THE OFF WORLD COLLECTION (Short, Steamy Science Fiction Romances) (Off-World Series) by Rebecca York Read Free Book Online

others or from himself, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how to cope with either the sudden reminder of the man he’d once been or with the false hopes she offered.
    He threw his pack onto the floor in the hall and sprawled on the steps leading upstairs. Cursing under his breath, he rummaged in the pack. When his fingers closed around the tube of dried brew malt, he made a grateful sound. Not quite as good as pain pills, but it would do. He set the tablet in a plastic cup, poured in water from the bottle he carried, and watched the brew sizzle. Before the head rose, he began to drink. It was cheap beer, laced with brandy extract. In minutes he was feeling almost calm.
    Almost calm enough to face Kasimanda as she came down the hall, carrying a small plate.
    “You should eat,” she murmured.
    He acknowledged the advice with a grunt as she set the plate beside him. His resolve to ignore her wavered when he smelled nester cakes. Her family’s cook had made them, and Kasi used to sneak them to him.
    “You made these?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    He took a bite, wondering when and how she’d learned to cook. The cake was crisp and meaty, the way he remembered.
    Tipping his head to one side, he peered at her through a brew-induced haze. “These are good. My compliments to the chef.” His words slightly slurred, he asked, “But what if cooking and cleaning and tending rokam isn’t enough? What if the one-legged man wants you in his bed?”
    Her face went white.
    “I see. The rules have changed, but I’m still not good enough for you.”
    She knitted her hands together in front of her. “I . . . can’t.”
    The way she said it made him shudder. “Kasi?”
    He put out a hand toward her, but she was already darting out of his reach, fleeing down the hall. He stared after her long after she’d disappeared.
    Finally, with a heavy sigh, he made another cup of the strong brew. A shame to waste good nester cakes, he decided, cramming another into his mouth and licking his fingers. Sometime later he found the strength to get up and stagger down the hall to a bed chamber. Fumbling clumsily, he unstrapped his holster and shoved his gun under the pillow.
    There was a mirror on the wall, and his reflection took him by surprise: A tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders, his face too young for the pain-etched grooves in his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his own face. It was changed, and not for the better.
    Turning quickly, he pulled off his trousers before easing off the prosthetic extension of his ruined leg. Freed of its constraint, the stump throbbed, and he bit back a groan as he flopped onto the bed.
    He must have slept. The next thing he knew, he was awake and listening to stealthy feet moving in the darkness. His hand shot to the gun. The intruder was quicker, surer. He heard the weapon clank onto the stand beside the bed.
    “It’s all right,” Kasimanda whispered.
    Some of the tension went out of him. In the semi-darkness, he could see her only in outline. When he remembered she could see him a lot better, his stomach knotted. “What’re you doing here?” he growled, trying to pull the bedding over the stump of his right leg.
    Her hand covered his. “Lie still.”
    He felt the mattress shift as she came down beside him. “I’m going to take care of the wound.”
    “No.” He tried to slide away, but one of her hands gripped his shoulder, stilling him. When the other hand touched his ruined flesh, he went rigid. “ Don’t .”
    “It’s all right,” she answered, a quaver in her voice. “I understand.”
    He uttered a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? And how in Atherdan’s name could you understand? What have you lost?” The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Consumed by pain and humiliation, he’d forgotten what she’d told him only a short time ago, that, indeed, she’d lost everything.
    She didn’t reply, only stared at him. He couldn’t hold her