The clinic was in the country, to let the troopers recover or die in the most pleasant surroundings the Order could manage--and it was remote enough that Shannon and his raiders could take their time, with troopers and nuns alike. Piety caught his attention immediately, being the youngest and most attractive of the women as well as the most spirited, and he promptly claimed her for himself. His subordinates were welcome to the rest. To his satisfaction, she fought him. Not with any skill, but with enough energy and determination to excite him as no woman had in far too long. Stripped of her habit, she was even more attractive--and better yet, she continued to fight, even as he pinned her arms and forced her legs apart. Starting into her, he felt resistance that told him his hopes of her had been fulfilled. He paused, relishing that for some moments while he made certain adjustments to his body. He respected courage, even in an enemy; add that she'd managed to remain a virgin, surrounded by Enforcement troopers, and he was inclined to give her a fair chance. Like the pre-Empire Terran game show, if she said the magic word, she would win--not money, but her life. And her fighting had bought her a clue to that word. Her eyes widened as she felt the change. She struggled harder, shaking her head and gasping negation, but her sudden panic was no match for his strength. He rammed into her all the way, savoring the hot blood that flowed out of her when he ruptured the membrane. She screamed his name, winning her life--though Shannon took pleasure in the certainty that she'd rather die. She shivered under him, her screams gradually subsiding to sobs, until she was close to passing out with pain and horror. Shannon could have kept her conscious, but he'd be having her again later, and there were the troopers to play with; he finished in a series of rapid, violent thrusts, then kissed her roughly and pulled out. * * * * * "One more before we go, sweet Piety." Shannon's voice was almost gentle; over the last six days, he'd developed an unusual--and, he thought, delightfully perverse--fondness for the nun. It was nothing like his feelings for Sara, his mistress; those were totally unprecedented, not simply unusual. He couldn't pinpoint the reason he had taken to Piety, though it probably had something to do with the fact that she managed not to hate him. Fear, disgust, revulsion--he could read all of those and more, even pity. But there was no hatred. "Please," she said tiredly. "Not again . . ."