“And protected?” she ventured.
He smirked. “I suppose you noticed it is a military outpost? There are plans afoot to capture the air and pump it along the barrier region, to help alleviate the pollution. A mammoth undertaking and currently, this facility acts as a pilot installation to test the theory. Some believe it is too late and we are stealing from one part of the planet to prop up a dying region. Others believe that Halos is too important to let slip away without a fight.”
“Why are there soldiers here?”
“A tiny minority, outspoken and operating in the shadows would sabotage any attempt to interfere with the planet’s natural death. They want to destroy this installation, so it is guarded.” He squeezed her hand. “I told you I would be honest. We are a great Empire, but we are not gods.”
“No,” she murmured. Gods didn’t enslave people, either. But she said nothing though, because Earth’s history was far from perfect.
He draped his arm across her shoulders, allowing her lean against him. She felt cocooned and safe. An hour wasn’t long enough to do much more than smooch and pet each other. He swept back her hair—he’d complimented her on the new style when she’d returned from the Yulta—and eagerly sought out her lips, moistening them with his kisses. He breathed warm air
into her cold lungs and chased away the last goosebumps with an embrace. By the time the shuttle dropped out of the sky onto the street, she was quite toasty and keen to strip off more layers of clothing.
Chapter Sixteen
The opportunity to spend time with Paige was annoyingly infrequent. Jamen made use of any respite in his schedule to hasten into her little room and lure her into his arms for a brisk coupling. She welcomed him with inviting eyes and a willingness that pleased him.
As for her tendency for abrupt outbursts, they seemed to be under control. For now. She pestered him about the barrier, which he ignored—what could he do about it? And, according to Conner, she had Sava fired up about women senators. Conner had to remind his hanjin not to repeat what she heard about Earth or risk being charged with insurrection.
Jamen debated whether he should spank Paige. She’d not disobeyed him or intentionally stirred up trouble. In her naivety, she merely sought to educate his fellow Vendu about things she considered normal. This awakening of ideas was the consequence of having closer ties with humans and something that could bring his arrangement with Paige to a premature conclusion if the emperor considered it dangerous.
The best policy to contain her was keeping her busy, which also meant little time for them to spend together doing the very thing that drew him to her in the first place. Physically, he yearned as if his body was sick. He was almost addicted, and when they couldn’t have sex, he ached in his belly. He pictured her naked on his bed, eyes half closed and her mouth ajar, ready to receive him. He carried that image about with him and it fueled his craving.
Humans talked of love. Galen was convinced by it. If Jamen asked his brother to explain why he felt these strong emotions for Zara, his human lover, Galen would toss back that word love, which existed in the Vendu vocabulary. However, the Vendu version of the word wasn’t quite as passionate as what the human word ‘love’ did in his head. He’d gone as far as to question Leesa to see if it worked when said in different human languages. She presented him with variations, which he repeated out loud, and the emotions it evoked remained the same no matter how much he tried to push the feeling aside. However, as for the word itself, he preferred the one Paige used—love.
She would be gone by the end of the solar cycle and he couldn’t afford to let his emotions dictate their future together. He decided he needed to focus on the physical aspects of their relationship and not dwell too much on the emotional ones.
Probably easier said than done.
* * *
The small crowd that gathered around the blue pillar thinned out, gradually dispersing. Paige had heard all the petitioners and, to her delight, without Atlas’s help. He’d returned to the district to prepare for Jamen’s impending visit. As for Gawen, she’d not seen him lurking, so perhaps she had imagined him.
She waved at Sava, who was leaving, and two other hanjins, whom Paige recognized from the Yulta. Faces were becoming more familiar and friendlier. She had lost most of her novelty and the Vendu had no reason to distrust her. She’d proved she was there to serve and not spy.
As for the other senators, they were a mixed bunch of men. From the ancient ones with wrinkled faces to the young, although Jamen seemed to be the youngest of the ones she’d met, they all treated her respectfully. Barring one. Rasser, the senator for some distant off-world colony that remained at war with its enslaved people, was not very nice. In fact, she detested him.
He leered at her. Seriously, if he was any closer, his eyes would be up against her breasts, ogling them. Several times, she came close to marching over to the black pillar where he loitered and bopping him one on the nose. Of course, she hadn’t. With the lobby clearing, he remained behind. It was only the second time she’d seen him—the first time, Sava had introduced him as he’d just returned from the colony and Paige wanted to know who he was. He’d glared at her with obvious disgust but said nothing more than an eerily creepy, “Welcome.”
On this occasion, the disgust was gone and he replaced it with an uncomfortable sneer or something equally ugly. She turned her back on him and walked toward the far corner of the lobby where the express elevator would take her to Jamen’s floor. The lobby reminded her of the nave of a cathedral or mosque with its many colored pillars creating a pattern of shadows and light. In the same way people might gather for prayer, the lobby served to house a congregation and the people continued to mill about in little groups for conversation. The trickle of voices reached her ears, but not the footsteps behind her. It wasn’t until they were right up against her heels that she spun around and came face to face with the leery Rasser.
He grabbed her elbow and pinched it, causing her cry out. Before she could raise her voice in protest, he wheeled her around and bundled her into an unlit recessed alcove with a stone bench. The darkness obliterated his face and only two beady eyes were visible. She wriggled, attempting to wrench his fingers off her arm. However, he had nails like talons and they dug through the thin fabric of her dress and into her flesh.
“Get off,” she said, first in English because she was running on adrenaline, then in Vendian.
He laughed off her request. “Human scum. Why did they let you in? You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
“I am not!” she retorted, yanking harder. His nails tore a hole in her dress.
“On my colony, the governor would insist you knelt at his feet and begged him to spare your life. He would have you work in the mines or fields, a whip on your back, then in the evening—”
She spat in his face. She’d never done anything so demeaning before, but wearing her spittle, which clung onto his cheek, suited him. He whipped back his hand and slapped her cheek. The pain sent a wave of nausea up from her belly and into her mouth. She tasted blood. She swayed, fighting to stay conscious, but when her back hit the cold marble wall, she bounced back to life.
She fought him, stamping on his feet, which was futile because his boots were thick. She tried to knee his groin, but she couldn’t get her leg up high enough to reach.
“This is why you should be a slave,” he snarled. “Weak and pathetic.” He wrestled her down, as he dropped onto the bench.
He hauled her over his lap and she kicked like crazy, twisting and turning, in a vain effort to free herself. Tears pricked her eyes—she refused to cry, instead, she reached into her lungs and dragged out a lungful of air, ready to scream the place down the moment he started to spank her.