CATRIN

I sleep for what feels like forever. When I wake up, I’m enveloped by a feeling of safety and security. I feel like I can relax.

Then the last vestiges of sleep drop away and I remember where I am. I tense, glancing around the messy room. It’s quiet. The door’s still sealed. No one’s come to bother me while I sleep. Even the clothes I neatly folded and set at the foot of the bed are untouched.

Maybe…maybe the big blue devil wasn’t lying. Tarekh, I remind myself. I have to remember his name. I think if he would just fling me down on the bed and have his way with me, it might be better. Then I might know what to expect. It’s this uncertainty that’s making me a little stir-crazy. I’m both on edge and hopeful for the first time in what feels like forever. Have I landed in a safe place after all? Or is this the calm before the shitstorm?

I ease upright in the bed, biting back a hiss of pain. Truth be told, the awful, biting pain is better than it was yesterday. The numbness is wearing off, but things feel more knitted together, less hot and achy. My face doesn’t throb with my pulse anymore. All good things. I look around the room, mentally searching for signs that it’s been disturbed while I slept. Before I went to bed, I tried to organize things a little. I cleared off the sleep pallet, folded some of the scattered clothes, and set a few objects in very specific ways so I’d know if someone came in and adjusted things. I’d also searched for hidden cameras and found none.

This morning—if it is morning—everything’s undisturbed, though. The long strands of hair I carefully laid on the floor in front of the door remain in place, and the junky piece of equipment I balanced on the edge of a stool right in front of the entryway is unmoved.

Maybe this Tarekh guy is legit.

Oh please, please. I don’t think I can take much more.

I shove that desperate thought back, because if I have to take more to survive, I will. I’m never giving up. I get to my feet, stretch a little, and rebelt my tunic. It’s the most (and cleanest) clothing I’ve had in months, so that’s a plus. My stomach growls and I decide it’s time to emerge from my cocoon and face whatever the universe has in store for me. I’ve never been good at hiding.

It takes me a moment to figure out how to open the door, but I eventually manage the same careless hand flick over the panel that Tarekh did, and then I’m in the hall of the ship. It’s cliché, but it reminds me of every science fiction movie-type ship out there—gray and unwelcoming and just a little dark, with lighting built into the walls. The metal floor underneath my feet is strangely warm, and I tiptoe out, looking for a familiar face.

I round a corner and there’s an open entryway that looks like it leads into a break room of some kind. Two of the big blue aliens hunch over tables. One is slurping noodles with some sort of weird tong-like utensil, and the other is holding what looks like an ice pack to his face. Both look up at the sight of me.

I freeze, my senses going on alert.

“Cat,” Tarekh says, grinning at me. He puts down his bowl and gets to his feet, and I’m reminded again how big and strong he is. A shiver of fear races down my spine, but I ignore it. There’s something about his face that looks different today and as he comes closer, I realize what it is.

He’s bruised to hell. His deep blue skin is mottled with even darker bruises, and one eye is swollen shut. It makes his strange features even that much stranger, but he’s smiling at me like he won the lottery. I look over and his friend is just as beat up.

“Did I miss something?”

“We won,” the other guy says flatly. He gets to his feet, casts a look over at Tarekh, and then leaves the room.

“Won? Won what?” I ask, curious.

Tarekh just shrugs his big shoulders and points at the chair he recently vacated. “Bar fight. Sit and eat. You hungry?”

“Always,” I admit. Food is one of those things that I’ve learned you never overlook. Doesn’t matter if it’s cooked bugs atop worm noodles, I’m going to slurp it all down because I never know when the next meal is coming. Slaves aren’t fed three square from what I’ve experienced.

I shuffle over to his seat and he pushes his bowl across from me, then moves to the wall and starts punching buttons into a menu. Something in the panel swooshes and then there’s a busy hum while a bowl plops out and begins to fill with noodly stuff. He leans against the wall and glances over at me. “Better this morning?”

I nod, pressing my fingers to my face as I keep my gaze glued to that bowl. I’m hungrier than I thought I’d be, and his calm, relaxed manner is making me hopeful that this isn’t another trick, that the rug’s going to be pulled out from under me again. Surely the universe isn’t that cruel. “My face feels better.”

“Infection’s gone, looks like. I can change your bandages after you eat, get some more numbing agent on it.” He grabs the bowl when the last noodle slides in and then picks up a utensil and offers it to me. “Eat first.”

I don’t have to be told twice. I take the bowl and the comically oversized utensil and start shoving food into my face. If my manners are crap, he doesn’t comment on it, just sits across from me and eats his own food. Whatever it is, it’s pretty tasty. Kind of like a cross between salt and vinegar potato chips and mushrooms. I’m pretty sure it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in the last year. Maybe ever.

My bowl’s empty before I realize it, and my stomach hurts from how much food I’ve eaten, but I feel good. Relaxed. When Tarekh pushes something that looks like a beaker toward me, I realize it’s a drink and sip it. Plain, clean water. Nice. I guzzle it down, too.

Then there’s nothing else to eat or drink, and I sit and watch him polish off his own food. It’s weird. His features are very foreign to me, and I can’t say that he’s handsome. But his eyes have crinkles at the corners, which makes me think he smiles a lot, and there’s a kindness to his ugly face that has appeal. I remember how carefully he wrapped my ribs yesterday, telling me what he was going to do, and not manhandling me like I was nothing.

There’s a lot to be said for small kindnesses.

“So what now?” I ask, hugging my arms to my waist and ignoring the twinge my ribs send up.

He looks over at me. “You want more food?”

Yes, my brain screams, but I ignore it. Pretty sure I’ll vomit if I eat more, but instinct’s a tough one to ignore. It wasn’t what I was asking anyhow. “No, I mean, what happens to me now?”

Tarekh nods slowly, then puts his bowl aside. There’s a couple of noodles floating in the broth at the bottom and I have to clasp my hands to keep from snatching them and eating them. God, how did I get like this? “You’re safe here,” is all Tarekh says. “You don’t have to go back to the station unless you want to.”

Why on earth would I want to? I shake my head.

“I can’t take you back to Earth,” he tells me, heading off my next question. “But if you’ve got someplace else you want to go, you just speak up.”

“Am I safe here?”

He nods. “Safe enough. Though I’m gonna be honest—this is a pirate ship. We don’t exactly play by the rules. Might be boarded by authorities and locked up at any minute, but we’re smarter than that.” He grins at me, white fangs flashing. “Long as you don’t mind hanging out with lowlifes, you’re here for as long as you like.”

I think of his friend, the one with the ice pack on his face. He didn’t look pleased to see me awake. “The others don’t like me.”

“Doesn’t matter what they think,” Tarekh says, leaning back and crossing his arms. His big legs sprawl under the table, and we’re sitting so close that practically puts me between them. Is that a hint, I wonder? Is my safety in exchange for sexual favors?

I’ve had worse deals. If it means food and a bed and no one beating the shit out of me, I’ll take it.

“They’re outvoted,” Tarekh is saying, and that pulls me from my thoughts of bodies and bargaining.

“Outvoted?” I ask.

“Yup. He knows it, too. See, we’re a crew, but we vote on things. Sentorr and Alyvos can be pissy all they want, but they know that when the captain and his mate get back, they’re outvoted. Fran will vote to keep you, and Kiv’s going to do whatever Fran wants.” He just gives me an amused little grin. “And of course, I vote to keep you, too.”

His smile is so warm and friendly that I don’t even mind that his face is kind of patched up badly and his nose is uneven. It sounds like he’s protecting me from the others, so I need to stay on his good side. All right, I know how to manage that.

“Thank you,” I tell him, and put my hand on one outstretched knee. I rub my thumb over the fabric and lock my eyes to his. “Shall I show you my thanks? Right under this table?” I drop my voice a husky note, because it’s all part of the role I need to play to survive—the grateful, horny captive.

He goes stiff and his eyes widen. He leans in and I think he’s going to whisper something to me, but he just plucks my hand off his knee and then stands up. “That isn’t what this is about.”

I watch him, curious. Ever since I was stolen from Earth, I’ve known what these people want from humans, and it’s only one thing. “That’s always what this is about.”

The big alien scrubs a hand down his face and for a moment he looks so consternated that I want to laugh hysterically, because it occurs to me that neither of us knows what to do with the other. “You’re safe here,” he tells me again.

“With you,” I clarify. “But not because of sex?”

“No sex.” He heaves out a breath and then begins to pace the room, his tail flicking. The smile’s gone from his face and he rubs the base of his horns, as if they feel hot. “And not just me. You’re safe here with everyone. If Aly or Sentorr so much as touch a hair on your head, they’ll be shitting from a new hole I’ll tear in their asses.”

Uh huh. I don’t entirely believe that. “But I’m not crew.”

“Not unless you want a job.”

I brighten at that. I can do something besides lie on my back or use my mouth to earn a place here? “Okay, give me a job.”

“Really?”

“Really.”