10. Chapter Ten

3days, 14 hours, 44 minutes EST remaining Crey's deep voice rumbled through his chest beneath Mari's ear. His voice was hoarse from use, but still soothing. "‘You shall not escape so easily,' the baron announced, entering the room from a hidden passageway."

Mari made a sound of protest. She'd grown increasingly invested in the story of Priscilla and Lord Charles and impressed by their agility and creativity while "making love." Crey had explained, unnecessarily, that making love was an "Old English" term for fornicating.

Crey patted her head. "Do not be concerned, my melayfah. She escapes—again. The stronger, more cunning, and more aggressive Earthens, like this baron, do not win in your old books. I can only assume this was to help your race accept their inferiority as strategists and in battle, which is certainly how most of the universe sees Earthens." He patted her head. "It was good to accept this as so. There is a Bogartan saying that ‘a smart Earthen is one who runs away, and returns to shoot their enemies in the back at a later time.'"

She protested with a disgruntled noise.

"Not you. You are an exceptional Earthen. You would have been a villain in these books, as would I. I find it amusing that Earthens see vanquishing the individual who should have won—as a preferred ending—a happy ending. This baron is not even an impediment to Priscilla and Lord Charles fornicating while riding away from this encounter or fornicating when they reach his estate. He is gone before the epilogue fornication."

Another monster threw itself against their shielded stone fortress and snarled when it was rebuffed.

Crey yawned loudly, making a "gwaaah" noise as he did. "Where was I?" He hummed softly while thinking. Then, Crey returned to speaking English. "Priscilla stood in the gloomy tower room, dropping the cut ropes from her wrists." He yawned again. "I do like how frequently Priscilla saves herself."

"Mm," Mari agreed.

"It does reflect poorly on Lord Charles that he does not better protect his intended. This baron understands that. He keeps abducting Priscilla to convince her of his suit. While, in many ways, this is against Gaiian principles for respecting boundaries and your proposed mate's consent, the baron is making an effort. Lord Charles would be wise to strategize his courtship and plan for these impediments. I created thirty-eight plans revolving around an unworthy contender for you, despite the captain's assurances that you had no interest in other crewmembers. I planned contingencies for wresting your favor from the Crayflors, despite the unlikelihood of that scenario."

Totally unlikely.

Mari had grown accustomed to similar commentary throughout her "story." Crey had strong opinions on this romance novel he'd used for his English studies. Most of his opinions centered around the idea that the heroine was attracted to the wrong man.

Mari had dropped in and out of consciousness for much of the early chapters. Her lucidity was improving, though. She felt more like herself, even if this was an exhausted form of herself.

Thankfully, despite her inattention, the plot of this particular romance novel was not difficult to follow. Boy meets girl. Boy begins half-hearted courtship. Virile and aggressive villain steals away girl. Boy arrives to escort cleverly-escaped girl to a new location where they fornicate again and again. Bold and brash villain steals girl once more.

Mari had read romances with more complex plots—she was a badass xenobotanist romantic—but never enjoyed the telling as much.

Crey consulted his databand. In addition to tracking time, he'd been pulsing his band on and off to research how to care for an Earthen, which, once again, made her feel a bit like a pet. "It is time for another dose of the neutralizer, and I should check your arm." He shifted her off him with a tenderness that almost made her cry.

The sun had risen, and new monsters were throwing themselves against the shield. If not for scavengers, there would be a whole battlefield's worth of carcasses at the base of the craggy ridge they were on.

Predator Planet was throwing everything at them, and it was moss that had taken down a botanist. Of course it was. The betrayal was personal that way. Lyatan was a jerk planet with bastard trees and evil moss.

"You need hydration," Crey said under his breath as he gathered supplies. He turned to find Mari watching him. "You are awake?" His excitement was evident.

Nodding was stupidly exhausting, but Mari did it—for him.

"You appear more lucid. This is good. This may be your last dose of neutralizer." Lifting her hand, Crey studied her wound.

At some point, Crey had changed Mari's clothing for a loose tunic and pants. She couldn't work up any embarrassment. This was Crey, and, as he'd said on the ship, which seemed a lifetime ago, nothing would change his opinion of her. Also, she vaguely remembered many nonfactual endearments and possibly an "I love you." Though, that was when the toxin was strong in her bloodstream, and Mari wanted to confirm it wasn't just a dream or hallucination.

"A dark line ran from here to here," Crey said as he traced a ticklish line from her palm to her upper arm. "It is gone. That is a good sign." He injected the dose.

Mari would be dead a thousand times over if not for that neutralizing saber, and this was another example. His gift was proving both thoughtful and prescient. He might have precognition as his mother had.

"Now, you need more hydration liquid." He inclined her upper body with his arm beneath her. Crey's voice had grown hoarse as the night wore on. He was evidently not accustomed to speaking this much. That he would go hoarse telling a romance story was a testament to how far her ferocious green warrior had fallen.

Mari took several sips of the pouch to please Crey. Her throat was parched, but she dreaded relieving herself. Even if it shouldn't be awkward, it was. She needed more energy for that exertion.

Her mate looked exhausted and kept yawning. Eventually, Crey would need to sleep longer than he normally did. His body would insist.

Gathering her into his arms, Crey adjusted Mari atop him. "More story?"

Mari dipped her chin in a tiring nod. Absolutely more story.

Crey kissed her forehead. "Priscilla stood in the gloomy tower room, dropping the cut ropes from her wrists. ‘I have escaped your clutches twice now,' she said. ‘What makes you think that this time will be different?'

"‘I think you do not want to leave my manor so swiftly,' the baron said. ‘Both times, you have lingered. Today, I left that jagged metal within reach. By my estimation, you should have left already—if that was your desire.'" Crey snorted. "I agree with the baron. She lingers, as he said. You lingered when we kissed on the ship. It is the lingering that tells of internal desires. Much of their other behavior is cloaking used by many races, but especially by Earthens. They falsely deny or protest, as if they are unwilling to act upon a desire, thus, outwardly preserving their stookt pride and wasting time. I liked when you lingered, and I will linger for you."

Mari almost managed a nod. So exhausted, and the beat of his heart beneath her ear was soothing in its steadiness.

"This Priscilla—she lingers," Crey continued. "She is attracted to the power the baron wields, but her Earthen upbringing says she should desire the safety and constancy of Lord Charles. Earthens have a history of believing that power corrupts. The truth is that power only corrupts the weak. The baron is strong in purpose, intelligent, and wealthy; he would make an exceptional mate for Priscilla as she would bring her strengths to their partnership. Similarly, you have brought your strengths to our relationship, which have tempered my disorderly behaviors."

"Mm." He wasn't wrong.

"My parents were like this. I recognize now that there was love between them. He bought her gifts—purposeless gifts. He found her this Earthen item called a music box. It was ornate—carved in a white hard material and etched with gold. The music it played was short and metallic-sounding. I hated the sound, but my mother enjoyed it. When he left to travel, my father would do the lingering." He yawned again.

A creature roared and threw itself against the shield.

"Priscilla considered the baron's words,"Crey recited. "Was she lingering? Did she bear anything besides malice for this dark and brash villain who stole her again and again? His touch did cause her pulse to quicken and for excitement to build within her breast." Crey paused the story. "She discusses her breasts frequently when she talks to herself. When you are in better health, you may do that. You may do so aloud, when we are alone. That is acceptable."

Mari's lips almost managed a smile.

Crey continued, "Lord Charles was surely more worthy of her devotion, and he had always treated her with such courtesy when they were among their peers and, then, such wild abandon when they weren't." Crey stopped. "It is not that wild. I had lower expectations for the kissing based on their interactions. They rushed to fornicate, so I believed kissing was less impactful than it has proven to be. In this story, only the baron understands the importance of both the lingering and the kissing."

Mari closed her eyes.

"The baron strode forward and pulled an unresisting Priscilla into his arms. Her traitorous heart beat faster. His mouth crushed hers boldly. The baron's tongue took hers captive. This sensual bondage of his arms wrapped around hers, as his mouth plundered the depth of hers—it enthralled her and aroused her. She relished the sinful taste of brandy on his lips and tongue.

"‘You should not!' Priscilla murmured against his lips. Was that her voice, sounding as drunken as if she'd tasted the brandy he'd offered her?

"‘Surrender,' the baron demanded. His harsh voice, so used to giving commands, was softer with her, but Priscilla could not forget the power this man wielded when he desired. He was the captain over a band of thieves—the very thieves who'd first stolen her grandmother's necklace on the moors—the same thieves Charles hunted. Ulric was a thief. A gentleman thief, but a thief nonetheless, and Charles was the local magistrate.

"‘Never,' Priscilla whispered. ‘I will never surrender!'

"‘We shall see, my sweet. We shall see,' he said.

"His kisses shook her, robbing her of all sense. The all-encompassing lust of the baron was in sharp contrast to the steady and increasing mutual desire she felt with Lord Charles. Theirs was a marriage of minds, if not yet a union on paper. This was neither.

"The baron's lips trailed down her neck, scorching her. He was a beast—a monster, and, surely, it was rage she felt within her, heating her blood."

Priscilla was a fool for not taming the baron. The lingering and the kissing spoke volumes. Sometimes, risking your heart with a man who robbed your senses paid off—your heart got stolen.