Page 2 of Tempting Jupiter (Arena Dogs #2)

Chapter Two

When Feeona heard the commotion in the hall outside the Salley Ho ’s one-cell brig, she checked the time.

A brief jab beneath her ribs made her sit straighter.

It could’ve been a symptom of her worry over the damage Captain Walter Fitzhew’s side-trip had inflicted on her schedule.

More likely, it was a cramp from the way she’d been sitting for hours—her back to one wall, ankles crossed, legs stretched along the cell’s built-in metal bunk.

In her defense, it was the only piece of furniture in the monotone gray cell and sitting made it easier to maintain her remote link with Bug.

The miniature terminal access drone and the neural implant she used to direct it were the best investments she’d ever made, but it did take a lot of her concentration to control it.

At least sitting kept her from walking into walls or, more importantly, the shimmering energy field that blocked the cell’s entrance.

She uncrossed her feet and swung her legs over the side of the bunk, slipping into the boots she’d left on the floor.

Fitzhew and a small mob of his crewmen, all toting weapons, had two prisoners in tow.

She wasn’t surprised to see they were both bloodied.

Fitz was a small man with a narrow face and a bushy cap of carrot-tinted hair that he was currently raking his fingers through.

He didn’t have any particular reputation for violence, but she knew he could be utterly ruthless when the need arose.

Bug’s DATA UPLOAD IN PROGRESS message flashed in Feeona’s left eye.

Opting to remain seated as long as possible, she smoothed her palms down her soft black trousers then tugged at the hem of her matching pullover.

She propped her forearms on her thighs and leaned forward, studying the controlled chaos in the previously unmanned security station.

Two members of the crew dragged one of the wounded men directly to a spot in front of her cell. The prisoner was unconscious and obviously taller than his captors. His feet dragged behind and his head hung forward, obscuring his features, but the pointed ears were hard to miss.

“Crap, he’s a heavy fucker,” one of the crewmen complained, chest heaving with exertion.

They’d each slung one of the prisoner’s arms across their shoulders.

Those arms were thick with muscle and lined with veins that bulged against his skin, as if to deny any lack of vitality that his unconscious state implied.

Narrow silver scars marred his shoulders and bruises mottled his coppery skin.

Blood, thick and crimson, coated his bare chest. The sticky stuff clung to the curve of muscle as it oozed from shoulder to abdomen to the shallow dip of his navel.

The second prisoner tugged against the restraining grip of his minders, but they’d restrained his hands behind his back and shackled his legs.

The stretch of his arms showed off a leaner physique, and his unusual coloring hinted that he might have a bit of alien blood.

White silk hair hung past his shoulders.

His skin was a dusky white that made her think of the pearls of Old Earth.

His face seemed more human, but too stunning to be real—jaw and cheekbones too sharp, an elegant nose and lushly full lips.

His concern for the unconscious prisoner filled eyes that were lavender, large, and expressive.

“He needs medical attention.” His voice was as lush as his eyes. She’d bet, even with the odd features, he’d look and sound amazing singing in a shower. The kind with real water. Hot and steamy.

One of the crew standing guard over him gave a nod and another crewman elbowed lavender-eyes in the ribs.

He huffed out a pained breath, but he stayed upright.

Bandages had been wound around his middle.

Blood stained the white in several places.

The patches of red expanded as more blood seeped through the cloth.

The readout in Feeona’s left eye flashed UPLOAD COMPLETE.

Finally.

She sent Bug a RETURN WITH STEALTH command and shut down the link. Bug’s programming for autonomous flight was very basic, but Fee trusted it to return undetected. Most of the ship was dealing with the aftermath of their recent battle and wouldn’t notice Bug zipping past over their heads.

She stood, put her palms against her lower back, and stretched.

“Hey Fitz, did you forget about me or does this mean I’m getting upgraded accommodations?

” When he stomped over to stand eye to eye with her, she fluttered her lashes and gave him her best you’re-an-idiot-and-I-hate-you smile. “Anything with a mattress will do.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Mattie.” The muscles around his mouth jumped with annoyance as he called her by the alias she was currently using. “You’re staying right where you are, only now you’ll have company.”

Feeona flicked a look over Fitzhew’s shoulder. The prisoner might be unconscious but he was also big.

She let her voice climb to be heard above the commotion of the crew trying to manage the prisoners. “Uh, Fitz. This cell is a little small for two.”

“It’s the only cell I’ve got, and I’m not trusting either one of you on this side of the pulse field until we reach Karona Station.

” His lips pulled tight, then gave way to a grin that crept from one side of his face to the other.

“If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime. ” He snorted at his rhyme.

Feeona snickered. “You’re real proud of that gem, aren’t you? You do know it’s an Old Earth saying? About as ancient as stardust and ten times as common.”

The mirth slid from his face. “Back off.”

Her barb had hit the mark with more force than she’d intended.

He must have heard the rhyme recently and thought he could claim it.

He was always trying to appear more clever than his perfectly average IQ could support.

A tiny smidge of pity knocked at the door of her hardened heart.

Luckily, that door had been reinforced and welded shut.

She held her hands out in surrender. “Whatever you say, Fitz.”

His face and ears turned scarlet. “I meant back off, literally. Back away from the pulse field.”

Two more of his crew took up positions just on the other side of the barrier and aimed stinger-shooters at her. She edged back into the empty corner at the foot of the bunk.

Fitzhew punched in a code on the control panel and the pulse field flickered and disappeared. The two men carrying the unconscious prisoner dragged him into the cell and dropped him. He landed half in, half out and as motionless as the dead.

The prisoner still in the hall, snarled and slammed into one of his guards as he tried to break free.

Fitz’s hand hovered over the control panel. “Hey!” He shouted to be heard over the tussle. “Cut it out or I’ll cut this one in half.”

The prisoner stilled, swaying on his feet.

“I mean it,” said Fitz. “If I turn this on maximum now, he dies.”

Lavender-eyes propped a shoulder on the corridor wall, breathing hard. Pain etched deep furrows into his unusual but appealing face. “Don’t. Hurt. Him.” There was agony in the demand and it had nothing to do with his injuries.

Fitz lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I’d rather have him alive, but that’s up to you.”

Feeona wanted to sock Fitz and tell the soulful prisoner he didn’t need to worry.

Fitz had no intention of killing either of them.

It was written in his body language. She was good at reading people and she saw frustration in the tense set of his body, not rage and not cold calculation.

The urge to speak up spiked, but she couldn’t get involved any more than necessary.

She had other priorities and a timeline that was being blown all to hell.

She dropped her arms to her sides and rolled the worry from her shoulders, then stepped forward.

She squatted down by the unconscious man’s feet and dragged his legs across the danger zone.

“If I have to share my microscopic cell, fine. But can you all go the hell away now and let me get back to napping on this oh-so-comfortable metal bed?”

Fitz frowned. “Don’t be such a bitch. That bastard is an Arena Dog. If he smells that bitchiness on you when he comes around, he might get confused about whether to eat you or fuck you.”

“You’re all charm, aren’t you, Walley?” She ignored Fitzhew’s bluster and focused on the prisoner swaying in the corridor, just outside the room’s entryway.

The man’s lavender eyes had darkened and gotten impossibly larger. She could barely see any white in his eyes at all. “Help him.” The demand was soft, slipping along the floor and into her ear like the stroke of velvet. “Don’t let him die.”

Throwing his voice was a neat trick, but it couldn’t change the fact that there wasn’t much she could do.

She got to her feet and met Fitz’s glare, letting no sign of her frustration show on her face or in her body language.

Sometimes the icy control she’d had transfused into her veins came in handy.

“Can I at least have a blanket? He’s bleeding all over the floor and I have to sleep in here. ”

“Brice, toss her a blanket and the med kit.” When the crewman grabbed the kit from a compartment in the wall, Fitz stayed his movements with a hand on his arm. “Take out anything she could turn into a weapon first.”

Brice nodded and complied, then tossed it to her. Then the blanket.

“Gee thanks,” she said. “I’m not a medic, you know.”

The pulse field flickered back on. Fitz tipped his head. “No, I think we all know you’re nothing more than a common thief.”

Feeona watched the men file out of the room. As he was being led away, the prisoner shot her a glance from beneath long lashes. His big eyes blinked then caressed the prone form on her floor.

As they disappeared, Feeona kneeled next to the bleeding man and popped open the kit. She pulled out some gauze pads and tugged him onto his back.

There was a lot of blood.

The wounds weren’t new. Traces of bandage and sealant residue clung around the injuries.

The reopened puncture wounds had been deep and could have killed him.

They still could, but she wasn’t going to let that happen.

Someone had taken the time to patch him up, and it would be a shame to let that effort go to waste.

She leaned over him, her lips near his unusual ears.

“Lucky for you I’m not really a common thief,” she said.

“I’m a brilliant thief.” She laid the gauze over the big wound in his abdomen and pressed down hard.

She engaged her link with Bug and redirected the small mechanical assistant to locate the med-bay.

Bug wasn’t really designed for carrying things.

It would take a few trips to get everything she needed.

First priority was a shot of blood-doubler.

She sent the command, leaving the link open in case Bug needed additional input.

“Hang in there, big guy.” As Feeona kept pressure on the biggest wound, she studied his face.

He and the other prisoner might both be Arena Dogs, but they didn’t look all that much alike.

In addition to his dark copper coloring, this one had a wide jaw and nose and his wolf-like ears were much larger.

She couldn’t tell about his eyes. “I can wait,” she told him.

“You sleep and get some rest. I’ll see those eyes when you’re feeling better. ”

He had plump lips and the tips of overdeveloped canines pressed against them.

It all added up to something not quite human.

Maybe they were both alien. But what she’d heard of the Arena Dogs had always led her to believe they were of Earth descent, just like the original gladiators they were meant to recreate.

She’d never seen one, of course. And the sum total of her knowledge came from transmissions advertising luxury excursions to Roma—home to the sector’s legendary and brutal Roma Rex Arena.

Proof of that brutality had been carved into this man’s body.

She could only guess what it had done to his soul.

She shifted, still hunched over him, letting her weight do most of the work.

It was all she could do for him while she directed Bug to the medical area, but she found her attention divided.

The stranger’s chestnut hair had been cropped close, leaving his softly curved ears exposed.

They looked soft as velvet and thin as parchment.

She wanted to stroke them and see if they were as soft as they looked.

The thought of indulging that whim made her belly clench.

With his eyes closed and his face slack, he looked vulnerable, something she’d bet a big man like him would deny.

She couldn’t help the smile that forced its way onto her face.

“I hope you don’t turn out to be a total ass.

It would ruin these little fantasies forming in my head.

” And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d fantasized about any man.

She normally avoided the bruiser type as much as she could.

If this guy was what it took to wake up her feminine hormones, she was in trouble.

“No. You’re not any ordinary bruiser, are you?

” But she figured she was right about the trouble.