War Bride, Page 3

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  Someone slipped their arm under Skyla’s shoulders and lifted her slightly. Then something cool and smooth pressed against her lips.

  “Drink. This will help revive you.” The voice was deep and resonate, obviously belonging to a man, but he spoke Bilarrian with an odd accent. Dread rolled across her shoulders and down her back.

  A tangy liquid slid over Skyla’s tongue and she automatically swallowed, and then swallowed again. She blinked several times, then slowly lifted her lids. The stranger’s familiar face awaited her, as she knew it would. He sat on the edge of the bunk, his arm supporting her shoulders. His gaze was narrowed, the blue rings barely visible in an endless sea of black. He appeared every bit as savage as he had in her dreams.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. She already knew what he wanted and why he’d taken her. Worse, she knew his seduction would succeed. Despite what she’d told Rona, Skyla had realized she was the boy’s mother the moment her dream revealed his perfect little face.

  “I’m you’re master.” He spoke with calm finality. “You will call me sir.”

  Ignoring the ridiculous statement, she pushed against the firm mattress and sat up. She wanted to see beyond him and needed to minimize her contact with his arm. There wasn’t much to see. The room was clean yet austere. The bunk on which she lay, a built-in work station and a small couch were the only furnishings. Maletta Estate was in a narrow valley. Only small, agile transports could navigate the challenging terrain. She couldn’t feel a telltale vibration or hear the engines’ drone, but she had no doubt she was on a spaceship.

  “How long have I been unconscious?” Then her eyes widened as a far more important question barged to the front of the line. “What did you do with Ditten?”

  “If Ditten is your bodyguard, we simply left him where he fell.”

  “He wasn’t…” Dread lodged in her throat and she couldn’t speak the word.

  “He was unconscious, just like you.” Apparently annoyed by her question, he pushed to his feet and stared down at her. “Despite what you’ve been taught, Rodytes only kill as a last resort.”

  He had no idea what she’d “been taught” about Rodytes much less what she had learned on her own. Dreaming about him had made her curious and information was the only weapon against that sort of curiosity. Unfortunately, cold hard facts about Rodytes were hard to find in Bilarrian archives. Too much of what she’d found had been shaped by prejudice and hate.

  Playing dumb was rather pointless, but she couldn’t think of any other strategy. “My family will only pay the ransom if I’m unharmed.”

  “This isn’t about ransom and you know it.” He set the cup aside and straightened his light gray top before he spoke again. Leaning down, he took her right hand between his and started the vow she’d been dreading ever since she first saw his image. “I claim Skyla of Hautell as my war bride.”

  “Stop it.” She snatched her hand back, but he caught it again, intertwining their fingers so she couldn’t avoid his grasp.

  “I vow not to harm you and I promise you will be freed just as soon as I’ve reclaimed what your people took from me.”

  She tugged against his hold as panic rose inside her. Magic. The Rodytes blamed Bilarrians for “robbing” them of the ability to manipulate magic. And forcing Bilarrian women to breed with them was their way of evening the score. “I won’t be harmed?” A caustic laugh escaped her throat. With a firm jerk, she freed her hand and scrambled off the bed. “How will you ‘reclaim’ what my people stole if you don’t intend to harm me?”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, gaze narrowed and assessing. Her dreams had perfectly captured his rugged features and the leashed power emanated by his fierce expressions. What she hadn’t understood was the sheer size of the man. Her head would easily tuck beneath his chin and her entire body would be eclipsed by the width of his chest. He was no longer wearing armor, but his clingy shirt and well-tailored black pants made him no less intimidating.

  “You’re not a virgin,” he stated casually. “Why would the thought of joining with me frighten you?”

  How in hells’ fire did he know she wasn’t a virgin? “I have no intention of joining with you, now or ever. So you have no reason to keep me.”

  “I disagree.”

  Why was she arguing with him? She knew damn well he wouldn’t release her. She was just upsetting herself. “Anything you want, you’ll have to take by force. Are you really that evil?”

  “Contrary to what you’ve been told, rape is not our way.” His voice dropped, becoming a rumbling purr that spread heat throughout her body. “When I push inside you for the first time, you’ll be wet and aching, more than ready for me to fill you.”

  “You’re deluded.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up and his expression relaxed. Why had he found that amusing? She certainly hadn’t meant to entertain him.

  “Your color is returning.” The smile faded, but his posture remained at ease as he crossed to the far corner of the room. Some sort of compartment had been inset in the wall and a small section of countertop had been mounted above it. “Would you like something to drink?” He motioned to a bottle protruding from a silver bucket, which was arranged on a tray with elegantly etched glasses. “I know you’re fond of eloatta, so I have a bottle on ice.”

  Just like a real joining celebration. The thought made her shiver and she crossed her arms. “I want nothing from you.”

  “That’s unfortunate because from this moment on your very existence depends on me.”

  “Is that a threat?” Fear was a more rational reaction to his tactics, but Skyla felt only anger. Knowing the outcome of their confrontation gave her an odd sense of calm. This felt inevitable. No matter how hard she resisted or how frantically she tried to escape, he would win in the end.

  “Your family is rich, your brother powerful.” He leaned back against the counter, hands clasping the edge to each side of his lean hips. “I know you’ve never been claimed by a mate, but has your brother proposed possible matches?”

  She stilled and suspicion narrowed her gaze. “Were you spying on me?”

  A secretive smile was his only answer. “You’ve failed to find your mate, so now you must settle for a life partner. Affection is no longer a consideration. Would you really have been satisfied with a loveless joining?”

  Rodymia had been settled by Bilarrians centuries ago, so it stood to reason that Rodyte breeding would be similar. Genetic compatibility triggered a fundamental attraction known as sexual allure. Without allure, a mating bond wouldn’t form regardless of how many times the couple had sex. And without a mating bond there could be no children. The Rodyte’s reason for capturing her had been to impregnate her, so how had he known they would be genetically compatible? Or had the Rodytes found a way to breed without the mating bond?

  Rather than ask him to explain, she hid behind hostility. “Is there a point to your rambling dissertation?”

  He chuckled and his expression softened from brutal to formidable. “You’re adorable. Are you always this feisty?”

  She tried to lick her lips but her mouth had gone dry. “Just when I’m kidnapped by a madman.”

  “I think you’ll find my logic is sound and my point is rather simple. Had you remained within your brother’s control, your joining night would not have been so different from what you’re experiencing now. There would have been some sort of ceremony and then you would have been expected to surrender your body to a male you didn’t choose.”

  And the males her brother had chosen were far less appealing than her captor. At least physically. She knew nothing about this man, not even his name. Well, she knew he was ruthless enough to claim a war bride. She dragged her gaze away from his face and tried again to lick her lips.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?” There was no challenge in his tone, no provocation.

  She’d meant to be completely uncooperative, but her mouth was
so dry she could barely swallow. Seeing no benefit to being stubborn, she relented enough to ask, “May I have a glass of water?”

  “Of course.” He turned around and opened the compartment. It was a refrigeration unit stocked with an assortment of snacks and beverages. He found a shatter-proof bottle of water and twisted off the cap before handing it to her. “Shall we sit?” He motioned toward the couch.

  She took a drink of the water as much to stall as to quench her thirst. “I’d rather stand.”

  Without warning, he swept her up in his arms and walked over to the couch. She gasped as her feet left the floor and water splashed her hand. “It wasn’t really a question.” He sat down and held her firmly on his lap as she tried to wiggle free. “This would feel so much better if you weren’t wearing those thick skirts.”

  Immediately she stilled and looked into his eyes. Was anger or arousal making the blue rings glow? He’d been polite until she rebelled, then he’d forced her to his will. The lesson was obvious. He wouldn’t tolerate defiance and he wouldn’t be denied. “May I please sit beside you?”

  “Add ‘sir’ and I’ll consider it.”

  The autocratic snap in his tone sent tingles down her spine. What in hells’ rings was wrong with her? She should be terrified, yet all she felt was a restless anxiety, as if she didn’t quite know what she wanted. “May I please sit beside you, sir?” Bending just this far was better than remaining on his lap.

  He eased her sideways until her back pressed against the armrest, but her legs still draped across his lap. When she tried to lower her feet to the floor, his hand slipped under her skirts and lightly clasped her ankle. His smile and the sudden gleam in his eyes revealed his game. He wanted her to struggle, to give him a reason to touch her more intimately.

  Rather than play along, she crossed her ankles and forced herself to relax. “May I ask a question?”

  He eased her slippers off and tossed them aside. “You may ask. And if you pose the question with the proper respect, I might even answer.”

  “Why do you know so much about me…sir?” She added the title after a short pause.

  His large, warm hand returned to her ankle, but he ventured no higher. “This was no random act. You were chosen from a list of potential targets. Your abduction took weeks of planning and many, many bribes.”

  “But why me?” When he acted as if he hadn’t heard her, she tried again. “Please, sir, will you explain what I possess that the others did not?”

  He seemed to consider it for a moment. Unless his air of authority was a façade, this was not a man used to explaining himself to anyone. “First and foremost, you have five sisters.”

  “You’re hoping for a daughter?” How strange. On Bilarri titles and power were passed down from father to son. She’d presumed things were the same on Rodymia.

  One of his brows arched and his fingers moved over her skin, or actually over her sheer stocking, which was no real barrier to his touch. “If that surprises you, you don’t know as much about the battle born as you think.”

  Battle born. The phrase echoed through her mind and another tingle coursed down her spine. War brides gave birth to battle born children before they were sent back to their shattered lives and expected to carry on as if none of it had happened. Her soul shriveled at the thought. The possibility of being seduced by this man was not nearly as daunting as being parted from their son.

  “Why would you prefer a daughter to a son?” His hand crept onto her calf and she quickly grabbed his forearm. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.” His hand stopped ascending, but it remained near her knee.

  “Battle born daughters more consistently inherit their mother’s magic.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and he suddenly averted his gaze.

  There was more to the situation than he was saying, but Skyla decided not to press. She took another sip of water, savoring the coolness of the bottle between her palms. She didn’t want to anger him, but the question of genetic compatibility refused to remain silent. “Do Rodytes feel sexual allure?”

  “We call it the pull, but I’m relatively sure it means the same thing.”

  Good. There was a tiny sliver of hope. “Then you know conception is impossible unless we’re genetically compatible.”

  His fingers tightened on her knee as his gaze bore into hers. “We’re compatible. We’re extremely compatible.”

  “But how could you have known… How long have you been stalking me?”

  His gaze narrowed and his grip on her knee released, though he didn’t move his hand. “I already answered that question.”

  Silence lengthened and tension mounted as she debated how best to proceed. Escape wasn’t possible as long as they were in space. But were they in space? It didn’t matter! She wasn’t going to escape, not unless her dreams were wrong.

  And her dreams were seldom wrong.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask questions.” His tone took on a dark, caressing quality, but his gaze remained guarded.

  If he had his heart set on a daughter, what would he do when she gave him a son? When she gave him a son? Could she really surrender before the battle had even begun?

  Rather than explore the unsettling question, she said, “I thought you already knew everything about me.”

  “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Then, before she could answer, he went on. “I’m not complaining. I would much rather deal with a rational female, but how much did your dreams reveal?”

  So he knew she had prophetic dreams. That wasn’t surprising. Her brother continually bragged about her clairvoyance. Knowledge of her other abilities, however, she’d ensured Simolta kept to himself.

  When she didn’t reply, his hand resumed its climb. “Wait.” She caught his forearm again, but her hold didn’t even slow him down. “I knew you’d capture me, but I wasn’t sure when.” His fingers caught the top of her thigh-high stocking and slowly pulled it down along her leg. “The images had grown more vivid, so I suspected it would be soon.”

  He tugged the stocking off then lingered over her foot and ankle as his fingers caressed bare skin for the first time. “Then you know I won’t hurt you. In fact, quite the opposite. I intend to bring you nothing but pleasure.”

  Her hands were trembling so badly, she set the water bottle on the end table behind her. “I don’t want to be your war bride. I don’t want—”

  “You’re already my war bride and we’ll figure out what you want together.” Without further warning, he dragged her down until her back rested on the seat of the couch. He shoved her skirts up and wedged his hips between her legs. She hit and kicked, but it did no good. He caught both her wrists in one large fist and simply ignored her flailing feet.

  “Please, sir, I don’t want this. I’m not ready. I—”

  He silenced her with his mouth. His lips brushed over and against hers, teasing and challenging her. She clenched her fists and kept her lips tightly sealed, refusing to surrender.

  “Open, Skyla,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me taste your mouth.”

  What he really wanted was for her to taste him. Sexual allure, or the pull as he’d called it, was triggered by the male’s taste. At least for the female. Most males could sense a compatible female by scent alone.

  She jerked her face to the side and snapped, “Taun.” No was one of six Rodyte words she’d picked up over the years. She also knew yes, but the other four were profane. She’d use them shortly if he persisted with this bullying.

  His elbows locked and he glared at her. “Did you just tell me no?”

  The absolute disbelief in his tone confirmed her earlier suspicion. He was a man used to issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed. She dare not back down now that she’d challenged him or all would be lost. “I even said it in Rodyte so you’d be sure to understand.”

  Rather than attack her physically, as she’d feared, he heaved himself off her and pulled her to her feet. She jerked her wrists free of his grasp and quickly put as mu
ch distance between them as the cabin allowed.

  “I’ve tried to be patient with you,” he snapped, “to treat you with far more respect than war brides are generally afforded.”

  The space between them made her even bolder. “Why bother with respect when your ‘bride’ is powerless to deny you?”

  “Powerless?” he scoffed. “You have all the power. You’re in control. I cannot complete the joining until you allow me to enter your body.”

  “Well, that will never happen, so this is an exercise in futility.”

  “Never is a very long time.” A cunning gleam brightened his gaze and his smile was almost cruel. “Besides you haven’t heard the rules.”

  “Rules? What rules?”

  “Every competition has rules and you’ve just chosen to pit your will against mine.”

  Dread washed over her in icy waves. He needed her alive and he claimed that he wouldn’t force her. As long as that was true, she could deal with anything else. Unless… “Will you allow others to take what I deny you?”

  He crossed the room with a snarl and curled his long fingers around the back of her neck. His eyes blazed with blue fire. “You are mine and mine alone. No one will ever touch you but me.”

  She was ridiculously relieved to hear it. “But only if I invite your touch?” He could lock her in a cell and beat her. Somehow she didn’t think that was what he had in mind.

  “I never said I wouldn’t touch you.” Now his grin was pure carnality. “I said I wouldn’t consummate this joining until you allowed the final act. That’s the only promise you’ll get from me.”

  Refusing to dwell on all of the other intimacies that included, she said, “Then tell me the rules.”

  He backed her into the wall and caged her with his brawny arms. He was no longer touching her, but the pose was even more disturbing. He surrounded her, blocking out everything but him. “You will sleep in my arms each night, or you will sleep on the cold, hard floor.”

  “Delightful.” Could she snuggle against his muscular warmth and not desire more than his embrace? It was easy to see where this was headed. He would use her loneliness and his physical appeal to manipulate her. She was already tempted, but he had no idea how stubborn she could be. “What else?”

  “You will eat from my fingers and drink from my lips or you will go hungry and thirsty.”

  “Yeah, that’s not harmful at all.” She glared up at him, determined to ignore the images triggered by his husky words. “So much for your vows.”

  Without warning, he reached behind her and snapped the laces securing her dress. “What the…” She slapped at his hands and kicked at his shins, but he spun her around and quickly loosened the bodice of her gown. “Stop it!” She tried to hold the material in place, but he easily tugged it from beneath her hands. Then he effortlessly lifted her off her feet and kicked the gown aside. Within seconds she stood before him clad only in one thigh-high stocking and her lace-edged panties.

  He rid her of the stocking, but allowed her to keep the panties before he turned her back around. She covered her breasts with her hands and kicked at her tormentor. Shouting her Rodyte cuss words only made him laugh. Finally, he grasped both her wrists and dragged her hands above her head. His gaze slowly swept down her body then just as slowly returned to her face. “Clothing is at my discretion, Skyla. The more you displease me, the less you’ll be allowed to wear.”