“I know you didn’t. And you’re right—I was transferred from the Derian ship to another ship before landing here.”
She finally permitted herself to truly acknowledge what she had suspected all along: she was never returning home. She wondered if anyone would even notice that she was gone. The other waitresses at the diner, perhaps one or two of her professors. She hadn’t spoken to her father since she was sixteen and there was no one who she was really close to anymore.
“If I can’t go home, does that mean all I have to look forward to is being hunted?”
He reached over and took her hand, and rather to her surprise, she let him. Her hand was so much smaller than his, but she didn’t feel afraid as he closed his fingers gently around hers.
“I have a suggestion, although it may not appeal to you.”
“I’m all ears.”
He scanned her body, his eyes obviously appreciative, and she almost blushed. He raised his other hand and gently stroked the shell of her ear, sending a not unpleasant shiver down her spine.
“You have other hearing receptacles?”
“It’s just an expression. It means I’m listening.”
“Ah, I see. My suggestion is that we travel to my home planet of Hothrest.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Why do you think we should go there? And why would I object?”
“It is located a long way from the center of the Empire, and my people have negotiated a good deal of freedom from Imperial oversight.”
“If that means no one will be looking for an escaped slave, that sounds wonderful.”
He looked down at her hand, gently exploring her fingers. He seemed fascinated by the short length of her nails.
“It is a harsh world,” he said finally. “We are located far from our sun, and the planet is covered with ice and snow. We would not be able to remain in the port but would have to return to my home caves.”
“Your caves?” It certainly didn’t sound particularly appealing, but then she looked around at his room and realized that it was essentially a cave. If his home planet was like this, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. But ice and snow?
“I’m going to need clothes. You may be naturally equipped for that environment, but I am not.”
“I realize that, my little aria, but it will have to wait until we leave Tgesh Tai. I will request more clothing for you, but the usual outfits for slaves do not provide much protection.”
“You can say that again,” she muttered, then waved a hand when he looked confused. “Never mind. It’s just an expression. I did find this in your room—is it okay for me to wear?”
The blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders as they talked, and she dropped it now to reveal the cloth fastened around her body. He growled, and she gave him a startled look, but he didn’t seem angry. His eyes heated the way they had when he’d seen her in the arena.
“That is a ceremonial kiltar. It is only worn for special occasions such as when one joins with their chosen mate.”
Oh shit. She was wearing a wedding outfit?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to offend you.”
“You did not offend me. I like the sight of you in my kiltar.” His hand tightened around hers, and he pulled her toward him. She instinctively—and uselessly—tried to pull away. Despite her ineffectual resistance, he immediately stopped and dropped her hand. “Perhaps I like it too much. We will see about getting you some other clothing as soon as possible.”
He stood abruptly, and she hastily pulled the blanket back around her shoulders. As enjoyable as the previous night’s incident had been, she wasn’t sure that she was ready to pursue anything else.
He strode over to a set of glass shelves tucked into a niche in the stone wall and poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. The glass looked impossibly fragile in his big hand, but he treated it with great delicacy, just as he had treated her the previous night. The memory washed over her again, and she felt her body respond, but she refused to acknowledge the sensation.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked belatedly.
“What is that?”
“This is shatam. It is made from the fruit of the jimsa tree.”
Somehow she suspected that it was more than just fruit juice, but what the hell. After everything she had been through, she deserved a drink.
“Sure. I’ll try it.”
He poured a small quantity of the bright purple liquid into another glass and brought it to her. She took a cautious sip. Mmm. Definitely alcoholic, but it had a pleasant fruity aftertaste that counteracted the bite of the alcohol.
“This is very good.”
“I am quite fond of it as well.” He frowned and sat down beside her with his own glass. “You will not be able to experience it on Hothrest.”
“You don’t have jimsa trees?”
“They do not grow in our climate, and Hothians choose not to import any products from other worlds.”
“Why not?”
“We—they—have a great respect for our history and our customs. They have chosen to avoid any outside influence. Except for technology,” he added dryly. “Our monitoring systems and weaponry are completely up-to-date.”
“Didn’t you say that hand-to-hand combat was the only true combat?” She took another sip of her drink, feeling a warm glow stealing through her veins.
“Are you using my own words against me?” He grinned at her, and despite the rather intimidating display of fangs, it was surprisingly attractive.
“Just pointing out the flaw in your argument.”
“And you are quite right. Neither technology nor off-world weapons are permitted within the caves that are our ancestral homes.” The smile left his face as he stared off into the distance. “I made the mistake of trying to encourage them to have more interaction with the rest of the Empire.”
“Why was that a mistake?”
“Because someone died.”
Despite the abrupt answer, she could hear the pain in his voice. Her normal caution tempered by the alcohol, she leaned over to put her hand on his,
