Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

“How?” he rasped. “How did—?”

“It’s what they do to avoid an obvious mark. Don’t want to spoil luxury goods. They shaved my head first.” The fall of her hair spilled over his kilt and down his leg, the plait unraveling one lock at a time, a tickling, maddening caress along the swell of his calf.

“When you were fifteen.” He took great care to expunge any hint of pity from his voice, though his heart squeezed. The fact that she’d been little more than a child then made no difference to the danger she posed in the here and now. With or without her knowledge, Dancer might yet be a weapon in a subtle game of political intrigue.

Rhio slid his hand around to cradle her cheek, preventing her from turning her head toward his body. Because if she did, she’d know at once he was harder than a pike. He felt the sweat pop on the back of his neck and trickle underneath his collar. Brother’s balls, his nose was full of the fresh green of her perfume. How could she miss the scent of lust pouring off him?

“Sit up,” he said gruffly, tugging at her shoulder.

To his relief, Dancer raised her head and sat back on her heels, folding her hands in her lap. She shot him a smoldering glance, but he could have sworn it was automatic and that underneath, she was amused. “Now what, Captain?”

Rhio gritted his teeth. “What does it say, the tattoo?”

Every trace of expression left her face. “Literally? ‘Property of Ghuis Gremani Giral.’ ”

“What happens if . . . if you’re sold?”

“The first tattoo will be removed and the new master’s name applied.” Her gaze was bleak. “The healers have the art, but it’s very painful.” She shrugged. “Clever slaves take care to please their masters.”

He hated having to ask, but he had to know—for any number of reasons, and the Queen’s safety was but one of them. “Is giving sexual service part of your duties?”

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Giral uses you as a whore?” It came out more harshly than he’d intended.

“He has a number of expert bedslaves, but yes, even me if he wishes.” An angry wash of color bloomed on Dancer’s high cheekbones. “He owns me, Rhio.”

“Do you enjoy it?” What the fuck was the matter with him? “Wait.” He raised a hand before she could reply. “I withdraw the question. It’s not relevant.”

“I agree.” Rising, she glared down her nose, reminding him of his first vivid impression of her, fierce as a raptor. “You’re an intelligent man, Captain. You can work it out for yourself, yes?”

“Aye.” On impulse, he said, “Here with me, you’re not a slave, Dancer. Do you

understand?”

A level look. “What am I, then?”

“A woman.” He tilted his head back against the chair, gazing at her from under his lashes. “A mind and a heart and a soul. Perhaps even an enemy.” Her dark eyes met his and held. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? To the bone.”

For the first time, he saw surprise cross her face. She folded her arms. “If I am not a slave, then I refuse to answer.”

“You don’t need to.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “You’re from a warrior tribe and the Brother knows you have cause to hate. Are knives your favorite weapon?”

“They are now,” Dancer said after a pause.

“And before?”

Another silence, then, “I used to be good with a quarterstaff.”

“What’s your name?”

“Am—” She shut her mouth with a snap. “You’re very good.”

“True. A little while ago you said you’d give me fair warning. Let me return the favor.”

Rhio reached for bread and cheese. “If a plot exists to harm Her Majesty, I’ll find it. If you’re involved”—he stabbed his dagger into the meat, razor sharp—“I will have no mercy. Got it?” He took a savage bite.

Dancer gave a curt nod. “I have it.”

Her stare flickered down to his mouth. Spinning on her heel, she took two steps to the couch and seized her portion of the food. She didn’t quite gobble—she was tidy

enough—but every morsel disappeared long before Rhio had finished. Watching her lick her fingers, fastidious as a cat, he had that same strange twisting feeling in his chest.

Invisible chains and she had no idea she wore them. Godsdammit, a slave couldn’t eat until her master did, and she’d been hungry. Shit, all her adult life. It was a miracle the spirit hadn’t been beaten out of her.

Some soldiers had extraordinary physical courage. Others didn’t. Rhio had known them all. When the blood ran hot, a man might do something so brave it was downright

reckless, but to go on living, bending but refusing to break, day after day, year after interminable year . . . Not only guts, but stubborn pride and clear-eyed intelligence.

Ah, she was something! He didn’t give a shit what her name was. The tide of wanting that swept over him made his earlier lust seem feeble in comparison. Heat flashed up and down his spine, gathering in his aching balls, the small of his back, his skull. Abruptly, his skin became too small for his body. His imagination supplied a searing vision of his fingers gripping her taut buttocks, while he shoved his throbbing length deep—gods, so deep—into satin-slick flesh. Fuck, she’d be narrow and tight and strong, her dancer’s legs wrapped around his waist. And afterward, she’d lie with her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hair spread across his bare chest, and she’d whisper, all throaty and sated, R-Rhio, oh R-Rhio . . .

She’d dance too, but for him alone. No one would ever hurt her again. He’d hear her laugh, make her happy. The pain and fury would vanish from those magnificent eyes and—

Fuck!

What in the seven hells? He must be losing his mind. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Rhio felt a leaden chill in the pit of his stomach. Brother’s balls, he was actually contemplating a . . . a rescue. Only for a