Deceived

by Evangeline Anderson

  As he spoke the last words, he tugged especially hard on both nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure/pain through her entire body and shocking her to the next level.

  Suddenly, Anna was coming—waves of pleasure rolling through her like jolts of electricity. Her back arched as she pressed against her fingers and she heard a high, breathless moaning coming from somewhere and realized it was her making the desperate, hungry sound. Her pussy spasmed helplessly against the thick spreader inside her and she felt her honey gush around it, wetting her thighs with her own need and desire.

  Through it all, Dark watched her avidly, his bronze eyes trained on her face.

  “That’s right, baby,” he growled. “That’s right, make yourself feel good. Stroke that soft little pussy and make yourself come.”

  Anna couldn’t have done anything else even if her life depended on it at that moment. She made soft, desperate sounds as she rubbed hard against her throbbing clit. It was the first time she’d come in months—ever since Lazlo had sold her to Gorn. It was the first time she’d felt in control of her own body since she’d been sold too—and the first time she felt like she deserved the pleasure she was giving herself.

  It felt amazing.

  That’s right, she thought hazily as the pleasure finally began to ebb. I’m taking it back—taking back my body. Taking back what was taken away. Me.

  And then, moaning softly, she collapsed on Dark’s broad chest and began to weep.

  * * * * *

  “It’s all right, Anna. It’s all right—let it out. Just let it out.” Dark gathered her to him and cradled her to his broad chest. He knew through the use of his gift that she wasn’t really sad. Though she still felt pain and worry for the future, what was mainly coursing through her at the moment was relief—perhaps because she’d been able to reclaim a part of herself she’d thought was lost forever.

  Anna shook against him. “Sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled with sobs she was trying to hold back. “Sorry, don’t mean…to cry all over you.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, stroking her trembling back and shoulders and dropping feather-light kisses in her hair. “It’s all right—they’re just tears. Let them fall.”

  She seemed to take him at his word because she pressed her face against his neck and wept as though she would never stop. Dark held her and let her pain and worry roll through him, just as he had earlier when he’d told her to feel the emotions she’d had during the attack she’d suffered.

  That had been harder than just taking her worry for the future as he was doing now. Her pain when that bastard Lazlo had raped her had been very similar to Dark’s own pain when Mistress Hellenix had taken him against his will. It was pain upon pain—-agony piled on agony—the way it had been when he’d taken his brother’s sorrow for the loss of their mother on top of his own grief.

  A part of him had wanted to get up and leave the room at that point, to get away from Anna’s pain, which brought back his own in such vivid detail. But just as he thought he couldn’t stand it a second longer, it seemed he had heard a voice whispering to him.

  Be still, Warrior, it had murmured to him. Help your female to heal and I will give you the strength to endure.

  Strength had flowed into him and his resolve had hardened. Dark had closed his eyes and breathed through the pain—both his own and Anna’s—and finally, it had lessened. Now, he let himself breathe through her worry and doubt, her fear for the future and what Gorn had planned for her.

  I won’t let him hurt you, he swore silently, as he held her to him and stroked her trembling shoulders. Won’t let him have you, baby. You’re mine now—mine and I’m never letting you go.

  Almost as though she had heard his comforting words, Anna sighed deeply and stirred against him. Her sobs trailed off to sniffles and finally she took a deep breath and wiped her face on her black robes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last, looking up at him. Her soft voice was slightly hoarse with emotion. “I just…I haven’t cried since the first night Gorn bought me. And I haven’t come, either. I think maybe the one brought on the other.”

  “Not surprising.” Dark kissed her forehead. “Physical release often brings on emotional release. Feeling better now?”

  She nodded. “In all kinds of ways. I still don’t like what’s going to happen to me but, well, it seems a little more bearable now.”

  “What you fear is not going to happen,” Dark swore fiercely. “Gorn will not have you, Anna. You’re mine now—I claim you. I won’t let him hurt you or take you.”

  She looked at him doubtfully.

  “I’m sorry but…I just don’t see how you can stop him, Dark.”

  “Just trust me,” he told her. “And sleep in my arms tonight. Will you do that? I want to wake up beside you in the morning.”

  She blushed and looked down at her hands as she did when she was uncertain.

  “It should be safe enough, I guess. Gorn is so loud in the morning I’m sure he’ll wake us up long before he comes anywhere near my room.”

  “Come on then—let’s get comfortable.” Dark had already taken off his boots—he was wearing nothing but his trousers and the fake pseudo-skin he had on under them to cover his shaft. He generally preferred to take it off at night but he thought that holding Anna as they slept was worth the discomfort of leaving it on.

  Anna slid beneath the covers and was about to pull up her robe, which was still down around her waist, baring her breasts, when Dark stopped her.

  “Wait,” he murmured. “Can we sleep like this? I want to feel your skin against mine.”

  She blushed again—something that wouldn’t have been visible to anyone without his enhanced Kindred vision in the dim room.

  “If you want. I like to feel you against me too,” she whispered. “No one has touched me in such a long time.”

  “Then let’s touch each other,” Dark suggested, getting under the covers and pulling her to him. “Let me hold you, baby. Want to feel you pressed against me.”

  Sighing, she cuddled against him, pillowing her cheek on his shoulder and letting her bare breasts press against his side. Dark could feel himself getting hard again at the intimate contact. His balls ached but he didn’t care—he just wanted to be close to her, even if it was a sweet torture not to be able to touch himself and seek a release when he wanted to so badly.

  He kissed her forehead again and breathed in the warm, sweet scent of her hair and skin.

  Mine, he thought as he slowly drifted towards sleep. You’re mine, Anna, and no one else is going to touch you or hurt you ever again…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anna woke feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. Why was that? At first she couldn’t remember but then she felt a slow, steady movement under her cheek and realized the pillow she had her head on was actually Dark, breathing deeply. Then everything came back to her.

  Dark holding her and somehow taking her pain…then giving her pleasure… then holding her again while she cried. He’d been so patient—so tender. She wouldn’t have believed it was possible with a real man but clearly his programming made him incredibly sensitive and kind.

  He really is almost like a real Kindred, she thought drowsily as she rubbed her cheek against the silky-rough hair of his chest. She remembered her mom getting upset around her time of the month and Brex holding her while she cried. He was always kind and patient and never got upset with her. She’d used to wish she could meet a man who would be as good to her as her stepfather was to her mom, Anna remembered.

  Well, I did meet one but it turns out he’s a robot, she thought dryly. Not exactly husband material.

  Although really, why not? So what if Dark didn’t have the usual male equipment? He was sweet and handsome and wonderful. That was enough for her, she thought.

  But a robot can’t love you back, Anna, whispered the voice of reason in her head. It might feel like he does, but it’s just pretend.

  Well, she
didn’t care about that either, Anna decided. Considering the situation she found herself in, she could use a little pretending right now.

  She stretched and then cuddled closer to the big Replicant, thinking how amazing it was that whoever had created him had even included a heartbeat. She could hear it, slow and steady in her ear, as she pressed her cheek to his broad chest.

  She looked around the room and seemed to see it with new eyes. Her mom always said she felt better after a good cry and Anna had to admit she felt the same. She’d been bottling up her emotions—her pain and fear and hurt—for months now. Finally letting all of that out left her feeling as though a huge burden had been taken off her.

  Maybe everything will be okay after all, she told herself, although she couldn’t imagine how. Tonight she had to go to the banquet and be shown off to all of Gorn’s drewgs. That was going to be difficult but maybe afterwards she would be able to speak to the birth mother of the new Trollox heir and find out exactly what she could expect once Gorn… But she couldn’t let herself finish the thought—instead she hurried on, skipping over the worst part.

  As for being shown off to the drewgs, she would just have to endure it. She would take herself away into the past until it was over and then she would go find Dark in the kitchen and help out as much as possible until they could come home and sleep in each other’s arms again.

  And what about Gorn? whispered the little voice in her brain. He’s leaving for his week-long conference tomorrow. What if he decides to breed you before he goes?

  Anna pushed the thought away. It was possible but not likely. After all, she still wasn’t wearing the largest spreader—the one that was supposedly as big as the huge Trollox’s shaft. That made the possibility of being bred tonight remote.

  Well then he’ll probably do it when he gets home, whispered the nasty little voice.

  Anna ignored it. A week was a lifetime—a lifetime she intended to spend with Dark while she absolutely refused to think about the future.

  Everything was going to be okay and she refused to let herself imagine otherwise.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Listen up, you piss-ant sons-of-bitches!” Yark bellowed at his kitchen crew. He was even bigger than Gorn and he had two and half heads—or that was how Dark thought of it, anyway. The main two heads had separate necks and shared the body equally but the third head was little more than a face on the left upper side of Yark’s chest. It blinked and rolled its eyes and stuck out its long, slimy forked tongue as though tasting the air, but it never said anything.

  “Yes, Master!” The crew of about twenty cooks, all wearing white jackets and black trousers with a yellow stripe down the right side, came to attention. As one, they saluted Yark in what looked like a practiced maneuver.

  “This is Pretty Boy—the Replicant who planned the menu for tonight,” Yark roared, both heads shouting together. “He’s going to be head of the kitchen for the banquet tonight so you’ll listen to him and do as he says!”

  “Yes, Master!” they all shouted but Dark could see them eyeing him doubtfully. He winced inwardly as the crew looked him over. They were all humanoids of various species except for a couple of Gordles who had six muscular tentacles instead of arms and hands and a Yabbish who had knife-like projections coming from all nine of his fingers.

  They looked like an experienced crew and none of them appeared eager to work under a Replicant called “Pretty Boy.” Fucking Gorn, hanging a name like that on him!

  The Trollox in question was standing behind his friend Yark, rubbing his hands together as both heads looked on eagerly. Clearly this was a mark of status for him—an upward move in the ranks of his drewgs. Yark was obviously richer and better connected—or at least his private floating island was bigger and his mansion was twice a spacious and even more elaborately decorated.

  It was obvious that Gorn wanted to get where Yark was and envied everything the other Trollox had, including his new son and heir. Having Dark successfully plan and execute the menu for tonight’s banquet would give him a leg up in the Trollox hierarchy and get him that much closer to the top.

  “You’d better do good, pretty boy,” he’d warned on the way over as Dark and Anna sat silently in the back seat of his ship while he piloted. “If not, you’re the next thing going into the stewpot. Understand?”

  Anna had shivered and given Dark a frightened look from the corner of her eye. She’d been wearing a cloak over the new dress the Trollox had given her for the banquet and was draped in white instead of black for once. He wished he could take her hand and squeeze it, to let her know everything would be all right, but he didn’t dare—while the left head piloted the ship, the right head was looking back at them balefully.

  Dark had lifted his chin and answered stolidly.

  “Don’t worry, Master—the feast will be a success.”

  And it would have been for sure, if they’d had a better beginning, he thought, simmering with anger as he watched the kitchen crew he was supposed to head. Now he would have to fight—maybe literally—for their respect. Well, he’d headed rough crews before, he thought. He would just have to do his best and get on with it.

  Sure enough, as soon as the double metal doors swung shut behind the retreating Yark and Gorn, the crew turned to him as one and a tough-looking humanoid stepped forward. He was a Trine, if his double-pupiled eyes and buzz-cut purple hair had anything to say about it. His skin was pale purple too and his bare, muscular arms were covered with glowing sigil tattoos, burns, and knife wounds in equal profusion.

  “I’m head chef in this kitchen,” he announced, his single black brow drawing low over his double-pupiled eyes. “And I don’t take orders from no fucking Replicant. Especially one called ‘pretty boy.’” He spat on the floor and jutted his jaw aggressively, as though daring Dark to take him on.

  The rest of the kitchen crew laughed harshly and some of them made remarks like, “Replicants can’t cook. Fucking burn water if they tried!” And, “Who does he fucking think he is—fucking Replicant!”

  Dark didn’t hesitate for an instant. He had one chance to take control and this was it.

  There was a knife stand to his right. Reaching for it, he pulled out a long, sharp butcher’s blade. Before the male who had named himself head chef could do more than bug his eyes in surprise, Dark was in his face, fangs bared, aggressive as all Seven Hells.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded as he pressed the silver-carbon edge of the butcher’s blade to the other male’s throat.

  “Wh-what?” The double-pupiled eyes looked almost ready to pop right out of his head—clearly he wasn’t used to a Replicant acting like Dark was.

  “I said, what’s your name?” Dark demanded, pressing harder until a single drop of dark purple blood welled at the male’s throat and ran down the edge of his blade

  “T-targo,” the other male choked. “I’m Targo, head chef of Yark’s kitchen.”

  “Well, Targo, for tonight, I am head chef,” Dark announced, glaring at him. “And you and everyone else in this kitchen is going to do what I fucking say when I fucking say it!” He looked around at the other kitchen staff, who were all staring at him, dumbfounded. “If you don’t, we’ll all be fucked. This is a complicated menu and it’s going to require teamwork, not bullshit male posturing. Do you understand?”

  Targo’s throat worked, his double Adam’s apple bobbing nervously up and down below the sharp blade. At last he whispered, “Yeah, sure buddy—whatever you say.”

  “Not good enough,” Dark growled. “You will answer me with ‘Yes, Chef!’ That’s all I want to hear from you. Understand?”

  He pressed harder and more blood dripped down the blade as he glared into Targo’s ugly face with its glowing tattoos and burn scars. If he didn’t establish dominance with this male, he wouldn’t be able to take control of the kitchen and he knew it. Targo must have known it too because his face worked, his lumpish features moving between anger and fear as he fought to breat
h past the blade pressed to his throat. At last he nodded and muttered,

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “That’s more like it.” Dark eased up on the blade and then turned the knife and handed it to Targo, handle first. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the other male. “Clean this up—it’s dirty. I won’t have filth in my kitchen.”

  The other male’s face twisted into a fist of anger and he swiped at Dark with the bloody blade.

  Dark had been expecting this, of course. You couldn’t dominate a lead male in his own territory without some push-back. Quick as a wink, he had Targo by one thick wrist. Twisting hard, he forced the other male to drop the knife and then yanked his arm up behind his back until he heard an ominous sounding crack.

  Targo gave a cry and writhed in his grasp.

  “Hey! Let me go, you fucker! My arm’s gonna break, you keep this up!”

  Dark leaned in close, pushing his face into the other male’s, glaring at him.

  “I will break your arm,” he growled. “And both your fucking legs. Then I’ll cut off your fingers with that fucking knife you waved at me. Let’s see how long Yark wants you in his kitchen when you can’t stand to do service or use your knife hand for prep work! I’m betting you won’t last long—want to find out?”

  Targo glared at him, then dropped his eyes.

  “No,” he muttered.

  “No, what?” Dark insisted.

  “No, Chef,” the other male said in a low, angry voice.

  “Louder.” Dark growled. “I can’t fucking hear you.”

  Hatred made Targo’s face if possible, even uglier, but he raised his voice and shouted, “No, Chef!” which was exactly what Dark had been waiting for.

  “Good.” He released his grip on the other male’s arm and Targo rolled his shoulder gingerly, wincing in obvious pain. “Now, pick up that knife and wash it,” Dark ordered, pointing to where the butcher’s blade had fallen.

  Without comment, Targo lifted the blade and turned towards the sink. The set of his shoulders said he was still angry and he would probably stay that way. Dark could feel the rage coming off him in waves, even though he wasn’t touching him.