Free Vanquished by Allyson Young

slickness between her legs. The sense
of losing control made her reluctant to see him again.
      Vayne had been consistently invading her
space, affording her no privacy except for her bodily functions. The stint in
the exercise room, an interesting area filled with many of the accouterments
she used in her own training, had settled her nerves with the familiar. Until she’d sparred with the sovereign. He was a warrior, as
she’d assumed, and well trained. Even her quickness hadn’t saved her, and the
experience of his hands all over her, as well as the time she’d spent on the
floor beneath his strong body, elicited those damn responses she couldn’t keep
tamped down. As for her fantasy about bringing him to his knees with her
fighting ability … well,
he hadn’t allowed her the palka .
    They’d even shared a meal in that
training room, sitting on benches in a corner, Vayne
choosing the best cuts of meat and vegetables to offer her. She had been hard
pressed to ignore the speculative and appreciative glances of a few crew
members who worked out in close proximity while keeping a respectful distance.
The business of being fed from his hand meant things she didn’t care to
consider. The sovereign never took his focus from her and if she forgot herself
and her situation for an instant, it was like basking in definite warmth.
    She’d tried to stay alert for any
opportunity to take advantage of but was fast becoming resigned to the fact she
was on a ship in space, surrounded by Shadalla, and definitely with nowhere to
run. So that meant she had to dissuade the alien and convince him she wasn’t
destined to be any part of his future.
    Vayne took her on a tour of the Tomodr , and she’d soaked in the
surroundings eagerly, though thwarted by the unfamiliar written language and
markings. Not to mention being distracted by the big hand resting familiarly
and possessively on the small of her back. He guided her with his touch, but it
was more than that, and willing her body’s responses away was become more and
more difficult. She was beginning to doubt her ability to resist him, and the
fear that invoked helped her find additional strength.
    “Neira.”
    She quit stalling and sallied forth, glumly aware he’d filched her clothing again. A
garment reposed on the bed. It appeared to be a dress of some sort, a long,
flowing item of clothing in varying shades of white and cream. Something she
would never choose for herself and something she was certain she didn’t care to
wear. Vayne was once again dressed in his uniform of leggings and tunic, his
loose exercise clothing nowhere to be seen. She tore her gaze away from the
sight of his tall, strong body.
    “We will take the evening meal
with the crew and their females, Neira, if you will don the paca . Three of your fellow passengers
are chosens.”
    That sounded like too much of
coincidence to her, and her resolve suddenly firmed. There was more to this
chosen business than he was letting on. She’d actually begun to consider that
it might be akin to miraculously finding one’s soul mate amongst many, but
perhaps it was like having a certain blood type.
    “I’d prefer my own clothing.” She
didn’t miss the slight flicker of irritation that tightened the skin around his
mouth—and it served to have her take notice of how sculpted his lips were. Focus!
    “My bride must be properly
attired, Neira.”
    “I am not your bride.”
    His demeanor didn’t change. “For
all intents and purposes, you are. You will be. And I want you to meet more of
my crew, dressed appropriately.”
    She could refuse, make a scene, but then what? She might be confined to the cabin and risk his
ire, though she truly didn’t sense he would harm her. And if she complied, she
would be able to see the other captives and get some answers to her questions.
Without acknowledging his imposing presence, she crossed to where the
confounded dress lay. There were two scraps of fabric tucked alongside