Bayne Page 2

Like they had a choice. Like she had a choice. She knew what he had come here for. She had agreed to surrender her body in exchange for him giving her people more time. In time, her uncle would have made a marriage on a similar exchange—she’d never had any dream of wedding for love, not since her father died and stole the last of that emotion from her life.

  Malia watched Bayne unfasten his scabbard and drape it unceremoniously on one of the dining chairs. She should do something, say something. She plucked at her dress, uncertain as to what her role should be. He laid a holster on the table.

  “Should I help you undress, my lord?”

  Again, that brief, startled look crossed his face. He stared at her a moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”

  She went to him, standing under that dark, intense gaze she couldn’t fathom, and tried to figure out the odd buckles that closed his jacket. He lifted a hand and placed it over hers, going through the motion.

  “I see,” she said. His hand dropped and he remained passive as she unclipped them. That done, she cast him a shy glance. “May I remove your jacket?”

  His jaw clenched and he looked away. “If you promise not to scream, then yes.”

  Why would she… Oh. Removing the heavy leather revealed that his left arm was not an arm at all. Or at least, not a human one. The bones were steel rods, bound together by wire tendons and jointed by gears and pistons. At his shoulder, flesh and metal merged. The right side of his torso was smooth and flawless, the left… Malia touched the framework that covered his chest to the sternum like an outer ribcage. Beneath the steel bars, his skin was pale and puckered, shiny like an old scar.

  “What happened to you?” she murmured, lifting her eyes to his face.

  Her gaze was met by one of barely contained anger. She blinked—what had she done wrong? Should she not have asked? She stepped back, only to have him grab her wrist with his left hand. Metal fingers dug into her skin and she gasped.

  “Still feel sorry for me?” he snarled, face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “I didn’t—”

  He caught her dress in his other hand and yanked. The fabric gave, tearing from the neckline down to expose her breasts. Bayne stared then gave her a heated glare. “Your body is all I desire. Take the dress off.”

  She stumbled as he released her. Fear collided with panic in her chest and she wanted to run. But where could she go? There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

  And she had promised him.

  Hands shaking, she stripped off her dress and underclothes. He barely gave her a glance, just grabbed her wrist again and dragged her to the bedroom, shoved her toward the bed. No gentleness, then. Perhaps had she not angered him he’d have been kinder, though she still didn’t know what she’d done to rile him.

  Malia folded her arms across her chest, shivering as she watched Bayne undress. Their deal, her sacrifice: her body in exchange for him not destroying her world. Desperation had driven that offer and he was clearly not about to turn it down.

  He turned to her, dark intent on his face. She had promised. A deal was a deal. As he approached, she loosened her embrace, closed her eyes, and clung to the memory of her mother. It was all she could do as he snatched her offering from her hands.

  Three

  “My chambers are yours, for the moment.” Bayne pulled on his jacket and fastened it up. His expression was bland, barely no sign of what had happened, what had ended just moments before. “You will remain here.”

  Malia stared at him. Where did he think she was going to go? He caught her look and stilled. She lowered her gaze and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

  Pain throbbed between her legs. He hadn’t been gentle, but then she’d not really expected him to be. A little kindness would have been nice, but something dark had driven him and she had borne its brunt. However, he didn’t seem very satisfied by the sex, which left her wondering what the point was.

  “Some provision could be made for you, however, they will not be of a satisfactory quality, and I will not have my consort seen until she looks the part. I will see to that when we reach the space station.”

  She blinked at him. “Consort?”

  “It’s better than concubine, is it not?”

  “I suppose so.” She didn’t think the label really mattered. “I had not thought I would be anything. It’s only for fifteen days.”

  “Appearances always matter, Malia.”

  She jolted at her name. He’d not used it once during sex, and she’d started to wonder if he’d forgotten it. It would seem not. “If my lord says so, then it must be so.”

  “Your lord does.” His manner was curious, almost…friendly. Contrary to the black anger with which he’d forced his attentions on her. Something flickered over his face, too quick for her to identify, but his expression softened a little. “Rest,” he told her. “Use the bathroom. Everything within these walls is at your disposal.”

  “Thank you.”

  He opened his mouth, but then shook his head and left without another word. Malia stared at the closed door. What had that been about?

  ~*~

  Sex was something Bayne usually enjoyed. There was nothing quite like losing himself in the feminine curves of a woman’s body. And Malia’s was definitely curvy—firm breasts with rosy nipples, generous hips, a round ass—and she’d fitted around him well. He’d climaxed within her pulsing walls, but something had been missing from that culmination.

  He should not have lost his temper.

  She had not cried out, yet he knew the sex had been too rough. Anger had blinded him to the taut way in which she’d held her body, to her soft grunts of complaint. Now that emotion had passed, he could not evade what he’d done. Yes, it had been the deal. Yes, she owed him. But she had seemed willing up to the point he’d angered at her reaction to his inhumanity.

  Had she pitied him? There had been a quiet horror in her sea green eyes, but she had not recoiled from the prosthetics. No, she had been curious, but not morbidly so. Perhaps he should have told her. He definitely should not have lost his temper.

  Bayne stopped in the corridor, torn between his duty and righting things with Malia, or at least explaining his reaction. But duty called and could not be ignored. He would do what was necessary and delegate the rest.

  She owed him, by choice, but that did not mean he had to grab what she offered. He would prove to her he could be a man and not a machine.

  ~*~

  After a few minutes, Malia gathered her wits and rose from the bed. The pearl gray sheet was stained with sweat and worse, repelling her. With an angry yell, she tore the sheet off the mattress and threw it across the room. She stood there, panting with exertion but feeling no better. Yet what was the point in feeling betrayed? He’d not promised her anything. His deal was with her homeworld and she’d merely sealed the exchange.

  Had they argued? Her uncle wouldn’t, that she knew. He would have happily turned her over to Bayne no matter what. She’d been nothing but a burden—he’d told her that often enough. But did anyone care about what she’d done? Did it matter to anyone? Or did they just count their lucky stars for the reprieve and not consider what she might suffer?

  Bitterness swamped her. With it came a crushing loneliness and the helpless realization she was stuck with Bayne for another fourteen days. That she would have to give him whatever he wanted. She had thought she was used to not mattering, but it seemed there was a lower level still. Malia sighed and trailed through the chambers to the bathroom.

  Smooth, mottled gray tiles covered the walls and floor, while the entire ceiling was lit up in a soft glow that threw a calming light over the room. Pipes fed a double sink and drained waste from the lavatory. In the middle of the room, the floor sank to form a large, round bath. Technology wasn’t something her uncle had bothered with as he considered it too expensive to purchase and even more costly to run, and he’d enough on with an extra mouth to feed. As if she never worked, never brought in a p
enny. As if she didn’t feed herself and him.

  Malia pushed the memories away and turned a spigot. Hot water gushed out, filling the bath and combining with the lavender oil she added, having found several bottles of fragrance on a shelf. Hopefully the essence would ease her aching muscles and calm her turbulent thoughts.

  Sliding into the warm water, she gave a long sigh and lay back. Her limbs were buoyed by the sheer volume of water and she closed her eyes as she floated. For all that she knew the ship was in space, there was no sensation of movement. No indication at all, unless she discounted the constant drone of the engines. She felt displaced, disconnected; as if nothing existed beyond the bubble of Bayne’s chambers.

  Bayne.

  Her thoughts returned to him, to the roughness of the sex. She’d not been ready and it had hurt, yet she had not begged him to stop. Would he have? At the time, her silence had been part of the sacrifice she made for her people, yet before he left Bayne had exuded a very different aura, one that made her wonder if he was more than the remorseless Overlord.

  Not that it mattered—she had given herself to him and he could do with her as he wished. That was the crux of the situation. There was no point in thinking about it—she just had to accept and endure.

  Malia sighed and set to washing herself. The bath made a vast difference from her accustomed vat warmed over a fire, and she used the opportunity to get really, thoroughly clean—scrubbing her skin until it smarted and washing her hair three times. When she clambered out of the bath, the color of the water made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. How had Bayne even wanted her when she was that filthy?

  She dried off and found a brush. It took several minutes to untangle her hair, and her arm ached by the time she was done. Wandering into the bedroom, she found that the soiled sheet had vanished and that a fresh one had been put on the mattress. That was not all—on the bed lay a set of clean clothes. They had to be meant for her. She went over and found underclothes, a pair of dark gray trousers, and a pale blue shirt.

  A uniform, perhaps for downtime? She didn’t know, any more than she knew who had left the garments. With a shrug, she pulled the clothing on. They were a little loose, but better than wandering around naked. She adjusted them as best as she could, then dropped into a chair in the living room, nothing to do other than wait for Bayne.

  ~*~

  “My lord, a moment?”

  Bayne glanced up at Grieves. The man had been formally stiff since the ship had left Terranis, and now disapproval came off him in waves.

  “What is it?”

  “I… do not question your decisions, my lord, but do you truly believe it wise to give Terranis such leeway?”

  With a shrug, he returned, “Why would I not?”

  “Sir, I fear they will organize a rebellion if given the chance.”

  Bayne raised an eyebrow. “Did you see any weaponry?” The officer shook his head. “Any battlements?” Another shake. “Then whatever gave you the idea they might rebel? I have the sworn word of their mayor that tribute will be ready, and one of their own as ransom.”

  “The girl.” Grieves did not bother to disguise his disgust. “I should have shot her for such insolence.”

  The sword was in Bayne’s hand before he’d even thought about it. “And what of yours?”

  The man backed up, hands aloft. “I mean no disrespect to you, Lord Bayne. But that girl—”

  “Tell me, lieutenant, would you offer your life for your comrades?”

  “Of course, my lord! But… I am a captain.”

  “Not any more, you aren’t. And if you do not wish to lose another rank, you will not challenge me in regard to her again. It was not insolence that made her kneel before me and beg for the lives of her people, but loyalty. She has made a sacrifice you cannot even begin to fathom, so don’t you dare decry her. Do not dare.”

  Bayne stalked off the bridge, furious. Oh, Grieves had spoken out of turn, and undoubtedly out of a discriminatory attitude, but he only voiced concerns Bayne had considered. Most of his anger was at himself for thinking those things, and for what he had done to Malia.

  He had punished her for a pity she had not expressed, lashed out over her willingness to give herself away for people who cared nothing for her, when he would have treasured half of that.

  Except he hadn’t. He had not treasured her sacrifice, but flung it in her face.

  It wasn’t her fault. Bayne stopped at the door to his chambers and closed his eyes. Remembering was always painful and his left arm seemed to throb when he recalled flames and smoke and screams. She had no idea she had called him back, no idea that Terranis was the last place in all the worlds he owned he wished to revisit. She’d not thought to ask him why it had been so long since he’d claimed their tribute. Should he tell her?

  He activated the door and went in.

  Malia rose from her seat at the table. The off duty uniform fitted badly and made her look even more out of place than the dress had. Her face was pale, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Probably expecting him to launch across the room and assault her.

  “Please sit down, Malia.” He sighed and sank to a chair himself. She hovered a moment, then sat down. He gave her a wan smile. “Thank you.”

  She frowned and worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. Tension emanated across the table—her body virtually quivering with nerves. She swallowed, licked her lips, then plaited her fingers together.

  “Is… is something wrong, my lord?”

  “Yes. You can stop that, for starters. I…made an arrangement. I didn’t buy a servant.”

  She blinked. “My lord?”

  “Bayne,” he said firmly. “You can manage that, can’t you, Malia?”

  A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Yes, my lord.”

  The little minx. He fought back a smile of his own. “Then do so before I pull you across my knee and slap that luscious behind of yours.”

  Her eyes widened and a slash of pink colored her cheeks. “Bayne,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought…I did offer myself.”

  “Yes, you did and that was the mistake we both made before.” He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the pommel of his sword. “I believed you pitied me and that made me angry. I acted in haste, and I apologize for how I treated you.”

  Her fingers tightened, the knuckles of her hands turning white. “I gave myself to you. What you did was what you were entitled to.”

  “Do I seem that much of a monster to you?”

  Malia’s head jerked up. Wide eyes fixed on his face, her lips parted. She flushed, then paled, then looked back to her hands. “You are… Bayne, the Destroyer of Worlds. Terranis owes you tribute and you would…would have destroyed it.” She loosened her hands and laid them flat on the table. Her eyes, when she lifted her head, sparked like sunlight on the sea. “You would have killed us all, had I not intervened. You cannot deny that.”

  It was true. “No, I cannot.”

  “Then why ask me that? Of course I see you as a monster! But not because of your arm, Bayne—even with that you are the most beautiful thing I’ve laid eyes on—but your heart?” She laughed, hard and harsh. “If you have one, it is uglier than your outward scars.”

  He stared at her as she rose, throwing his apology in his face. Anger flared and he scrambled to his feet. “Do not talk to me like that!”

  “Or what, my lord?” Her voice poured scorn and her expression twisted in disdain. “Will you force your attentions on me again? Will you beat me? I tell you now I will suffer those things and gladly, while you prove yourself nothing more than the evil creature you are!”

  Bayne roared and lunged forward. Malia did not back away, nor did she flinch. Instead she lifted her chin and glared at him. He stopped dead, hand frozen halfway to her cheek. No. He would not give into the anger surging through him. He was more than that.

  And damn it all, he would prove it to her.

  Four

  She’d fu
lly expected him to hit her. Hell, he lifted a hand, murderous intent on his face. Holding her ground had been difficult but, apparently, worth it. He backed down.

  Malia watched him storm out of the chambers. Once the door closed behind him, her knees gave and she collapsed to the floor. Her eyes stung, but she was too drained to cry. She had no energy for anything.

  She fell asleep.

  A hollow metal thudding roused her. The deck beneath her shuddered then the soft hum of the engines died. Though the chamber was soundproofed, that dampening couldn’t cut out the sounds transmitted through the structure itself. She could hear the click of cooling metal, feel the faint vibrations of the docking shoots attaching to the hull.

  They’d arrived at the space station.

  However long she’d slept was enough to stiffen her joints. She got slowly to her feet and stretched, feeling the pull of aching muscles. Thirst drove her into the bathroom where she found a metal cup. She sluiced it with hot water, then cold, then filled it again before gulping the liquid down. It lay heavy in her empty stomach, reminding her she’d not eaten for hours. So much for provisions being made.

  Malia gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her pale reflection. I didn’t sign up for this.

  But what had she thought? Her only consideration had been saving her world. She hadn’t spared a thought for what Bayne would do to her, how he would treat her. Enough was enough. She’d suffered more years of abuse at the hands of her uncle than she cared to remember. She was not willing to give herself over to worse from Bayne.

  A soft laugh escaped at the thought of their argument, at the pleasure she’d taken in challenging him. She was proud of the fact she’d not cowered before him. He, like every other bully she’d experienced, had backed down as soon as he’d realized she would not be walked over.

  No, definitely not—he deserved a lesson in behavior and manners, starting with his misconception that she would meekly sit around waiting for him to return and abuse her further. With that in mind, Malia walked over to the closet and opened it. It was filled with uniforms, for more occasions than she could imagine, but her target was the array of footwear.