She said I was the only Earth woman, besides herself, to go off-planet and return. Well, another woman who’d been matched to Trion had returned because she had to testify at a trial, but she’d gone back soon after. Warden Egara had said she was the High Councilor’s mate and that they probably knew—no, had known—Roark. It was a small universe, it seemed.
The nausea rolled up again and I leaned over the toilet bowl, dry heaving. When the fit was over, I slumped down on to the floor and curled up in a tight ball on the sparse bath mat. I couldn’t stay in the hotel any longer. I had to face the reality that Roark wasn’t coming, that he was dead and I had to get on with my life. I didn’t have the luxury of lying around feeling sorry for myself any longer. I had a son or daughter to care for, who would need me to keep my shit together.
A baby! Pressing a hand to my flat stomach, the tears welled up again. This was not how I was supposed to become a mother. Alone in a hotel room. No husband. Not on this planet or even this galaxy. I just couldn’t bare the thought of entering the Interstellar Brides Program again. Not a chance. Even if I could find a mate who would want another man’s child, I didn’t want to be matched to someone else. My one perfect match was dead. Roark was dead.
I was alone. My one attempt at finding happiness for myself, for taking charge of my life, failed. Failed miserably. I was even more alone, more heartbroken than before. Before, my loneliness had been abstract, a vague emptiness. Now that empty space was filled with pain. Now, I knew exactly what I’d been missing.
Sitting up, I cupped my breast and fiddled with the nipple ring. I wanted it off. I wanted to rid myself of the constant reminder of what I couldn’t have. But there was no seam, no way to remove it. Screeching in frustration, I slumped back to the floor, crying. My nipple now tingled and I needed to touch myself, to relieve the ache. Even with my tears, I reached between my legs and found myself wet and swollen, my clit hard. Turning onto my back, I parted my legs and slipped two fingers into my needy pussy as I fingered my clit. I thought of Roark, of his deep voice and huge cock filling me, stretching me open, making me scream. It didn’t take long to come, so eager was my body for completion.
I arched my back and cried out his name as the pleasure overwhelmed me. And when it had waned, when I was lying on a hotel room floor, sweaty, naked and alone, I knew it was time to move on with my life. It was time to go home.
Chapter Nine
Roark
I opened my eyes. Blinked. Again. I heard my name.
“Roark!”
“Councilor.”
I groaned as I was shifted and moved. Everything hurt and I couldn’t get the stench of that damn nox hair out of my nose. And blood. Burned flesh. Pain. I smelled like pain.
“Lift him carefully. He’ll need at least a full day in the ReGeneration Pod.”
I saw nothing but white at first, then some colors mixed in, then everything came into focus. So did the face that loomed over me.
“He’s waking up.” Seton, my second-in-command, exhaled and gave me a grim smile. Seton was two years older than I, a trusted friend. His family bloodline traced back nearly as far as mine. As the last son of my line, I had been elected councilor. But we both knew if I failed to produce an heir, or was killed, the people would embrace my sister’s son. But he was no more than a babe. An infant could not rule. Seton would be acting councilor until my nephew was old enough to put forth his name in the elections. And for that, I was grateful. I’d never truly believed that possibility needed to be considered. But I’d never been taken and tortured before. Without doubt, had I not escaped, they would have killed me. Eventually.
I tried to sit, but Seton’s large hand landed on my chest and he shoved me, none too gently, back down onto the medical bed. “What happened, Roark? We lost contact with Outpost Two days ago. But the transport pad was locked, at least until you used it.” Seton’s gaze roamed over me from head to toe, rage and uncertainty equally visible in his gaze.
“Drovers.” I bit out the one word, the pain behind it hot and bitter. I heard a rumbling of voices in response to my announcement. I turned my head and looked beyond Seton’s large frame. I could make out more than a dozen men, most in medical uniforms, and a few, scattered guards.
Seton leaned in and lowered his voice. “Drovers? Attacking an outpost? Are you certain?”
I nodded grimly. “They attacked. Set off explosions. I sent Natalie off with the doctor for protection. I gathered the men to chase the attackers into the desert. But it was a trap, Seton.” I sighed, realizing that both Natalie and my parents would be dead if they had remained with me, as they had wanted to do. “The Drovers didn’t run—they invaded the camp on foot.”
“Drovers never leave their beasts,” Seton insisted. “It’s suicide.”
“They were heavily armed and fought like trained warriors. I was trying to get to Natalie when I was ambushed and captured.” I cleared my throat as the memory flooded me. “They slit Byran’s throat and left him
to bleed out in the sand.”
“I’m sorry, Roark. We found him among the dead.”
“And Natalie? My parents? Did they get out in time?”
“Your parents transported to Xalia City nine days ago. We heard nothing from the outpost, knew nothing of anything wrong until your arrival. I’ve sent scouts to the outpost to search for survivors. They’re sending updates every fifteen minutes.”
“What day is today?”
He told me and I thought back.
Nine days. The Drovers held me for eight and I rode a nox back to the Outpost for another. Fark. Where was Natalie? What could she have done in all this time?
“Natalie!” I shouted.
“Roark, calm down. Who is Natalie?” he asked. He was big and dark like me, like almost all Trion males, but somehow he was born with pale eyes. They were very noticeable and he didn’t lack for attention with the females. He had yet to mate, probably enjoying the variety of willing bed partners who threw themselves at him.