THREE STONE STEPS led to the private back garden of the brothel. In the distance, star clusters faded behind a purple-splashed dawn.
Fallon hiked up her skirts. Her feet hit the white walkway at a run; gravel crunched beneath her boots.
“Declan.” His name came out in a breathless rush, mingling with the scents of the genetically altered thyme and mint plants.
In front of her, he checked his long stride so she could keep up. He said something sharply, but she could not hear above her heart pounding in her ears.
Fallon could only imagine how the tiny stones in the path cut into his bare feet.
She ran on, praying they would not be found.
All around them, dark shapes morphed into decadent statues—reclining, leaning, standing—all in various stages of copulation.
On either side of the gravel pathway, plants with grassy leaves flowered with multiple blooms of white and cream. Fallon saw everything as she rushed by. Smaller faerie sculptures, antiqued with ash and wax, peeped through flower petals. Trees shaped like graceful domes overhung the winding pathway. White lace leaves dangled in mounds of tears. Tiny birds with multiple pairs of gold and blue wings glided through the air in their search for food.
Fallon struggled to keep up with the pace Declan set. They had just rounded a corner of black boulders, sprinkled with fragrant white phlox, when Declan stopped short.
She crashed into his strong back with a muffled oath, her nose plastered to sweaty skin and the tattooed image of a blade. His hand shot back, his fingers digging into her arm to steady her.
She felt him tense. Grasping his lean waist, she peered around him.
An exotic-looking blond stranger stood in the morning shadows. He was sunlight to Declan’s darkness.
Fallon stared at the gray collar resting on his collarbone. With only one light, it was thinner than Declan’s.
“Here, take these.” The stranger thrust a pile of dark clothes into Declan’s arms, then stepped back and pointed. “Follow the path around the pond to the rocky wall and turn right.”
Fallon looked to where he indicated. Dwarf bearded irises of some hybrid variety stretched to the edge of the pond’s black waters, hiding the path from the naked eye.
She turned back to the stranger. Beneath her palms, Declan’s body was taut with tension.
“Go through the gate and head west,” the stranger continued with his directions. “In the black light district is the Bloodgood bar. I have friends there who can help you.”
“What are the names of these friends?” Declan inquired, his tone less then friendly.
“Names are too dangerous. When they see the collar, they will approach you.”
“How far to the Bloodgood bar from here?” he asked, shifting in front of her.
“It’ll take you most of the day. Once you leave the main part of town, houses are sparse until you reach the black light district. The Bloodgood bar is at the farthest end.
“Why do you help us?” Fallon asked in a small voice.
Slanted blue eyes slid to Declan. “Because he is not one of us. He needs to be free,” the stranger replied.
“You are a pleasurer?” Fallon asked.
“Yes, mistress.”
Fallon stepped around Declan and wiped her sweaty hands in her skirts. “Come with us,” she offered.
The pleasurer shook his head. “No, mistress.”
“Why not?” Fallon persisted. She could feel Declan’s displeasure digging holes in her back.
“Freedom is not for everyone, mistress. I am happy here.”
“To be kept and used?” Fallon murmured incredulously.
“Yes, mistress.” He bowed his head and smiled. “To be kept and used. Not all of us wear the new rape collar.”
Shouts rose behind them, coming from the brothel.
Declan muttered an oath.
Fallon turned back, only to discover the blond pleasurer had disappeared behind tall green hedges before she could thank him.
Declan grabbed her wrist.
“What about him?” she asked.
“He made his choice.”
Her own pleasurer leaped forward, dragging her to the path leading to the black pond.
Lord Tomaidh Henderson of Clan Henderson stared at the small patch of dried blood on the carpet, now soiled and grubby with smoke, burn marks, and the water it had taken to stop the blaze. The stench the fire had left offended his sensitive nature.
“A virgin’s blood, Tommy?”
Stiffening at the familiar voice, Lord Henderson glanced behind him. Normally, he did not associate with brutal and insane personalities, but business was business.
Commander Lin Derek Ramayan relaxed against the doorjamb, arms casually folded across his chest. He wore the prestigious black uniform of the warship Shadowkeep. His blond hair was cropped short and his eyes, like those of the legendary father before him, were of the palest blue. They watched him with a glittering and uncomfortable intensity.
“Blood from your bride-to-be, Tommy?”
“Yes,” Lord Henderson replied, looking down at the bloodstain. No other explanation could be found in his own mind. His hands fisted at his sides.
“Are you sure, Tommy? DNA testing …”
“I do not need a test to know what happened here, and do not call me Tommy.” Lord Henderson pulled at his red frock coat. An ancient symbol of the aristocracy, it barely hid a bulging stomach born of indulgences. He was a man in his middle thirties, accustomed to obedience from those around him.
“If she were mine, I would have kept a tighter leash.”
“She is not yours,” he said low and forcefully. Why his bride-to-be had gone to a brothel to purchase the services of a male pleasurer, he could not fathom. It had taken his men most of the night to track her to this place of soiled virtue, but he’d arrived at Balan’s Brothel too late.
“What are you doing here?” Lord Henderson prompted with a sneer, not turning around. He rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension. “I thought you’d be off playing with your space pirates.”
Ramayan’s lips curved in a sinister smile. “For shame, Tommy. You and I both know I don’t play with space pirates. For your information, the warship Shadowkeep of Clan Ramayan delivered the Spanish ambassador to the MacKendrick Castle. Renewing old trade negotiations, I suppose. It seems to be the thing to do since the war ended. Anyway, I contacted your ship, Pict. Her captain said you were here.” His voice lowered. “I expected more than a single vial of the virus.”
“That was a sample.” Lord Henderson’s voice shook with anger. “I did not have the Douglas energy crystals to run the DNA synthesizers, damn you. You know their astronomical fuel consumption.”
“I cannot wait much longer. The interceptor satellites are near completion. My window of opportunity is closing. I need to plant the virus soon.”
“You’ll have your virus. I’ve made other arrangements, do not worry.” Lord Henderson turned his attention back to the scorched room. “Balan!” he called impatiently.
The proprietor walked back from the soiled bed, wiping the sweat from his brow, his shoes squishing in the white foam.
“That dark-haired pleasurer is worth a lot to me,” Balan said in obvious upset. “I’ve lost much this night.”
“You mean the Douglas Savage, do you not, Master Balan?” Commander Ramayan inquired knowingly.
“I’ll handle this, Commander,” Lord Henderson spoke with impatience.
“As you wish.”
Henderson slapped pristine gray gloves in his hand to get Balan’s attention. “How convenient for you that my men rendered the Douglas Savage unconscious at the space station.”
Balan’s left eyelid twitched. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Is that so?” He gave the bloodstain near the tip of his left boot a final regard.
“No, I don’t know anything about this Douglas Savage, my lord.”
“Do not lie to me, Master Balan. I know you enslave young men against their will. Come now, tell me the truth, or it will go very badly for you.”
The shorter man muttered under his breath. “I only enslave an uncommon few.”
“What constitutes uncommon?” the commander inquired from behind him.
The proprietor shrugged. “Physical beauty. Virility. Stamina. Spirit. Intelligence. Few males possess all these traits.”
Henderson scowled. It was quite true that he, himself, possessed all of these traits, so why did that bitch-whore run away? “Freeborn does not matter?” he asked.
“Not when there is a profit to be had.”
Lord Henderson understood profit. “How long did the princess share this room with him?”
“She contracted for one standard hour then purchased four more.”
His gaze slid to the scorched bed. “Five godforsaken hours? What the hell did he do with her?”
Behind him, Ramayan chuckled then moved up to join him. Henderson ignored him. “Was the pleasurer in a lust stage?” he demanded of the brothel owner.
The shorter man buried his fists in his pockets. “Yes, the pleasurers usually are in a lust stage. They perform better.”
“Bastard. I’ll make her watch when I slowly castrate him. Then I’ll ship what’s left of him back to his half brother.” He slapped his gloves against his left thigh in high agitation.
“Master Balan, will you give us a moment?” Commander Ramayan asked.
The proprietor moved away and Ramayan turned his full attention to the fat lord.
“Damn the Douglas for not accepting my fair offer,” Henderson muttered. “I only wanted to purchase a dozen of his clan’s energy crystals, not the entire cache.”
“Tommy, you need to listen to me.”
“I am listening, damn you.”
“The Douglas Savage belongs to me. I want him unharmed.” Ramayan thought about the secrets of his past and what was owed him. Declan de Douglas was his younger half brother. They shared the same father. No one knew but him. No one would know until he wanted them to know.
The fat lord glared at him, anger overriding good sense. “Why?”
“My plans are my own, Tommy. I’ll tell you this, though. If Declan is harmed, I’ll kill you,” he offered his promise of reality in a pleasant but menacing tone. “Do we understand each other, my fat friend?”
Lord Henderson’s eyes narrowed with faint displeasure before he nodded. “Damn your secrets upon secrets, Ramayan. What is he to you? The bastard already destroyed my plans to kidnap the Douglas twins and force Lachlan into compliance.”
“That’s not my problem.”
The commander’s comment annoyed him greatly. “I told you. I require the Douglas energy crystals to run the DNA synthesizers to produce the oligos.”
“Again, that is not my problem. I purchased the product and care not for the means by which you produce it.”
Henderson gritted his teeth. The small DNA strands his scientists engineered were known as oligonucleotides or oligos. They could be customized to fit any client’s design, be it deadly or benign. He cared little for the outcome of his cultivation of dangerous microorganisms, as long as he received his money. Ramayan was his first client. If the commander wanted a full-length, fast-acting poliovirus, then so be it. Based on human oligos, this poliovirus killed within days, instead of taking years to manifest.
“What are your plans, Tommy? I need to get back to my ship.”
He hated being called Tommy. It was degrading. “They’ll not defy me,” he said and looked again at the remains of the scorched bed.
“I’m sure they will not,” Commander Ramayan replied tolerantly. He watched as the fat lord gestured for the brothel proprietor to come near. With a kind of casual interest, he noted the little man’s approach and the odd twitching above his left eye. It fascinated him in a malicious sort of way. Fear always fascinated him, making him hungry for more. “Your left eyelid twitches, Balan,” he mocked, his lips twisting in a predator’s interest. “A most exceedingly odd spasm.”
Swallowing hard, the proprietor gave a faint tug on his eyelid, then turned to Henderson.
Ramayan locked his hands behind his back and listened intently to his associate’s dictate.
Lord Henderson exhaled sharply. His shoulders were tight with stress. He wanted the idiot princess back and was prepared to do what was needed. “Balan, I want you to post a reward for the whereabouts of your dark-haired pleasurer. Make it a large incentive. Say fifty thousand credits?”
“I cannot afford that,” the man protested.
“But I can,” he replied smugly. “I will provide the reward.”
The proprietor’s grimace turned into a grin. “I will see to it, my lord.”
“Do not use the name Douglas Savage in your reward notice,” the commander warned silkily. “We would not want to alert Clan Douglas.”
“Agreed.” Henderson gave a brief nod at the suggestion. All was falling back into place. He was in charge again.
“What about the princess?” the proprietor asked, showing the caution of one who was exceedingly wise when dealing with spoiled individuals.
The feeling of control deserted Henderson. “The bitch-whore is none of your concern, Balan.” He waved the bothersome little man away.
“Lower class individual,” the commander muttered after Balan left.
“Yes.”
“I am curious, Tommy. What is your plan?”
“I will tell her father that the pleasurer kidnapped her from the Dove Inn. When the Douglas Savage tires of her, she’ll probably crawl back to me anyway, begging for my forgiveness.” His lips curved into a cruel smile, relishing the thought.
Ramayan knew that look well. “Contemplating a princess’s punishment, Tommy?”
“Looking forward to it, Commander. Looking forward to it.”
Ramayan patted his associate on the back, feeling the thick layers of fat beneath the expensive clothes. “I will be in touch, Tommy.” Turning on his heel, he walked out, leaving the stench of the fire behind. He had much to do. Upon receipt of the completed infectious agents, he needed to get them into the Douglas’s planetary satellites before their launch. He turned a corner, his mood turning darker. It would be the final act of retribution for the death of a father he had never known. The past drifted into his soul and he remembered his mother, a favored whore of Commander Lin Jacob Rama … until the Lady Saph-ire Townshend came into the picture. Pregnant and abandoned by her benefactor, his mother had birthed him in a brothel. She had raised him spouting stories of his proud Clan Ramayan lineage and his kinship to the warrior clan. At an early age, he had learned to hate her. He hated her simplicity and her poverty, and had run away and joined the military. All of that was behind him, locked safely in the past. He was in his late thirties now, the commander of Shadowkeep, his father’s warship.
The time for vengeance was almost upon him. He suspected his father would have been proud.