The Taming Page 6

  But this—locking Torum out of his own ship—this was the height of impulsiveness.

  This was reckless. Far more reckless than that kiss.

  The punishment would be far worse. He’d only just finished telling her about consequences.

  “Consequences, Torum. This is the consequence of your rudeness,” she shouted at the window.

  As if on cue, his face appeared in the circular porthole, twisted in a frenzy of wrath against the setting sun.

  He smashed his fist against the porthole again, shouting and cursing, hardly a rousing inducement to let him in.

  She made a face. “Sorry, Torum,” she shouted. “I’ve had enough of your bellowing. I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down, and we can have a rational discussion about this.”

  He slammed his flat palm against the glass so hard she jumped.

  “None of that now, Torum. If you want to come back in, you’ll have to get a hold of yourself.”

  He snarled.

  She waggled her finger one last time and hobbled down the passageway toward the bridge. She’d watched him enter the codes on the foreign buttons. The comm surged to life, buzzing as it contacted Agammo’s house. To no avail. No one answered. Her heart plummeted. Where was he?

  More bangs sounded from the back of the ship.

  Staring at the vast array of controls with labels like thermal, propulsion, and actuator, she had no choice but to accept a single fact.

  Flying a spaceship was beyond her current skill set. She’d learned quite a lot in school, but the knowledge she most needed on this adventure—Vestigi curse words and operation of a spaceship—had been omitted.

  If she tried to fly this thing, she could end up lost somewhere in the vacuum of space, overtaken by space-pirates, running out of fuel in the fringe galaxies.

  She shuddered.

  Eventually, she’d have to let him back in.

  He’d probably kill her.

  But not until she’d had a bath. She abjectly refused to die sweaty.

  The bathing chamber was dark and quiet, and insulated from his rattles and bangs.

  When she slathered her feet with soap and rinsed away the blood, it stung to blazes. A whole layer of skin had rubbed off the backs of her heels, the sides of her toes, and the top where the slippers had pinched. It left new skin, hot pink, shiny, and tender.

  She rinsed the shoes and tossed them into the corner to dry. Her dress was a mess, coated with river water, sweat, and dust. She washed it out and hung it up.

  Occasionally, bangs and bashes echoed along the sides of the ship. Torum, no doubt, searching for weaknesses on his vessel. Pray all the gods he didn’t find one. Not yet.

  She took her time in the great pool, enjoying the warmth of the water washing away the dirt and grime, the soothing room with its dark walls and dim lights, the herbal aromas.

  She huffed out a long sigh, running a trail of soapy bubbles up her arm.

  Her flowers, perky now, with their long white tendrils of leaves and blue petals, sat in the corner, reminding her that he’d watered them only that morning. Such a strangely thoughtful action, from a man so volatile and erratic.

  And that kiss. Dark and sinfully delicious. And dangerous. The girls at the Institute had whispered about kisses, and she had asked Agammo to show her how, but he’d always been steadfast in his resolve that they wait until their Bonding.

  Oh, Agammo. She thought of his soft hands and gentle smiles.

  She’d betrayed him with that kiss.

  A loud bang came from the back of the ship, and she lurched, sloshing water over the sides of the pool.

  She’d have to face him eventually.

  No sense prolonging the worrying. Worrying was almost always the worst part of anything.

  Time to face him.

  She emerged from the pool and dried off. Her wet dress lay on the black tile floor. The thought of putting it back on was appalling. Even worse was the idea of the itchy dress with its high neck and long sleeves.

  He’d told her to ask for everything she needed, but he could hardly get any angrier. And it wasn’t as if she could ask him now.

  Another bang.

  With the towel wrapped around her chest, she peeked into the hallway. His angry face filled the porthole. The sight of her in the passageway brought on a renewed frenzy of shouts and bangs.

  That sealed it. She might as well do as she liked and let him get over all his anger in one go.

  She ducked into his chamber and rummaged around until she found a fresh shirt and a pair of clean socks.

  The socks were far too big, but they were soft, and they’d keep her wounds clean until she found a medi kit.

  When she dropped the soft garment over her head, she sighed. Heavenly. Cool and roomy and falling well past mid-thigh. A far cry from the tight, staid gowns she’d always worn. The sleeves had to be cuffed up several times to free her hands. She walked down the passageway, running her fingers through her damp hair to comb it.

  She approached the porthole at the hatch at the entrance to the ship. Torum’s face filled the space, the sky darkening behind him.

  He didn’t say anything, just glared through the glass. He’d removed his sunglasses, and those dark eyes burned into her. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes blazed. His nostrils flared.

  Her skin prickled in fear, and she took a step backward.

  Fury poured through the glass.

  “I’ll let you in, Torum, but I need your word that you won’t hurt me.”

  A muscle below his eye tightened.

  “Swear you won’t be mad?”

  He didn’t even flinch. “You will have to let me in at some point. And if that point is anything more than...” His mouth shifted into a snarl. “Five. Fucking. Seconds.” He accentuated each word with a hard slam of his fist against the hull. “From. Now. I. Will.” Bang. “Be.” Bang. “Furious.”

  Her blood chilled, and her mouth went dry.

  Maybe he could stay out there overnight and think about calming down. She backed away a step.

  The blue of the sky behind him was giving way to star-speckled black as night claimed the surface of this moonless planet.

  A vein bulged on his neck.

  He shouted incomprehensible words that she tried to ignore.

  He looked over his shoulder, slamming his fist against the glass again. “Let me the fuck in, Klymeni!”

  Something crashed against the hull of the ship.

  Another crash.

  He ducked down, raising his arms up to cover his head.

  “Open the door. Now.”

  He looked almost scared. And that, more than anything, scared her.

  Her fingers shook, scrabbling against the hatch as she slid it open.

  The hatch had barely slid inward an inch before he shoved his way inside with so much force that she fell back and landed on her bottom with a thud that sent the air from her lungs.

  He didn’t spare her a glance, cursing, slamming the door, a whirlwind of dark hair and tattoos and a furious face.

  He stormed down the passageway, shirt torn and stained, dark with red. He grabbed something from a closet. A constant stream of black curses filled the air.

  The fact that he hadn’t bothered to even look at her was somehow even more frightening. What had him so worried?

  Whatever it was, lashed against the hull of the ship. Thwack. Thwackthwack Thwackthwackthwackthwack.

  She cringed against the bulkhead as he cocked a rezal and threw open the hatch. A small black box clicked on with a hiss, and emitted a force field in an electric-blue grid.

  Furious cawing rent the night sky as he dropped the box in the entryway and disappeared into the darkness.

  Rezal blasts and angry screeching.

  8

  Mad, amiera?

  TOR LIFTED THE BODY bag into his arms and carried Jasto down the passageway toward the cabin Klymeni had slept in the night before. The ship’s cold air dried the sweat on his back but
did nothing to cool his temper.

  He was shaking, every muscle in his body, and the shaking had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

  He’d never hurt a woman in his life, but he was sorely tempted. If she were a man, she’d already be dead.

  He lowered the torn vacubag, with its slashed-up, mutilated corpse on the bed in the bunk that had once been Jasto’s.

  There could be no open funeral now. His wife would be denied a final look at the man she’d loved.

  Klymeni hovered in the passageway behind him.

  He rounded on her, panting with the effort to control his fury.

  She recoiled.

  He stalked toward her, his boots echoing in the silent ship, and she backed away, shaking her head fast.

  “Are you out of your mind?” He hissed, closing his hand around her neck, and backing her up against the wall of the passageway, hard enough that her teeth chattered. “You nearly killed me. And what the fuck am I supposed to tell Jasto’s wife?”

  “Y-you p-p-promised not to hurt me.”

  He loosened his grip on her neck.

  “I’m s-s-sorry.” She sank her little nails into his wrists, trying to loosen his grip. “You just made me so mad.”

  His fingers tightened against his will, lifting her higher. “Mad, amiera?” he hissed. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Her eyes widened, her hands clutching at his wrists, fumbling to get him to loosen his grip.

  Slowly, he relaxed the pressure, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and hauled her down the passageway to a supply closet that held a spare length of rope. Always handy, rope. He grabbed a length on their way past.

  “W-what happened out there? What was that?”

  He propelled her into the galley, holding her by the scruff of the neck with one hand. “I’ll show you.”

  A frown appeared between her dainty brows, and she kept on tugging at his hands, making pants of frustration. He kept his grip on her hair iron tight as he pulled her down the passageway. She stumbled along behind him.

  The force field was still in place, creating a nice twenty-foot area that the birds couldn’t touch. But beyond it, they tossed about bits of Jasto and pecked at the blood-soaked dust.

  Carnage.

  “You see that?” He held her firm by the back of her neck, his hand tightening, shaking. “Those are the bits of Jasto I didn’t manage to collect. They’re feasting on him. That’s his hand over there. And if you look closer, that mess is what’s left of his kidneys.”

  She shook in his grip, twisting, trying to get free.

  The birds cackled and cawed.

  “You did that,” he roared. “You fucking did that. That’s on you!”

  “Please! I’m sorry,” she shouted, bucking against him, but he held her still, let her see the red eyes, the sharp beaks, the razor talons.

  “Can you fly a ship?” He shook her by the neck. “Can you?”

  “N-no. No! I c-can’t.”

  “Then we would both be dead.”

  Finally, when there was nothing left and the birds returned their sights to the force field and the ship, launching their bodies against it in a chorus of metallic thuds, he tugged her inside, grabbed the force field projector and pulled the hatch shut.

  Birds hit the porthole with wet thuds.

  She stopped moving, hanging in his grasp, shaking.

  Disgusted with both of them, he dragged her, pale-faced, down the passageway to his cabin. Shoved her down on his bed with a rough hand to the small of her back, the shirt hiked up around her thighs as she kicked out with her feet. She landed a kick to his shoulder. Growling, he grabbed her wrists in his hands and dragged her arms over her head, holding them tight with one hand.

  “You have pushed me beyond reason, woman.”

  She shook while he tied her hands together and lashed them to one post of the bed. The whites around her eyes were clearly visible, mouth open, but soundless.

  “If you make a sound, if you move a muscle, if you so much as twitch...” He lowered his mouth to her ear, voice almost a whisper. “I swear on all the gods, Klymeni, I will not be responsible for what I do to you.”

  Her breasts heaved beneath the shirt she wore. His shirt. His thin shirt. Everything she put on was practically see-through.

  “Nod so I know you understand me.”

  She nodded, jerky and fast, breath gushing out.

  He patted her cheek and rose to his full height, studying her.

  Engine oil, sweat, and now blood stained her cheeks and neck where he’d touched her.

  He traced a finger down the valley between her breasts, smearing blood on the shirt, watching her lips quiver. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  He was filthy. He yanked his shirt over his head.

  He’d never been aroused before while this pissed off, or by a scared woman, nor yet by one who was tied up, but there were firsts for everything.

  When he dropped his pants, her gaze dropped lower, terrified eyes settling on his swollen, pulsing cock, as angry as the rest of him.

  “Please don’t, please, I... you can’t,” she cried out.

  “What did I say about talking? You locked me out of my ship.” His voice was hoarse. “Jasto’s body just got mangled. What did you think would happen?” His voice sounded far calmer than he felt. “I told you not to speak. You did. So, I will gag you.” He grabbed a pair of socks from his closet, pulled one free and shoved it into her mouth.

  She made muffled noises around the make-shift gag, tossing on the bed, feet kicking as she tugged at the bindings over her head.

  The shirt tugged higher. High enough for him to catch a glimpse between her thighs, pretty and pink.

  He stared down at her soft flesh, and she stared up at him, breathing furiously behind the gag.

  He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door, too angry to even look at her again.

  What would he say to Syena? Your husband is dead, and I let his corpse get eaten by blood-sucking birds.

  And what the hell was he going to do with this manic woman? As much as she pissed him off, he’d be goddamned if he’d turn her over to the Alliance and their torture doctors. He couldn’t kill her. But he damned well could chain her up until he got to a peace planet so he could let her father deal with her.

  Vaniiya, if he let this woman bring him this low, he’d make a piss-poor regio indeed.

  The ship had a brig, but it was dark. No bed. Just four walls and a toilet. Besides, he’d dismantled the cams when Spiro’s charming brother had locked him in there. She’d be scared shitless.

  He lowered himself into the bathing pool, the skin of his back burning where the birds had raked into him.

  The hot water helped relax his stiff shoulders and back, but it did nothing to help his cock. Nor did seeing the flimsy dress hanging, wet and sheer, over a cabinet door. It reminded him of her tits. Her tits that had touched this water.

  He scowled at the briganti sponge that skulked in the corner of the pool. It spread a tentacle toward him. The thing kept the water in the pool filtered, eating impurities. It had probably been hungry in his absence. He shoved some bloody water its way.

  His idiot mind kept on calling up the sight of her, tied to his bed. Arms up high, back arched as she tossed and turned fighting him, hard nipples poking against the too-thin fabric, his shirt riding up high between her legs with every twist of her perfect body.

  He dropped his head back and stroked his hand over his cock.

  She was upsetting his entire life. His entire existence. She was driving him crazy. And Tamminia and the regioship sat there mocking him, an oppressive weight in the back of his mind.

  Something had to give.

  He stroked his hand higher, tugging on his balls with his other hand. His breath came faster. Images flashed through his mind of all the things he’d like to do to her. Turn her over on the bed, hold her down, spank her until she cried out for him.

  He grunted.

 
He could practically see the wet lust in her wide gray eyes, feel the press of her, hot against him as she writhed and panted, begging for him. Anyone who’d kick a man like him, and lock him out of his own ship, would be fire in bed.

  He stroked faster, hips moving, pretending the heat of the water was her body spasming around him. With a final grunt, he pumped out his release and dropped his head to rest against the sides of the pool.

  It was a release, but it wasn’t enough. His cock stayed hard, and he stayed frustrated.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, he brought her dinner and a big glass of water.

  She’d been crying. Hard. Her face was red and blotchy. Cheeks streaked with tears she couldn’t wipe away with her hands tied over her head. She’d still not managed to lower the shirt. It now snuggled around the small of her waist, leaving the entire flare of her hips on display. Her legs clenched when he entered the cabin. She had, however, managed to spit out his sock. It lay, innocuous, on her left breast.

  “I’m going to untie you now. For five minutes. You can eat. Use the bathing chamber. And then your ass is coming back here, where I will retie you.”

  “I’m sorry about that man’s body.”

  He looked away, hating the image that came to mind of one of the black birds landing on Jasto’s body, tearing through the vacubag, coming away with a reddened beak. He’d need to move Jasto to a new vacubag for the rest of the trip, or the smell would become a problem.

  Her lip wobbled. “I didn’t know. She shifted in her bonds like she wanted to reach for him. “He was your friend?”

  “Family.”

  She didn’t speak, but the look in her eyes told him she knew about loss, and since she came from Argentus, he imagined she did.

  “You ready to eat?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “A-am I to sleep here?”

  “Like I said, I don’t trust you. Fuck knows what you might do while I sleep.”

  She sucked in her lower lip. “Where will you sleep?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Right here, amiera. My bed. You’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Her brows flicked up ever so slightly.

  “Did you think I’m the guy who sleeps on the floor? I’m not.”

  She didn’t answer. Just finished her rations in silence, and followed him dutifully down the hall to the comm.