Chapter Thirteen
The delicate, pleasing scent of fresh herbs of some kind billowed up from the pallet as Ryne pressed her against the surface softened by crackling vegetation, dispersing the faint mustiness of the place she’d scarcely noticed until it was replaced with the more enjoyable scent.
The mix of it with Ryne’s scent was intoxicating.
Or it was his kisses.
She was too dizzy with the sensations overwhelming her system to sort anything. She was aware, though, of everything as he bared everything to his touch with hands that shook with eagerness, stroked her with slow, reverent touches that made her feel like she would catch fire.
She experienced moments of frightening clarity when she felt his search to join his body to hers and knew what was coming, but then the joining of his flesh within hers eased the throbbing ache that she’d scarcely even noticed building.
And her anticipation shifted from a fear of pain to a yearning to assuage the ache he had created inside of her and to feel him as a part of her.
She thought for a time as she felt his body merge deeply with hers and retreat to scrape along her passage and stir up stronger and harder waves of pleasure that it was that sense of being a part of him that was building the tension slowly higher and higher and then more rapidly as he increased his pace.
Until rapture broke over her unexpectedly, almost seemed to pitch her soul from her body so that she hovered outside of it for many moments before she began to float downward again.
Ryne began to murmur to her in his own tongue even before his body ceased to jerk with his spasms of release, nuzzling his face against hers and her throat. Finally, sucking in a deep breath, he heaved himself off of her and sprawled on his back beside her, still struggling to catch his breath.
Belle felt a smile tug at her lips as she lay basking in the aftershocks, enjoying the total release of tension, pleased that she’d been able to enjoy joining with him completely--without the intrusion of shadows from her past.
She supposed that was why she was so unprepared when Torr joined her, nibbling kisses along her lips and cheeks, stroking his hands over her a little frantically. “Lub me too, baby? Accep me too, lub?”
Belle’s throat closed with emotion she made no attempt to decipher.
She felt the plea for acceptance all the way to her heart, though.
Maybe because she was right and he really did feel that.
Maybe because she’d hoped for acceptance so many times herself and been disappointed.
She couldn’t speak for the tightness in her chest and throat. She didn’t try. She reached for him.
He released a heavy breath of relief and covered her mouth, electrifying her with his touch and his essence. With no effort at all, he coaxed her body to warmth and from there to heat within moments.
His touch was light, gentle, worshipful.
As desperate as he seemed there was nothing hurtful about his touch or even rushed.
He teased everything that was already--still tingling--until she was grinding her teeth from the acute sensations flooding her and then, when she was at the point of demanding he finish, he joined his body with hers and took her to a special place just as Ryne had.
She thought she felt more relief than joy when her body finally stopped seizing so hard with rapture, but that was debatable.
When Torr moved off of her and sprawled on his back beside her, she thought she drowsed.
She seemed to sort of wink out, at least briefly, and then rose toward awareness again when Ryne moved close enough to cuddle her.
“I tink dis no do yet,” he said reluctantly.
“No say yet, ok? We make dis better din you decide. Dis temporary, till we make better place, but muss be more comfort and safe firs. We take you back now.”
Belle studied his face, mentally translating, and finally nodded.
Truthfully, though, she didn’t get much past ‘take back’.
She did grasp that he was saying, on second thought, that it just wasn’t good enough, but she wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t an excuse--now that they’d gotten laid--to smooth things over so they could take her back without an ugly scene.
Not that she felt like making any kind of scene, ugly or otherwise.
She was so mellow even thoughts of enduring the flight back hadn’t had a chance to turn her into jelly.
Weak in the aftermath, it was a struggle to round up enough strength to get her clothing back on and in some order and she wasn’t convinced even when she’d checked over it the best she could in the dim lighting that she didn’t look like her clothing had been thrown at her.
In fact, it preyed on her mind in spite of the terror of the flight back that she looked like she’d just been laid--twice--and anyone that looked at her would know it immediately.
It was just her shit house luck that Connor was coming their way almost before they’d managed to untangle from the flight.
One look at his face was enough to turn her into pure water. She thought for several horrifying moments that she was just going to keel over.
Instead, thankfully, it sent a surge of terror driven starch through her and jumpstarted her instincts for survival sufficiently to help her stagger past him on her way to rush to her hab and hide.
She didn’t make it.
Connor uttered a sound she’d never heard from his throat before. It seemed to echo across the campground and inspired everyone to rush toward it.
Except Belle.
It did encourage her to look for a closer hiding place and, fortunately, her gaze fell upon the shower house.
Dashing inside, she began tearing her clothing off almost before she got to a shower, desperate to rid herself of the scent of sex that clung to her in a cloud along with Ryne and Torr’s scents--which certainly hadn’t seemed so overpowering before.
Not that the scents were actually necessary for an identification when she’d left with Ryne and Torr and returned with Ryne and Torr, coiled around Ryne as if her life depended on it.
Which it had.
She managed to emerge, freshly scrubbed, just as Ryne and Connor were dragged, half conscious, across the camp toward the detention center.
Marcy, who’d been following them, wailing at the top of her lungs as if they were dead, jolted to a halt at the sight of her and screamed. “You fucking whore! Happy now? You’ve got Connor and the alien trying to kill each other over you!”
Belle froze, staring at her round eyed with shock as Marcy screamed again in rage and charged her.
She didn’t think she actually came out of shock until the bitch grabbed her, but that was all it took to transform her into wildcat.
The moment Marcy grabbed her, she began gyrating in an effort to throw her off--biting, scratching, kicking, and pummeling the woman.
Until an arm snaked around her waist and hooked, dragging her free. She didn’t even have time to digest the fact that she was free before the man slammed her face down on the ground, grabbed her arms, twisted them half out of the sockets, and handcuffed her.
Marcy, still wailing and screaming, but now laying on the ground like she was dying, was scooped gently off the ground and borne off in the direction of the med center.
The man who’d grabbed Belle dragged her up and shoved her toward the door of the detention center and through the doors at the back of the office to the holding area beyond when they reached it.
Thoroughly bewildered, Belle stumbled along beside him, trying to keep up as he strode briskly down the wide hall that separated the cells, unlocked one and shoved her inside--then caught her bound wrists and jerked her back, sending a fresh wave of pain through her.
Gritting his teeth, the man kept jerking at her when she wobbled, trying to maintain her balance while he pulled at her. “Be still, bitch, or I’m going to fucking taze you!”
“I’ll break your fucking neck when I get out of here if you taze her you son-of-a-bitch,” Connor growled in a deadly cold voice from the cell across from Belle’s.
Belle and the security officer both whipped sharp looks in his direction, but Belle didn’t really register much beyond the fact that it was Connor.
“She attacked Marcy Sanders,” the officer ground out. “There were dozens of witnesses.”
“Fought her off, more like. Annabelle never attacked anybody in her life,” Connor snarled. “Where is the bitch?”
“Med Center,” the guard said tightly.
Connor transferred his gaze to Belle, searching her. “You hurt, baby?”
She hurt all over, but she had no idea of why or how she’d gotten hurt.
The sympathy in his expression and his voice flooded her eyes with scalding tears, though.
She sniffed a couple of times, tried to speak, and then gave up when the security officer finally let her go, scurrying to the back of the cell, curling into a tight ball on the bunk, and trying to regain her composure.
“Talk to me, Annabelle,” Connor said when the guard left. “Are you hurt, baby?”
Belle uttered a choked sob before she could stop herself and covered her mouth, swallowing a couple of times. “I hurt all over,” she wailed. “I’m … I’m just bruised, I think.”
Connor slammed his hand against the wall at the back as he paced to the back of the cell, but he didn’t say anything else.
About an hour later, a different guard came in. After staring at Connor for a few moments, as if gauging his mood, he unlocked his door. Connor strode to the door. “Unlock hers, too,” he said tightly.
The guard looked at him, but he didn’t argue. He moved to Belle’s door and unlocked it. Connor stood in the opening instead entering. “Come here, baby,” he said, his voice husky, coaxing.
Belle jerked a quick look at him, but she climbed off of the bunk and rushed to him, flinging her arms around his waist. He held her tightly for a moment before he eased his hold and curled an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his side.
“I’m going to take you to the med center to be checked.
” He met the guard’s eye. “The bastard had no business locking her up until she’d been examined at the med center for injury.
Tell Brinson he’s on disciplinary leave.
If she’s hurt, lock his ass up. And just so there’s no misunderstanding, he’ll be there a while. ”
He started toward the exit and then paused and looked back at Ryne. “Let him out.”
* * * *
Connor paced the waiting room while he waited for the results of Belle’s tests.
Finally, a med tech came out and gave her an all clear.
“She’s pretty battered--reason enough to be in pain--but nothing, really, to be done for it beyond pain meds.
I gave her something. She’ll be out for a while.
I think she should just stay the night here.
I’d like to keep her under observation at least that long. ”
Connor nodded. “I had her on rotation for the week on the Artemis. Is she going to be up to it? Or should I switch her out with someone else?”
“She’s going to be stiff and sore for a while, but I don’t see any reason why she can’t--as long as it isn’t anything too … demanding. I wouldn’t have her lifting anything over thirty pounds.
“You want the report on Marcy Sanders, too?”
Not especially. “Yes.”
“She’s actually in a lot worse shape. Nothing serious--bruises, a few fairly deep bites and gouges from fingernails--but, if you’ll pardon my saying so, Belle beat the fuck out of her.”
Anger flickered in Connor’s eyes. “She had it coming,” he said tightly.
The med tech lifted a hand. “She did. I saw the vid. Marcy attacked her. She was defending herself.”
It took all Connor could do to contain his rage at that intelligence. Some fucking bastard was going to the brig when he found out who’d leaked the vid--because it was fucking security feed--not for entertainment.
“I only mention it because, from what I could see, I feel like I need to keep Marcy under watch until we can get a psyche eval done. Her behavior was pretty over the top and borderline irrational if not on the wrong side of it. Belle’s reaction was completely understandable.”
“Confine her,” Connor responded coolly. “Do the evaluation and get her into treatment. Truthfully, I’m convinced now that she’s been working herself up to attack Belle for weeks--at least. I should have known that was what was going on.
I should have had her confined before today.
I spoke to her about her behavior--several times--and warned her. ”
The med tech nodded. “But you thought she was just venting about something and it seemed … normal?”
Connor shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was too distracted, but I damned well would have done something if I’d had any idea she would attempt more than venting …
if I’d believed she was building toward a physical assault.
If she’d had a weapon …. Or if Belle hadn’t been able to defend herself and fight her off … . It doesn’t bear thinking on.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” the med tech responded. “I just needed a go ahead.”
Ryne and Torr approached him when the med tech left.
Connor eyed the pair coldly.
“Belle hurt?” Ryne asked, his voice tight with the certainty that Connor would ignore his right to know.
“She was more afraid than hurt,” he said after a long moment. “The med tech says she’s not hurt badly--just bruised.”
Dismissing them, Connor scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to decide what he wanted to do or if there was anything he needed to do.
He knew what he wanted to do.
He wanted to climb in Belle’s bed with her and curl up with her in his arms.
He was exhausted.
It took him a few moments to figure out why--beyond being wrung out from his anxiety about Belle.
He hadn’t eaten.
He’d fought Ryne until he was exhausted and had exhausted his anger and then they dragged his poor little baby in looking absolutely terrified--battered.
And he couldn’t even reach her to comfort her.
He wasn’t amused about any aspect of the fight. The bitch, Marcy, was bigger than her--by at least half a foot and thirty pounds--and she had attacked. Belle must have thought she was fighting for her life and that didn’t just piss him off, that made him uneasy that she might be remembering.
That the incident might uncover memories better left buried.
And that was a lot more to worry about than her bruises.