Warlord's Mate

by Lily Graison

  Dawn screamed again and Marcy looked toward the huts, visions of what Dawn was probably enduring flashing in her mind on repeat. She shook her head, looked from the warlord to the huts several times before mumbling, “fuck this shit,” and slammed the pitcher in her hands down on the table, ignoring the liquid that splashed out, and turned on her heel, heading for camp. If the warlord killed her, then so be it but she wasn’t going to stand by while these assholes treated them like—things. Dawn might be a mouthy pain in the ass but that didn’t mean she deserved to be held down and taken against her will.

  She was halfway across the clearing when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. The warlord’s jaw was clenched tight, his gaze searching her face when she looked up at him. “What do you think to do? Stop him?”

  “Yes, if I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” she sputtered. “Are you kidding me! Why the hell do you think?”

  He looked across camp in the direction Dawn had been taken. “He found her. She is his to do with as he pleases.”

  And that meant, forcing her to have sex with him, just like it was the warlord’s right. A right he’d yet to take but, she knew it would eventually happen. It was only a matter of time and if that alien truly did find Dawn, then it was his right to bed her as well. Like it or not, despite Jorrick treating her with what amounted to decency on this ass-backwards world, the females here were still chattel.

  The realization hit her so hard she felt aged beyond her years. Prison Moon One wasn’t a vacation destination. Regardless of her not enduring any major hardships since being dropped here, she was stranded on a prison planet. Every alien here was a criminal, dumped here for crimes the universe only knew, and the one perk they had was, if they caught a female, they could keep her. And the one who caught Dawn was doing exactly what every female left here knew would eventually happen. They’d be found, captured, and used against their will and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

  She felt weary all of a sudden. Her shoulders drooped as she stared up at the warlord and it wasn’t until the others started coming back into camp that he released her arm.

  He gave her one last look and headed for the dais and his chair, the small orbs that recorded everything here following him. For once, she didn’t, instead, staring across camp to where she could hear Dawn’s muffled cries, more of the small orbs hovering above the hut before one darted inside. Not only did they have to lay down with aliens against their will, they had to do it while the entire fucking universe watched.

  Marcy shot a look at the warlord, every ounce of hatred for what was happening filling her soul until it felt like a living thing. She hated this place, hated the aliens who abducted her and left her here and for the first time since arriving, she did exactly what she wanted to do and headed straight for the warlord's hut, kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed, her heart aching at the realization that this was her life now. She was a captive who more than likely would have to watch as others were treated like property and forced to have sex for no other reason than an alien ran faster than she did.

  Vorta had only played a few verses of a song with his nidi when she heard someone come inside the hut. She pulled the furs up to her neck and clenched her eyes shut. She wasn’t in the mood to get into another sparring match with Jityria. When no one said anything, she looked over her shoulder. The warlord was sitting next to the table taking off his boots. Marcy turned back over so he wouldn’t see her looking at him. He crawled into the bed a few moments later and she realized it was the first time he’d ever gone to bed when she did.

  She laid in the darkness listening to the music outside for a long time, her thoughts on Krista and Dawn. She couldn’t protect them. Hell, she couldn’t even protect herself, and if those girls had been part of The Chase, then they knew what their futures held and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. Her pitching a fit wouldn’t change the outcome so acting out was pointless. She sighed. “Where did they come from?”

  “Why?”

  The bed moved and Marcy rolled to her back. The warlord was on his elbow, looking down at her. His gaze roamed her face before landing on her lips. “We found them on our way back to camp. I don’t know how long they’ve been running but from the looks of them, I’d say a while. Should I have left them to starve? To run until they died? Or found by a group who would take turns using them until there was nothing left of them?” He searched her face for an answer but she didn’t have one to give him.

  The warlord pushed his hair away from his face. “Sleep. We can fight about this tomorrow.” When he laid down, Marcy turned back over, staring at the wall of the hut, her thoughts going in so many directions, she knew she’d never get to sleep. She didn’t know how long she laid there listening to the sounds in camp before the warlord rolled toward her to pull her back into his chest, his arm resting against her waist. Marcy froze, her breath caught in her throat.

  “Calm yourself. It’s been a long day, e’mahn neok.”

  She relaxed against him and for once, just enjoyed the feel of him next to her. For all the weeks she’d been here and slept in his bed, he’d yet to do anything other than hold her. To say it was strange behavior was an understatement, especially when she knew female companionship was what all these aliens wanted yet—the warlord had never even attempted to take her by force. Truth be known, he’d treated her with more respect than she’d thought he was capable of giving.

  He lifted his hand and laid it over her own. His thumb brushed the side of it, his breath warming her neck and as angry as she was about the treatment of Dawn, she was grateful her own fate wasn't the same. She belonged to the warlord, and he had every right to demand the same from her. She'd thought him insisting she sleep in his bed meant he'd be taking the same privilege Dawn's captor was but after all this time, Jorrick had done nothing more than hold her close and even though he’d held her like this more times than she could count, tonight it felt—intimate. As if she wasn’t a captive, and he wasn’t a man who owned her, but rather he was someone who just wanted her for no other reason than she was who he’d chosen. That him holding her like this was for her comfort, to help ease her troubled mind.

  If so, it was working.

  Her thoughts where he was concerned had been slowly changing day by day and the jealousy she’d felt earlier at Dawn saying she wanted him made her realize that maybe she wanted him too. That despite the fact she was his property, being owned by him wasn’t so bad.

  His thumb brushed her hand again. Marcy stared at their hands. There was a strange symbol or number tattooed next to his thumb. She wondered while staring at it if maybe the reason he kept her here was because he liked her, too. That maybe in his attempt to keep her close, his feelings for her were changing like hers had. That he held her like a lover would because he wanted her, but wasn't going to force her into anything she didn't indicate she also wanted.

  What would he do if she initiated contact that wasn't the norm for them? If she turned her hand over so their palms touched, would he pull away?

  Long minutes ticked by before she got up the nerve to see. She turned her hand so the back of it rested against the furs, their palms laying flush. Without hesitation, his fingers slid loosely between her own. Marcy’s stomach fluttered when his grip tightened and he buried his nose into her hair and he hugged her to him.

  As much as she hated to admit it, it felt damn good to be held by him. There were very few men who could dwarf a woman who was over six foot tall, but he did. And it made her feel—girly, something she’d never really thought of herself as. With nicknames like giraffe and Marcy long legs, feeling like anything other than a freak was rare but here among these aliens, where the average height was well over six and a half foot, she felt positively miniscule. And that made her want to forget about her circumstances and just—live.

  There was no going home. There was only—this. This was her life now, and like it or not, she
was nothing more than a possession but fate had given her an advantage. It had landed her in the bed of the warlord and maybe that was enough to make sure she, and the others, were treated right. That they weren't forced to lay down for the men in this camp against their will and come morning, she'd see that from now on, these aliens had permission before grabbing someone and hauling them off.

  Chapter Twelve

  She’d been confined to camp. The warlord told her the day Kr’Atek tried to take her that she wasn’t to be in the forest without a guard, but he’d changed his mind the moment she grabbed a basket and started walking toward the trees with the other women. She was no longer allowed outside camp for any reason, with or without a guard.

  Foraging hadn’t been the most fun job but at least it gave her something to do besides clean up after the brutes who lived here and when the other females were taken into the forest without her, she was made to see to the needs of everyone else as if it was her job alone and after a solid week of being treated like an indentured servant, if one more of them demanded she do anything for them, she was going to lose her shit.

  The basket of freshly washed clothing was finally empty. She hung the last piece she’d been forced to wash on the make-shift clothesline strung between huts. At least this was a task that benefited her as well as she’d finally been able to wash her own clothing after finding another of the warlord’s shirts in his hut. It was as big as the one she’d ruined cleaning the fire pit but rolling up the sleeves helped.

  She raised an arm, swiping at her sweaty forehead with the back of one hand, pushing a stray curl from her eyes. The warlord was standing with a group of aliens near the tree line. She wasn’t sure what the pow-wow was about but it was obvious he was paying little attention to it as he’d spent the last ten minutes looking at her. His feet were spread wide, his arms crossed over that massive naked chest, those crisscrossing leather straps of his bandolier missing today. He wore no shirt as usual and she gave him an appreciative glance from head to toe. If he could stare, then she could too.

  Ever since the night Krista and Dawn had been brought to camp, and he’d come to bed early when she’d stomped off mad, he’d followed her when she stood from the dais and turned in. And every night he pulled her close, his breath hot against the side of her neck, his arms like steel bands around her body but, he’d yet to touch her. Despite the hand holding and damn near snuggling with the guy, he made no attempt to touch her in any sexual way. The others had told her he never slept with the females in camp and they weren’t lying and truth be know, it was driving her crazy.

  She knew he wanted her. She’d felt the evidence of it pressing against her backside too many times to count and it was hard having that much man pressed up against you and not think about sex, and boy did she think about it a lot as of late. Every time she looked at him she thought about it but he’d yet to do anything but hold her close and sleep.

  The corner of his mouth tilted up on one end and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was almost smiling at her but dismissed the notion. She'd never seen him smile. She wasn't even sure he knew how.

  He appeared bigger than life to her and she knew without a doubt he was the biggest, baddest motherfucker on Prison Moon One. She’d yet to meet any other warlord, but she believed her warlord was everything her girlish heart said he was. Strong, fierce, and too damn sexy for words. She also hoped that look he was giving her meant he wanted her because damn her soul it made her pulse race. It pulsed in places it shouldn’t and she wondered, if on those nights she woke draped across him, would he push her away if she crawled on top of him and fell on his dick? Or would he push her off and tell her no? Or maybe flip her to her belly, jerk her ass into the air and fuck her into a screaming, sobbing mess.

  Visions of him doing just that filled her mind’s eye and her heart was racing by the time he stomped away from the others—and headed straight to Jityria. Marcy rolled her eyes and turned her back to them, snatching her empty basket off the ground. Could a girl not even fantasize about things she shouldn’t be thinking about without having her show up and ruin it?

  Her reprieve was short lived as Jityria approached her a few minutes later, her arms full. Looked as if laundry day wasn’t over after all.

  Jityria threw the bundle at her. “You are to take this to the warlord.” The words were said through clenched teeth, the look on her face murderous. “He went to bathe.”

  That last sentence was said with so much contempt, it was a wonder she didn’t feel bitch slapped with the force of it. Jityria mumbled something under her breath, gave her a look scornful enough it should have killed her where she stood, then turned on her heel and stomped away.

  Marcy looked down at the things Jityria had thrown at her. She recognized one of the drying clothes and the darker material was a pair of the warlord’s pants. A large chunk of—something—lay by her feet. It was a crude-shaped ball and was green. She smelled it and recognized the scent. It clung to the warlord’s skin and the furs on his bed. She rubbed her thumb across it. The texture was rough but her finger slid across it easily. If she had to guess, she’d say it was soap of some kind. And she was supposed to take it to the warlord.

  Ah … now she knew why Jityria was so pissed. The warlord was naked and wet and for some reason, Jityria wasn’t going to be the one to assist him. She was.

  The thought should have pleased her for no other reason than it pissed Jityria off but all she could think about was—the warlord was naked and wet, and she was supposed to take his clothes to him.

  Marcy bundled the drying cloths and pants up and headed to the path that led to the pond, ignoring Jityria and the anger etched into every line on her face as she went. Anticipation and nervousness made her limbs tremble so badly she had to stop halfway there and take a few deep breaths.

  “Get a grip. It’s not like you were told to bathe him. You just have to take him clean clothes and scamper off.”

  After another deep breath, she continued up the path, stopping once she was close enough to the pond to see that the warlord wasn’t there. She looked toward the cave.

  The first and only time she’d been inside, she’d seen more of the warlord than she’d expected. Knowing she was about to see it again caused that traitorous pulse between her legs to start to pound.

  Marcy headed across the sandy beach around the pond, taking her time about it. As before, the sound of water echoed off the walls as she stepped into the narrow cave passageway, the flickering light from the sun hitting the crystals inside the cavern dancing in erratic patterns on the walls.

  She rounded the bend, her gaze darting to the waterfall. The warlord was standing beneath it, the water running down the length of his back.

  His ass was a sight to behold. If she’d had a quarter, she could have probably bounced one off those tight glutes. She laid the drying cloth and his pants on one of the big boulders by the water and cleared her throat. “Here are your things.”

  He turned and even though the water raining down on him obstructed some of her view, she could still see him well enough to know she hadn’t imagined the size of his cock. Even soft it hung down further than most.

  His voice seemed to echo in the cavern when he said, “Bring me the cleansing bar.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Marcy stared at him for a long moment before turning to the things she’d laid down and picked up what she assumed was soap. When she looked back up, he stretched out his arm as if to take it from her and her heart started to race. She sucked in a deep breath, kicked off the leathers on her feet, and started for the water.

  It wasn’t deep, only reaching her calves as she walked toward him, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her eyes locked on his face. It felt as if she was trudging through quicksand and she was less than a foot away when she lost all composure and glanced down.

  This close up, he was much bigger.

  She brought her eyes up but couldn’t bring herself to look highe
r than his chest. When she was within touching distance, she held out the soap and stood there so long without him reaching for it, that she finally raised her head.

  Something in his eyes made her breath catch. No one had ever looked at her so intensely. His gaze lingered on her mouth again, then lowered to her breasts before dropping down further.

  “You’re wearing my shirt.”

  She nodded. “It’s laundry day. I didn’t feel like walking around naked while I washed my clothes.”

  His eyes flared a brighter shade of amber for a moment, his gaze running the length of her again before he said, “Wash my back,” and turned around.

  Marcy stood there so long looking her fill of his wide shoulders and that tight ass that he looked back over his shoulder.

  “That was not a request.”

  “Right.” She inhaled a deep breath and let it out, then stepped closer.

  The spray from the waterfall left a fine mist in the air, the cool water coating her face as she held the soap bar out to wet it. The warlord never moved when she laid her hand to his back, or when she moved his long hair out of the way. The soap bar didn’t cause the same abundance of bubbles the soap on earth did but it did leave enough on the skin to tell it was actually doing something.

  Marcy took her time and washed every inch of his back, running both hands over him and wasn’t sure whose benefit this was for. His, because he told her to wash him, or hers, because she was getting to touch all that golden skin she couldn’t seem to stop staring at.

  Her hands roamed lower, to that small dip at the base of his spine and she wondered what he’d do if she kept going. He turned before she could contemplate it more and the look in his eyes made her heart give one mighty thump in her chest.

  He reached for her hand, placing it on his chest, a silent command to continue. Marcy ran the soap bar over his flesh, coating his arms and shoulders before laying it to those toned pecs, his nipples tightening when she touched them. God, if he wasn’t beautiful. She’d never seen another man so—manly. He was ripped and toned. Not an ounce of fat anywhere to be seen and the strength she knew he possessed was intoxicating.