Amorous Overnight (21 page)

But the yearning that plagued him wasn’t about being a physician. He just wanted to have what Tiber had—a mate who appreciated him as he was and didn’t hesitate to express it. How could he be more like Tiber?

It was a matter that would have to wait until he’d relieved his bulging bladder.

He rolled over and fell off the edge of the bed, landing on his ass with a grunt. Struggling to his feet, he drew down the waistband of his mabi pants and let go a stream of piss on the pad. He was supposed to use the waste facility, but fuck it. What were they going to do?

“Empran, are you going to send the piss police to write me a ticket?” he enunciated carefully.

“Please rephrase the question.”

He snickered. Peserin, was he spending too much time with Terran females? Because the voice in his head was starting to sound a lot like one of them. Like Monica. Or sweet, funny, prickly little Shelley, who knew he’d been fucked by the minister. He’d seen it in her eyes.

Heat swept over him. He wished she could watch the minister fuck him. That would make it…more than bearable. Exciting. Shelley could love him if she let herself, he could feel it. He wanted to fuck her. No, he wanted to make love to her. And then fuck her like the animal he sometimes felt like. He wasn’t just a cock receptacle, not always.

But what if she was disgusted by him? After all, he really
was
just a cock receptacle. He wasn’t like Jasmine and Tiber, adored and treasured.

He caught sight of himself in the flare reflection and frowned. He looked too much like Jasmine, with all that long, tangled hair. He looked…feminine. Worse, he looked messy. Tiber’s hair was short and neat, a unique statement of who he was.

Perhaps if
he
made such a statement the minister would finally see and appreciate him for who he was.

Staggering to the wardrobe, he opened the door and retrieved his ceremonial dagger. Pulling it from its sheath, he ran his thumb over the sharp blade and promptly sliced himself open.

“Ow, that fucking hurts,” he said, sucking on his wound.

Then he picked up a thick hank of his hair and started sawing.

Chapter Eleven

After pleading a headache and taking trays delivered by the minister’s stewards for the rest of the day, Shelley steeled herself and walked into the dining room early the next morning. She was startled by the sight of a strange male sitting alone at the table in Hastion’s customary seat, sipping from a steaming mug.

Then she realized it
was
Hastion. He looked like he’d been attacked by a rowdy gang of weed whackers.

“Hastion,” she breathed, walking around the table. She stopped between their chairs. “What on earth happened?”

He set the mug down with a sigh and skimmed his hand over his bold new do, looking so tired and lost her heart rolled over in her chest. “I’m having the ultimate bad hair day, I suppose. It seemed like a good idea when I did it.”

She smiled. “You did this?” she asked, pushing the wildly uneven fringe back out of his eyes.

It was then she noticed the yellowing bruises.

She gasped. “Oh my God, what happened to your eyes?”

He glanced away. “A sparring accident. They’re fine now.”

It was an accident. I walked into a door. I fell down the stairs. I’m just clumsy…
She’d heard all the excuses too many times to believe it.

Horrible suspicion punched her right in the breastbone and she gasped again as tears filled her eyes. He’d mutilated himself cosmetically in a cry for help.

“Oh, Hastion.” She reached for him without hesitation and wrapped her arms gently around his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

He relaxed into her with a sigh. “I’m fine, Shelley,” he said, his voice rough. “Really. I feel like an idiot, though. Do you think you can do something to fix it? I’d ask Jasmine, but…”

Rage erupted in the pit of her belly. Cecine, that monumental bastard! Just because he was all-powerful didn’t mean he had the right to do something like this.

“Of course, Hastion,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of it right after breakfast.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “My thanks.”

She smiled back as she slid into her chair. “No thanks are necessary. It’ll be my pleasure. Your hair is so soft,” she said shyly. “I’ve always wondered what it felt like.”

“It felt better before I butchered it with my dagger.” He scowled, holding up his thumb to show her an inch-long cut on its pad. “A word to the wise—blades and expensive whiskey are a dangerous mix.”

“I should say so,” she said faintly. Jesus, it was a miracle he hadn’t tried to slit his wrists!

Her rage surged back with a vengeance as she sat there, barely touching her breakfast. If that redheaded dictator thought he could just get away with whatever he wanted, he’d damn well better think again.

Be calm, Shelley. It’s a sickness. He needs help—they both do.

When the minister walked in, she tensed. Beside her, Hastion fidgeted. She wanted to confront his abuser but she wanted to wait until Hastion was well out of his reach.

Cecine went to sit and then paused, staring at Hastion. “Ensign, what happened to your hair?”

“I cut it, sir,” Hastion said without raising his attention from his breakfast.

The minister’s brows rose as he sank into his chair. “
You
cut it.”

“That’s what I said, sir.”

Shelley held her breath. God only knew how the minister would react to such a surly reply.

“Indeed,” Cecine murmured. “Is this a premeditated hairstyle or were you improvising?”

“I was inebriated, sir.”

“Ah, that explains much, Ensign. Thank you for your candor.” The minister turned toward her. “And how do you fare this morning, Ms. Bonham?”

She stared back at him. That was it? That was all he had to say? No explosion of anger? No expression of remorse?

Did the bastard not have one iota of compassion for the man who was obviously suffering because of him?

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Excellent. And the twins?”

Shelley gasped.
The twins.
She narrowed her eyes on him. There was no way she was letting him near her children ever again.

Cecine was tearing apart his bun, pondering the decidedly odd atmosphere at the breakfast table, when Shelley pushed back her chair and marched around to stand by his with her hands propped on her hips.

“How dare you!”

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder. No, she was definitely addressing him. Her mood had swung back into aggressive territory, which could be quite entertaining.

“Could you be more specific, Ms. Bonham?” he asked blandly, dipping a piece of bread in the jelly bowl. “That’s a rather broad inquiry and the list of what I dare is quite lengthy.”

“You want me to be more specific? Fine. How dare you assault Hastion?”

“What!” Hastion’s mug thudded onto the table. “Shelley, no!”

Cecine dropped the bread and gripped the edge of the table with both hands, instantly consumed by emotions too complex and conflicted to process. His face burned with mortification, and his stomach curled with dread and remorse. Peserin’s hell, he must have done the ensign more harm than he’d realized when he took him so violently. But why had Hastion gone to Shelley with the tale of how ill he’d been used rather than confronting him directly?

“I beg your pardon,” he said sickly, unable to look at his second.

She glared back at him. “You heard me.”

“Shelley, please, you’re making a terrible mistake,” Hastion said desperately. “I told you, I was injured in a sparring accident.”

She turned to him. “Hastion, I’ve been a nurse for ten years and heard every excuse under the sun. You can’t make domestic abuse go away by pretending it isn’t happening. I know the minister’s job is really high stress, but as your lover, he’s supposed to take care of you, not take out his frustrations on you.”

“Peserin, please let me die now,” Hastion groaned.

Cecine finally looked at him, searching for evidence of abuse. Peserin, he
had
been injured, but he must have gone to the infirmary to have the healing accelerated—the bruising had already faded enough it was barely noticeable under the fringe of newly shorn hair.

Relief left Cecine almost lightheaded. He hadn’t done his second irreparable harm. “Sparring accident?”

Hastion wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

Instantly, rage began to burn under Cecine’s skin. Who dared attack what was his? “What happened, Ensign?”

“Nothing that need concern you, sir.”

“I beg to differ,” Cecine snapped. “I want the truth, Ensign, and I want it now. What happened to your face?”

Hastion’s jaw tensed. “If you must know, sir, my sparring partner caught me by surprise with an illegal hold yesterday. He’s been corrected.”

“Who was he?”

“I’d rather not say, sir.”

“
I’d
rather you told me his name and let me surprise
him
with a few illegal maneuvers in the sparring arena.”

When the ensign remained silent, Cecine narrowed his eyes. “Very well. Empran, whom did Ensign Hastion spar with yesterday?”

Hastion sprang to his feet. “Sir!”

“Ensign Mikal,” Empran replied at once.

When Cecine repeated the name darkly, Hastion surprised him by planting his clenched fists on the table and leaning into his face in a manner that could almost be perceived as intimidating. “I’m telling you, sir, this is not your concern. I’ve already handled the matter myself, and with all due respect, the last thing I need at this point is to be defended by you.”

Then he straightened to glare at Shelley. “Correction. That’s the second-to-last thing I need. The
very
last thing I need is to be defended by a tiny, demented female with more hair than sense. I’m already a target, Shelley. If the crew find out that you protected me from my…my
male lover
…” His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he said, “Just leave me alone.”

Then he turned and walked out.

Cecine stared after him for a moment and then turned his attention to Shelley, who’d gone pale as a specter.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her arms as if chilled.

“Why in the name of all the Powers would you imagine
I’d
attacked him, you foolish female?” he growled.

“Well it seemed like a reasonable assumption. We were already concerned that you might be using your power to…um…make him have sex with you, and—”

“What!” he thundered, storming to his feet. “Who do you think you are to suggest such a thing?”

She cowered, covering her head with her arms.

“Oh, for Peserin’s sake!” He breathed deeply for a moment, telling himself she had very good reason to fear him.

When he could speak without roaring, he said, “Ms. Bonham, I’m not going to hurt you. Although punishment is not out of the question,” he added as she lowered her arms warily. “I’m reserving judgment until I have all the facts, but unless you have a damned good reason for insulting me so grievously, I won’t hesitate to administer a proper spanking to your delectable little ass.”

Fire sparked in her blue eyes. “Look,
sir
, first and foremost, I am a nurse and I don’t give a damn about your megalomaniacal alien ego. All I care about is Hastion. He’s been unhappy for weeks. We’ve all noticed it. And then he suddenly turns up with a bruised face and cuts off his own hair with a fucking
dagger
? It looked like a cry for help to me. What was I supposed to do, just let him self-destruct out of concern for your pride?”

Cecine blinked. The barrage of insults was delivered at such a furious pace he could hardly comprehend them all. He shook with the urge to take her over his knee and deliver a spanking that wouldn’t allow her to sit for the rest of their voyage.

At the same time, he felt a surge of admiration for the courage she displayed in challenging him. Under any other circumstances, he would be quite proud of her.

But what gave him pause and made him grind his teeth in frustration was the element of truth in what she said. The ensign
was
unhappy. Was he a less willing participant in their activities than he would admit? Had he found bottoming more distasteful than he expected but felt honor-bound to continue?

The notion was enough to make Cecine’s gorge rise.

“We,” he said suddenly, narrowing his eyes on her. “You said
we
were concerned. Who else believes I might be raping my loyal guard? Or need I even ask?”

Shelley bit her lip, looking very guilty. “Really, sir, it was just me. I—”

“Sit down. Now!” he snapped.
“Commander Kellen and Lieutenant Shauss, escort your females to my dining room at once.”

She scrambled back to her seat. “Really, sir—”

“Quiet!”

Kellen and Shauss appeared within a minute, escorting their wary females.

Without preamble, the minister said, “I understand there is some speculation that the sexual interaction between Ensign Hastion and me might be nonconsensual.”