Captive

by Cheryl Brooks

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time my breakfast got cold.”

  “Same here. Although I don’t think I could keep anything down anyway.” To be honest, she was no longer sure she could even identify what was on her plate. “What if we don’t do…anything?”

  “It’ll stop eventually. Might take several days, though.” Judging from Moe’s pained expression, waiting it out was at the bottom of his list of options.

  “Several days?” She groaned in misery. “Inconvenient is right! How does anyone stand this?”

  “Well…I could be wrong, but I’m thinking most ladies don’t even try. At least, not if they can help it and their mate is nearby.”

  “Mate? We’re mated now? Seriously?” She pressed her fingers to her temples in another desperate attempt to stop the scrolling images. “This is horrible. I seem to have no choice except to become pregnant.”

  “Oh, you have a choice,” Moe said. “Although you must admit, what you’re feeling is a highly effective means of persuasion.”

  Temfilk nudged her arm, sending the room spinning off in a different direction. “Yeah. It’ll at least get you to lie down.”

  “Maybe I should do that,” she said. “Just lie down and wait for it to pass.”

  “You can try it,” Moe said, sounding somewhat doubtful. “The trouble is you might not be able to stand that, either.”

  “What do you mean?” She seemed to be saying that quite a lot, and it was starting to piss her off.

  “I’ll show you.” He rose from his chair and gathered her up in his arms.

  The moment she lay horizontally against his chest, every erogenous zone she possessed, including some she didn’t know existed, ignited. Her lips tingled, her core ached, and her clitoris did something she couldn’t even begin to describe. Her breasts grew heavy, and her nipples tightened so fast, she let out a yelp.

  “You’re right,” she gasped. “That’s even worse.”

  Temfilk stood, slapping his flipper-like feet on the rough wooden floor before saluting her with a five-fingered pop off his forehead. “Good luck, boss. We’ll be rooting for you.”

  Klara still couldn’t believe what was happening. She gave Moe her best accusatory glare, which was difficult since she was seeing at least six of him. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

  “If you hadn’t hissed at me when we first met, I’d have said no chance in hell. But mixing the supercharged Davordian sex drive with the natural preferences of a Zetithian female seems to have made you more susceptible, which might be why you decided to capture me in the first place.”

  “So you’re saying this is all my fault?”

  “No,” he replied. “If you want to assign blame, I’d say your breeding was the culprit. It’s part of your nature.”

  “Oh, great. I feel so much better knowing I had no control over any of this.”

  Velkma brought in a dish of wilted-looking cabbages and handed it to Nexbit. “No one can choose who they fall in love with. My late husband was proof of that. Even though I may have loved him, I didn’t always like him.”

  “How is that possible?” Klara was practically screeching now.

  Velkma waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve seen our males, Klara. Do you like any of them?”

  Although Klara hadn’t dealt directly with many Haedusian males, those few were enough for her to have formed an opinion. “Not particularly.”

  “You see?” Velkma came closer, leaving long trails of after-images streaming out behind her. “You have an advantage in that you actually appear to like Moe.” The old woman grinned, revealing row upon flickering row of sharp white teeth. “To be perfectly honest, I am becoming quite fond of him myself.”

  “Fine,” Klara snapped. “But I’m not sharing the snard with anyone.”

  Velkma’s wizened face was flipping by horizontally now. “What is snard, if I may ask?”

  “Zetithian semen,” Moe replied. “In addition to the ‘making babies’ function, it has orgasmic and euphoric effects.”

  “Ah, I see,” Velkma said with a nod. “You are as addicting as you are handsome.”

  “Dunno if I’d put it that way,” Moe hedged. “Although a jealous dude did blow up our planet hoping to get rid of us.”

  Velkma tapped Klara’s arm with a long, spidery finger. “Pelarus never stood a chance, did he, dear? Not with you or your mother.”

  Klara couldn’t imagine that a Davordian woman would ever find a Vessonian man sexually appealing even if she actually liked him. And the fact that Delaroh had been intimate with a Zetithian effectively reduced Pelarus’s chances to nil. “I asked my mother about that. All she would say was ‘Once you go cat, you never go back.’ I didn’t get it then, but I certainly do now.”

  Moe kissed the top of her head. “I’m really sorry, Klara. I never dreamed it would happen so fast.”

  She stole a peek at him through narrowed lids and discovered there were only three of him now, shimmering above her in the early morning light. “You’re sure there’s no other way to fix this?”

  “None that I know of, and believe me, I’m not lying.”

  “I know you aren’t.”

  Pregnancies took months to become obvious. She could function quite normally during that time. But if she were to be captured and Pelarus guessed who was responsible for her condition, he might contrive to terminate the pregnancy or, worse, murder the children after they were born. Delaroh had never truly gotten over the death of her sons. Klara had grieved for her brothers, but to lose two children… She couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of such a loss.

  Should she risk those lives or tough it out and hope this infirmity would pass? Which was the most responsible action?

  She’d been acting responsibly her entire life. Why should she stop now simply because her raging hormones dictated otherwise?

  “Go ahead and put me back to bed, Moe. We’ll figure this out eventually, but I can’t get pregnant right now. I refuse to risk the lives of innocent children. Not our innocent children or anyone else’s.”

  His sigh of regret set off a new wave of vertigo. “You’re right, of course. This is no time to be making babies, no matter how much we might want to.”

  Without another word, he carried her back to Velkma’s bedroom and placed her on the bed with such tenderness, Klara wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go.

  He stood in silence for a long moment. “Might be best if we don’t see much of each other for a few days. I’m guessing the craving will only get worse if we’re inhaling each other’s scent all the time.”

  She nodded, biting her lip as a lump rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She’d only known him a few days, and she would be seeing him again in a few more. Being parted shouldn’t be that difficult.

  So why was watching him as he turned to go one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life?

  “Let me know if you need anything.” Or change your mind.

  “I will,” she said.

  If Moe had looked back, he would never have been able to walk away. The trouble was he didn’t even have to look back. Her scent followed him, tormenting him more with every step he took. Closing the door behind him, he stumbled into the tiny kitchen and sat down heavily in the chair he’d so recently vacated. The joy he’d felt then was now replaced with an equal measure of despair, perhaps even more.

  Temfilk looked up from his plate. “Dude, are you okay?”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t expected to feel quite this bad, although he should have, especially after being essentially rejected. He knew why she’d made the decision to avoid conception, and if he was being honest with himself, he would’ve been astonished if she’d chosen any other alternative. Even so, he still felt like he’d been kicked in the nuts. His erection was already fading, leaving a heavy ache in his balls. That feeling would pass. Eventually.

  Unfortunately, his nose was entirely too good at picking up her scent.
All he did was turn his head toward the chair in which she’d been sitting, and the fire rose up from his groin all over again. He doubted he would ever be able to purge her scent entirely. Traces of it lingered on his clothes, his hair, and his skin. It seemed to have seeped in through his pores to become part of him.

  Velkma made a sound like a clucking hen, drawing his eye.

  “Sorry, Velkma,” he said. “Looks like the revolution is going to have to wait a while longer.”

  She smiled. “We have waited many years. A few more days won’t matter.” She tilted her head and blinked, her hooked nose and small dark eyes putting him in mind of a wise old bird. “Some decisions we make for ourselves, but most are made for us. Although you are unhappy now, you would not wish her to have chosen otherwise.”

  Moe nodded. “It’s one thing to risk your own life. Quite another to risk the lives of your children.” Or your mate.

  Nexbit gestured toward Moe’s plate. “You going to eat that?”

  Even though he’d never felt less hungry in his life, Moe wouldn’t insult Velkma by turning his nose up at it. Growing up as a son of Jack Tshevnoe had taught him that much. Jack was as tough as boot leather when it came to most things, but refusing the food she offered you was among the surest ways of getting on her shit list. Even though she might eventually forgive the offense, Moe doubted she ever forgot it.

  “Yeah.” He leaned forward and inhaled. It didn’t smell anywhere near as good as Klara, but, all things considered, it wasn’t too bad. He smiled at their hostess. “Smells great, Velkma. Thanks.”

  Velkma shrugged. “We make do with what we have. I can recall a time when aubergat stalks were only fed to animals. Now, they’re practically a delicacy.”

  “I’ve seen stranger foods that were considered delicacies,” Moe said. “Seems like most of them are either very rare or things you’ve been brainwashed into believing were tasty simply because they were all you had.” After a few bites, Moe was convinced that aubergat stalks fell into the latter category, redefining, as they did, the word “edible.”

  As he picked his way through the meal, his thoughts focused on the wait ahead. Killing time was nothing new to him. He’d grown up on a starship, and unless they were under attack or experiencing technical difficulties, space travel was inherently boring.

  This was different. He wanted to be doing something. Even if it was making covert reconnaissance runs on the palace. At least that would get him out of the house and away from Klara’s scent. The trouble was, he felt like he should stay put in order to protect her. Even though Velkma had said they were well protected right where they were, putting all of their eggs in one basket, no matter how well guarded, seemed unwise. Perhaps he and Temfilk could stay somewhere else. A different base of operations as it were.

  Looking back, he realized he should never have spent the night with Klara. The mating process made everything more complicated, not to mention fraught with frustration.

  Hindsight being 20/20 and all…

  The speed with which it all happened was mind-boggling. Matings normally took time to develop. Weeks at least, sometimes several months. Not overnight, and certainly not within an hour of their first—

  Except it wasn’t their first time. Not really. There had been an exchange of blood and snard both times. Apparently, that was all it took. In fact, it was a wonder she hadn’t conceived that very morning.

  Talk about a pairing that was meant to be.

  “Damn.”

  “What’s up, Moe?”

  Until Temfilk questioned him, Moe hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “Nothing, really. Just mulling over the futility of fighting against fate.”

  “Pretty deep subject for the breakfast table,” Nexbit said around a mouthful of some porridge-like substance Moe had yet to identify. “Might want to hold off on that until later.”

  “I agree,” Temfilk said. “We had enough of that shit yesterday. I vote we take the day off.”

  Moe snorted. “And do what, precisely?”

  “No idea,” the Norludian replied. “But anything’s better than all the talking we did yesterday. About wore me out.”

  “You’re only tired because you weren’t the one doing the talking.” Following a nod in Temfilk’s direction, Nexbit aimed a long-suffering look at Moe. “He about wears me out sometimes. I’ve considered turning into a rock just so he wouldn’t know I was there.”

  “I always know,” Temfilk drawled. “I can hear you breathing.”

  Nexbit’s response was an atonal hum, which Moe took to be the endpoint of the discussion.

  Interestingly, Moe felt a twinge of the old anger resurfacing. Beating the daylights out of a few Nedwuts was sounding better by the second. Merely stunning the ones that had burned them out of their hideout wasn’t nearly as satisfying as punching the furry beasts until their ugly snouts bled. And while cool heads and careful planning might be essential components of a successful revolution, there was nothing quite like unleashing one’s fury on some deserving individual. A face-off with Pelarus would’ve been the perfect solution, although a personal confrontation with the big boss man was highly unlikely.

  Unless…

  He slapped his palms on the table and fixed his gaze on Velkma. “We need to contact the Ladies Auxiliary. Now. I have an idea.”

  Chapter 17

  Moe had come up with some cockamamie ideas before… No, wait. He’d always been the sensible one. Something had changed. Perhaps it was joining forces with Klara and her gang. Whatever it was, he was not only angry, he was also feeling a tiny bit reckless.

  Mom would be proud.

  He waved at the poster-covered wall. “We can start with your collection. I’m not much of an artist, but maybe you know someone who is.”

  “Okay,” Temfilk drawled. “I’ll bite. You want someone to draw pictures?”

  “Yeah. Hopefully better than those drawings of Klara. We can use the back side of the posters.”

  “And just what do you want pictures of?” Nexbit asked.

  “Some of me, some of Pelarus,” Moe replied. “Maybe some with both of us.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” Velkma sounded cautiously hopeful.

  “I’m gonna challenge him to a duel.”

  Given the freaked-out screeches from her gang, Moe was glad Klara wasn’t sitting at the table. He wouldn’t have put it past her to come crawling out of the bedroom to see what was amiss.

  “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Temfilk declared. “I know you’re good in a fight, but that son of a dwithan would not fight fair.”

  Moe grinned. “I won’t be fighting fair, either. I’ll hold back on the speed while I’m fighting the other opponents in the arena, and—”

  Nexbit put up a hand. “You do realize that to fight in the arena, you either have to be owned by one of the patrons or get yourself thrown in the dungeons and have to fight your way out.”

  “I could go either way,” Moe said with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter as long as I get a match with Pelarus.”

  “I have never heard that he was a particularly fierce warrior,” Velkma said. “He would probably refuse and order his Nedwuts to kill you.”

  “That’s where you ladies come in. If all of you were to rise up and demand that he agree to fight me, he’d have a hard time backing down.” Moe lowered his voice. “Especially if the winner gets Klara.”

  Temfilk rubbed his fingertips together. “Ooh, I like that! She’ll never agree to it, but I like it!”

  Nexbit threw up his hands. “Okay. I give up. What sort of pictures do you want us to draw?”

  “Oh, you know the kind of thing I mean,” Moe replied. “Like the wanted posters, only proclaiming the fight of the century and winner takes all or something of that nature.”

  “The trick will be finding enough pencils and paint,” Velkma said. “Such things are not readily available on this world.” With a rueful twist of her lips, she added, “No doubt t
o prevent us from doing this very thing.”

  “We can draw with mud and sticks if we have to,” Moe said. “It doesn’t have to be pretty. Just enough to get Pelarus’s henchmen to notice.” He glanced at Velkma. “Don’t suppose you have at least one pencil, do you?”

  “Only one that I have had since I was a child.” Velkma’s beady eyes grew somewhat misty. “My grandmother gave it to me.”

  Great. A pencil with sentimental value.

  “However”—Velkma held up a hand before Moe could protest—“because this is a most worthy cause, I am willing to let you use it.”

  “Awesome. If you’ll get the pencil and one of the posters, I’ll show you what I mean.” Moe hadn’t done any artwork since his schooldays, and even then he’d never displayed any degree of talent whatsoever. Somehow, he doubted his artistic ability had changed much in the ensuing years.

  Velkma rummaged through the contents of a dusty old box on the shelf above the one comfortable-looking chair in her sitting room, returning with a round-tipped charcoal pencil. “I have never used this, although I am not sure what I was saving it for. Perhaps for this very moment.” She placed the pencil in Moe’s outstretched palm. “May it bring us luck.”

  “I’m all for a lucky pencil.” Moe tucked it behind his ear and pulled a poster off the wall, which fortunately was only tacked up by the corners rather than glued on like actual wallpaper. After clearing off a space on the table, he began to sketch a rather crude self-portrait. He hadn’t drawn much more than the outline of a masculine face with pointed ears when the Racks began chattering like a bunch of hungry monkeys. He glanced at Nexbit. “What’s up with them?”

  “No idea.” Nexbit frowned as the smallest of the Racks hopped down from his seat and scurried around to where Moe was sitting. “Although it looks like Lis wants to try.”

  Moe looked down at the furry little face that was anxiously peering up at him. Lis held out a paw. Moe was about to hand over the pencil when he stopped. “He won’t eat our only pencil, will he?”

  “Don’t think so,” Nexbit replied. “After eating six aubergat stalks, he’s probably not hungry.”