing appeared, he growled, “What?”

“Your ship—they stripped it,” she said cautiously.

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Of everything, including provisions.”

He was still for a moment, blackness against the shadows. Then he swore with such quiet venom that she skittered backwards.

“I don’t know who has your things.”

“Doesn’t matter. We won’t get far without food, even if we do tranq out most of the trip. Guess we’ll have to visit a few gardens on our way off this heap.” He resumed walking, though his stride was longer.

“Can’t we… Um, I’ve got food at my house,” she volunteered in a dubious voice.

“What, just fly in and park in your backyard? Real subtle, farm girl.”

She felt herself flush, but continued stubbornly, “I don’t live right in town. That’s why it took so long to get back to you. So not many people are bound to see us even if they’ve started looking. We can be quick.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “All right. Over here,” and steered her toward a dense line of trees, the beginnings of a thick forest. Under the leading edge, she could just make out a deeper patch of shadow that was his ship. He opened the hatch and ushered her aboard.

Sukeza eased into the vessel with a little thrill of panic, wondering if she was doing the right thing. What was that saying about a frying pan and a fire? Maybe the community wouldn’t react as Stryker suspected they would to his disappearance. Maybe she should rethink this idea of haring off into space with a known criminal. She shrank back when he brushed by her on his way to the pilot’s chair and he shot her an unreadable look over his shoulder.

The ship purred to life under his capable hands, shivering a little as it danced out from under the trees and zipped low over the ground. “Tell me where,” he rumbled without looking at her.

“I-I’m on the other side of town, closer to the lake.” She watched over his shoulder in bemusement at the speed of their journey. She hadn’t been in a space-worthy vessel in years and had almost forgotten what it was like to travel like this. He flew around the town in a wide arc, but even so they were still closing in on her house in less than a minute. “Th-that’s it, the little one there.”

He landed in the field behind her house, literally parking in her backyard. She was almost brave enough to call him on it but caved at the last second. His eyes met hers when he rose from the pilot’s chair and his mouth quirked a little on one side as if he read her mind. But all he said was, “Let’s be quick.”

She led the way, trotting over the yard to her back door. Pushing into the kitchen, she moved through the darkness with the confidence of familiarity until she found the lantern and matches. Lighting it, she turned to see him standing in her doorway. The sight nearly stopped her heart, though she couldn’t say why. He was watching her with steady dark eyes, hard face impassive, stance alert but relaxed. He made no threatening moves, but there was a leashed energy around him that dried her throat and kicked her heart into a wild gallop. Seeing him here, in her space, had a stunning impact.

After a moment of staring at each other, he raised his eyebrows in mild question. “It’s your house, lady. Where’s the grub?”

Sukeza felt a full-body flush sweep over her skin and moved away from the lantern in the hopes that the shadows would hide it. Pulling a crate from the pantry, she set it down next to the cold storage unit and lifted the lid. “Here, take whatever looks like it’s not growing fungus. I’ll be right back.”

Then she darted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. As she went, she cast a quick look behind her, but he hadn’t followed. In her bedroom she didn’t hesitate, yanking on a sweater and grabbing a duffel. In wild haste, she pulled clothing out of her closets and drawers, shoving them into the bag. Then she topped the clothing with some essential hygiene items, dug out her long buried satchel of identification and credit chips, and sprinted for the stairs just as she heard Stryker bellow her name.

“Coming!” she yelled back but skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, staring out the window.

A mob bore down on the front of the house. A very loud, angry mob.

With a squeak of shock and panic, she flew down the stairs and into the kitchen. Stryker wasn’t there. Heart in her throat, she bolted out the back door to see him loping for the ship, the crate in his hands. Sukeza sprinted after him as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

That was close to the truth—a stream of shouting people flowed around her house, riding
chukra
hard towards them. A weapon went off and Sukeza shrieked, stumbling in her haste to get her head down. She would have fallen if Stryker hadn’t grabbed her around the waist, carrying her the final few steps to the ship. She felt a bit like luggage when he dragged her aboard and shoved her aside, but she couldn’t find any protest in her heart with the sound of the approaching mob swelling outside the spacecraft.

“Hold onto something,” Stryker said in a remarkably calm voice as he revved the ship.

Sukeza had time to drop her duffel and grab the nearest solid object. Then the world dropped away from beneath her feet. She blanched, crying out against the fierce squeeze of gravitational force on her flesh and bones, aghast at the knowledge that he’d probably fried more than one person in his launch for freedom. Her grip couldn’t hold. She fell away and smashed against the bulkhead at the rear of the ship. Gasping, she squirmed against the force pressing on her, constricting her chest, her lungs.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. She fell to the floor, panting and twitching with reaction. Her body felt bludgeoned and battered as if she’d tumbled down the side of a mountain. She could faintly hear someone talking through the dramatic ringing in her ears, but she didn’t try to listen—it wasn’t important. All she wanted to do was lie still. And maybe throw up. She had time to consider that second possibility seriously before a third option took her by surprise. She passed out.

*******

Stryker carried Sukeza to the pilot’s chair, muttering curses under his breath. She was surprisingly light, almost birdlike in his arms. He should’ve remembered how small she was, how improbable it would be that she’d be able to hold on against such a reckless launch. Settling her into the chair, he picked up the med scan and ran it over her.

No bones broken, no internal injuries, minor surface contusions only, vital signs returning to normal. With a heavy breath, he set the scan aside and crouched before the seat to study her. The chair was built for someone of his size, so she looked lost in it, her slim frame slumping to one side. He reclined the back and rearranged her limbs to a more comfortable position.

Touching her was a peculiar experience. While chained, his only contact had been when she touched him, the brush of her thigh against his, her gentle ministrations to his wrists, and of course the petting. During the escape while adrenaline had pumped through him and his attention had been devoted to the dangers around them, he’d noticed only the fragile nature of her in his grip and the fact that she fought him. He couldn’t remember exactly, but he didn’t think he’d been the height of chivalry at the time. The claw marks on the back of his hand told their own tale.

Straightening, he stared down at her for a long moment. Then he gave in to temptation and did two things he’d been thinking about for a while. Reaching under her neck, he undid the clasp that held her hair and pulled the mass of silky strands over her shoulder, drifting it through his fingers with keen pleasure. It was longer than he’d thought but just as soft and sweet smelling as he’d imagined. Setting the clasp aside, he then pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and turned her arm over, tracing the lines of her mat mark with musing fingers. Her skin was smooth and soft as down everywhere except on the skin of the sea creature. Slightly raised and still silky, there was a texture to it that spoke of something embedded in her flesh.

Running his thumb over the sea creature, he lifted his gaze to her face. Delicate, vulnerable, defenseless. And his responsibility. What the hell was he going to do with her? Getting anywhere near a safe travel lane was tantamount to giving himself up to the Collectors. But leaving her to fend for herself would be like dropping a child in a pit of vipers.

Shaking his head, Stryker pulled down the arm of the sweater and took his hands away from her. Touching her was too much temptation. His baser self was already suggesting things other than the feel of her hair and skin—did she taste as good as she smelled? His mouth began to water. Backing out of range of her sunshine scent, he brooded over her for another moment before turning away. His own stench was so overpowering, he was surprised he’d been able to smell her at all.

He didn’t know how long she’d be out, but there was no sense in hovering over her. The med scan said she was fine so she’d come around. Meanwhile, he was desperate to get clean. Stripping naked and removing the bandages from his wrists, he put his clothes in the decom unit and activated the cleanser. The full body envelope dropped over his head, slipping down his body and cocooning him in clean darkness. He felt the scrubbers working, skin tingling with renewal as sweat, dirt, and microbes were removed from every surface. When it lifted from him a few moments later he took a deep breath, feeling a relief that went beyond a clean body. He was free and clear of that place, no traces remaining. Except his little passenger.

He glanced over to see her staring wide-eyed at him, limbs tucked into her chest like a frightened child.
Well, hell.
How had he managed to scare her this time? He glanced down at his naked form. Years of living in tight quarters with a wide variety of people tended to kill modesty—he wasn’t very body conscious. But maybe she wasn’t so sanguine.

With casual deliberation, he turned to the decom unit, took out his clothes, and pulled them on. “How you doing?” he asked without looking at her.

“F-fine.”

“Sorry about the takeoff. But this can isn’t bullet proof,” he said with a light punch to the ship’s hull.

“Did you kill anyone?”

He faced her and saw that clothes didn’t seem to be helping. She still had that wide-eyed rabbit look. “Singed some, but nobody died.” He stepped toward her and she squeezed in tighter around herself, hunching back into the chair as if expecting an attack. Crouching before the chair, he studied her. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“You already have,” she whispered and held out her wrist.

The purpling bruises in the shape of fingers caught him by surprise, twisting something inside him. Had he really done that to her? He remembered the feel of her bird-like wrist in his hand, how the bones seemed to grind together when he tightened his hold, pulling despite her resistance. He lifted a hand to touch the bruises, but she jerked back, curling away from him as much as she could. Her retreat caused an odd sensation just under his ribcage, like sickness or pain.

“If-if you could just drop me off at the nearest Exchange, I’d appreciate it,” she said without meeting his eyes.

“Can’t.” He rose to his feet. She jumped, staring at him. With a twist of his mouth, he turned away. For something to do, he dragged the crate of food out from where he’d wedged it against the hull and began to unpack it, stowing the foodstuffs in the ship’s storage. “The Collectors would be on me in a heartbeat.”