She swallowed thickly.
His gaze dropped away, back down to her feet, and the strange moment dissipated, slipping away as if it had never been.
He spread thick, pink ointment over her blisters. “You’re different than most of the people I’ve known lately.”
“Oh?” She flinched, waiting for him to say she was stupider or softer or more useless.
He scowled thoughtfully. “I’ve been roving rough planets for a decade, hauling prisoners to Insuractius, ranging in wilds of the Fringe.”
She could see that perfectly. The scars and tattoos, the look on his face like he’d never be surprised again. Insuractius was said to be the worst place in the universe a man’s body could live. What would it do to a person, to spend so many years damning others to such a fate? And the Fringe. She shuddered just to think of it. “Was it awful?”
“Awful? No. I did exactly what I wanted when I wanted to do it with whoever I wanted. I’m not used to women like you, Klymeni.” His voice echoed around the room.
It sounded like a peace offering, and she wanted one so badly.
“Klym. Everyone calls me Klym.” She flinched. Everyone. She had no one.
His face was unreadable as he wrapped a soft, gauzy length around her foot.
“I’m not used to men like you either, Torum.” She traced her finger along a wrinkle in her dress. “I’ve been locked away in an Institute. I’ve... you were right... I’ve been very protected.”
He set her legs on the floor and stood. She craned her neck back to stare up at him.
“Just do what I tell you.” Those orbs locked on her again. “And if you’re in pain, tell me.”
She nodded. “I will. I—thank you, Torum.”
Two dimples flashed this time, and she felt like she’d won an award.
“Tor,” he said simply. He pulled a knife from the belt at his hips and sliced it through the rope around her wrists.
She grinned, positively giddy. “Thank you, Tor.”
“Defy me again, and I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”
Her mouth dropped open. “We were having such a nice moment, and you destroy those, don’t you?”
“Shut up, Klym.” He lifted her into his arms, and she forgot what she’d meant to say as her head came down to rest on a broad, bulging pectoral. She lowered the holo-cam.
He’d called her Klym.
Even her blistered toes flushed warm and cozy.
“Where do you want to sit? I wasn’t kidding about space being boring. You can’t walk. There’s nothing to do on the ship except work out and stare into space up at the front. You could watch old holos in bed if you like.”
“How long until we reach your... Jasto’s home?”
“Three days.”
Three days cooped up in very close quarters with him. Sleeping beside him. Her belly tightened, low heat spreading between her thighs. Would he still make her sleep beside him? Where else was there to sleep?
“And after that?”
“I can’t take you home. They’d blast my ship to shreds before we even got into the Argenti solar system.” He made a face. “There’s a peace planet called Pax-Ahora, not far from where we’re going. I’ll try to get you on a shuttle headed there. It shouldn’t be hard to book transport from there.”
She shook off the burst of sheer terror at the idea of being alone on a planet she’d never heard of, buying transports across the galaxy. What would she do when she got to Argentus? And for what? Agammo didn’t even want her anymore. No one did.
“Can I sit in the bridge?”
He carried her there and set her down gently in one of the seats. “Don’t move. If you need me, shout. Your skin needs time to heal.”
She nodded, throat too tight to speak.
He glanced back with a flickering dimple that seemed decidedly kind. “Touch anything, and I’ll tie you up again.”
She laughed.
12
Done
TOR TURNED THE DIAL to enter the numerics for Agammo’s father’s office and waited while it established connection through the comm portals between Frigorria and Argentus.
He waited in the silence of the bridge while Klym slept. He kept seeing the look on her face before she’d seen him in the doorway. Hopeless loneliness. She’d been staring at the holo of her mother, bright and golden, with a wide smile and a snooty nose.
The holo feed crackled to life, and the face of Agammo’s father, Senator Franno, expanded in a crappy connection of silvery light that flickered and faded. The only resemblance the man bore to his son was in the long, thin nose and classic Argenti aristocratic bearing. Otherwise, he was broad and craggy, with a face that spoke of travel and war. “The bounty hunter, eh,” he said musingly.
“If that’s what you want to call me.”
“What would you like to be called?”
“Torum TaKarian works. Regio of Tamminia,if you want to get formal. You could call me ex-Commander of the Tamminian forces if you’re feeling official. Captain of my ship for sure. Vestige warrior. Killer of Argenti.” He tilted his head to the side and half-smiled. “Abductor of their women. Take your pick. Depends how chummy you want to be.”
Franno clapped his hands and rubbed them in front of his face like he was ready to get down to business. “Let’s go with TaKarian, then. We can be chums. You want to betray your country?”
Tor trailed his tongue along his upper teeth. “I don’t. The Alliance isn’t my government. My father recognized them. I don’t.”
Agammo’s father leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.
Tor did the same.
“What is it that you want, then?”
Tor jerked his chin at
