by Renee Rose
Bought by the Zandians
Alien Warrior Reverse Harem Romance
Renee Rose
Rebel West
Copyright © June 2018 Bought by the Zandians by Renee Rose and Rebel West
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this e-book or paperback may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published in the United States of America
Renee Rose Romance
Editor: Maggie Ryan
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!
Contents
Bought by the Zandians
1. Aurelia Minor 2, Slave Auction
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Want More?
From the Authors
Check out Renee’s Zandian Masters Series!
Read the entire Zandian Masters Series
About Renee Rose
Want FREE Renee Rose books?
Other Titles by Renee Rose
About Rebel West
Excerpt from Conquered by the Alien Prince
Conquered by the Alien Prince - Sample
Bought by the Zandians
Zandian Brides, Book Two
By Renee Rose and Rebel West
They bought me at auction. Claimed me. Forever.
Two purple, horned males with massive chests and arms as thick as my waist.
They’re taking me to Zandia to bear their young.
The only trouble is—I’m already pregnant.
And if my former master finds me, he’ll tear me to pieces once his young is born.
My new masters are firm, but kind. They give far more pleasure than pain. Their planet is beautiful.
But when they find out my secret, I have no doubt they’ll cast me out.
And my life will be forfeit.
Because no human female with a bounty on her head survives more than a lunar cycle out there.
Aurelia Minor 2, Slave Auction
Danica
Naked, strapped to a post on the auction block, I suck the blood from my cracked lower lip.
Please let this be quick.
The longer I stand up here, trembling and on full display, the greater the chance of some being searching my barcode and discovering I’m wanted.
I guarantee my former master, Akron, put a bounty on my head the moment he realized I escaped. And he doesn’t even know the secret I’m keeping. The one that would spell my death.
Yeah.
So it was escape or die. And I escaped. Briefly.
Three Ocretions walk by, chortling to themselves. One of them slaps my tit and the three roar with laughter. I make my stare blank, like no sentient being is inside my body, as I fiercely pray they won’t stop. Ocretions would know to check my slave barcode and trace my history back to Akron. It wouldn’t take them more than half a planet rotation to find out about the bounty and deliver me to my rightful owner.
I hold my breath until they move on.
Apart from them, I really don’t care who buys me. I plan to escape again as soon as possible. Supposedly, there’s a planet where human slaves can go and be free: Jesel. It’s wildly dangerous, but that doesn’t bother me. My life is probably forfeit, anyway.
I wriggle in my tight straps. The animal hide bites into my skin. My arms and legs have gone numb, but worst of all, the one around my neck is too tight and I can scarcely breathe. I work to slow my inhalations because panic will only make it worse.
The market is full of beings of every species. Most appear too poor to even offer twenty steins for me.
Of course, I don’t look like much. I’m filthy and bruised, covered in scrapes from getting here. When I first arrived, I rubbed some of the crimson dirt from this planet on my hair to cover the exotic color. Blondes are considered a rarity amongst human slaves. Unfortunately, I was caught moments later. At least I was grabbed by a small-minded, greedy smuggler, whose only interest was a quick sale.
Two large purple beings with horns stroll idly along the stalls of the market. Muscles bulge beneath their clean white tunics and they carry old-fashioned swords on their belts.
Real Zandian warriors.
I’ve never seen one before, but I’ve heard of them. They study for battle until it becomes an art. Long rumored to be extinct, the recent word around the galaxy is they just took back their planet with a tiny army.
They look at me from across the crimson dirt expanse and one of them leans into the other one and says something. When they start walking in my direction, my heart inexplicably hammers.
I moisten my cracked lips with my tongue. I can’t decide if my response means I’m afraid or excited.
Afraid. Definitely afraid. Warriors like these are probably bounty hunters. They’re after the price on my head.
And that may be true, but as they come closer, tingles run across my skin. Must be the damn breeding hormones. I’m never excited by males.
But maybe I just hadn’t met the right species before. Because when they stop in front of me, my nipples tighten, and my breath shortens. Apparently purple aliens with horns are exactly my type.
One of them inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring.
The other one reaches out and slides his thick fingers under the animal hide strap that binds my neck to the post. My eyes fly wide and I try to suck in a breath against the increased constriction. But then he yanks it away from me, tearing it from the post and throwing it to the ground. I drag in a lungful of air and cough.
The Aurelian trader lifts the same gun he used on me and points it at the male’s chest. “Get back! You can’t set her free.”
Neither Zandian moves. They don’t flinch at the sight of the gun, nor do they lift their hands in surrender. “Your slave was choking,” my liberator says mildly. He has a deep voice that does strange things to my knees. “You should take care with how tight you strap them. No one will buy a dead female.”
The trader scoffs and pinches my cheeks, drawing my bleeding lips together. “This one wouldn’t die so easily.” He shows them the bite mark I left on his arm. “She’s a liineor.”
I have no idea what a liineor is, but I assume it’s some wild beast from this planet.
The Zandians don’t move, but the upper lip on the leaner one starts to curl. He says something under his breath in their language, and his friend nods. Neither of them take their gazes from me.
At first glance, I thought their eyes were brown, but now I see they’re pu
rple, like their skin. Or have they grown more violet? The leaner one takes a long, slow perusal of my body. “How much?” He sounds only half interested, but that could be part of the bargaining game.
I can’t decide if I want their interest. I shouldn’t. These males are dangerous. Very dangerous. They’re trained to kill, and they appear highly intelligent.
So I should be hoping they mosey away and find some other vendor to hassle.
But instead I find myself praying they buy me. For no reason other than because I can’t stand the thought of them walking away.
The larger one lifts my tangled hair from my shoulders and peers at my neck. His fingers brush my bare shoulder. He’s so close I smell the scent of his skin—masculine and clean. He drops the locks back in place and says something to his friend in Zandian.
Fuck.
They are smart. He just saw my real hair color but he’s playing it cool.
“Where did you get her?” he asks. He has a square, hairless jaw and a cleft chin that probably makes every female in the galaxy drool when he goes by.
The trader lifts his chin. “It doesn’t matter where.”
“So you don’t have her file? She’s not legally yours?” the leaner one asks.
Oh fuck. They’re asking way too many questions. The next thing you know, they’ll be checking my barcode. I twist my neck to the side and lean forward, catching the “V” of skin showing above the Zandian’s tunic with my tongue. I flick once. Twice.
He catches me by the hair and pulls my head back, gazing down at me with amusement.
“I think she likes you,” his friend observes with a chuckle.
He holds my hair in a fist too tight, but I don’t think he means to hurt me. He’s just too strong, or unaware of how much weaker my species is. He leans down and brushes his lips across mine. At the same time, his free hand cups my mons.
I jerk, more from surprise than anything. And because every other time a male has grabbed me there has been unpleasant.
But it isn’t this time. He rubs the pad of his finger lightly through my folds and I’m stunned at how wet I am.
His horns stiffen and lean in my direction while he watches my face, his nose almost touching mine, amethyst eyes burning.
I pant, heat curling like smoke through my belly.
“One hundred fifty stein,” he says. He removes his finger from my pussy. I’m itchy and hot. Needy for his touch to return.
“Three hundred,” the vendor counters.
“One seventy-five. Final offer.” He releases my hair and takes a step back.
“Two fifty.”
His friend scoffs. He shrugs and walks away.
The fucking vendor lets them go. Three steps away. Four. Five. “Two hundred,” he calls to their backs.
They stop but don’t turn. They seem to be in conversation with each other.
“One ninety.” The vendor tries again.
It takes the broad one two long strides to return. His friend pulls out a burlap bag full of coins while he digs his fingers under the strap around my chest. He rips it off, as if thick animal hide is easy to snap.
I wince as the blood rushes down my arms like a million insect stings. He rips off the strap around my thighs and I crumple, unable to hold myself up. In a flash, I’m swooped up over a broad shoulder.
The Zandian claps a large hand down on my ass. “Come on, little slave. We know just the place for humans who like to escape their masters.”
Chapter 2
Benn
Gorde carries the human over his shoulder to our ship, drawing a few curious looks from the intergalactic traders who choke the market. I knew the second we saw her Gorde was going to want her. Who wouldn’t?
She’s incredibly beautiful, even with the ridiculous mud-job she did to disguise her hair. It’s pale blonde—the color of moonlight, which makes her exceedingly valuable. Humans have interbred so long there are few humans with anything but brown color hair. Red-haired and blonde human females sell for at least three times as much. So do particularly dark-skinned or light-skinned females—any unusual trait sells for more.
Her eyes, too, are a striking color. Pale blue-green. The color of the crystal lakes on Zandia. The ones I’ve only seen on old holos.
Soon, we’ll be back home. We were hoping to find a Zandian female to mate, as unlikely as that may be.
Gorde and I were sent to search for any remaining Zandians scattered throughout the galaxy. King Zander wishes to extend a personal invitation for all to return. The demands of repopulation require we have as many in the gene pool as possible.
Somewhere along the line, Gorde and I got it in our heads we might be lucky enough to find one last female of our own species. Tomis and Erick were fortunate enough. Why not us?
But I know that gleam in Gorde’s eye. He’s already thinking the human is ours.
Which is too bad, because we could sell her for a huge profit. Maybe I can still talk him into it.
After we’ve had our way with her, of course.
Because there’s no way either of us will last a planet rotation in the same ship as this enticing female without needing to claim her.
And considering the condition we found her in, it’s easy to ignore my guilt at using her as a sex slave. Surely this has been her use for all of her adult existence.
We’ll treat her well, and resell her to a decent being. No harm will come to her. And Gorde and I certainly know our way around the human female anatomy enough to please her. We’ll have her screaming for release before we leave Aurelian airspace, I guarantee it.
Gorde voice activates the hatch and carries her onboard our craft—a shiny new fightership provided by King Zander for our special mission.
“Let’s get our little slave cleaned up,” Gorde says, but walks past the washtube. I realize when he reaches the back hatch, he intends to use the open wash area normally used to hosing down dirty equipment.
Ah. He wants to wash her himself. Or rather, he’s inviting me to join him in washing her. There’s no way the three of us would’ve fit in the washtube.
I trail after them, admiring the lovely human’s form. In her upside down position, the pale roots of her hair are even more obvious.
Gorde sets her upright on the metal surface and I watch her face. I don’t catch any sign of resentment, nor do I see the simple slave’s expression of devotion or seduction.
This human carries only wary alertness. She’s not overly afraid, nor does she appear particularly trusting.
If I were to bet, I’d put Zandian crystal on her being very smart for her species.
I wonder how she ended up on the auction block in Aurelia.
I’m sure if I scanned her barcode, I’d find out she escaped her former master. There could even be a bounty out for her return.
Even as I consider it, something in me rejects the idea. And not just because Gorde seems taken by her. No, I’m not in a hurry to get rid of this enchanting creature too soon, myself.
The prospect of enjoying her thoroughly has me far too excited.
Gorde turns on the spray hose and strips off his clothes. I shuck mine as well.
The little human’s face remains impassive as she scans our naked bodies, but her lips part and her nipples harden the way they did when Gorde touched her in the market.
We still haven’t spoken a single word to the slave herself, but we speak in Ocretion so she can understand us. It’s a subtle power play—one Gorde and I have used a hundred times in all kinds of situations, from bargaining for goods to fighting for our lives.
I pick up the hose and turn the nozzle until the spray fans out lightly. Gorde maneuvers her until she’s standing right in front of me. “All right. Let’s wash the stench of the market off her.”
I start with her head, rinsing the mud from her hair. It runs in red rivulets down her tantalizing body. She blinks the water from her eyes and shoves her hair back from her face, but otherwise makes no protest.
; “It’s even prettier than we suspected,” Gorde says, picking up a strand of her moon-pale hair. With the mud washed out, it lies in a smooth sheet down her back.
I step in closer and bring the spray to her neck, then shoulders. When I get to her breasts, I let my free hand wander over them, testing their size and weight.
“Mmm. Firm breasts. Perfect size to fill my hand,” I observe.
“Let me try.” Gorde steps up behind her and wraps both his hands around her breasts from behind. “Yes, you’re right.” He squeezes her nipples.
She shifts from one foot to the other, but still offers no protest.
Good little slave. Well-trained.
Gorde releases her to find a skin cleanser and returns. “She’s quite dirty,” he observes with a casual air as he rubs a dollop of cleanser between his two palms. “It will probably take some time to make sure we get every crack and crevice clean.”
My cock, already thick, shoots out even straighter. It’s only just beginning to hit me how lucky we are. We just scored a beautiful, valuable human slave. One who appears perfectly willing to allow us to do anything we like with her.
My conscience pricks a bit. King Zander doesn’t allow humans to be kept as slaves on Zandia. While humans must prove themselves willing to participate in the rebuilding of our planet, and be sponsored by a Zandian, they do retain a measure of free will on our planet.
By withholding that bit of information, we’re coercing the beautiful slave.