Free Kieran (Tales of the Shareem) by Jennifer Ashley, Allyson James

altered to be a mindless sex toy and nothing else? What was she thinking?
    No, Kieran was more than that. Felice had seen the emotions in his eyes, the hurt and anger about what had been done to him, the need to be viewed as a whole man. He was starved for acknowledgment, Felice had seen, deep inside himself. Maybe he didn’t even realize it.
    Had he gone out shopping for a meal? Or to meet up with friends—another of these Shareem? Or to fetch a reward for returning an indentured servant to TGH Corp?
    Felice gave her head a shake. She’d already decided Kieran wasn’t the type to round up slaves and herd them back to their masters. She’d encountered enough men and women like that to know Kieran wasn’t one of them.
    At a vendor’s booth run by an older woman with no veils over her face, Felice decided to ask the question. The vendor sold some of the colorful silks and also bracelets and armlets that looked much like the collar that adorned Felice.
    Felice examined a few of the silk scarves then cleared her throat. “I’m looking for . . . Shareem?”
    The vendor snapped her dark gaze to her. She had sun-bronzed skin, pink cheeks, and eyes that sparkled with mischief. “You off-world?”
    She’d have guessed that from Felice’s accent and her awkward question. “Yes.”
    “And you want Shareem?”
    “Yes.”
    The woman laughed. “Honey, you’re brave. They’re not exactly what nice women run after. But you’re not from around here, I can tell.”
    “No.” Felice did her best to sound like a naive tourist. “I just heard . . .”
    “That’s all right, honey. If you want Shareem—and don’t go telling anyone else you do, or that you heard this from me—you get along this street, take two lefts, and then a right, and go to Judith’s bar. You sit there and wait. One will come along.”
    Felice committed the directions to memory. “Right. Thanks.”
    “Can I tempt you with a ring? Just got these in.”
    “No. Sorry. They’re lovely.”
    The woman started to turn away to another customer, then swiveled her head back. “Hey, off-worlder. You get yourself a breath mask, understand? Just go to a patrol station and give them your pass, and they’ll give you a mask. Don’t leave it behind, all right? Sandstorms will kill you.”
    “Yes, thanks.”
    “There’s a patrol station on the way to Judith’s.”
    Great. Felice thanked the woman again and strode off.
    She hurried past the patrol station in the next street, fumbling with the robes a little as she passed to hide the fact that she had no breath mask. That must be why others had stared at her—she saw now that everyone on the street had masks dangling from their belts.
    The patrollers in the open station didn’t call to her, even though Felice recognized one as having been at the dockyards. The robes were well-concealing. But Felice didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she was a long way past the patrol station.
    Felice found Judith’s bar easily enough. It didn’t look like much. Faded hangings over the open doorway moved in the slight breeze, and the interior wasn’t a lot brighter than the streets outside.
    Not many people inside it either, Felice noted as she entered. Too bad. It was easier to blend in with a crowd.
    A woman with red hair caught up in a loose bun tended bar, and most of the clientele were men. Another look made Felice catch her breath. Not men . . . Shareem .
    They were looking at her. Not all of them overtly—some only threw glances at her while others slowly turned in her direction. It was like being assessed by wild animals watching something new wander into their territory. They were trying to decide whether Felice was threat or prey.
    A few women mingled among the Shareem, these dressed in either robes or coveralls. One Shareem ignored Felice to slide his arm around the woman next to him and gave her a long, tongue-filled kiss.
    Felice shivered, thinking of Kieran. No wonder these guys were popular.
    One