Savage Prince by Alison Aimes
8
“Stay.” Skolov slid her from his shoulder and set her down, the tiles of the shuttle cool beneath her bare feet.
She swayed on her feet and surveyed the space. The chill inside her turned to near frost.
She’d panicked before. The knowledge that someone else was after her and Rav had sent her feet moving before she’d even had time to think her new plan through, but she’d only made her situation worse.
A mammoth bed loomed at the back of the room.
Skolov hadn’t taken her to a cell, but his sleeping quarters.
“Don’t move. Not a damned inch.” He turned away.
She scanned the space for a means of escape.
After catching her and tossing her over his shoulder, he’d lugged her through the auction house corridor—past a few bodies and some still fighting Alphas—and out the front door, straight to this sleek, gorgeous ship.
She knew without question it was his.
It smelled of power, frost, and him. Just like the room she was in now.
There were two walls of double-story high windows. They were dark now, thanks to privacy paneling, the sole light spilling from dimmed recessed lights in the ceiling.
The third wall was covered in beautiful, sleek, abstract art while the fourth was lined with floor-to-ceiling drawers that were clearly put to good use since there was no mess or even dust-gathering junk anywhere else in the room.
The whole space screamed royal, expensive, orderly, and commanding.
Especially the huge, high platform bed.
Her gaze lingered there despite herself.
Positioned against the wall with the art, the bed was perfectly made with tight corners and gorgeous, soft dark bedding. It sat high atop a platform made of the shimmering ice crystal material for which Abzal was famous. Mythical creatures, engaged in every carnal position, were carved into its sides.
The male was a fascinating contradiction.
One she could not afford to explore.
Maybe she was foolish, but she was no longer afraid for her physical wellbeing around Maxheim Skolov. Not after the way he’d done no more than spank her for her rebellion, and the way he’d protected her so fiercely from those killers.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a danger to her, in more ways than she wanted to admit.
She’d heard his brothers on the other side of that comms. The syndicate wanted her dead. Even a Skolov could not go against the entire Brotherhood. So, while he might not hurt her, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually hand her off to someone who would.
Nor was her own safety her only concern. Far from it. She needed to warn Rav.
Apparently, both the Brotherhood and some death squad wanted him dead, and she had no idea if he knew either was after him. She had to tell him before it was too late.
Except, the only way out the door was past her too-beautiful captor.
“Time to eat.” Skolov’s command shook her from her thoughts.
She looked over to discover him pulling the last of several dishes from a sleek drawer that closed in the next instance.
Shocked, she inched closer. She’d heard of such wonders but had never seen one.
A bounty of still smoking dishes now lay atop a sleek metallic table surrounded by chairs, one of the many separate nooks in the massive room.
“If you don’t like anything I’ve chosen, I can order something else.”
This was the strangest interrogation.
He had yet to ask her anything more about Rav or Aldar.
Instead, he stared with that intense gaze.
“Where are the other omegas?” She forced the words past a throat thick with nerves—and the stupid lust that never seemed to abate.
He was just so damned handsome and dominant. The force of his will stroking across her skin even now, like rough, calloused hands.
She forced herself to focus.
“They’re fine,” he answered. “They’re getting medical care and food. You need to do the same.”
“I’m not hungry.” She was far too edgy, and she didn’t think it was all from fear.
Gaze narrowing, his stare dragged the length of her. “You need to eat. How much were they fucking feeding you? Not nearly enough.”
He jerked the chair out, making a harsh skidding sound on the glossy tiled floor. “You’ll sit and you’ll eat. Now.”
A new demand. A new problem.
She eyed the expensive fabric. The furniture was extremely utilitarian—all sleek lines and clear purpose, like its owner—but it was still worth more than someone would bid on her for a night. “I can’t sit there.”
Skolov froze, the knuckles gripping the back of the chair turning white. “Why? Are you in pain? Fuck, tell me it wasn’t the spanking or the rutting.”
She didn’t understand this male at all.
“It wasn’t.” Just the memory of both caused her belly to clench, her clit to throb.
She skirted farther away from his reach and surveyed the rest of the room.
“If you won’t eat or sit, come stand by the heat. You look cold.”
Her chin snapped up.
If he thought he could trick her into betraying her friend with a few crumbs of food, he was wrong.
“Just tell me what you really want with . . .” she caught herself before she said Byrel’s name and infuriated him further, finishing lamely instead with, “me.”
The back of the chair bent under his grip. “I want to know what it will take for you to sit and eat and accept my fucking hospitality.”
His outrage fueled her own and loosened her tongue. “This isn’t hospitality, it’s intimidation.”
His eyes narrowed.
Survival instincts flaring, she hurried to appease. “I’m not declining the invitation to sit out of stubbornness. I’m dirty.”
He stilled. Blew out a breath. “I don’t give two shits about the chair.”
“Lucky you.”
There was a longer pause. As if he was actively bringing himself under control.
She’d never known an Alpha to do that with a slave before.
“So,” he said finally, releasing his hold from the chair, “if you were cleaned up, would you eat then? And sit in my chair?”
“Maybe.” She’d probably still be too wound up, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Better to wait and pick her battles. He definitely wasn’t going to be happy when she refused to help him locate Rav.
“Fine.” Skolov’s deep voice cut into her frightening thoughts. “Time to get you cleaned up.”
She stared at him again. Was he serious? Just because she said she might eat and sit? “I don’t understand.”
His chin jutted toward a door at the back of the room. “There’s a water closet through there. It’s got everything you need to get clean.”
She clutched the vest tighter. “I-If you’re going to fuck me again, just do it.”
His scowl deepened. “The shower. Now!” He plowed a hand through his hair. “You have five minutes or I’m coming in.”
Shock slammed through her. He was letting her go in alone?
She didn’t understand this male at all.
But she wasn’t a fool.
She’d take advantage of what he was offering while she could.
There were showers at the slave quarters—and thanks to Rav’s pull—she’d been able to use them more than most, but the water was murky and cold, and she’d been watched every time, the guards’ lurid stares stealing away even the simple enjoyment of getting clean.
Skolov’s water would be warm, clear, and free of voyeuristic eyes.
Plus, there was a chance she’d find a means of escape.
She hurried toward the door.
“I can practically hear you plotting from here, hellion.” Skolov’s words stopped her at the threshold. “The only way out of that room is through the same door in, and the only way out of my sleeping quarters is through the locked door at my back.” He paused long enough to let that sink in. “Plus, unlike the auction house doors, everything on this ship is coded to my palm and retinal scan, so if you want out without me, you’re going to have to cut off my hand and eye—and I promise you, there are no weapons in that water closet sharp enough or fast enough for that.”
She shivered.
“If I were you, I’d just enjoy the shower and behave. Do I make myself clear?”
She didn’t turn around. “Crystal.”
“Good.” He sounded way too smug. “If we have to go over ground rules again, you really might not be able to sit on that chair.”
She sucked down a breath and thanked the gods he couldn’t see how her nipples puckered at his dark threat, her folds swelling at just the thought of his hands on her once more.
She forced herself forward on trembling legs.
One way or another, she had to get away.
Because it was becoming increasingly clear that her greatest danger might not be the male himself, but her wild, foolish, uncontrollable response to him.
* * *
Maxheim took a deep breath.
It took everything he had not to follow her into the water closet. The sound of the running water, a roar in his blood that sent a rush of need to his cock.
The image of her naked and wet almost drove him to his knees.
She was unpredictable and full of bravado, and he wanted to fuck and knot her again more than he wanted his next breath.
Her defiance pulled at him while the lust and longing she didn’t want to acknowledge teased him. But it was the vulnerability beneath that might prove to be his greatest problem.
It frayed his control.
When he needed to get a damned grip more than ever.
Stalking to the small sink by the eating area, he washed his hands and, jerking a towel from the rack, used it to rub the streaks of blood, cum, and slick from his skin.
Hells, he needed to clear his head and think of something besides stuffing her full of cock.
The Brotherhood would be baying for blood. They’d want more from him than an assurance that the situation had been taken care of and there would be no more deaths. Which meant the clock was ticking, and he needed to get a hold of something substantive that he could offer in Tess’s place or the situation with the Brotherhood was going to get ugly.
The Sartin contract was another problem. That was going to be one awkward call. Going back on the prime omega deal was going to anger another Brotherhood family, just when he needed more allies, not less.
But there was nothing to be done about that either. Plans changed.
His biggest damn problem was Tess herself. Her affection for Byrel was a bitter pill that tasted like ash in the back of his throat. Jealous? It couldn’t be. He didn’t bother with such stupid, petty emotions—and yet he had no good explanation for the way the bastard’s name on her lips raked across his skin like shards of crystal.
He tossed the towel aside.
Then, with a growl, he picked it up and folded it before placing it in the hamper.
Discipline was more essential than ever.
He tapped out a message to Nikolai. Then to his other brothers. He filled them in on what had transpired with Tess as best he could in as few sentences as possible. He didn’t like it, but he also let Alexi and Damien know he’d be delayed and they should begin the guard interrogations without him.
It was early still in the game, but time was ticking away there too. The longer Aldar and Byrel stayed in the wind, the harder they would be to catch.
The twins were counting on him.
The knowledge clawed at him, a hot poker in his chest. From the moment they were born, he’d been their protector, their caretaker. And yet, for the past fifteen years, he’d slept in his comfy bed and ate good food while they were left to fend for themselves.
Alexi gave Maxheim shit for having no emotions, but the truth was, knowing how badly he’d failed them—however unintentionally—ate away at him.
Except now he had a solid lead to find them: the wet and naked omega in his shower, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
She knew about Byrel and Aldar’s operations, their habits, their weaknesses, their routines. Delving inside her mind was undoubtedly his most likely chance of identifying the patterns that would lead him back to his quarry.
But, at this time, she was resistant to giving that information up freely, and the last thing he wanted to do was break one vulnerable, innocent creature to save two more, especially a violet-eyed omega with thin silver lash scars on her gorgeous, shimmering skin.
With a growl, he slammed his fist down on the counter. It cracked, the line snaking outward.
Fucking fitting. Because everything was broken, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
Himself most of all.
If he was smart, he’d go join his brothers and get back to business as usual, cooling off by knocking together a few heads and seeing if he could learn anything more about his targets through that route, before he did something in this room he’d regret.
The water shut off.
His claws punched from his skin.
He wasn’t fucking going anywhere.