Relativity
(Set during Atrophy, her initial rescue when she meets Rian and the crew, in Ella's POV)
They thought the darkness would keep her subdued and afraid, but darkness was not her enemy.
Miriella Kinton concentrated on the small blue orb hovering in front of her, a physical manifestation of her abilities as an Arynian priestess. No bigger than her fist, its light didn’t quite reach the corners of the small under-floor compartment her abductors had shoved her into, which was only as deep as her waist. She had to sit and keep her legs tucked up to her chest, despite the cramps twisting up the muscles in her calves. Every so often voices would reach her, or she’d hear other noises, and the orb would flicker as her concentration wavered.
Just as her instructors in the temples on Aryn had told her over and over for the whole twenty-two years of her life, emotion was her vulnerability. When she became emotional, her considerable powers either failed her altogether, or sparked wildly out of control. She had to stay calm, no matter what these people did to her.
Just another test.
She repeated the words for the millionth time since the man and woman had surprised her on a secluded path between the waterfall ponds and the reflections temple a few days ago and taken her off Aryn without explanation. Of course, this test hadn’t been designed by her father, brother, or one of her instructors, this test had been contrived by fate, by the patterns and powers in the universe far greater than herself.
So she hadn’t resisted when they’d snatched her, not that it had been a conscious choice. The instinct to use her abilities had been conditioned out of her as a child. It’d taken far longer and required more intensive experiences and training before she’d finally tamped her innate urges. But she’d finally proven to her older brother and father just after her twelfth birthday that she was in charge of her powers, and not the other way around as they had maintained.
No, she hadn’t resisted, had barely uttered a single word after her abductors had smuggled her onto their ship, stolen her off-world, stripped her down and forced her to dress in a swath of sheer fabric that barely concealed her body, taunted her about being an Arynian and therefore unable to retaliate no matter what they said or did.
Her people were known throughout the galaxy as extreme pacifists but also recognized as being nonaligned with any governments, militaries, or conflicts. Considering she’d only left Aryn once before briefly in her life, she hadn’t realized people would consider Arynians weak, worthy of derision. She’d learned many lessons in the few days she’d been onboard this ship, despite spending most of it locked under the floor.
Heavy clomping above her head sent a jolt of apprehension lancing through her, causing the orb to extinguish. The hatch jerked open, allowing light and fresh air to flood in. But she didn’t shift, didn’t flinch, or cover her eyes as they ached while adjusting to the glare.
“Time to disembark, your highness.” The captain of the ship stood above her, one hand hooked through a loop on his weapon belt, the other scratching at his short beard. He’d been referring to her as your highness with the slightest sneer ever since his crewmembers had brought her onboard. She hadn’t bothered trying to correct him, especially since she got the feeling he knew it wasn’t the acceptable way to address a priestess of Aryn.
He motioned for her to climb out, so she braced her legs beneath herself, struggling to keep her expression detached and unaffected against the pain from the cramps that had set in countless long hours ago.
Apparently she wasn’t moving fast enough, because the captain leaned down and grabbed her upper arm, hauling her up and just about dislocating her shoulder. He let her go just as abruptly, sending her sprawling to the metal grate flooring, no doubt adding more bruises to the dozen she already had from their careless, rough handling.
She clenched her jaw, forcing a breath between her teeth, striving for calm as power sparked in her fingertips, zapping like tiny pinpricks of static electricity. But not in a painful way, in a way that felt too good, a kind of heady euphoria no words could do justice for.
Occasionally, an Arynian succumbed to that sensation, craved it more and more. The elder council always dealt swiftly with those people and they disappeared. She didn’t know what happened to them, she’d never asked her father—one of the four elder council members—and didn’t care to find out. Not even out here where she was away from her home, far from safety, with no idea what would happen to her. If she misused her abilities, when she eventually made it back to Aryn, her father would know, and she had no illusions he would temper his punishment just because she was his daughter.
So she took several breaths, forced the tingling to dissipate from her fingertips, and then got to her feet in calm and measured movements.
The captain looked far from impressed as his gaze raked over her—but not in a sexual way, more in a way that seemed to be weighing her pounds of flesh against the credits he might get for her. Was that why they’d abducted her? She’d heard rumors of Arynians being rare and prized slaves in the outer reaches of the galaxy where people still got away with such depravities but hadn’t believed the tales. Would that be her fate?
For the first time since they’d snatched her, the enormity of her situation dug deeply into her with razor claws. She’d assumed that somehow, someway, she would eventually get home to Aryn. That if she couldn’t use her diplomatic training as an Arynian to barter her freedom —speaking to people’s natures, negotiating for what they wanted or needed—then her father and brother would track her down and do the same.
But if she was sold into slavery, if they made her disappear into the vast, barely-governed outer-systems--
Her throat started aching with the need to sob though her eyes remained dry through practice and sheer determination to stay ever outwardly calm, no matter what happened to her.
“Think you’re better than me, girlie, with them fancy Arynian abilities?” The captain took a menacing step forward. “Standing there all ice-queen-bitch like none of this affects you?”
He sniffed and then spat at her feet, sending revulsion crawling down her spine. Stepping sideways, he grabbed a lump of coarse brown material and tossed it at her. “Put this on. We’ve got to travel across land to meet the freighter taking you to your final destination. Arleta might be sparsely populated, but I don’t want to risk anyone else getting a glimpse of the goods and deciding they want a cut for themselves.”
She’d caught the fabric automatically. The material was rough against her fingers, and while it smelled a little dusty it at least didn’t have any kind of putrid scent to it, unlike some areas on this ship where the air was stale, smelled old and rancid like maybe the air filtration system was contaminated and no one had bothered to clean it out.
The captain started to step past her, but paused, looking her up and down again, this time with an outright scowl, probably because she hadn’t immediately moved to follow his order.
“I’ve treated you well, priestess. And you’ll realize that once the captain of the next ship gets his hands on you.” The scowl morphed into a grin that said he was laughing at her expense. “You think I’m bad? Rian Sherron makes me look like a cuddly teddy. He’s a stone cold psychopath who won’t think twice about killing you just for looking at him the wrong way. The trail of bodies he’s left throughout the galaxy in the last few years alone has become legendary. You want to survive this trip? Then it’s in your best interest to do what you’re told, as soon as you’re told it. Now put that robe on and get on the dirt rover over there.”
Her fingers were locked into the material of the fabric, her movements had become automatic as she settled the robe over the indecent dress, fastening it closed and then pulling the hood up to completely cover herself. By the time she walked over and climbed into the back of the rover, she was completely numb.
There were people in this galaxy worse than the captain of the Dixie who’d abducted her? And she was being handed over to one of them? Mercy of infinite powers. Could she really let this happen to her? But what choice did she have? To act went against everything she was as an Arynian. This was what the powers of the universe had ordained for her. She told herself the words she’d been taught, but a flicker of doubt took away any comfort she might have found in them.
The rover rumbled to life beneath her as two men climbed on, one beside her and the other in the front passenger seat. The captain approached, carrying something in his hands. He stopped next to her, wordlessly grabbing her wrist in a rough grasp and snapping a single manacle around it, then repeating the procedure on the other wrist. Right away, it was like a switch was flicked inside her, and all access to her abilities were cut off.
She’d seen a pair of shackles like this only once before in her life, and that had been during a lesson about what exactly they were—a device made of a specific blend of metium and sapphire infused micro crystals designed to stop Arynians from being able to use their powers.
The apprehension rushing through her veins coalesced in her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. They’d taken away her choice to act. Now she was completely vulnerable and about to be at the mercy of Rian Sherron, a man just as likely to kill her as deliver her to whatever destination she was supposed to end up.
The captain climbed into the remaining empty seat on the rover, and the vehicle jerked into motion as the large cargo hatchway opened and the ramp unfolded with a grating clunk.
Outside the ship, wind whipped orange desert sand through the air, creating a low haze that made the squat rise of the dunes around them look as if they were shifting like waves in the ocean.
The rover bumped off the edge of the ramp and headed away from the ship at an angle. She had no idea what direction they were going, and once they went over a rise and the ship was out of sight, wouldn’t have been able to find her way back to it even if she’d wanted to for some insane reason. There were no discernible landmarks. All the sand and weathered, bleached stone looked the same.
After a while—maybe ten minutes—another ship came into view. This one looked older than the Dixie, but somehow better maintained. Not that there were any really obvious signs of that, it just had an air of being more respected, more cared for by its crew. Its lines were sleeker, like it was built for speed and handling rather than simply being bulky for carrying freight. The open hatchway with the ramp down revealed a yawning cavern of space to stack supplies.
Several people stood on the ramp—three men and a woman. One of the men stood slightly to the front of the others, hands relaxed on the grips of his holstered weapons. Even if he hadn’t put himself in that forward position, she would have guessed in an instant he was Rian Sherron. The psychopath the Dixie’s captain had warned her about.
The rover pulled to a jolting stop and despite a good fifty feet or so still separating them, the utter ruthlessness in Rian Sherron’s eyes, worn in and comfortable like a trusted pair of combat boots on a soldier, sent shivers down her spine. But the shivers weren’t chills, they ran hot and cold. Because there was something about him. Something…familiar?
No, that couldn’t be right. She’d never seen him before, surely she wouldn’t have forgotten meeting someone like him. And she’d only ever left Aryn one brief, disastrous time when she’d been a teenager.
But as she took in the careless mop of hair ruffling in the wind, falling across his forehead just short of his dark-devil eyes, something about him settled within her. Something she recognized on an instinctual level, but had never experienced before.
Something that scared her as nothing else ever had.
The captain of the Dixie climbed off the rover, followed by his two men, leaving her completely alone as they walked over to greet Sherron and his crew. Everyone seemed tense as the two parties came together, like maybe none of them trusted the other.
The wind snatched away whatever words were being exchanged, but when Sherron spared a glance toward her, her heart failed for a long moment in her chest. Oh deities. He couldn’t see her, covered from head to toe in the voluminous brown cloak, but when his gaze had passed over her, it had felt as if he’d stripped her down to her deepest vulnerabilities in a way no other person had ever done.
If this was some kind of ordained test, she was about to fail. No matter her training, she couldn’t meekly go with that man. She’d been taught not to fear anything in the universe, because all things were made up of the same connected energy, but she was terrified of what would become of her.
After a few moments, the captain of the Dixie turned and waved at his two crewmen, who took her arms and dragged her out of the vehicle. Her legs weren’t working properly, and she stumbled before finding her feet.
They propelled her over to stand in front of Rian Sherron, who had his attention on the captain as they discussed her destination, and apparently, Captain Sherron was not very happy about it.
“You expect me to take the cargo and my crew to an abandoned station that could be sucked into a black hole any time now?” Captain Sherron’s voice was not raised, but there was a definite note of warning in his tone.
The woman behind him on the ramp muttered something under her breath that caused the man standing next to her—strapped up with an alarming number of weapons—to grin.
The captain of the Dixie hadn’t removed his attention from Captain Sherron, however. He gave a shrug that appeared uncaring, but tension was strung through his shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been sucked in yet, has it? That is where the clients are operating out of.”
Captain Sherron didn’t answer, and though his lethal, detached expression didn’t alter, something in his eyes told her he was processing some kind of information, making a decision. The man might be a psychopath, but he wasn’t dumb.
After a long weighted moment, he gave a sharp nod. “Where’s the cargo?”
Oh deity. He didn’t realize the cargo was her.
“Here.” The captain grabbed her arm and thrust her forward until she stumbled into Captain Sherron. He caught her shoulders and set her back on balance with a surprisingly gentle grasp.
“Whatever you do, don’t take the manacles off.” The captain of the Dixie turned to leave, but with a lightning fast move, Captain Sherron had grabbed the man’s shoulder and shoved a gun into his lower back.
“What the frecking hell is this? I don’t deal in slaves.” Captain Sherron’s voice had gone the way of a winter gale—freezing and cutting—leaving her fighting a shiver. Everyone had their attention focused on the unfolding confrontation, and she took the opportunity to shift back a subtle half-step. And then took another when no one noticed.
The captain of the Dixie held his hands out to the sides.
“No longer my problem. I was paid to make the drop off. My part is done. Whether or not the cargo turns up at the destination is out of my hands and into yours. But I wouldn’t want to put myself on the shite-list of those particular clients.”
Captain Sherron tightened his fist in the material of the other man’s shirt, arctic eyes glittering with dangerous ire. She shuffled back a few more steps, putting her at least out of grabbing range.
“I’m already on their shite-list—I couldn’t care less about that. But I am not freighting or trading in slaves. Not now, not ever.”
Well, her opinion of Captain Sherron had gone up a notch; at least the man had some morals. But that still didn’t mean she was setting one foot on his ship. Running off into the desert would probably seem foolish to some, but it was looking like the better option. At least she might find a settlement and survive the desert. This man? If she went with him, there was no doubt in her mind that she would no longer be the same person whenever she left his ship again.
The captain of the Dixie inclined his head slightly to the side, and one of his men stepped in to press some other kind of gun against Captain Sherron’s neck. Her heart began skipping wildly. She couldn’t see this situation ending in anything but gunfire. No way did she want to get caught in the middle of that, not without her abilities working to protect herself from stray blasts.
Captain Sherron seemed to assess the situation in a second flat—while she hastily backed up several steps, no longer worrying if they noticed. However, it seemed the “psychopath” was more interested in diffusing the situation, slowly loosening his grip on the other captain’s shirt as he stepped back, making it obvious he was returning his gun to its holster.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you again, Sherron. Good journey,” the captain of the Dixie said as if he hadn’t just been held at gunpoint.
This was it. The man responsible for her abduction was leaving, giving her over to someone even more dangerous.
Breath slammed out of her lungs as pure, unrelenting panic set in, overcoming her training and kicking in her survival instincts. She whirled, stumbling a few steps in the soft give of the sand beneath her feet before finding her footing and scrambling around the side of the ship. She launched into a sprint, no direction in mind, just letting the consuming need to escape take her out into the desert.
The wind whipped sand against her, the air tearing in and out of her lungs burning with dry heat. There was nothing ahead of her but dunes and more indiscernible desert stretching into the far distance. Even as she pressed on, tried to go faster, farther, it was as if the desert was draining the very life from her limbs, sapping her energy like so much water on the parched ground.
Something slammed into her from behind and she half turned, bringing her hands up to defend herself. Not something. Someone. Rian Sherron had run her down, seemingly without any effort whatsoever, while she could hardly draw breath for the ache in her chest.
Captain Sherron made a grab for her wrists and she tried to pull back from his grasp as he took a step forward, ending with their legs getting tangled together. They started falling, and with her hands caught up between them, she had no way to brace herself.
But Captain Sherron twisted them, taking the brunt of the fall and sending her sprawling half on top of him. However, his apparently chivalrous instincts didn’t make her any less inclined to escape. She wiggled furiously, trying to squirm out of his hold.
“That’s enough, you frecking brat!” He kicked them into a roll, ending with him on top of her, his muscled weight ensuring she couldn’t get away from him, no matter what ideas she had.
With her body pinned, he managed to get a firm grip on her wrists, slapping them down to the burning hot sand. She gave one final buck, leaving him cursing. Transferring his grip so he held both her wrists in one hand, he yanked at the brown cloak, ripping the top half open and exposing her to the beating desert sun and his widening eyes.
He went utterly still for a long second, gaze raking over her. Something flickered momentarily in his cold gaze, surprise and maybe a hint of another sentiment she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Levering himself up to take his weight off her, his perusal ended where her robe had remained fastened over her stomach. Apart from two strategically placed whorls of embroidery over her nipples, the “garment” the captain of the Dixie had forced on her was entirely transparent—her body all but bared for the pleasure of strangers. It was humiliating, but there was no way she’d ever let this man know that’s how she felt.
“Don’t try to run from me again.” His voice came out like a wild, storm-fed river tumbling over rocks and caused a jolt of something not entirely unpleasant through her stomach. The sensation shocked her more than her initial fear of him. She glanced away as he stood and then helped her to her feet—probably more to make sure she wasn’t going to run away, rather than being polite.
As if her earlier exposure of her upper body wasn’t enough, when she got upright, the robe slipped down to puddle at her feet. She might as well be naked for all the damned dress covered her. But instead of cowering or trying to cover herself, she tipped her chin up, daring him to look as he wanted. She was a woman—made as any other woman. Nothing about her body was shameful or appalling.
“Come on.” He tugged her arm, pulling her out of the folds of the garment on the ground. But instead of letting him tow her around, she wrenched from his grasp and moved to walk two paces ahead of him. If she was going, then she would choose to go, not be dragged like some helpless victim.
More people stood at the bottom of the ship’s ramp now, the captain of the Dixie nowhere in sight except for a diminishing dust cloud on the horizon. The crew of this ship didn’t seem rough, obnoxious, or odious like the crew of the Dixie had been. It sparked a small kindling of hope that she could reason with these people and find a way out of this situation.
Trying to run had been futile. For whatever reason, she was meant to end up on this ship. It had to be some sort of celestial trial, one of her life’s shaping events. How she handled this would affect her core being and the path she was on. The only thing she could do was trust in the deities, despite that seeming like a hollow concept.
She stopped in front of the small group on the ramp as Rian Sherron bent down to retrieve his weapons belt where he must have dropped it before chasing after her. The sight kindled a large spark of hope in her heart. He easily could have shot her with a pulse pistol and knocked her unconscious, but instead he’d taken the more difficult option in running her down. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the captain of the Dixie had made him out to be.
His eyes met hers again briefly, and it was like lightning buzzing through her limbs all the way down to her toes—like that heady, seductive sensation of using her abilities all Arynians were taught to oppose. There was every chance that Rian Sherron and the feelings he stirred in her were just like her powers—to be resisted at all cost lest she be lost to the high and become a slave to the addictive sensation. But unlike her abilities, she got the feeling that resisting the things Rian Sherron sparked within her would be much, much harder.
They thought the darkness would keep her subdued and afraid, but darkness was not her enemy.
Miriella Kinton concentrated on the small blue orb hovering in front of her, a physical manifestation of her abilities as an Arynian priestess. No bigger than her fist, its light didn’t quite reach the corners of the small under-floor compartment her abductors had shoved her into, which was only as deep as her waist. She had to sit and keep her legs tucked up to her chest, despite the cramps twisting up the muscles in her calves. Every so often voices would reach her, or she’d hear other noises, and the orb would flicker as her concentration wavered.
Just as her instructors in the temples on Aryn had told her over and over for the whole twenty-two years of her life, emotion was her vulnerability. When she became emotional, her considerable powers either failed her altogether, or sparked wildly out of control. She had to stay calm, no matter what these people did to her.
Just another test.
She repeated the words for the millionth time since the man and woman had surprised her on a secluded path between the waterfall ponds and the reflections temple a few days ago and taken her off Aryn without explanation. Of course, this test hadn’t been designed by her father, brother, or one of her instructors, this test had been contrived by fate, by the patterns and powers in the universe far greater than herself.
So she hadn’t resisted when they’d snatched her, not that it had been a conscious choice. The instinct to use her abilities had been conditioned out of her as a child. It’d taken far longer and required more intensive experiences and training before she’d finally tamped her innate urges. But she’d finally proven to her older brother and father just after her twelfth birthday that she was in charge of her powers, and not the other way around as they had maintained.
No, she hadn’t resisted, had barely uttered a single word after her abductors had smuggled her onto their ship, stolen her off-world, stripped her down and forced her to dress in a swath of sheer fabric that barely concealed her body, taunted her about being an Arynian and therefore unable to retaliate no matter what they said or did.
Her people were known throughout the galaxy as extreme pacifists but also recognized as being nonaligned with any governments, militaries, or conflicts. Considering she’d only left Aryn once before briefly in her life, she hadn’t realized people would consider Arynians weak, worthy of derision. She’d learned many lessons in the few days she’d been onboard this ship, despite spending most of it locked under the floor.
Heavy clomping above her head sent a jolt of apprehension lancing through her, causing the orb to extinguish. The hatch jerked open, allowing light and fresh air to flood in. But she didn’t shift, didn’t flinch, or cover her eyes as they ached while adjusting to the glare.
“Time to disembark, your highness.” The captain of the ship stood above her, one hand hooked through a loop on his weapon belt, the other scratching at his short beard. He’d been referring to her as your highness with the slightest sneer ever since his crewmembers had brought her onboard. She hadn’t bothered trying to correct him, especially since she got the feeling he knew it wasn’t the acceptable way to address a priestess of Aryn.
He motioned for her to climb out, so she braced her legs beneath herself, struggling to keep her expression detached and unaffected against the pain from the cramps that had set in countless long hours ago.
Apparently she wasn’t moving fast enough, because the captain leaned down and grabbed her upper arm, hauling her up and just about dislocating her shoulder. He let her go just as abruptly, sending her sprawling to the metal grate flooring, no doubt adding more bruises to the dozen she already had from their careless, rough handling.
She clenched her jaw, forcing a breath between her teeth, striving for calm as power sparked in her fingertips, zapping like tiny pinpricks of static electricity. But not in a painful way, in a way that felt too good, a kind of heady euphoria no words could do justice for.
Occasionally, an Arynian succumbed to that sensation, craved it more and more. The elder council always dealt swiftly with those people and they disappeared. She didn’t know what happened to them, she’d never asked her father—one of the four elder council members—and didn’t care to find out. Not even out here where she was away from her home, far from safety, with no idea what would happen to her. If she misused her abilities, when she eventually made it back to Aryn, her father would know, and she had no illusions he would temper his punishment just because she was his daughter.
So she took several breaths, forced the tingling to dissipate from her fingertips, and then got to her feet in calm and measured movements.
The captain looked far from impressed as his gaze raked over her—but not in a sexual way, more in a way that seemed to be weighing her pounds of flesh against the credits he might get for her. Was that why they’d abducted her? She’d heard rumors of Arynians being rare and prized slaves in the outer reaches of the galaxy where people still got away with such depravities but hadn’t believed the tales. Would that be her fate?
For the first time since they’d snatched her, the enormity of her situation dug deeply into her with razor claws. She’d assumed that somehow, someway, she would eventually get home to Aryn. That if she couldn’t use her diplomatic training as an Arynian to barter her freedom —speaking to people’s natures, negotiating for what they wanted or needed—then her father and brother would track her down and do the same.
But if she was sold into slavery, if they made her disappear into the vast, barely-governed outer-systems--
Her throat started aching with the need to sob though her eyes remained dry through practice and sheer determination to stay ever outwardly calm, no matter what happened to her.
“Think you’re better than me, girlie, with them fancy Arynian abilities?” The captain took a menacing step forward. “Standing there all ice-queen-bitch like none of this affects you?”
He sniffed and then spat at her feet, sending revulsion crawling down her spine. Stepping sideways, he grabbed a lump of coarse brown material and tossed it at her. “Put this on. We’ve got to travel across land to meet the freighter taking you to your final destination. Arleta might be sparsely populated, but I don’t want to risk anyone else getting a glimpse of the goods and deciding they want a cut for themselves.”
She’d caught the fabric automatically. The material was rough against her fingers, and while it smelled a little dusty it at least didn’t have any kind of putrid scent to it, unlike some areas on this ship where the air was stale, smelled old and rancid like maybe the air filtration system was contaminated and no one had bothered to clean it out.
The captain started to step past her, but paused, looking her up and down again, this time with an outright scowl, probably because she hadn’t immediately moved to follow his order.
“I’ve treated you well, priestess. And you’ll realize that once the captain of the next ship gets his hands on you.” The scowl morphed into a grin that said he was laughing at her expense. “You think I’m bad? Rian Sherron makes me look like a cuddly teddy. He’s a stone cold psychopath who won’t think twice about killing you just for looking at him the wrong way. The trail of bodies he’s left throughout the galaxy in the last few years alone has become legendary. You want to survive this trip? Then it’s in your best interest to do what you’re told, as soon as you’re told it. Now put that robe on and get on the dirt rover over there.”
Her fingers were locked into the material of the fabric, her movements had become automatic as she settled the robe over the indecent dress, fastening it closed and then pulling the hood up to completely cover herself. By the time she walked over and climbed into the back of the rover, she was completely numb.
There were people in this galaxy worse than the captain of the Dixie who’d abducted her? And she was being handed over to one of them? Mercy of infinite powers. Could she really let this happen to her? But what choice did she have? To act went against everything she was as an Arynian. This was what the powers of the universe had ordained for her. She told herself the words she’d been taught, but a flicker of doubt took away any comfort she might have found in them.
The rover rumbled to life beneath her as two men climbed on, one beside her and the other in the front passenger seat. The captain approached, carrying something in his hands. He stopped next to her, wordlessly grabbing her wrist in a rough grasp and snapping a single manacle around it, then repeating the procedure on the other wrist. Right away, it was like a switch was flicked inside her, and all access to her abilities were cut off.
She’d seen a pair of shackles like this only once before in her life, and that had been during a lesson about what exactly they were—a device made of a specific blend of metium and sapphire infused micro crystals designed to stop Arynians from being able to use their powers.
The apprehension rushing through her veins coalesced in her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. They’d taken away her choice to act. Now she was completely vulnerable and about to be at the mercy of Rian Sherron, a man just as likely to kill her as deliver her to whatever destination she was supposed to end up.
The captain climbed into the remaining empty seat on the rover, and the vehicle jerked into motion as the large cargo hatchway opened and the ramp unfolded with a grating clunk.
Outside the ship, wind whipped orange desert sand through the air, creating a low haze that made the squat rise of the dunes around them look as if they were shifting like waves in the ocean.
The rover bumped off the edge of the ramp and headed away from the ship at an angle. She had no idea what direction they were going, and once they went over a rise and the ship was out of sight, wouldn’t have been able to find her way back to it even if she’d wanted to for some insane reason. There were no discernible landmarks. All the sand and weathered, bleached stone looked the same.
After a while—maybe ten minutes—another ship came into view. This one looked older than the Dixie, but somehow better maintained. Not that there were any really obvious signs of that, it just had an air of being more respected, more cared for by its crew. Its lines were sleeker, like it was built for speed and handling rather than simply being bulky for carrying freight. The open hatchway with the ramp down revealed a yawning cavern of space to stack supplies.
Several people stood on the ramp—three men and a woman. One of the men stood slightly to the front of the others, hands relaxed on the grips of his holstered weapons. Even if he hadn’t put himself in that forward position, she would have guessed in an instant he was Rian Sherron. The psychopath the Dixie’s captain had warned her about.
The rover pulled to a jolting stop and despite a good fifty feet or so still separating them, the utter ruthlessness in Rian Sherron’s eyes, worn in and comfortable like a trusted pair of combat boots on a soldier, sent shivers down her spine. But the shivers weren’t chills, they ran hot and cold. Because there was something about him. Something…familiar?
No, that couldn’t be right. She’d never seen him before, surely she wouldn’t have forgotten meeting someone like him. And she’d only ever left Aryn one brief, disastrous time when she’d been a teenager.
But as she took in the careless mop of hair ruffling in the wind, falling across his forehead just short of his dark-devil eyes, something about him settled within her. Something she recognized on an instinctual level, but had never experienced before.
Something that scared her as nothing else ever had.
The captain of the Dixie climbed off the rover, followed by his two men, leaving her completely alone as they walked over to greet Sherron and his crew. Everyone seemed tense as the two parties came together, like maybe none of them trusted the other.
The wind snatched away whatever words were being exchanged, but when Sherron spared a glance toward her, her heart failed for a long moment in her chest. Oh deities. He couldn’t see her, covered from head to toe in the voluminous brown cloak, but when his gaze had passed over her, it had felt as if he’d stripped her down to her deepest vulnerabilities in a way no other person had ever done.
If this was some kind of ordained test, she was about to fail. No matter her training, she couldn’t meekly go with that man. She’d been taught not to fear anything in the universe, because all things were made up of the same connected energy, but she was terrified of what would become of her.
After a few moments, the captain of the Dixie turned and waved at his two crewmen, who took her arms and dragged her out of the vehicle. Her legs weren’t working properly, and she stumbled before finding her feet.
They propelled her over to stand in front of Rian Sherron, who had his attention on the captain as they discussed her destination, and apparently, Captain Sherron was not very happy about it.
“You expect me to take the cargo and my crew to an abandoned station that could be sucked into a black hole any time now?” Captain Sherron’s voice was not raised, but there was a definite note of warning in his tone.
The woman behind him on the ramp muttered something under her breath that caused the man standing next to her—strapped up with an alarming number of weapons—to grin.
The captain of the Dixie hadn’t removed his attention from Captain Sherron, however. He gave a shrug that appeared uncaring, but tension was strung through his shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been sucked in yet, has it? That is where the clients are operating out of.”
Captain Sherron didn’t answer, and though his lethal, detached expression didn’t alter, something in his eyes told her he was processing some kind of information, making a decision. The man might be a psychopath, but he wasn’t dumb.
After a long weighted moment, he gave a sharp nod. “Where’s the cargo?”
Oh deity. He didn’t realize the cargo was her.
“Here.” The captain grabbed her arm and thrust her forward until she stumbled into Captain Sherron. He caught her shoulders and set her back on balance with a surprisingly gentle grasp.
“Whatever you do, don’t take the manacles off.” The captain of the Dixie turned to leave, but with a lightning fast move, Captain Sherron had grabbed the man’s shoulder and shoved a gun into his lower back.
“What the frecking hell is this? I don’t deal in slaves.” Captain Sherron’s voice had gone the way of a winter gale—freezing and cutting—leaving her fighting a shiver. Everyone had their attention focused on the unfolding confrontation, and she took the opportunity to shift back a subtle half-step. And then took another when no one noticed.
The captain of the Dixie held his hands out to the sides.
“No longer my problem. I was paid to make the drop off. My part is done. Whether or not the cargo turns up at the destination is out of my hands and into yours. But I wouldn’t want to put myself on the shite-list of those particular clients.”
Captain Sherron tightened his fist in the material of the other man’s shirt, arctic eyes glittering with dangerous ire. She shuffled back a few more steps, putting her at least out of grabbing range.
“I’m already on their shite-list—I couldn’t care less about that. But I am not freighting or trading in slaves. Not now, not ever.”
Well, her opinion of Captain Sherron had gone up a notch; at least the man had some morals. But that still didn’t mean she was setting one foot on his ship. Running off into the desert would probably seem foolish to some, but it was looking like the better option. At least she might find a settlement and survive the desert. This man? If she went with him, there was no doubt in her mind that she would no longer be the same person whenever she left his ship again.
The captain of the Dixie inclined his head slightly to the side, and one of his men stepped in to press some other kind of gun against Captain Sherron’s neck. Her heart began skipping wildly. She couldn’t see this situation ending in anything but gunfire. No way did she want to get caught in the middle of that, not without her abilities working to protect herself from stray blasts.
Captain Sherron seemed to assess the situation in a second flat—while she hastily backed up several steps, no longer worrying if they noticed. However, it seemed the “psychopath” was more interested in diffusing the situation, slowly loosening his grip on the other captain’s shirt as he stepped back, making it obvious he was returning his gun to its holster.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you again, Sherron. Good journey,” the captain of the Dixie said as if he hadn’t just been held at gunpoint.
This was it. The man responsible for her abduction was leaving, giving her over to someone even more dangerous.
Breath slammed out of her lungs as pure, unrelenting panic set in, overcoming her training and kicking in her survival instincts. She whirled, stumbling a few steps in the soft give of the sand beneath her feet before finding her footing and scrambling around the side of the ship. She launched into a sprint, no direction in mind, just letting the consuming need to escape take her out into the desert.
The wind whipped sand against her, the air tearing in and out of her lungs burning with dry heat. There was nothing ahead of her but dunes and more indiscernible desert stretching into the far distance. Even as she pressed on, tried to go faster, farther, it was as if the desert was draining the very life from her limbs, sapping her energy like so much water on the parched ground.
Something slammed into her from behind and she half turned, bringing her hands up to defend herself. Not something. Someone. Rian Sherron had run her down, seemingly without any effort whatsoever, while she could hardly draw breath for the ache in her chest.
Captain Sherron made a grab for her wrists and she tried to pull back from his grasp as he took a step forward, ending with their legs getting tangled together. They started falling, and with her hands caught up between them, she had no way to brace herself.
But Captain Sherron twisted them, taking the brunt of the fall and sending her sprawling half on top of him. However, his apparently chivalrous instincts didn’t make her any less inclined to escape. She wiggled furiously, trying to squirm out of his hold.
“That’s enough, you frecking brat!” He kicked them into a roll, ending with him on top of her, his muscled weight ensuring she couldn’t get away from him, no matter what ideas she had.
With her body pinned, he managed to get a firm grip on her wrists, slapping them down to the burning hot sand. She gave one final buck, leaving him cursing. Transferring his grip so he held both her wrists in one hand, he yanked at the brown cloak, ripping the top half open and exposing her to the beating desert sun and his widening eyes.
He went utterly still for a long second, gaze raking over her. Something flickered momentarily in his cold gaze, surprise and maybe a hint of another sentiment she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Levering himself up to take his weight off her, his perusal ended where her robe had remained fastened over her stomach. Apart from two strategically placed whorls of embroidery over her nipples, the “garment” the captain of the Dixie had forced on her was entirely transparent—her body all but bared for the pleasure of strangers. It was humiliating, but there was no way she’d ever let this man know that’s how she felt.
“Don’t try to run from me again.” His voice came out like a wild, storm-fed river tumbling over rocks and caused a jolt of something not entirely unpleasant through her stomach. The sensation shocked her more than her initial fear of him. She glanced away as he stood and then helped her to her feet—probably more to make sure she wasn’t going to run away, rather than being polite.
As if her earlier exposure of her upper body wasn’t enough, when she got upright, the robe slipped down to puddle at her feet. She might as well be naked for all the damned dress covered her. But instead of cowering or trying to cover herself, she tipped her chin up, daring him to look as he wanted. She was a woman—made as any other woman. Nothing about her body was shameful or appalling.
“Come on.” He tugged her arm, pulling her out of the folds of the garment on the ground. But instead of letting him tow her around, she wrenched from his grasp and moved to walk two paces ahead of him. If she was going, then she would choose to go, not be dragged like some helpless victim.
More people stood at the bottom of the ship’s ramp now, the captain of the Dixie nowhere in sight except for a diminishing dust cloud on the horizon. The crew of this ship didn’t seem rough, obnoxious, or odious like the crew of the Dixie had been. It sparked a small kindling of hope that she could reason with these people and find a way out of this situation.
Trying to run had been futile. For whatever reason, she was meant to end up on this ship. It had to be some sort of celestial trial, one of her life’s shaping events. How she handled this would affect her core being and the path she was on. The only thing she could do was trust in the deities, despite that seeming like a hollow concept.
She stopped in front of the small group on the ramp as Rian Sherron bent down to retrieve his weapons belt where he must have dropped it before chasing after her. The sight kindled a large spark of hope in her heart. He easily could have shot her with a pulse pistol and knocked her unconscious, but instead he’d taken the more difficult option in running her down. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the captain of the Dixie had made him out to be.
His eyes met hers again briefly, and it was like lightning buzzing through her limbs all the way down to her toes—like that heady, seductive sensation of using her abilities all Arynians were taught to oppose. There was every chance that Rian Sherron and the feelings he stirred in her were just like her powers—to be resisted at all cost lest she be lost to the high and become a slave to the addictive sensation. But unlike her abilities, she got the feeling that resisting the things Rian Sherron sparked within her would be much, much harder.
