Warlord's Mate

by Lily Graison

  He’d thought the same thing—well, when he wasn’t wasting his time thinking about fucking her or burying his face between those long legs and seeing how many sounds he could pull from that luscious smiling mouth.

  He needed to make her sleep in the hut with the other females. The longer he kept her with him, the more he’d want her. The more he’d want to take her.

  As if she knew he was thinking of her, she turned and looked his way, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before turning away again. The thought would not leave him then. He imagined her laying down and opening her arms to him like Zasra did. The instant the thought entered his mind, he knew it would be false. The females on Prison Moon One did not come to you willingly. Those that did wanted something. Like Zasra. He scowled at the thought of her but didn’t think this human would be so accommodating as the last female he kept was. This one would probably be fighting mad as he took her, kicking and biting as she fought to get away and his cock ached with the need to find out.

  It had been so long since he’d had any desire to bed a female, even longer since he had. He barely remembered what it felt like, but he remembered why he hadn’t indulged.

  Fire licked through his veins the moment Zasra’s face flashed back into his head. Her death had been too swift, and he’d longed to do it for so long, he still felt cheated out of the pleasure of it. He wanted to relish in her screams and make sure her torment was heard clean to the next territory and beyond.

  Vikram shifted and Jorrick pushed the black thoughts filling his head away. “If the dragon and his mate take her, I will see all three of them dead. Him last. He’ll get to watch and know every scream those females utter will be because of him.”

  Vorta picked up his nidi, the music the strange instrument made beginning to drown out the voices as he started to play, the melody as cheerful as the two laughing females seemed to be. Mar-see looked his way again, the smile on her face fading before she tucked her hair behind one ear and looked away.

  He’d taken her in the arena to get back at Allok but as he sat there watching her, he knew she would be his downfall and as his body started to thrum with need of her, he couldn’t find a reason to care.

  “He’s still staring at you.”

  Marcy glanced at the warlord before quickly looking away. “He’s probably afraid I’ll run away with you if he’s not watching me.”

  “Would you?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  Sara stared the warlord down, unafraid. She must have had total confidence in her dragon to do so. Marcy still couldn’t wrap her brain around Toren being a shape-shifting dragon but then again, two months ago, she didn’t believe in aliens but here she was, property of a big ass alien who still hadn’t told her what her purpose here was.

  She’d told Sara everything that had happened to her since the moment she fell off that cliff and Toren had plucked her from the sky, to her ordeal in the arena—and of the warlord claiming her as his own. Sara worried about her being there, though. The warlord stood taller than Toren and outweighed him by a lot. Sure Toren could shift into a dragon but with those orbs flying around, it was too risky to do, and with the number of aliens under the warlord’s command, she knew it would take very little to subdue him. If nothing else, all they had to do was hurt Sara. She was Toren’s one weakness and Marcy had no doubt Jorrick knew that.

  Marcy pulled the material up over her leg when it slipped again and finally gave up trying to keep it in place. “The odds of us ending up at the same place at the same time seems almost too good to be true. I was beginning to think my luck had run out.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t luck.” Sara grinned and took hold of Toren’s hand when one of the aliens in camp walked too close to them. “I heard you yelling my name as we left the arena. I begged Toren to stay until you came out but he said it was too dangerous so we left.” She smiled apologetically. “We didn’t get far before we stopped and removed his collar. When we started heading for the mountains again, we heard someone talking and hid. That’s when we saw you and that guy.” Sara nodded in the warlord’s direction with her head. “We were about to rush in and grab you when we saw three others trailing you. We laid low and just watched for a while and followed you back here. Getting caught wasn’t in our plan though. That was just carelessness on our part.”

  Marcy wanted to hug them both for even trying to sneak her away from the warlord. “Well, I’m glad you’re here … caught or otherwise.”

  Celestia and the others stood and headed toward the trees to the cooking pits. Marcy watched them go and looked toward the warlord. Should she go help them? Or stay where she was?

  The aliens started heading for the far end of the camp to the tables their meals were laid out on. The warlord stood and looked her way. “E’mahn neok. Come to me.”

  The words, does not translate, whispered through her head. She didn’t know what e’mahn neok, meant but the answer to whether she should help the others serve or not was answered with the warlord’s outstretched hand.

  She stood and gave Sara a half smile, saying, “My master calls,” before starting around the fire pit. He stepped down off the platform before she reached him and headed toward the table sitting amongst the trees, leaving her to follow along behind him.

  The other females, Jityria included for once, were darting back and forth between the tables and the path to the cooking pits, carrying out platters of food.

  Two aliens ran past her and came running back a few moments later with the warlord’s chair, setting it at the head of the table. He mumbled something to the two aliens and turned, looking past her to Sara and Toren.

  “Join us.”

  Sara and Toren glanced at each other, speaking softly before they stood. Marcy stopped a few feet from the warlord, unsure of what to do. Did he want her to sit? Stand by his side as she usually did? Juggle rocks to entertain them as they ate?

  He ignored her and sat down in his massive chair, making the two aliens to his right get up and move. Chairs were moved around, a few more added and when Sara and Toren stopped beside her, he motioned for them to sit in the vacant chairs to his right.

  Sara gave her a quizzical look as she sat down, to which Marcy just shrugged her shoulders. It looked as if she would be the water-wench again, or whatever it was they drank.

  The warlord was served first, Jityria handing him a plate filled with the bloodiest meat she’d ever seen. It looked like it had just been cut off into chunks and thrown into his plate. She forced herself not to gag. The turnip-like blue root Celestia called esuap, were steaming though. At least something on his plate was warm. Jityria threw her a nasty glare as she leaned over to grab the warlord’s cup before filling it. Oops. She’d already missed her cue.

  “So, do you make Marcy stand while she eats?”

  The warlord didn’t say anything at first, just turned his head to stare at her with what she would have sworn was amusement shining in his eyes. “She may stand there if she wishes but it will be hard to reach the food from such a distance.”

  The night before she’d been made to eat around the cooking pit as they cleaned up. Tonight she was going to be a guest at the table? Maybe that’s why Jityria had looked at her so hatefully.

  Marcy looked around the table, searching for an empty seat. There wasn’t one, which meant, there was a catch. She was a servant after all, not a visiting dignitary. “Where would you like me to sit?”

  He patted his leg. “You will sit here.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from saying something she may regret, her stomach clenching when he held up a hand—the same hand he held up to her in the arena. She’d been scared enough to piss herself the first time she saw him and although she had a firm grip on her bladder now, a small amount of the fear still lingered. She wasn’t even sure why. So far he’d not hurt her, belittled her, or forced her to have sex with him but something kept her on edge. Maybe it was his size or the way he looked at her—like he was now, taking in the length of
her from head to toe and back up again as if he was thinking of ways to fuck her into next week. The thought wasn’t completely unappealing, but monumentally stupid. He was one of the bad guys. She needed to remember that.

  Marcy looked at his outstretched hand, her pulse racing as she reached for it. He locked eyes with her and pulled her to him, his legs spreading as she walked closer.

  She stepped between his thighs and turned as he put her in his lap again, his left arm going around her waist. She tried her best not to look at Sara but she could see her out of the corner of her eye staring at her.

  The aliens at the table acted nothing like they had the night before. They weren’t grabbing handfuls of food off the platters or yelling to be heard over the cacophony of everyone all talking at once. They were all sitting quietly, either looking at the food or at the warlord. Were they waiting for him to give them permission? And if so, why? They hadn’t last night.

  She realized in the next instant why things were different today. They had guests in camp.

  A glance down the table showed everyone turned toward the warlord. Long moments ticked by and he said nothing and never moved. Sara raised an eyebrow at her, a question of, “what now,” on her face.

  Marcy glanced over her shoulder. The warlord was looking at her. She stared back, her pulse racing by the time he finally looked away and pulled his plate closer, picking up a piece of the steaming esuap root and bringing it to her mouth. “Eat.”

  She blinked. He was going to feed her—from his own hand?

  She swallowed, staring at that piece of root and the fingers holding it. He brushed the bite of food against her lip. This was a trick. It had to be. She was going to lean down only to have him snatch it away as some form of a lesson to her, to show Sara and Toren her fate rested in his hands.

  Her first instinct was to turn away, but she still didn't know what he intended to do with Sara and Toren. He'd not removed Toren's collar, much to Sara's disappointment, but they weren't dead. So what if he just wanted to humiliate her in front of them? She was his to do with as he pleased and if making her look like a fool was what he wanted to do, then he could.

  She opened her mouth and leaned forward, waiting for him to snatch his hand away but much to her surprise, he did nothing but feed the tiny morsel to her.

  His fingers brushed her lip as he let the esuap go, his gaze intent as he watched her chew. There wasn’t a sound coming from anyone—the music—being played on the strange instrument she'd seen the alien named Vorta play even stopped, and she didn’t dare look up.

  As she chewed and swallowed the bite, the silence was near deafening. The warlord shifted, his arm going around her waist, pulling her back against him, his chest to her back. He was too close now. She flicked a glance at Sara, her friend watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow.

  Jorrick's breath tickled the skin under her ear, his beard brushing her bare shoulder and her pulse was leaping in anticipation of—something—by the time he whispered, “Feed me,” into her ear.

  Heat filled her face at his words. They were spoken so softly she knew no one else had heard them but they rang inside her head as if he’d screamed them. She glanced at Sara again before looking down the length of the table. She seemed to be the center of attention as every single alien she looked at was staring back at her.

  The warlords hand pressed into her stomach. Not hard, but enough to get her attention. “Do you wish them to wait all night?” His nose bumped her ear. “They will not eat tonight until I do.”

  Of course they wouldn't. She was right, he was putting on a show for Sara and Toren's benefit, to prove to them that he was in total control and she'd do exactly what he said. And she would, too. If it meant Sara and Toren would be safe, then she'd hand feed Jorrick every morsel of food on the table.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she let it out before picking up a piece of the raw meat and holding it near her shoulder. He didn’t take it. She turned her head enough to see him. He’d leaned back, his head now resting on the back of the chair. You’ve got to be kidding me. Not only did she have to feed him, she had to drape herself all over him to do it?

  Marcy turned in his lap so she could reach him and held the meat up in front of him. He didn’t move. The bastard was going to make her literally feed him, just as he’d done her. She bit back a curse and touched his lips with the meat.

  As if some spell had been broken, the moment the warlord took the bite from her hand, everyone else started eating. The music started playing again, conversations rose until the din of sound turned into one raucous hum of voices.

  The warlord leaned forward enough to grab another chunk of the esuap root and as he’d done before, he brought it to her mouth and offered it to her. Was this how the entire meal would go? Him feeding her, then her feeding him? When she took the food and chewed and the warlord once again leaned back in his chair, she knew that's exactly how it would go. “For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled under her breath, picking up another piece of the bloody meat and feeding it to him.

  He never said a word as they ate, nor did his face show any sort of emotion but his eyes—the bastard was laughing at her. She knew it clean to her bones and as she picked up another hunk of the cold bloody meat, bringing it to his mouth, she silently hoped he choked on it.

  The dinner party from hell lasted entirely too long. Marcy hadn’t been able to talk to Sara again as the warlord spent the meal asking Toren dozens of questions about dragons and the corporation who ran the entire prison system and she'd done nothing but feed him, offering him cups full of the liquid she’d served the day before. It still smelled like horse piss and burned her nose. It did Sara's as well but her friend didn't look as if it tasted bad, as she was drinking it with gusto.

  The warlord lifted the cup and took a sip, then offered it to her. It smelled bad enough she wanted to refuse but when Sara suddenly laughed at something Toren said, she realized it couldn’t have tasted as bad as it smelled and took the cup and drank.

  She was right. The smell was deceiving. It tasted nothing like it smelled but it only took a minute to realize, whatever it was she was drinking, was intoxicating. It burned all the way to her gut, and it only took two sips for every bone in her body to feel as if it had melted. Her skin felt hot and even though she was barely dressed, had it not been for all the aliens around those tables, she would have stripped right then and there.

  By the time the food was gone, Marcy's head was spinning so fast she was seeing double. She leaned back against the warlord, her head lulling against his shoulder as he continued to talk to Toren. The surrounding conversations grew indistinguishable, and the world looked hazy, as if she was inside a dream. She looked at Sara and noticed her friend nearly crawling into Toren’s lap. Apparently whatever had been in that cup wasn’t made for human consumption.

  Like most college kids, she’d smoked her fair share of pot and even got a hold of some laced with a substance no one would identify but whatever it was, it was in the aliens liquor. She didn’t just feel drunk, she felt drugged.

  She’d been shown many plants earlier in the day and told which were poisonous and which were not. Did some of them act like narcotics? Apparently they did, because she and Sara were both high—or drunk—off their asses and no one else seemed to be.

  The warlord didn’t mind her practically laying on top of him, though, not even when she turned in his lap and threw her legs over his other one and damn near snuggled with him right there in front of everyone. He’d done nothing but placed a hand on her bare thigh and kept talking about whatever it was he was talking about as she tried to focus her eyes. Nothing worked until the warlord’s hand moved, his fingers brushing her inner thigh. They moved back and forth so many times she’d actually spread her legs, sighing when that big warm hand had slid further between her legs, his fingers getting so close to her pussy she’d been wet anticipating the moment he finally touched her. Only—he didn’t. He’d done nothing more than rub her leg, brush
the side of it with his thumb and kept on talking as if dragons were interesting or something.

  She became so sleepy from nothing more than the soft touches and the cadence of his voice that she finally sat up and pushed his hand away. “I need sleep.” She tried to focus her eyes on his face but failed. “I think I’m drunk.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Do you need help getting to my bed?”

  “Nope, I got it.”

  She struggled to her feet and staggered, catching herself on the edge of the table. She blinked, tried to clear her head and started for the warlord’s hut, hoping she made it before falling on her face and only realized once she made it that she hadn’t told Sara goodnight.

  The leather flap covering the door was harder to push aside than it should have been and once she let it drop behind her, she grabbed onto the wall and stared around the room.

  Soft light lit every corner and standing next to the bed was Jityria. She wasn’t positive but was pretty sure the woman was sneering at her.

  Marcy took a few steps in, staggering toward the bed. The room was hot, and she suddenly had on too many clothes. She reached for the knot at the back of her neck and blinked sleepily on the way to the bed. Jityria grabbed her by the hair before she could sit down. “Did he take you to his bed last night?”

  Marcy tried to pull her hair from Jityria’s grasp without luck. “Define—taken to his bed.”

  The fist in her hair yanked harder. “Did you mate?” The words were spat in a low, harsh tone, her head jerked forward until she was close enough to Jityria to kiss her. “Your days are numbered, sevit.”

  Jityria slung her away from the bed—by her hair—letting go so quickly, Marcy lost her balance and fell, her forehead slamming into the leg of the wooden table against the wall. The impact rattled her teeth. She moaned and tried to get up, but a swift stab of pain hit her in the back, just below her ribs, and prevented it.