Warlord's Mate

by Lily Graison

  Marcy rolled her head enough to see Jityria raise her leg, the toe of her boot hitting her in the same spot she’d felt the other pain. The swift kick stole her breath, and she laid there, trying to breathe through the pain as Jityria left.

  She lifted her head and started crawling to the bed, undignified as it was, but only made it halfway across the room before she fell. To her relief, the searing pain in her head, along with her inebriated state, made her lose consciousness, her last thought before passing out was that the warlord would kill Jityria for kicking her and she couldn’t wait to tell him.

  Jorrick ignored the disgruntled outrage of the dragon’s mate yelling at him, which only angered her more. She was screaming loud enough to wake half the camp but keeping them under constant watch would ensure they didn’t do anything stupid, like try to steal his prize in the dead of night.

  Stepping into his hut, he drew up short at the sight of Mar-see face down on the floor. She was sprawled in such a way he could tell she’d been crawling. She and her friend couldn’t handle the swoquix.

  The herb the drink was made from burned going down and he’d drunk enough in the past to cause the slight euphoric sensation it was known to produce. Mar-see and her friend who were both humans, or so he’d been told by the dragon, had consumed very little of it and both were wobbly as they walked away from the table. Apparently walking hadn’t been as easy as it appeared to be for this one.

  He let the flap fall back over the doorway and removed the blade at his hip. It still had a few splotches of blood on it. His anger over Reitlas hurting the human burned like acid in his gut all over again. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed her. He looked over at her as he removed his bandolier. Her dying now would get him nowhere. He needed her to get to Allok and having that taken away from him …

  He pushed the thought away. He had other things to worry about, like where Aris was. Guilt hit him hard enough to make his knees go weak, and he sat down on the small stool by the table. He should have been out looking for him, not hosting guest as if he hadn’t a care in the world or trying to assert his claim on the human by putting on the display he had during their meal. He should have made her stand at his side as he had the night before but he wasn’t a fool. He knew once that dragon and his mate tried to leave, his little human would want to go with them so he’d made his position very clear where she was concerned. She was his, plain and simple. He just hoped his show of dominance didn’t cost Aris his life. There was nothing he could do about it now, though. Even if he sent another team out to search for him, or even went himself, they’d be doing nothing but stumbling around in the dark and there were more nocturnal creatures here than he liked. The central fire pit and the sentries high in the trees around the perimeter of camp was the only thing that kept them from tearing through the village and slaughtering them all as they slept.

  Jorrick removed his boots and stood, then stooped down to pick up the girl. The moment he turned her over, he froze. A good portion of her forehead was varying colors of blue and black and a small trickle of blood had dried at her hairline. He looked her over for other injuries and saw a large bruise on her back.

  He looked to the table. Had she fallen? As wobbly as she’d been when she left the clearing to sleep, it was possible.

  He lifted her and put her on the bed, pushing her hair away from her face to look at the cut on her head. It wasn’t deep. He wet a small strip of cloth and dabbed at the wound, cleaning the blood away and sat for a long time staring at her. She’d want to leave with the dragon and his mate come morning. Would the dragon attack when he denied Mar-see the freedom to do so? He’d refused their request to remove his collar. Despite what he’d told Vikram, there was no guarantee that once he let the Draegon and his mate go, they wouldn’t come back. Once he gave them the key to that collar, there was nothing stopping Toren from shifting into his dragon form and destroying his entire camp and he’d not let that happen. He’d killed them both before they had a chance. He’d use his little red one as leverage if he had to.

  He looked toward the doorway. Maybe he should just kill them now and be done with it. He could sleep peacefully with the knowledge his people would be safe and not have to worry about them again. But having a dragon who owed you a favor would go a long way in a place like this and letting them live was the only way to ensure that if he ever needed brute strength, he might get it.

  The girl stirred. She’d not be happy if he killed her friends. Not that he cared, he reminded himself. Her feelings had little to do with his plans but she was already more bold than the other females. He imagined if she put her mind to it, she could cause more trouble than she was worth.

  Rumors had filtered through the camps when she’d first been seen. Tales of her had been whispered from person to person, some claiming she looked like the magic mages from Asherah. The color of her hair was a dead giveaway, some had said. The magic mages had hair of flame and were feared by all but this one—

  Jorrick pushed a lock of her hair away from her face. If she were a magic mage, she was a piss-poor one. He couldn’t imagine one would allow themselves to be caught or remain caught if someone was luckily enough to do it. Did humans possess magic? If this one did, she wasn’t able to wield it. Her still being his captive was all the proof he needed.

  She sighed and tucked a hand near her cheek. Those red curls on her head were a riot of wild strands and even though she was as pale as the moon flowers that grew around camp and as weak as a newborn thaper, he had a hard time looking away from her and he wasn’t sure why.

  She was nothing like the females on Tridian III. They had been fierce fighters, as deadly as, if not more than, the most seasoned warriors. There was nothing gentle about them. They were strong and fearless and were sought after for their cleverness alone. Tridian females were nothing like these soft humans were. Nothing at all. This one and her friend appeared weak and fragile. They knew not when to keep quiet and voiced their opinions when they weren’t asked for. They needed to be taught to obey and once he’d found Aris, he’d set about teaching this one to do just that.

  Jorrick finished undressing and crawled under the furs, folding his arms underneath his head. The moment he settled, the girl rolled toward him, threw one leg over his hip, her arm draping over his stomach before she mumbled something against his chest.

  Maybe putting her in the bed again wasn’t such a good idea. She may be weak and frail but she was still female and those red curls between her legs hid a treasure he had a hard time ignoring, especially now that they was pressed against his hip, the heat all he seemed to be able to focus on now that he thought about it.

  He should take her. Stealing her away from Allok wasn’t enough, nor was the mark he’d put on her neck. The physical evidence of his claim was superficial … he needed to assert his claim in every way possible and taking her would be one sure way of doing that. Allok would do the same the moment he got her and knowing he’d not been the first to have her would anger him enough he may just get that war he’d been wanting.

  Jorrick looked down at her. It would be easy tonight. She was so out of it she’d not even know but he’d never taken anyone by force and her being unaware would be much the same. No, when he took this one, she’d be full aware of it and enjoy every second of it … and he’d make sure Allok knew she had.

  She wore his mark and very soon, she’d wear his scent.

  Chapter Nine

  Marcy woke alone in the warlord’s bed again, her head pounding so hard it felt as if someone had taken a ball bat to it.

  She groaned and rolled over to her back, then winced. It took a few minutes for the room to stop spinning and the pain in her back to ease enough she was able to sit up. The room was empty, the warlord already gone.

  Noise in camp told her there were others up and about. The commotion she heard was louder than it had been the day before so either she’d slept in really late or people were just being noisy today.

  She stood and wob
bled unsteadily before getting her balance. Her head pounded harder as she stood there. Why do I feel so bad? She raised a hand to her head, wincing when she touched her forehead. The skin above her eye was tender, more so closer to her hairline.

  The night before came back in vague flashes. Snatches of conversations, laughter—sitting on the warlord’s lap while feeding him.

  She dropped her hand. Had she really done that? She looked around the room but the answer wasn’t there. More flashes of memories came back and the moment she thought of Sara, she gasped and hurried across the room, pushing the leather flap over the doorway aside.

  She squinted against the sun and peeked through her lashes. She’d definitely slept in. The whole camp was up and moving about. Marcy stepped out and headed toward the females hut. They were all gathered around the small stools they sat on and Tezhila was the first to see her, her eyes widening as she drew closer.

  “What happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your face.” Tezhila’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “I only mean that you have a huge bruise.”

  Marcy raised her hand to cup her sore head. “Yes, it’s pounding like a bitch too but I have no clue how I got it. Pretty much everything from last night is foggy.” She looked around camp, trying to spot Sara and hoped she hadn’t been made to leave yet. “Have any of you seen my friend Sara and her mate?”

  Celestia nodded and pointed across camp to a hut set off by itself. “They are there.”

  Marcy headed toward them, her steps slowing when she saw them sitting on the ground beside the hut. Sara had her head in Toren’s lap, her face sickly pale. She closed the distance between them and dropped to her knees. “What’s wrong?”

  Sara gave her a weak smile and closed her eyes. “Too much alien juice, I think.”

  “Alien juice?”

  Sara made a “ummhumm” sound. “The stuff we were drinking last night. I don’t know what was in it but I’ve never felt so sick in all my life.”

  “She’s emptied her stomach several times this morning.” Toren pushed Sara’s hair from her face, her friend sighing as he touched her. “She has complained all night.”

  “I’m not feeling so hot myself. I’ve got a few mystery bruises too that I'm not sure how I got.”

  Sara sat up and pushed her hair from her face. She looked around camp before leaning against Toren’s side. “They tried to feed us earlier but one look at the stuff in that bowl was enough to turn my stomach.”

  Marcy nodded. “If it’s the mash I had yesterday, it tastes worse than it looks.”

  “Are you all right?” Sara asked. “I know I asked you last night but really—are you all right? Has anyone—”

  She let the sentence dangle but Marcy knew what she meant. “I’m fine. I’ve not been forced onto my knees and don’t think I will be. Well, not by any of the aliens walking around here. Now the warlord is another story. It’s been made abundantly clear that I belong to him and him alone.”

  “He has a serious boner for you.”

  Marcy snorted a laugh. “No, he’s just a possessive caveman.”

  “I think it's more than that. He killed someone for you.”

  Her head started to pound again. “I know. Not that I’m for killing random people but that asshole—” Him sticking his hand between her legs came back to mind. “I wouldn’t have wished him dead but the warlord could have fucked him up a little and I would have watched with a smile on my face.”

  Sara looked around camp, then to the trees at her back. “I’ve been watching those here in camp. Not many have even looked our way so, want to sneak away?”

  “Absolutely. Where are we going?”

  “Dra’Lera.” Toren pulled Sara closer to him and stroked her hair back away from her face. “It is the ancestral home of the Draegon. We go there.”

  Marcy looked over her shoulder, then into the sky as two of the small camera orb flew into her line of sight. If she left with Sara and Toren, those things would no doubt follow them. Hiding would be next to impossible and if she left, and the warlord found her?

  He walked into the clearing a moment later and never paused as he headed straight for them. They climbed to their feet, Marcy wincing as something in her back pulled.

  Jorrick’s gaze ran over her in one quick pass before he turned his attention to Toren. “You and your mate are to leave. Now. And do not come back. If I see either of you, I will kill you on sight.”

  Marcy opened her mouth but the warlord interrupted her by saying, “You will not be going with them,” before she could utter a single word. His gaze met her own. “It is not up for debate. You have chores to do. Join the other females and get to work.”

  That predatory look she’d seen in his eyes the day before was once again shining bright in his strangely colored irises. She opened her mouth again, but shut it before saying anything. What was the point? He wasn’t going to let her go. Why would he? She was stupid for even entertaining the thought. Like it or not, she was stuck here, a prisoner, and unless Toren turned into that massive dragon he had hiding beneath his skin, she was well and truly stuck.

  Jorrick stalked across camp, anger fueling his every step. Did she honestly think he’d let her go? From the disappointment he saw on her face the answer was yes, she did.

  He should have never let that dragon and his mate be brought into camp or let them live once he learned Mar-see knew them. He should have executed them both on sight. Now, the threat he posed was even greater.

  There was no doubt in his mind that the dragon did nothing but please his mate. From what he’d observed, he went out of his way to do so. He’d heard stories of the Draegon race that once inhabited this planet and until he’d seen that one in the arena, thought as everyone else had—that they were nothing but myth. But, the legends were true and not only was one of the deadly creatures in his camp, more than likely he’d want his prize to please his mate.

  Vikram met him halfway across camp. “Your orders, warlord?”

  “Take them to the boundary of our borders and let them go.”

  “And the key to the collar?”

  Jorrick turned to look back over to where they stood. Mar-see and the dragon’s mate were embracing one another. He wanted to toss the key into the forest and forget he’d ever seen it but he’d lived too many lunar cycles in chains, confined and under the control of another, to force that fate on anyone else. The collar didn’t restrict the dragon’s movement, but it confined him. “Give it back to them.”

  “But—“

  Jorrick scowled. “Let me finish.”

  Vikram bowed his head. “My apologies, warlord.”

  “Give them the key once you’ve reached our border. Tell him if I see either of them again, I’ll kill the red one the moment I spot them. They’ll have nothing of her to take with them but her head.”

  Vikram ran across camp, motioning for several others to follow him. The conversation with the dragon and his mate was short. The reaction to it was not.

  “She’s not your property!”

  The Draegon’s mate was once again yelling at him, her venomous words shouted across camp. He should have pulled her tongue out the night before when he’d had a chance.

  Vikram and Grynn grabbed the dragon and started hauling him toward the forest, Kyre and Zyhk following behind with the female who was fighting them every step of the way. His human lunged for them and was held back, her outburst echoing through camp.

  He turned away, putting them all out of his mind. He had things to do and worrying about a couple of upset humans wasn’t one of them. He still had to find Aris and he wouldn’t stop looking until he did.

  Marcy stopped screaming Sara’s name when her voice started to crack and her throat became so raw she knew she was on the verge of losing the ability to speak. Screaming was doing nothing for her anyway other than making her head pound harder than it had been.

  She slumped back against the alien holding her,
her heart aching as she watched her friend being forced away from camp. As much as she hated seeing them leave, the alternative was unacceptable. The warlord didn’t have to let them go. Him doing so meant he wasn’t completely heartless. He could have killed them last night but hadn’t. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t but was grateful for it—even if she hated that she was still here, held against her will.

  Marcy pulled away from the alien holding her. He was an odd one. Tall and lanky, his skin was white as snow, the area around his eyes black. She wasn’t sure if it was naturally like that or if he smeared something around them, either way, it made him look more phantom than alien. She watched Sara and Toren until she could no longer see them, then kept standing there long after they’d gone.

  The entire time she’d been on this stinking little moon, she’d felt beat down but nothing compared to the emptiness now in her chest. Her eyes burned as tears filled them and it was the first time since being abducted that she felt like crying.

  The alien at her back eventually wandered off, another that lingered near the tree line stepping into view. She turned and headed for the crude bathroom in the trees. Luckily it was unoccupied. She closed the curtain behind her and silently cried as she took care of her business and headed back toward the other female’s. The two horned aliens she thought were old men were once again sitting by their hut, whispering as she drew near. A single look was all it took to make them jump up and run, turning away from her as if she were the hideous one. They were a strange pair but watching their antics forced the rest of her tears away.

  The females looked at her when she approached them, but never said a word once she sat down. Sabera pushed a basket filled with purple blooms toward her and told her to pick the small pink centers out. She had no idea what they were used for and couldn’t find the energy to care at the moment. As horrible as she felt, she wasn’t sure she ever would again. The rest of her life would be nothing more than this—a servant for a group of overbearing aliens. A “thing” the warlord possessed until he grew tired of her and killed her or let his men have as a plaything like the other females were. If her future looked no different from it did now, then maybe death would be a blessing in disguise.