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“Mr. Casus, what is your order?” Captain Aaren demanded, obviously torn between fear of laying hands on an aristo and allowing her to threaten his boss.
Rance rolled to his feet despite the pain still fisting his balls. He was damned if he’d let a woman be threatened while he lay on his ass. Even if he couldn’t quite stand up straight.
Aaren shot him a warning look and edged toward the aristo.
Her eyes narrowed as she flashed him a glare. “Dare to touch me, and I’ll see you executed.”
And she could, too. The penalties for a commoner committing violence on an aristo were severe. On the other hand, Lady Selan could cut Casus’s throat without incurring so much as a slap on the wrist.
Rance grinned through the knife-blade pain. He’d never thought that particular law would ever work to his advantage.
A fresh tide of pain hit, buckling his knees. He barely held himself upright.
Casus apparently hadn’t appreciated the grin.
The aristo titled her blade, forcing the slaver’s chin higher. “I said release him.”
“He threatened my guards!”
Her voice was calm, level, as if she could cut Casus’s throat with no more concern than slicing a grapefruit. “He was demonstrating his skills on my order, as you well know. I will not tell you again.”
“He is dangerous, lady!”
“So am I.” Her eyes narrowed, took on a fixed, cold gleam. “And I grow impatient.”
The hand with the ruby gestured, and the pain abruptly faded. Rance slumped with a grunt of relief but forced himself to keep his feet. His rescuer might need him.
The aristo’s voice was brisk and cool when she asked, “How much do you want for him?”
Casus promptly lost his sense of ill usage in greed. His narrow face lit with calculation. “I don’t know that I can sell him, not in good conscience. He’s more dangerous than I thought.”
“If I wanted a lap dog, I’d go to a pet shop. How much?”
“He should be destroyed.”
She peeled her lovely lips back from her teeth. “So should you, slaver. How much?”
Rance swallowed a snort of laughter as the two began to dicker in earnest.
He had to admit, if he had to have a mistress for a few hours, he could have done worse. There was an arrogant purity to the aristo’s features, to the clean, straight line of her nose, the high jut of her cheekbones and curve of her chin. Her eyes were large and liquid, a rich forest green, and her blonde hair gleamed like a crown in a tight, smooth upsweep.
She wore one of those vaguely historical costumes fashionable among aristos. The tight red velvet jacket and snug white pants tucked into black boots, as if she should be off hunting foxes from horseback. She certainly didn’t look like an assassin-dodging interstellar courier. Which was probably the idea.
There was a certain kinky temptation in the idea of being owned by her. Though, eyeing the length of those exquisite legs and the high, sweet rise of her breasts, he decided he’d much rather own her.
An aristo slave. What a delicious thought.
“Then we have a deal?” Casus demanded. The slaver was all but drooling in anticipation of all those imperials.
The lady’s green gaze flicked to Rance again. Considered him for a long moment while his heart skipped a beat. What if she said no?
He’d be a dead man. The slaver’s cyborgs would kill him before she was halfway down the hall.
“Yes,” the aristo said at last. “We have a deal.”
Zarifa could feel the weight of the shifter’s intense golden eyes on her as Casus presented her with the control ring. It was damned uncomfortable, having a man watch you accept the instrument of his torture.
Especially when she knew all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of pain.
