House of Moons 3: The Slave Page 2

  Clenching her teeth in agony, Kamara didn’t fight the small convulsions that overtook her slight frame. The painful episodes had grown more frequent the last two weeks. Every body had a limit to how much magic it could channel in a short period of time. Certainly she was close to reaching hers, and still she pushed. It didn’t matter if the sickness killed her. Life was a small price to pay to find her beloved cousin’s murderer, Zira’s Sentinal.

  “Kamara, are you ill?” The voice washed over her in a soothing wave. Masculine. Deep. So sexy her skin tingled in response to the rich timbre.

  He knew her true name! “No.” An admission would give him another bargaining chip and would be idiocy. Time to discover what fate had in store for her. Fighting to control their jerking movements, Kamara clamped her arms to her sides and rolled onto her back. She opened her eyes just as sex-in-a-uniform sat down next to her on some sort of military style bunk.

  “You have the sickness.” The accusation stung, contradicted the gentle touch of his hand checking her forehead for fever. Only the most powerful sorcerers knew of the sickness. Who was he? Not only did he know of the illness, but he also dared to kidnap her. Fingers curling like claws, she fought the urge to tear out his eyes. She wasn’t sure if the reaction was more fear or annoyance, but the thought ramped up her shivering, erratic movements. Adrenaline was not something she needed right now.

  “I’ll be fine. Let me go.” God help her, he felt good. Strong. Hot, where his hip pressed to her side. His lips lingered inches from her own as he bent over her, and so perfect her nipples beaded beneath her gown in welcome. Heat filled the space between them, pulsed with a life of its own, pulled at her skin until the need to press flesh to flesh nearly overwhelmed her sense of self-preservation.

  Damnation.

  Determined to escape her rising lust, she looked up from his black uniform into smoke gray eyes and stopped breathing. Her cunt rippled to life, making demands she had no intention of assuaging. What was wrong with her?

  “Hold still. I can help.” Strong hands clamped onto her shoulders, pinned her to the bed.

  “Leave me alone.” The order sounded desperate, not commanding. One more moment next to him, and he’d either be helping her into an asylum… or she’d turn into a sex-starved kitten. Had he slipped her some Ozera Potent? The drug was the only thing she knew capable of affecting someone like this. So he kidnapped her, then drugged her to make her ripe for the taking? “Bastard!”

  “You really are an idiot. Where’s your guardian, your Sentinal?”

  “How dare you!” Dead was the answer. One more friend she’d watched die, weighing heavy on her conscience, demanding justice. But no one knew. No one. Kamara pushed against him with all the strength her trembling body would grant her, to no avail. With no visible effort or strain of muscle, he immobilized her with those hot hands on her shoulders. Thick and heavy, his chest pushed her deeper into the mattress.

  Instincts raged to life. She could not be held down without fighting, even if she knew she would lose. Reaching deep into her reserves, she pooled her magic, focused her mind for an attack knowing full well it might be the last thing she did in this life.

  “Hold still.” The words whispered through her hair. Her neck hummed with awareness, skin tingling and every tiny hair shivering at attention.

  All around her, his body relaxed onto hers, covering her like a thick coat of warm syrup. Peace invaded her limbs and they stilled, as if he’d pulled the very essence of the sickness into himself. All reserves of power and anger went with it. It was as if he flipped a switch and turned everything off. Eyelids drifting closed in temporary defeat and relief, she whispered, “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “A friend. And I want you out of danger.”

  What did he mean by friend? “You know who I am. How did you find me?”

  “You’re lucky I found you first. Where is your Sentinal? Where’s Reese?”

  This man knew too much. How did he know her Sentinal’s name? The question made blood pound in her ears. Did she dare answer, tell him Reese had gone missing just a couple of spins before Zira’s murder? That he’d stumbled into her arms and bled to death the same day Zira died? No. Not until she knew for sure whom she was dealing with. “Only my brothers are looking for me.”

  “Wrong.” Like the soothing balm of a warm herbal bath on oversensitive nerves, the heat intensified, invaded her limbs, relieved the aching, shocking sting caused by overuse of magic.

  “How did you do that? Are you a healer?” Well, at least it didn’t appear he would kill her. And, his healing would allow her to draw on her magic sooner. Escape.

  “What possessed you to stroll around the station in a 5-S mask? You, of all people, should know better.” His voice hypnotized, deceptive in its gentleness. Rage seethed beneath the surface of his words, gave her goosebumps. He censured her, knowing her true identity. She was heir to the throne! Never had anyone spoken to her in such a manner.

  There was only one answer. The knowledge made her heart skip a beat, struggle just to breathe. A man without allegiance. She had studied pictures of all the known outlaws so she could identify them. With his dark hair and sexy mouth, she would have remembered him easily. So he must be a rogue. Or worse, a mercenary. “Who sent you? Who do you work for?”

  “Someone loyal to the crown. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Relief flooded her. Perhaps she shouldn’t believe him, but she did. “My brother sent you.” Four words explained everything. Padraic. Just two weeks ago, she’d run into her brother on the station and set a Moon Warrior named Charla after him. Messing with the woman’s mind had caused her a small twinge of guilt, but she needed her meddling brother out of her way. From what she could tell, it worked out well for him. The dolt had actually fallen in love with the woman, and the two were out there somewhere blowing up Anthean factories. They’d hit three so far. Knowing Padraic’s wild streak, he would love every minute of it.

  She should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to leave her in peace. But Zira’s killer had finally answered her call. She couldn’t allow this level of interference now. She couldn’t explain how, but she was linked to him through Zira’s dying touch. Kamara could feel him drawing nearer. If she left the station behind, weeks of agonizing torture, of listening to men and women and their perverted fantasies would be for naught. “You have to take me back.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Searing her flesh like a branding iron, he shifted and his arm rested beneath her breasts. Totally relaxed, free of the convulsions that gripped her earlier, she was grateful for the healer’s touch, but a new problem replaced the old. She wanted him buried deep between her legs, riding hard, pumping into her until she screamed for mercy. “This is insanity.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Sudden cold gripped her when the weight of his arm lifted. “You’ll stay here until I determine it’s safe. I have work to do, so I’ll leave you to rest.”

  Nearly panicked, Kamara flung her hand out and managed to grab hold of his black shirt before he could stand up. “Wait.”

  No one had spoken her name in over three moons. Once surrounded by family and friends, hearing her name fought back the darkness stalking her, renewed her spirit, and was more comforting than she wanted to admit. She’d suffered the loss of her beloved cousin, held both Reese and Zira in her arms as they lay dying. Endless nights of loneliness and depravity had been her existence since that fateful night, since coming aboard the slaver station. She had to know what he knew. Keeping this vital man with her a little longer suddenly became essential to her sanity.

  “Please, tell me your name.” Rising to her knees, Kamara ran one hand atop his broad shoulders, admired the strength beneath the smooth black fabric. Silk-like strands of his dark hair brushed her fingertips. Before coming here she’d been young. Naive. Now she feared her essence would be forever tainted. With every man who’d paid the Slave Empress�
��s price, every mind she’d touched, she had lost a little piece of her soul. She’d been terrified true desire would never be able to touch her. The throbbing demand between her thighs proved her wrong.

  “I don’t have a name.”

  “Please.” Whispering her plea against the skin of his neck, she smiled when he shuddered in response. Kamara needed to know, would go to any lengths to discover his identity, and his purpose. A swirling vortex of power rose within her, magic answering her call. He looked away from her, but was not immune to her seduction. Her brother Padraic would never send a man he didn’t respect and trust. Too bad she would have to mess with his mind.

  Allowing her tongue a leisurely exploration beneath his ear, she pushed the troublesome doubts aside. He would remember only a beautiful face and a wonderful time in bed. The least she could do, after she found out what he knew, was leave a pleasant memory behind.

  Blowing in his ear, Kamara whispered a sorceress’s command none could resist, “Tell me your fantasies. Tell me everything.”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Let me touch you.” The heat of his skin invaded her palms. She slid her hands around to his chest, gently scraped his nipples to tight beads beneath his shirt with her fingernails, and pressed her own aching breasts into his back. Guilt died a slow death, couldn’t compete with the true pleasure of touching him. Normally, she would keep contact to a minimum when placing memories, but his body begged to be explored. Plus, he deserved a small punishment for kidnapping her. Endless weeks of solitude had warped her, pushed her beyond any normal boundaries. She would play. Touch. Stroke. A harmless flirtation he would never remember.

  He turned to look at her, surrender darkened his gray eyes to nearly black. Power was an incredible aphrodisiac. Triumph flared to life an instant before his hungry mouth claimed hers.

  Chapter Three

  The little fool. Tobiath knew he should confess his identity. But he’d allowed honor and duty to rule his entire life, and what had it gotten him? Not even the shroud of the Sentinals protected him now. No, they hunted him. Every moment of his life, he had lived as a ghost. Alone. Always alone.

  So she wanted to hear his darkest desires. Fantasies? Oh, yes. He’d had them as a child. Dreams of belonging, of a family, of a mother who would stroke his cheek and whisper nonsense to him every time he scraped his knee. Of a father whose eyes would shine with pride as he grew in strength and skill. And lately, of a woman, a lover, who would look upon him as a man, and not as a ghost, or worse, a legend.

  Hot and seeking, her tongue dueled with his. Made promises he knew she had no intention of keeping. Still, he drank in her passion like a man dying of thirst, thrust into her mouth to tease, to taste… to forget.

  Magic rode the words she’d whispered into his ear. Words that beckoned, tempted, and drove straight to his cock like the pounding blood now filling him with need. Magic. Dreams. Life. None had ever been his, nor would there ever be. He’d given it all up… for her, for her family, and been betrayed.

  Like ice melting over lava, his control cracked, then melted away. Rage boiled to the surface at her games, her manipulations. Her magic. He’d sacrificed all, and been given nothing. Now she thought to seduce, to control. Tearing his lips away, he grabbed her wrists, shoved her back down on the bed, and pinned them above her head with one hand. “No.”

  “You have known me your entire life. Loved me. Trusted me. Tell me all your secrets. You want to tell me your fantasies, your dreams. You will tell me why you’re here, and how you found me.” In soft waves, her magic pulsed through him, ineffective. Anger still seethed within him, fed his desire until lust rode him. Desires he’d never given free rein burned through his bloodstream, singeing his organs, his cock. Kamara wanted to play games. Yes, he would play…

  “I want to touch you. Hold your naked breast in my hand and suckle until you writhe and beg beneath me.” Her soft gasp turned to a moan as he cupped her small breast in his free hand and lowered his mouth to breathe fire over the erect peak visible through her thin nightgown. “I want to bury myself between your legs and remain motionless until you sob, desperate for release.”

  In one swift move, he squeezed the soft mound, massaged her firm flesh beneath the golden satin, forced her sensitive nipple to respond, to rise up in silent offering, then sucked her breast, satin and all, into his mouth until he could hold no more.

  Kamara bucked beneath him. “Stop.”

  A command. Interesting. More forceful. More magic behind the word. He would’ve laughed, but his mouth was full. Instead, he shifted to taste her other breast. Nipped with his teeth, then soothed away the hurt with his tongue. She smelled sweet, like honey. Like life. Gorging on her softness, on her desire, his free hand continued to roll and squeeze the first taut peak.

  “Ozera. You drugged me.” The words were barely more than a moan, and the feral beast within smirked in satisfaction at her arousal, at the way her back arched up off the bed.

  “No.” Firm and deliberate, he slid his hand over the curve of her waist, past her hip, lower. Tobiath wondered if her skin would be as flawless as the soft glide of fabric covering her. He slipped his fingers beneath the satin edge of her gown and caressed her toned body from her thigh to her hip. Hellsgate. Every fantasy he’d ever had ran through his mind, a mosaic of hot steamy sex. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want to feel and taste every inch of you, possess your body until you can’t get me out of your mind, even when we’re apart.”

  They’d taken everything from him. Now, she would give a little back. Moving to partially cover her with his body, to feel the full length of her softness crushed beneath him, he fought for breath, for control. He wedged his knee between her bare legs, rubbed his aching cock against the tight muscles of her thigh, and slowly curved his fingers over the soft, satin-covered mound between her legs. He split her folds, imprisoned them beneath her gown and his searching fingers.

  In rhythm he suckled her nipple and rubbed her core. Kamara whimpered. Her hips jumped at each stroke of his hand, straining for more. He would have her. Beneath his searching fingers, her gown clung to her, soaked by her arousal, her need.

  Without warning she arched under his touch. Her climax shocked him, threatened to drive him past all reason, all thought, until he tore his attention from her body and saw the silent tears streaming down her face.

  Tears. They doused his lust like a bucket of ice-cold water.

  “Please, stop.” No magic. Just two simple words. True, Kamara had started it, had tried to manipulate him. But he knew the truth, the futile effort she made, and he’d hidden the truth. Touched her. Pain stabbed straight through his heart and sneered at a lifetime of living with honor. Perhaps he was a monster.

  He leapt away from her. Suddenly the room closed in on him, shrank until her eyes looked too big. His clothing smelled of her, trapped him in her scent like a straightjacket driving him mad. What in hell’s name was he doing? He was a Sentinal, first and always. He had killed. But never had he sought to seduce a woman without her consent. Never had he been pushed beyond his rigid honor and self-control.

  “I’m sorry.” Tobiath leaned against the door, closed his eyes, and forced air into his burning lungs. When the Sentinals took him in, they assigned him a number, then trained him to infiltrate, to kill, and then disappear. He’d sworn an oath to protect the royal family. Blood bonded to a royal infant at birth, his ward was Zira. Failure, and their blood bond, haunted him, called him here to save her. Not to rape her cousin.

  The Sentinals safeguarded the royal lines and meted out justice in the system. Reviled, feared, and nameless, the Sentinals had always served and protected the royal house. And, as to be expected, their existence had become a myth. Only a handful of Sentinals were born to each generation. He knew of only three others who were Immune like himself; the rest were Shifters. All were anonymous but for the names they chose and used amongst themselves.

  “What do you want
from me?” Kamara’s question pulled him from his miserable thoughts and forced him to meet her questioning gaze. She sat staring at him, the soft blanket that once covered his bed now wrapped around her like armor.

  “I told you, I need you safe and out of my way. That is all. When this is over, you can go home.” He needed to use her, to lure Zira’s killer out into the open, but she didn’t need to know everything. In the end, he’d die to keep her safe and rescue Zira, her cousin. The end justified the means. He wasn’t about to waste time arguing with her about how to do his job.

  “Who are you? What are you doing out here?” Black as midnight in the soft light of the room, her hair tumbled around her, a sensual invitation. His cock pulsed in response to her slightest movements.

  “I am Z-4. I’m here to recover your cousin, Zira.”

  Fear clouded her eyes momentarily, but anger quickly burned it away. “You’re Zira’s Sentinal!”

  “Yes.” What possessed him next was pure madness, but it slipped out before he could stop to question his motives. “And I need your help to save her.”

  “She’s dead, you bastard. I held her in my arms as her heart stopped beating, her blood pooled on the tiles beneath us.” Like an avenging angel, she rose to her feet on the bed, shouted at him. “With her dying breath, she said you killed her.”

  “So you believe.” Tobiath shrugged. What else could he say? It was the truth of her memory, an implant, and the reason a legion of spies, cutthroats, and assassins hunted him. “But she’s not dead.”

  * * *

  “What?” Four words, and her world turned upside down again.

  “Did you not hear me?” The arrogant bastard strolled across the room and sat down in a chair covered with soft animal hide. A large wooden clock stood behind him, pendulum swinging in a calming rhythm, its soft ticking once again the only sound in the room. Knees spread, he rested his elbows on them like he hadn’t a care in the world and just stared at her with those damn penetrating eyes.