“Breakfast? You will be going there to clean.”
“But what am I supposed to?—”
“Eat? You will eat whatever is left for you. We do not prepare special meals for prisoners.” He stared at her hard, clearly waiting for her to talk back. Undoubtedly, he had some new form of torment in mind for her when she did.
Shalia bit her tongue, nodding once but saying no more. Commander Valin stared at her a moment longer, then turned and stormed off.
Does he ever just walk?she wondered.The guy is always stomping away like he’s pissed at the world. Then again, if I was one of these guys, I probably would be too.She turned her attention back to the task at hand.Well, might as well get to it. The sooner this is done, the sooner I get to, what? Look for scraps? Fuck.
She hurried her pace, finishing the cleaning with a bit less attention to detail than before. If she was going to be treated like this no matter how well she did the job, there was no reason to put in any extra effort. In that regard, it was just like work back on Earth. As she’d experienced first-hand in so many jobs, those who worked hard and those who just got by were often paid and treated pretty much the same. And if there was no incentive to excel, she’d damn well save her energy.
By the time she made it to the mess hall the men had all eaten. They left their dishes piled on the tables just like the prior night. And just as before, the communal serving dishes still had some untouched food on them, though barely enough to make a meal. Shalia scraped what she could onto a plate and dug in.
Her body absolutely sang at the food entering her system, no matter how poor the quality was. She was healing from her rune application, and her body needed food. Period. So she ate every last edible morsel she could find, then set to work clearing the place, again, grateful the station was run by a skeleton crew.
She pondered that a moment as she worked. How the Dohrags used what they called prisoners, but were essentially slave laborers,to help feed their forces. That meant a steady supply of said slaves would be required, and all across the galaxy, if she understood their people’s reach correctly.
“How many other poor souls have been snatched up?” she wondered.
Of course, she’d been taken by Raxxians, if she wanted to be technical about it. The Dohrags simply took advantage of the situation their crashed ship presented. More workers for the fields, they didn’t care where they were from. And thus, Shalia wound up aboard this space station, of all places.
As for the Dohrag propensity to take pleasure from the women they had in captivity, that was not something this facility was designed for. This was a workstation, and that was it. If the crew wanted to have their fun, they would have to wait until they were on the next shift on the surface. At least, that was what Margussa had explained to her. And what she’d seen so far in her short time aboard confirmed that hypothesis.
“Fuck!” she blurted as massive hands grabbed her by the shoulders and abruptly pinned her up against the wall.
Commander Valin had come to see her progress. Unfortunately, he arrived just as she was taking a break, wondering about the whole Dohrag hierarchy and captive system.
“You were told to work,” he growled, his deep voice vibrating her with its proximity, almost like a big cat’s purr.
His hands were so warm. Almost hot, she realized, amazed at just how much heat the man gave off seemingly at all times. The other Dohrags didn’t seem to run that hot. Was that something from his mixed blood?
He leaned in closer, and she could see the black and gold designs inked into his skin where his shirt hung open on his broad chest. She could also see the edge of the healing skin where she’d clawed him.
Something else struck her as her pulse spiked. So close to him, a smell wafted off him, but it was different than the others. They smelled of sour sweat with an unpleasantly pungent tang thatfollowed them everywhere. Commander Valin, on the other hand, radiated a far different aroma. One that made Shalia’s belly warm in spite of herself.
It was like her favorite candle, the one with hints of tobacco, vanilla, and just a little leather, all mixed together. It was almost intoxicating, and that candle had prolonged more than one relationship longer than it would have otherwise lasted. The sex candle, she called it, always great for getting her in the mood. And now this asshole pinning her to the wall was absolutely radiating the smell.
He should bottle that, she found herself thinking, much to her surprise.
Shalia felt herself getting wet, her belly heating up with a pleasant rush, the Pavlovian reaction strong and immediate in spite of her dislike of this man.
No! Fuck this guy. He’s an asshole, just like the rest of them! Probably worse.
“Get off me. Let me go!”
“You dare?—”
“Oh, stop with thisyou darebullshit. If you wanted me dead, I’d already be dead, so clearly you have other plans for me. But let me tell you, buddy. If you expect me to clean up your mess if you hurt me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Do not talk back to me! You are no more than a prisoner. A servant aboard my ship, allowed to be here only by my will. You have no power here, woman. Remember your place!”
“Fuck you, half-breed!” she blurted, immediately regretting her words, wondering if perhaps she’d gone too far.
His eyes blazed. She struggled in his grip but his hands were too strong, holding her against the bulkhead like iron shackles, unbreakable, unforgiving, and utterly unescapable. He lifted her off her feet, sliding her up the wall as if she weighed nothing, then leaned in so close she could see the flecks of metallic gray dotting his violet eyes.
He stared at her hard, his angry pulse throbbing in the vein onhis temple. His grip tightened, then abruptly loosened as he pulled her off the wall and flung her over his shoulder like a sack. He’d moved her with so little effort it was shocking, the sheer strength of the man. He turned and stormed out of the kitchen area, his boots echoing down the corridor.
The few men they encountered in the corridor stood at attention, but once he’d passed, Shalia watched their posture change behind him. Disapproving looks. Dislike. Disrespect. It was becoming clearer by the day that the pureblood Dohrags had a thing against this half-breed, even if he was their superior. And he had to know it. There was no way he didn’t. And Shalia had just called him a half-breed to his face.
