Zar

by Alana Khan

  “Patient C! Still not going to tell me your name?”

  He’s nothing if not always cheery and upbeat, speculum in hand.

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” I reply, equally congenial.

  “Well,” he says patting the exam table with his free hand. “I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’m Dr. Drayke sun Omron.” He bows. “And you?”

  “Anya Nash.” I do the most awkward curtsy this side of Orion’s belt.

  “You seem to be in one fine mood this morning, Miss Anya. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Well, I’m certainly not going to cop to the fact that I’m currently falling for, and getting well fucked by, my gladiator lion guy. “After yesterday’s near-death experience with the Marauders, I’m just glad to be alive.”

  He’s clearly surprised, and if I can read him correctly, perhaps a bit guilty. He knows I’m about to be sold into slavery, possibly pregnant with a child I had no agreement in conceiving, and then separated from it. I damn well hope he’s feeling huge gobs of guilt.

  “What do I call you?”

  “Dr. Drayke is fine, Miss Anya.”

  I still haven’t compliantly hopped up onto the exam table. “I’m assuming that wherever we’re headed isn’t going to be a bed of roses...a happy place.” I spear him with a piercing look. “Can you tell me why they kidnapped us?” I think I know, but I want to hear it from him.

  “Human females are considered excellent breeders. They conceive easily, and their DNA mixes well with many other species. Offspring tend to resemble the males.” At least he has the decency to look sheepish.

  I nod. “That’s pretty much what I thought.” I try to suppress the anger that coils in my belly. Kidnapped and taken far from home to incubate someone’s baby—this is so fucked up. I distract myself by asking, “Do you know what’s in store for us?”

  He almost pats the table, but I think he knows that ploy will never work. “Anya,” he sighs heavily, “you have to know I have no power on board this ship. I’m half a step above janitor. I’ve never been considered a full-fledged member of the team. They know,” he pauses, “they know I was tricked into signing my contract and don’t approve of what they’re doing. If they didn’t need me so badly, I think they’d have me in the brig along with all of you. I only overhear bits and pieces of their plans at dinner when they don’t think I’m listening.

  “I’m not sure you want to know what’s in store for you. Wouldn’t you like to keep your happy mood, even if it’s only for a few more days?”

  “No, Dr. Drayke, I don’t. I’m a realist. I want to know what I’m going to be up against.” Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea what level of hell awaits us all on Hyperion. But a part of me wonders if he might have some additional information. Another part of me wants to push him to say it.

  He stands still for a long moment, heaves a sigh, then launches. “You’re all going to Hyperion, a pretty despicable planet known for its...unsavory inhabitants. The men will be forced into the arena to fight in pairs—not to the death, mind you. But serious fights that will be wagered on. The captain will take a percentage of the book money, then sell the males to the highest bidder. Then…” he can’t maintain eye contact, “then sell the females, also.”

  “Sooo, get us impregnated, then separate us from our males and sell us to the highest bidder? Do you agree with this?”

  “I’ve already told you I don’t condone any of this. I abhor it. I will go to my grave regretting agreeing to this assignment. My Lord God Anteros will never forgive me for this, Anya. This is about the worst thing a Dacian can do, and definitely the worst thing a healer can do.” He stops and turns to look at the blank wall behind him. I know he can’t tolerate my angry stare any longer.

  “I would stop it if I could. I am powerless. I’m a healer, not a warrior. I’ve hardly slept since they brought you females on board. I’ve even thought of…”

  Is he intimating he’s thought of suicide?

  “Please.” Those deep-set piercing blue eyes are actually pleading with me. “Let me do your exam.”

  I hop up on the table, totally compliant. This male is in emotional agony. Truly, I need say nothing to make him feel worse; I think he is punishing himself quite competently on his own.

  “Shower?” I ask, knowing he won’t deny me.

  “Absolutely, Miss Anya. Please be brief.”

  ~.~

  As soon as the lights go out I attack Zar. There are definite benefits to sharing a tiny bunk with the galaxy’s sexiest lion-man. Every time we come together, it gets hotter.

  Because the ship took a hit, I assume fixing the overnight lights in the cell block was a low priority. There’s one small light at the end of the hall, so it’s almost pitch black in our cell. This makes me way more comfortable with what I want to do.

  I’m pretty sure Zar can smell my arousal, because I hear him quietly untying his loincloth as I remove my clothes. We're both standing, facing each other near the bed. His hands skim up from my waist to the swell of my breasts. He rests the weight of them in the palms of his hands. I hear his sharp intake of breath. My body is already responding, feeling tight pinpricks of need in the pit of my stomach—and below. Not only does his touch set me on fire, but the sound of his breath hitching, knowing I have this effect on him, escalates my own desires.

  He thumbs my nipples, back and forth, slowly. I respond with the softest possible “Mmmm,” released from the back of my throat as I tip my head back. He plucks my nipples, hard. Each tug sparks a current of electricity from nipple to clit. My core clenches—I know I’m already damp in preparation for what’s going to come next.

  Slipping his hands around my waist, he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. I tighten my legs around his waist. Oh, this is interesting. I feel his soft fur brushing between my legs—what a sensual sensation. My clit rubs against his velvety pelt. I press my breasts against his furred chest and a blast of lust throbs in my clit. The sensation is so erotic, so unique. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  His hard cock bobs against my backside. He’s definitely ready for action, but he seems content right now just to kiss me. Long, deep, lingering kisses. His tongue presses between my lips and into my mouth. It’s as if he’s charting new territory, getting to know every intimate detail of me—the roof of my mouth, the scrape of my teeth, the texture of my tongue. And then the tip of his tongue spars with the tip of mine. I hadn’t realized how many sensitive receptors are on that area, but my nipples tighten even more, and dampness leaks from my core.

  He withdraws from my mouth and moves to the curve of my neck, kissing and scraping so gently with the points of his sharp canines. “Yeah, that spot,” I urge him. He takes direction well because he gives endless attention there. His hot breath mixed with that raspy tongue and those abrasive teeth make me impatient.

  “Here?” He breathes, then puts his palms on the globes of my ass and presses me against him even harder. My core is spread open against his belly. I’m certain he can feel my wetness through his fur. I writhe on him. Scenting him with my liquid, my passion.

  This is the exact moment something unleashes in me. I feel primitive. The soft kisses and caresses that satisfied a moment ago are gone. I’m ramped up, like a feral animal. I bite his neck, where it meets the muscles of his shoulder, scraping the tendons with my teeth.

  “Do you smell me, Zar?” I breathe warmly into his ear. “Can you smell how hot you make me? Can you feel just how much I want you? How ready I am?”

  “I smell you, I feel your wet heat.” His words are whispered, slow, as if he can barely pay attention to anything but his body—and mine.

  He shifts me in his arms, moving me away from him slightly, and further down his body. When he snugs me back against him, my clit and dripping slit are now riding his engorged cock. He slides me up and down him.

  “Oh my God! Fuck! So good, Zar.” My nub pulses in excitement. Once or twice more of that particular move will
make me orgasm right here.

  “I’m so open for you, Zar. I want to give you all of me.”

  My hands are mindlessly roaming from the rock-hard ropey muscles of his shoulders to the indents on the sides of his firm ass. I press him to me even more tightly. The root of his cock bumps my slippery clit. I can hardly bear the desperate desire I’m feeling.

  “You’re killing me, Zar. I’m so empty. Fill me.”

  “I’m in charge, Little One. I’m going to kill you slower.”

  I tip my head back, panting in need. I push his head down. I want his mouth, those fangs, on my breasts, my nipples. He instantly obliges, dipping his head to focus on a pebbled peak, sucking and scraping with his blunt front teeth. Softly at first, then a bit harder until I begin to lose my mind.

  He opens his jaw wide so his fangs are fully exposed. I can feel what he’s doing more than see it. His long, sharp canines, two top and two bottom, capture the side of my breast. Not hard. I know with one hundred percent certainty he is not going to hurt me. The points of his teeth scrape along the tender skin of my breast—like four exquisite pinpricks—then move from the swell of my breast to the tip.

  It is the borderline between pleasure and pain. I wonder if he’s left a mark. In the darkness, I imagine four thin lines of blood trickling along my pale skin. I have no idea if I’m bleeding, but the idea feels totally erotic to me. I’ve been so independent my entire life prior to this. The idea of being marked by him consumes me. He closes his mouth and licks me—four times, slowly—along each of the lines his teeth just made.

  My pussy is clenching and quivering. That little moment when you’re almost over the precipice into orgasm and every fiber of your being is hurtling toward release.

  When he pulls away, I hope we’re moving the playing field to the bed. He lays me down and with feline grace, he practically dives between my legs. I’m so wet and ready, I don’t want slow and sweet, I want hard and fast. He licks his finger and slips it between my legs. He circles my clit, instantly ramping up my desire, then slides his finger into my wet core. That lovely finger begins a slow rhythm and is soon joined by a second.

  I grab his shoulders for leverage and thrust my hips up to receive more pressure with each powerful drive. His fingers move inside and soon he’s hitting my G-spot in a quick rhythm. My orgasm comes barreling down with the force of a hurricane. My fingernails rake his back, breaking skin even through his fur. My inner muscles clamp down in endless waves on his fingers.

  He barely gives me time to catch my breath when he thrusts his cock into me—all the way to the hilt in one forceful move. Oh, cock trumps fingers any day! I love the feeling of being stretched, accommodating his girth. He begins pumping, at first horizontally against me, then adjusting himself until his length and pubic bone hit me just right and I spiral into hyperdrive.

  “Oh God,” I whisper. “Right there.” He needs no instruction; it’s more like high praise. It doesn’t take many thrusts before I’m over the top again, having another powerful orgasm, my internal muscles vigorously milking his cock. My inner muscles clench and release endlessly. Their rhythm slows, and just when I think the peak is over, he almost imperceptibly changes his angle, increases his pace, and I’m overcome with another wave of violent spasms. He must realize I won’t be able to physically tolerate another iteration of this, because he bends toward me and presses his lips to mine just as he reaches his release. Forcefully thrusting a few more times, he allows a soft grunt to escape his lips, then lays on top of me.

  He’s careful to keep most of his weight on knees and forearms—just enough for me to feel covered and safe. He snuggles his face against my neck, and my attention moves from the delicious aftershocks of my inner walls still clenching to the fact that his whiskers tickle.

  I giggle and move to scoot out from under him. When he realizes what’s going on, he puts more weight on me and deliberately scruffs my neck with them. I giggle some more. We play this silly game for a moment more until he slides his back to the wall and pulls me close. I only have a moment to reflect on the amazing, life-changing sex we just exchanged in this little cell, then fall asleep.

  ~.~

  Anya!

  It’s Tyree, I don’t know how long she’s been calling me. I blush a bit wondering how much of our lovemaking she’s been aware of.

  Yes, I’m awake.

  Good news! She sounds over-the-top excited.

  What?

  I’m right outside your cell. It’s probably time you introduce me to Zar.

  I peek through the bars and see her tiny form in the shadows. I put my finger over Zar’s lips so he doesn’t make noise when I awaken him. “Zar,” I whisper, “Tyree is here.”

  His muscles instantly tighten, going into emergency mode until his brain comprehends my words, then he follows my gaze and nods.

  “Can you hear her talking to you in your head?”

  He stills, head cocked slightly as he listens intently, then shakes his head. “I hear nothing.”

  What’s the news, Tyree? I ask.

  I got the captain to eat Sillerian worms.

  I have no response to this.

  You have no idea how big this is, Anya. The captain hates Sillerian worms. He will rant about how awful they are and how he can’t understand why they’re such a popular delicacy across the solar system. I not only had him eat the worms, I also had him ask for seconds. He’s in his bed right now moaning in agony. Those worms don’t agree with him. Tyree sounds triumphant.

  This is huge! I agree. If you got him to do that, do you think you can force him to turn our collars off?

  Yes! Yes, I do. She gloats, then her tone changes, I don't know how long I can sustain it. But I can do it.

  That’s the best news I’ve had all day. I pause to fill Zar in on the conversation.

  First Axxios and now this, our two biggest problems have both been overcome. I’m more confident than ever.

  Tyree steps out of the shadows, and I look at her for the first time since we met the night of my arrival.

  “Tyree, are you sick?” I whisper.

  Why do you ask? She inquires in my head.

  It’s hard to see in the dim light, but your features seem...different. You seem different. I can’t put it into words exactly; I’m unable to put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just the shadows, I hedge.

  I’ve been feeling...odd. My psychic powers have grown by leaps and bounds recently. Other things have felt weird, too. I’ve been achy. I really have no idea what’s going on.

  Have you talked to Dr. Drayke about it?

  No. Perhaps I should.

  I fill Zar in on this final part of our conversation after Tyree leaves. He seems concerned about her, worried her health might affect the rebellion. My brows knit in worry; I can’t help but brood about it. Not only do I care about her, but her health is integral to our revolution.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tyree

  I take seldom-used back hallways on my way to the captain’s room. I know every hidey-hole and storage area I can dodge into in case someone sees me. I have no room or even bunk on this ship. I’m just a pet who lives in the captain’s room, a thing to be tolerated. On the other hand, my non-status gives me a lot of freedom of movement and almost no expectations from the crew. Gods forbid, though, if I’m not available for the captain when he has use of me.

  I jump to place my palm on the touchscreen lock to get into “my” quarters. I scramble into the bathroom and climb up to sit on the sink in order to look into the mirror above it.

  The sheer panic in Anya’s voice forced me to quit ignoring my own inner warnings and take a good look at myself. And oh my, she was right. Something is off, way off. I balance on my knees, one on each of the narrow edges of the sink. Kneeling, I lean closer to the mirror and inspect my face.

  The normally rounded, almost cherubic look of my cheeks is somehow more angular. My chin is slightly more pronounced. My jade green eyes look dull and have almost lost t
heir glow from within. This confirms my recent feeling that I’ve developed a low-grade fever.

  I jump down from the sink and quickly shuck my leggings. Holy drack, my usually childlike thighs and calves are taking on muscular definition. My hands look...bigger.

  Completely distracted, functioning on impulse, I drag my clothes back on my body, almost pulling my pants on backward. It can’t be happening. It just can’t. My stomach clenches and seems to sink.

  It’s funny how a person can think they are sane and calm and reasonable, and believe it all their life until faced with a reality they don’t want to accept. I’ve been acting like a delusional schoolgirl these past few days avoiding the obvious.