CHAPTER THREE
The next day passed slowly for Miriell, confined to the couch. Jareck released her to go to the bathroom a few times and take a shower in the late afternoon. His eyes were red and his gait unsteady after his night of revels, but his mood was upbeat. “I won some pretty substantial pots,” he said over their shared lunch from room service, not that she cared, but he clearly wanted to boast to someone. “Piles of credits. I like this assignment so far. Beats some of the others we’ve done. High-class hotel and all the trimmings. This is the life. Too bad if you help Opherra snag this guy she wants tonight, then we’re on our way back to base tomorrow, or whenever the next ship leaves.”
“I don’t think Opherra would take it well if I fail for her.” Miriell kept conversation with Jareck to a minimum at all times, but she couldn’t resist pointing the fact out.
“No.” He shuddered and pointed his fork at her. “This time, be sure you carry through to the end, not like the woman at the restaurant, although it was funny. The expression on the waiter’s face!” Mouth open, still chewing, he guffawed. “This job does have its moments. I about bust my gut when the dishes and the food went flying. Better than a comedy trideo. Maybe I should have you force people to do more slapstick stuff when we’re out and about. Relieve the boredom.”
In the afternoon, Tamlu came with the usual armful of cosmetics and dresses and spent two hours getting a docile Miriell properly done up for the evening’s expensive festivities. As she worked, the garrulous assistant gossiped a bit about Opherra. “I think she has a sneaking fondness for this guy you’re going to meet at the charity event. Or maybe she’s intrigued because he hasn’t fallen at her feet yet. He’s a challenge. She didn’t much appreciate the big boss insisting on bringing you in to help persuade the rich industrialist to fall for her, let me tell you. Not only does she not want anyone sharing the credit for acquiring this guy as a patsy, but she’s super-competitive with your boss, the ringmaster. Took Conor hours to calm her down after the order came through.”
“What does he think about this situation?” It was unprecedented for Miriell to ask a question. She didn’t care about these people who owned her, but she was curious about Conor. “Is he jealous of her seducing someone else?”
Tamlu moved to paint elaborate eye makeup on Miriell’s left eyelid. “Don’t move, honey. Jealous? Of what? There’s nothing between him and Opherra. Not anymore. She takes all the good-looking ones to her bed eventually, like some kind of initiation, but she doesn’t keep them. Life is a moving feast to our boss lady.” Tamlu paused, brush in midair, motes of colored powder drifting away. A small smile played over her lips. “I pick up the pieces when she’s had enough. Well, usually. Not with Conor. Man’s a monk.” She went back to work with renewed energy. “Now, if you were asking me about Saviano—” Spreading a creamy rouge on Miriell’s lips, Tamlu whistled and winked.
Obediently, Miriell blotted her lips on a tissue. “When we go out, Conor and Opherra act like they’re together.”
“He’s the best bodyguard she’s ever had. Ex-military. Nothing gets by him. Saved her life a couple of times. But it’s business. He’s her trusted second-in-command, and if he’s secretly scheming to take her place, he hides it well, which is rare in the Combine. But you never know with these big silent types.”
Tamlu added a finishing touch of some sparkly stuff to Miriell’s cleavage and stepped away to consider dresses and accessories.
Miriell stayed put in the chair, like an obedient servant, pondering the tidbits she’d gleaned from the chatty woman. If the Shemdylann had sold her to this branch of the Combine, instead of to the woman she knew as the ringmaster, would her life have been any different? Any better? No, I’d still be a prisoner.
“I vote for the red one,” Jareck said, passing through the room.
“Totally wrong with her pale green skin tones.” Tamlu tossed the dress aside. “The dress got mixed in by mistake. And besides, Opherra tends to wear red. She doesn’t like competition.”
“My homely alien female is no threat to someone like your boss lady.” After delivering his cutting assessment of Miriell’s charms, Jareck went into the bedroom and shut the door.
“A jerk like him stands zero chance with Opherra,” Tamlu said, bending close to Miriell’s ear as she fastened earrings to her lobes.
“It matters not to me.”
Tamlu gave her a sideways glance and bit her lip, apparently to stop herself from saying any more.
At the appointed time, Jareck took Miriell to the lobby to meet Conor and Opherra. While she waited beside the bank of large-leafed ornamental plants, Miriell sipped a bit of power from them, just in case. She was feeling much restored after her clandestine trip to the garden with Conor the night before, but the evening ahead was no doubt going to be challenging.
Jareck tugged at the collar of the all-black suit that had been delivered to the suite midmorning with strict instructions for him to wear it. “I hate this boring getup. A man has to express his true self when he’s going out on the town. How else can he attract the ladies?” Straightening, he pasted a smile on his face. “Here they come.”
Opherra’s expensive perfume announced her arrival, the scent clogging Miriell’s nostrils with a too-rich mixture of night-blooming flowers and seductive spice. When she turned, she had to stifle a laugh. Jareck—younger, skinnier and ill at ease—was a poor imitation of Conor, whereas the Amarotu soldier never displayed the slightest sign of being perturbed by anything. Jareck’s suit was undoubtedly expensive, but something about the way he wore it spoke of a man trying to ape his betters and failing. Conor was all elegant sophistication, his well-cut garment cloaking deadly abilities.
“All right, the two of you will have to do,” Opherra said, eyeing Miriell and her controller up and down. “My shell company bought an entire table at this boring charity gala tonight for an obscene amount of credits, so all members of the party seated with us are Combine family and will do as they’re told. And no one will talk about anything they overhear. Nothing like an oath of silence.”
The event was being held in a glittering ballroom a short drive away. When Miriell walked into the main ballroom in Opherra’s wake, she was overwhelmed by the size of the chamber, the glittering chandeliers overhead, the crowd of people dressed as expensively as Opherra, or even more so. Jewels flashed on the men and the women. A live orchestra played, strange-sounding music to her ears, but harmonious enough to be pleasing. Couples danced on an expanse of gleaming wooden flooring, while waiters circulated bearing silver trays of feelgoods and appetizers.
Opherra and her entourage were led to their table, where a group of bored citizens waited, all of them coming to attention when the boss arrived. Four seats were empty. Miriell was glad her back would be to the wall, as she’d been located next to a potted plant of some kind, vivid orange flowers decorating the dark green stalks. This planet covered by city wasn’t healthy for her, and she welcomed any chance to store up a bit more energy.
“I have to circulate, see and be seen,” Opherra said with a bored sigh. “Come, Conor.”
Gallantly, he gave her his arm, nothing but good humor showing on his face as he complied with her command.
Miriell wondered how he really felt but stopped herself from using even a small amount of her power. Conor wasn’t the target this evening. “How will I know who—”
“Bazin Megrew, sitting at the table across the way.” Opherra made the slightest gesture. “The blond who’s too sure of himself. In the impeccable suit and the boring shirt. The sacrifices I make for the Combine.” She laughed gaily and tugged Conor into the throng.
Unsure exactly whom she was to influence into a mad desire for Opherra, Miriell sipped her water and eyed the occupants of the designated table. There were three blond men and an older white-haired patriarch with the same strong features. Another family Opherra wants destroyed. The longer she watched, the more she realized everyone, even the oldest man at the table, was deferring to who she guessed was the middle son. Hoping she was right and this was Opherra’s target, she let her senses drift toward him.
“The assignment will be impossible,” she said to Jareck a moment later. “The man has no interest in Opherra whatsoever.”
Her controller stared at her, slack-jawed. “Well, I’m not letting you tell her that. You have to make him want to be in her bed. Try again.”
Opherra and Conor sat down as waiters began bringing lukewarm, bland food. “What progress have you made?” asked the crime boss as Conor poured her a glass of wine.
Miriell swallowed hard as Jareck elbowed her sharply in the ribs. “I’m working on him.”
“Work harder.” Opherra’s lips were thin and her forehead unbecomingly furrowed as she sipped at her wine. “As I suspected when I was pressured to accept this contract, the performer’s services have not been worth the fees,” she said to Conor, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows.
Miriell took a deep breath and tried again. The target was a normal man, no deep reserves of evil or lust. The most prominent aspect of his colors was the purple of true love for the woman at his side. Studying her for a moment, Miriell judged her to be an exceptional person, her aura bright with white and yellow tones. A selfless, intelligent, honest woman. If Bazin’s drawn to a mate with her attributes, there’s even less chance he’ll find Opherra’s brand of dark sexuality attractive. This task is impossible.
She glanced at Opherra, whose attention was on her plate and the shelled sea creatures she was extracting and devouring. Conor looked Miriell straight in the eyes and shook his head slightly, as if warning her not to report failure to the boss again.
Taking a drink of cool water, crunching the ice in her teeth to work off a bit of frustration, Miriell considered the matter. The man’s aura held a significant pocket of the shiny green she associated with business interest and acumen. Not quite greed, but certainly close. She was more accustomed to working with similar factors because of some of her past assignments in which she’d swayed people to agree to terms and conditions that a more-clear thinking individual might otherwise balk at. Might greed be the way to go? Could she influence him to want to hear Opherra’s business proposition and hope the boss could do whatever she needed on her own once she had an opening?
Worth a try.
Miriell focused all her efforts on the relevant aspect of Bazin’s desires, trying to tie the upsurge in financial concern to thoughts of Opherra.
Soon enough, the target excused himself from his own party and crossed the floor to Opherra’s table. “I watched you out on the dance floor a few minutes ago, putting everyone else in the shade,” he said as she greeted him with a provocative air, giving him her hand to kiss. “Listen, we probably should make an appointment to discuss a prospective deal further. I see possibility in what you were proposing now that I’ve considered the outline further. My family’s company has synergies with yours.”
“See, now this is what I’ve been telling you all along.” Opherra’s beaming smile invited the entire table to agree with her. “By all means, let us meet. Tomorrow? I hate to waste any more time exploring the synergies. Of the businesses.” She toyed with the fastening of his jacket, her red nails like claws, as he bent over her to chat.
His eyes widened in surprise at Opherra’s boldness in touching him, and Miriell increased her pressure on his craving for business success and the riches it might bring. Swallowing and straightening his jacket, retreating a step, the target said, “Fine, I’ll send your office the time and place.”
“Let’s keep the invitee list cozy—only the two of us for this opening discussion.” Opherra tilted her head as she played with one ruby-studded earring. “Get me alone, and I might reveal aspects of the deal my more cautious staff here”—she waved her hand at the people around her table—“wouldn’t like.” Her gaze was apparently mesmerizing. Bazin couldn’t seem to stop staring into her eyes.
She’s a deadly predator. Can’t he see the warning signs? Miriell was actually glad she and Jareck would soon be away from this woman’s sphere of influence. At least she knew what to expect from the ringmaster who ruled the branch of Amarotu holding her captive. Tiring, but still under orders, she pushed at Bazin to like the idea of conducting a meeting with Opherra alone, two principals together, no red tape or fussy lawyers. He had confidence in his own negotiation skills, and Miriell boosted his self-perception to reckless levels.
“Tomorrow, then.” Opherra fluttered her eyelashes and sipped at her wine.
“Sounds good. We can cut through the bullshit and red tape.” Nodding to the others at the table, Bazin walked away, rejoining his own group a moment later. He drew the woman he truly desired from her chair and whirled her off to the dance floor.
Miriell slumped in her seat, cutting off her efforts. A private business meeting is the best I can do. Opherra’s on her own now.
“Perhaps business is the way to his heart,” the crime boss said, spearing another crustacean and working to get at the rich meat concealed inside. “How boring. Of course, we may have to remove the fiancée to make room for me in all areas of his life.” She gave Conor a sideways glance. “You can arrange her absence? Permanently? I’ll make sure his heart doesn’t grow fonder. He’ll be far too busy to think about her.”
“Say the word, boss.” He took a mouthful of his own pasta. “No problem.”
“We’ll see how tomorrow’s meeting goes.”
Miriell shuddered, and the sight of the food on her plate nauseated her. These people had no scruples, no care for other living beings. The calm discussion of murdering someone was abhorrent. How could she square this lethal version of Conor with the kind man who’d taken her to the garden to regain her strength? I wish I could warn the other woman. There’d been subtle ways at times in the past that she could avert at least a bit of the deadly consequences for victims caught in Amarotu traps, as with the casually selected target at the restaurant a night ago, but in this case, her racing mind identified no likely possibilities.
“Are you going to need us?” Jareck asked, serving himself more of the main dish, spilling some on the tablecloth. He awkwardly mopped at the spot with his napkin.
Opherra shuddered. “I sincerely hope not. You can delay your departure a day or two, until I see how the situation develops now that Bazin is finally giving me the opening I need.”
Miriell stood at the open balcony door, watching the rain fall as a balmy breeze stirred the loose tendrils of her hair. It pleased her to think of the soft rain drifting onto the garden where Conor had taken her, and she started to sway. Humming a blessing song, she closed her eyes. Knowing she was being appallingly foolish, she visualized herself at home on her own world, tending the temple’s garden on a beautiful spring day, singing this special song. It was said among the village folk that the tune would bring your beloved to find you.
There was a sound behind her, breaking her concentration on the momentary vision of her home, and she turned, bracing herself to deal with more of Jareck’s casual cruelty.
Conor stood there, staring at her as he softly closed the door. “Don’t stop,” he whispered, holding out one hand. “Do your people dance to this beautiful music?”
So lost in her song and her bittersweet dream, she hadn’t even heard him enter the suite.
She picked up the song again as he walked across the room. She rested her fingers in his, and he drew her close and led her in time to the music, dancing in a way she’d only watched at the charity dinner earlier. Her people didn’t dance in this fashion. She was caged in his strong arms, pressed against the hard muscles of his body, safe for a moment. Happy. Under the onslaught of physical and emotional sensations, she lost track of the verses of the song, and she knew she was repeating the same lyrics over and over. The repetition didn’t bother Conor as he guided her gently across the narrow strip of floor.
“What in the seven hells is going on here?” Jareck’s nasal, angry tones shattered the mood.
She wrenched away from Conor, stumbling a bit, retreating behind a chair. “I was using my power, trying to seduce him into helping me escape,” she lied. “You know it doesn’t work on you, so I tried something else.” It broke her heart to utter the untruth in front of Conor, but she hoped to protect him.
He was staring at her, the blue flames showing themselves clearly to her senses, behind his silver eyes.
Jareck stalked across the hotel room, punching Conor’s shoulder as he passed on his way to grab Miriell by the wrist and drag her out from behind the chair. “Yeah, she’s done seduction-as-escape-attempt a time or two, so don’t count yourself as anything special. Bitch should know by now her favorite trick doesn’t work.”
Another lie. She’d never made any attempt to lure a man into helping her. Applying her power to seduction was one bridge she’d never cross. But it wasn’t safe for Conor to pay her any attention. Better to put the barriers back in place between them, make him believe the moment had meant nothing. She winced as Jareck jerked her toward the couch, shoving her onto the cushions. He picked up the shackles, clicking the metal circles open and shut in midair, like a pair of claws, and glanced at Conor. “Yeah? Did you want something else?”
“Opherra wasn’t entirely pleased with tonight’s results. She’ll know better after her lunch with the target tomorrow.” He headed toward the door. “If she decides to deploy you one more time, you’ll have one last chance to show what you can do. Fail and we’ll be sending you back to your home base with a negative recommendation to the Sector boss. Right now, if I had to guess, she’ll be pretty neutral.” Hand on the door, clenched so tight Miriell could see his knuckles had gone white, Conor added, “The female has to be presentable, so don’t bruise her, or you’ll answer to me.”
Jareck flipped him off, but Conor was already gone, the door closing smoothly. “Sorry to ruin your scene,” Jareck said in a sarcastic tone. “Better remember who holds the power here.”
“You do,” she said, wincing as he secured the restraints tight around her ankles.
He tapped her nose and showed her a peek of the remote control for her necklace. “Right, and don’t you ever forget it. Even if you had charmed Mr. Bullnecked Goon out of his socks, I still have the detonator trump card. Not to mention your buddies back in the cells on Devir 6. They only live if you’re on good behavior.” Rising, he whistled a tune of his own, straightening his jacket and going to check himself out in the mirror. “Got a date to meet Lady Luck again in the casino tonight, see if she’s still on my side. I might try some higher-stakes games. The pit boss likes my style, said he’d let me into the private room with the heavy hitters. I got a system for card counting they ain’t never seen before on this world.” He laughed as he slicked his hair back. “Don’t wait up.”
He flicked the lights off as he went out the door, and Miriell tried to get comfortable on the couch, constrained as she was by the ankle cuffs. Her back ached—the piece of furniture wasn’t intended for use as a bed. One way or the other, soon enough I’ll be back in cryo sleep. Trying not to think too much about future ordeals, she lifted her head to catch a glimpse of the stars above the balcony outside, more homesick than usual tonight.
She drowsed, confusing dreams passing through her mind, scenes of home mixed with the charity ball she’d attended, men and women dancing close together. A touch on her shoulder brought her awake with a violent start and a stifled scream.
“Sorry.” Conor knelt on one knee beside the couch. “I didn’t intend to scare you.”
“You move so quietly.” She said the first thing on her mind, realizing she was close to babbling. “Jareck’s in the casino, if you need to talk to him.”
“I know. I gave orders last night he’s to win, for now. Man like him will never walk away from the tables if he’s winning. Assigned a pit boss to babysit him, warn me if Jareck does remember his responsibilities up here.” Conor watched her face, his own curiously blank, reserved. “The Combine controls the casino in this hotel, all the gambling operations on the planet actually, even the token-pitching scams kids run on the slum street corners.”
“I wasn’t using my power on you earlier,” she said, wanting to clear the air, unsure if he’d believe her but needing to reassure him. “Unlike Opherra, I don’t seduce people to get what I want.”
“I know.” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone for a moment. “I can tell, remember?”
His touch confused her and felt comforting at the same time. She focused on his words. “How? How can you possibly know if I’m using my power or not?”
“The mechanism has to be my secret. Listen, whether Jareck’s addicted to gambling or not, we don’t have all night. Do you need to visit the garden again?”
“It would be a dream come true, but I’m managing my energy levels acceptably today. Something tells me not to take the risk twice, wonderful as the time in the garden was.”
“If you need to be there, I’ll take the responsibility and the risk.” Brow furrowed, he sounded displeased by her cautious answer.
“I pulled from the ornamental plants at the dinner earlier today. And I wasn’t required to expend much energy on Opherra’s target tonight. He isn’t going to bend to her will, you know. He may do a business deal, but he isn’t going to succumb to her personal blandishments. There was absolutely no desire in him for what she offers in the bedroom.”
“You’ll be sent away,” he said.
“Back to Devir 6.” She nodded. “In case I don’t get another chance to say this, thank you for what you’ve done. I-I don’t think anyone has shown me any kindness since we were taken, other than you. It means a great deal to me.” Now she feared she’d said too much, might have embarrassed him.
“If we don’t need to sneak out to the garden, then I have something else in mind,” he said, pulling a small black packet from his pocket. He laid it on the carpet, opening the container wide to reveal an array of tools. “I came prepared.” Sitting back on his heels, he reached for her hand. “I need your permission.”
Curling her cold fingers around the warmth of his much larger ones, Miriell couldn’t imagine what he was going to ask. “I’m hardly in a position to refuse anything the Combine wants to do to me.” She tried to keep bitterness out of her voice.
“Not the Combine. Me. This has nothing to do with them.” He reached out with his other hand and touched the necklace. “I want to render this inert.”
She snatched her hand back and recoiled against the couch cushions. “You can’t tamper with this. It’ll explode.”
“Dishonored soldier, remember? I know how to defuse these kinds of things, learned in the service. What I’m proposing to do won’t alter the exterior, so it’ll appear exactly the same. Only you and I will know it won’t work.”
She stared at him, mind racing. “Why? Why would you help me? Going to a garden is one thing. This is completely different.”
He lowered his eyes to his tool kit, toying with the clasp. “I’ve seen a lot of ugly things in my time, especially working for the Combine, and this abomination they’ve subjected you to is hands down the worst. It goes completely against the grain to see you treated this way, at such risk from that unstable jerk they call your controller.” Conor’s voice grew angry and intense the longer he spoke, and now he stared at her, braceleting her wrist gently with one hand. “Please let me do this for you. You can trust me.”
Her answer came straight from her heart. No need to scan him with her senses. “I do.”
“All right, then. I’ll need to unfasten the ankle restraints so I can get better access to the bomb and controlling components inside the necklace.” He shifted down the couch and lifted the blanket concealing her lower body. A moment later, the shackles fell away from her, and she exclaimed in relief, stretching to help the blood flow. He helped her sit up. “I hate to see you in shackles,” he said, tossing the cuffs aside. “But I can only get away with so much.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll wield my full power against you once the bomb is no more?” she asked as he guided her to sit on the floor next to him.
“The Combine still has your people as hostages.” He swept her hair off her neck. “Bend forward.”
Feeling that, despite his harsh response, he wasn’t concerned in the least she might try to compel or kill him, Miriell shook her head. She complied with his request, resting her hands on the floor, praying Jareck wouldn’t escape his minders in the casino and interrupt what Conor planned to do. She realized she was shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m terrified right now.”
He stopped what he was doing and squeezed her shoulder. “Soldier’s oath, you’ll come to no harm.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, keeping her eyes averted. “I trust you.”
Conor fiddled with the necklace for another minute, and then lifted it away from her neck, setting the deadly piece of jewelry on the carpet next to him.
Miriell touched her permanently scarred skin with a fingertip, feeling the harsh marks left by the heavy golden links, and burst into tears. Carefully, he gathered her into his arms and held her while she wept, rubbing her back. She indulged herself for a few moments, warmed to her core by his strength and supportive action. Maybe more than comforted, she realized, as she felt parts of herself she’d thought long closed off reawaken. This has to stop. For my own good and his, I can’t think of him as more than a temporary friend. Finally, she pushed away, wiping her cheeks on the hem of her dress.
He kept his hold on her, but gently, searching her face. “Are you going to be okay? I have to put the damn thing back on you again, once it’s been disarmed.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I just…I’ve been forced to wear the hateful bomb around my neck for over four years now.” She shut her eyes and fought not to start crying again. “The ringmaster did use the explosives to kill some of us, at first as a warning and then later for failing a big assignment. We all had to watch each death, never knowing when our own time might come.”
He hugged her close again for a moment. “You’re a brave woman.”
“Not brave enough, or I’d have killed at least a few of the bastards before I died for my efforts. But thank you for the well-meant compliment. Go ahead, I’ll be fine. You do what you need to do to complete the task. We must be running out of time. Even Jareck has to come to the room to sleep sometime.”
“I’d have to kill him if he walks in on what I’m doing.” Not sounding concerned by the possibility, Conor bent over the necklace again. “I’d enjoy it, and his death would be no great loss. But messy to explain.”
Shivering, she rose and paced across the floor, stopping to get a glass of water and then walking as she sipped at the cool liquid, unable to sit still. Any slightest noise from the corridor sent her adrenaline spiking.
“Come see what I’ve done.” He gestured to her.
As she sat cross-legged next to him, she saw the necklace was open and some of its components were laid neatly on the carpet.
“This was the detonator.” Conor nudged a small yellow pod with the tip of his knife. “Harmless now. I might find a future use for it, though.” He tucked the capsule into his tool kit before showing her the interior of the heavy pendant. Painstakingly, he explained what each item was, its purpose and how it could no longer be used to harm her.
Belatedly realizing what he was doing, she laid her hand on his arm. “I believe you without need for further explanations. We can’t stall any longer. You have to put it back on my neck. I’m ready. I can handle it.”
He picked the necklace up by the thick golden chain and looped it around her neck. “Hold it in place, would you? I need a moment to reconnect the links. It’ll look fine to any casual glance. Hell, even to a close-up check.”
“Jareck never bothers to check it,” she said, keeping the pendant against her neck. “He’s too busy doing other things.”
Conor’s hand stilled. “He doesn’t touch you, does he?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking, no. Not sexually. He beats me when he’s drunk or upset about a job, but he’s made it clear he finds the idea of anything more intimate repulsive. Not all my sisters in captivity have been so fortunate.”
“Fortunate.” His voice was flat, the word uttered with distaste.
“There are levels of hell. Any priestess knows this from her first days in training. At least by Thuun’s grace, I’ve been spared some tortures.” She felt him move slightly away from her, and guessing he was done, she allowed the pendant to swing free against her body. “The weight is about the same, but oh, how wonderful to know now it can’t kill me.” Miriell turned to see what he was doing and found herself caught in his arms again as he gave her a kiss hinting of tremendous longing, held back by an equally unyielding self-control. She tilted her head to make the connection closer and licked her tongue against the seam of his lips, wanting to take the caress deeper. He allowed her to penetrate his warm, sensuously coffee-flavored mouth for a moment, tongues tangling in a delicious dance of need before he ended the kiss. Rising effortlessly to his feet, carrying her in his arms, Conor set her on the couch and backed off.
Fists clenched, he gritted out a few words. “I swore to myself I’d never touch you, never ask you for anything while you’re a captive. No matter what other crimes I may have committed, I’m not the kind of man who forces himself on a woman who’s unable to refuse. Forgive me? There are no strings or conditions attached to my help tonight.”
She touched his hand. “No forgiveness is needed. I gave freely—”
He shook his head, raising his gaze to meet hers, the expression in his silver eyes stormy and haunted. “You’re still a prisoner, still forced to do the Combine’s bidding. I have to lock you back into those fucking chains in a minute. You’re not free to choose or refuse anything, and I know it. We’d have to meet under totally different circumstances, which doesn’t seem likely to ever happen.”
Miriell considered what to say but found no good answer. Silently, she swung her legs onto the couch and lay back on the cushions. “Don’t presume to tell me what I feel or don’t feel where you’re concerned, Conor. But I respect your honor.”
He gathered up the rest of his tools, as if stalling on the necessity to replace the ankle restraints, but then came over and secured her gently. He looked her full in the face. “We have to act as if there’s nothing between us.”
“I know. Trust me, I’ve played many a game while in the hands of these monsters. Nothing like this, though. No other man has touched me, I swear. I’ve never felt anything but hate and disgust for them, but you, you’re different—” She had to make Conor believe her, yet words were failing her.
“Maybe I’m different. I make no guarantees. Don’t give me too much credit.” He managed a slight smile. “We have a private truce between us, Priestess.”
“And I’ll give no slightest clue the necklace has lost its ability to terrify me.”
He tucked the thin blanket around her, allowing his hand to linger on her cheek in an all-too-brief caress. “Good dreams, Miriell.”
“And to you.”