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  He stopped just inside to stare around at the cramped passageway with an experienced eye. “This is a Phoenix class transport, isn’t it?” In contrast to the sexual heat he’d exuded a moment before, the question was sharp, clipped, thoroughly in professional bodyguard mode.

  “Yes.” She watched curiously as he prowled the corridor. “How can you tell?”

  “My family owns Conlan Shipping. We had a Phoenix class or two.”

  “So you’re a trader?”

  “I’m a captain.” He shot her a defiant look, as if expecting her to remind him he was only a slave now. When she said nothing, he relaxed. “I am surprised your company assigned you a Phoenix class, though.” The model was notoriously underpowered and slow, which made it an unlikely choice for a courier vessel. “Any armament?”

  “Definitely. She isn’t your average Phoenix class.” Zarifa rattled off weapons systems and engine enhancements until Rance’s brows began to climb.

  “Sounds like the previous owner was a smuggler.”

  She grinned toothily. “Does sound like it.” He looked intrigued as she turned to lead the way toward the bridge. “Welcome to the Empire’s Hope.”

  Who was after his new mistress? And who the hell was she, anyway? He studied her as she led him through the cramped confines of her little ship with every evidence of pride. Each time he thought he had her pegged, she morphed on him like a Drago chameleon, changing shape and color and mood, keeping him constantly off balance.

  “Lady Selan,” my ass. That’s not her name. Hell, that’s probably not even her face. A good nanosystem could create a three-dimensional disguise image to make you look like anybody. Or for that matter, anything.

  Was she really a courier? True, that was a job aristos sometimes gravitated to—usually bored and adventurous younger daughters and sons without the prospect of inheriting. But somehow he had trouble picturing her as some company’s minor underling. She had too much authority in her manner.

  Besides, she hadn’t hesitated to drop two million imperials on a werewolf slave, which didn’t suggest a minor anything.

  Could be a government agent, though, in which case he’d better watch his step. Or one of Kuarc’s spies. She was certainly idealistic enough.

  He needed to get her talking if he wanted to find out which she was. The seduction he’d been contemplating sounded like a great place to start.

  Mad Dog was making her nervous. From the moment they’d stepped aboard, he’d been watching her like one of his furry brethren staring at a particularly fat fawn gamboling in the forest.

  Why in the Lady’s sweet name had anyone thought they could make that man a slave?

  Zarfia sat in her control chair, fighting to concentrate with Rance sitting next to her in the copilot’s seat. Her hands rested on the manual controls, ready to dance if the autos failed. She’d linked her nanosystem with the Empire’s Hope’s computer in order to guide the transport out of dock.

  Three months before, she would have had no idea what to do—but that was before she’d upgraded. Her new nanobot combat system had taught her the piloting skills she’d needed to make her escape.

  Now the three-dimensional control display flashed bright blue and green as it orbited their seats. Its stylized schematics showed the other ships clustered around Market Station’s docking arms. And she knew exactly what to do.

  Zarifa guided the Hope around a massive passenger liner then veered away from a speedy little courier less than half the transport’s size. It took more than an hour of nerve-racking navigation to clear Market Station’s traffic, then zip up beyond the orbital disc of the surrounding star system and into empty space. Clearance from station command came minutes later, and she punched into super-C.

  The engines didn’t so much howl as thrum, in a subsonic growl felt more in the base of the brain stem than the ears. For an instant, reality slid sideways with a nauseating little jolt. Everything acquired a rainbow aura…

  And then they were through into superspace, and the auras vanished, along with that nasty little psychic thrum. She sighed in relief.

  “Nice piloting.” There was something in his voice, a note of experience, that told her he knew exactly what he was talking about. But then, a merchant captain would.

  Zarifa blinked. Whenever she emerged from an intense flight session, there was always a moment of disorientation, like waking from a particularly vivid dream. Rance waited patiently while she brought her consciousness back to the here and now. “Thank you.”

  He rose from the copilot’s seat, all gleaming armor and male strength. “Think you’ll need to link again, or are you free for the next few hours?”

  “I’m free.” She scrubbed both hands over her face. “The ship’s comp will be piloting until we reach our destination.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  Zarifa shrugged. “About three weeks, assuming we don’t encounter any ugly surprises.” Like the Fist, looking to drag her back to Throneworld.

  “Good.” A wicked smile curved his lips. Armored hands closed over her shoulders and pulled her gently from her pilot’s chair. Drew her full against smooth, cool nanotium. “I know just the way to occupy our time.”

  Surprise had her stiffening. Slave that he was, she hadn’t expected him to be so bold.

  He hesitated for just a heartbeat, reading her eyes. Making sure I’m willing… She caught her breath and licked her dry lips.

  His eyes followed her tongue. Flared like molten gold.

  Despite his sudden aggression, there was nothing of the marauder in his kiss. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft, sweetly seductive, a gentle wooing of lip and tongue.

  This bore no resemblance to the clumsy boy’s kisses she’d known from her lover or even the rape of the mouth Gerik had always practiced. Rance dazzled, enticed with every soft brush and lick, with every gentle breath.

  He went on kissing her, slowly, patiently, as his armored hands came to rest on her waist. Not grinding her against him but holding her in a lover’s clasp. It was more like something she’d seen in an entertainment simmie than anything she’d ever known in real life.

  Zarifa found herself relaxing into the kiss, opening for the soft petition of his tongue along the seam of her mouth. He tasted of mint mouth cleanser, but under that was something dark and wild, a hint of forest and rain.

  Impossibly delicious. And just as dangerous.

  She kissed like a virgin. Sweet, untutored, a little unsure, yet with a delicious, trembling need that made him rock hard inside his armor.

  He was breathing hard by the time he lifted his head. “I think,” Rance said hoarsely, “we’re both overdressed.”

  Her eyes went wide as he pulled off his gauntlets. They made a heavy, metallic sound when he dropped them on the deck.

  He reached for the tie of her cravat, and she froze, watching him with those big, lovely eyes. Her lips parted, tempting him with the thought of kissing her again. He could easily learn to crave her taste.

  Fighting his body’s clawing demand for haste, he slowly untied the length of white lace from around her slender throat. He tossed it across the copilot’s chair and reached for the gold buttons marching down the front of her scarlet jacket. As each button popped free, a bit of thin silk shirt appeared beneath it, warm and fragrant from her body.

  He was dying to taste her. To bury his face against the elegant curve of her lovely breasts, take her nipples into his mouth. Savor each silken centimeter.

  It had been months since he’d had a woman. Dehumanizing months of deprivation and torture, of grinding frustration and humiliation.

  God, he needed this. He needed her.

  The tiny pearl buttons of her blouse parted, revealing a thin lace chemise. Rance resisted the impulse to simply rip it in two. Instead, he drew it over her head and let it slide from his hands.

  She looked up at him, biting her full lower lip, as if uncertain of his reaction. As if he could feel anything but desire at the si
ght of her perfection.

  Her breasts were sweet and pale and curving, tipped by pretty pink nipples, furled tight with her hunger. They reminded him of candy.

  “You’re beautiful,” Rance told those hesitant green eyes.

  As shy pleasure filled her gaze, he reached for her. Her skin felt as soft and fine as the silk he’d just stripped away. Her breasts rode high on her narrow torso, not quite large enough to fill his hands. He stroked a thumb over one velvet nipple and watched it rise and peak even more, silently begging for his mouth.

  He bent and licked it. Swirled his tongue over the fine-grained nubbin. Suckled.

  Her moan was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

  FIVE

  Zarifa grabbed for Rance’s shoulders as he picked her up as easily as if the gravity had been cut. He laid her down on the pilot’s chair and seized one of her boots in those big, strong hands. Tugging it off, he dropped it with a thump and attacked the other boot with equal determination. It hit the deck an instant later, and he went after her skintight trousers.

  She watched him, dizzy with rising excitement. He still wore full armor, and every time he moved, light rolled over the shining nanotium like water. There was something shockingly erotic about being naked when he was dressed like an invading conqueror.

  His hard, angular face wore an expression of feral hunger, yet his strong hands were careful and warm as he stripped away her trousers.

  Zarifa shivered. She could feel herself tightening, growing slick and eager.

  Finally he stepped back and just looked, towering over her with that blatant male lust in his eyes.

  Zarifa licked her lips. “You’re still dressed.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Does my mistress command me to strip?”

  Her mouth felt dry as sand. “I want to see you.”

  “You saw me.” His gaze went a little distant.

  Naked. Collared. Humiliated. “No. I want to see you as you are.”

  It was the right thing to say. A faint smile curled his lips as he reached for the seal of his cuirass.

  Zarifa watched, aching, as he removed each piece and set it aside with a warrior’s care for his equipment. She caught her breath at what he revealed: the long flex and play of his torso as he bent, the powerful bunch of biceps and triceps, the ripple of thigh and calf.

  And the thick jut of his cock, brash and male and eager. There was nothing subservient in that demanding thrust, in its long satin length, flushed dark rose with need. His balls were full and drawn delightfully tight, dusted in the same silken hair that snaked in a line up his belly to form a cloud over his chest.

  “You’re beautiful.” The words escaped her without her conscious intent.

  A flash of discomfort lit his eyes, but instead of denying it, he inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t the first time a woman’s told you how handsome you are.”

  He grinned. “Well, no. But I have noticed they’re always naked at the time.”

  “So they’re, what? Under the influence of your powers of seduction?”

  “Something like that.” Rance moved closer to the pilot’s seat and dropped to his knees. “I have a face like a z-boxer, and I know it.”

  Before she could object to the description, he caught her ankles and draped them over his brawny shoulders. Zarifa gaped, bracing on her elbows to look at him. “What are you…?”

  “What do you think?” He dipped his head with a white and wolfish grin. The first dancing stroke of his tongue across her outer lips almost catapulted her out of the pilot’s chair.

  Even as she cried out, he did something to the chair controls, leaning the seat back while keeping the leg rest tucked tight. Then he scooped his long fingers under her backside and lifted her into his mouth.

  And feasted.

  There was really no other word for the slick dance of his tongue over and around her inner flesh, for the way his teeth gently caught her clit, her labia.

  Her first lover had attempted to give her this pleasure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. Delight seared her with every wet tongue flick, each lazy circle and stroke. Her legs tightened convulsively over his back. He made a low, rough sound of satisfaction.

  Something probed her opening, slid inside. She writhed, gasping helplessly, her hands grabbing for him, fingers tangling in the thick silk of his hair. He pumped that single finger deeper and swirled his tongue around her clit, laughing deep in his throat as she yelped.

  “How’s that, mistress?” There was just a trace of mockery in that last word, but Zarifa didn’t care.

  “Oh, sweet Lady!” She clenched her eyes shut against the storming pleasure. “More!”

  “Your wish”—he nibbled gently—“is my command.”

  As he slowly plunged a finger in and out in that maddening tease, his free hand found her breast, cupped her in warm strength, tugged and stroked her nipples. Pleasure rushed through her in a burning tide that had her muscles twitching. She tightened her grip on his hair, clinging. Drowning.

  And intoxicated.

  Rance loved the way she felt writhing against his mouth, her long, slender body arching under his hands.

  His. She might own him, but just now, he owned her. Her body danced to his tune, her breathless voice begged for the pleasure only he could give.

  He was hard as stone.

  “Mad Dog,” she moaned, rolling her hips against his face. “Sweet Lady, please!”

  He lifted his head, suddenly hating that name with a passion. “Rance. My name is Rance.”

  “Rance! Rance, you drive me insane!” There was a note of genuine desperation in her voice that had him grinning in dark pleasure.

  Oh, yeah. She was his. Taking his time, he savored her, enjoyed every whimper, every twitch of long, muscled legs, every roll of her hips. He cupped her breast with his free hand, squeezing and teasing her nipple, driving her hunger higher and higher.

  She jerked, making a desperate, pleading sound.

  And he could take no more. He had to have her.

  Now.

  In one hungry move, he pulled away from her, grabbed her slender hips, and lifted her. She gasped an incoherent protest, but he’d already moved between those long legs. Catching his aching cock in one hand, he positioned himself at the opening of her sex.

  That first thrust was a long, liquid slide that tore a shout from his mouth. She cried out in chorus and convulsed. Her legs wrapped around his butt in a fiercely strong clasp.

  Bracing one arm against the back of the chair, he began rolling his hips, grinding hard, taking her. Enjoying the hot, creamy clasp on his cock.

  And as he rode her, he watched her face, loving the way she threw her head back in ecstasy. Loving the blushing curve of her mouth as she gasped in time to his thrusts.

  Mine.

  It was an irrational thought, and he knew it. She wasn’t his, couldn’t be his. He didn’t even know who she was, what kind of game she was playing.

  And yet his body, buried deep inside hers, insisted this was just where he was supposed to be. And God, it was so sweet.

  Rance closed his eyes, letting the burning delight take him, feeling it pulse and tighten in his balls. On the verge of spilling over.

  She cried out sharply and convulsed. He opened his eyes to watch her orgasm flood her. Her tiny inner muscles drew tight around his cock, each delicate convulsion sending another jolt right to his balls.

  The convulsion took him by surprise, tumbling him with a bellow into climax.

  Mine, that primal something roared in his head, caring nothing for logic. Mine!

  Long minutes went by before he recovered enough to drag himself off her, pick her up, and take her place in the pilot’s seat. She moaned in sleepy protest but subsided as he arranged her across his lap. Slender arms wrapped around his neck, and she nestled her face against the underside of his jaw.

  Rance sighed and wrapped his own sweating
arms around her. He let himself relax, float in the aftermath.

  God, how could he have forgotten how damn good this felt? After so many weeks of helplessness and humiliation, it was delicious being a man again. Being treated as a man again.

  The sweet pleasure lay on him as weightless and dreamy as a feather spinning in the breeze. Until she spoke.

  “Mad Dog? I mean, Rance?”

  “Hmm?” He wished she’d settle down and let them both sleep.

  “I think it’s time to tell you what’s happening. Why I need you. What I’ll give you for helping me.”

  He jolted from the sweet lassitude and opened one wary eye, then lifted his head to look down at her. His muscles grew taut. “I’m listening.”

  She took a deep breath. “My name isn’t really Lady Selan. This isn’t even really my face. My nanos are broadcasting a simmie disguise.”

  “I suspected something like that.” He studied her cautiously. “So who are you?”

  “That’s…a long story. It would be easier to show you.” Then, as he watched, change spilled across her face. It wasn’t a big change—largely the color of her hair and eyes. The shape of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the high, proud angle of her cheekbones remained the same.

  Yet the instant her hair went to blazing flame red and her eyes a deep violet, a sense of disorientation rolled over him. Rance knew that face. He’d seen it on news documentaries and entertainment simmies so many times, it was branded on his consciousness.

  “Zarifa,” he breathed. “You’re Empress Zarifa Lorezo.”

  Fury spilled over him in a blazing wave. She’d played him for a fool.

  Zarifa knew that look. Recognition. Contempt. She’d seen it so many times on so many faces.

  She’d hoped a Freeworlds werewolf wouldn’t be quite so informed about Empire gossip, but apparently she was juicy news even light-years away. So much so that he’d instantly forgotten how she’d kept Casus from torturing him.

  “So this was a game after all.” Rance’s voice was cold, distant. His arms dropped from around her. “You were never in any danger.”

  Bitter disappointment rolled over her, so intense she itched to slap his arrogant face for it. She rolled off his lap and started gathering her clothes. “I assure you, Mad Dog…” She used the name with a sneer. “…I’m not playing games.”

  He didn’t bother to rise as he watched her. “Why would a woman with her own palace guard need the protection of a shifter slave?” It was obvious he thought this was another drunken, scandalous lark, the kind Throneworld’s simmie reporters adored.

  The kind Umar regularly ensured she supplied.

  “Maybe it’s the palace guard I need protecting from.” Zarifa jerked on her shirt and buttoned it with hands that shook with temper. She should be used to this now. And to a certain extent, she was. An hour ago, it wouldn’t have bothered her to see that look in Rance’s eyes.

  But that had been before she’d made love to him. Experienced his breathtaking tenderness. Felt almost as if he’d cared.

  Why in the hell did I ruin it? But he’d had to know what they faced, and she’d been afraid if she waited much longer, she’d lose the courage to tell him.

  “Your own guards tried to kill you? Why didn’t you tell Umar?” His lip curled when he said the regent’s name.

  “Because they do what Umar tells them to do.” His face went so stony with disbelief, she swore and snatched up her pants. “I don’t have the patience for this. Do you want to be free or not?”

  Rance blinked, surprise replacing contempt. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’d free me? Why?”

  Because I know what it’s like to be a slave. Not that he’d believe her. “I need to get back to Throneworld and meet with Kuarc Lorezo.” She jerked her trousers over her hips and buttoned them, then grabbed the nearest boot and sat down on the copilot’s chair to put it on. “I’ve got some information he needs. Your job is to protect me from the regent’s men while I find him.”

  Rance rose from the pilot’s chair and stared down at her, big fists braced on his naked hips. “You expect me to believe you want to help the Bastard—when you’re the one he’s rebelling against?”

  She jerked the boot on and grabbed its mate. “Umar’s the one he’s rebelling against.”

  “And if your brother kills you, Umar’s screwed. His son loses his chance to be emperor, Kuarc takes over, and the first thing he’ll do is order the regent’s execution.”

  Was that an expression of actual concern for her on that hard, wolfish face? Probably thinks he’ll die trying to keep me alive. “Kuarc won’t kill me.”

  “He can’t afford to do anything else.”

  She remembered the laughing older boy she’d adored as a child. “My brother’s not a murderer.” Standing, she stomped to settle the boots on her feet.

  Rance watched her, his expression impatient. “There’s a war on, Zafira. Killing’s what war is all about.”

  Zarifa bent forward and stared hard into his eyes. “So keep me alive and get me to him, and I’ll emancipate you. I’ll strip the control codes off your nanosystem and issue an imperial decree making you a free man. You can go home to all the other werewolves and forget any of this ever happened. Even kick Casus’s ass on the way home.”

  “If you liv