Creations Collection 2: sci fi alien romance

by Marie Harte

  “So, Beast,” Pyrgo said with a good-natured grin. “I think you and I have a few things to discuss.”

  Zachem looked over his shoulder at the empty doorway. “Yes, we do.”

  18

  Pyrgo studied him with a smile. “You’re perfect of face and form. A true fighter, a berserker, even, and he finds you. Talk about having all the luck.”

  Zachem took the compliment as intended. He smiled back. “Yes, isn’t he lucky.” The lout had managed to trick Zachem into forty-five standard days of servitude. The notion thrilled Zachem deep in the places he wanted to deny existed.

  “You know, my kind can see the energy patterns in others. Now take you. You’re large, strong, and practically seethe with an aggressive power threaded with health and a strong need for sexual contact. When I look at Tarn, I see exactly the same thing. Except he’s missing a vital part of him he’ll never get back, not on his own.”

  “What?”

  “I think Tarn’s been injured in some way,” Pyrgo said carefully. “Outwardly, he looks fine. I’ll admit, that trick you pulled with the crystal earlier, when you healed him? It shifted his shei for just a moment, but then his energy returned to that lesser stasis.”

  “Shei?”

  “What we call a person’s essence, his soul. What makes us all unique.”

  “Shei.” Zachem nodded. He’d seen something similar when under the crystal’s influence. And he’d always felt more around others, a sense of potential he summed up in his opponents. Their shei, according to Pyrgo.

  “Our Destroyer is a powerful warrior. He saved our world more times than I can say. Just his presence on the battlefield could turn the tide in our favor. Our brethren believed they couldn’t fail with Tarn around. Unfortunately, we started to learn diplomacy.” Pyrgo made a face. “Those like Tarn found themselves no longer needed as much.”

  “So they pushed him aside after his service?” Zachem’s anger on his lover’s behalf surprised him. So intense, as if he’d been wronged.

  “Not at all. They tried to mold him into something different, something Tarn isn’t equipped to do.”

  Zachem couldn’t imagine Tarn failing at anything. “What was that?”

  “Warrior instruction.” Pyrgo grimaced. “He was terrible. No patience at all.”

  “Ah.” Zachem chuckled. “He was the same way in The Pit. Nearly strangled a few of the new slaves instead of showing them how to work chokeholds.”

  “That sounds about right.” Pyrgo laughed, and Zachem saw the guard in a new light. Somewhat handsome, good-natured, but not as overwhelming as “The Destroyer.”

  “You two really aren’t slavers.”

  “We really aren’t. I serve my empire, as does Tarn. But Tarn works in your star system. I trust you with this knowledge because Tarn trusts you.” He blinked, and then those alien, reptilian eyes blinked at Zachem. Further proof Pyrgo and Tarn were the same. “I’d hate to be wrong about you, Zachem.”

  “You aren’t,” he said quietly. “Being a Creation is an automatic death sentence. Why would I wish to harm the men who set me free?” Or at least, one of them had. The other insisted on servitude.

  “There is that.”

  “Who exactly are you? What are you?” Zachem wanted to know.

  “We’re a people who need to adapt to change if we’re to survive,” Pyrgo said with a sigh. “Since Tarn and I aren’t mated, we’re—”

  “To each other?” Zachem asked, incredulous. Just because he hadn’t sensed their attraction didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  “Of course not to each other. Hell no. I meant that each of us has not yet found a mate.”

  The relief Zachem felt made him feel foolish. What should he care about Tarn’s relationships? He barely knew the male aside from sex.

  Pyrgo smirked. “No, Tarn isn’t mated to me and never will be. I sense that he’s taken a great interest in you, however.”

  “We fuck. Yeah.”

  “It’s more than that. Your sheis complement each other. He’s a powerful warrior. He needs an equal, someone to make him work for what he needs.”

  Zachem snorted. “If the dick would fight me for real, I’d show him how powerful I can be. I know I can beat him.”

  “I’m talking about more than the physical, Zachem.”

  “Oh.” What did he say to that?

  Pyrgo glanced at the doorway and lowered his voice. “Tarn would kill me for saying this, but I think he needs you more than he knows. You challenge him.” He paused. “Let me ask you something. When you and he are together, does he spill inside you?”

  Zachem didn’t want to talk about this, but he sensed Pyrgo wanted to know for more than prurient interest. He fought to conceal his discomfort with the conversation. “Yes.”

  “To be clear, he’s spilled his seed in more than your mouth, but your honet as well. Your rectum,” he explained.

  “Yes.” Just thinking about it had Zachem hard.

  “Has he bitten you while doing this?”

  “He bites me all the time.” Zachem huffed. At Pyrgo’s surprised look, he said, “You can’t see them because I heal quickly. But Tarn’s got a thing for roughing me up.” He didn’t want to ask but couldn’t help himself. “Why do you want to know?” Was he like that with you too? Pyrgo had said they weren’t mates, but had they ever been sexual partners?

  “Damn. Tarn’s sick, all right. He needs you to finish—”

  Tarn re-entered the bridge and stopped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He frowned. “Zachem, why are you so flushed?”

  Pyrgo quickly answered, “Because he told me he’s tired of answering my questions about being a Creation. I think he’d much rather deal with his czeva, no?”

  Tarn narrowed his eyes.

  “Wait a minute. You call me that all the time. Doesn’t that mean servant?”

  Pyrgo’s eyes widened. “I knew it. You did it. Or at least, half of it. You idiot.”

  Tarn crossed the room and threw the punch so fast Zachem barely caught sight of it. Pyrgo took the blow to the face and collapsed like a stack of vid chips.

  “Why did you do that?” What did Pyrgo say that put you on the defensive so fast? And why haven’t you told me you’re ill?

  “Don’t worry. We’re on autopilot, and the sensors are set to detect enemy ships if they get with forty klykks of us. Now help me get him to his room.”

  Zachem and Tarn carried Pyrgo into a nice, utilitarian room and dropped him on the bed. Zachem said nothing as he followed Tarn across the hall into another room. This one was slightly larger, with a bigger bed. Funny, but every bed looked large enough to accommodate Tarn.

  “Your people are large, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. We are.” Tarn gave Zachem a look he couldn’t miss. “I’m sore, I’m tired, and I’m hungry, but not for food. Take off your clothes, czeva.”

  Zachem stripped. “Eventually, you’re going to tell me what that means.”

  “What that means, Master. Ah, you see that? Just the mention of who I am to you makes you so hard. Look at my beautiful cock,” Tarn murmured, staring at Zachem’s dick. “Grip it, touch my cock.”

  Zachem took himself in hand, simultaneously pleased and horrified he derived such pleasure from Tarn claiming his body and owning it.

  “Good. Now stop.”

  After Zachem let himself go, Tarn said, “The Creations I know were never allowed to give themselves pleasure. Were you?”

  Stunned to find Tarn knew that small detail, Zachem shook his head. “No, we weren’t.”

  “But I’m your master. If I tell you to come, you will. It’s that simple. And do you know why? You want to be led. You think it’s wrong, that it makes you weak.” Tarn continued, ignoring Zachem’s denial. “But it doesn’t. You really need to talk to Ryen. He’s almost as big as you are. A real pain in the ass, and thankfully, not mine. It took my nephew some time to break him in, to allow Ryen to feel pleasure in submission.”

  “How do
es serving another make you strong?” Zachem sincerely wanted to know. “My whole life I’ve been serving others, and it’s never felt all that good.” Except, so far, with you.

  Tarn lifted a brow in challenge. “Not good, hmm? So begging for pleasure, to feel the slide of my cock inside you, filling you up, isn’t good? Trembling from the aftershocks of an orgasm your master forced you to feel, that’s not good either?” Tarn undressed. He stood before Zachem, completely naked and aroused. “I think my beast needs another lesson. Come here.”

  19

  Sitting in a large metallic chair, Tarn spread his legs and held his shaft out.

  Zachem approached and stopped, simmering with anticipation. He was so hard right now, so aroused it shocked him. How did Tarn get to him like this?

  “Grab the items on the table there and bring them to me. Then step between my legs and bring that cock to my lips.”

  Zachem did as commanded. He handed Tarn the small jar and a long, thin rod of machenite. To his consternation, it felt soft yet hard, like Tarn’s cock.

  “You’re thinking too much. I want you to relax, czeva. Listen to my voice. You trust me not to hurt you at least, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do what I tell you without thinking about it. Respond with automatic obeisance. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Tarn slapped his ass hard.

  “Shit. What did you do that for?”

  “Don’t try, do,” Tarn growled, and Zachem glanced down, duly chastised. “Now, can you do that?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Very good.” Tarn rubbed his ass and placed a kiss on the tip of his cock.

  He hissed in response, wanting badly to shove hard between those lips.

  “I want you to fuck my mouth until I pull away. And you must tell me before you’re about to come.”

  Zachem blinked in surprise, having expected something else. His master wanted to suck him off? Ready to obey, he gladly pushed the head of his cock between Tarn’s slick lips.

  The feel of Tarn’s mouth around him skewed everything but the pleasure spreading through his body. Tarn’s hands crept over his hips to his ass. Petting then teasing his crack as Tarn’s clever fingers stroked closer and closer to his hole. But it was Tarn’s mouth that tore down every wall trying to hold back Zachem’s growing love. When Tarn touched him like that, he could feel the clear affection flowing from him.

  “Yes, damn.” Zachem groaned. “You make me so hard. I love the way you touch me.”

  Tarn grunted but didn’t stop sucking him. He let go of Zachem’s hips, fiddled with the jar, then pushed a slick finger inside him. The suction increased, and Zachem nearly lost his mind.

  Tarn released him from his mouth and continued fucking his ass with one, then two fingers. They withdrew, and the rod of machenite entered him, the fit so snug, just like Tarn.

  By the stars… Zachem fought not to come.

  “You see, czeva. A true master takes care of his pet,” Tarn rasped. “What makes you feel good makes me feel good. It’s my duty to bring you pleasure, and serving me brings you pleasure, does it not?”

  The bar surged deeper, grazing that trigger inside Zachem that nearly set him off. “Oh yes, please. Fuck, I need to—”

  Before he could finish, Tarn was there, taking him deep to the back of his throat. Zachem couldn’t help it. He pushed hard, widening his stance as the rod and Tarn’s fingers caressed and tortured him with ecstasy.

  He came on a shout, unloading into Tarn’s blissful mouth.

  His master took it all, and the sudden shame Zachem felt by being selfish made his eyes burn. He’d found pleasure while Tarn sat, still erect and hurting. Emotions churned—confusing guilt, shame, and the always present desire.

  Tarn released him and withdrew the bar. When he saw Zachem’s distress, he tugged him to his knees. “You did nothing wrong, czeva. No tears. You did as I commanded, didn’t you?” He stroked Zachem’s hair until Zachem’s tumult eased. “This is what you should feel. Nothing but bliss. You surrender to me. Give me everything, and I’ll always take care of you.”

  Zachem blinked, stunned at the wealth of feeling in Tarn’s voice, in his gaze.

  “But you didn’t come.”

  “No, but you did. I know how to please you, and that affords me much more than physical satisfaction. Watch me.” He gripped his thick shaft and jerked off, releasing onto his belly with a low groan in just a few strokes. “This is easy,” he said thickly. “I touch myself, I come. A physical release. What I gave you, what you give me, is so much more.” He sat quietly for a moment. “What would you like to do now?”

  Zachem didn’t know what to say.

  “Tell me, Zachem. Never be afraid to tell me what you’re feeling. We need to have truth between us.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Zachem needed to know. “In The Pit, you were a dick. But now you’re acting like—”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know. Like you care.”

  “Maybe I do. You weren’t the only one playing a part back there. You’re so much more than a brutal fighter. And I’m much more than a slaver stupid enough to be caught and thrown into The Pit. Again, I ask, what do you want to do now?” There was a firmness in his tone that hadn’t been there before.

  “I want to—” serve you “—tend to you. To clean you.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat, wondering how this could be so wrong when it felt so right. “Master.”

  Tarn’s smile erased the doubt from his mind. “I’d like that.”

  Zachem felt an answering joy and let himself experience it as he left to find something to clean Tarn. To clean his master.

  Tarn waited until Zachem left before he sagged in the chair. He felt weaker than he should have after that explosive climax. But it had been worth it. Seeing the pleasure on his mate’s face made up for the growing weakness in his shei.

  Though he hadn’t known Zachem all that long, he instinctively knew the male was his. Between the things his mate had told a lost threll in the lonely hours of darkness inside The Pit, and his struggle to find himself outside enslavement, Zachem showed more courage and strength than anyone Tarn had ever met.

  How could Tarn not want such a worthy partner by his side?

  The question then remained, how could he convince Zachem to stay with him? If he released his mate from their bargain now, Zachem would flee and try to resist his natural urge to submit. Until he accepted the part of himself that had been Created to serve, he’d never find any peace. And as Zachem’s mate, Tarn could not allow that to happen. So the charade of forced servitude would have to continue.

  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 Tarn 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, though it had taken him time to admit the truth.

  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 intensi
ty. 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 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.