She didn’t think she’d ever in her life been as keenly aware of her femininity or as uncomfortable about it. The urge to retreat was strong and instantly at war with the urge to pretend nonchalance she didn’t feel and simply find a place to sit-assuming she could without exposing herself. The end result was that she was as frozen in place as a manikin and unable to decide whether to retreat or not.

    Powell seemed to recover first, but he looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or pleased that she’d been given something to wear. He flicked an assessing, almost possessive glare in Anka’s direction.

    Almost as if the three men were mentally linked, Spencer and Kushbu also looked at Anka. She could almost see their hackles rise like a pack of cur dogs that had all spotted a female in heat at the same time-and a bigger dog that seemed intent on marking his territory first.

    It was the most bizarre, unnerving situation she’d ever found herself in. Not one of her crewmembers had ever looked at her, or behaved, in any way as if they had any interest in her as a woman. She didn’t think they were now. It was pure territorialism because the ‘other’ dog wasn’t a member of the pack.

    Ignoring the glares of the male crewmembers, although Sybil couldn’t believe he wasn’t well aware of the hostility radiating from them, Anka finally bowed slightly at the waist. “I have come to invite you all to dine with us,” he said with stiff formality.

Chapter Five

    “I see you brought a fairly sizable escort. Is this an invitation? Or an order?” Powell said grimly, making no attempt to hide his hostility.

    Sybil hadn’t actually noticed that Anka wasn’t alone until Powell’s comment. She felt the heat in her cheeks that was just fading flood back in a flash as she shot a quick glance behind him and noticed two men just outside the door.

    “It is an invitation that you may decline if it’s your wish. If you prefer, I will have food sent to you here,” Anka responded coolly.

    Powell studied him for a long moment. “In that case, we appreciate the invitation.”

    Spencer and Kushbu both stiffened and shot him a questioning look. He shook his head faintly, acknowledging he knew they had questions without answering them. Sybil sent him a shocked look herself, feeling the beginnings of anger that he’d arbitrarily accepted for all of them. She didn’t give a damn if he was her commanding officer! This situation didn’t fall under his purview, damn it!

    She wasn’t about to add to the tension, however, by arguing the matter. She was uncomfortable enough, anyway, that she didn’t particularly relish the idea of drawing more attention to herself.

    After glancing around at the people standing like statutes waiting to be animated, she moved toward Anka. It broke the spell holding everyone. She saw Anka and the men with him visibly relax. Powell and Spencer surged forward, as if to cut her off before she could reach Anka, and Kushbu, remembering his manners, approached his colleague and offered an arm.

    She wasn’t certain if Anka was mimicking Kushbu or if the gesture was familiar to him from his own customs, but he offered his own arm as escort. The tension fairly crackled in the air. Ignoring it, she took the offering. “Thank you.”

    He nodded. “My pleasure.”

    The response was coolly formal, almost mechanical, and Sybil abruptly felt a surge of amusement. It took an effort to resist the urge to comment on the warmth of the invitation, but she made the effort. “Thank you for the… uh… clothing, too.”

    She would’ve preferred her damned flight suit, but she didn’t see any benefit in behaving in as surly a manner as the others.

    “I apologize that I wasn’t able to return the suit. You are not particularly comfortable in this attire?”

    She managed a weak smile. “It’s… uh…” Better than nothing? Not very polite, even if it was the way she felt. “Very pretty.”

    “The beauty lies in the wearer.”

    Sybil shot a startled look up at his face and discovered that he was studying her without pretense of hiding his appreciation. Her face heated up again. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

    His face relaxed almost into a smile. “The design is favored by the women of Sumptra.” During their courtship dances, but he had no intention of telling her that. He supposed, wryly, that he should have chosen the loose trousers and tunics favored for labor, but he couldn’t regret it when she was such a pleasure to look at.

    “Well, that’s something to look forward to,” Spencer muttered in a perfectly audible voice that made Anka stiffen. “You have a problem with us admiring your women? Or you think that privilege should be all yours?” Spencer added when Anka turned to look at him, dropping any pretense of veiling his hostility.

    Anka narrowed his eyes at Spencer. Powell cut in before either man could say more, however. “Sumptra… Is that the name of your home world? Or your country?”

    “Sumptra was… united long ago. It is the name of the home world.”

    Sybil frowned at the slight hesitation, wondering what, if anything, it denoted. Maybe nothing more than the fact that he was struggling with anger over Spencer’s deliberately provoking comments? She might have dismissed it completely except that she noticed that the guards sent to escort them both flicked surprised glances at him.

    So he was lying, she decided. She just didn’t know what he was lying about. Unification? Or something else?

    She was still mulling it over when they apparently reached their destination. A door slid silently open as they approached, revealing a far larger room than she’d seen before… filled to capacity with the men and women of Sumptra. Sybil’s heart instantly leapt and began to pound out her distress.

    Anka settled his hand over hers where it clutched his arm so tightly, drawing her gaze.

    “There is no danger here, nodia, however… fearsome we might appear to you.”

    Sybil felt some of her tension ease… briefly.

    Spencer uttered a derisive snort. She knew it was him. Anka fixed him with a cool look but refused to rise to the bait.

    As oddly comforted as she was by Anka’s assurance, Sybil was never more glad of anything than she was when he’d escorted her to a seat and she could collapse gracelessly onto it. Holly settled with a heavy plop onto the seat just a few chairs down from her, making it clear that her knees had also given out. It took a supreme effort even to make a show of unconcern as she glanced around what looked very much like any other military mess hall she’d eaten in- except that every face was alien, not merely the face of a stranger.

    By the time the scrape of chairs as everyone settled had died down, Sybil had managed to calm her racing heart and ceased to feel as if she might faint and fall face first into the dish in front of her-which held what appeared to be some sort of soup.

    Instead of settling himself, Anka addressed the crowd-in his language. She exchanged an uncomfortable glance with the others, wondering, as she knew they were, what it was that he was saying. Almost as if Anka had read her mind, he switched to English. “I was reminding everyone that you are guests and should be treated accordingly.”

    It had certainly taken a lot of their words to say so little, Sybil thought wryly, wondering when they’d become ‘guests’ or if it was just a polite euphemism for prisoners.

    “Are we?” Powell asked.

    Anka lifted his brows at him. “I extended an invitation. You accepted.”

    Sybil studied his face, wondering if he was being deliberately evasive.

    “We usually let our guests leave when the party’s over,” Spencer said with patently false joviality.