the distribution numbers. Thoughts of the Earthling had been shelved to deal with later.
Now a vision of her defiant features flashed across his mind, the startled blue eyes—wary but spirited. He sat and gripped the arms of the pilot chair while Dain assumed the seat beside him. A few deep breaths calmed the spike in his pulse from Dain’s question.
If she was a spy for Lothar, he’d see to her safety. It wouldn’t do to endanger her before she had a chance to work her wiles on her intended target. Him.
Nikol’s lips firmed and his nails dug into the synth leather of his armrests. If she was an innocent party caught up in machinations not of her making, his kitse was the safest place for her and Cecilee would see she came to no harm. The rationalizations soothed his unexpected concern.
“She will be fine, Dain.” A sliver of doubt niggled at him after he said it. Nikol flicked the switch on the main panel and accessed the comm. He hesitated over sending a quick message for his guards to pass to Cecilee. His concern would be noted and could create more problems than necessary. He moved his hand to the side and activated the initiation sequence. The engines started with barely a rumble.
‘Voice confirmation required for launch protocols.’
“Nikol.” His voice was a dark rasp, anger at caring about the Earth woman coloring his tone.
‘Approval code required,’ the computer prompted.
“754CA2,” he snapped, drawing a bewildered look from Dain.
This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t focus on his task with his emotions in flux. That’s how mistakes were made. Nikol didn’t have room for mistakes in the nature of his business. He reached deep for the steely reserve that enabled him to do what needed to be done with savage calculation.
Worry. Concern. It all melted away as his heart iced over and his mind became blank. His lips twisted at the familiar draw of cruelty running through his veins. Yes. This was what he needed. The human female would not—could not—be a distraction.
***
Darcy spent her days learning pointless protocol to be a worthy tutanis. Pleasure giver. Or whore as Darcy liked to think of the meaning her translator gave.
“Nice. Very nice. Up, please.”
Her mouth curled into a snarl as she rose from the kneeling position Cecilee had forced her to repeat over and over until Darcy could glide down to the floor without losing her balance. “Whatever.”
At least her knees and thighs didn’t ache when she did the move anymore. The last three weeks had been filled with relentless lessons on poise, posture, and an abundance of servile mannerisms. None of which Darcy wanted any part of.
Cecilee smiled. Her innocent and genuinely pleased expression dinged Darcy’s conscious. It wasn’t Cecilee’s fault Darcy was stuck in a harem.
The other women, who’d been watching from overly plumped pillows in shocking red, stood and gathered close with oohs and ahhs. They stroked Darcy’s bare shoulders and squeezed her forearms, adding their own enthusiasm and encouragement to Cecilee’s words.
For a brief moment, their affection calmed her erratic feelings. Fear and anger faded to be replaced with a tranquil sensation Darcy hadn’t experienced since this whole nightmare began.
Her eyes widened at the realization and she jerked away from their touch. Was this how the brainwashing started? She backed away, ignoring the worry drawing their brows together. “Listen, it’s great that you all are happy here doing...” she waved her hands about the lavish quarters, “whatever you do. But this isn’t for me.”
She didn’t want to disparage their livelihoods. To each his own and all that. Sex work was good work if one chose that direction out of true desire and not by force. Darcy had other plans and they didn’t involve that—her nose scrunched—that horned bastard who’d glared at her with mockery.
Amia gestured toward a low table covered in fruits, cheeses and vegetables. All alien to Darcy, but they’d described and explained the names for the food and she’d eaten the things they gave because it didn’t make sense to starve herself. “It is time to eat, Darcy.”
Darcy didn’t want to eat. She wanted out of here. Her nerves were jittery. At night, she clenched the sheets in her fists for fear of the Marenian returning to take what she wasn’t willing to give. By day, it was lessons and etiquette. She could do the things they’d instructed her on by rote now. Not because she planned to be a good little whore but because she needed time to