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“Shall we review the details?” He leans back in his seat to rest his head in his spindly, interlaced fingers. “You plundered her from an abandoned cargo raid. She attempted to murder Varger. You are keeping her locked in your quarters and have forbidden the others from interacting with her.”
“Wouldyouencourage anyone from this crew to impose their presence on a female of yours?” I know it’s a lost cause to argue the point that Varger had malicious intentions for my mate.
“Whatever you claim about her status, if you keep her in your private quarters, and you have no intention of selling her, then she is considered your personal property.”
“What do you expect me to do with her?” I demand, head spinning.
“Either you sell her at the next port and pay me my percent, or you pay me a percent based on market value and then find a new crew to enroll with.”
“But not a moment ago you said you don’t support the slave trade,” I say.
“I do not invite it here on my ship,” he corrects me. “I do not like it. I do not promote it. I do not wish to partake in it. Messy, like I said. But fair is fair, and a take is a take. She has value, and you took nothing else, so she must go on the books.”
“Either way, you get your fee,” I scoff.
“The fee was never the question,” he says. “The question is, are you keeping her and leaving? Or selling her and staying? We need to make your intentions clear so that the other crew members don’t have unanswered questions.”
“It was getting to be time for me to move on anyways,” I say. “Bill my account for your tribute price. It’ll be my last exchange in your books. I trust you’ll be fair in your valuation of my mate’smarket value.”
He shrugs. “I’ll charge you a standard fee. With her behavior, I doubt her captors would have gotten much for her. You know the pleasure traders prefer the softer kind. It’s obvious why she was in the cargo hold.”
This is one thing we can agree on. My mate could never be called the “softer kind.” I stand to leave.
“Yes. This female has the heart of a warrior,” I say, pride thumping through me.
“Some might say she’s a problem-female,” the captain mutters. “So keep her confined, or you will both take a long walk out the airlock.”
My pride turns to fury, but there’s nothing I can do to challenge him on his own ship. Besides, I must return quickly to check on my mate as she wakes up. I want to be sure she’s all right, comfort her, and explain where the two of us can go from here.
That is, if I can somehow convince my wild, blade-wielding mate to accept our bond.
CHAPTERFIVE
RAINA
When I wake up,my body is already moving. I gasp for air and pitch myself off the bed, scrambling to be ready for an attack, a cage to escape, or some other horrible fate. Except I am alone, and I roll onto a hard floor, having fallen just inches from where I had been sleeping.
I’m not in any immediate danger. That’s a welcome change.
The bed I had awoken on is little more than an oval foam pallet on the floor. There’s a fur skin and a satin sheet bunched around my legs, as if I had been carefully tucked in for the night. Once I’ve untangled myself from these, I inspect my surroundings.
It’s a modest room without much decoration. It appears to be the interior of a ship, judging by the gravity and oxygen control panels near the door. The floor is metal tile, but there’s heat emanating from it. This is already more comfort than I’ve experienced in weeks.
The walls are bare, so I immediately suspect I’m in a man’s room. It might be an unfair assumption. After all, I’ve been accused of keeping my own living spaces too minimal because of my habit of picking up and moving at the drop of a hat. But the discarded pair of pants I find confirms my theory. Not only are they huge and bear a masculine scent, but they are made of thin leather that once clung so tightly to the wearer that they now recreate his general shape when I hold them out in front of me.
I toss them over my shoulder, scoffing. I’d bet anything I’m in that damn pirate’s quarters. Not the Verguli bug-man I stabbed, but the pirate who looked almost human. He carried me off like a sack of potatoes, spouting some bullshit about mating me. I guess that’s what he left me in his bedroom for.
As my blood starts to boil at the very thought of becoming some lowlife’s personal bedwarmer, I begin to tear through every drawer, cabinet, and bag that I can find.
Need a weapon, need a weapon. . . This mantra beats as rapidly through my mind as the blood pumping through my veins. He could return any second, and I need to be ready. I won’t have any extra chances to get out of here. There’s very little to consider among the pirate’s personal items. It’s mostly clothes and a few pairs of boots. He has a pouch with some papers and credit chips. I pocket the money and leave the rest.
The man has nothing here that speaks a word of his personality, not a single decorative item that I might be able to crack him over the head with.
There’s a tray of strings and clips on the bedside table that mystify me for a moment until I see a couple long black strands of hair. These must be accessories for his hair. I recall that hedidhave a beautiful mane of thick, silky black hair that was elaborately braided and held half-up in a knot. I pluck one of the leather braids from the pile. I could try to strangle him, but it wouldn’t be the best option. Firstly, because he’s much taller than me, probably close to seven feet. If I tried to lasso this on his neck, there’s a good chance he’d overpower me. I shove it in my pocket as a last resort.
I tap the edge of the tray thoughtfully.Now, what can I use—
“Bingo,” I say.
