“And who taught you that?” Laxah demanded.
“The instructors at the Twyleth Tigg Academy,” Lan’ara said promptly. “Where I have been attending for the past five cycles, ever since I was fourteen.”
“The Goddess preserve us—you’re naught but a child!” Laxah exclaimed. “How awful for you to be bought and sold. And sold again,” she added, frowning at Need. “For aren’t those your plans for her?”
“It’s not like that,” Need growled. “The girl already has an agreement with some rich old bastard on Genu Six. I just promised to help her get there—that’s all.”
“For a tidy sum, I’m sure,” Laxah remarked.
“For whatever he’ll pay,” Need answered. “Tidy sum or not, she’s got to go. Can’t have her hanging around The Dark Star any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Why…oh. I see,” Laxah followed his gaze to Drung, who was now eating, seemingly as noisily and messily as possible. Flecks of food were coating all three of his mouths, for he had three of the turny-flips and was shoving bites of them into three eager faces at once.
“Exactly. Now you see—after accusing me of being a Goddess-damned female abuser and rapist!”
“I…may have been wrong about that,” Laxah said stiffly. “If so, then I apologize.” She poked a finger at him. “But I still want the girl in my med station for a full exam no later than tomorrow. And I’ll need her medical history too.”
“What? Why do you need all that?” Need demanded.
“Because while she’s part of The Dark Star’s crew, she’s also my responsibility,” Laxah said sternly. “I have to know how to keep her healthy, don’t I? So I’ll need her genetics scan and history, any known allergies either to foods or medications, any predisposition to illnesses—that kind of thing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any of that with me,” Lan’ara told her. “Though I can tell you I’m allergic to jujah fruit—it makes me break out in hives. As for my genetic scan and history, well… I suppose it might be in my, uh, file.” She cast a quick glance at Drung, who was chewing with all three mouths open—a nauseating sight that made her look away fast.
“And good luck getting her file away from that big bastard,” Need growled.
Laxah frowned.
“How is it that you bought the girl while that waste-of-oxygen, Drung, got her file?” she demanded.
“Didn’t know there was a file that went with her,” Need said, frowning. He looked at Lan’ara. “Did you know that fucking slaver had a file on you?”
“I knew that our files were taken when the pirates broke into the academy and kidnapped us,” Lan’ara said carefully. “They seemed to think we would be worth more than way—because all our files stated that we were, er, verified virgins.”
Her cheeks got hot and she thought again of how she might not technically qualify as a virgin anymore—not now that her maidenhead was gone.
“Well I wish to the Goddess I’d known it,” Need grumbled. “The file might tell us…”
“Tell you what?” Laxah asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Tell us what you want to know, my Lady,” Lan’ara said quickly, though she knew very well that her genetic history wasn’t what the big Kindred was talking about. No doubt he wanted to know as much as she did why her breasts had begun producing nectar when she was aroused.
They were dry now—at least, she didn’t feel herself leaking in any way. But Lan’ara wondered if the sticky sweet amber liquid would start leaking out again if she was sexually stimulated.
Also, hadn’t the Trollox said something about “Touch Cravings?” Even now Lan’ara could feel herself longing to lean across the table and reach for the Kindred’s big hand. She thought longingly of how good it felt to be held in his strong arms, of how warm his skin was, and how good he smelled—a deep, spicy scent that was strangely compelling and somehow entirely masculine.
No, stop it! she scolded herself. There’s no use in wishing to touch him or wishing for him to touch you. He swore he wouldn’t, remember? He swore never to touch you again. Besides, you haven’t even known him an entire solar day yet. Why are you letting yourself get so attached to a strange male who just wants to get rid of you?
She couldn’t answer that question so she decided not to think of it anymore. Instead she concentrated on eating her turny-flip—which was well-worth concentrating on.
The bread it was made of was dark golden brown with a chewy, crispy outer crust and a pillowy interior. The filling was in two parts—the first layer was some crumbly white stuff which was cheesy and salty and tangy. The second layer was a mixture of coarsely cubed, crispy vegetables in some kind of brown, vinegary paste. The two layers shouldn’t have gone together at all, but somehow they did and the crispy chew of the bread they were wrapped in rounded out each mouthful to make the turny-flips unexpectedly delicious.