The Bid, Page 2

“Positively,” he assured with a chuckle.

  She quickly stood, drawing him up to his feet as well. “That alone makes our new addition worth each and every precious stone. When does he come to me?”

  “Any minute now, my Lady.”

  “Oh, Najir,” she whispered fast and hot, her dark eyes dancing with delight. “What a wonderful time this will be! I can tell you are looking forward to it as well. You will enjoy having a companion, I think.”

  “I enjoy seeing you take great pleasure in things,” he countered, reaching out to stroke thick fingers down the length of her throat. She smiled, purring softly in pleasure at the familiar and favorite touch.

  “Hold on to that idea,” she told him with a promising wink. “I have much to do if I am going to work on our new friend immediately. I wasn’t expecting this wonderful fortune and I am completely unprepared!”

  “I’ll go to the living quarters and see to preparations there,” Najir said before she needed to instruct him. He knew what needed to be done and she would easily trust him to do it. “Shall I arrange for anything special?”

  “No. Just see that he is situated with great care and left in total stasis until I’m ready. I will prepare the rest myself. Now go. Hurry!” She laughed in delight, clapping her hands together as she turned back to her workstation. Najir paused for only a minute, grinning as he watched her run both hands over her gloriously curved hips, whispering softly to herself of her plans.

  Then he hurried off to do her bidding.

  2

  “That fucking bitch!”

  The resonant roar was punctuated with a mighty crash as the Baron Wheyn Majum grabbed up the nearest piece of furniture and flung it into a wall clear across the room. The table shattered into splinters and glass, spraying a kickback of debris for several feet.

  The Baron’s guard, Captain Hyde Sozo, watched his employer pitch his fit with darkly amused eyes, though he knew better than to show any other outward signs of his humor.

  “What bitch would that be, sir?” he asked, although he already supposed he had a pretty good idea.

  The Baron turned on Sozo in fury, jerking an indicative finger toward the guard. “That highborn whore is going to regret the day she thought to send a slave to spit in my face on her behalf!”

  “I assume the auction didn’t go well?” Sozo ventured as he hitched a hip onto the corner of a nearby writing table. He swung his leg absently, the hilt of the frizzon blade tucked into his boot catching and refracting light again and again.

  “She sent that blond, muscled confection of hers to the auction house so she could buy a new toy for herself, while publicly cutting me in the process,” Majum growled as he marched angrily to his desk and broke open a smoking blot, taking a deep draw on the hand-rolled combination of herbs and narcotic. “Damn but he was a prize, Hyde! Never have I seen anything like it. Drakoulous’s confection comes damn close, but he doesn’t have the bellcat eyes this one had. And this new one was bigger. Rougher.”

  “Impossible to bring to heel?” Sozo queried archly, knowing very well what it was that pleased his boss.

  “He would have cut his own throat before obeying me,” Majum agreed with dark avarice in his black eyes. “I knew it the minute the auctioneer said he’d fought free of the stasis field more than once.”

  The captain laughed out in sharp disbelief. “That’s impossible. Unless the Rhou has been buying substandard equipment or forgetting to calibrate before using it.” Sozo shrugged a shoulder grudgingly. “Still, even then it’s an impressive trick.”

  “So you see why I was willing to pay a pretty price for him,” the Baron remarked as he watched the guard captain reach for the decanter resting on the table he was using, filling glasses for them both. “And now she has him! Gods, what a matched set they will make if she breaks him alongside Najir. I’d like to punch a fist through her conniving skull.” Majum’s leather glove creaked as he fisted a hand violently for emphasis.

  Sozo caught up both glasses and crossed to hand one to the Baron. “I always wondered how she got that first barbarian under her control. Remember his auction? He’d already killed one of the assistant handlers. You wanted him bad, too.”

  “Don’t think I don’t remember that,” Majum spat after tossing back half of the drink in a single swallow. “That was the first time she fucked with me over a slave. I should never have let her get away with it. Now she thinks she can do it again? She’s going to pay prettily for this, I promise you that.”

  “All right, barring that opportunity at the moment, I have a question for you,” Sozo posed, giving Wheyn a crooked grin. “Rhou has peddled flesh to you for years. He knows damn well what you like and that you will pay those pretty prices he so enjoys. All he has to do is send you an invitation to the auction when he knows the right tidbit has come along.”

  “You said there was a question,” Majum grumbled irritably.

  “He’s made a great deal of gem off of you over the years, Wheyn. Inviting you guarantees him a sale. He knew you’d come and you’d buy. So why would he extend an invitation to your bitterest enemy?”

  The Baron frowned as he pondered that for a moment. “It was a public auction. She needed no invite.”

  “Fair enough,” Sozo agreed, “but Drakoulous hasn’t been seen at an auction since she bought her last confection. Now, how do you suppose she knew she would want exactly what was at this auction at this precise time?”

  “Because she’s a spying little whore who needs to have her head hung from the High City walls!” the Baron hissed. “Gods! What I wouldn’t give to get that woman in my dungeons!”

  “She isn’t your type,” Sozo reminded him dryly.

  “Oh, she’s exactly my type. She can feel pain, can’t she? After that, the rest is details.”

  Captain Sozo watched the Baron’s aristocratic features very carefully as the acting Master of House Majum took a seat in his chair, stretching out his athletic frame a moment before kicking up his feet. Sozo had been protector and companion to the Baron for the better part of fifteen summers now, and he knew just about every expression the man had and knew exactly what it meant. Right now, it meant Majum was plotting something. That was the only time he ever looked so smugly thoughtful.

  “Careful, Wheyn. The Chamber has sanctioned feuds between the Houses. They still go on, everyone knows that, but you have to make sure anything you do can’t be proven back to you or you’ll pay the price of exile.”

  “I know. I have a few ideas nonetheless. And I know you’re always willing to help me out.”

  “That’s my job,” Sozo chuckled. “Besides, it’s fun to watch you work. You are a true artist.”

  “Thank you, Hyde. It’s so good to have one’s skills appreciated.” The Baron grinned at his companion as he toyed with his glass. “But it’s your skills I’m looking forward to utilizing. Tell me, old friend…you wouldn’t happen to know anyone exploitable in the Drakoulous House, would you?”

  “Are we talking exterior guard or internal servant? Any slave will turn on their Master given the right motivation. Commoner servants are always buyable. But her House is notorious for being tough to sway. Loyal bunch of bastards. Luckily, you and I both know no amount of loyalty is foolproof.” Hyde’s expression turned deeply thoughtful. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll find some cracks and see where we can stick a wedge. What do you have in mind?”

  “Just find me that wedge and we’ll go from there.”

  Vejhon tried to draw open his eyes for the billionth time, and to his shock they actually began to obey the command. Feeling heavy, as though he were working against an intense gravitational force, he blinked open his eyes and tried to focus on anything he could. At the same time, he attempted to assess himself for any new damage or any further undesirable circumstances.

  It was easy enough to remember the situation he’d found himself living in ever since he had been drugged, taken captive, and spirited away from his home planet so many months ago. B
ack before all of this, he’d been Vejhon Mach; Colonel Mach of the esteemed Valiant Forces, to all those who knew anything about the war ravaging his homeworld of Wite. The Valiants were the glory of Wite’s global armed forces. They were the lead victors in some of the most decisive battles fought against the Creet alien invasion. Vejhon was a warrior born and bred, a notorious hero and leader who had very few equals in both his prowess and the cunning of command needed to outsmart the unwelcome Creet bastards.

  He had become a target because of it.

  It would’ve been better had the motherless Creet simply assassinated him, but he supposed that was the point. The Creet knew the fate they’d consigned him to would cause him far more suffering; payback for all the Creet lives he’d taken and destroyed with such relish as a patriot of Wite, while at the same time robbing his homeworld of a much needed commander.

  He had been on his way home, actually, for the first time in months, when he’d been ambushed. He took pride in the fact that despite being pumped full of tranquilizing narcotics, he hadn’t gone down easily. He had fought his attackers hard, breaking a few necks in the process, searing faces and descriptors into his memory for later use when he would exact his revenge for this atrocity against him.

  When he’d awakened in a holding cell aboard the first in a series of cargo transports, to say he went a little bit crazy was an understatement. He had known the minute he’d woken up in that cell, staring down at a long line of cells filled with other captives, exactly what was happening. The slave trade in other quadrants of the galaxy was lucrative and rampant, enough so that kidnappings and pirating were a realistic fear for anyone traveling the spaceways. The idea that he, the colonel of the Valiants, was now reduced to being enslaved and on his way to be sold in some distant market, was horrifying and absolutely untenable.

  He had fought it every step of the way.

  So much so that they had been forcing him into stasis now for long periods of time to keep him tame. During these times he was aware of very little and recalled almost nothing, but he still fought for consciousness at the very least. It was not in his nature to relinquish control of himself, and anyone who thought to teach him otherwise was in for a damn nasty surprise.

  But Vejhon wasn’t all brawn and bluster, so he was extremely cautious as he came awake slowly this time. He felt as though he had been sleeping for ages, the hangover effect from being in stasis longer than recommended. When he’d last been brought awake, he’d been in yet another cell and on display for yet another trader. The trader had demanded consciousness as proof of Vejhon’s senses being fully intact. The flesh peddler had almost lost a limb when he had tried to touch the merchandise and the merchandise had taken a good gnash at his arm.

  But who knew how long ago that had been, and how many trades had taken place since then? Fury broiled up beneath Vejhon’s skin, pumping adrenaline into his rousing systems and speeding up the waking process. He knew full well the things that could be done to him while in stasis, against his will and desire and he none the wiser for it. It sickened him to think of all the possibilities, and it fueled his outrage as he opened his eyes to view his latest prison.

  It was so opposite of what he had expected, Vejhon began to doubt he was even awake. After months being trapped in small seven-by-seven-by-seven cubicles, stark but for the warped reflections of himself in the metal plating, the vast expanse of a well-appointed and outrageously large room was completely opposite in scale. Wary of the luxurious trappings, his belly tightening as his mind began to deduce the meaning of the change, Vejhon slowly took in the room, its obvious exits, and anything he could use as a potential weapon, should he find opportunity to escape.

  The central piece of furniture in the cell—and it was a cell, he realized, as he flexed his hands and wrists in the manacles binding him tightly to the wall—was an enormous bed, covered in rich, dark furs that looked lustrous and soft even from his distance. The bed was at least nine feet long and twice as wide, laden with a multitude of colorful and unusual looking pillows. Banners of colored fabric streamed down casually from the ceiling, wrapping softly around the frame in various places.

  Besides the bed there were long, cushioned sofas, lounges, and chairs all arranged in a cozy conversation corner. A pair of cushioned tables were set up a short distance from there, and behind them was a bathing area with a very large oval tub set down into the stone of the floor with steps leading into it. Otherwise, a few paintings and rugs were the only additions to the delicate moss green stone that lined both the walls and the floor of the entire room. The ceiling was a mosaic of a million small tiles placed perfectly together to create a swirling, graceful design that seemed to meander aimlessly and have absolute purpose all at the same time.

  It was a room of wealth and comfort, something that translated no matter what culture or planet he was going to find himself in. It stood to reason that he had just become the latest toy in someone’s personal playroom. Someone who could afford to buy rare and expensive flesh. And considering the time it had taken for him to travel to this destination, he’d be safe in assuming he was a rare creature indeed to these people.

  Vejhon looked down at his own body, grimacing at his nudity. He was far from surprised. Slaves, he had been told, were not allowed clothing until their master bought some for them. Since he had no master as yet, he would remain nude. It was meant to be devaluing, he supposed, but it didn’t quite work that way for him. He’d worn better and he’d worn worse than his own skin before, and he had no problem at all with being naked. What he did have a problem with was this interminable confinement. He was lashed so securely to the wall, spread-eagle and perfectly flush to it, that he had no range of motion except with his head. His muscles and joints were stiff and more than a little sore, but he was also pleased to see that the impulse programs in the stasis fields had been put to use, keeping him at close to his usual bulk in muscle. Still, it was a lazy reward and did nothing to keep his flexibility and reflexes in practice.

  He quickly grew bored and started looking around the room again, searching for advantages in the details. This time he took better note of the immediate area around himself. There was a closet of some kind. And a strange stand shaped from metal that bore many heavy hooks. Odd devices of all shapes and sizes hung from these hooks. Some were made of metal, others of some kind of hide. Still others were studded with valuable gemstones and glittered under the recessed lighting that ran along all the edges of the room. Just looking at the strange paraphernalia made his entire body go tense, his imagination filling in the blanks with dread and disgust.

  It was easy to surmise what he had been bought for. All he had to do was look at the bed. A gripping anger clutched at his chest as though it would suffocate him. It would be bad enough if some female alien came strutting in there thinking she was going to own him and tame him, but he could think of a worse option yet. If he’d been bought by a male of some species with homosexual tendencies, Vejhon would either be free or dead by nightfall. Perhaps so in both scenarios. But if a male thought to touch him, to make use of him in such a way, blood would fly before Vejhon would ever allow it.

  His keen hearing picked up the approach of footsteps from somewhere outside of the room, but it wasn’t until then that he realized that while there were many windows, there were no obvious doors. Even the closet was more of a wardrobe, a large piece of furniture exclusive of the walls around it. But the footsteps gave him an idea of which direction to pay attention to. He tensed tighter and tighter, every muscle in his body winding up in preparation for…anything.

  When the wall to his left gave off a soft pneumatic hiss, drew back an inch, and then slid open about four feet to the right, it revealed something a little different than he had been expecting, but no less contemptible.

  A couple. One a male, a large fair-haired man built like a soldier…built like Vejhon himself. His skin was a smooth tan, dark enough to indicate a great deal of time spent out-of-doors, the tone just un
even enough to show that it wasn’t a racial coloration. His stride was confident, his eyes immediately fixing on Vejhon in watch of whatever potential threat he might pose. It was a look Vejhon was quite familiar with, having trained it into soldier after soldier over time. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed by that wariness. After all, here he was tethered hand and foot to a stone wall, naked and weaponless, where most people would dismiss him as non-threatening. But he could see quite clearly that this other warrior was taking nothing for granted and he wasn’t about to trust his captive in the slightest.

  As for the woman…

  She closed the door with a brisk wave of a hand over a hidden sensor and crossed over to him without any hesitation or fear. She made a subtle gesture and her giant companion stopped where he was, taking a watchful stance as she moved to stand before Vejhon at a minimum of arm’s length. Had his hands been free, he could have reached out and grabbed her around her delicate little neck.

  After months of having strangers assess his flesh in a careless and dismissive manner, it was actually very noticeable a difference when he realized she looked nowhere but into his eyes. She was just a few inches shy of about six feet tall, he guessed, but since he was nearly seven feet tall himself it still made her seem small to him. She wore an arresting crimson-colored gown that was very close to being sheer as it clung to a noticeably generous shape. She was slender without being too slim, the fabric of her dress swaddling round hips and ass, and high, proud breasts that would easily fill a large man’s hands.

  Perhaps he assessed her body first because of a subconscious need to bring her down to his level of exposure, but it didn’t take him long to become intrigued by the other things about her that were so markedly different. First, there was the long cord of her hair. It came over her shoulder and was banded with gemmed clasps once every six inches or so for nearly the entire length of her height. It was also the most amazingly pure black he had ever seen. Like a sleek Surrey eel, it caught light and gleamed, equal to the adornments that confined its length. The women of Vejhon’s homeworld, just like the men, were all fair. Blond to white, at most red to the lightest of browns. He had never seen a woman with black hair before.