Ghost in my Heart [Darklands Book 4] Page 4

  Glazed eyes looked at him in apparent ecstasy. “What ... is this?” she whispered.

  "Adoc. It's made from a local nut.” His voice came out a hoarse scratch. Her eyes dipped to the dessert and he hastily offered her another bite.

  "Ooo,” she moaned.

  Sweat broke out all over his body. Dagon quickly handed her the tiny stone dish and the ivory dessert spoon, unable to take more without disgracing himself.

  A quick glance showed similar scenes being enacted all over the room. Apparently adoc was heady stuff for Earth women.

  Ser leaned close. Never taking his eyes off of Jen, he murmured, “I'd like to paint myself with that stuff and lock myself in a room with her."

  A vision of himself and a far different woman flashed before Dagon's eyes and his temperature went up a hundred degrees. “Ser!” he growled.

  Ser laughed without mirth, understanding the frustration in Dagon's voice.

  The liquor drenched, layered wafer and fruit tortes were nearly as dangerous, the candies only slightly less so. Vana had finished the desserts before Dagon realized he hadn't had any, and that he didn't care. Just watching her had been dessert enough.

  In fact, his sweet tooth was aching.

  No matter how luscious the desserts had been, they still weren't enough to completely distract Vana from her situation. While eating, she'd cataloged the room around her, sifting through the visual impressions to get a better grasp of what kind of place it was. The servers, she noted, were mostly youths between the ages of eight and twelve. Some of the older ones had grown quite tall for their age—these guys were not small men—but the boyishness had not faded from their faces. Besides, they looked at her a little differently than the older men, with a mixture of curiosity and wistfulness. It unnerved her enough to ask Dagon, “So where are all your women? Surely you have some left."

  "Very few.” He hesitated. “Those who are left ... did not care to attend the banquet."

  Vana considered his guarded expression. “They don't like us being here."

  He seemed to choose his words carefully. “You are an unwelcome reminder of what they perceive as their failings. They cannot have daughters—you will have nothing but."

  Her eyes widened. “What!"

  "We will ensure that you have nothing but daughters,” he repeated earnestly, leaning forward a little as if trying to reassure her. “We have the science to do this."

  His gall astounded her. First he stole women, informed them that they would choose husbands, then refused to allow them a say in the child's sex? “And what if I want to have boy? Did it ever occur to you that we might want to have sons?"

  Silence descended over the hall at her forceful question.

  Dagon looked as if he couldn't believe his ears. “But we need daughters. Many of them. More men would only complicate our situation."

  She stood up, breathing hard. He rose, too. Angry enough to ignore the way he dwarfed her, she said in a low, biting tone that nonetheless carried, “I have been kidnapped. Informed that I will choose a husband. And now you have the gall to stand there and tell me that I can't even choose the sex of my own child?” her voice rose to a shout. “If I want a son, I will have a son. But you don't have to worry, Dagon, because it definitely won't be yours.” She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him speechless behind her.

  She was still boiling when she slammed the door of the women's chamber behind her, leaving her escorts outside. Unbearable to be guarded even inside this place. Where did they think she would go?

  She kicked a pillow, sending it flying. Then she grabbed it and used it to whack a stone column, beating out her fear and rage. It was a large pillow, and held out longer than her short spurt of fury. Still angry, but not destructively so, she paced the room, looking for a way out. Other than a locked set of double doors, there were none.

  Somehow, someway, she had to get out.

  * * * *

  The banquet lost some of its triumph for Dagon after Vana stalked out. Her angry words made him consider some of the difficulties he faced in integrating the women into his culture. It could be done and would be. It was unfortunate that women like her would make the task so much more difficult on themselves.

  He considered what he might be feeling in her situation. Since he could do little about the darker emotions, he settled on loss of direction as something to focus on. She would be without a purpose, would need something to keep her active mind busy. And he definitely wanted that one occupied. She may even have given him the key to structuring the men and women's time together.

  Satisfied with his decisions, he leaned back, considering the alien women. Already they displayed less fear, which was good. He would have to see which men were qualified to be instructors. If it meant spending time around the women, he suspected that there would be a large number of volunteers eager to help.

  His smile returned, and he resolved to put Vana from his mind. After all, thanks to the recent hunt, there were many more women to choose from.

  * * * *

  Vana submitted to the physical the next morning because she had no choice. Besides, the medic performed some very painless and long overdue dental work. Considering how much she'd been dreading having her teeth capped, it was a relief to have him coat her teeth with something guaranteed not to chip or wear. They had made her go first, possibly on the conclusion that it would be easier to do the most difficult woman at the start.

  Her genetic workup was done and they took a tiny amount of blood.

  "I'll have your specific supplements finished by tomorrow,” the medic informed her, his attention on an e-reader. He held up a tiny pellet for her examination. “This is birth control. It's activated by your personal cycle, and goes into effect during that time. It's programmed to ensure that you do not conceive male children.” He popped it into a handheld device.

  "No!” she shouted, and jumped off the table. The guards stirred warily.

  The medic regarded her with unruffled calm. “It is painless, has no side effects, and is required.” When she didn't move, he said, “You will be restrained if necessary."

  Her eyes narrowed. “You might lose some body parts if you try."

  Ellyn came up beside her, sympathy in her eyes. “Very well. Walk with me and I will try to change your mind."

  Vana eyed her suspiciously, but submitted to Ellyn linking their arms as they strolled through the woman's room and down a few corridors. The sound of rhythmic shouts and the clash of metal grew louder until they stood on a balcony over a huge inner courtyard. Boys aged five to eighteen trained in blocks, separated by age. All wore black, loose pants and nothing else. Some of the older adolescents wore sashes of varying colors. All of the instructors wore red sashes.

  Dagon was there, teaching a class of five through seven year olds. He walked among the boys, patiently correcting their stances and moves. There must have been several hundred males there, and not a woman in sight.

  Expressionless, Ellyn watched the group in silence for a moment before saying, “This is our next generation."

  Foreboding knocked on Vana's heart. “Where do the women train?"

  Ellyn's smile didn't reach her eyes. “Our women are never permitted such a thing, even if they desired it. There are far too few of us, and we are watched over carefully to ensure that no harm comes to us. Our presence here is a true indication of the ratio of male to female in our race."

  Horror made Vana's mouth open. “A true ... you're serious!"

  "Deadly.” Ellyn looked at the men again.

  "But ... where are all their mothers? They didn't come from thin air.” She still couldn't believe it.

  "I myself had fifteen children in an attempt to have a daughter,” Ellyn said, infinite sorrow in her eyes. “Some women have birthed even more, trying every way our doctors could think of to conceive. Nothing worked, or worked consistently. We are a tired, bitter sex, girl. More than happy to turn the birthing of daughters to someone else, but jealou
s that you can do what we can not. Don't expect sympathy from us over your desire to have a son. You are free to choose any of ours.” Her jaded expression seemed at odds with the woman she'd seemed to be.

  Vana frowned. “I would love my children no matter what gender they were."

  "Say that after fifteen male babes and three miscarriages—all daughters,” Ellyn said dryly, “and I might believe you. At least I still look in on my children from time to time. Some women cannot even bear the sight of them and send them into the care of whoever will take them. A number of the boys below are such children."

  Anger made Vana's jaw lock. She wanted to demand which children, but didn't. What could she do, go down there and adopt them all?

  "Come,” Ellyn said firmly. “You have an implant to get."

  Resentment made Vana's steps slow, but she didn't try to bolt. It would have been a futile move, considering that any one of her four armored guards was twice her size. The gun on the hip of the left guard caught her eye.

  He noticed her glance and sent her a stern look, almost daring her to try it.

  Once again Vana found herself with the medic. “Can this be reversed?” she asked grimly as he reloaded his tool.

  "It won't be."

  "But it can be. What if someone found a way to make your women conceive and girls started popping up everywhere?"

  "It won't happen. I know everything there is to know about female fertility. If there was a way to make that happen, I would have found it."

  "If you knew everything there was to know, they'd all be having girl babies,” Vana said sweetly.

  His eyes narrowed and he pressed the tool to her skin, delivering a slight sting along with the pellet.

  But Vana had an idea now, and she was loath to let it go. “I'd like to see your research on the matter."

  He looked at her as if she were mad. “You don't read our language."

  "So? You must have translators somewhere. You guys managed to get along in our world. Besides, I'm sure the ladies here would like a chance to read some of your books if you provide translators. I'm sure Dagon would approve. After all, think how it would help us to learn about your culture.” Sarcasm laced her voice.

  The medic glanced at Ellyn. “You'll have to ask Tzar Dagon about it."

  "Tzar?” The word didn't seem to translate well.

  "It is like a prince, or a king, but he is checked by a high council. Their offices are hereditary, but the Tzar is elected in a battle of arms, wit and character."

  "How is it an election, then?"

  "He must be elected by his peers before he can compete in the trials."

  "Humph. King Dagon, is it?” That was the first time she'd heard the title. Figured. He had the arrogance to be a king. But arrogance or not, she had some things to say to him.

  To her surprise, she had no trouble getting an audience with him. She had expected to be treated like a prisoner, so it was a surprise to see women coming and going—with escorts, of course—to see various parts of the Bride House, as it was being called. She planned to take the tour herself, maybe find a likely escape route, but first she had business to take care of.

  The guards let her into Dagon's office, and then left the heavy door a discreet crack open. She glanced at it in surprise. It had been a long time since she'd been around people so conscientious about proprieties.

  One glance at Dagon and she understood better why. The man was still dressed in only black pants and red sash. The hard expanse of his bare chest and the power in his arms were magnetic. It was all she could do to drag her eyes away and look him in the eye. Even so, she felt her face burning and prayed she wasn't blushing.

  "You look warm,” he drawled, eyeing the bright sunset orange, yellow and reds of her sarong. Her top was a more sedate rust color, a long sleeved, cropped shirt with a V-neck that clung to her curves and showed a generous length of smooth abdomen. His eyes lingered there, causing her color to heighten, before he gestured her to a low table spread with refreshments and a pile of cushions. “Seat yourself and I'll pour you a cool drink."

  Glad of the excuse he gave her, she quickly sat on a geometric patterned cushion. Strong like the man who owned them, the sapphire, ruby and bronze colors of the cushions supported her in silky comfort. There was something disturbingly intimate about the way he reclined on their softness, rarely taking his eyes off her as he ate.

  Unaccountably she felt shy. She'd sought him out with an agenda, but now had difficulty untying her tongue. It would help if he would stop staring at her like that.

  Dagon wouldn't care if she never spoke. He was engaged in a pleasant fantasy of dragging his tongue down the center line of her pretty stomach. The temptation to suck on her skin, to caress the tempting softness there was powerful. She might like it. By the way she kept sneaking looks at his bare skin she might even welcome a little body play.

  Perhaps he should save room for dessert.

  Her throat worked as she swallowed, drawing his eyes there. Oh, yes. He could feel the hunger growing.

  As if girding for battle, she stiffened. “I would like translators put in the women's room,” she said finally, with a militant gleam in her eye. “We would like to read in your language."

  "Certainly. I'll have video translations made available as well. I'm glad to see you taking such an interest in your new home,” he said without hesitation. He grinned at her look of confusion.

  Her shoulders slumped as she lost momentum, then an irked expression crossed her face. “Good. Then you don't mind if I study the problem of your women's fertility for myself. A fresh perspective may shed light on the problem."

  Puzzled at her motive, he said cautiously, “Even if you solved the mystery tomorrow, I would not let you leave. None of the women we have left are young. You will still bear a daughter.” Many of them, in fact, but there was no need to remind her of that just then.

  Resentment showed in her eyes. “Have you considered that the daughters you are so set on will carry your genes? What if they have trouble bearing daughters? It would be smart to study the matter further now, before you have another crisis."

  He hadn't considered that. But somehow he doubted it was concern for his people that motivated her. “And what do you get out of it?"

  "It will keep my mind busy. I didn't spend all my time working myself to death for an education to let my mind go to pot now."

  He'd bet his armor that there was more motivating her than just that. Maybe she planned to gain access to tools that could help her escape. He would have to set someone to watch her—one of the younger men. Someone tolerant. The time spent together might even form into a match. Surely the sooner she was wedded and bedded, the more tractable she would be.

  A flash of heat at the thought made his nostrils flare.

  The pros and cons of letting her have her way flashed through his mind. What could it hurt? And if it kept her busy.... Besides, it would be the perfect opportunity to win a boon from her. After all, it wasn't very often that he had a pretty woman indebted to him. “Very well. But it will cost you. Are you familiar with the art of massage?"

  She eyed him like something foul that she didn't want to step in. “Why?"

  Dagon gifted her with a predator's smile. “It's the price of my cooperation. And it would be a pleasant gesture on your part.” Without waiting for her answer, he rolled over on his stomach, laid his head on his arms and closed his eyes. She might as well get used to accepting a man's will. Her future husband would thank him for beginning her training.

  As he'd known she would, she eventually rounded the table and sank down by his side, but not without some muttering. As her hands gingerly touched his back, she grumbled, “Is there anything else you want, your greatness?"

  Amused by the way she made a slur of his title, he murmured, “Mm. I don't think you're ready yet for what I'd really like."

  Her hands stilled, and then commenced pounding on his back with satisfying force. It didn't last, though. Those
small hands of hers took more punishment than he did, and soon she had to resume a slower rubbing motion.

  It felt incredibly good. Very erotic. He was tempted to roll over and offer to give her the same service, though his version would be considerably more provocative. Glad he was on his belly, covering the result of his heated thoughts, he quieted himself to enjoy her attentions. After all, he had not chosen her ... yet.

  But she had come to him. Surely that entitled him to some playfulness?

  The temptation was too great to bear. “Tell me, adajah, how is it that you remained chaste in a world as promiscuous as your own? You're quite old to be still a—ow!” He rolled over so quickly she fell away from him. No one had dared to strike him outside of battle in many years. It may have only been a cuff on the back of his head, but her audacity shocked him.

  It turned him on a little, too. Or maybe that was a result of her inelegant sprawl, which put her within easy reach. The length of leg she was showing didn't hurt, either.

  Before he could thunder at her, she snapped, “That's rude to mention, you—you jerk! How could you guys sneak around, taking secret photos of us ... or whatever you did? If I'd wanted a bunch of horny guys to see me naked, I'd have posed for Playboy and gotten paid for it!"

  Dagon gaped at her. “Had I seen you naked, woman, I'd have remembered it! We did scans, true, but—"

  "You invaded my privacy, and every other woman's here. As for how you could know that we, that I.... “She trailed off and looked away.

  "That's a very small thing, compared to what we intend to do to you.” The heated words were a threat, true, but one he regarded with sensual promise. Too late, he realized how it would sound to her. He reached for her.

  Vana shot to her feet and backed away. Aiming for the door, she circled him, careful to stay out of reach.

  "Vana.” He stood up, extended his hand toward her. It only made her step quicker.

  She slipped through the door and was gone.