by Lily Graison
He waited for her to leave before turning back to Vikram who was staring at her as well. “I am here, Vikram, not attached to her backside.” Aris laughed. Jorrick shot him a look before turning his attention to Vikram. “What is happening on the border?”
His second in command straightened, his features hardening. “If I had to guess, I’d say the disturbance was Kr’Atek. If things happened the way I heard they did at the arena, he’ll challenge for the girl.”
“He had a chance to do that in the arena.”
Aris shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, but there he would have had to fight fair. Here, he can just stab you in the back and be done with it.”
Vikram nodded. “Kr’Atek is no doubt trying to win Allok’s favor by giving him such a prize in tribute.”
“Or,” Aris said, “Kr’Atek was sent to retrieve her as a test of his strength and loyalty.”
“I suspect he’ll be on our borders more so now that she’s here.” Vikram looked across camp in the direction the female had gone. “Bistran said there was not another among the captives as—different—as she is.” He faced him again, worry clouding his eyes. “Rumors are circulating.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“Some say she is of an old race and that she holds the power of magic.”
“Magic?” He looked in her direction. He’d not seen evidence of any.
Vikram shifted on his feet. “You claimed her.”
Jorrick’s spine locked tight. “I have.”
“Why?”
“You question me?”
Vikram inclined his head. “No, warlord. I just find it…unusual to align yourself with someone such as her.”
“As do I.” The mischief that always lingered in Aris’s eyes was there again, so was the same smirk he’d been hoping to never see again. “Consorting with soothsayers never brought good to anyone.”
“There’s no proof she’s anything other than she appears to be.” But now that they brought it up, he wasn’t taking any chances. Jorrick fought for very few females in the arena since gaining position here and of those he had, he’d never claimed one as he had the girl. He wasn’t even sure why he had this time. It may have been the way the men had stared at her when she walked into camp, their eyes roaming her body from head to toe. Some had wanted her instantly. He’d smelled their desire for her in the air and knew they’d tear her apart if he let them but she was his revenge. If he let his men break her, she’d be worthless to him so he’d afforded her the only protection he could think of. He’d marked her as his.
Aris braced his weight on one leg. “You could have just told them not to touch her. No one would have defied you.”
No, they wouldn’t have but—
“Allok will not like your claim on her.”
Jorrick looked at Vikram. “No, he won’t.” Maybe that’s why he’d done it—so when she did find herself in Allok’s hands, the warlord would not be able to look upon her and not see his mark. He’d know she’d belonged to him first and it would eat away at Allok’s pride more than anything. To know something he’d wanted was denied him. Something that would have been his had the one warlord he hated more than all the others had not stepped in at the last moment. And Allok would know he took her for no other reason than to keep him from getting her. That alone would rankle more than anything he’d done in the past.
The swell of pleasure at Allok’s rage gave him the first bit of happiness he’d had in more lunar cycles than he could count. Allok wouldn’t be adding the little red one to his harem of females, not if he could help it. He’d slit her throat before that happened—then he’d send him her rotting corpse and enjoy every second imagining Allok’s outrage.
“Come,” Jorrick said, putting the female out of his mind. “Show me Kr’Atek. I’m in need of a good fight. It’s been too long.”
Chapter Three
Marcy watched the warlord and two human-looking aliens almost as big as he was walk away, heading for the trees, the small orbs overhead following along with them. Apparently camp life wasn’t interesting enough for the viewers who paid to watch everything that happened here.
“That is Vikram, the warlord’s second in command and Aris. Treat them both with the same respect you show the warlord if you value your life.” Jityria gave her a slow look from head to toe. “And do not expect the warlord to afford you any special treatment. He shows none of the captives any sort of favor so don’t delude yourself into thinking you are special because he entered the arena for you.”
Marcy saw Jityria out of the corner of her eye. She was standing in the entrance of the warlords hut. She looked her way and didn’t miss the animosity on her face. “Are you usually this cranky or is it just me?”
Before Marcy could move, the woman raised her arm and slapped her face so hard, she stood there, stunned for a whole minute before turning her head back to look at her.
“You will speak when spoken to, do as you are told, and nothing more. The warlord may have fought for you, but do not mistake his motives.” She spread her arm in a wide arc from one end of the camp to the other. “You are no different from the rest of the females here. You are nothing but what the warlord says you are.”
The smug look on her green face rubbed Marcy in all the wrong places and that bad temper her daddy always accused her of having had her blood near boiling. “Okay. My mistake. I was under the impression this big ass bite mark on my neck said I was his.” She tilted her head left, then right. “I don’t see an alien hickey on you. What do you suppose that means?”
“That you are dead.” The smug look on Jityria’s face turned into pure glee as she smiled, showing a set of small pointed teeth set close together. “Once the others find out the warlord has taken a pet, you’ll be the most sought-after commodity on Prison Moon One. The other warlords will want you for no other reason than you belong to him.” She looked around the camp. “Once you have served your purpose, whatever that might be, the warlord will give you to his men as he has all the others.”
Marcy had only counted three other females besides herself and Jityria. Four women for all these men? No wonder they all looked so miserable. Well, Jityria didn’t. Maybe she was special to the warlord. It would explain her disdain.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She wasn’t aware she was looking at her in any particular way and shrugged her shoulders. “Just trying to figure out where you fit in in all of this. Are you head slave around here and that’s why you’re so bitchy or do you just not like me?”
Jityria snatched a handful of her hair close to the roots before she had time to blink and started dragging her across the camp to where the other three females sat around large baskets. The hold Jityria had on her hair was hard enough to draw tears to Marcy’s eyes but crying was the last thing she’d ever do around any of these—aliens.
Snickers from the males they passed by brought the anger back and she reached up to grab Jityria’s arm when the woman suddenly stopped, jerking her head so violently she wondered if she was going to come away bald.
Jityria pushed her hard enough she stumbled, then fell, the impact with the ground jarring.
“Help fill these baskets and do not move from this spot.”
Jityria walked away without another word, her steps quick and hurried as she headed back to the warlord’s hut. When the leather flap fell back over the doorway, Marcy looked at the others. Only one of them was looking at her, a female with pale blue skin who, even sitting down, towered over her. She glanced in the direction Jityria had gone before whispering, “Do not purposely rile her. She has reason to hate you and will see you punished in ways that do not leave a mark.”
Her aching scalp was proof of that. Marcy sat up, lifting a hand to rub at the side of her head. “Well, she’s been hateful since the moment I set eyes on her. I don’t think that’s going to change whether I’m nice to her or not.”
The blue alien glanced at the others. �
��That is because the warlord has claimed you.” Her gaze darted to her neck where the warlord had bitten her.
“You mean this?” She touched the still sore bite wound.
The woman nodded. “The warlord has not done so with any of the rest of us. I imagine him claiming you in front of so many will burn in Jityria’s gut until she no longer draws breath.”
“Why? Is she the warlord’s wife?”
Her brows scrunched as if thinking. “Wife? I do not know this word.”
“Uh, spouse. Mate.”
“Oh, well, no. The warlord has put Jityria in charge of the chores around camp and lets her see to his needs and this leads her to believe he will someday take her to his bed.”
Marcy raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t already?”
The alien who sat on the other side of the baskets finally spoke up, a tiny grin on her face. “No, and that is why she is so angry.”
This female had skin not much different from her own. It was pale and in certain places where the sun shined on her limbs, it looked as if her skin glowed or sparkled. If it weren’t for her pointed ears and thin face, she’d almost pass for one of those sparkly vampires from that book series that was all the craze a few years ago. Then again, if she would have had wings, she would have been a dead ringer for what she assumed a fairy would look like.
Marcy grabbed one of the short stools like the others were sitting on and pulled it over before crawling from the ground and sitting down properly. “So, Jityria wants to be the warlord’s main squeeze, and he’s giving her the cold shoulder. Had she been his favorite once upon a time and now isn’t? Is that why she’s so moody?”
The blue alien shook her head. “No, the warlord has not taken any of us to his bed.”
Marcy felt her eyes go comically wide and had a hard time relaxing her face. “He doesn’t sleep with any of you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The fairy-girl shrugged one shoulders. “We do not know.”
“Huh.” Marcy looked toward the trees in the direction the warlord had gone. “Does he swing the other way, then?”
“Swing? He does not swing at all that I’ve seen.”
Marcy laughed. It was the only time since she’d been separated from Sara that she’d felt the first bit of humor. “I meant, does he like men instead?” At their confused looks, she said, “Other males. Does he like to take it up the ass?”
All three women looked horrified. The fairy was the first to speak. “Males do not do such things.”
“Uh, yeah they do.”
The three looked at each other, then back at her. “Males do this where you come from?”
Marcy shrugged. “Well, yeah. Women, too.” Their expressions were still showing their shock. “You honestly have never heard of two men together before?”
“No. But I was taken when very young so perhaps it occurred and I was not aware.”
“How do they—” The blue alien stopped talking moment’s before her eyes widened. “Oh! Up the—ass.” The three exchanged another look, then laughed. “No. The warlord does not share his bed with another male.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” The third female, whose skin looked almost pink and had so far been silent spoke up, her gaze darting back and forth between the other two. “Do you suppose that is why Rikou and Wyvind insist on sharing that tiny hut together?”
The other two smiled, their cheeks darkening in a way that made Marcy think they were blushing.
Marcy glanced into the baskets. Thick wads of what looked like animal hides filled them. Leaning in closer, she got a whiff of the stench and sat back. “Ugh … What is that?”
“Drexum. Large beast with shaggy hides.”
Marcy looked at the blue alien when she spoke. “What are you doing with it?”
“Pulling out the wevolts.” She picked something from the lump of fur in her lap and held it up. A fat wiggly grub-like creature was pinched between her fingers. “They burrow down deep and eat the flesh. We remove them to preserve the hide.”
“I see.” Marcy looked into the basket again. “So I guess I’m picking giant, squirming lice from dead animal fur. Lovely.”
She reached for one of the hides and grimaced as it made a wet sound when she pulled it from the basket. It wasn’t a large piece, thankfully, but it smelled even worse up close. She gagged and had to take several deep breaths to keep from puking. The alien women laughed before going back to picking the wevolts hidden in the fur.
Marcy pulled the first one free and held it up. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
The blue alien picked up something by her feet and sat it between them. “Put them here.”
“Thanks.” Marcy dropped her grub-maggot into the small pot and went in search for another. “My name is Marcy.” She looked up after pulling another squirming worm free. “What’s yours?”
The blue alien opened her mouth to answer but held her tongue when someone walked by where they were sitting.
“You’re not here to talk. Do your job and keep your mouth shut!”
The three alien women stared down at their laps and didn’t say another word. Marcy sighed and went back to pulling the wevolts out of the animal hide while taking small glances around the camp.
The aliens here varied by species. She had no idea what they were or where they came from but some of them were terrifying to look at. She made sure not to make eye contact with any of them just in case they saw it as a sign she was interested in them.
A large circle filled with ash and half burned wood sat in the center of camp and just behind it, butted up next to the trees, was a raised platform. A chair large enough to sit two people sat in the center of it. A dais for the king? She snorted a laugh. This warlord must like being the center of attention.
Screams echoed across the camp moments before several shocked gasps filled the air. An alien standing a few feet away from them was suddenly lifted from the ground, his feet flying out from under him for a brief second before falling flat to his back. A large poll protruded from his chest and it wasn’t until the blue female at her side grabbed her arm and started dragging her away that Marcy realized they were under attack.
Chaos erupted in camp within seconds. Screams and shouts of anger rose to fill the air as Marcy ran with the other females to the safety of the trees behind the warlord’s throne.
They ducked down in the thick foliage. Marcy laid in the tall grasses for several minutes trying to catch her breath. The sky was filled with those small orbs that saw everything here, all of them hovering above the camp to record the fight. She raised her head to see what was happening and flinched as an alien next to the dais lost his head.
It was obvious some of the aliens in the warlord’s camp were fighters, while others were not. She had no idea who belonged to the warlord’s camp and who the invaders were so kept her head down as to not be seen.
“Why are we being attacked? Who are these people?” She looked to the other females when no one answered and saw them watching what was happening with the same shocked expressions on their faces that she was sure was on her own.
The blue alien crawled closer to where she sat. “I do not know why they are here. As for who they are, if I had to guess, I would say they are from the Alerrawia.”
“What is that?”
“Another clan. Their warlord is Allok.”
Marcy’s head swung her way. “There’s another warlord?”
“Yes. I know of three other warlords on Prison Moon One, but there are rumors of many more. Each oversees their own territory but they try to claim more on occasion. The warlord Allok has territory that borders our own, and he has been the cause of trouble for many lunar cycles. There is great rivalry between him and Jorrick.”
“And who is Jorrick?”
“He is the warlord who claimed you as his own but never call him by name. To you, he is simply, warlord.”
As if summoned by the mere mention of his
name, Marcy saw him through the trees. The long blade he’d had strapped to his hip was now in his hand as he swung it toward an alien nearly as big as he was. The clash of weapons, most primitive, echoed through the camp, as did the grunts and loud yells of battle.
Marcy sat up on her knees when the warlord moved out of her line of sight. She craned her neck until she caught a small glimpse of him. The blade in his hands swung with enough force it nearly cleaved the head from the alien he was fighting. The warlord raised a leg, his booted foot hitting the alien in the chest to kick him away before spinning on his heel to attack another.
As she watched the men in camp fight, she knew escaping was pointless. According to the blue alien, Prison Moon One was divided into sections and each ruled by a different warlord. As frightening as the warlord Jorrick was, what if he wasn’t the most brutal of them? The thought of someone scarier than him was terrifying but if Jorrick was the biggest bad on Prison Moon One—then he’d no doubt kill her for even trying to escape and he didn’t look like a, kill ‘em quickly, kind of guy. Like it or not, she was stuck—owned by a warlord who scared the hell out of her.
An alien she was still trying to see in the surrounding chaos.
An alien who was causing her pulse to race, despite her fear of him.
An alien who now owned her.
The fighting ended as abruptly as it had started and Marcy and the other females never moved until the aliens in camp started to make a noise she assumed was laughter.
She rose to her feet with the others and walked out from behind the warlord’s dais and surveyed the camp. Not much had been destroyed. One of the tents was leaning to one side and broken pottery and baskets lay strewn across the ground.
Several aliens lay unmoving, dead if the gaping wounds she saw on them were any indication. The aliens still on their feet were covered in blood and fluids in various colors but they all seemed to be laughing, as if the brutal fight she’d seen was nothing but a game to them.