by Marie Harte
Yet, how forced was it? Zachem’s desire was to clean his master, not to sleep, find food or do anything else for himself. Pleased, Tarn leaned back and closed his eyes, wondering how he could realign his shei and perhaps strengthen himself.
Zachem’s work with the crystal had done much to heal him, but it also fragmented his energy. His shei was already screwed up, since half of it now resided in Zachem, until Zachem gave it back. But he couldn’t allow his mate to take him, not until he knew in his heart that Zachem wanted a full mating with him. He refused to enslave the brave man that way, even if he cut out his own heart in the doing.
As much as Tarn wanted to ignore the softer feelings coursing within him, he loved Zachem, had loved him since the first. That mythical moment often spoken of in the Ebrellion culture, that some Ebrellions just knew their mate through sight alone, had happened to him.
Zachem returned, and he tried to look less exhausted.
“Master?”
That quickly, his dick rose. The suddenness of his new arousal worried him. This constant need for Zachem reminded him too much of Pyrgo’s earlier heat. Not possible. How can I be going into heat so soon? I don’t have anything with me to fix this.
He could only hope to blame Zachem’s pheromones for his sexual intensity. Because if they weren’t, he was totally fucked, and not in a good way.
“I’m just tired.” Hell, his tongue felt swollen. He found it difficult to talk.
Zachem lifted him with ease, and he grinned stupidly. “So strong. My mate,” he whispered and stroked Zachem’s firm shoulders.
Zachem placed him on the bed and wiped him down with a damp towel. “When you come, you have a lot of seed.”
“Hmm. My kind often does.”
“Like mine. You’re not a Creation, are you?”
Tarn laughed, amused at the echo it created in the room. “No. From what I’ve seen, you’re all very high maintenance. So much beauty, ferocity, and power wrapped up in a sexy as hell frame. None of the ones I’ve seen have ever compared to you,” he said dreamily, caught in Zachem’s dark red gaze. “I’m drowning in your eyes.” Zachem looked concerned. “Tarn? You don’t sound right.” He glanced down. “But you look as if you need me.”
The quiet admission pleased him. “Need you? I always need you. Come, czeva. Settle yourself over me. I ache to spill inside you again. Rub me down with that salve first.” He waved in the air, when he wanted to point at the jar on the table across the room. Tarn felt dizzy and not himself, filled with a desire that grew with every inhalation of Zachem’s sweet essence.
He closed his eyes when he felt Zachem’s hands over him, stroking him to a larger, tighter erection. And then Zachem straddled him, guiding himself over Tarn’s cock.
“Yes,” he hissed and groaned. “Ride me, czeva.” He rumbled in Ebrellion, caught in the love and lust he felt for this male.
The feel of Zachem’s honet enthralled him with a bliss that filled him from head to toe.
He needed to bite, seed and blood two requirements from his mate he couldn’t do without.
“Your hand, give it to me,” he growled as he stared up into Zachem’s shuttered gaze.
Zachem gave him his hand and continue to ride him, up and down, his tight sheath almost more than Tarn could bear.
“Bite me, Master. Take what you need,” Zachem crooned and Tarn lost all restraint.
He surged up, arching into Zachem’s passage, to fill him with seed, just as he bit hard on the fleshy pad of Zachem’s palm. He sucked at the sweet blood as he came, yet still needed more. A glance down his body showed Zachem hard and dripping.
“Ease off me, then straddle my face. I need you to come in my mouth.” He watched his mate with his inner vision, his senses attuned to the bursting energy coiling in Zachem’s large frame.
As soon as Zachem leant over him he sucked his balls, laving the firm sac with a loving tongue. His mate groaned and ground against his face before lifting and angling to shove his cock between Tarn’s lips.
Tarn sucked him, needing to taste more than his mate’s blood, but his life’s essence as well. He stroked Zachem’s cock with his tongue and scraped with his teeth, pulling another line of blood that shot Zachem over the edge.
He yelled out “Master” as he spewed, and the rush of blood and semen calmed Tarn as nothing else could. Though his shei stuttered with the echo of incompletion, this joining soothed that part of him aching for more.
Unaware of the passing time, he knew nothing but comfort as he inhaled the masculine scent of his lover, entwined with his own scent. Mates, lovers, a master and his loving pet.
Finally, he’d found that perfect moment. If only his body would let him live long enough to make this a permanent reality.
Chapter Ten
“How is he today?” Pyrgo asked.
“Better.” Zachem shrugged, but Pyrgo could see the worry on his face.
The large Creation’s skin shimmered with what he’d come to recognise as agitation.
Worry for Tarn bothered Pyrgo as well. Bad enough he’d only completed half the bonding he needed with Zachem, but the unknown effect of that Dorvian crystal could have done anything to the destroyer’s shei.
Zachem had spent the past two days tending to Tarn’s every need, and he seemed calmer because of it. Pyrgo didn’t know much about Creations, but he’d seen their viciousness first hand. In the few months he’d know the beast, he’d never seen the male act out of vindictiveness or spite, and he’d had just cause.
Zachem was a true warrior, and one that would make Tarn proud, if he lived to see tomorrow.
His and Tarn’s mental communications had done little to ease his worries. The stubborn Ebrellion refused to tell Zachem why he hurt. Instead, he wanted Zachem to come to him because Zachem wanted to, of his own free will.
Pyrgo wrestled with the dilemma. Did he violate Tarn’s trust, or did he save the destroyer’s life? He glanced at Zachem, a male who seemed to care for Tarn much more than Tarn knew. Why not tell Zachem the truth and let him decide for himself? “Hell,” he muttered.
“Pyrgo?”
He made his decision. “What exactly has Tarn told you?”
“About what?”
“About who we are.”
“Not much.” Zachem narrowed his eyes. They sat in the bridge staring out at the moons of Ragga. Not much longer and they’d reach Mardu. Finally, an end to this mission.
“Great.” It figured Pyrgo would have to clean up the destroyer’s unintended mess.
“You’re a Creation, so you’re used to keeping a low profile. And you seem to have developed an attachment to your master.”
Zachem flushed. “He’s not my—”
“Come off it, Zachem. You’ve been by his side for two straight days. You do whatever he tells you to, and your shei is in perfect alignment with his.” Which didn’t quite make sense, since they had yet to complete a true bonding. But as he stared at Zachem’s unease, he suddenly understood. “You love him.”
“I don’t—”
“This is important. Tell me, do you love him enough?”
“Enough to what?”
“To save his life?”
Zachem blinked, stunned. “What? ”
“Your master is dying because he refuses to do what he knows is right. He won’t commit himself to you. I told him to tell you the truth, to simply let you decide. But he’s afraid you’ll leave. He wants the extra time to convince you to stay, not to force you to.”
“Why?” Zachem sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why does he want me to stay?” Considering what he knew of Zachem’s past, Pyrgo wasn’t surprised the male had no idea of his worth. Knowing Tarn would kill him for interfering, he did it anyway. That way Tarn would be alive to kill him, at least.
“Look. Tarn is a warrior. He fights for his home, for his brethren, and for what’s right.
He’s a hero. But he’s also an autocratic, domineering asshole.” Zachem showed the hint of a smile.
“He won’t come out and tell you how he feels, because you should ‘know’ it already.” Pyrgo had a father and two brothers who acted exactly the same way. “He won’t tell you how much you mean to him, because deep down, he’s afraid of the rejection.” Zachem shook his head. “Not Tarn. He’s not afraid of anything.”
“He’s afraid of you,” Pyrgo said bluntly. “Do you want to know what czeva means?”
“It means servant.”
Pyrgo snorted. “Czeva means ‘warrior’s heart’. It’s what we call the male or female we take to mate. Mate, Zachem. Not a lover, not someone we use for sex. To an Ebrellion, a mate is the other half of our soul. An eternal companion.” Zachem froze. “Ebrellion? Mate?”
A calculated risk, but one Pyrgo decided to take. Zachem didn’t want system law on his ass. Who would he tell about Ebrellions amidst others in the Vrail System? And if he cared for Tarn as much as Pyrgo thought he did, he’d never turn in his lover. Not for all the currency and freedom in the system.
Zachem stared in a daze.
“The reason Tarn isn’t acting like himself is because he’s given you a part of his life’s essence. He should have waited, but for some reason he didn’t.” The stupid ass. “You haven’t fucked him yet, have you?”
“Yes.”
“You have? ”
Zachem started. “Ah, well, we each enjoy oral pleasure.” Pyrgo sighed with relief. “That’s your answer. Until you complete the bonding ritual, where you give Tarn back that shei that now sits inside you, he’ll slowly wither and die.”
“But why didn’t he just tell me this? Why go through so much pain? I can see him hurting, but he won’t let me do more than help make him more comfortable.”
“If you bond to him, you’ll always want to be with him, Zachem.” You’ll never be free.
He might as well have said it out loud, because Zachem paled. “Always?”
“Until one of the two of you dies, yes. I don’t know why Tarn started the bonding, knowing the only way to save himself would be to complete it. But he refuses to take away your choice. He didn’t want me to tell you this, but I don’t think he has the time he thought he would to change your mind about him.”
A sudden alarm sounded, and then the ship trembled and jolted. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have the time either. Battle stations, we’re under attack.” Zachem stared in shock at a battle cruiser and two smaller war crafts that appeared suddenly on the ship’s monitor.
Ebrellions, mates, and now danger in the form of a fire fight? He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.
“Dammit, Zachem, strap in. I need you to tell me what those ships are as soon as the ship identifies them.”
Zachem focused, his blood humming at the thought of impending battle. Have to protect my master. Again, his thoughts went to Tarn first, everything else second. For two days he’d cared for the half-conscious male, and he’d never felt such satisfaction before in his life. Tarn needed him. If Pyrgo had it right, Tarn needed him as a helluva lot more than a medic.
An Ebrellion. Damned if that didn’t explain a few things. Tarn’s almost obsessive need for sex. His ability to teleport, and the way he communicated with Pyrgo without words.
And what about the rumour that Ebrellions could shapeshift? An answer hovered at the edge of his mind, and then the ship chimed.
What he read didn’t bode well. “Hell. They’re marcet class war ships, and the cruiser is a mix of Melan and Eyran technology.”
“Fucking Colony6 militia. Dammit. I thought we were clean. They must have put a tracer on us before we left, because I haven’t seen so much as a shadow of them since. Must have been hanging back.”
Pyrgo ran a hand through his long black hair in frustration. “We might be able to outrun them, but we won’t survive a confrontation. We can’t let them get their hands on that crystal again. Or you.”
Zachem blinked. “Thanks.”
“With you and the crystal, they’ll be indestructible. And if anything happens to you, Tarn—”
“Will die.”
“I was going to say Tarn will kill me, but yeah, after that, he’ll die.” Pyrgo stunned him by smiling. “So what’s it going to be, Beast? You up for saving that annoying master of yours? I think you can handle him. But do you?”
Zachem was needed, more than he ever had been before. A sense of empowerment filled him. “I’m not sure. But I’m willing to try.” The ship rattled again under a direct hit. Pyrgo swore. “Fuck this. Come on. I think I know a way we can salvage some good out of this situation. And for you, some instructions on how to heal Tarn. But do me a favour. When he comes to, keep my name out of it.”
* * * *
Tarn groaned and turned into the soothing warmth of his mate. Strong arms surrounded him, sharing warmth and the bleed of his shei. He sighed and nuzzled closer. But he couldn’t succumb to total sleep. Instinctively knowing how to help himself, he slowly shifted into his other form.
“Mother Night.” The warmth under his cheek vanished, and his head clunked on what smelled like rich, dark earth.
He barked and rose unsteadily on six feet. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw Zachem staring at him, as if he had three heads.
“Th-threll? Six, is that you?” Zachem asked in a breathless voice.
Zachem didn’t smell like fear. He sounded curious, amazed even, but not afraid.
Purring with contentment, Tarn walked forwards and rubbed his face all over Zachem’s legs, unfortunately covered up in a pair of trousers. He also wore a sleeveless tunic. A glance around showed them alone in what looked like the jungle.
It took a moment to process, and he yelped a question, then froze. He called me Six. He thinks I’m a threll . Take it easy, dammit. Don’t spook your own mate. He has no idea it’s you.
Tarn rumbled softly, and with tentative steps, rested in front of Zachem again.
“I’ll be damned.” Zachem looked at him with awe, and Tarn wondered just how much Zachem knew about him. “I, ah, didn’t realise you’d escaped from The Pit. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you before we left. Everything went to hell really fast.” Tarn grunted and sat, still waiting to be petted. Anytime Zachem wanted to put his hands on him, Tarn wanted it.
A large hand caressed his ears, his muzzle and down underneath, along his neck and chest.
“I missed you.”
Tarn licked him.
“I think you missed me too, hmm? You liked us talking together, spending time with me when Tarn was out fucking Pyrgo, I’ll bet.”
Tarn frowned and shook his head.
“Yeah, Tarn’s a handsome male. Too stubborn for his own good. Pyrgo thinks he has little time left to live. That when I healed him with the crystal, I did more damage than good.” Zachem’s eyes grew darker. “If he were here I’d help him. But when the escape pod crashed, I woke up alone.”
A dream then, that he’d woken up in his mate’s arms. Escape pod? Where was Pyrgo?
“You must have tucked into that pod somehow, though you didn’t have much room to work with. Only space inside it should have been filled with food.” Zachem left him to look inside the pod, and Tarn disappeared into the jungle.
He quickly changed back into a man’s form before returning to the small clearing.
“Zachem?”
Tarn felt as if he’d been battered by several brawlers and shivered in the cool breeze that blew. A breeze that shouldn’t have bothered him, not in the damned humidity of the jungle. Shit. I am so fucked up.
“Tarn!” Zachem reached him in seconds and hugged him tight. The kiss he planted on Tarn’s lips shocked him to the core. It felt real and filled with affection. “Where were you?”
“I’m not sure. Where are we right now?”
“We had to shake a few warships from Colony6, so Pyrgo brought us as far as he could and jettisoned the escape pod. He then crashed the ship somewhere else on the planet.”
“Which planet?”
&
nbsp; “Mardu. We seem to be in the heart of the Anate jungle.”
“That’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“Because half the things that live in here make The Pit look like a vacation.”
“Yeah, I saw a threll a few minutes ago,” Zachem said dryly. “A really big bastard.” Tarn swallowed. “Uh, they’re native to the planet, so I hear.”
“But you’re not.”
“No?”
“No.” Zachem lost his smile. “You don’t look so hot, Tarn. Mighty destroyer of the Ebrellion race.”
Fucking Pyrgo.
“Is there some reason you didn’t tell me? You want me to believe in you, to trust you to take care of me, yet you can’t tell me who you really are?” Tarn scowled. “I’m an Ebrellion. You happy now?”
“Not yet.” Zachem stunned him by shoving him back. “There’s no one here to interfere this time. So why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you? Without lying.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Zachem shoved him again, and Tarn stared to get mad.
Tarn shoved him back. The froth of battlelust gave him a much needed energy boost.
“Come now, czeva, aren’t there more pleasurable things you would rather do?”
“Than pound you into ‘submission’? Hell no.” Zachem hit him in the gut before he could move.
Tarn lost his breath and bent over.
Zachem wasn’t done. He pushed Tarn to his knees and grabbed a hold of his hair, his eyes on fire. “This is for your own good, Master.”
“My pet, too pretty to fight,” Tarn mocked, secretly in love with every facet of his mate.
That silver hair gleamed under the setting sun. And the light caressed the beauty of Zachem’s masculine face, so firm yet giving as he stared down at Tarn. Such strength…