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On one hand, there was no rule on the Mother Ship against dating coworkers. But on the other hand, Thrax was a Hybrid and they usually couldn’t Bond a woman to them. Andi didn’t know how necessary a Soul Bond was—she’d never had one of course. But she knew that the Kindred considered them to be absolutely essential and didn’t feel like any kind of marriage or “Joining” as they called it was complete without one.
Listen to you, she scoffed at herself. Thinking about marriage already when the two of you have barely established that you feel something besides friendship for each other.
But honestly, it was the only option with Kindred. They didn’t do the friends with benefits thing very well—mostly because a lot of them couldn’t make love to a woman without at least trying to Bond her to them. Though a few could—she remembered Thrax saying that he could have sex with a woman—even knot her—and not worry about having to Bond because he would also have to bite her and inject his essence in order to complete the process.
Just the thought of that—of having her partner’s big, muscular body covering her own as he thrust his long, thick shaft inside her and pierced her throat with his fangs made Andi feel hot and bothered.
Stop it—stop thinking about that, she told herself fiercely. Now isn’t the time to be horny—you need to concentrate on completing the mission. Once it’s done and everyone is safely back on board the Mother Ship you can worry about having more than just a friendship with Thrax.
Probably it was just the Fume again, messing with her hormones and making her hot, Andi told herself. But the image of Thrax covering her with his big body and piercing her throat with his fangs just wouldn’t leave her mind. They had looked so long and sharp when he got up to go take a shower, like they always did when he was thirsty for blood. And her growly, brooding partner always got even darker when his Thirst was bad. But unfortunately, there were no donors he could go to here to get his “fix” of blood.
Or were there?
An idea began to form in Andi’s mind. A way to make her partner feel better—even if only for a little while.
She just hoped it wouldn’t hurt too badly…
22
THRAX
Thrax soaped and scrubbed himself with the long-handled bristle-brush he found hanging in the shower stall three times with scalding water before he could bear to get out. Even as he was drying off with the fluffy, blood-red towel he’d found hanging on the rack, he still felt dirty.
He almost ducked back into the stall and had another shower…but then he forced himself to admit that he would just be wasting time if he did. Nothing in the world could make him feel clean now that he had fully remembered his past—a past he’d been desperately trying to bury for the last twenty years of his life.
He finished drying off and then looked balefully at the crotchless leather trousers he’d peeled off. He really didn’t want to put the damn things back on. It made him feel too fucking vulnerable to have his shaft and balls swinging in the wind like that.
Luckily, when he opened the cupboard beside the sink, he found a pair of long gray sleep trousers that looked like they would fit him. Maybe they were part of the “hospitality gift” from Queen Itchy Panties, he thought grimly. If so, he and Andi had certainly paid the price for them.
He couldn’t forget the look in his partner’s eyes when she’d sucked him off…or the horror on her lovely face when he’d admitted what had been done to him and how he had survived.
He’d been trapped for months on Yonnie Six, caught in the seventh level of the Seven Hells being tortured and sexually teased by turns until Mistress Stoneheart had decided he was “fully trained.” She’d been about to sell him to another Mistress who wanted a new bodyslave and she had taken him out shopping for a new pain collar to mark the occasion.
That was when luck—and possibly the Goddess—had intervened. There had been an accident right outside the storefront just at the moment that Thrax’s old collar was removed and before the clerk put the new one on. Everyone went to the window to see the two hovercars that had collided in midair with each other and he had taken the opportunity to slip out through the back of the store and into the alley behind it.
By the time Mistress Stoneheart had realized he was missing, Thrax had already stolen a ship and was flying out of the Yonnie Six atmosphere. He had gone home and never spoken of his ordeal—not even to his friend Braze, who had also been captured and sold.
Some things just didn’t bear talking about—for him anyway. Braze had talked guardedly of his own situation and Thrax had gotten the impression that his friend had had a totally different experience with Mistress Sweetwater—who he actually spoke fondly about—than the one Thrax’d had with Mistress Stoneheart.
Shortly after getting home, Thrax had gotten his first tattoo—a thick black swirl at the small of his back to cover the brand of ownership his Mistress had put on him. He had vowed to cover the memory of what she had done as thoroughly as the ink covered her brand and in the years that followed, he believed he had succeeded.
Until this fucking mission brought everything roaring back, that was.
Thrax sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as he looked at himself in the viewer. He’d gotten all of the eye make-up off, at least—that was something. And he felt a hell of a lot better without that fucking tail inside him—it was currently buried in the trash receptacle. But the eyes that looked back at him from the viewer had a hunted, haunted look and his fangs were about twice as sharp as usual.
That wasn’t surprising, given that the Thirst was now tormenting him, despite the fact that he’d taken several drinks of water in the shower. But of course, it wasn’t water he was thirsty for—it was blood. The Pitch-Blood Kindred part of him was crying out for nourishment and Thrax couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Should have gone to a donor again before we left, he thought, staring at his long, sharp fangs—the living embodiment of his Thirst. But he hadn’t known how fucking emotionally taxing the mission would be. He had often observed that his Thirst grew worse when life got difficult, and meeting his old Mistress again and being forced to remember his past was about as difficult as it got.
Hell, he would probably still be thirsty even if he’d drunk a gallon of blood before he left—not that he needed nearly that much to survive. He just needed a few swallows…unfortunately, there was no way he was going to get it around here.
He bared his fangs again and glared at his image in the viewer.
“Get over it,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just going to have to stay thirsty until this fucking mission is over.”
With a sigh, he hung up the towel and pushed open the door to the fresher. It was time to face his partner and see what she thought of him now. Despite hearing her say what had happened to him in the past wasn’t his fault, Thrax couldn’t get over the idea that it was.
Because part of him had enjoyed it and he hated himself for that. Not the beatings or the branding or the pain collar or being tied down—all that was fucking horrible. But being trained sexually had been an experience he would never forget.
