by Shannon West
“Yes, you are,” Ryan said, sitting up to straddle him and run his hands down his sides. “My warrior prince.”
Mikos brought one hand down between them to clench Ryan’s cock, wanting to pleasure his mate. Ryan groaned, slipping into the warm heat of Mikos’s fist and arching his back as he drove his hips forward. But after a few thrusts, Mikos tried to pull him down beside him, and Ryan slipped away, reaching for one of the bottles on the shelf around the pool.
“Why don’t you relax and let me make you feel good? To show you how sorry I am for teasing you?”
“But I…”
Ryan picked up the bottle and uncapped it. “This is a soap I have made especially for me. Come closer, baby.”
Mikos gave him a little look at the endearment, but he came willingly enough. Ryan smiled at him. He rarely got in these kinds of moods, or at least it seemed there wasn’t as much time for them lately, so he knew Mikos would be more than willing to let him do whatever he wanted. Especially when it involved Ryan’s hands on Mikos’s body. Ryan moved to sit behind him with Mikos between his legs and poured a little of the soap in his hands. He scooped up some water to rub the shampoo on Mikos’s scalp, giving him a little massage along with it. Mikos groaned out loud and sank back into Ryan.
“Feels good.”
Ryan moved around to straddle his lap again and gaze straight into his eyes, still massaging his scalp. The soap smelled a little spicy and musky, not flowery at all, so he knew Mikos wouldn’t mind having the soap rubbed all over his body. He always said he enjoyed the feel of Ryan’s hands on his chest and stomach. Ryan wrapped his hand around Mikos’s by-now rigid cock, and Mikos gasped with pleasure. This close, his gorgeous mate’s scent was driving Ryan a little crazy, and no doubt his was affecting Mikos as well. They were bonded, so it would continue to do so until they mated properly.
Ryan felt wicked as he continued down to Mikos’s balls, which got the same close attention, and then Ryan was turning him around, rubbing more of the soap over his back and buttocks. He reached his crease and ran his fingers along it, finding Mikos’s hole and massaging the soap in gently, but thoroughly, with one of his fingers. He slipped in another finger, and began to massage and stretch him slowly. Mikos flinched and pulled away.
“What are you doing?”
“Just bathing you, baby. Don’t you like it?”
“It-it feels, um…nice, but I don’t think…”
Ryan leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t you want to make love to me?”
Mikos turned in his arms and put his hands on Ryan’s waist. “It’s not that. Of course, I want to make love to you. But not the way I think you want to. I’ll make love to you.”
Ryan smiled as he leaned back and raised himself to hover over Mikos’s cock. “It’s all good, though, isn’t it?”
“Better when I’m inside of you.”
Ryan leaned in to kiss him again. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Mikos groaned and settled him on top of him so he could ease his shaft inside him. Ryan’s hole clenched around him like a fist, and they both groaned together.
“Deeper,” Ryan cried out, and Mikos gave him what he wanted, setting up steady strokes, each angled so that it brushed over the place inside him that gave him so much pleasure when they made love. Ryan was making little whimpering sounds that he was aware of but couldn’t seem to stop and he thrust his cock up strongly into Mikos’s hard grasp.
Ryan undulated his body over his mate’s, pushing in Mikos’s cock deeper to make their bonding strong and solid. He lowered his hips back down as Mikos held him. Ryan felt his body clench and tighten around Mikos’s shaft. He cried out his name and came hard, the white spunk hitting his own stomach and Mikos’s chest. Mikos managed a few more thrusts before he was coming too. He arched his back as his cum shot into his nobyo, filling him with warmth. Ryan collapsed down on top of Mikos’s chest, feeling totally spent, and Mikos nuzzled his face against him. Ryan murmured softly in his ear, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, nobyo.”
Ryan whispered in his ear again. “Then let’s make another baby.”
****
Mikos looked down at the image in his hand and gasped. The young man in the photo he’d just received from the Lycan delegation was much larger than his little brother Larz had been the last time he’d seen him. This person looked like a full-grown man, but he was young. Mikos had been much the same at the age as Larz would be now. There was a strong family resemblance to Mikos and his brothers. So strong he’d actually thought he was looking at a picture of himself when the image first came across. If this was Larz, he had grown into a man during the four cycles he’d been missing—this was no longer a boy in any way.
The young man in the picture wore his long hair in thick, complicated braids all over his head, and wore almost no clothing, except for boots up to his knees and a short skirt-like piece that barely covered him. He was strong and broad and heavily muscled. Could this be his little brother? He was almost sure it was, but he had to show the image to Blake first, who had said he would know instantly when he saw the picture. Mikos admired his confidence, but he wasn’t so sure. Larz had been a teenaged boy when he left. A good-sized boy, but nothing like this powerful young warrior in the picture. He was as big as Mikos or Davos himself, and they were considered large even for Tygerians.
Mikos hurried down the corridors towards Blake and Davos’s quarters. He nodded at the guards as he swept past them and swung the doors wide, calling Blake’s name. Blake sat up from the bed where he’d lying as he fed the new baby a bottle, and Mikos noticed then that Ryan was sitting beside him. He gazed at Mikos coldly.
The fight they’d had that morning after Ryan had brought up having babies again had been epic, and ended when Mikos had stormed out, slamming the door behind him. It all had been over the issue of another baby, of course, with Ryan insisting he was going to have another child and Mikos, just as emphatic as he put his foot down and told him no, he wasn’t.
“Ryan,” Mikos had shouted. “Stop this. There’s too much danger involved for the male bearer. You told me so yourself! I won’t risk you that way! Especially considering your age!” The words were out before he considered what a touchy subject Ryan’s age had always been between them. Ryan was almost ten Earth years older than Mikos, and it was quite a sore point with him.
He’d had to duck Ryan’s fist and hold on to it. “Besides, you said you didn’t want to have another baby. You told me that if anyone got pregnant it would have to be me!”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I have a right to do that, don’t I?”
“Yes, your mind. But not mine! And I don’t want to risk you with more babies!”
“I want another baby! If you don’t want to give me one, then maybe somebody else will!”
Mikos’s voice had gone deadly quiet. “Let me make this as clear as I can, Ryan. If you ever had sex with another man, I would take great pleasure in killing both of you, and it wouldn’t be a quick death for either one of you!”
That’s when Ryan tried to hit him over the head with the bottle of soap, and then surged up out of the tub and stomped out of the room, snatching up his robes as he left. They hadn’t spoken since, and the fight had been almost four hours ago. The idea of another man with his nobyo was appalling. Grotesque! Every time he thought of his nobyo’s beautiful body—those broad shoulders and that muscular back, not to mention the perfect little ass, he grew livid at the idea of anyone else ever touching what belonged only to him. His human mate, with his pale, perfect skin, full, luscious lips and black, curly hair. Those high cheekbones that Ryan hated because they made his face almost too pretty—delicate perfection. Mikos sighed. He had some making up to do, but that body was all his, and he’d make sure Ryan knew it as soon as he saw him in their quarters later that evening. In fact, he might not wait that long. He stood glaring at him for a moment as he thought about rearranging his schedule.
“Mikos, did you need something, dear?” Blake was saying. “Oh! Is that a picture in your hand?”
“Yes, omak, I’m sorry,” he said, giving himself a mental shake. “The image came over and I copied it for you. Take a look and see what you think. Take your time and really look at it. Is this Larz?”
Blake took it from his hand and then his face grew so red so quickly that Mikos was alarmed. Ryan got up and came over to take the baby from him as Blake s
at trembling. Mikos stepped closer to the bed and put his hand on his shoulder. Blake stared down at the image for a long time, his breathing unsteady. Finally, he raised eyes brimming over with tears and said softly, “This is my baby, all right. My Larz. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
“But Omak, how can you be so sure?”
“See that little scar that bisects his eyebrow? That happened when Nicarr threw a lamp at him when he was nine years old. I thought we’d never get the bleeding stopped. Nicarr was so upset, but when Larz found out he’d have a scar, he was thrilled and Nicarr got jealous.”
Mikos smiled, because he thought he might remember that. It wasn’t the first time the two boys had a physical altercation, but it was one of the last times. His father had been furious and sat both of them down for one of his long “talks,” which had so terrified him as a child.
Ryan gasped and came closer to lean over and look at the young man in the picture. He turned to look at Mikos with wide eyes.
“He’s right, Mikos—this is Larz. Except for the braids, he looks almost exactly like you did on the day we first met. When can we go after him, Mikos? Can we leave today?”
Chapter Two
Four Cycles Earlier
On a ship in the distant K-8 galaxy
“That one, I think,” the buyer said, stopping in front of the young Tygerian male. Other captive Tygerians were stretched on either side of the young man and chained the same way, but he had ignored them and stopped only in front of this one. He turned toward the Farlian trader. “Name your price.”
“You have a good eye. This one is the largest and best of the shipment. He’s a fighter, though. It took four of my guards to subdue him. I think he’ll offer a great deal of pleasure to the man or woman who manages to tame him.”
The captive in question was young, but already heavily muscled and physically striking. His hands were secured behind his back, and he crouched on one knee, held in place by heavy chains around his wrists and ankles that were attached to iron rings on the deck of the ship. His long, richly burnished hair hung over his face. The buyer put a finger under his chin, causing the young man to snarl and jerk away, but not before snapping at the trader’s finger. The trader cried out, yanking back his hand, and struck the boy with his short whip. The boy never even flinched. He flicked his silky red hair from his face and lifted his eyes up to glare his hatred and defiance. The movement confirmed his Tygerian markings and gave the buyer a glimpse of his face, which bore a striking resemblance to the man the buyer knew to be his brother. It also revealed that the young slave’s face was as battered and bruised as his naked torso.
“Spare me your sales pitch,” the buyer said, turning toward the trader. “What’s his price?”
“One thousand kiticks, or a hundred diamond standard. A bargain at that price.”
The buyer was silent for a moment, staring down at the young slave. “No. Too expensive. I’ll give you six hundred kiticks, not an argive more.”
“But at auction he’d bring twice as much as I’m asking!”
“Perhaps so, but he’s not at auction, is he?” The buyer gave the trader a knowing look. “And you don’t dare take him to a public sale.”
The trader flushed hotly and shuffled his feet. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. And from the look of the bruises on your guards,” the buyer continued. “these Tygerians have been more trouble than they’re worth already. My offer is five hundred kiticks.”
The Farlian began to sputter. “B-but you just offered me six hundred!”
The buyer smiled. “And the offer will go down for every moment you keep me here wasting my time. Well, what will it be?”
“Fine,” the trader snapped, and the buyer reached into the side pocket of his jacket and drew out a fat purse. He peeled five bills off the wad inside and handed it over. The Farlian snatched it away with a bad-tempered glare.
“Take him then, and I wish you joy of him. He’s given us nothing but trouble since we took him!”
The buyer looked down at the Tygerian and saw a flash of the amber eyes glancing murderously up at him. Whatever the young man saw in the buyer’s returned gaze made him start struggling again, even though it cost him a heavy cuff from one of the guards to the side of his head. Those tilted cat-like eyes of his were savage, though he barely even registered the hit from the guard. He simply shook his head, breathing hard and still struggling against the bonds that enslaved him. The buyer studied him silently, this boy who was so regal in his bearing, even debased as he was. He was every inch the son of a king.
They’d been speaking Farlian, so he doubted the boy knew what they’d been saying, but it clearly didn’t matter. He was going to be difficult to handle, but the buyer had the means to do so in his pocket. Pulling out a small injector of the drug he used on his more difficult acquisitions for the prince, he leaned in and pressed the injector to the young slave’s neck. The boy jerked away with a ferocious snarl.
“He’ll be out in a moment or two,” the buyer said. He looked down speculatively at the young man, who was already being affected, a slight droop to his shoulders as he listed slightly to one side. “I’ll have my men come pick him up then and get him ready for transport. With any luck, he’ll be unconscious all the way to his new home in Laltana.”
****
In the kingdom of Herkos, on the far distant planet Laltana
Rasc Centarlo, who had once been the senior advisor of the Regent’s Privy Council, and who was now reduced to being a mere aide to the prince, stood in the doorway of the slave’s quarters, looking down at his newest acquisition with his mind racing. From the moment he’d seen this boy on the Farlian trader’s ship, he’d had little doubt that this was Prince Larz of Tygeria, the missing prince for whom everyone had been scouring the galaxies.
There hadn’t been much searching here in this quadrant, of course, or even in this entire far-flung section of space—they were a vast distance away from the Tygerian Empire and King Davos’s influence, and that was exactly the way they liked it. But Rasc had traveled a great deal, since the true king, King Janos, had returned from the wars to reclaim the throne kept warm for him by his younger brother, Tibiel, and it was Rasc who had learned of the new Farlian slave shipment and who had first brought news of the boy to the prince. News that had excited Prince Tibiel’s imagination.
Over one hundred and fifty cycles ago, when the great galactical wars first began between the Axis and the Alliance of Planets, the Herkon Kingdom had ignored the conflict and resisted all efforts to be drawn into it. Their king at the time, one of their current king’s great grandfathers, had refused to join either faction, preferring neutrality. It wasn’t until the reign of King Leanor, the late father of the current king and Prince Tibiel, that they had finally entered the war, siding with the Alliance. It was a fateful decision they came to regret.
A decade of war later, King Leanor had been killed in the bloody battle of Helios, and his son, Janos, then only fifteen years old, had been taken prisoner and put into a Tygerian prisoner of war camp. No word came from him for years, and there had been strong rumors of his death, in fact. His brother Prince Tibiel, younger by a year had been declared Regent in his father and his brother’s absence. He made plans for his own coronation, believing his older brother to be dead. Then suddenly, the war was over and word came that Janos was still alive, but being held in a prisoner of war facility until he signed the peace treaty. Janos had refused to sign it, even to get out of priso
n. It had made him a hero and a martyr to his people, but it was still another year before he finally came back home to claim his kingdom and his throne.
The Regent had proclaimed himself to be overjoyed—of course—and the coronation had proceeded with Janos crowned as the new king. Janos had been a changed man after his experiences, however. Moodier, with a much darker personality than before. And with an implacable, unrelenting hatred for all things Tygerian. So much so, in fact, that he had resisted all efforts at peace, and still steadfastly refused to sign the Alliance surrender.
With a violent shudder, the young Tygerian suddenly woke up and jumped to his feet. He glared around at his surroundings, still looking groggy and then snarled and took a swing at Rasc. There was nothing to worry about, though. He was securely chained to the wall behind him.
Kelan, the king’s slave master, came in to stand beside Rasc. He looked at the young man in some alarm. “I see he’s awake. So, this boy is to belong to the king?”
Rasc glanced over at Kelan and lifted one shoulder. “Yes. His Highness, Prince Tibiel, thought it might be an amusing gift for the king for his Naming Day feast. His Majesty has been resistant to taking a bed slave in all the time since he returned from the prison camps.”
“Amusing for him?” Kelan snorted. “That wouldn’t be a word I’d use. I wouldn’t guarantee the king will appreciate the gift. Not the way he feels about Tygerians. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if King Janos didn’t fly into a rage and kill him.” He angled a glance over at Rasc. “This wouldn’t be some kind of taunt from the prince, would it?” Like everyone else in the palace, Kelen seemed to know how much animosity Tibiel felt for his older brother. “Because, if that’s the case,” he said, “I’d rather not be involved.”
Rasc stared at him coldly. “You’ll do as you’re told. And I remind you, you’re speaking of the prince of Herkos. But no, there is no ill will involved in this. The prince simply thought it would amuse his brother to find one of the Tygerians he hates to use as his personal slave. Turn the tables on one of the arrogant bastards.”