though she had no nickname for him, she refused to refer to him as Daddy Spanky.
As always, he stretched across the floor of his cage and smiled at her. He was a beautiful man, with pale skin that glittered as though dusted with diamond powder and hair as black as the night with pinpricks of sapphire. Only one thing had ever bothered him, and that was the appearance of Matas.
The Targon erupted any time he caught sight of her bodyguard.
“I’m very dirty,” he purred. “Make sure you scrub really, really hard.”
She placed her hand on her throat to feel the reverberation of her voice box and better judge her volume. “If only I could scrub your mind.”
“Honey, no matter where you scrub you’re gonna need an industrial-size—”
Rolling her eyes, she jumped up and pressed the button to render him unconscious.
As she sprayed the enzyme mixture that would clean him inside and out, then rubbed away the excess oil, she could feel someone’s gaze boring into her, burning deep and sure. There was no reason to look up. She knew the newcomer was the culprit. Everyone watched her in the beginning, hoping to learn her habits and discover the best way to overpower her and, as Criss had often said, “blow this hellhole.”
But Vika recalled how, at first, this one had looked at her with curiosity, crackling awareness and stunned awe, rather than suspicion. A heady mix that had shocked her. Men simply didn’t regard her that way.
How quickly his countenance had changed, however, when her father announced she was in charge of his care. Awareness and awe had given way to barely suppressed ferocity. And that, she was used to.
If freed, he could crush her in seconds.
Could. She rolled the word through her mind. But would he? Had the awe returned, or was the ferocity tugging at its reins?
Dare she glance up and find out?
Just the thought caused her palms to sweat. As big as this Targon was, the . . . whatever he was would stand many inches taller and be many inches wider. He was the epitome of power, and she was quite certain she’d never seen so brawny a male.
If he threatened her, she’d . . . what? Scream? Hardly. There were only two things that scared her. An angry Jecis—and a happy Jecis. The newcomer wasn’t either of those things. But okay, yes, as hot as his temper had appeared to be, he might just be able to slide into third place without any real effort.
But . . . his eyes. He had such lovely eyes. They were large, and the most glorious shade of baby blue, like the sky on the brightest of mornings, fringed by a thick black fan of lashes. For a moment, she had lost herself in those eyes, and oh, that had been the most amazing feat.
Lost, she had forgotten about her miserable life.
Lost, she had found strength.
Would she lose herself again?
Fine. She had to know. Vika glanced up.
Five
Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act.
—PROVERBS 2:27
VIKA MET THE NEWCOMER’S gaze—and her entire body reacted, every cell she possessed coming alive, buzzing, heating. But she didn’t lose herself. Not even close. He was far more than angry. He radiated white-hot fury, his skin actually darkening to a deep, rich red. His eyelids were narrowed into dangerous slits, his cheekbones protruded, and his nostrils flared with his every inhalation.
His teeth had even grown, she realized with intensifying horror. They were so long they stretched over his bottom lip. And his ears had changed, now pointing at the ends. And his nails . . . oh, sweet mercy . . . they were claws.
Surely he was capable of slashing the bars of his cage. And when he did, he would stomp over to her. He would raise those heavy fists and destroy her. The pain would be too much. He would hit her face, and he would finally blind her. No!
Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she dropped her rag. Breath caught in her throat and crystallized, leaving a hard, jagged lump that choked her. Black winked through her line of sight as she scrambled to the back corner of the Targon’s cage.
Gonna hurt, gonna hurt, gonna hurt so bad.
Except . . .
Pain was never forthcoming.
She blinked, unsure how much time had passed. The newcomer . . . had not moved an inch, she realized. He hadn’t tried to get to her.