by Rose, Renee
“The ones who do survive there must have a strong will,” I add, thinking of Mirelle’s strength and courage.
“The question is what to do with her now.” King Zander puts up a hand. “I will hear your suggestions, since you are the ones who apprehended her.”
“Domm and I wish to keep her, my lord,” Lanz interrupts. A tick in his jaw signals his intensity over this request. “If any Zandian is to breed her, it should be us. She’s ours.”
I inwardly curse my best friend for vecking this up. We have a decent shot at this, if we show proper respect and honor.
“Yours?” King Zander raises a brow. His voice holds a chill because Lanz is clearly out of line.
I bow. “My lord, we gave her our blood to save her—both of us.” I speak quickly to smooth over Lanz’ offense. I have to make the king understand. “We’re bonded, even before we consider piercing her with our crystal. We will train and condition her for Zandian life.”
“How will you do that?”
“We’ll take her with us. On missions. Or to live with us on planet.” I dare look into his eyes. “We’ll teach her she belongs to us, now. To respect Zandian authority. Bow to it. Become part of it.”
Human females respond well to sexual bonding and punishments, as we’ve all heard from those lucky Zandians who have human mates. My cock stirs. I think about our little warrior’s red hair, her flashing eyes. Yes, I’m burning to mate this feisty human. Make her mine. Dominate her in ways that bring her pleasure and obedience in equal measure.
Lanz clears his throat. “She has skills we can utilize for the good of Zandia, my lord.”
I add, “Once she learns this is her new life, she will be a great asset to our planet. And to us.”
“Both of you?” King Zander looks at us. “You’ve discussed this, and are aware of the responsibility that comes with such a bond?”
“We are ready for this.” I speak firmly. “We are fighting partners, battle mates, and friends. We spend most of our time together as it is.”
“Yet you do not share a domicile.” The king looks skeptical.
“That’s not going to be—” starts Lanz, scowling.
I cut in. “Other groups have only first shared a home once they obtained their mate.” I clear my throat.
The king looks at Seke, then back at us. “I will grant you a temporary partnership with the human captive, Mirelle. The two of you may take her as your mate and rehabilitate her so she can adapt fully to life on Zandia. But I will reassess in a few lunar cycles to assure that this is a healthy bond for our planet and for you, some of our fiercest fighters. We cannot afford to have you distracted.”
We both bow. “Agreed, my lord. Thank you.”
“Your goal is to neutralize any threat she poses. Make her respect Zandian law and life. Convince her to use her talents to help the citizens of Zandia thrive and protect ourselves. Help her be an integral, interactive part of this society. Anything less will be considered failure.”
Is that all? I want to say, but you don’t speak that way to your king. And he’s right. If she can’t do these things, she won’t fit in our planet. I’m surprised by the anxiety that wells up, thinking that might even be a possibility.
“Understood.” I nod. “We will not fail.”
“See that you do a good job with her.” He starts to leave, then turns back. “Dr. Daneth can advise on appropriate techniques to...tame her.”
My whole body surges to life, thinking about conditioning our little human. Veck, this is going to be the best time of my life.
* * *
Mirelle
This is the worst time of my life.
No, the worst time was when I lost my sister.
But this is a close second.
Because I’m going to be given to the two warriors who captured me, as their mate. Here on Zandia.
Not a slave, they said.
Please.
It’s just semantics. If I’m stuck here and I can’t go home, and I have to serve two new masters, what part of slave doesn’t fit?
They’re coming here to collect me, their new property, from the med pod. I’m a prisoner being led to execution as I stand up and wait.
Bayla is solicitous, hurrying around me, gathering up a kit of bandages and medications. Salve in a shiny silver tube. Clothing, folded in a neat pile, the edges concise and even. A brush for my hair, a tin of soap that smells sweet and refreshing. “This is from flowers grown on Torin’s homestead,” she tells me, as if I care who that is or what she does. Although curiosity surges when she adds, “She also invented this lotion, which will help your scar tissues shrink over time.”
“She did?” I pick up the silver tube and examine it, as if the outside will give me hints about the woman who created it. “A slave?”
“Not a slave.” Her voice is even, but I can sense her slight frustration that she has to say this over and over to me, each time we talk about a female human on Zandia. “A human who’s a Zandian citizen, now. She’s created many useful products for our planet.”
“If humans are brought here by force, and not allowed to leave, then technically, we’re slaves...right? No matter how you dress it up.”
I can tell she wants to talk about this more, because her face gets that determined expression I now recognize.
I like Bayla, actually, a lot. She’s clever and kind. And to be honest, I’m intrigued—more than a little—by how brainwashed she is about life here on Zandia, and how supposedly wonderful it is for human females.
She’d be a great acquisition to bring back to Jesel. A being with her brains and medical skills? We need someone like that—badly, in order to even keep limping along. But breaking through her shell of captor-love will be a challenge.
I’ll have to pretend to fit in here, if I can. Bide my time. Earn trust. Then surely there will be a chance to steal a craft and escape. Get away from here in such a way that they won’t come after me. I don’t know what that way is, but I’m smart. I’ll figure it out. It’s my goal to save humans, and maybe landing on this planet was my fate. Because there are so many human women here who need to be rescued.
Something occurs to me, and I touch my neck. Empty.
I swallow and put down my hand. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.
“Are you looking for your bangle?” Bayla opens a box and I hear a soft click of the latches. “The chain is broken, but the charm is intact. It was all tangled up in your hair with blood.” As she hands it to me, she adds, “I saved it. It looked important.”
I suck in my breath and my fingers tremble as the chain drops into my palm with a soft swoosh.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat.
“Is it a flame? Made of silver?” She leans in, curious. Like a friend, not a captor.
Her interest is not unwelcome. And I’ve never really had a friend; something in me greedily soaks up these crumbs of human interaction.
“Yes.” I nod once. Open my fingers to reveal it, then clench them tightly.
“It’s exquisite.” She sounds eager. “We don’t have silver here on Zandia, but it can be imported. Of course, decoration isn’t the most important thing right now.”
“It wasn’t for decoration.” I squint, forcing my eyes to cooperate. The chain is just snapped. With pliers and solder it will be a simple fix—but no. Not now, it won’t.
“Is it a talisman of some kind?” At my expression, she closes up. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask more, if it’s a sensitive topic.”
I nod. I can barely think right now, let alone tell her my whole life story. About my mother, and sister, and how my father and I rescue women in their honor. How the flame was a gift from my mother, whom I never even got to know.
“Look, I have an idea.” She goes to the counter and comes back with a thin white filament. “Surgical floss. It’s very strong. You can use it to tie the ends of the chain together so you can still wear it.”
My hands are shaky, so she takes t
he necklace from me, and deftly attaches the pliant string. “Here. Try it out.”
“Thank you.” Having the necklace back is a comfort, although it hangs a little lower than before, which feels strange and different. I run my index finger over the flame and take a breath. “That was very kind of you.” Or clever. It could be merely a carefully crafted move to earn my trust, get me to lower my guard. Try to brainwash me like the other human women here. It’s what I’d do, in her place.
“And that surprises you.” She doesn’t say it like a question.
I don’t answer. She touches my hand. “None of this is a trick. Living here is the best thing that could have happened to me, and I want you to love it, too.” Her voice is so earnest that for a second I almost believe her words.
I’m about to reply but there is a chime at the door.
“They’re here.” She slides the items she’s gathered into a cloth bag. “Are you ready to meet your mates?”
“We’ve already met, so…” I begin, my tone sarcastic, and then the door opens, revealing my new owners. Masters. And my words trail off, because Mother Earth, seeing them in the light of planet rotation, my eyes not clouded with battle and escape, lets me see how truly intimidating these warriors are. They stand at least seven feet tall, not counting the horns, and their shoulders are twice as wide as mine. Every line of their bodies is cut with hard muscle.
I put a hand to my mouth and step back. Their brown eyes scan me. Horns tilt in my direction. I can practically feel the pheromones in the air, and my body responds immediately, as heat cascades in my low belly.
I’ve never felt like this before, so attracted to another being. Let alone two. I don’t understand how or why this is happening.
“Uh.” I’m at a true loss for words.
“Mirelle.” Lanz steps forward. “You look better. I’m Lanz, this is Domm. You are to come with us.”
I kick up my chin. “I remember you. And I suppose I don’t have a choice.”
“No.” He regards me without blinking. “You do not.” Their expressions are inscrutable.
“Not a slave,” I mutter to Bayla and give her a dark stare.
She touches my arm. “Please keep an open mind. You will soon see that this is a good life.”
“I already had one of those. I was free—something most humans can’t claim. I don’t need a new life.” It’s an automatic response, because I can’t keep my eyes off Lanz. His chest and arms are so strong, powerful. Heat smolders in his gaze and something in me turns warm and soft, spreading a tingly feeling throughout my veins. My breath quickens.
I frown. “You can force me to come with you, but I’ll never submit to you.”
“We’ll see.” The taller one, Domm, speaks casually, but his gaze is intense, trained on me. “You may surprise yourself.” He steps forward. “And until you’ve proven yourself trustworthy, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cuff you.”
“Because you fight like a vipn,” Lanz explains, in case I didn’t understand.
I roll my eyes. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“They kill beings every solar cycle,” Bayla whispers to me.
“Hold out your hands,” Domm orders. “Wrists together.”
I seethe. “They’re vicious, these vipns?” My face is hot as I look at Bayla. I fear that I have a beseeching, childlike expression on my face. There’s a strange lump in my throat.
“Oh, the worst,” she assures me. She pats my good shoulder.
Partially mollified, I hold out my wrists for the magnetic cuffs. Although part of me dies inside to allow this, the alternative—forcing a fight I’d lose, while I’m injured, is just not smart.
“You certainly surprised us.” Lanz steps forward too and tests the cuffs. “These aren’t too tight?” He sticks a finger between the cuff and my skin. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“You are an impressive fighter. We look forward to learning more about you,” Domm says.
“You will learn nothing.”
“You’re intelligent, and right now you know that your best and only true option is to come with us, now, to see our king. You will be respectful and polite, if you wish to stay out of a Zandian dungeon.” Domm raises a brow, the power in his voice dominating the room.
I know better than to argue, so I nod, a short bob of my head. Stick up my chin. Mother Earth, this is harder than I could have guessed. But at the same time, I think about all the women I’ve rescued from horrible situations. At least my captors are handsome and attractive, and seem…kind. In their way. It could be worse.
“What happened to…” I blink—did I ever learn their names?
“They’re in the med pod, too.” Lanz takes my arm. “Come.” We walk down a hallway.
“Are they injured? What will happen to them?”
“They’re more mentally affected than physically. Archer—the other one on our ship, he’s helping them.”
“I need to talk to them.” I make a fist with my hand, helpless rage filling me. “I never even got to learn their names. Or stories.”
“Not yet.”
Surprise wells up in me. “When?” I didn’t expect him to say yes.
“Once they are recovered, and you are...situated.”
“I failed them.”
They stop walking. Domm turns to me, his face solemn, and without thinking, I take a step back, ready to fight. Heart racing already. But no. I’m cuffed, outnumbered. I breathe out.
He blinks, then looks at Lanz, then back to me, and I can’t help tensing up again. I know he can feel it—warriors are in tune with everyone around them.
To my surprise, he leans over to bring his face level with mine, expression curious. “How in the universe did you do that?”
“I—they’re here. Captured. I was supposed to bring them to safety.” Having him lower himself like this makes my tension drain away immediately. My shoulders loosen.
“They’re safe here.” He takes my cuffed hands in his. His hand is large and warm, almost reassuring. But that’s not right. I can’t trust anything they’re selling.
“Not the same. Not free.”
“I think you need to consider,” Domm says, stretching back up to his full height, “exactly what kind of freedom they’d experience on Jesel.” He raises a brow. “Hmm?”
I grind my teeth. “We don’t have masters there. We’re our own masters.”
“The way I see it, you’re at the mercy of the Ocretions, when they want to raid. And isn’t there rampant in-fighting among the humans who live there? I hear it’s little more than a penal colony, lawless.”
“We’re working on it,” I snap, although my blood runs cold. My father—he’s not getting younger. The attacks from the north have been more violent lately and Domm’s not wrong about the Ocretions. Once they discovered humans had a secret outpost, they raided. Took some of the younger males and all the females, the one who weren’t able to hide in the cave system before they lost interest. I imagine they’ll be back, soon enough, to check for those they left behind. Jesel is one heartbeat away from death. At least for humans.
“How?”
The tone of his voice, filled with both sympathy and disbelief, makes me angry.
“That’s classified,” I snap.
He laughs, then turns and says something in Zandian that I can’t understand. But from the way they both look at me, appreciation in their eyes, I’m pretty sure it was inappropriately sexual.
Although if I’m to be bred by them, I suppose they consider it entirely appropriate.
Chapter 5
Mirelle
“When you see the king, bow your head and address him as my lord,” Domm instructs, his voice firm. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” I simper, and roll my eyes. “Absolutely, my lord and master.”
Both males appear to stifle a smile, which surprises me. I don’t have any experience with masters, but I’m expecting to see a shock stick soon.
Domm puts a hand on my arm. “Mirelle, don’t make me discipline you so soon.”
Ah, there’s the threat I expected. “Discipline?”
“We know human females require discipline and sexual stimulation to bond to their mates.”
I stop walking. “Excuse me?” What in all that is holy and human are these warriors talking about? Discipline and sexual stimulation?
Lanz turns, amusement flickering over his expression before he hides it. “Yes. Light punishment applied to your feminine parts. Your bare buttocks and breasts.”
As if the mere mention of said parts affects them, my nipples go taut, buttocks clenches. Heat pours down my inner thighs.
Lanz and Domm crowd me, like the heat of my embarrassment attracts them to me. Their eyes change from brown to purple, and their horns appear thicker. Taller. Stiffer, even.
“You can’t spank me.” My eyes widen. “That’s not—no.”
“As your assigned masters, it is our duty to create a bond for reconditioning.”
“But...spank me?” I can’t quite make my mind comprehend this. I was prepared for all kinds of terrible torture, and yet what they propose has me reeling. Sexual punishments? Humiliating, intimate…my pussy clenches as heat drenches my entire body.
“Exactly.” He points to a door. “Now we’re going in there and you are going to be contrite and polite and request asylum here.”
“I hardly think—”
Domm drops a large hand to my ass and pats it. If it’s meant to be a warning, my body misunderstands. I have to shift and squeeze my inner thighs together, trying to get relief.
“You are going to be polite.” He slaps my ass—more of a tap, really.
My clit pulses.
“You will be apologetic.” His large hand closes over one butt cheek and he squeezes it roughly. “Is that clear?”
“Stop!” I try to shimmy away from him. My face flames, but the heat doesn’t come close to what I’m experiencing below the waist.