Cover art by M.A. Heathman 

StarJumper's Bride

by J. A. Clarke

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Chapter 1

Larion Confluence:/Second Rising
Fortis Cluster


     She wanted the drug back. Wanted the blessed state of apathy it induced because then she wouldn't have to think about what was happening to her.
     For the first time in days, the fog in her head dissipated, but into its place crept the all too familiar, terrible, mind-numbing fear.
     Cassie Gordon knew her reprieve had run out. Weeks of captivity and sheer terror had led here--to this luxurious prison--a place with no identity, no location. Why had her comfortable, drugged routine of an unknown number of days been broken?
     The future terrified her.
     She faced the rose-tinted wall in the warm, perfumed room, positioned by hands that had become intimately familiar with her body. Her mind screamed a warning. Her limbs, still in the grip of the drug, wouldn't, couldn't react as a long scarlet scarf, fine and feather-soft, slid against her naked flesh. Another of teal followed, then one of deep gold, then a rich purple mixed with sea-blue until her paralyzed body was covered in layers of sheer erotic fabrics. Gentle fingers, that moments ago had applied cosmetics to her face, grasped the heavy weight of her dark hair and twisted and bound it against her nape.
     Another scarf covered her hair, then something else was lifted over her head. Her terror increased when she caught a glimpse of a webbed metal visor that soon blinded her vision. Hands grasped her unresisting wrists, drew them together in front of her and secured them tightly. There was a touch on her leg and each ankle received a manacle.
     Cassie stifled a moan, convinced the familiar gag would be next. Determined to resist it, she clamped her lips together hard enough to cause pain. The pressure on her jaw never came. Instead, she was guided to sit on the bed. She heard the light rustle of robes as her attendant moved away. Her captors didn't seem interested in ensuring her silence this time and the realization caused her dread to escalate.
     The small space of movement in her ankle restraints was just enough, she judged, to allow her a slow shuffle, but not enough to attempt an escape. She sensed her attendant was still in the room although no sound betrayed the woman's position.
     With the hiss of the opening door accompanied by a spate of harsh, guttural words, she knew the guard who had placed her here days ago was back. Her attendant gave an odd choked sound of distress. It was the only sound Cassie had ever heard from the woman. A hard hand grasped her arm and jerked her to her feet. She knew the exact moment she crossed the threshold from the false comfort of the perfumed room into the unknown. Her mind, clear and sharp for the first time in days, knew with growing certainty what she had been so carefully prepared for. Panic almost buckled her knees.
     With a trembling breath, she forced her unsteady legs to move. The relentless pressure on her wrists dictated she walk or be dragged. She would not let them see how terrified she was, nor would she give in to the fear that threatened to consume her.
     Their pace was slow enough to accommodate her restricted movements. Even so, it wasn't long before the guard drew her to a halt. In an exchange of rapid and incomprehensible words, he handed her over to another man.
     The place to which she was led then was in shocking contrast to her expectations. Loud noise assaulted her from every side--raised voices, shouts of laughter, and the whine of a machine. Somewhere close by, a large object crashed to the floor. The sound was followed by the roar of rough male voices and a sickening crunch, flesh against flesh. Her nostrils filled with the odor of unwashed bodies, the scent of something pungent and sweet, and the spicy incense favored by geish smokers.
     Noise rose and fell in waves around her. As she passed, it diminished then swelled louder than before behind her. She sensed many beings, but none except for her escort made contact with her. Her bare toes stubbed on some solid object and she tripped. Her escort caught her arms as she fell, jerked her upright and led her up a short flight of steps. Her hands were released, only to be drawn backwards and fastened again around what felt like a slender pole at her back.
     A man shouted next to her. Then came a rapid, horribly loud staccato sound. It was a signal. The room fell silent. From both sides of her, two men barked out a stream of words and the crowd roared its approval and excitement. Cassie willed her legs to hold her, prayed that whatever was about to happen to her would be over quickly. She fought back a wave of nausea as her stomach heaved, and forced to mind an image which normally brought comfort--the delicate crystal blooms of her favorite orcan flowers. But her entire collection had been lost in the same attack that had placed her in this hell and that memory was still a raw, gaping wound.
     A tug at her head removed the scarf over her hair. A louder clamor rose from the crowd. Voices babbled near her. Then came a scuffling followed by a thump and cruel laughter.
     She swallowed a moan of terror when she felt a hand in her hair. As the heavy, dark mass was released from its confinement and slid down her back, the shouts became louder, more frenzied.
     There was another tug, and cool air swept across her left breast. Full and horrifying realization swept over her.
     Vague memories of stories, whispered and giggled amongst childhood friends, now returned in chilling detail. They had laughed at the time and romanticized and embellished on the rumors. It was all true. And the reality was utterly terrifying. A ruthless fate had led her to the notorious flesh auction block.
     She was about to be sold to the highest bidder.
     It took all her self-control, all her concentration, all her pride to remain upright. The babble of noise swelled. She became aware of a loud argument being conducted behind her back.
     A new sound penetrated. The heavy clump of booted feet circled around her, behind her. Warm breath, with a faint smell of sweet tiug leaf, tickled her ear. "I'll try to help you," a masculine voice whispered so softly she wasn't sure if her terrified mind had conjured up the words or if they were real. His breath circled her and fanned her other ear. "Trust me."
     A tiny spiral of hope and excitement snaked through her. In this hell of incomprehensible languages, he spoke in a tongue she understood.
     Another violent argument erupted behind her. More angry shouts. More ominous thuds. The bonds that held her to the pole were cut. A not ungentle hand pushed her forward and down the steps. The crowd was not pleased with this latest development. Their entertainment had ended. Frustration and anger were evident in the press of bodies she felt much closer to her this time. Hands reached out to tug at her hair, and tweak at her flesh. She sensed the protective body behind her, felt the movement of the arm that deflected a number of the assaults, heard the warning growls.
     Then the noise abruptly ended. They must have entered a private room. Still surrounded by people, she stood helpless and exposed as the arguing continued, and her fate was decided.
     Desperate, she forced out a whispered, "Please?" If anyone heard, they ignored her.
     A hand touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I have to do this. The other bidder insists. I won't hurt you."
     Another scarf slid to the floor, and another, until she stood naked and trembling in a room grown quiet. A hard hand touched her bottom, stroked across the rounded curve, then slid up to brush her hair aside and briefly cup her breast. He was close. She felt his body's heat against her bare flesh. He spoke to someone in a harsh, guttural tongue.
     Shouts, fierce and angry, broke out again. They were answered with increasing impatience by the deep voice until the arguments quieted and died to a series of satisfied grunts. Something soft and heavy was placed around her shoulders. A hand fumbled with clasps at the front of the garment, drawing it together to shield her nakedness. Arms reached around her under the cloak to unbind her wrists and draw them forward only to bind them again.
     She was still a prisoner then, despite the promise of help.
     Another murmur came in her ear. "Let's get out of here before they change their minds." She could do nothing but follow. She had simply exchanged one imprisonment for another. What she had come from had been bad enough, but she was under no illusions. There were far worse things that sentients did to one another. This man had paid an enormous price for her, she guessed. What he would demand in return didn't bear thinking about. The memory of his intimate touch, gentle though he had been, made her shudder.
     Their pace was too fast for her restrictive bindings. She stumbled several times, but each time he caught her. Once again, her whispered plea was ignored. Her bare feet grew sore from the textured surfaces they encountered. Her mind whirled with questions she wanted desperately to ask.
     "Duck your head and step down!" The tone of his voice was normal. A hand on her head urged her to comply with the first command. Another on her back guided her forward. Pain sliced through her shoulder as she bumped it against a solid jutting object. "Sorry."
     Seconds later, she was pushed down onto a padded seat. "Stay here. I'll remove your bindings and visor when we're well under way. I don't trust the Gerfins with a moin-taw, and particularly not with a transaction like this. And they have even less reason to trust me." His own words seemed to amuse him. He chuckled, then grunted. Metal slid against metal. "They've probably found some item to dispute in the trade agreement already. Put your harness on."
     He moved past her, mumbling to himself.
     Outrage swept through her, replacing fear and uncertainty for an instant. Transaction? She was a trade transaction? After all she had been through, the man's careless comment was the final insult. The emotion died just as quickly as it had been born when she heard his boots again.
     He uttered a soft curse. "Sorry, I'll do it."
     She didn't understand what he meant until she felt the bite of straps across her shoulders.
     He gave her head a pat. "On our way. Relax."
     Minutes later, she felt a shudder.
     They were moving, and she was with a man she had never seen, and didn't know anything about.
     A man who had bought her. Seen her naked. Touched her intimately. Who, by the liberal definitions of free trade, now owned her body and soul.
     And she hadn't the slightest idea where he was taking her.
     A sudden rush of hot tears took her by surprise. She blinked them away and let anger rise in their stead. With bound hands, she tore at the hated visor, an attempt that only proved futile and painful. She slumped in her seat, discouraged.
     The faint throb of the vessel's engines seemed a grim validation of her lost future and shattered dreams. The steady rhythm spoke of purpose and a destination over which she had no control. Her immediate past didn't bear thinking about. Her future was a void defined by fear and uncertainty. In the pale gray world of her metal visor she could only allow herself a thought or two about the man who had bought her. She must have dozed then because she awoke with a start, instantly panicked when she felt hands on her.
     "It's all right. I won't hurt you." The masculine voice was calm and soothing. "You must want to be rid of these bindings."
     She quieted under his touch, forced herself to be still while he lifted the metal bands from her wrists, then pushed aside the cloak at her feet. The large hand on her ankle was gentle, yet caused a peculiar heat to flare out from the spot where he touched her.
     The visor seemed to give him particular difficulty. As he wrestled with the clasp, unintelligible mutters issued from his mouth and the scent of tiug leaf became stronger. His grunt of satisfaction came at the same time she heard the twang of metal. The visor was lifted away from her face.
     Reflexively, she put her hands up to rub the pinched skin at her temples and lifted wary eyes to the face of the stranger.
     He was a big man. Even balanced on his haunches before her, he looked down on her. But it was his eyes, the color of the pale gold of the sea stones from the caverns on Barthos, that compelled her attention. His gaze embraced her with warmth and compassion. The hard knot of fear in her chest eased a little.
     "Welcome aboard, lady." His lips curved in a smile. She had an unexpected, irrational desire to reach out and run her finger down the deep laughter grooves carved below his cheekbones, to trace a path around his well-shaped lips. "Sebastian Asteril at your service. You're aboard my vessel, the Shilmonite. You have nothing to fear here."
     Cassie swallowed and barely managed a nod of acknowledgement. She couldn't tear her gaze away and his eyes were starting to crinkle at the corners with amusement, but he seemed otherwise undisturbed by her stare. He couldn't be called a handsome man. His features were too rugged, too uneven, the crooked nose too large. The thought that his unruly thatch of dark blond hair looked as if it took constant abuse from his fingers was confirmed when he lifted a hand and raked it through an untidy strand that had fallen across his forehead.
     The action revealed something else. At his temple, there beat a tiny pale gold pulse in the shape of a prism.
     Only one race in four star systems laid claim to the unusual temple mark. Cassie's gaze fixed on the distinctive characteristic as her mind worked frantically to identify it. The knowledge was elusive.
     "Where. . .?" Her voice was horribly scratchy and tight. She cleared her throat. "Where are you from?"
     "The Mariltar Nation." The smile faded from his face. A faint frown gathered between his brows.
     "The Crestar System?" His frown disappeared and he nodded.
     Enormous relief swept through her even as a voice inside her head urged caution. If he was true to his race, she had found sanctuary, and possibly transport. The Crestar System and the planet, Treaine, a multi-racial colony, had been her intended destination before the attack on the transport vessel had thrust her into captivity.
     Excitement prompted her to open her mouth with another question, but then she remembered and snapped it shut again. She looked down at her hands. This man had seen her unclothed, had touched her intimately in a vulnerable moment. He owned her. How could she begin to trust him?
     "You're of Earth descent?" His quiet voice held no threat.
     "Yes," she whispered.
     "You've had a rough time, haven't you?"
     The compassionate tone, after weeks of sheer terror, undid her. To her horror, she discovered that, this time, she couldn't stop the tears. They welled out of her eyes and streamed in hot rivers down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to gulp in air and heard a wail swell out of her throat instead. Embarrassed, she dropped her face into her hands and prayed for solitude.
     Hands grasped her arms and lifted her out of the chair. Instinctively, she kicked out and twisted in his grasp, but he subdued her easily and moved her to another small compartment where he chose to sit on the floor rather than a narrow sleeping platform. S he found herself in the cradle of his lap.
     "It's all right. I won't hurt you. You're safe now." A hand smoothed over the top of her head, and strong fingers pushed through the strands of her hair to begin a gentle massage of her nape. Cassie buried her face in the rough weave of his shirt and wept harder. She should resist this stranger's touch but the comfort he offered was too potent. Pent-up stress and misery of the last few weeks flowed out of her. As the storm of emotion died down, muffled sounds began to penetrate her consciousness.
     Disjointed words and soft curses tumbled around her. A hand rubbed up and down her back in jerky strokes.
     Then a garbled imprecation was followed by a clear burst of frustration and helplessness. "Balls of Sortor! What, by Cor's blood, do I do now? Why do women have to cry over everything? I'm not the one who hurt her. I'm only trying to help, and cursed expensive it was too! I'll never understand females. I hate it when they cry. Where is that blasted, lazy, good-for-nothing Rom-pin when I need him? He'd know what to do!"
     Cassie felt a hysterical giggle well up inside of her. It burst through her lips before she could stop it. The hand on her back paused in its rough ministrations.
     "What now?"
     For some reason, the pure bewilderment in his tone struck her as enormously funny. An uncontrollable howl of laughter escaped her. Horrified, she tightened her grip on his shirt, and pushed her face against the warmth and hardness beneath. What was the matter with her? He was going to think she was out of her mind. His arms tightened around her and the mutters resumed, this time in a language she didn't understand.
     Then, abruptly, she had herself under control. A strange sense of calm washed over her. It was comfortable here in the cradle of his lap. Safe. She was struck by a powerful urge to close her eyes and let sleep take her.
     "Better?" His deep voice rumbled against the top of her head.
     She nodded. The small action seemed to take tremendous effort. "Who's Rom-Pin?"
     "Who? Oh --Rom-pin. He's my partner. Sometimes. When the mood strikes him."
     Exhaustion warred with curiosity and gave her courage. "D-do you always talk to yourself?" She risked peering at him through the tangle of her hair, conscious for a fleeting instant of how she must look with swollen eyes and reddened nose.
     His mouth dropped open. She had taken him by surprise, but only for a moment. The grin he flashed robbed her of her breath and sent a quiver through her lower belly.
     "I'm compelled to entertain myself when companionship is lacking -- which is often. I'm a trader. I make long voyages." He offered her a square of cloth pulled from a pocket. "Here, I think my shirt is all used up."
     Embarrassed again, she scrubbed at her face, bent her head and blew her nose. All sense of safety and comfort had vanished. She sat in his lap with only the inadequate barrier of the loose cloak to cover her nakedness.
     All of a sudden, she couldn't bear his touch.
     She finished drying her face and risked another glance at him from under spiky, wet lashes. He grinned back at her.
     "I'm sorry. I d-didn't mean to lose control like that."
     He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "You're entitled. Anyone who's had to endure Gerfin-style hospitality and a flesh auction can be forgiven for losing control. What's your name?"
     "C-Cassie Gordon."
     "Well, Cassie Gordon, you're safe with me." He glanced around the small crowded compartment in which they sat. "The question is, what do we do now?"
     It was a lazy speculation, but it brought back all her fears and nervousness. She gathered her courage and pushed herself to her feet, clutching the cloak protectively around herself. The golden gaze immediately swung back to her, but his arm fell away. He made no move to stop her.
     "I-I need to find transport to Treaine. Can you -- will you help me?"
     His demeanor didn't change but Cassie felt her request had surprised him in some way. He took his time to stretch his large body with slow, unselfconscious pleasure. Muscles rippled under the fabric covering his arms and thighs. "Treaine's a long way from here. Why do you want to go there?"
     "I have a position there. A-at least, I think I do." She moved away from him, hesitated, then settled gingerly on the edge of the narrow sleeping platform and drew her bare feet under the hem of the cloak. She had lost track of time during her captivity and had no idea how long it had been since the Araminy had been attacked. It was entirely possible, probable even, that her superiors thought her dead and had filled the position already. But it was even more important she get word to her parents who must be frantic with grief. She glanced again at the man on the floor. He looked as if he were about to fall asleep. Half-closed eyelids shuttered his expression. Amusement lurked in the tilt of his mouth.
     Panic and doubt beset her again. That wasn't what he had meant by that lazy first question. Of course he would find the request ridiculous. She was his property. He wouldn't just put her on a vessel bound for Treaine.
     He owned her.
     And, no doubt, would want to exact some recompense from her