Wicked Beloved Read online

  Wicked Beloved

  by

  Susanne Saville

  Copyright © 2012 by Susanne Saville

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without permission, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is merely coincidence.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dzer-Jin Vonn, predator-class assassin, still could not believe he had allowed himself to be dragged inside Kefu port’s chattel shelter. Slaves from across the universe could be found here, and for a fraction of their market value, because these were the pre-owned ones, the ones who had been given up for one reason or another, the ones nobody wanted at auction. Lagi had begged Dzer-Jin to come shopping with him, and for their friendship’s sake he’d complied. Now he regretted it.

  Pleas followed their progress down the cage-lined aisles.

  “I’m good. I am, I’m good.”

  “I’ll make you feel so, so special, baby.”

  He shut his ears to the imploring cries. If the poor things didn’t convince someone of their merit, they’d be euthanized when their allotted time expired. He was certain death was kinder when it came unannounced. His assignments never suffered this sort of agony. They never knew what hit them. He hated the shelter.

  Lagi was interacting with an Oide girl now. Like all her species, she had fine bones. Easily broken. Musculature unfit for fighting. Not a threat. Decorative, though. Purple stripes zigged across her skin.

  She was telling Lagi what a good servant she would be for his latest hetaira, for both of them when he returned from long flights. Not that she could really say otherwise.

  Attention wandering, Dzer-Jin let his gaze drift down the row of cages. A couple of barred doors down sat a female who appeared surprisingly un-alien. No stripes, no extra limbs, no antennae. She could walk the streets of Kefu and be taken for a native.

  Only the unique color of her hair might make someone look twice. Thick, heavy, fiery orange waves of it fell to her shoulders. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but they appraised him coldly in much the same way he was assessing her, and he found that both unexpected and amusing.

  At his grin, her eyes widened. She immediately looked away. Her gaze repeatedly darted up to his and fled back to the floor while her cheeks turned a mottled pink. Unlike the others, she had said nothing this entire time. He started toward her cage and she scuttled to its back wall at his approach.

  Drawn up in a ball with her arms hugging her knees, she peeked at him from beneath her bangs. Large bones. Well nourished. Muscles evident but lacking tone. Unlikely threat. Which made her earlier arrogance all the more interesting. She still had spirit though unable to defend herself. Foolhardy. But interesting.

  She shifted, seeming uncomfortable under his relentless gaze, and he recognized the small square box of a universal translator embedded in the collar encircling her throat. She wasn’t local to any of the nine systems then. He wondered how far she’d been brought.

  He waited. Hunting had taught him patience. Still she refused to interact with him. Her wary eyes watched, waiting for him to make the first move.

  “Hey,” he said softly and gave her a small—he hoped unaggressive—smile.

  She blinked rapidly, several times in succession, and he had the distinct impression she was startled, or maybe bewildered, by his greeting. Perhaps her translator wasn’t operating correctly.

  Lagi bounded over, colliding against him with the playfulness of a small child. “What have you found?” He leaned toward the front of the cage and the female pressed herself back against the wall in response. He made a disappointed, chiding sound and wrinkled his nose. “Oh, no, you don’t want that. With your appetites, you need something with more life in it.”

  Dzer-Jin shook his head. His own hetaira I’eke provided enough of a coital outlet, and pets required the sort of commitment he could not promise. “I’m not shopping here, you are.”

  Lagi pulled a mocking face. “Oh, that’s right, you’re an uncompromising Palatin. You never play with used or broken toys.”

  “I’m neither used nor broken.” The girl had spoken. Her voice was pleasant, low and reserved. But her eyes were glaring daggers at Lagi. She certainly wasn’t broken. No slave was allowed to look at anyone like that.

  Lagi turned and smirked at him. “Looks like she’s just your type then.” He patted Dzer-Jin on the back before returning to the cage of the female with the purple stripes.

  The flame-haired girl watched him go then swung her attention back to Dzer-Jin. Her eyes trapped his in a direct, unwavering stare and, still on her knees, she crawled to the front of her cage.

  They were close now. The bars separating them would be of little hindrance to his blade, were she a target. He watched the muscles of her throat work as she swallowed, noted the slight tremor in her hands. The smell of her fear was different from what he was accustomed to, but still a sweet scent. He wondered if she knew precisely how much she had to fear.

  She cleared her throat. “Listen. I’ll make a bargain with you. You don’t hurt me, and I’ll be the most perfect slave you’ve ever had, you’ve ever even seen.” Desperation tinged her tone. Despite her previously aloof attitude, she was indeed conscious of the precariousness of her continued existence.

  A polite cough at his elbow made him turn. The shelter clerk stood there, eyes locked on the crest embroidered at Dzer-Jin’s shoulder denoting his senior rank and unparalleled number of kills, before looking up at him with a subservient and ingratiating smile. “I don’t think you want this one, Palatin. Let me show you what we have in—”

  Dzer-Jin, having already thought of six different ways to terminate the man, interrupted. “What is she?”

  “Tellurian.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They’re a fairly new discovery. Tellurian females’ main selling point is their ability to accommodate sexual partners without needing to be aroused themselves. You don’t have to do a thing. And you don’t have to wait for them to go into heat, either, unlike those cheap primitives from Yeoun. Tellurians are always, if not enthusiastic, at least available in one way or another.”

  “I see.”

  “Couple that with the distance involved in importing them, and you won’t be surprised to learn they’re one of the market’s most expensive species. You’ll rarely see them in a shelter. I suppose she’s rather a bargain, for a Tellurian.”

  “Then why discourage her sale?”

  “She is … recalcitrant.” Dzer-Jin lifted an eyebrow and the clerk continued, “Untrainable. Uncooperative. She won’t even scream properly.”

  “How many days has she left?”

  “A few. But the gladiatorial transport arrives tomorrow and I expect they’ll buy her. They always take untamable Tellurians when they can get them.”

  Dzer-Jin frowned. Take them to be torn apart for the crowd’s enjoyment. He felt such sloppy executions to be a personal affront.

  “How many owners?”

  “Just the one.” The clerk paused and sighed. “She’s been checked by our vet
, she’s in perfect health, but in the interest of full disclosure you’re going to want to see her skin.” He unlocked the cage and ordered her out.

  For a moment it looked like she might refuse. Then she crawled out the door and started to rise. Wincing with the effort, she wobbled on unsteady legs.

  Without thinking, Dzer-Jin caught her elbow to support her. She recoiled from the touch, lost her tenuous balance and would have collapsed if he hadn’t stepped behind her to grasp her other arm as well. She held herself rigid, her back stiffly arcing away from his front, obviously trying not to touch him and yet dependent on his support to stay upright. He looked down at the top of her head and wondered what she was thinking.

  “You really shouldn’t touch the merchandise.” The clerk tut-tutted.

  “You really should let the merchandise out more often. There’s not room enough to stand inside that cage.” Dzer-Jin glanced down at the female again. “Steady now?”

  He could barely hear her whispered, “Yes, thank you.” Nevertheless, he released her and stepped aside.

  The clerk ordered her to remove her long, loose shelter gown. She glanced at Dzer-Jin, and her cheeks once again had turned that mottled pink color. The clerk repeated his order, his voice strident now, and clapped his hands together. She winced at the sharp slap his palms made and, bowing her head, began working the large, flat buttons until the gown fell away and pooled soundlessly at her feet.

  “It’s her back, mostly,” the clerk explained, but Dzer-Jin could see that.

  Cringing in on herself, she had turned her back toward him. Her pale hide was marred by a vast array of cuts, welts, bruises and burns spanning from her shoulder blades down to the backs of her knees. The oldest injuries were about four months healed, he guessed. The newest only just beginning to scab over. At least nothing looked infected.

  For something that didn’t want to be hurt, she certainly had collected a lot of wounds. From their appearance and design, he reckoned she had a high pain threshold. Normally that would make her a good blood-play partner, another addition to her value.

  As he closed the small distance between them, he knew she heard his approach because her entire body flinched like she expected to be struck. He stopped but she remained in that cowed position, head ducked and shoulders hunched. As he watched, a tiny shiver ran through her frame and her flesh pebbled.

  Wondering whether she was frightened or cold, he leaned toward her and inhaled her scent. Although she awaited mistreatment, he did not detect fear as he had earlier. She was nervous, yes. But more…resigned.

  When he didn’t move away, yet didn’t touch her, she turned and raised a trembling arm to shield her face while glancing up at him. Her eyes were dark blue, like jewels. He gave her his best nonthreatening smile and caught the scent of her blossoming hope even as her eyes warmed. Then the clerk barked a reprimand, swatting her defensive arm down, and she cringed away.

  “Did I ask for your help?” Dzer-Jin let a sharp edge curl through his words. He glared at the clerk.

  It was the clerk’s turn to wince. “My apologies, Palatin. I only wished you to have an unobstructed view. If you like, I can have her restrained.”

  “No, I’ve seen enough.”

  Dzer-Jin crouched down, picked up her garment, and stood, drawing it up her body and helping her get her arms back inside the sleeves. She re-fastened the buttons as quickly as her shaking fingers could manage. Head bowed, she never looked at him.

  As he watched her, he had the strangest urge to shield her from…he wasn’t sure what. Possibly himself. She was obviously ignorant of what he was, to let his mere smile kindle such hope inside her.

  Even allowing for her unfamiliarity with the insignia he wore, the poor alien had no sense of character. If she would willingly offer to obey to the likes of him, she would easily make the offer to someone who would abuse her until she expired. Of course, that was if the gladiatorial games didn’t get her first. She would not last long there, that was certain.

  No, the Tellurian had little chance of survival. Which was how it should be. The weak died and the strong survived. Ensconcing her in his flat would not only be a waste of his resources, it would be ignoring natural order.

  Why was he thinking of her in his flat? She was a slave, a weaker species, who—from the scars on her back—demonstrably refused to learn her place. She deserved what she got.

  Of course, she had offered to obey him. Even with that unbroken temper she had shown when she looked daggers at Lagi, she had offered to obey his wishes. Which, again, confirmed her lack of judgment. His fellow Guild members would find humor in torturing an obedient slave to death.

  In fact, he guessed the only reason she hadn’t been snapped up for personal death-play was her hefty Tellurian price tag. Even a recalcitrant Tellurian must be costly. Only the gladiatorial games had the budget to waste expensive species, which was how they attracted an audience.

  He watched her stare at the ground and shift her weight from one foot to the other, her limp gown swaying about her shapely ankles. Cost wasn’t a factor for him. His recent contracts had paid well and he hadn’t bought himself anything with the extra coin. No sense saving it, really. Assassins didn’t live to retire.

  Suddenly she glanced up at him, and he found himself once again fascinated by the intensity of her blue gaze, by the quiet caged girl who appraised her prospective buyers.

  “How much?” he asked the clerk, the words leaving his mouth before he consciously realized he’d made the decision.

  “Pardon?”

  “How much for her?”

  “And this one,” Lagi called, standing in front of the Oide girl’s cage.

  He let Lagi haggle with the clerk, that being one of Lagi’s talents. It didn’t take too long to agree to a price. Nevertheless, the sun had set by the time their transaction was complete and they each stood with a bundle of ownership papers in one hand and a braided leash attached to the collar of a girl in the other.

  During their walk home, Lagi’s girl kept her eager eyes on her purchaser’s face and listened to his every word, as if she worried he might slip an obscure order for her to obey into his conversation. By contrast, his girl scanned her surroundings. She studied Kefu’s architecture and vehicles but an unmistakable loathing entered her eyes whenever her gaze encountered an inhabitant. Except for him. But that was because she wouldn’t look at him, even when he accidentally-on-purpose blocked her view.

  Thankfully, Lagi didn’t notice his wandering attention. He was too engrossed in delivering pet ownership advice—which whips were best, when to use them, and where one could find the sharpest disciplinary tools. Dzer-Jin was rather impressed that Lagi had yet to run out of pet topics when the street to his hetaira’s apartment peeled off the high road and they were forced to part.

  Dzer-Jin and his girl walked in silence after that. He glanced down at her. She should properly have been two steps behind him, not by his side, but she must not have been taught that yet. He didn’t mind.

  A hovercart zipped past them, too close to the walkway, and she shied away from it, pressing into his side. She remained there, snug at his side for a moment before jumping away like she’d been scalded.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Sorry.”

  He wanted to say something more, something to draw her out so he could learn about his new possession, but he couldn’t think of anything. And that annoyed him. He shouldn’t be tongue-tied in the presence of his own pet.

  She sighed softly and he wondered if she was tired. After all she’d been through, here he was making her walk to her new home. “Hasn’t exactly been a good day for you, has it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Her voice was quiet but distinctly lighthearted. “I’m beginning to think any day I don’t get euthanized is a good day.”

  He chuckled. “I see your point.”

  Reaching his apartment building didn’t take much more time. They took the lift to the to
p floor. Only one flat was on that level. His.

  The lift doors opened upon his front door.

  “This is my place.” He punched his code on the operating panel and ushered her inside as the portal slid open. When it whisked shut behind them, she jumped. “You’ll get used to that.” He watched her edge around the big main room. “Go ahead. Explore.”

  Tentative steps brought her close enough to peer into the kitchen. Then she headed toward the washroom. The fourth room, the bedroom, she skipped entirely.

  He followed her to the washroom. She was running her fingers over one of his fluffy white towels. “You can clean up and I’ll fix your back.”

  She started at the sound of his voice. With the plush carpeting in the main room, she must not have heard his approach. Of course, he did tend to walk silently. Force of habit.

  “Wash up and I’ll fix your back,” he said again, softer.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “There’s really nothing to fix.”

  “You have scarring. I can change that.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you need anything to eat?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Right, then. I’ll just close this, shall I?” His hand went to the door panel. “If you hit the yellow button on the left there,” he indicated the matching panel inside the washroom. “It’ll lock. Remember to put your collar back on when you’re through or we won’t be able to understand each other.”

  Once the door shut, he could hear shuffling for a moment, and then the filling of the tub. He listened to the water run. Odd to hear it from this side of the door. Sharing his space was a new experience. He wasn’t sure what to make of it yet.

  He’d never owned a slave. Perhaps because of the absolute finality, power, and control inherent in his vocation, spending his free time dominating a trapped, weaker species had never seemed particularly entertaining. Pet ownership was purposeless self-aggrandizement for the insecure.