“Like your feet hurt.” Need gestured at her dusty bare feet and ankles. “Did you twist an ankle?”
She looked up at him, her lip trembling just a bit and he had the feeling she was trying hard to hold back tears.
“My Lord,” she whispered. “It’s not my…not my feet that hurt.”
“Not your feet?” Need frowned. “Then what—”
Then he noticed the way she was standing, her legs slightly apart as though she couldn’t bear to press her thighs together.
Suddenly he remembered the knobbly end of the stick the slaver had used on her—the smear of blood on her inner thighs.
“It was that damn stick thing that bastard forced into you, wasn’t it?” he demanded, glaring at her. “It hurt you—made you bleed.”
“I…I think it might have torn something inside me,” she whispered. “Forgive me, my Lord!” she added, her voice low and frantic as though she feared that he might beat her for being hurt. “I am still a virgin—I swear it! I have never had a man between my thighs!”
“I don’t give a damn about you being a virgin or not, girl,” Need growled at her. But it wasn’t the girl he was angry at this time—it was himself.
Shouldn’t have let that damn stick anywhere near her, he thought, remembering the look of pain on her pretty face as the ugly thing had forced its way inside her. Should have grabbed it and broken the damn thing in two the minute it got anywhere near her.
But he hadn’t and now the girl was in pain and it was his fault—his responsibility.
He would have to take care of her.
A brief mental image shot through his brain—a picture of himself kneeling between the girl’s thighs and lapping gently at her swollen pussy. The essence in his fangs—which had grown unaccountably sharp for some reason—would repair the damage the stick had done to her. She would moan softly and card her fingers through his hair while he healed her…tasted her…
Just like you tasted Cleah, whispered a little voice in his brain.
At that, Need snapped out of the momentary fantasy and pushed the mental image again. Though all Kindred loved to taste their females, he had promised himself never to do such a thing again. He couldn’t heal the girl with his tongue—nor did he want to, he told himself.
He never wanted to taste a female again.
“Come on,” he said to the girl brusquely. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Six
The inside of the Kindred’s ship was like nothing Lan’ara had ever seen before. Instead of cold, bare metal, there were vines and flowers everywhere. The doorways and hatches were all outlined with small, white blossoms and there was soft moss underfoot.
It would have been beautiful if she wasn’t so filled with fear and inner turmoil—and if she didn’t ache so badly.
The Kindred—Needrix, she reminded herself. Should she call him “my Lord Needrix?” If she dared to address him, she would. Anyway, Needrix seemed to be angry at her for walking stiffly. But when she finally admitted why she was hobbling and that she was in pain, he immediately swung into action.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he told her and at once went into another room where she heard the sound of water running.
Lan’ara barely had time to admire his cabin—which was large and bachelor-neat with a separate sleeping chamber and a long window which was presently blacked out on one wall—before he came back for her.
“All right.” He gave her a sharp look. “Can you walk or should I carry you?”
“I can walk…my Lord Needrix,” Lan’ara said quickly. She was hoping her address would make him feel more favorable to her but the big Kindred only scowled.
“I’m not ‘my Lord’ anything, girl,” he snapped. “My name is Need.” His frown deepened. “And since it seems we’re going to be stuck with each other for some time, you might as well tell me your name, too.”
“Lan’ara, my Lo— I’m Lan’ara,” she said swiftly, hoping he wouldn’t notice her slip. He might tell her to just call him by his first name but that was really difficult for her, after years of being drilled in the proper way to address the man who was your owner, master, husband, or all three.
“Lan’ara, hmm? All right.” He nodded. “Well if you can walk, come with me to the fresher and let’s get you cleaned up.”
Lan’ara did her best not to limp as she followed him into the bathing area he had called a “fresher.” She could feel his eyes on her, watching her the whole time, and she tried not to make him angry.
Or angrier than he already is, she amended to herself.
“Here you are.” He was pointing to a deep tub filled with steaming water. It was wreathed around with green and purple vines that had long, bell-shaped blossoms. The flowers were a rich shade of royal blue and many of them trailed from their vines and floated in the water.