Page 12 of Warrior's Captive
The gentle afternoon faded, a shock running up both her arms as the urgent . . .hushed tones of a voice she barely understood bounced off the walls around her. Standing over her, a man with skin a shade deeper than blue flame, fierce determination in his eyes.
“Live,” he whispered. “You both are mine. I won’t give you up.”
A stark statement of possession, one that somehow didn’t stoke poisonous memories of her captivity, but instead offered hope.
Vivian jerked her mind back into the present, shaken enough by the surge of emotion that she remained mute, and simply stared.
He didn’t seem to mind, crouching with an air of unending patience.
He was the kind of man her parents would instantly dislike—not hate, hate was too impolite a term, and her parents frowned on strong emotion. Mid Tier’s did not do well to allow strong emotions to creep into their lives, not when emotions led to forbidden things like wanting to live life according to your own terms, and then you walked yourself right into your own kidnapping. She wondered if they would feel vindicated that they were right, despite her arguments against assimilation. When she gathered the nerve to reach out to them, she would find out.
The man watched her silently with an intent gaze, head tilted, perhaps waiting for her to maybe stop staring and say something. But since he appeared to be in no hurry, she took her time studying him.
Shoulder length hair with a deep lapis sheen to it. The cut was ragged, deliberately so because who used manual shears to cut their hair anymore? A skin toned t-shirt of some soft material stretched over broad shoulders and clearly defined arms. His pants were a loose fit, and tucked into flexible looking boots. Strands of multicolored beads wrapped around each of his wrists. He reminded her of something—pictures she had seen once about old earth cultures. Skater grunge, maybe.
She stopped judging him by his clothing and instead looked into his eyes. Calm, a bright, saturated blue as striking as his hair, and slightly upturned at the tips. His face looked a hair too sharp, as if he hadn’t eaten well in a few weeks, despite the muscle defined by the clingy shirt.
“Tai’ri?” she asked, ignoring his previous question. Ibukay had said his name often enough she knew the syllables. Tie-rhee, a gentle roll on the ‘r’ her tongue executed well enough.
No one had approached her on her excursion—these people seemed to have a deeply ingrained sense of personal privacy. It made no sense someone would randomly approach her now, so this had to be him.
“Yeah,” he said. His hands rested on the tops of his thighs, fingers long, and still. But as she observed him, they flexed. “Vivian.” He seemed to be testing out the syllables of her name.
“Yes.” She corrected his pronunciation, and he said it again, perfectly.
His voice shivered through her, sparking a sense of familiarity. She had not particularly like Vykhan’s complete lack of emotion, though she appreciated his calm. This man was also calm, but with waves underneath. Expression flickered on the edge of his face, there and gone.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” he said, then stood. “You want to go in? It’s less open.” His gaze roved their surroundings, tension in his stiff shoulders. She realized that as soon as he’d stood, he’d lost some of his stillness, brimming with hoarded energy.
So he felt the eyes too.
Her comm beeped insistently. Vivian tilted her wrist.
“Tai’ri!” Ibukay exclaimed. “You made it. Have you two had a chance to—”
“Bdakhun, we’ll speak later,” Tai’ri said, gently but firmly, then pressed his thumb against Vivian’s comm. It flickered off, and he spoke three words her unit didn’t translate.
“What did you do to it?” Vivian asked.
“Set it to privacy mode. It’ll reset to regular functionality in two hours.”
It was a little presumptuous, but she understood why he did it. “Fine, but ask next time, please.”
He nodded. “Sure. You want to go in now?”
Tai’ri wasn’t upset by her quiet rebuke. Vivian relaxed and nodded, pushing to her feet. His hand shot out to take her elbow, hesitated, but when she didn’t pull away, he continued the assist.
“Thank you,” she murmured, wondering why nothing in her flinched. She hadn’t liked the doctor exams, preferred no one but Ibukay touched her. But this stranger . . . was it because his sperm had fertilized her egg? Maybe her subconscious already felt a kinship with him, and coded him as ‘safe.’ Tai’ri’s fingers felt strange on her arm, but he didn’t linger. He helped her to her feet, waited until she was steady, and then released his hold.
“Welcome.” He smiled at her, though his eyes remained grave. “Let's get you fed.”
Somehow, the statement sounded like so much more than an invitation for lunch.
5
Predictably,Vykhan and Ibukay had argued.
“You will have to move quickly to seal the bond,” Vykhan had told Tai’ri bluntly.
