Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,24

this planet, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m beautiful.”

Considering how hideous the Haedusians were, Moe would’ve judged her to be the prettiest by default. However, a moment’s reflection enabled him to understand her perspective. With no others enough like her for comparison and little or no contact with other worlds, how could she possibly know? Even if she’d had a job at the spaceport, she wouldn’t have seen very many Zetithians. As captain of the Jolly Roger, his own mother traded in legal goods throughout the galaxy, and she rarely took this route. In fact, Moe was fairly certain he was the only member of his family to ever set foot on Haedus Nine.

“Maybe not, but you’ve seen your mother, and I’ve yet to encounter a Davordian woman who wasn’t at least passably pretty. Granted, your features are more Zetithian than Davordian, but still…” He stared at her in disbelief. “Haven’t you ever looked at yourself in the mirror?”

Her befuddled expression was as endearing as it was priceless. “What’s a mirror?”

Moe’s incredulity tripled, until he remembered where he was. As ugly as the Haedusians were, mirrors were probably outlawed. Either that or the problem was merely a question of translation. The Standard Tongue was in use throughout the galaxy, but local dialects tended to incorporate smatterings of the native languages. “Maybe you call it something different here. It’s a flat, shiny thing you can see your reflection in.”

She frowned as though trying to understand a difficult concept. “This is something made specifically for the purpose of admiring oneself?”

“I don’t know about the admiring part,” he replied. “Sometimes you just want to be sure you don’t have dirt on your face.”

Klara ran an experimental finger down her cheek, then studied her fingertip. “I never thought it mattered.”

Moe had met many females in his life, and to a woman, they all seemed to think it mattered quite a bit. That she didn’t was both refreshing and unusual. “There are other reasons for using a mirror. Terran men have facial hair that they sometimes shave off. Shaving could probably be done by feel, but it helps to see what you’re doing. At least, I assume it does. The only facial hair Zetithian men have is in their eyebrows and eyelashes.”

“I’ve seen men with beards.” She touched her cheek again. “It would be strange to have hair growing on your face.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Moe agreed. “Although plenty of species have more facial hair than humans do. But then, most of them are hairy all over, like Racks and Nedwuts.”

She nodded absently, her luminous blue eyes aimed toward the floor as though her mind were occupied with something far more important than shaving off unwanted hair. “I do have some idea of what I look like, although flat, shiny things aren’t very common here. I should probably wash my face more often, but water is so scarce, we barely have enough to drink.”

“I know that,” Moe said gently. “I didn’t mean to suggest that your face is dirty. And even if it is, it’s still one of the prettiest faces I’ve ever seen.” And your scent is…intriguing.

Her gaze shifted from the floor to capture his own. She probably had no idea how beautiful her eyes were, either. But they were, and they were even more so at night. Two gorgeous glowing orbs calling out to him from the darkness.

A strange rumbling sound began, surrounding him with its soft resonance. Comforting, yet stimulating, it took him several moments to realize what it was.

He was purring.

Chapter 7

Klara’s mouth was watering to the point that she actually had to swallow. All this talk about washing and drinking must’ve had an effect. That sound she heard… Was it coming from him? Suddenly, she was filled with an overwhelming urge—no, need—to move closer in order to determine the source.

His heavy exhale amplified the vibrations, proving he was the source while eliminating the necessity to move toward him, if not the desire. She’d had fangs all her life, but never before had she longed to sink them into something as vibrantly alive as Moe.

“That sound you’re making,” she whispered. “What is it and why are you doing that?”

Silence fell, leaving nothing behind except the thudding pulse in her ears and the rapid pant of her own breathing.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “Nothing important, anyway.” His voice sounded odd, perhaps even strained. “You should go back to bed and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy