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Spotting the ’lock she wanted, Zarifa sent it a silent message through her nanobot communication system. “This is my ship,” she told Rance as the thick door slid open with a chirrup of greeting.
They stepped inside and paused, waiting for the airlock to cycle and let them out into the tube. She stole a glance up at her slave’s stern profile. He looked grim and tough, more wary warrior than sex toy.
He met her eyes. Heat leaped between them like a flame, so searing she had to catch her breath. He studied her, his eyes wolf-fierce, with an elemental hunger that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with pure, male demand.
The airlock slid open, breaking the hot tension. He stepped through as Zarifa followed.
He stopped just inside to stare around at the cramped passageway with an experienced eye. “This is a Phoenix class transport, isn’t it?” In contrast to the sexual heat he’d exuded a moment before, the question was sharp, clipped, thoroughly in professional bodyguard mode.
“Yes.” She watched curiously as he prowled the corridor. “How can you tell?”
“My family owns Conlan Shipping. We had a Phoenix class or two.”
“So you’re a trader?”
“I’m a captain.” He shot her a defiant look, as if expecting her to remind him he was only a slave now. When she said nothing, he relaxed. “I am surprised your company assigned you a Phoenix class, though.” The model was notoriously underpowered and slow, which made it an unlikely choice for a courier vessel. “Any armament?”
“Definitely. She isn’t your average Phoenix class.” Zarifa rattled off weapons systems and engine enhancements until Rance’s brows began to climb.
“Sounds like the previous owner was a smuggler.”
She grinned toothily. “Does sound like it.” He looked intrigued as she turned to lead the way toward the bridge. “Welcome to the Empire’s Hope.”
Who was after his new mistress? And who the hell was she, anyway? He studied her as she led him through the cramped confines of her little ship with every evidence of pride. Each time he thought he had her pegged, she morphed on him like a Drago chameleon, changing shape and color and mood, keeping him constantly off balance.
“Lady Selan,” my ass. That’s not her name. Hell, that’s probably not even her face. A good nanosystem could create a three-dimensional disguise image to make you look like anybody. Or for that matter, anything.
Was she really a courier? True, that was a job aristos sometimes gravitated to—usually bored and adventurous younger daughters and sons without the prospect of inheriting. But somehow he had trouble picturing her as some company’s minor underling. She had too much authority in her manner.
Besides, she hadn’t hesitated to drop two million imperials on a werewolf slave, which didn’t suggest a minor anything.
Could be a government agent, though, in which case he’d better watch his step. Or one of Kuarc’s spies. She was certainly idealistic enough.
He needed to get her talking if he wanted to find out which she was. The seduction he’d been contemplating sounded like a great place to start.
Mad Dog was making her nervous. From the moment they’d stepped aboard, he’d been watching her like one of his furry brethren staring at a particularly fat fawn gamboling in the forest.
Why in the Lady’s sweet name had anyone thought they could make that man a slave?
Zarfia sat in her control chair, fighting to concentrate with Rance sitting next to her in the copilot’s seat. Her hands rested on the manual controls, ready to dance if the autos failed. She’d linked her nanosystem with the Empire’s Hope’s computer in order to guide the transport out of dock.
Three months before, she would have had no idea what to do—but that was before she’d upgraded. Her new nanobot combat system had taught her the piloting skills she’d needed to make her escape.
Now the three-dimensional control display flashed bright blue and green as it orbited their seats. Its stylized schematics showed the other ships clustered around Market Station’s docking arms. And she knew exactly what to do.
Zarifa guided the Hope around a massive passenger liner then veered away from a speedy little courier less than half the transport’s size. It took more than an hour of nerve-racking navigation to clear Market Station’s traffic, then zip up beyond the orbital disc of the surrounding star system and into empty space. Clearance from station command came minutes later, and she punched into super-C.
The engines didn’t so much howl as thrum, in a subsonic growl felt more in the base of the brain stem than the ears. For an instant, reality slid sideways with a nauseating little jolt. Everything acquired a rainbow aura…
And then they were through into superspace, and the auras vanished, along with that nasty little psychic thrum. She sighed in relief.
“Nice piloting.” There was something in his voice, a note of experience, that told her he knew exactly what he was talking about. But then, a merchant captain would.
Zarifa blinked. Whenever she emerged from an intense flight session, there was always a moment of disorientation, like waking from a particularly vivid dream. Rance waited patiently while she brought her consciousness back to the here and now. “Thank you.”
He rose from the copilot’s seat, all gleaming armor and male strength. “Think you’ll need to link again, or are you free for the next few hours?”
“I’m free.” She scrubbed both hands over her face. “The ship’s comp will be piloting until we reach our destination.”
