Zhoryan's Game

by Michele Mills

  “You’ve done well again, Zhoryan,” the general called out. “Your Curmese Ligan trap has taken my best Gorga. Again, you score. Now I think I’ll see what you can do against my whole pack of Gorgas. I’m going back to the compound for a rest. Thank you for providing an interesting game.”

  Janet slumped back against the tree trunk. His whole pack? She couldn’t believe this guy’s audacity. He gave his quarry clothes, food and one knife. Meanwhile it was his island, so he understood the terrain like the back of his hand, and he could upgrade to a blaster and hounds at any moment as he saw fit.

  “Motherfucker,” she whispered.

  “Indeed,” Zhoryan replied.

  Janet felt like she’d been down ten miles of bad road and put through a broken wringer. Like she’d hit a wall and there was simply no energy left. Each step was like lifting a ten-pound weight. Her neck and shoulders were aching stiff and her tongue dry as the great desert. She was hungry, thirsty, hot, sweaty, tired and filthy. Small scratches nicked her arms and legs, not to mention the multitude of red bug bites that were everywhere her skin wasn’t covered. And to top it off, her feet hurt like hell.

  Basically, she wasn’t good company and she just wanted to go home. They were trying to walk out of Death Swamp to find somewhere reasonably safe to sleep for the night, but all she could think about was safety, a soft bed and a cleansing unit. “I can hardly wait to get off of this crappy planet,” she groused, angrily pushing strands of lank hair off her sweaty forehead.

  “I agree,” Zhoryan responded. “The moment I can communicate with the ship I’ll alert Lysista and she’ll send shuttles and a squadron to retrieve us and rescue the other beings being held captive.”

  Jealousy flooded her mind as she remembered this beautiful female with her glorious royal pigment, who she was certain was all the things Zhoryan or any Xylan male could wish in a mate, and not a half-color human like herself. Not that she was ashamed to be human.

  “First we need to—"

  One moment she was walking through an area that seemed to be the stable edge of the swamp, and the next she was hip deep in quicksand. It was that fast. She was walking behind the warlord, and then falling into the goopy earth.

  “Zhoryan!” she screamed.

  He turned and ran, throwing his body to the ground and trying to give her a branch to grab onto, which broke off in her hand. She sank deeper. It was getting hard to breathe. She couldn’t even cry out anymore, the pressure against her lungs was enormous. And then the quicksand was at her shoulders. An overwhelming panic took over, leaving her gasping for air.

  Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

  “Janet!” he roared.

  Right when she was thinking this was the end, because if she moved, her head would slip under the sand, an enormous claw engulfed her fingers.

  Zhoryan!

  His. Bare. Claw.

  He began to pull her hand, and her eyes bulged because she could see he’d thrown himself perilously close to where she was and she was terrified he’d be sucked into the quicksand too.

  “What? No!” she cried. What was he thinking? This was too dangerous. What if he died?

  He strained with all of his might, trying to pull her out of the muck. At first it didn’t seem like she was going to budge, and then she started moving up, slowly. The worst part was she couldn’t help because if she moved, she made it worse. It took time, slow and steady, but inch after inch she moved forward and out. Finally, there was a huge sucking sound and the last half of her let go in one sudden motion and Zhoryan fell backwards and she clumsily fell on top of him. And then she was lying on the side of the quicksand, panting, and Zhoryan was next to her, equally out of breath.

  And their hands were still clasped.

  Zhoryan turned to face her. Silence stretched between them as he pulled her in close and placed their entwined claws and fingers, that point of extreme contact, between their bodies and against his chest. She could feel the pounding of his two hearts and her own racing pulse. A spark of awareness began where their hands were joined and washed along her entire body, lighting up parts of her that had been formerly unknown. She gasped at the intense pleasure. The area between her thighs rushed with wetness and her nipples were two hard points of need.

  He locked his gaze with hers. “My Be’Ih,” he rasped.

  Oh no. She was the biggest bitch who ever lived.

  She tried to jerk her hands out of his grip, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she blubbered. “I meant to keep your vow. I didn’t want you if you didn’t want me. Why would I want a mate who never wanted a Bride in the first place? I’d never do that to you, you have to believe me. I wanted to wait until I found the right man.”

  “I am the right man.”

  “No, you’re not. You don’t want me.”

  “Feel this,” he said, placing her hand on the enormous erection tenting his pants. “I want you.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Your body is making you do that. You want to relieve the hormones rushing through your body. You don’t want me!” she cried.

  “Janet,” he growled. “Believe me. I want you and only you. You’re my Bride.”

  “I don’t want to live with a mate who doesn’t want me.”

  “Stop saying that,” he growled.

  “Zhoryan, you—”

  And then he covered her mouth with a rough, punishing kiss, sealing all her doubts. His lips were warm and his mouth tasted amazing. She’d never been kissed. Did he realize this was her first locking of lips? That she was as virginal as he was?

  His demanding tongue slipped between her lips and she sucked on it desperately, like his essence was her life blood.

  Finally, she managed to break away, gasping for breath. “I feel…”

  Drunk. She felt drunk, like she’d sucked down another tanker of Xylan ale.

  And then a firestorm swept throughout her body. It not only centered at the joining of their hands but also in the kiss that had transferred his need to hers. And all her tiredness was erased. She was filled with vitality and strength, and…and she needed her mate more than life itself.

  A growl escaped her lips. This wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  She yanked out of his embrace and pushed two flat palms against his chest. Then she leapt on top of him. His eyes widened with pleasure, his claws cupping the sides of her waist. She threw a leg over his hip and then she was sitting on him, her pussy directly on top of the long pipe of his erection.

  He threw his head back and moaned. Then his claws dug deeper into her sides, keeping her still.

  A shred of sanity returned. A half second of wonder. “What is wrong with me?” she pleaded.

  “You’re being overwhelmed by claiming hormones. You aren’t yet fully in your breeding cycle, but I can see that you’re close.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can smell it and taste it. And also, you’re trying to dominate me even though seconds ago you were denying this mating.”

  “Oh.” And then she was distracted yet again by all the epic masculinity before her, and the pulsing between her thighs. She bent down and captured his lips again, because he tasted better than the Xylan ale she’d chugged in the dining hall. Better than any delicacy. He was her mate, and he tasted exquisite. Masculine and like home.

  “How does that feel, Zhoryan?” she purred as she ran her hands over his hard chest and ground her hot core against his crotch. “How does it feel to be hard and ready for the first time in your life?”

  He groaned. “Don’t…I won’t be able to control myself.”

  “And this is bad because…?”

  “I cannot penetrate you. I can only spend inside of you during the claiming ceremony, in order to make our mating legal and binding. I must wait. Later I will take you to my warship and claim you on the holo deck in a recreation of the exact way all Xylan claim their mates. But, I can relieve your need, right now.”

  She shivered. “Now?”<
br />
  “Yes.”

  He slid his claw along her stomach and was underneath her pants and between her legs before she could even comprehend what he was doing. And then his thick, rough claw was right between her cleft and along her clit, right where she needed him. She pressed down, seeking more pressure.

  “Zhoryan,” she moaned.

  His other claw went behind her neck and he pulled her down and claimed her lips again. He kept that claw at her core, rubbing alongside her throbbing clit. His touch was like fire and lava and everything combustible. And his tongue fucked her mouth while his claw stroked her cunt. It was too much. She was so wet and already so close to coming.

  And then her hands were in his hair, gripping so hard. She broke from their kiss and moved down to his neck, needing to suck his flesh.

  “Come for me,” he ordered. “I want my Bride’s pleasure on my claw.”

  “I’m so close,” she breathed. And then her whole body tensed and she went over the edge. The sharp, sharp edge. And she let out a long, low animal-like moan, her teeth scoring his flesh.

  And she rested on top of his chest, spent. And yet still edgy, as if she could easily start all over again. She whimpered at the sexual torment raging through her body.

  He brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, my Be’Ih, I will relieve you as many times as you require. Again and again. I am your mate. I will take care of you.”

  12

  At daybreak, Zhoryan was awakened by a sound that sent fear pulsing through his veins. It was a distant sound, faint and steady—the baying of a pack of Gorgas.

  His Bride stiffened in his arms. “Oh no,” she whispered hoarsely.

  His Be’Ih. He could still smell the lingering scent of her decadent arousal on his claws and wafting from between her thighs.

  Last night he’d grabbed her hand when she’d fallen in the quicksand. He’d heard her cry and turned around to find her up to her waist in sand. At first, he’d wasted precious time, trying to throw her a useless branch. Fuck that. She’d let out another strangled cry as the sand went to her shoulders and he’d thrown himself to the ground because he couldn’t possibly let his female die.

  She was his entire life.

  The Gorgas bayed again, and he didn’t have a moment left to think of his new Bride and what it meant. He had to get the fuck out of there and keep them both alive.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked, terror causing her voice to waver.

  He took a deep breath. They had two choices: stay and die or flee and put off the inevitable. He stared into her frightened gaze. “I have an idea,” he said.

  Then he took her hand and they ran. The baying of the hounds grew nearer and nearer. He found a tree on a ridge that would work as a vantage point. “Wait here,” he told his Bride. And he scrambled up to the top limbs, through the leaves, and looked around. He could see bushes moving in the distance. Straining his eyes, he finally identified the lean figure of General Pyzon, and just ahead of him was Ivan, holding the entire pack of Gorgas on leash. The sleek animals howled in the distance, catching their scent. They were moving in their exact direction.

  He slid back down the tree. “It’s Pyzon and Ivan too, with a whole pack of Gorgas. They’ll be here any minute. Let’s go. I have a different trap for us to try, one I learned from the Creekans.”

  “Okay.”

  And they got right to work because every second counted.

  Zhoryan caught a nearby sapling that was along the path the general was heading and fastened his hunting knife to it, pointing it in the direction of the trail the hunters would be following. He used grapevines as twine, securing the knife and tying back the sapling.

  Then he grabbed the hand of his Bride and they again ran for their lives. Hopefully this trick would work, or at the very least slow them down, but he still needed to create distance between his precious Bride and the lazhul who hunted them.

  He found another tree to scramble up and hide in, this time with his Bride at his side. They both watched, catching their breath. The baying suddenly stopped, and he knew the pack must’ve reached the knife.

  “Do you see anything?” Janet whispered. “It’s so quiet now. What’s happening? I can’t see—”

  “There.” And all hope died, because General Pyzon was now leading the pack away from the body of Ivan, lying prone on the ground.

  “Dammit,” she hissed. “We missed our mark.”

  They shimmied back down the tree and hit the ground running because the game was still on. A gap of blue ocean appeared between the trees ahead. They burst out of the tree line and hit the edge of the shore, onto a cliff that terminated in roiling sea below.

  Janet looked back, hearing the bay of the Gorgas, then back up at him. “No, no, no,” she wailed. “Zhoryan, you know I can’t fucking swim. I can’t do this. I can’t—”

  He glanced down at his Bride and thought she was the most beautiful being he’d ever seen. Brave, strong and loyal. Boldness in a tiny package. His enemies would constantly underestimate her. He used his claws to cup her cheeks, kissing her hard and desperate. “I love you,” he panted. “You’re perfect. I am lucky to have you.”

  “That’s sweet, but—”

  “You can do this.” He grabbed her tiny hand. “Jump. Trust me. I’ve got you.”

  “I can’t—”

  He heard the Gorgas approach at a run.

  “You can do this,” he said, fiercely.

  She gave a sharp nod.

  And they both leapt out into the sea…

  Zhoryan burst up from the ocean, immediately searching for his Bride. He dove into the water again and again, and finally caught her sleeve, dragging her up to the surface, over the churning waves and into the fresh air. At first, she was silent and unnaturally colorless, then she began coughing up water.

  And still her eyes were closed and she remained completely silent.

  He wrapped an arm around her and dragged her across the cove as he swam to a barely discernable cave at the base of the seaside cliff they’d just jumped off. Inside, he found a shelf that was high and level enough for him to sit on and drag his Bride out of the water alongside him. He laid her head in his lap and checked her beating pulse and her soft breaths.

  He cleared his throat and gazed at her with watery eyes. “Janet?” he pleaded. His beautiful Bride, who he was unable to attend to in the ancient ways. He couldn’t properly claim her, and they were instead in a fight for their lives. She was unconscious and he had no idea how to…

  And then a drone buzzed in his face.

  He swatted it away, then gave it more attention because he recognized the design. Black and red—exactly like a Xylan military drone, without the typical markings of origin. Which made it Bounty Hunter tech.

  He looked straight into the drone’s vid feed and growled, “Kayzon? Stop watching and get moving. Get your ass down here and help.”

  “Zhoryan?” a mechanical voice barked through a distortion device.

  “Lysista?”

  “Who the hell is Lysista?” a male clearly answered. “Is that one of your snooty royal pigment friends?”

  Zhoryan placed a claw over his Bride’s erratic heart, his anger surging to new heights at this delay in her care. “This is Zhoryan of Eighty-Two, the Imperial Warlord of Sector One. If you do not connect me to your superiors immediately, I vow I will tear your hearts out.”

  “Fuck you. This is Joyzal of Seventeen, Bounty Hunter and Margol, here to save your royal ass. You better act grateful or I’m gone.”

  Zhoryan blinked with surprise. Joyzal? He remembered this annoying Margol. The male who had possibly force mated a human of royal pigment. It had been an unusual case. But Joyzal was now part of the Bounty Hunter Guild and, strangely, a friend of Kayzon’s. “Is Kayzon with you?”

  “No, you’re stuck dealing with me. I was working this section of space because I’d accepted a Bounty placed on some asshole who owns this planet. Apparently one
too many beings have gone missing in this part of space and someone with enough currency finally got angry and posted a Bounty on the being who owned this planet. Maybe you’ve heard of my target, his name is Pyzon of Forty-Eight, a former General in the Imperial Military?”

  “Oh yes,” Zhoryan rasped. “I know him.”

  “Your warship hit a minefield and lost you and Kayzon’s sister-in-law in the process. They sent out a distress signal and began a search. Kayzon alerted the Hunter Guild for backup, and when it was discovered I was here anyway, they sent me in to—”

  “Joyzal,” Zhoryan cut in. “My Bride needs medical help immediately.”

  “Bride? What Bride? I was told—”

  “Use the drone for a visual, you will see. Send this vid to my crew and the others so they know what happened and make sure my orders are recorded and carried out. My Bride is Janet of One. We were standing in the same hallway when the ship exploded, and we escaped using an executive pod. We were unable to rejoin the ship because the mines hit the pod and also blocked our communications. We crash-landed in the ocean here, and the pod sank, destroying the beacon. We have been in a fight for our lives against Pyzon of Forty-Eight, who is trying to hunt and kill us here.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  “Yes. Pyzon owns this planet and uses the ancient minefield as a trap and if any crew end up crash-landing on his planet, he takes them prisoner.”

  Joyzal let out a snort of disgust. “Well, luckily for you I attached two coded transporter beacons to this drone. Just take them off and snap on one to each of you and I can get both of you to safety immediately.”

  Zhoryan detached a beacon and placed it on his Bride’s tunic. He then slipped the other into his pocket for future use. “Transport my Bride to your hunter ship, where I expect her to receive the best in medical care. And then I want her redirected to my warship and sent to the med bay there for a second opinion. I want her possessions moved into my quarters because she is my Bride, therefore she will be living with me. And she is about to slip into her breeding cycle so she might possibly need to be tranq’d while she waits for me to relieve her discomfort. Tell my crew I want the holo deck readied for a Xylan claiming ceremony, to be immediately initiated upon my arrival.”