Warlord's Mate

by Lily Graison

  The warlord sighed. She wondered if this type of thing happened often. “I’ve not the patience for much tonight,” the warlord said, “So get on with whatever it is you are here for.”

  To her surprise, the bat-like alien glanced at her. “You know why I am here.”

  Marcy stilled when the warlord placed a hand on top of her head, his fingers sliding through the curly strands of her hair. “Are you here for your own reasons or for Allok’s?”

  The bat-things mouth was a harsh streak across its face. “My master will have what is his.”

  “Is that right?” Jorrick sat up, both hands curling over the arms of his chair. “And what exactly does he think is his?”

  It looked at her again. “The master wants her.”

  Everyone seemed to look at her at once, even the warlord. She’d never been shy but with so many eyes on her now, she felt herself shrinking back, trying to make herself as small as possible.

  “And he sent only you to retrieve her?”

  Something in the eyes spoke of the bat-like things confidence. Or maybe it was the set of his shoulders. Surrounded by dozens of aliens in an enemy camp and he—she assumed it was a he—didn’t look the slightest bit afraid. The moment it opened its mouth, a spray of liquid shooting from its mouth to land on the warlords hand, she knew why. Smoke boiled from his skin on contact. The warlord was out of his chair in an instant, the long blade by his side shooting from the scabbard and quicker than she could track, the blade swung, the light from the fire flashing off the metal before something warm splashed across her face.

  She blinked and raised her hand to brush across her cheek but paused when the bat-things head rolled off its shoulders and hit the ground. Murmurs started at the edges of camp, multiple voices whispering to fill the air with a constant hiss of noise as the warlord slung his blade, blood splashing onto the ground.

  Jityria stepped into her line of sight a moment later and took the blade from him before darting toward the warlords hut. The warlord looked at his hand, his jaw clenching before glancing at the now headless alien. “Toss him in the pits. The others can have what's left of him.” He glanced at her, then the other females. “Go sleep. All of you.”

  The other females climbed to their feet. Marcy did the same. When the others started for the edge of the dais, she took a step to follow but stopped when the warlord grabbed her arm. “You will sleep with me.”

  Marcy’s heart skipped a beat when he motioned toward his hut with a small nod of his head. She glanced at the other females, watching as one by one, an alien in camp took them by the arm and led them to the surrounding tents and huts. She gave the warlord one last look, then stepped off the dais. At least she knew he would be the only one she had to service tonight. The others she wasn’t so sure about.

  Crossing camp to his hut, she looked back at him when she reached the doorway. He was still staring at her and her knees went wobbly as she pushed the leather flap that doubled as a door aside and stepped through the doorway.

  As usual, Jityria was there. She was at the far end of the room but turned to look at her. If the expression on her face was any indication, she was shocked to see her.

  “What do you want?”

  “Sleep.” Marcy walked to the center of the room and stopped. Was she supposed to sleep in the bed? She looked at Jityria, her face contorted into that same mask of anger she’d seen all day. “Which side of the bed does the warlord prefer?”

  Jityria made a sound deep in her throat, the alien version of, “yeah, right,” if she had to guess. “What makes you think you are to sleep here?”

  Marcy yawned so wide her jaw popped. “The warlord. This is where he told me to go.”

  That anger on Jityria’s face went nuclear at her words. She came at her so fast Marcy barely saw her move. She grabbed her by the hair, jerked her head so hard tears pricked at her eyes as she was thrown to the ground. “Then you sleep with the nekmit, sevit!”

  Marcy clenched her teeth, the words, “let it go,” ringing on repeat inside her head as she looked back up at Jityria. She was furious, but why?

  Jityria glanced at the bed, then down at her. The moment she did, Marcy knew why she was so angry. She didn’t get to sleep in the warlord’s hut.

  On any other day, she would have rubbed the fact in the bitch’s face but she was too tired and exhausted to bother at the moment.

  She sighed and looked at the bed. It was nothing more than a mound of furs and a crude mattress that was only a few inches thick. The entire thing only sat a few inches off the floor but it looked comfortable.

  Fur rugs and leather mats covered most of the floor of the hut. They lined every inch of space and Marcy crawled to the one at the foot of the bed before laying down and closing her eyes. Maybe if she ignored Jityria, she’d go away.

  She listened to every sound in the room, the harsh breaths from Jityria finally slowing to a normal pace before she heard her leave. Marcy lifted her head and looked toward the doorway. The leather flap was still swinging.

  The room was filled with pale orange light from what looked like some sort of rocks sitting in a bowl on a table butted up next to the wall. She stared at it as the events of the day replayed through her head. So far, it hadn’t been terrible. Nerve wracking and intense yes, but other than the aliens copping a feel during their meal, she’d been unmolested, clothed, fed and not hauled off to some aliens tent against her will. Of course, she’d been ordered here but if the warlord was going to use her, would he have not come with her?

  She didn’t have an answer and pushed the thought away. She’d worry about that when the time came, at the moment, she was so tired everything ached. Her eyes grew heavy again, her body relaxing muscle by muscle until her eyes finally closed as she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Jorrick stared across camp toward the pits, listening to those inside it fight over the remains of the Trisalis. The demon species is as vile here as they had been on other worlds he’d encountered them on. They were underlings who did anything for a price, even risk their life.

  He stared at his hand. A few small blisters marred his skin, the venom that damn thing spat at him burning his flesh on contact. He bit back a curse. He should have killed that demon slowly. Peeled his flesh off his bones one piece at a time.

  The noise in camp had died to nothing more than faint whispers. Jorrick stood and headed to his hut, a peculiar sense of anticipation filling his veins as he crossed the space separating him from it, his pulse, he noticed, beating faster than normal as he neared the door. He pushed the leather flap aside and stepped into the room, his gaze landing on the bed.

  The female wasn’t there.

  For a brief moment, an odd sort of panic caused that rapid pulse to skip a beat. He saw her foot on the rug at the end of the bed in the next second.

  He crossed to where she lay and stared down at her. Those red curls were spread out around her head, one hand tucked close to her face. She looked like a completely different person from the one he’d seen at the arena. That female had been afraid but standing her ground, regardless. For all her bravery, there were times he could smell the fear leeching from her skin. The stench of it called to some long buried part of him he wanted to ignore. It told him she needed to be protected. But if she possessed magic as the rumors said she did, she didn’t need him. Her fear could be nothing but an act in order to catch him off guard so he’d be damned if he played protector for her but—some deep buried part of his soul demanded he do it anyway.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to care whether she lived or died, or worry that she would come to harm if he wasn’t there, despite having claimed her in front of everyone, but, damn his soul, he couldn’t shake the feeling when he looked at her. Every time he saw her he wanted to keep her separate from the others. To keep her within hands reach and it was pissing him off.

  Blowing out a breath, he braced his hands on his hips and looked to the ceiling. Long minutes passed, and he curse
d himself for a fool before looking back down at her. She moved her head, her lips parting as she mumbled something in her sleep. Jorrick bent his knees and squatted by her side, lifting one of the long red curls by her face. He rubbed the strand between his fingers, the texture much softer than he expected.

  He watched her sleep until his legs started to ache, then stood. He should cover her. She had nothing to warm her other than the shirt she wore. A shirt that was his own.

  An overwhelming sense of—something—filled his gut. He didn’t want to care about her. Didn’t want to worry if she were cold or hungry but found himself reaching down and lifting her off the ground. She was warm against his chest. Small dots were sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and her lashes were long, her lips …

  Lips like that are meant for kissing.

  He pushed the thought away and carried her to his bed. She never moved when he laid her down and he let his gaze roam the length of her body. Her legs were impossibly long. The shirt had ridden up and barely covered those red curls he knew were between them and his attention was drawn there.

  He could take her—right now if he wished. She was his to do with as he pleased and if he wanted to fuck her until she was limp and unable to move, he could. Visions of him doing just that filled his head, but he pushed them away as quickly as they came. That’s not why she was here. She was for revenge, nothing more.

  But using her would infuriate Allok when he found out and that would be the best kind of revenge.

  Jorrick’s attention moved from her legs to her breasts, the shirt thin enough he could nearly see them through the fabric. How long had it been since he’d been inside a female? Felt the heat of another against his bare skin?

  His cock ached at the thought. Throbbed as he looked down at her in his bed. He could take her. She was his to do with as he pleased.

  She’ll betray you like all the others.

  The thought cleared his head in an instant. He scowled and pulled the shirt back down her legs, jerking on the furs and pulling them up to cover her bare legs then turned away.

  He stripped, tossing his pants to the stool by the table before crawling into the bed. The scent lingering on the females skin hit him a moment later. He pushed her mass of hair away from her face and reminded himself again what happened the last time he lost his head to a female. The anger returned in an instant and he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

  I should have left her on the floor.

  He laid in silence until the sounds in camp died, indicating everyone had turned in for the night. “Tomorrow she sleeps on the floor.”

  He rolled to his side, putting his back to the warmth of her skin and closed his eyes. Tomorrow … he’d put her in her place tomorrow and make sure she stayed there.

  A noise drew Marcy from sleep and she blinked into the darkness, disoriented. She heard a soft hum of voices followed by the occasional burst of laughter and remembered then where she was—in the warlord’s camp.

  His image filled her minds eye moments before she realized she wasn’t on the floor. The furs she lay on now were soft to the touch and held a scent that was purely masculine. In an instant, she knew she was in the warlord’s bed and felt the heat from his body against her back. He was spooned behind her, one arm draped over her waist.

  Her heart gave one mighty thump before her pulse started to race. Should she move? She tried to look over her shoulder at him but was afraid to wake him.

  She’d never sleep walked as far as she knew, but was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten into the bed by herself. Had the warlord picked her up and put her there? And if so, why?

  He stirred behind her, his face moving against her hair before he pulled her closer to him. Marcy’s breath caught, and she didn’t move until he settled again.

  Why was her life always so messed up? Ending up on a space ship, dropped in a hostile environment, then finding herself in bed with an alien who scared the shit out of her shouldn’t have surprised her. Her life had been depressingly fucked up before the aliens took her. The only highlight in her life had been her teaching job. It wasn’t much, but it was fun. Belly dancing was an art form most of her family scoffed at but she’d enjoyed it—and she was damn good at it, too. So good her ex-boyfriend had turned into a crazy stalker who had to have a restraining order taken out against him to keep him away from her studio.

  Of course, her talent for shaking her ass was all for nothing now. She doubted life on Prison Moon One would ever call for a belly dancing red-head who knew how to grab a man’s attention and keep it. Then again, one never knew when a hidden talent would come in handy, but she didn’t see how it would benefit her here.

  The warlord’s camp was primitive, their idea of a bathroom being nothing but a wooden box with a hole cut into it and a deep ass trench underneath it. At least someone had thought to erect make-shift cloth walls for privacy. She was just happy they’d let her use it. Being more or less a slave gave her captors no reason to see to her comfort. Her not sleeping out in the open should have thrilled her. That and her not being passed around by a group of aliens as their human-sized sex doll like the others were at the moment.

  But being in the warlord’s bed?

  He moved again, mumbling something against her neck before his arm moved, his hand sliding right between her tits. At least she still had her shirt on and it was still pulled down over her ass. She had no idea if he still had clothes on or if he was butt ass naked. She wasn’t about to check, though. With her luck, he wasn’t and her feeling around for his pants might wake him and give him the wrong idea.

  The noise outside finally died again and Marcy closed her eyes, resigned to stay right where she was, despite feeling as if she should move. Being in the warlord’s bed felt—

  You belong to him. Why would you not be here?

  She sighed. Like it or not, she was bound to his wishes and if he wanted her in his bed, then she’d be in his bed. There are worse fates than being the warlord’s personal concubine.

  Jorrick, she thought. He had a name, although she wouldn’t dare utter it around him. She’d not heard a single person call him anything but warlord all day so she didn’t think calling him by name was something anyone did. Fine by her. Using his name meant they were on more familiar terms and their relationship was perfectly clear. She was his possession and nothing more and apparently—he wanted her in his bed. Why he hadn’t woken her and demanded more was a mystery, though.

  When she’d been taken to the arena, she’d imagined all sorts of creatures crawling between her legs but none of them had looked like Jorrick did. For all his brusque ways, he was oddly fascinating, and she had to admit—if only to herself—he was damn good looking in a barbarian kind of way. His beard was too long for her liking but it wasn’t as if she had any say in his appearance. Or that it even mattered. He looked damned scary, and she had no doubt he was dangerous. One look at him told her as much. The predatory look in his eyes made her feel uneasy most of the time, not to mention those sharp ass fangs he had reminded her more of a vampire than anything else. Did they have vampires in space? She grinned. Space vampires. That was a sci-fi movie waiting to happen.

  Jorrick’s leg slid between her own and she held her breath, waiting on him to wake up. She could tell by the heat of his leg he didn’t have pants on and she wondered if underwear was a thing here. Probably not, which meant he was probably butt-ass naked behind her.

  Would this be her new normal? Sleeping in Jorrick’s bed, being spooned in the dark of night? It was oddly comforting, truth be told, for as scared as she’d been over the last however many week’s it had been since the aliens had captured her, she felt—safe. In this moment, wrapped in Jorrick’s embrace, she was protected and knew nothing could hurt her.

  Nothing but him.

  Chapter Five

  The second time Marcy woke, the room was lit with muted light. The warlord was also not pressed against her back. The relief she felt at that small realization
brought her head up. He wasn’t in the hut, to which she was glad. Regardless of enjoying being in that bed with him, facing him now would be embarrassing. What was she supposed to say to him? Did he expect her there every night? And if so, how long before he demanded more?

  Tossing the furs away, she rolled to the edge of the mattress. A soft crinkling noise and the shifting of things underneath her told her the mattress was filled with something dry enough to make noise as she moved. She didn’t see any hay fields on the trek through the woods so she assumed it was grass or something similar.

  Getting to her feet, she looked around the room, wondering what she was supposed to do. Her bladder told her it was find the bathroom but other than that, she had no clue what they expected of her every day.

  She crossed the room to the doorway and peeked out. It was early still. There wasn’t a soul stirring that she could see.

  Stepping through the doorway, she took a quick look around camp before heading to the make-shift bathroom she’d used the day before. The curtain was drawn over the front of it and she could hear noises she hoped to never hear again coming from behind it.

  She made a face and turned back, rounding the warlord’s hut before heading up the path to the pond. She found a bush not far off the path to take care of her business and since no one was up yet; she headed for the water.

  A thick fog hung over the pond. The sun was cresting the mountain; the sky painted in shades of blue and purple. The huge planet Prison Moon One orbited could be seen all day and night and was a constant reminder that she wasn’t on earth anymore, as did the two suns and moons, and as brutal as life seemed on this tiny slice of the universe, it was oddly beautiful.

  She waded into the water up to her knees, hissing at the cold temperature, then bent to scoop some into her hands and washed her face. When she was as awake as she could get without coffee, she headed back to the path but stopped when an opening in the rock caught her attention.