by Marie Harte
“Yorum suckered me into hiring him to pilot me out of the System. I had a band of peacemakers on my ass at the time. I was desperate, not thinking straight, and trusted a pirate to do what he promised. Instead, he sold me to fucking Furon. Now here I am, in The Pit.” Zachem snorted. “I try to tell myself I’ve been in worse places, because I have. The dickheads down here at least feed me and give me a place to sleep. Because I win for them, they even give me slaves to fulfil all my needs. But it’s not enough,” he admitted, Tarn’s troubling face in his mind’s eye. “It’s never enough.” Six licked his hand.
“I don’t like it here, but at least I’m respected for my fists. The guards fear me.” A heady sense of power warmed him. “The fuckers can’t kill me, not with all the currency I bring to The Pit. Never been beaten, not since the first day I stepped in the ring. I don’t think they know what I am. That or they don’t care.”
The threll cocked its head, as if curious.
“But you know what? One day I’m going to be free. Away from scientists and slavers and people who would kill me because of some stupid law forbidding my kind to live. I’ll find a perfect place and stay far from people.” So I won’t hurt what I can’t have—love, and a stable relationship with someone special, someone who will see me and not a monster to destroy or a tool to be used.
The threll startled him by trying to sit in his lap. It licked his chin and neck, nosing too close to his jugular for comfort. No matter that Six acted tame, Zachem couldn’t ignore the creature’s wild nature.
“Easy, Six. You’re no lap-cat, you great beast.”
Six growled, but to his surprise, he knew it meant no harm, that it understood him.
Though most thrells had an uncanny intelligence, this one was special. Six barked at him, and he hushed it so the guards wouldn’t investigate.
“Shut it, Six, before the guards come in. And get off my lap. You’re crushing my balls.” He tried to push Six off, careful of the creature’s claws.
Six didn’t seem to care. When the threll did move, it didn’t leave the pallet. Instead, it ambled off him, lowered its head to Zachem’s crotch and sniffed. To his shock, Zachem grew aroused.
“Okay, off the bed,” he growled, embarrassed at his inability to control his dick. “Time I got back to sleep. You can have the floor. And don’t argue,” he said when Six growled back at him.
As he lay down to sleep, Zachem considered what a strange night he’d had. He still missed Tarn, though he’d bite off his own tongue before admitting the truth. Six’s presence helped tremendously, allowing him to ease into that sense of calm only his dreams gave him.
He rolled onto his belly and trailed his hand off the bed, resting it on Six’s neck as he drifted into sleep.
Tarn slowly slid out from under Zachem’s warm palm, battling lust and a growing affection for the Creation who liked a wild threll more than his own cellmate. Irritated that he couldn’t do anything right now about Zachem’s ‘sexy ass’ comment, Tarn ‘ported back into Pyrgo’s cell.
Pyrgo wasn’t alone. He sat upright in his bed, apparently naked, his legs splayed wide.
Thankfully, the women in his bed had their backs to Tarn, their faces buried between Pyrgo’s thighs. Pyrgo glared at him before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He clutched the women by their hair as they alternately licked and sucked his cock. His abdomen tensed, showcasing the rippled muscle of a man used to combat.
Though Pyrgo refused to comment on his background, the male’s scent and face reminded Tarn too much of a truth he was hard pressed to deny. Yet another surprise on this pain the ass mission.
Pyrgo groaned. “That’s it, Shazza. Suck it harder. Stars yes. Beeta, roll my balls. Good girl. Now which of you wants to swallow first?” he asked, his voice thick. “Here it comes.
And I’ve enough for the both of you,” he promised as he jetted into the blonde’s mouth.
It wasn’t long before she coughed, unable to swallow any more. Tarn watched as Pyrgo continued to come, and then the other woman lowered her pouty lips to his cock and swallowed more. But even she couldn’t handle all of him. She raised her head and milked the rest of it from him, watching with her friend as if mesmerised.
The copious amount of seed indicated Pyrgo’s Time, that the male had entered an Ebrellion heat. During the next few days, unless Pyrgo took the steps necessary to manage his arousal, he’d be desperate to impregnate anything near, day and night. So long as Pyrgo was unmated, Ebrellion herbs and rituals would enable him to control his fertility and the next Wave—that craving for his intended. That Pyrgo seemed in control of himself told Tarn he had no mate. Mated males, during their Time, went crazy for sex, but only with their bonded other.
Tarn had no mate. He too had been able to withstand his Time when the cycles hit.
Thankfully, he had weeks before his next heat. He could only imagine what a nightmare that would have been to add to this already problematic mission. Zachem was enough to deal with.
At the thought of his new fixation, he hardened like stone.
The scene on the bed didn’t help matters. Pyrgo had finally finished climaxing and raised both of his partners to their knees. He began kissing their breasts, fondling them everywhere with his hands. “So good,” he murmured as he toyed with them. By the scents and sounds of his playmates, Pyrgo had satisfied them and was well on the way to arousing them again.
Unfortunately, he showed no sign of stopping.
Tarn twitched, trying to put a stopper on his own arousal, no closer to relief due to Zachem’s resistance. Though he fully understood Zachem’s disgust with his crafted occupation as a slaver, their conflict was hell on his libido. He wondered if he should slake his need with one of the females or with Pyrgo instead. The younger male had a warrior’s shei, which Tarn found acceptable for a male he considered fucking. But Pyrgo didn’t arouse him the way that damned Creation did. In fact, lately, Tarn didn’t want anyone but Zachem, and he found the notion not only annoying, but disturbing.
Tarn growled, and Pyrgo reluctantly eased from his partners. “My threll needs to go out. Don’t leave this bed,” he rasped, thrumming with power.
“No, Master,” the females responded, as if drugged on his taste, further solidifying Tarn’s suspicions of Pyrgo’s identity.
“Come on, Beast.” Pyrgo donned a pair of loose fitting trousers and pulled them up over his semi-erect cock. He didn’t bother with a shirt and grabbed Tarn’s collar and loincloth off the table. They left the room and quickly walked down several corridors, ducking into an alcove where Tarn could shift back into a man’s form.
As he dressed, Pyrgo muttered under his breath about bad timing and unnecessary interruptions.
“Would you shut up?”Tarn snarled, struggling to put the loincloth on over his own arousal. Fuck if he couldn’t stop thinking about Zachem.
“Like you couldn’t have waited until I came again. I hurt.” Pyrgo rubbed himself. “My Time is coming harder and harder lately.”
Tarn eyed him with concern as he put his collar back on. “You shouldn’t be outside the palace. How many guards are with you here?”
Pyrgo blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Please. I served with your father years ago during the Dexi War. Emperor Nhajir’s a friend of mine.”
“Damn.”
“Your resemblance to him isn’t your only tell. You do a good job hiding it with Furon and the guards, but you’re a little too imperious when we’re together. And there’s no missing that drugging effect your cum had on your partners. Watch yourself, or you’ll end up getting some foreign slave pregnant. Not something you want to bring home to Nhajir, let alone your mother.”
“Shit. I know, I know.”Pyrgo sighed then grabbed his arm when two guards and a gaggle of slaves passed. He mentally responded, “I’m actually here on a classified mission for our Intelligence Sector. The Dorvians must get back that crystal. In the hands of the wrong people, the crystal and i
ts holder can cause massive damage.”
“Why didn’t Nhajir ask for my help?”
“Because he likes you where you are, away from home and diplomatic issues, not causing trouble,” Pyrgo answered. “Besides, this is my job. I’m being primed to take over for my uncle in Intelligence. Now that Dervon has been chosen as my father’s successor, I can breathe easy. You wouldn’t believe how thrilling my work is. Did you know that because of some of the information we’ve gathered, we can now broker for better weapons with the Laar?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Times are changing,” Pyrgo sent. “It’s not all about conquering our neighbours anymore.
We’re investing in our future by building up our defence, as well as our own star system. I mean, look at the Vrail. Technologically, they’re behind us. But socially and economically, they put us to shame.
With you keeping a lid on our brethren and preventing more kidnappings, we might just be able to establish trade here.”
“Hell.”
“Yeah. This liaison stuff with other worlds in our own system opens up whole new possibilities.
New battles, new conflicts.” Pyrgo paused .”Even a need for stealth and destroyers.”
“At least all this peace crap is good for something.” They neared the cell. “I’ll still have a job.” Pyrgo nodded to the guards and pushed Tarn towards the door. “Destroyer, you’ll always have a job. I think my father’s scared of you.” Tarn coughed to hide a chuckle.
“Look, keep winning your fights and stay out of Furon’s way. And see if you can keep the beast—Zachem,” he said before Tarn could correct him, “—under control. I saw a shift in his shei
during one of his fights that concerned me. That shift looked very similar to the pulses of energy I saw briefly in the Dorvian crystal before it disappeared into the catacombs under The Pit. Zachem is connected to the crystal and important to our cause. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it.” So could Tarn.
Pyrgo opened the door and shoved him inside. “Idiot,” he said scornfully before slamming the door and locking it.
Tarn entered the cell, searching for the lumbering male who wouldn’t leave his thoughts.
On the pallet, Zachem blinked at him once before he rolled onto his side, giving Tarn his back.
Tarn clenched his fists, annoyed and aroused. Zachem wore nothing, his tight ass and sculpted back on display like one very large tease.
Pyrgo needed Zachem for the mission, because he had some connection to the crystal.
Tarn could pretend he needed the Creation for the same reason, but he’d be lying.
Zachem aroused him in a way he couldn’t explain. A few steps closer and Tarn smelled him, the warm scent of wildness and chaos and the potential for destruction. The very qualities all Ebellions prized in battle.
And in a mate.
Crazy thinking. Yet it didn’t diminish the stiffness of his cock at all. He too easily remembered how Zachem tasted, coming in his mouth. Visions of Pyrgo and those females pleasuring one another fuelled his lust, imagining Zachem between his legs, swallowing the desire he couldn’t stop.
Tired and sexually frustrated, he sat down on the oversized pallet, conscious of Zachem’s sudden stiffness. Wanting the affection Zachem had shown him thinking him a threll, Tarn sounded overly harsh when he said, “I don’t have the patience for your shit right now. So move over unless you want me buried so far up your ass I’m coming in your throat.” Zachem said nothing and moved over.
More annoyed that the man would give him neither a fight nor an excuse to screw him, Tarn swore and tried to fall asleep.
To his surprise, the scent of Zachem calmed him, and he soon fell into a dreamless, well-needed rest.
Chapter Six
Zachem spoke little when he woke the next morning. Tarn still lay in bed, apparently too tired from his previous night’s activities. Jealousy reared its head at thoughts of Pyrgo fucking Tarn, but he didn’t smell Pyrgo on him at all. Dammit, why do I keep thinking of him as mine?
My what? Zachem didn’t know ‘what’, nor did he want to know. He lived to fight, to one day lull his captors into believing he liked The Pit, so that he could escape. Once he figured out how to disable his collar, he’d kill Furon and a few of his friends and take off. Yet the thought of leaving Tarn behind bothered him. A lot.
After visiting the lav and cleaning up, Zachem sat and stared at the puzzle of his cellmate. The urge to fuck him was still there, but not as strong as it had been. Instead, Zachem felt a need to submit, to be fucked, to please Tarn in hopes of making his master smile.
He froze. Master. Tarn. Submission. Three words he’d never thought—or wanted—to use together.
Worried about his state of mind, Zachem rose, determined to put as much distance between him and Tarn as possible. He quickly left his cell and requested an audience with Master Furon, who proved willing enough to grant him everything he requested. Zachem should have questioned Furon’s allowance, but he was too relieved to look deeper into Furon’s acquiescence.
“Just make sure not to kill him,” Furon warned. “Slave Six has the potential to pull as much currency into The Pit as you do. And I like him.” Shit. When Furon liked someone, they normally ended up dead within days.
“Yes, Master Furon. It’s just that apart, I’ll better be able to focus on the fight. I sense Tarn studying me, and I know I’m studying him for weaknesses all the time.” Truth. “It would be a much better battle if we met in the ring without so much familiarity between us.”
“You make a good point, but then, that’s one of your strengths, isn’t it? To constantly look for ways to win, no matter the cost.” Furon studied Zachem with an intensity that unnerved him. “We’re going to make more on this fight than we’ll probably make on the upcoming Slave Trade.” Furon smiled, a genuine show of pleasure. “And that’s saying something. Extra rations for you and Slave Six. I want you both strong and ready in three more days’ time. Don’t disappoint me, Beast.”
“No, Master Furon.” Relieved Furon meant to agree, Zachem bowed his head, something he’d normally refrained from doing to annoy Furon.
“Excellent.”
He forced himself not to shy away from the touch of Furon’s hand over his chest.
Everything about the slave master felt wrong. The lingering graze of his palm over Zachem’s muscle burned, like an oily fire licking at his energy.
Furon nodded to himself and pulled his hand away. “Three days. Then I want results.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Guards led Zachem out of Furon’s quarters and to the training centre.
For the next three days, Zachem prepared with a ferocity he hadn’t used in years. He couldn’t help anticipating the fight. The ability to challenge a worthy opponent ate at him. To go one on one and not pull his punches or limit himself was in itself freeing. Furon hadn’t issued him any mandates on how long to allow the fight, or when to crush his adversary in which round.
Zachem did miss Tarn, but not seeing the male also allowed him to focus better. He still hungered for Tarn’s touch, but he didn’t have to live right next to temptation. And during the nights, Six continued to visit. Zachem talked about his dreams, about his needs and his confusing desire for the confined slave master. Six didn’t judge him, didn’t do anything but sit and listen with an acceptance that stole its way into Zachem’s heart. When he finally left this place, he intended to take Six with him.
Comforted by Six’s presence, he wondered how Tarn fared. Furon had been a man of his word. Zachem didn’t see Tarn at all, but he didn’t worry. Furon would take good care of Tarn. He needed Slave Six for the big fight.
Before Zachem knew it, the night had come. Several other matches played out as the crowd revved up to see the bout of the season. The Beast versus Slave Six. Oiled down and dressed in a pair of battle trews, rak hide trousers that protected his groin and legs from waist to mid-calf, Zachem felt like a real warrior as he met Tarn, si
milarly garbed, in the ring.
Tarn’s eyes glittered, and that strange inner lid blinked at him once, enough to tell Zachem Tarn also wanted this fight.
Zachem licked his lips and watched Tarn’s eyes narrow, drawn to the motion. He adjusted his stance, and Zachem didn’t need to look to see that Tarn sported the same hard-on he now had. Excitement, anticipation, and the thrill of what was to come hovered just out of reach.
Yorum announced them, and a ring echoed in the sudden silence.
They stood there, gauging one another. And then Tarn pounced.
The crowd went wild as Tarn and Zachem struggled against one another.
“I’ll try not to hurt you…much.” Tarn grunted and pushed him back, grinning.
“I’m not as nice. I’m going to hurt you, oh so good. And when this over, that ass is mine.” Zachem glanced at Tarn’s crotch and smirked. “I’m going to rip you open and fill you right up.”
“Promises, promises,” Tarn ended on a breath as Zachem took him to the mat.
They continued to fight one another, testing each other’s strength and agility as they danced out of reach while trying to connect with each other, fist to body. Both took care not to hit the other in the face, though Zachem wondered if Tarn’s reasons matched his own.
Simply put, he didn’t want to mar that face. A silly reason, but he could do more damage to Tarn by hitting his body anyway.
The bell rang, announcing the end of the first quarter. Then the second, the third. When the fifth bell rang to commence the fight, the betting in the crowd swelled as they cheered for the Beast and Slave Six. No one had thought Tarn would last as long as he had, not even Zachem. Impressed and not trying to hide it, Zachem grinned even as he fell under a compilation of kicks and blows to his mid-section.
But just when Tarn had gained real ground, he pulled back, as if winded.