Creations Collection 2: sci fi alien romance

by Marie Harte

  “Because someone seems to think you might be able to wield it.”

  14

  Zachem shrugged. “They can think what they want. According to legend, only Dorvian berserkers can handle a Dorvian crystal, and there are supposedly only four of five of them left in the universe. Added to that, I’m a Creation, not a berserker. Though I could be Dorvian, I suppose.” He wondered. “Hell, there are parts of me I don’t even know about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t like talking about his life before, but he wanted to share more than just his body with Tarn. If he could believe Tarn wasn’t a slaver, he would feel better about his unruly desire. “I mean my creator told me some, but not all, about my origins. I’m part Ragga, part Zeiren, part Nebite. And I’ve got a few other genetic samplings from places that might not even be a part of our System. Hell, I could be one of those alien Ebrellions, for all I know. I love sex.” Tarn’s strange expression hastened him to add, “But I don’t think I am. I have no desire to eat flesh, and I can’t shapeshift or teleport.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that what Ebrellions do? My handler once told me they kidnapped a bunch of women from our system; I read the holovids about it. Their genetic makeup intrigued my creator, but he couldn’t get his hands on a live specimen.”

  “Live specimen?” Tarn’s voice sounded strangled.

  “I thought my handler was pretty crazy. I mean, everyone knows Ebrellions don’t exist in the System anymore. Hey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Tarn visibly unclenched his jaw.

  “I’m just telling you that there’s a possibility I could be anything. I might have some Dorvian blood in me, but it wouldn’t be enough to control any crystal.”

  “The problem is that all that we know about Dorvian crystals we know from myth and legend. We need facts, not stories.”

  Zachem’s head hurt. “No, ‘we’ need to know how the hell you removed our collars. What did you give Furon? What trade did you make? He never gives anything away, and especially not to us slaves.” The notion that Tarn lied remained in the forefront of his mind.

  “I’m not a slaver, damn it. I’m on a peacekeeper mission,” Tarn said in a low voice.

  Shit. That was even worse, because peacekeepers shot Creations on sight.

  Tarn must have seen the upset in his face. “I didn’t say I’m a peacekeeper, I’m just doing a favor for one. And I couldn’t care less that you’re a Creation.” Tarn stared at him for a moment. “My nephew is a Creation, as is his mate.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No. It’s not. Dreyk’s creator used some of the blood of my brother’s line to make him. Ryen, his mate, is also a Creation, and he has two sisters. They all started life in a hellish lab on Eyra that no longer exists.” Tarn sounded satisfied by that fact.

  “I’ve never been to Eyra. I was created on an asteroid in the Beltway. After I left, I destroyed the lab.”

  “Only to land here afterward.”

  “Yeah.” Zachem frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?” Tarn glanced away and took a deep breath before making eye contact again.

  “I think I am. This all feels like some kind of dream. I fought with a male almost my equal, had incredible sex, and no longer wear a collar. My cellmate is now my lover and not a slaver, but a man with a mission?”

  A smile ghosted Tarn’s lips. “What do you mean ‘almost’ your equal?”

  “And that’s another thing. You lost our fight on purpose.”

  “Hey, it got me in here with you, didn’t it?”

  “So explain the collars, because I don’t see Furon giving you your freedom for throwing the fight.”

  “Ah, that.” Tarn crossed his arms over his chest. “What I told you is true. I’m doing a favor for my nephew. I’m here to grab the Dorvian crystal and take it back to planet Mardu. Posing as a captured slaver was my cover.”

  “Really? Because I heard that whatever you did to Pyrgo looked pretty convincing.”

  “It was.” He looked like he wanted to say more.

  “And?”

  “And now I’m here, and I’m not alone. I have a key to the collars and a microteleporter. But I can’t teleport with the collar on. The enon energy screws with the teleporter’s capacity to breech the voids.”

  Zachem couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We can leave right now if we want to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get the hell off this rock.” Damned if he’d let Tarn leave him behind to rot. Now he just had to find Six…

  “I can’t. Not until I have that fucking crystal.” At least Tarn didn’t sound any happier about staying than Zachem felt. “If it was up to me, I’d teleport out of here right now.”

  “Oh?”

  “And take you with me,” he muttered. “Though why, I don’t know. You hit like a Melan and whine all the time.”

  Zachem grinned. “Yet I won our fight. Seems to me like you should be the one bending over.”

  Tarn blanched.

  “What?”

  Tarn sighed. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  “Hell, there are a dozen things to talk about. My head’s still reeling, but go ahead.”

  “We need to talk about you, Zachem, and your need to submit.”

  Tarn watched the blood rush from Zachem’s cheeks. His skin pulsed in mottled bursts, a sure sign of his distress. The large warrior clenched his fists.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s okay, Zachem. I know how to deal with the needs pressing you so hard. When you get to the point that you can’t control yourself, you need blood or sex, right?” He stood and searched for their collars, knowing it was only a matter of time before the guards returned. “I have to put these back on us before the guards come back.” He put his on then placed his mate’s band over his thick neck.

  Collar him, keep him. Tarn cleared his throat and stepped back, needing to finish their discussion. Stars, why am I so incredibly aroused all the time around Zachem? We just had sex and I want him again?

  Zachem fingered his collar with distaste and returned to their conversation. “Creations kill. We’re destructive freaks, mostly. Yeah, I need to fight, and I need to fuck. So what?”

  Tarn sensed Zachem’s need to protect what he considered a weakness. He answered carefully. “When we leave this planet, and we will, you’re staying with me until I can figure how to help you.” And make you fall in love with me.

  Zachem stiffened. “I don’t need another handler. I want my freedom off this fucking rock.” His red gaze was piercing as he stared down at Tarn.

  Looking up at anyone was a novelty, and Tarn respected Zachem’s power. Awed at his mate’s strong shei, Tarn had never known anyone with Zachem’s intensity. Stars, his own brethren would give anything for a male like this. A true warrior with the skills of a destroyer. Even his sexual submission made him more desirable, a considerable asset in an Ebrellion mate.

  “Let’s make a deal.” Tarn would do whatever it took to keep Zachem. Lie, cheat, steal, anything. He had no problem playing dirty.

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “Once we retrieve that crystal and blast off this planet, we have to head to Mardu to deliver it. But once that’s done, you pledge a full three months of servitude to me, and at the end of that time, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. You’ll have your freedom.”

  “For a price,” Zachem growled. “No way.”

  Tarn scowled. “Then enjoy life in The Pit, Beast.”

  “You wouldn’t leave me here.”

  “Wouldn’t I? I can take off anytime I want to. I’m here for the crystal, and I have the contacts to get me off-world. Can you say the same?”

  “Shit.” Zachem slammed a fist into his hand, though he looked like he’d rather punch Tarn. “I don’t understand. Why do you even want me with you? I told you, I have n
othing to do with the crystal.”

  Tarn wasn’t so sure, but he couldn’t care less about Zachem controlling a piece of rock. Sadly, Zachem couldn’t see his own value. Tarn’s heart bled for his mate…his almost-mate. “I believe you.”

  “Then you’re saying the sex was that good? You want me as a slave to pleasure you, is that it?”

  “Hell yes, the sex was that good. I’ve never had better.”

  That seemed to mollify Zachem somewhat, and Tarn made a note. Zachem needed praise.

  His mate countered, “One week of servitude, and I don’t mention your plans to anyone while we’re still here.”

  “You won’t say anything because you want out. How about forty-five days? One standard month of servitude—not slavery—with me. During that time, you’ll follow orders as one of my crew. You’ll be mine. In every way.” Every way but one. Not my true mate until you ask for it. Now how to get you to ask for it?

  Zachem frowned. “So I’m exchanging one prison for another?”

  “If that’s the way you want to view it.”

  “That’s the way it seems to be. You telling me what to do all the time.” He glanced at the bed. “Everywhere.”

  “Zachem, it’s in my nature to dominate, just as it’s in your nature to submit. Forget arguing about this. Like I said, I know your kind. So strong, yet so powerless under the right instruction.” He didn’t react to the telltale arousal patterns in Zachem’s skin, as much as he wanted to grin in triumph. “Your submission will only satisfy me if it’s imbued with trust. I’ll be honest with you. I’m a warrior. I like to be in charge, but I’m not into rape. I don’t want an unwilling mate.”

  “Mate?”

  “Sexual partner,” he hurried to correct. “I know when you’re aroused. Your scent and the patterns of your skin tell me. You liked when I took charge, and I liked doing it. So yes. The day-to-day activities, to include sex, will involve your willing submission. Sexually and otherwise. Agreed?”

  Zachem studied him for so long Tarn worried he’d refuse.

  “Agreed.”

  15

  “Agreed, what?” Tarn asked, his heart hammering.

  “Is there some other name than Tarn I should use? That’s the only one I know.”

  “Typically, the dynamic between Master and servant is one with respect and dignity. Both ways.”

  Zachem scowled. “By the fates, you’re going to be difficult.”

  Tarn just waited.

  Zachem flushed a deeper pink. “Agreed…Master.”

  Tarn couldn’t help his automatic arousal, but he didn’t like Zachem’s stubborn refusal to bend. Already his mate sought to test his boundaries.

  “Our time starts now,” he growled. “Beast, I want you to dress me.”

  Zachem looked as if he meant to argue but didn’t.

  “That’s right. You do what I say when I say. I’m a good master, Zachem. Better than any you’ve ever had. You’ll see that the longer you’re with me.”

  Zachem said nothing, and Tarn wondered about his past. How many others had his beast served? And why did daggers of jealousy work their way into his heart at thoughts that Zachem might prefer any of them to him?

  “Ah, Master?”

  Tarn’s arousal grew stiffer at the title. “Master” sounded so right from Zachem’s firm lips.

  “Yes, czeva?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means servant.” It actually meant warrior’s heart, but no reason to let Zachem know, not yet.

  “Great,” Zachem rumbled and grabbed his loincloth off the table. “I want to know how the hell I’m supposed to wrap this around you with that massive cock in my way.”

  Pyrgo barged into the cell without warning and closed the door behind him. “Time to get back to reality. Zachem, Tarn, Master Furon wants a word.” He stopped at the sight of both men naked and aroused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  Give me a minute, here, Tarn sent him.

  Just a minute? I’m disappointed, Destroyer. No staying power? Pyrgo answered. Aloud, he said, “You two plan on getting dressed? Or are you hoping to tempt the guards by waving around those huge cocks? Beast, no wonder you’re so popular with the slaves.” He paused and sniffed. “What’s with that perfume? How the hell did you get your hands on something that fine in The Pit?”

  Tarn grinned at Zachem’s pretended innocence. That scent was Zachem’s way of holding onto him. A Creation’s pheromones had been designed as a defense mechanism. To keep an enemy in thrall while taking advantage of a good offense, though it could also be used with bedsport.

  Tarn had watched his nephew and mate play around time and time again with their scents, attracting and holding the other’s attention before darting away to make love. He dared hope Zachem wanted him as badly. That Pyrgo had no idea what to make of it told Tarn that Zachem hadn’t used it around him.

  Zachem’s skin sparkled with gold. His red eyes flashed with heat. He tossed Tarn’s loincloth at him and put his own on awkwardly around his erection. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “Not quite.” Anticipation surged. Time to test his new mate. “A moment more, Pyrgo? It won’t take long.”

  Shit. Don’t play around, not in front of me. Don’t you know how long I had to fuck to will away this hard-on? And now you’re going to make me watch? You have a mean streak, Destroyer. Very cruel. Pyrgo coughed and subtly shifted his stance as the bulge between his legs twitched. “Fine, Slave Six. Just hurry up.”

  Tarn pulled Zachem close and shoved the loincloth back in his hand. “I told you to put this on me. If you can’t wrap it around me the way I am, take care of it. Make me smaller. With your mouth,” Tarn ordered, eager to feel his mate’s lips around him once more.

  Stars, he couldn’t get enough. And to have Pyrgo watch, to show the Ebrellion how well his mate responded, made him even harder.

  Zachem glanced from Tarn to Pyrgo and back again. He lowered his voice and leaned closer, “But Pyrgo’s here. You don’t really want me to—”

  “Yes, I fucking do.” Tarn grabbed Zachem by the hair and twisted it, yanking him hard enough to hurt. The sweet smell around them intensified. His beast definitely liked a bit of pain.

  Pyrgo let out a small moan. “Damn, that smells good.”

  “Now, Beast, make me smaller.” He forced Zachem to his knees and waited. The tip of his cock was wet. He ached to spill inside his mate, inside the warm honet that contained such energy. But he had little time. His mate’s mouth would do as well.

  Zachem tentatively stroked the tip of his shaft with his tongue. Then hearing Tarn’s heady groan, began sucking him off. The rasp of Zachem’s tongue, the hot warmth of his mouth, the light graze of his teeth as he lovingly applied the right pressure to Tarn’s glans… The blowjob aroused him all too quickly. The sound of sucking, Pyrgo’s harsh breathing, and the sweet smell of desire had Tarn spilling before he’d wanted to.

  “Yes.” His knees trembled as he unloaded into his mate’s mouth. “Good boy. Swallow it all, that’s it,” he praised, stroking Zachem’s shiny hair. He caressed his cheeks and neck, loving the feel of subservience in the powerful male. “Now put the loincloth on me,” he rasped and withdrew. Catching his breath, he stepped into the rak-hide Zachem held.

  When he turned to Pyrgo, he saw angry desire in the Ebrellion’s eyes.

  “Come on.” Pyrgo turned on his heel and swore the whole way to Furon’s chambers.

  They followed close behind.

  “Better now?” Zachem drew close to ask, sarcasm in his deep voice.

  “Much.” Tarn wanted to laugh. Talk about feeling free. A glance over his shoulder showed him Zachem’s frustration. Shaking his head, he admonished, “Will that arousal away. Later, I’ll see to my new servant. No one fucks you but me, do you understand?”

  Zachem grimaced. “Easier said than done in this place.”

  “Trust me. No one will touch you.” Anger pushed Tarn’s inner sight to the forefront. He looked a
t his mate and saw heat patterns and shei outlines. He saw his other half. “No one will touch you…and live.”

  16

  Three days later, Zachem still had no idea what Tarn really wanted. Now that the big fight had ended, Master Furon put the two of them back together in Zachem’s cell. They spent their days training to get stronger, as well as helping the weaker fighters to get better.

  Tarn clearly wasn’t cut out for instruction, as he had little patience with anyone who failed to meet his standards. But Zachem liked helping others. It gave him something to focus on beside his enigmatic new master.

  He stifled a groan at the thought, wishing he could control these newfound sexual responses to his lover. Lover, not master. By the stars, Tarn had some kind of hold on him he couldn’t break. Zachem stood a head taller and clearly had more brawn, but Tarn’s strength went bone deep. Zachem still couldn’t discount Tarn’s strange eyes and his ability to scratch with nails that never looked sharp enough to do so much damage. And what about Tarn’s teeth?

  Zachem couldn’t count the number of times he’d bled after a sexual encounter with the insatiable male.

  “Beast, like this?” one of the new fighters asked. He stood with his balance all wrong and his hands too low to do him any good.

  Zachem shook free of his distracting thoughts and corrected the slave. Like the others, the slave had the mistaken perception he could win his way to freedom. But the more he won, the more valuable he’d be to Furon, who’d never part with anyone who could bring in currency to this shithole.

  After another few hours spent working with the fighters, some experienced, others not, Zachem headed back to his cell. There he happened upon Tarn and Pyrgo talking quietly.

  Tarn didn’t stop his part in the discussion, but his eyes turned that vibrant green-gold and his pupil changed shape when he glanced at Zachem.

  “Remember, don’t be late.” Pyrgo scowled, but Tarn didn’t pay enough attention to seem to mind. “Don’t fuck this up,” Pyrgo barked, turned on his heel, and left without another word.