by Marie Harte
“What have you been up to?” Zachem asked, wondering how the hell Tarn planned on leaving this place. Pyrgo was involved, that he knew, but he didn’t sense an attraction between the pair, which was another thing saving Pyrgo from a massive beating. That and running interference for them with Furon. He didn’t like the attention Furon had been giving the beast lately. Zachem tried to chalk up Furon’s interest as related to the slave trade. He hoped.
The slave trade took place deep underground, beneath The Pit, which made the auction Furon’s ideal currency maker. He purchased and sold slaves, stolen goods, and anything else he wanted for his small slaver colony. In comparison, he made the other slaving efforts on Colony6 look amateur.
Though Zachem wasn’t looking forward to tonight, he knew what to expect. Master Furon would drag him below and use him to advertise the lucrative gambling at The Pit. The whole cursed planet consisted of brawlers and impoverished people to whom fighting was a way of life. The ability to make currency off fighting and/or betting on it struck the natives as an ideal source of income.
Zachem had a real interest in the night’s events because Tarn had promised an escape from this place. But Zachem didn’t know if Tarn was doing the right thing by trusting a slaver. Pyrgo didn’t act like a normal guard. He seemed much more dangerous because he bowed to Furon’s every whim and was normally seen in Furon’s company.
The other thing bothering Zachem of late—he hadn’t seen Six in days. He could only hope the threll still lived. He’d mentioned the creature to Tarn a few times, but from Tarn’s lack of interest figured the male didn’t have time for thrells or more mundane matters.
Zachem didn’t want to distract him. He wanted Tarn to work his magic and take them away from this place. The sooner the better.
His agitation must have shown, because Tarn approached him with a look of concern.
And that was another thing. For someone supposed to be his so-called master, Tarn spent the majority of their time together taking care of Zachem. He never took his pleasure unless Zachem had his first. He made sure Zachem had enough to eat before he touched his food, and he constantly made note of Zachem’s moods. The man had accurately figured out how to read his skin patterns and the fluctuating intensity of red in his eyes.
For all that Master Caegon had treated him with decency, he’d never taken so much care to learn about Zachem’s needs and wants. Tarn’s attitude frustrated him because he couldn’t understand what the man truly wanted. A slave, or something more?
The arrogant ass called him all kinds of names that sounded suspiciously like endearments. Never “slave.” Instead, he used “Beast”, “Pet,” and that aggravating “czeva”— names said with a raspy seduction that never failed to make Zachem hard.
“Are you all right?” Tarn cupped Zachem’s cheek and ran his thumb over his lips.
Repressing a shiver and ignoring the way his dick spiked, Zachem took a step back and glared. “I’m fine. When are we leaving?”
“Why? Has Furon been bothering you?” Tarn asked in a sharp voice. He’d noticed the slave master’s attentions as well and had warned Zachem to let him know if Furon pestered him. What Tarn thought he could do to Furon was anyone’s guess.
“He watches me constantly. I can’t tell if it has something to do with the crystal or if he’s trying to figure out why I let you fuck me day after day,” Zachem growled. “I know the guards have been talking about it. Pyrgo probably ran to him with the news after he watched me suck you off.”
Tarn cocked his head, his gaze thoughtful. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? I thought you didn’t care who watched you? You told me you’d accepted your appetites a long time ago. Was that a lie?”
Zachem flushed. When Pyrgo had watched him pleasing Tarn, it just felt different, as if Pyrgo intruded on something private, something intimate. He didn’t know how to explain that without sounding like an oversensitive drun, and he didn’t like feeling so weak and vulnerable in front of Tarn.
He closed the small space between them and tried his best to intimidate him. “It wasn’t a lie, but I’m not here to amuse the guards. You want sex? Fine. But don’t parade me around like a fuck toy.” He released his scent, trying to show Tarn just who was in charge. But the stubborn male failed to respond with anything other than a sigh.
“When you do that, it only makes me hard. Zachem, if something bothers you, you need to tell me. I took you in front of Pyrgo for a reason.” His voice thickened. “I wanted him to know who you belonged to. That you’re mine.”
Tarn didn’t succumb to the oblivion of Zachem’s scent, and he didn’t show fear in the presence of a Creation. His fortitude and control over his emotions spoke to Zachem on another level, and Zachem fought the need to submit to someone centered, someone so powerfully in command despite his present circumstances.
Tarn ran a hand down Zachem’s front, over his clenching abdomen, and cradled his cock in a large palm. “Easy, pet. Remember, you’re mine from now until a month after we take that crystal.”
“You said we’d take it tonight.” Zachem tried not to react to Tarn’s questing fingers. The bastard was now cupping and caressing his balls with enough pressure to stir him to orgasm. Damn it.
Without meaning to, he released more scent, enough to ensure Tarn wouldn’t let him go.
“What’s wrong? Need something from your master?” Tarn whispered, his fingers making magic.
Zachem grunted.
“Is that a yes?” Tarn let him go, and Zachem moaned in denial. “Tell your master what you want.”
The urge to give in made him dizzy. “I want to come all over you. Right now.” Hell, let Tarn deal with that. Warmth spread through his cock, limbs, and heart. He ached to release all over Tarn, to connect with this male he felt closer to each day.
“Right now, what?”
Zachem panted as Tarn began teasing him again, pushing his hand beneath Zachem’s trousers to feel him skin to skin. “Right now, Master,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
Tarn jerked him up and down, the pressure of his fingers perfection over the sensitized shaft growing harder and longer as he played. “Come for me then, czeva. Come hard, all over my hand.”
Zachem closed his eyes, leaving himself open to Tarn’s touch.
“That’s it. You feel so good,” Tarn whispered. He quickened his hand and increased the friction under Zachem’s crown, hitting that spot that drove Zachem wild.
It took nothing more than the scrape of Tarn’s suddenly sharp nails over him to make him come. He shook as he spilled over Tarn’s fingers still sliding up and down his shaft, milking him dry. Breathing hard, Zachem wasn’t aware of Tarn stroking his hair with his free hand until Tarn nudged him to step back.
Tarn removed his hand from Zachem’s trousers and licked a drop of Zachem’s cream from his fingers. His eyes changed, turning Zachem on all over again. “Mine.”
17
Zachem stood there, staring at his lover. He wanted to say something, to tell Tarn how much he’d needed this, to serve not just another, but Tarn himself. But the words stuck in his throat because he didn’t want to serve again. Fulfilling the needs of others had brought him nothing but pain his entire life. The years spent with Master Caegon had ultimately made the return to the lab even worse.
The more he thought about it, the more he talked himself out of what he thought he’d felt with Tarn. Simply sexual chemistry, nothing more. Truth be told, Tarn had blackmailed him into this bullshit in the first place.
Tarn correctly read the mutinous expression on his face and sighed. “Let me wash up. Then we need to have a talk.” He left for the lavatory.
Before he returned, four guards entered the room ahead of the slave master. The pompous, overbearing Master Furon.
“Oh good. You’re ready for us.” Furon smirked at the wet spot at the front of his trousers. “Quite a healthy boy, aren’t you, Beast? You’ll make someone very happy tonight, and I don’t mean me, with al
l the riches you’ll bring.”
Riches?
“Yes, I’ve decided to sell you. Along with a certain crystal everyone’s waiting for, you might just net me enough to get out of this place.” Furon sneered. “Fucking Colony6. A waste of my time and considerable skills.” Tarn walked out of the lav and froze, and Furon continued, “Ah, good, you’re here too. The Pit’s new champion.”
Before either of them could react, Furon held up the controller with a smirk on his hateful face.
Tarn swore, groaned, and slumped to the ground.
Zachem reached out a hand to help him, but the world went black as he toppled into mind-numbing pain then passed out cold.
He woke to the sound of chaos. The crackle of fire, a war of words, the unmistakable blast of laser fire. He dangled off an uncomfortable…shoulder? Zachem tried to move and something swatted his ass.
“Damn it, stay still.” Tarn then yelled at Pyrgo to throw him the fucking key while blue lasers fired all over the dark cavern. Zachem lifted his head and saw a fiery blur in the center of the place.
The slave trade. Had to be. Several guards wrestled with a bevy of slaves bent on exacting revenge. Before long, screams, grunts and groans merged. More laser fire, and then the sounds of more troops. Probably the Colony6 militia, who took their fair percentage out of the slave trade profits.
“Shit. Hurry up, Tarn. I’ve got it, let’s go.” Pyrgo didn’t sound calm and in control. Not a good sign.
Tarn jerked at his neck, releasing his collar, and proceeded to drop Zachem to the ground.
He landed with a harsh jolt to his side.
“Sorry.” Tarn leaned down, fiddled with Zachem’s collar, and stood with it clasped in his hand.
“Have to get S-Six,” Zachem stuttered, trying to regain his wits.
“The damned threll is probably halfway out of The Pit by now, with the rest of the slaves. Come on.”
Zachem couldn’t seem to coordinate his movements. Tarn swore and hefted him over his shoulder again. Not sure what the hell had happened, Zachem only knew that the enon pulse wasn’t wearing off, not like it should have.
And then he heard it. The low hum of welcome, a song of homecoming that awakened something deep within him. A burst of fire heated him from the inside out, giving him a new sense of purpose.
He pushed off Tarn’s shoulder and slid to his feet. When he glanced around, he noted a subtle glow of energy around everyone. Tarn, to his dismay, looked wrong, his aura darker, as if the man was in pain.
“Zachem?” Tarn reached out a hand. When it landed on Zachem, he froze. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged.
“Zachem, Tarn, come on!” Pyrgo yelled and blasted another group of guards gaining on them.
Tarn snapped out of his trance, wavered on his feet, and then shook himself aware. He grabbed Zachem by the arm and tugged him after Pyrgo.
They followed until they ran into a wall.
“Damn. This wasn’t on my map,” Pyrgo muttered.
Zachem sensed the source of his welcome coming from somewhere very near. He tuned out everything but that low, exciting buzz. Reaching into Pyrgo’s bag, he held the other man back and took out a small red crystal the size of his palm. The moment he closed his hand around it, power thrummed through him.
“Hurry, Zachem.” Tarn’s worry registered, but only vaguely.
Until Zachem watched his lover get shot.
Aware he should have been more afraid, more enraged, he turned in the direction of Furon and his guards. Sighting in on the one holding the stunner pointed at Tarn, Zachem focused his will and let go.
A blast of red light pierced the guard’s forehead and split him in two. Their return fire should have killed him, but Zachem felt safe behind a shield of warmth. He didn’t want anything to happen to Tarn or Pyrgo either and extended the shield around them without knowing how.
The rage he normally felt when in battle refused to come. His vision didn’t turn a hazy red. Instead, Zachem watched the confusion unfold through clear, unfettered eyes.
“Holy Hell and Father Sun. Great,” Pyrgo muttered, “The stories are true, just what we don’t need. Well, come on, Zachem. Grab Tarn and let’s fucking ditch this place before your crystal shatters.”
“It won’t.” How he knew that he couldn’t say. He didn’t know how to utilize all of the crystal’s power, but as he held it, it whispered to him. The minute he touched Tarn, he used the energy within him to heal Tarn’s injured flesh. Though the physical part of his lover mended, the darkness in his energy did not. But Zachem didn’t think the crystal could help with that. Their positions reversed, this time Zachem lifted Tarn over his shoulder.
“Now, Beast,” Pyrgo shouted and knocked back several slaves who’d managed to penetrate the weakening shield.
Assuming the immediate threat had faded, Zachem saved his energy for the next dangerous challenge they’d face. Thankfully, he and Pyrgo encountered no further trouble as they raced from the central auction area. Pyrgo took them on several twists and turns before stopping in a darkened alcove.
Zachem lowered Tarn to his feet, who wavered but shoved his hand away. “I’m good. Thanks,” he said on a cough.
“We need to go. Can you follow me?” Pyrgo asked Tarn.
Not sure how they planned to leave, Zachem watched the two interact, curious that he could see their auras almost mirror each other. And that he didn’t like. He sensed the crystal readying to tear Pyrgo apart and dropped the stone. Like that, the strange power he’d shouldered vanished.
Tarn quickly took the crystal and put it back in Pyrgo’s bag. “So much for coincidence.” He shot Zachem a look.
“Yeah,” Pyrgo said sourly. “A Dorvian berserker, go figure.” He sighed. “Now Tarn, can you follow me? I’ll bring Zachem—”
“I’ll bring him. I’m good now.” Tarn put himself between Pyrgo and Zachem, and Zachem couldn’t help feeling good, that his master—that Tarn—felt possessive.
Pyrgo rolled his eyes. “Just follow me, Destroyer.” He muttered under his breath one minute and disappeared the next.
Tarn glanced at Zachem. “Okay, czeva. Close your eyes and hold onto me. I won’t let you go.”
Curious, as he’d never teleported before, Zachem looked for the device that would allow them to jump through space. “Where is it?”
Tarn didn’t answer. He grabbed hold of Zachem’s forearms, and they pushed through something thick and cold. Ignoring his panic as his lungs compressed, Zachem trusted Tarn not to hurt him. After all, Tarn was in there with him.
They dropped into reality right behind Pyrgo, now seated at the helm of a ship.
A ship.
Escape was in reach. Stars and Planets above. A fucking dream come true.
Tarn shoved him into an empty seat and buckled him in.
“I can do that.”
“Shut up.” Tarn leaned down, gave him a hard kiss, then followed Pyrgo’s instructions as they took flight.
Zachem looked out of the main viewport and watched as The Pit became a distant memory.
They flew in silence for a while. Zachem remained content to savor his new freedom. Though he had an agreement to keep with Tarn, just being away from Furon and the guards, without that damn collar, made him ecstatic at the taste of pending freedom.
Pyrgo sighed, breaking the companionable silence. “That went, ah, not as expected.”
“No shit. Nice plan, Your Highness.” Tarn said with disgust.
“Your Highness?” Zachem blinked, totally confused.
“Damn, Tarn, you weren’t supposed to say anything.”
“Please, Pyrgo. Who’s he going to tell? He’s just happy to have escaped that fuckhead Furon. And speaking of which, when this is done, I’m going back for that piece of offal. We’re not finished, he and I, until The Pit is no more.”
“Excuse me. But ‘he’ is sitting right here.” Zachem removed his restraints and stood, enthralled with the ship. “What is this?”
; “A star destroyer, for our destroyer. Ironic, eh?” Pyrgo said to Tarn. “It fits a four-man crew, so we’re good. There are three bedding areas, one communal lav, a galley and an armaments and equipment room we normally use for training purposes.”
“Weapon training?”
“Unarmed combat,” Pyrgo answered with a feral smile, and something in his expression resonated.
“You two,” Zachem said slowly. “You’re the same. From the same place, I mean.”
Pyrgo and Tarn exchanged a long silence.
Tarn answered. “We are.”
“And not from this system.” Zachem began to understand. “No wonder you aren’t bothered by who I am. You’re more alien than I am.”
“He’s an alien?” Pyrgo asked.
“He’s completely alien to me,” Tarn said dryly. “I’m not bothered by you because I know more of your kind than you’d believe.”
Pyrgo nodded. “His nephew, Dreyk, Dreyk’s mate, Ryen, and Ryen’s sisters, Erin and Anin. And then of course, there’s you.”
“You knew about him?” Tarn sounded surprised.
So, Tarn hadn’t confided in Pyrgo about his identity as a Creation. What did that mean?
“Of course. I’m Intelligence, remember?”
“Why do you call him ‘Destroyer?’” Zachem wanted to know.
“Because on my world, Tarn is the Destroyer. Our best warrior, by far. He’s untamed, and he excels in the art of war. Our own berserker, so it’s fitting he’s found you. A Dorvian berserker. Who could have guessed?”
“Talk about fate.” Tarn’s grin faded as he stared at Zachem, and a familiar hunger filled his gaze.
“Tarn, there is one thing.” Pyrgo quieted, and the two made eye contact.
Tarn frowned, and his stare turned darker. “No. Leave it alone.”
More silence.
“Fuck off, Pyrgo. Hell, I need a drink.” He turned to Zachem. “I need a break. Don’t let him bother you. He says something you don’t like, beat the scales off him.”
An odd turn of phrase, but Zachem appreciated the sentiment.
The moment Tarn left the bridge, he and Pyrgo faced each other.