Survivals Price

Chapter Three

Cybele ran down the hallway, glad she’d taken the time to scope out potential escape routes. Her breath came hard. He’d offered her far more fight than she’d anticipated, and for the first time she questioned whether or not she’d really be able to accomplish her mission.

This was no easy mark. He wasn’t ordinary in any way. She could still feel the bulb of his cock pushing against her, desperately seeking entrance to her body. A part of her wished he’d been able to find it. She should have been focusing on her escape, calculating the best way to get away, to disappear into the warrens of the spaceport.

Instead she kept imagining that hot, hard shaft sinking into her body.

He would stretch her open, pushing her almost to the point of pain before he hit bottom. Each little movement would pull at the sensitive walls of her cunt, scraping as she produced more and more moisture to accommodate him. Then he would thrust into her, pinning her beneath his body and fucking her until she screamed. She gasped, feeling herself flush. Just thinking about it was enough to bring her close to the edge.

She burst out the club’s back door, pushing her way through a group of startled dancers. She ran several meters down the busy corridor before noticing she was still naked except for the string between her legs.

She needed clothing, fast, or she’d start a riot.

She ran down the corridor, looking desperately for some kind of cover. She heard shrieks behind her, and knew he must be on her heels. She grinned against her will.

How long had it been since she’d faced a true challenge?

She saw an opening up ahead. There was another strip club, this one advertised by holos of naked women dancing and enticing the customers in the corridor. Perfect cover for a naked woman on the run… She ducked into the club. The bouncer, trained to stop men, not naked women, ignored her as she ducked toward the back. She heard a scuffle at the door as Damian tried to follow her. They would want to scan him and get a cover charge before they let him in. It was perfect.

She slowed her pace, moving through the club as if she had all the time in the world.

Nothing would make her stand out more than hurrying. She felt several men’s fingers clutch at her as she strolled past their tables, but she shook them off quickly.

She grabbed a waitress and asked her where the dressing rooms were.

The woman nodded toward the back of the stage, and Cybele made her way past yet another bouncer into the dancer’s rooms. He didn’t even notice she’d never been there before, thank the Goddess. Apparently he didn’t bother to learn the dancers’ faces. She strode into the dressing room, pulling open a locker at the far end. Another woman gave her a strange look, and Cybele snarled, “Don’t fuck with me, little girl.”

She gave a squawk and ran out of the room.

Cybele ignored her. Fortunately, she’d found a locker belonging to someone practical. She wore a serviceable and somewhat plain pair of pants and a tunic when she wasn’t dancing for money. Cybele pulled them on, then threw a shawl over her shoulders and made for the exit. She was almost out the club’s back door when she heard him crashing though the dressing room. She would have made a clean escape if the bitch she’d seen before hadn’t betrayed her.

“She went that way. She threatened me!” she heard the woman shout in the distance, and the she took off running again.

He was right behind her, and while she wasn’t attracting the same kind of attention now that she wore clothing, there seemed to be no shaking him. Faster and faster she ran, ducking through corridors and pushing people out of her way. Sooner or later he was going to corner her if she didn’t think of something.

It happened sooner.

One minute she had turned down a small, darkened corridor and the next he hit her like a fully loaded freighter, slamming her to the ground and knocking the breath out of her lungs. Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl away from him on her belly. He pinned her, his long arms reaching around to grip her wrists, holding her tight as she struggled in silence. Screaming wouldn’t accomplish anything, she knew that already. If the station guards learned she was an assassin, she’d rot in their nasty little hellhole of a jail. No way.

His hips thrust against her, rubbing the swell of his erection against her ass. She stilled, wondering if she could use that to her advantage. He prodded her once more, prompting a rush of heat in her own body. She wanted him just as much as she had back at the club, she thought in disgust. What the hell made him so attractive to her?

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only man who’s ever beaten you, her brain whispered insidiously.

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge it. He hadn’t beaten her yet.

He jammed one knee between hers and thrust her legs apart roughly. She shivered and moaned, pushing her butt up at him.

His hand reached between them, fumbling at her clothing. She heard a snicking sound, and then something cold touched her skin. She stilled. He had a knife. Was she wrong? Was he going to kill her now?

All too soon she learned the answer. The knife sliced neatly through her pants and thong. He pulled it away from her body, and then fumbled at his leathers.

She probably could have escaped at that moment if she wanted to, but all she could think about was how good it would feel to have him slide home within her. Then she felt it, the hot, hard round tip of his cock, poised at the mouth of her cunt. She expected him to say something, to play one of the silly games men and women used to communicate their lust. Instead, he thrust into her with all the strength of a man pushed to the limit. Every fiber of her stretched, and for a second the urge to scream was almost too strong to control. Slowly he pulled back, leaving a sense of gaping emptiness. She pushed back up at him, desperate for more.

He slammed into her again. She bucked up at him, forcing him to ride her as their bodies responded to each other. Within moments he had loosened his grip on her arms, and she rose to her hands and knees. It was easier to find leverage in this position. She thrust back at him harder, rocking her body into his with a force that sent shudders along her spine. Every nerve in her body connected along one tight, winding string, a cord that stretched tight with tension and sang out with need as he hit home. She heard a gasping noise, and then realized it came from her mouth. He filled her in a way that no other man had ever done, pushing her to the point of capacity and stretched just a little bit more. He was strong, just as strong as she was, and he wasn’t afraid to treat her roughly.

He was her perfect match.

Stories she’d heard from her mother, tales of perfect mates and true love, darted into her head. She might have snorted in disgust, but she couldn’t focus. All she could do was push back at him, again and again, their bodies slapping together with a force that should have rocked the entire station. Her heart pounded, and for one shining instant she thought she might die.

Suddenly it hit her with all the force of a sun exploding, wave after wave of release, pleasure beyond anything she’d experienced before. This was far more than the end of gnawing tension, far more than the relief of her own hand working in the night.

Certainly beyond any cock she’d ever felt.

Every fiber of her being cried out to her, telling her she needed him, she had to keep him close. She had to protect him. Where had that come from? She collapsed forward, feeling him pump into her, working toward his own pleasure. She knew she should help, but she couldn’t. She had no energy, no drive. She’d become a husk, a limp remnant of the woman she’d been two hours ago. She’d been bested by him physically and blown away by him sexually.

This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

He came with a shout, his body shuddering and covering hers, his hot seed hitting her cervix with such force she felt every surge. Then he collapsed over her, apparently as stunned as she was, and the sound of their harsh breathing filled the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” he asked softly after a long silence, and she shrugged her shoulders. She had no damn idea.

“Oh shit,” she muttered suddenly, closing her eyes in disgust. Now would be the perfect time to kill him. He might still be covering her, but there was no way he’d be able to stop her. His entire body was limp, defenseless as a child’s. He was hers.

She looked up at him and smiled, touching his face with one hand. His gaze was almost tender.

Just do it, she told herself. This is your job.

Her hand hardened and chopped toward his jugular. He blocked her without so much as blinking. It was only luck that she managed to buck him off an instant later. She leapt to her feet, and took off down the corridor. She darted a glance back to see if he was following, and didn’t even see the wall when she hit it. She dropped like a rock, unconscious.

* * * * *

How many hits could a woman survive without sustaining permanent damage? She was nothing like any woman he’d ever met, and he didn’t have a clue how to judge her strength… Of course, based on what he’d seen already, she wasn’t even human, Damian thought wryly. He picked up her limp body carefully, checking for a pulse as he smoothed back that thick, long hair.

He was pretty sure he knew who’d hired her. He’d taken five cargoes off Vaspar Bendren in the past year alone, and the man was close to bankruptcy. That didn’t bother Damian one bit. Bendren and his family had made their credits trading slaves before going legitimate, and he had no sympathy for them. Still, they were more desperate than he’d realized. Hiring an assassin was the act of a desperate man, one who didn’t have the strength to fight his own battles. He’d thought Bendren had balls, but apparently he’d been wrong.

At least Bendren chose well; she wasn’t the average assassin. Very few people knew how to wield an ionic whip. The discipline took training from the earliest years onward, and only those from families where the whip was an established tradition had any hope of mastering it. Who were her people?

Now wasn’t the time for answers, Damian reminded himself. He threw her over one shoulder and started back across the port toward his ship’s berth. It would be easier to interrogate her there, not to mention safer. He didn’t know what kind backup she might have, but he didn’t doubt she’d already paid off at least some of the port guards. Of course, so had he, but he didn’t want to test their loyalty. He’d always believed that a man easily bought once could be just as easily bought a second time…

The sight of a man carrying an unconscious woman through the port drew eyes, but a glare was enough to discourage those foolish enough to consider approaching him.

Still, it would only be a matter of time before the station guards arrived. He wanted to be on his ship, fully disengaged from the station’s locks with his weapons powered, before that happened.

That, along with an appropriate bribe, should be enough to smooth his way.

His crewmembers were wise enough to keep their mouths shut when they saw her.

He gave a terse order for his second to recall their men from the station and then took her to his cabin. Time to get some answers.

When she opened her eyes he was ready for her, sitting back in a comfortable chair, just waiting to see the look on her face when she realized her little game was up.

She didn’t disappoint him.

She came awake and tensed, her gaze darting around the room before coming to rest on him with malevolence and something like respect. She didn’t bother testing her bonds, at least not that he could see. She knew it was over.

“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked softly.

“I plan to do all kinds of things with you,” he said slowly. “But first, I’d like to know who sent you. I’m sure he had spies on the station and they’ll know that you’re my prisoner. Once he finds out, you’re nothing but a liability to him.”

“Let’s make a deal,” she said slowly. “I know you want me, and to be honest, I want you. Why don’t we call a truce and take advantage of the moment. This killing business is tiresome.”

“A truce can only come once I have the information I need,” he said. “I’m prepared to be generous. I’ll offer you the same amount he did, just for his name. You give it to me and then we can explore our…other…options.”

She smiled, and shook her head.

“You’ll get his name when I’m safely in a neutral place,” she said quietly.

“Otherwise I have a feeling I’ll never get off your ship. I want to live; you have to be able to understand that. After all, you’ve just spent a great deal of time and energy trying to preserve your own life. You can’t expect any less of me.”

He smiled, knowing she was right. It would be foolish of her to give up what little leverage she had, not that it mattered in this particular case. Of course, he didn’t plan to hurt her. Not unless she asked him to… But he still wouldn’t be letting her go. He’d never met a woman as magnificent as her. Letting her escape would be a crime against his ancestors.

He closed his eyes, savoring the image of her swollen with his child. What incredible children they could make together! Together they could take over the Empire…

He shook his head, letting the thought go. He’d find out who was trying to kill him when the next assassin struck. Until then he would bide his time, allowing her to think there might be some way to escape.

“That seems fair enough to me,” he said, running his heated gaze across her supine form.

The tattered remnants of her pants still hung from her hips, and the tunic exposed a tempting view of her muscular arms and lush cleavage. Without thinking, he licked his lips, and she smiled.

“Truce,” she said softly. She lifted her hips invitingly, and he grinned.

“Truce,” he repeated, and for some reason he believed her. She might be an assassin, but he didn’t think she’d try to hurt him after crying truce. There was a connection between them, and he knew instinctively that she felt it as strongly as he did. She wouldn’t try to kill him right now because she didn’t want him dead yet. It was as simple as that.

She wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to fuck her.

He stood and walked over toward her, leaning across the bed and resting an arm on either side of her head.

Then he lowered his head, slowly and deliberately, focusing on her lovely red lips.

Her tongue darted out to moisten them, and he caught a glimpse of her pearly white teeth. Those same teeth had marked his chin earlier. The thought of her strength made his cock leap, and he was ready again, just like that. As if he hadn’t already come two times that night, as if he hadn’t been forced to fight this woman for his very survival.

His lips sipped at her, drinking in her taste for the first time. She was sweet, soft, and it took all he had within himself to keep from laughing. How many women lived within her skin? Each time he touched her he discovered something different, something enticing.

Assassin or no, he was lucky to have found her.

Trusting his instincts, he lifted his head and smiled at her as he loosened her hands from the straps he’d used to bind them.

She smiled up at him, as if they shared some kind of joke, and he actually laughed out loud.

“This is so strange,” he said softly.

She shook her head, then wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down toward her.

“Don’t make me have to kill you,” she said softly into his ear. “We have a truce, remember? Let’s focus on the business at hand…”

She ran her arms down his back, and then gripped his butt firmly, squeezing him and pulling him close. Then she kissed him and he felt himself melting. He knew the more he let himself go, the more likely it was she’d turn on him and kill him.

Somehow that didn’t bother him, though. That little bit of danger, that touch of excitement, only added to her appeal.

He grinned when her legs came up around his waist. So much for restraining her. Her entire body was nothing but smooth, sleek muscle. She took good care of herself, far better care than most dancers. He should have known there was something different about her from the start… Of course, he had known, he thought wryly. He just hadn’t known how different she was.

His door pinged, and he gritted his teeth. He’d told them to leave him alone except for emergencies.

“Go away,” he said gruffly, but the door pinged again. It must be important.

She cocked an eyebrow at him as he stood. He strode over the door impatiently, slapping at the control to open it. His second, Everand, stood outside, face tense.

“We need you in the aft cargo hold,” he said without bothering to apologize. “It’s serious.”

Damian nodded tightly, and turned back toward his assassin. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tie me up again?” she asked languidly, eyes flickering past him to take in Everand’s tight face.

“Would they hold you?” he asked, his mouth quirking.

“No,” she replied shortly. “It’s more for form than anything.”

“Sir,” Everand said softly, but Damian raised a hand, cutting him off.

“Let’s go,” he said, moving through the door. “What’s the problem?”

“It seems that the we have some unstable materials mixed in with the textiles,”

Everand started to explain. “Karoli found them on a routine inspection. We’re damned lucky the whole thing hasn’t blown before now…”

* * * * *

Cybele watched Damian leave, noting the red light that flickered to life above the door as he sealed it. He was lucky such a seal couldn’t hold her prisoner, she thought.

He might be tough enough to out-fight her, but clearly his nature was too trusting. She had no idea how he’d survived so long.

She rose to her feet, looking about the cabin for something she could use as a weapon. She didn’t bother worrying about her tattered clothing. Damian had no female crewmembers; she’d stand out no matter what she wore. She’d have to make her escape without anyone seeing her or she’d have to kill them. No need to complicate things.

Her mouth twisted in amusement as she looked through his drawers, noting how untidy they were. In some ways, men were all the same. She found a small, antique mirror there, the kind made from glass. Why he had such a silly thing she couldn’t imagine, but it would serve her purpose. She broke it neatly against the corner of a drawer, then wrapped a scrap of fabric securely around one end. Not pretty, but it made a serviceable enough knife, and the heft would work for throwing.

She had the door open within seconds, slipping down the corridor silently. She was familiar with the ship’s design, had studied it extensively before planning her attack on him. The aft cargo hold would be easy enough to find. Everand had been a fool to let their destination slip out in front of her.

Neutralizing the target would be simple.

She crept down the hallways, always listening for others, but still moving quickly.

No time for hesitation, no time for doubt. She had work to do.

The aft cargo hold door was locked, but opening it was as easy as opening the seal on Damian’s cabin had been. Too trusting, she thought once more. Didn’t the man have any sense? How could he expect to survive with such lax security?

He couldn’t, she thought in dark disgust.

The door slid open, revealing Damian and Everand just a few meters away, hunched over a diagnostic handset. Everand turned and stepped away from Damian in surprise.

Then his eyes caught hers. He gasped.

Damian spun around, seeing her, and she raised the primitive knife. Everand reached down to his belt, reaching for a blaster a blaster. Instinct took over.

Raising the knife high, she gave a powerful cry and leaped toward the men. Her body hit Damian’s with enough force to knock him back into the piles of textiles. His eyes held betrayal and sadness, but she ignored his pain. Nothing mattered at that moment but the target.

She threw the awkward knife, wishing desperately that she had a weapon with better balance, but it was good enough. It caught Everand in the throat and he dropped, the blaster firing up at the ceiling as he went down. She turned to Damian.

He seemed stunned, his face filled with betrayal, and without thinking she slapped him right across the face. His instincts didn’t extend to protecting himself from his own crewmen, she realized.

“Get over it,” she said tightly. “He was going to kill you, you dolt. I had to stop him.”

He blinked his eyes, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Everand, your trusty second,” she said. “He was my client. He hired me to kill you, although I have no idea why.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked softly.

“Because I didn’t know he was on the ship with us until I saw him,” she replied.

“The idiot hired me in person. I knew as soon as I saw him that he’d have to kill you himself, before you found out he was my client.”

“You saved my life,” he said quietly, and she shook her head. For such an intelligent man, he didn’t seem to be grasping the situation very quickly.

“Of course I did,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I’m not done with you yet. You’ve got no idea how to take care of yourself, your security is pathetic. It’ll probably take me weeks just to go through your logs and make sure Everand didn’t have any help on board. After all, he’s not the one who led you to the club. We have to learn if the other men were in on the plot.”

He looked at her, utterly confused, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’ve made a decision, Damian,” she said. “I’m keeping you. You’ve got a lot to learn, but you’re still more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met. We belong together.”

He burst out laughing, and reached one hand up toward her. She pulled him up lightly, grinned at him and leaned forward to kiss him. Lust hit her again, and for a second she considered the pile of cloth, wondering what kind of bed it would make.

His gaze turned to Everand’s body, though, and her lust faded. Time to take care of the evidence.

“I think we should tell the crew I killed him,” he said. “They’ll understand if I say he challenged me for control of the ship. Challenges aren’t uncommon among smugglers, although I’ve never heard of an assassination attempt before. He must have realized it was the only way he’d be able to beat me.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just ashamed to be saved by a woman?”

“No, honored,” he replied. “But Everand had friends on board, and you’ll be able to find his co-conspirators more easily if they think you’re just a dancer I’ve picked up.”

“Well, let’s get the body cleaned up,” she said softly. “You’ve got explanations to make. I think it might be a good idea if we got out of port, too. Better if nobody has a chance to talk about what happened.”

“The next leg of our trip is a long one,” he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes.

“I just hope you aren’t too bored.”

She sauntered away from him, turning to look back flirtatiously over one shoulder.

“We’ll think of some way to pass the time.”

He grinned, and nodded his head. Then he a strange look came over his face. “What the hell is your name, anyway? I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Cybele,” she replied with a laugh. “I’m Saurellian. We’re different. Get used to it.”