Satin Spar Read online

  A prehensile tail has its advantages…

  Scar’s marbled skin and stunted tail aren’t all that make her stand out. Her Caraniae DNA has a strange effect on the male of the species, which makes her career as a pilot perfect. The less interaction she has with people—with men—the better. She won’t risk her wayward pheromones bonding her forever to one man.

  Then there’s her boss’s new bodyguard, Anthony Tyler. The pure-human is tight-lipped about his sketchy past. He also seems determined to work her prehensile tail off.

  Once imprisoned and drummed out of the Corps for conduct unbecoming, Tyler is intrigued with his ship’s unheard-of, human-Caraniae hybrid. He spent his career fighting her kind, but when a message from home throws Scar into a tailspin, he finds himself drawn to help her in any way he can. Even if it means risking life and limb to help her sweat out her anger.

  Their sparring session turns into something else. Something wildly sexual. Something so wrong as to be suicidal—if Scar’s father discovers she’s bonded with anyone other than the husband he’s forcing her to marry…

  Warning: This book contains violence, nekkid wrestling and hot, alien-human naughtiness.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Satin Spar

  Copyright © 2009 by Kim Knox

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-679-2

  Edited by Laurie Rauch

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Satin Spar

  Kim Knox

  Dedication

  For Jessica

  Chapter One

  Following him wasn’t ethical. She knew that. But Scar had long ago given up thinking ethical thoughts about Antony Tyler. She’d stopped the minute her employer’s new bodyguard had introduced himself, wrapping his strong fingers around hers, the hint of a smile lifting his perfectly lush mouth. From that moment, she’d become a woman on a mission. She had to see him naked.

  Scar sucked in a breath, ignoring the flare of heat low in her belly. Damn it. Everything about the man had her body in rebellion. And that wasn’t a good idea when she was stalking him. Her target paused, the soft light from the ship’s gangway splashing over his shoulders. Scar shrank back against the wall, her palms pressed against the warm metal, and took slow, controlled breaths.

  From the hard, suspicious looks he’d been giving her over the past few days, he had to know she’d taken to stalking him. His dislike of her was understandable. She was too alien for most people, with her stained skin and, well, her short, stubby tail. That freaked most of the pure-human population, too used to seeing her alien features as the enemy.

  Tyler’s dark head tilted to the side, no doubt listening for her. Her gut cramped and she tried to feel guilt for her obsession. But she couldn’t as her gaze wandered down his lean body, over the well-cut suit their employer had bought him and she tried not to imagine him stripped naked. She failed. Her all-too-vivid imagination conjured up lithe muscles, allied with strength and agility. Rochester said Tyler used to be in the Federal Army Corps. She almost groaned at the thought that she would find battle scars, the mark of a warrior, branding his skin.

  Her fingers curled into tight fists.

  She cursed her Caraniae half, her father’s contribution burning a wildness through her that she often couldn’t contain. Something in Tyler called to that wildness even though he was a pure-blood human. She knew he was pure. He’d been in the Corps. Any hint of non-human DNA and he’d be gone, drummed out and disgraced. She’d performed the test anyway, with sloughed skin and a hair tag. Tyler was thoroughly, stinkingly human.

  She ran a hand through the wild tangle of her hair, her fingers fisting. She’d never burned like this for a human, her skin hardly her own, her thoughts consumed. Shit, she’d never had such an overwhelming rush of lust for anyone before.

  No, where Tyler was concerned, nothing made sense.

  He smoothed his hand over his dark hair and, in the silence of the gangway, she heard him expel a heavy breath. Rolling his shoulders, he straightened and continued his slow, easy stride down the dim corridor.

  He probably sensed her. Yes, trailing him wasn’t the sanest idea she’d ever had. But she couldn’t help it. For a moment, Scar closed her eyes, denying herself the image of him. Tyler had wormed under her skin like no other man and she couldn’t explain it. The soft hiss and then the groan of an opening door forced her to focus. He was gone, the corridor empty, but the soft red blip of the “chamber in use” signal stretching across the wall ahead of her spiked her pulse.

  Finally, finally, he’d decided to use the exercise chamber. She needed to see if the muscled sleekness searing through her imagination hid beneath his new conservative suits. Her Caraniae half would be disgusted if he proved to be a weakling, a man unable to defend himself without high-tech weaponry. She half-hoped for that. Then her obsession would fade and she could settle happily back into her old life of being Rochester’s pilot.

  Scar snorted and pushed herself away from the wall. “Yes, and then I can stop being the crazy woman on the ship.”

  Her hand hovered over the doorplate, her palm itching as she waited. She wanted to give him time to set up, to warm up to the fight. She didn’t want him to be aware of her.

  She flexed her fingers. Scar knew what she would find on the other side of the heavy, black door, and it would be almost as good as seeing him naked—for her Caraniae half anyway. Tyler would be armoured up in sentient-wear, a human brain at the centre of so much clunking metal, simply content to blast other mechanoid beasts. A smile pulled at her mouth and she could almost taste her disdain, and with it, relief. Tyler was such a bad idea.

  That knowledge didn’t stop her from pressing the doorplate and a warm flush spread over her skin. The door groaned and slid back into the bulkhead. Beyond was darkness. All right, not what she was expecting. She slipped into the chamber, silent, quick, keeping to the familiar smooth walls, her spine and palms guiding her. There was no hint of metal and grease in the air. It had her heart thudding and need fired through her flesh. The tip of her tail twitched. Shit. Bad sign.

  A single light flashed, shining stark, white light into the centre of a sand-thick arena. So, Tyler had brought his own training simulations…and she had to admit she was curious. Something moved in the shadows lying thick beyond the sharp beam of light. She could sense it, smell it. Scar almost growled at the sweet scent of adrenalin, but she clamped her hand to her mouth and waited, hidden by the darkness that also obscured Tyler’s opponent.

  With a battle-roar, a Zacetian leapt into the bright light. A monstrous creature with a tough, jagged exoskeleton and rows of razor-sharp teeth, it dripped saliva from its gaping mouth. The faint hiss of acid burning as it hit the bleached sand filled the sudden silence.

  Her fingers dug tight into her jaw. What the hell? Fire tore through her veins and her Caraniae genes screamed for her to kill her ancient blood-enemy—but then Tyler stepped into the shot of light.

  Scar stared. Stared an
d her blood surged for another reason.

  He stood naked. Light slid over smooth, tight muscles oiled with sweat. The same light caught on the gleaming sai he held in each corded fist. Fury burned in his pale eyes and he was…grinning.

  Scar wanted to kill the Zacetian. Kill it so that she could fuck Tyler in the heat of its dying blood.

  The thought shocked her and she shrank back against the wall of the chamber. Why couldn’t he train using a simple mechanoid target program? Why…why this?

  He circled the Zacetian and his fluid grace, the beauty of his lithe body had her short, blunt tail curling, curling in a slow twist between her legs. Scar’s flesh ached and her faithful prehensile tail pressed hard through the fabric of her bulky flight suit.

  Light washed over old, silvered scars that laced Tyler’s back all the way down to his tailbone. The clustered patterns looked oddly…familiar. And it wasn’t fair. Scarring? He did have the signs of a warrior. Scar bit her knuckles, holding back a soft groan. The scent of her arousal drifted through the filtered air, but she didn’t care. Not then. She squeezed her thighs, shifting her blunt tail so that it ground against her clitoris.

  Liquid heat surged up her body and Scar arched her spine against the relentless push of her tail. Tyler’s fists tightened around the hilts of his three-bladed sai, his muscles shifting as he still circled the snarling Zacetian. Scar’s breath caught, her blood pounding for release. He was going to—

  Tyler leapt, a war cry tearing from his throat.

  In a movement that speed blurred, the sai punctured the fleshy pouches on either side of the creature’s solid skull. The beast screamed.

  Orgasm tore through Scar, pulsing, burning wave after wave of intense pleasure though her flesh. Her head fell back against the wall, and she swallowed, her throat dry, raw. She willed herself to stay standing, to watch as her blood-enemy dropped to the bleached sand.

  Tyler stood over his kill and retrieved his sai. He pointed them up, blood running down the central blades and slipping in slow rivulets over his skin. Then he kissed each blade and the staining blood of his slain enemy glistened on his lips.

  Scar’s heart was in her throat and her blood pulsed again for him. Did he know what he was doing? What his actions meant? It was the salute of a warrior who would claim his mate. Everything screamed at her to stay. Her Caraniae half didn’t care that it was a simulation, that there would be no sharing of their enemy’s blood. It wanted Tyler. Wanted to fuck him till he screamed.

  Shit. She had to get away before she did something completely insane…like wrestle him to the sandy floor and fuck him. That image burned… No. That could not happen. Not for her.

  Scar staggered back and found the door that opened onto the gangway. Sterile air washed over her, driving out her own scent mixed with the wildness of blood, sweat and adrenalin. She slumped against the wall and crushed her eyes shut. Damn him! Who the hell was this Tyler? Had he gone native in the war against the Caraniae?

  The image of him burned through her thoughts. She should’ve stayed. Stayed and celebrated the death of her ancient blood-enemy. She could still see Tyler’s smooth muscles oiled with sweat as he stood back and grinned at his kill. She wanted him to lift his head and breathe her scent deep into his lungs. Pale eyes would have found her in the darkness then, found her and—

  “And nothing,” she growled at herself. “He’s human. I’m not. End of story.” But there was more to it than that. Being even half Caraniae came with complications.

  She winced. Her arousal scent for one. Its musky sweetness still lingered in the cool, sterile air. The Caraniae arousal scent was dangerous even to humans…or so she’d heard. She hadn’t tested that theory.

  Scar ignored the twist of her stomach as her old fear rose. There was a remote possibility the bond would fix on him. Maybe with Tyler there was little chance of a proper, permanent bond forming, of his branding her. Maybe…but she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t be tied to one man for the rest of her life—the image of Tyler rose again, everything a warrior should be— No. Not even to him.

  Scar pushed herself away from the wall. It was pointless to dwell on what she wanted from Tyler—she would never get it.

  “Scar, where are you?” Iain Rochester’s clipped voice echoed around the dim corridor via the comms system. “We have the authorisation to move into a lower orbit for the cargo transfer.”

  Her fingers touched the sliver of tech running the length of the bulkhead. Shit. Was it that time already? Now he’d go from reasonable and sane to bitchy. “Understood, Rochester. I’ll be there in five. Or less.” She didn’t wait for his acknowledgment, but broke into a sprint, eating up the distance to the cockpit. The fast pace stretched her muscles and, for a few precious minutes, burned thoughts of Tyler from her brain. It was a relief.

  She burst into the main cabin and found Rochester pacing before the heavy couches lining one wall. He stopped and gave her a withering look as he smoothed a hand over his short, blond hair. “Enjoy your run?”

  Scar ignored his sarcasm. “Go strap in. I can’t promise it’ll be a smooth descent.” She stared at the curve of the ceiling. “Even in this ship.”

  He grumbled something and stalked away to sink onto the heavy couch. The soft hiss of securing straps and the clunk of locks rose above his muttered complaints. Scar gave him a short smile and disappeared into the cockpit. Rochester was a perfectionist, wanting everything done his way, and precisely when he dictated. If he didn’t get it, there was usually hell to pay. Thankfully, she stayed on Rochester’s good side. Most of the time.

  The door slid shut behind her and she let out a sigh. Rochester might be a pain in the arse from time to time, but working for him was much easier than her old life.

  Scar sank into the thick leather of her pilot’s chair, letting it cushion her body. The straps snaked over her shoulders and linked across her waist, the fabric stretching to bind her legs. She swept her hands over the organic console, feeling the rush of life through her fingers and spreading through her flesh.

  The white curve of the planet’s southern pole filled the top shield. Her gaze followed the edge of the frozen cap, finding the twist of thin clouds and green-blue water surging around the tip of the smaller of the two continents. She followed the swirling path of a fierce storm brewing over the southern ocean. It had her blood thrumming.

  No, she couldn’t have Tyler, but flying came a close second.

  “This is Cruiser Ioannos, Registration seven-three-nine-nine-zero out of Acamar-Prime, requesting clearance to drop to low global orbit. Please respond.”

  There was silence. Maybe Rochester had overestimated his welcome.

  “Cruiser Ioannos, this is Alpha-Columbae-3’s Polar Tower. Please transfer your guidance control to our systems to begin your descent.”

  “Acknowledged, Polar Tower.”

  Scar cursed under her breath. Damn over-efficient planet. She wanted the rush of flying, it would satisfy the need she had to throw Tyler on his back and ravish him. Now flying would be denied her too. She sighed and locked the controls, lifting her hands away from the surging console.

  She pinched at the bridge of her nose. Damn it, she had to tell Tyler the ship was on automatic, for his own safety. She jabbed her finger against the intercom above her head and pulled in a tight breath. “Tyler.” She held down a groan. Her voice was little more than a squeak. Scar cleared her throat and tried again. “Tyler. Strap in. Guidance has the ship.”

  There was a short pause. “Understood.”

  Scar crushed her eyes against the sound of his voice. He was out of breath and she knew exactly what he was doing. Letting out a soft curse, she cut the connection and fell back into the chair…

  …just as the cruiser dropped and her stomach hit the roof of her mouth. She groaned. It was fortunate she’d told Rochester and Tyler to strap in. Computers had no skill and no consideration for ships’ passengers.

  She pressed the intercom. “Don’t moan at me. I
’m not in control—”

  “Incoming Recorded Message,” the softly computerised voice broke in. “Will you accept?”

  “What’s its origin?”

  “Beta-Ursae-7.”

  A shiver ran over Scar’s skin. Beta-Ursae-7. Her home planet. It could only mean one person. Scar closed her eyes. “I accept the message.”

  “Sheehan, it’s your mother…”

  “Scar,” she muttered. “I’ve been Scar since I was fourteen, Mother. Worn it with pride.”

  “…I have some news from your father.”

  There was a pause and Scar knew why. Her father had left them both when she was only three weeks old. He couldn’t bear the stigma of having a half-human child. But there was something in her mother’s voice that worked under Scar’s skin. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.

  “With the end of the war, he’s proven himself to his peers and no longer has to worry about bearing the shame of his child.” Her mother’s tone was sarcastic. Scar agreed with her. “And under clan law, law that’s now ratified by our governments too, he’s asserted his rights.”

  Scar frowned. What the hell was she talking about? Why didn’t she get to the point?

  “He’s chosen you a mate.”

  Scar stared at the console. What? Blood surged through her body, fury riding its wave. How dare he! What right had that hypocritical bastard to any part of her life? Where had he been as she’d tried to fit into human society with a stunted tail? When cruel children had nicknamed her Scar because of the marbled pattern of her skin. No, he’d been hiding from the shame of his daughter.

  “Come home, Sheehan. The Caraniae have threatened to hunt you down if you don’t, and make you submit to their ceremony. We both know this isn’t an idle threat.” There was a soft sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “Transmission ended,” murmured the computer.

  Scar tugged at the straps, freeing herself from her chair. The cockpit door opened before her and she strode across the passenger cabin.