by Ivy Barrett
“You are my backup,” Lorna stressed. “The comm-cluster will keep us linked, and once I’ve figured out exactly what we’re dealing with, we’ll plan the next phase of the mission.”
“Give me one more day to figure out how to make this safer,” Celeste pleaded. “This will likely be our only chance. We can’t squander it.”
Lorna recognized a stall tactic when she heard one. Celeste would insist Lorna “give me one more day” for as long as possible, hoping Lorna would change her mind. She glanced away, needing a moment to organize her thoughts. She’d expected resistance from Celeste, had originally planned to leave a message explaining what she’d done after she’d been kidnapped. But she’d needed help with the comm-cluster. Well, the device was in place, so there was no reason to put this off.
“There is no way to make this safer,” Lorna said firmly. “The sooner I get started, the sooner we’ll have Brianne back. Now stop arguing with me.”
Celeste threw her arms around Lorna and hugged her tightly, but she’d finally run out of words.
Chapter One
Reality swelled in and out of focus as Lorna struggled to raise her head.
Where am I?
The last thing she remembered was admitting defeat and heading toward her car. The graduation party had been extremely crowded and was quickly devolving into a drunken brawl when she decided she’d had enough. Convinced the Yashonty would strike again, she’d spent more time circling the building and meandering around in the parking lot than at the actual party. But it had all been for nothing. Or so she’d thought as she crossed the parking lot for the last time. She’d pushed her remote, heard the familiar click of the driver’s door unlocking, and then nothing. No pain, no sudden flash of light, just a disconcerting gap in her memory.
The sensory fog lifted gradually, allowing her to analyze input. She was resting face up on something firm, not hard. The surface extended the entire length of her body. She couldn’t tell its width without moving her arms, and she was still too weak for that. The room was cool and quiet. She felt no breeze or heard any ambient noise indicating that she was outside.
“She’s awake, sir.” The words sounded unfamiliar to her ears, but her brain understood their meaning. She knew how the translator worked, but experiencing it for the first time was surreal.
“Notify Magister Lark.” The second voice was deeper, much more commanding. The autocratic tone sent a strange wave of heat cascading through her body. Unlike Ventori, which sounded clipped and impatient, this language swelled and rolled. Or maybe that was just her befuddled mind.
“Right away, sir.”
How long had she been unconscious? Was this one of the preloaded dialects, or had she been out for several hours? She kept her eyes closed, not yet ready to face reality.
“Open your eyes, female.” It was the second male, but he’d switched to Ventori.
If they didn’t realize she could understand them, they might say something she could use to—
Someone pinched her nipple hard enough to make her cry out. Her eyes flew open and clashed with her captor’s penetrating violet stare. She’d done it! The Yashonty had taken the bait. Now all she had to do was locate Brianne and the other human females so Celeste could arrange their rescue. Shock and hope ricocheted through her mind, followed by a creeping sense of trepidation.
“I don’t repeat orders, and I expect to be obeyed. Do you understand?” His fingers tightened in silent warning, but the pressure stopped just short of pain.
She instinctively shifted her gaze to his broad chest, frantically searching for the correct Ventori phrase. Comprehending other languages was automatic with translator nano-bots. Speaking, however, required conscious effort and practice. This was the first time she’d attempted to use the technology, and she still felt drugged or concussed. “I...” She blinked and breathed, trying to focus her muddled brain. “Understand.” Had that been right?
“You will address me as ‘Sir.’ Say ‘I understand, Sir.’”
Apparently, she’d stumbled onto the correct words. She tried to swallow and failed, so she whispered, “I understand, Sir.”
“Are you in pain or just disoriented?” He didn’t release her nipple, used his fingers to demonstrate his control over her.
Knowing better than attempting to avoid his touch, she held perfectly still. “I feel... sick. Sir.” She added the last as the pressure of his fingers gradually increased.
He finally released her and motioned toward something she couldn’t see. She started to look in the direction he’d indicated, but he caught her chin and guided her face back around. “Keep your gaze on me. Movement makes the nausea worse. The side effects are unpleasant but pass quickly.”
She’d been concerned that he’d take offense at her curious stare, so she was happy to comply with the directive. Slowly raising her gaze, she absorbed her first detailed look at her captor. Intricate white markings contrasted sharply with his blue-black skin and purple eyes. The color was too blue to qualify as lavender, which was the description she heard most often. Clearly, this male was Yashonty, but was he one of the rebels or a merciless slaver? Dread dropped into the pit of her stomach at the horrendous possibility.
“Side effects of what, Sir? Where am I? What did you do to me? Why was I kidnapped?” The questions came pouring out, and she cringed. Damn it. She needed to get her shit together fast if she hoped to utilize this situation. Her strategy was to appear compliant while subtly digging for information. Nothing about that outburst had been subtle.
“It is wisest for females not to speak unless they are asked a question, but your confusion is understandable. I will be lenient this one time.” His features were bold, slashing cheekbones and stark white brows, nearly square jaw. The bony ridge encircling the back of his head was more prominent than she had pictured. It made him look savage, almost prehistoric. Long white hair grew below the ridge while the upper portion of his head was smooth. He’d drawn his hair back, and the upper portion of his head was covered with intricate white markings. Still, his most striking feature by far was his luminous purple eyes. “It was necessary to render you unconscious as soundlessly as possible. The energy pulse is harmless, but causes the effects you’re currently feeling.”
“And the memory loss?”
“Yes.”
She suspected that his indulgence wouldn’t last, so she quickly decided which questions mattered. “Where am I?” If she didn’t know where she was, how could she find Brianne?
“Your location is irrelevant.”
That hadn’t taken long. She sighed but dared one last question. “Why am I here?”
“You are now the property of the Yashonty. That’s all you need to know. Human laws and expectations no longer apply. The sooner you accept that fact, the sooner your life will become tolerable. Perhaps even pleasant, if your master or masters are well pleased.” For no reason she understood, the head of the narrow table began to rise. A younger Yashonty male stepped into view and handed ‘Sir’ a pouch of light orange liquid. Sir unscrewed the nozzle, then handed her the pouch. “This is water and restorative minerals. It will not harm you.”
Yashonty Gatorade? It looked more like the juice drinks busy mothers gave their kids. Sir made an impatient motion toward her mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a careful sip. The moisture felt wonderful in her dry mouth, and the flavor was light and slightly sweet, so she drank more. “Thank you, Sir.” He’d told her not to ask questions, so she waited to see if he’d explain his expectations. That was the logical next step. She couldn’t be obedient if she didn’t know what he wanted her to do.
Rather than risk his anger, she glanced around the room. There was a bank of inset cabinets, topped by a recessed counter. Two square stools had been arranged against one wall, and a door was centered on another. The table/bed was the only other furniture. Was this the Yashonty answer to a clinic or a holding cell?
Breeding pen? Fear washed over her as the poss
ibility took root in her mind. It was a matter of survival for these alien races. She’d heard the excuse so often that she’d started using it herself. They weren’t ruthless rapists. They were fighting for their lives, doing what they must to prevent extinction. It was much harder to believe while staring her captor in the face.
She still wore the sapphire-blue cocktail dress she’d donned for the party, so maybe she was overreacting. Wouldn’t she be naked and strapped to the table if he meant to immediately breed with her? Feeling Sir’s assessing stare moving over her body, she tugged the hem down an inch or two. Her feet were bare, and she had no idea what had happened to her purse or car remote.
“You don’t seem surprised by your situation,” Sir noted, sounding contemplative rather than accusatory. “The others often wake up screaming. Especially when they realize we are not Ventori.”
“The others, Sir?” She glanced at him then away. She had to convince him she was helpless, maybe even not too bright. “Were others taken from the graduation party or did you mean—”
The door panel suddenly lifted, sliding up into whatever was above this room or curling in on itself. A tall, lean Yashonty male entered the room, his shoulders squared, hands locked behind his back. He emanated authority and more than a hint of arrogance. Could this be the one they called Ram? No, Sir had told the young one to notify Magistrate or Magister. Something-or-other.
Like the other two, the newcomer wore a light gray uniform. The crisp material showcased his athletic form and contrasted sharply with his dark skin. His bonelike ridge was ivory, and the fringe of hair below it had been clipped short. Unlike the others, his eyes were so pale they appeared lilac rather than lavender. She’d never realized purple came in so many different shades. The newcomer glanced at Sir, then looked at her and started laughing.
Unsure if she was insulted or relieved by the bizarre reaction, she watched him silently. What did he find so amusing?
“This is not the female I showed you,” the newcomer told Sir in their language. Unsure what it was called, she decided Yashonty would do until someone told her otherwise. “This one has orange hair, not gold.”
Her hair was not orange. It was rich, natural auburn, but she carefully controlled her expression, not ready to reveal that she could understand Yashonty as well as Ventori.
“Even on a planet as primitive as Earth, hair color can be changed,” Sir argued in Yashonty. “Look again. This is the female in those images.”
The newcomer moved closer to the table, his pastel gaze fixed on her face. After a long visual assessment, he shook his head. “Her eyes are blue, not green. You’ve taken the wrong female.”
Sir released a string of words her nano-bots couldn’t translate.
“Will this one go into the lottery?” the young one asked hopefully. He’d been standing there so still and silent that she’d almost forgotten about him. “Her coloring is so... exotic. I know many who will risk their tokens for such a prize.”
“She must be interrogated first,” the newcomer said, his expression icing over. “Leave us.” He motioned toward the door without looking away from her.
Shit. This couldn’t be good.
“Of course, Magister Lark.” Without a backward glance, the young one left.
Was Lark his name or part of the title? Magister was most often associated with academia on Earth. Did it mean the same to the Yashonty? Was he some sort of teacher or mentor?
Hopefully, his sudden need for privacy had to do with Sir’s screw-up and not her interrogation. Both males continued to stare at her, so she dropped her gaze to her lap. Let them think she was a spineless coward. They’d be less careful about what they said if they believed she was terrified. Her hair was loose, flowing across her shoulders and halfway down her back. Using the wavy strands to shield her features, she listened carefully without drawing their attention.
“Where did you find her?” the magister asked.
As she’d hoped, they continued their conversation as if she wasn’t there.
“She was prowling the transport lot at the party, just like you predicted.”
Holy shit. How long had he been watching her to predict—no, he hadn’t been watching her. He’d been watching a blue-eyed blonde. Celeste! Celeste was their target.
“There has to be a connection between the two,” the magister grumbled. “This cannot be a coincidence.” He lightly touched her arm, just a warm brush of fingertips meant to draw her attention. “Who is Celeste Mortenson, and why is she trying to locate our leader?” He spoke Ventori with a lilting accent, yet his voice was cold and demanding.
She glanced at him, then away. “I don’t know that name.”
His arm shot out and he fisted the back of her hair.
She cried out, instinctively grabbing his wrist and turning her head in an attempt to ease the sting.
“Speak another lie, and you will be punished.” He turned her head until she met his angry gaze. “And never touch me without permission. This is the only warning you will receive.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She licked her lips as she lowered her arm, hoping she looked frightened, not aroused. In truth, she was a little of both. These males could do anything they wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She was literally at their mercy.
So why wasn’t she afraid? All she felt was a strange sense of anticipation.
“You will address me as Master, not Sir.”
The demand sent a shiver down her spine. “Whatever you like, Master.” She added the title after a slight hesitation. She wasn’t surprised by the demand. Master fit his personality better than Sir.
“Who is Celeste?” the magister persisted without releasing her hair.
“Celeste is my sister, and we are desperate to find our younger sister, Brianne.” She hadn’t intended to tell anyone until she knew more about the situation, but the only alternative was to lie and risk punishment. The Ventori liked to spank females, but she knew so little about the Yashonty. Their idea of discipline could be much, much worse.
The magister studied her for a moment longer, then let go. Sir stood there silently the entire time, allowing the magister to interrogate her. Was that simply the magister’s job, or was Sir subordinate? If the magister had ordered Sir to kidnap Celeste, it seemed likely.
“What does this have to do with General Dulvet?” the magister asked.
She knew he meant Ram, but doubted he’d appreciate it if she casually used the nickname. “Is that your leader? I don’t know his name.”
“Most call him Ram, but I advise you against such familiarity. Now answer the question.”
“We believe Brianne is on one of your ships. Celeste figured she’d go right to the top.” Both of these males seemed to have some level of authority. If they weren’t in a position to help her, perhaps she could convince them to arrange a meeting with Ram.
“Why were you at the party?” Sir wanted to know. “You are too old for such frivolities.”
She smiled, unable to stop the nervous reaction. Lowering her lashes to shadow her eyes, she said, “Many human females would find that insulting, Sir.” She hadn’t meant it to sound quite so flirtatious, but she needed to engage their interest, encourage them to talk to her.
“Are you insulted?” A strange texture filled his tone, drawing her gaze back to his eyes. The reflective quality became an actual glow as the hue deepened. She hadn’t realized his eyes were so beautiful, or that the shape of his blue-black lips was so sensual.
“Can I question her while you fuck her?” the magister teased in Yashonty. “It’s obvious you can’t wait to get your cock inside her strange pink cunt.”
Sir looked at the magister, brows arched dramatically. “That rumor is true? Human pussies are pink?” He glanced at her askance, then back at his companion. “But the rest of her skin is so... pale.”
The magister chuckled, a wicked gleam taking over his eyes. “Would you like me to show you?” His stern expression re
turned in an instant as he shifted his attention back to her. “How many males have you accepted into your body?”
“What does that have to do with—”
Fast as a striking cobra, the magister pulled her off the table then bent her over the narrow side, face down. “Questions will be answered respectfully and without hesitation.” He pulled up the skirt of her clingy dress and slapped her ass hard, one side and then the other.
“Let go of me!” Tired of acting like a terrified victim, Lorna kicked and twisted. She lunged forward, then pushed off the table, trying to jerk out of his hold. The magister pushed her back down. She tossed her hair back and cried out in exasperation. All it would take was a well-placed heel kick or an elbow to the jaw, and the arrogant fucker would drop. But she was a helpless grad student, not ex-FBI.
The magister held her down with one hand while he spanked her with the other. “Disobedience will be punished.” His palm smacked her cheeks again and again, each stinging slap its own assault on her dignity. “I wanted to know if you were a virgin.” He accented the statement with a series of fast, hard spanks.
She panted and gritted her teeth, struggling to calm her mind enough to process the pain and her surging emotions.
“All you had to do was answer a simple question.” More punishing slaps emphasized his point. “Instead, you will stand still and remain silent while I make the determination for myself.”
“Like hell I will,” she sneered, twisting her hips away from him as she stubbornly pressed her thighs together. “I’m not a virgin. Now stop this nonsense! I answered your ridiculous question.”
He moved behind her and ripped off her panties, then kicked her feet apart.
The material bit into her hips before it tore. The pain was sharp, but fleeting. Cool air brushed over her damp folds, increasing the empty ache deep inside her. “Stop it! Get your fucking hands off me!” Her bizarre reaction to his aggression made her voice almost shrill.
He warmed her bottom with more slaps, then moved on to the back of her thighs. She twisted and screamed, more afraid of her responses than the stinging impact of his hand. His hold became inflexible, and his strength aroused her even more. She didn’t understand why she was feeling these urges, but the need was undeniable.