Page 34 of Taming Chaos

“I didn’t realize you’d created an alter-ego for me, Kordolian.”

“I haven’t done anything of the sort,” He injected a shred of mock-indignation into his voice, trying to keep his tone light. “All you have to do is act the way a Bartharran would expect a human to act in these circumstances. As is often the case with species that don’t know very much about others, they have some pre-formed ideas about your kind.”

“And those would be?”

“They see humans as being weak, cowardly, stupid, and subservient. Easy to control.”

She frowned. “Bartharrans think we’re stupid? Bartharrans? They can’t even achieve peace on their own planet, and… Oh god, the irony. The double irony.”

Torin inclined his head. “Most of the known Universe buys into certain stereotypes. Believe me, you’re not the only ones who have been painted with a single brush.”

“This is true.” A brief eye-roll told him she knew a lot about generalizations. “So what, I’m officially your property now?” Although she tried to conceal it, a sliver of outrage crept into her expression, mingling with… anticipation? Torin decided he liked that look very, very much.

He preferred her fierce, not cowed.

“In appearance only, of course.” He spread his hands in a placating gesture, hiding the fact that once again, lust was spreading through his body, causing a most predictable reaction down below. “If the Bartharrans even suspect that we are interacting on equal terms right now, they’ll…”

“Lose respect, or something like that? From what I’ve read, their society is hugely patriarchal. That probably explains why they’re always at war with themselves.”

“Now who’s stereotyping? Not all male-dominated societies are warlike. In the case of the Bartharrans, it’s a little more complicated than that. They’re not necessarily as crude as you might think.” As if on cue, several of the Bartharrans chose that very moment to start grunting loudly, as if trying to disprove his theory. Grunts turned into hisses, which turned into shouts.

Torin sighed.

Crack. His super-acute hearing detected the sound of a fist connecting with a face, hard knuckles mashing flesh and bone.

The Bartharrans were fighting again.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, sensing an opening. “While they’re still at each other’s throats.” This place was too exposed. He had to get her somewhere more defensible.

“So… what sort of character am I supposed to pretend to be, exactly? How do I play this?”

“Uh,” Torin grimaced, suddenly feeling awkward. “Just walk behind me. Keep your head down. Don’t say anything until we’re somewhere private.”

“You mean, keep quiet and act fearful and subservient, just like a good little human?” To Torin’s surprise—and relief—she laughed, a low, throaty sound that warmed his black heart. For some unknown reason, she seemed to find this part of the ordeal amusing.

He nodded. “You’ll have to hide the gun, too. This charade will fall apart when they find out I’ve allowed you to have my weapon. I’d suggest somewhere that’s easy to reach, just in case.”

“You just said when, not if.” Seph flipped the safety on and tucked the plasma gun into the folds of her cloak. As her fear melted away, so did Torin’s anger. She pulled her hood over her face so that her features were cast in shadow.

“Oh, it’s going to happen, believe me.” As he turned on his heel, Torin caught a hint of a smile curving her delicious lips. “Come.”

Seph followed without hesitation.

You’re doing just fine, Persephone.

For a human, she was adjusting remarkably well to the situation. Torin was filled with the sudden, overwhelming desire to protect her at all costs, and yet he was fearful of what he would have to do to keep her safe.

After all, this was a Bartharran pirate ship, and Bartharrans were a proud race. It would only be a matter of time before some genius decided to challenge him.

Malhak. The strongest rules all.

Torin had learned of the custom during a mission to Bartharra. He and his fellow warriors had infiltrated a Bartharran stronghold and quickly deposed the only warlord who had ever come close to uniting his people.

He’d delivered the killing blow himself; a throwing knife to the neck.

An ignominious end for such a fierce leader.

To his surprise, the Bartharrans had immediately surrendered, deferring to Torin with both hatred and respect. As the one who had killed their strongest, he had become their Malhak.

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