Sold to the Alien Smugglers: A Fated Mates Romance (Captive Mates Book 4)

by Corin Cain

  I take the hint and turn my eyes downward.

  Not soon enough, though. Marcel jerks my leash down, choking me hard and forcing my eyes toward the water swirling at my feet. I gasp desperately for air. I know he had to do it – to show an act of dominance in front of this room full of eager Bullfrogs – but anger still erupts inside of me. Marcel has just shown the room that he owns me- that I’m his property, and he’s in complete control. To me, it doesn’t feel like just an act.

  In fact, that demonstration suddenly makes it hard to remember how gently Marcel must have smeared that healing salve on my forehead when I slept – his touch so delicate that I didn’t wake from my fitful slumber.

  Similarly, it’s hard to remind myself how he’d stayed up all night to watch over Tessa and I protectively.

  He’s done such kind things – but in this throne room, he knows kindness is viewed as weakness, and needs everybody to witness that he owns me. If he doesn’t convince them, they’ll know the Aurelian’s behavior at the slave auction was a sham.

  But, was it?

  These three Aurelians are teetering on the knife-edge between good and evil. I heard them talking about the Priesthood earlier, and of the human-ruled planets that have chosen to spurn Aurelian protection and become Independent. Marcel, Quint, and Lucius might not actively follow the Old Ways – but they’re at least sympathetic to them. At any moment, sympathy could extend toward certainty – and they might finally decide they want to own me fully.

  Marcel is oblivious to my thoughts. He steps forward through the water, and calls up:

  “Lord Oblog! Have you summoned us to notify us of the next shipment?”

  Marcel had promised me that if the shipment wasn’t prepared and ready today, he’d leave. Does Oblog suspect this?

  I can feel the tension beneath his thinly polite words. Marcel has chosen to ignore the Toad’s slight, and he maintains his dignity by bringing the conversation swiftly back to discussions of business.

  My eyes are tuned downward – to the clear water swilling at our feet – but from the corner of my eyes, I can still see the eager smile of superiority stretching across the Toad Lord’s bulbous lips.

  “My dutiful little errand boys.” The Toad turns to his fellow dignitary. “See, Lord Qavar? How these proud Aurelians are so eager to serve me?”

  Lucius steps forward, a low growl in his throat. Then, he suddenly stops – as if he’s hit a wall.

  I wonder if Marcel or Quint communicated wordlessly to him – reminding the most impulsive of the three that our first priority is to get through this daunting confrontation alive. The Aurelians promised Tessa and I that they’d get us off this deathtrap and into free space – and remaining among the living is an important first step in that ambitious plan.

  Oblog raises his spindly, glistening hands.

  “No, Aurelian. I did not summon you here to discuss the next shipment. I called you here because…” Then, a gurgling chuckle breaks his speech. Oblog turns to the Toad dignitary sitting next to him and laments: “Oh, it’s oh-so sad, Lord Qavar…” Then, he turns back to Marcel. “I summoned you here because you have not been honest with me.”

  Marcel tenses. I sense he wants to snatch for the Orb-Blade hanging at his waist, but he knows that doing so will instantly sign his death warrant. If he activates that otherworldly, blue-black blade, the Sentinel robots will instantly cut him down – and if the magnificent warrior somehow survives the maelstrom of high-velocity slug rounds, the Bullfrogs will swiftly finish the job the Sentinels started.

  Maybe that’s precisely why Lord Oblog summoned them here, to this cavernous throne room. Maybe he invited Lord Qavar to watch the three Aurelians get cut down by the robots and Bullfrogs – to put on a show of ruthlessness and strength.

  That’s why he insisted the Aurelians bring their little slaves. Either we’ll be cut down alongside them, or taken as spoils of victory after the fact. Tessa and I might not have escaped the aquarium of a Toad or Bullfrog after all.

  “We do not lie!”

  Marcel’s voice is cold and icy as it echoes across the throne room. Three proud, powerful Aurelians face down a room full of Toads and Bullfrogs, but I sense Oblong scored the first victory by attacking Marcel where he was most vulnerable.

  His pride.

  Worry chills my blood like ice water. When I was a little girl, I’d been raised on stories in which good always overcame evil, and the heroes always emerged victorious. Out in the real universe, I quickly learned that good doesn’t always win.

  I learned that lesson the hard way – when I witnessed my best friend get skewered by that sadistic Bullfrog. The slimy, disgusting Toad species will always triumph over good if they have sufficient numbers; and right now, Lord Oblog has ensured they’ve got that advantage.

  If Marcel pushes too hard, Oblog might choose to make an example of us – if he hasn’t decided to already.

  Lord Oblog slowly stands. It’s a disgusting sight – to see those spindly, out of proportion legs curl out from beneath his bulk and lift his gelatinous body into the air.

  He pads down the steps from his throne – his wide, webbed feet slapping obscenely with each step he takes. The Toad dignitary waddles forward until he’s just five feet in front of us – dwarfed by the three powerful Aurelans, and easily within range of Marcel’s Orb-Blade.

  I saw how quickly the Aurelians can snatch those weapons from their waist. I remember how it had taken less than a second for Marcel to send the head of that Toad guard spinning across the room. Lord Oblog must be aware that he’s within killing range – and yet his quivering body stands at ease, and his bulbous eyes show no hint of concern.

  The Toad stands an inch shorter than even me, at the very least – but from Oblog’s body language, it’s clear he feels like a Titan in this throne room. Every eye on him – including the protective, red glare of the Sentinels.

  I glance left and right. Oblog’s Bullfrog guards don’t appear to share their master’s nonchalance. The powerful Bullfrogs tense as their Lord stands in the circle of vulnerability – readying themselves to avenge their fallen leader if one of the Aurelians makes a move.

  The AI Sentinels – ever cold and emotionless – similarly train their gun-arms at us. I brace myself, knowing that I’ll see a flash of light the moment they fire – but I probably won’t even hear the gunshots that tear me to shreds.

  “Lie?”

  Oblog looks up at Marcel, and from his demeanor, it’s as if the Toad Lord feels he stands eye-to-eye with the towering Aurelian.

  “No, you don’t lie, proud Aurelian,” Oblog gurgles joyfully. “Lying is beneath your kind. But you do not tell me the truth. So, now, tell me plainly…”

  The question is only half-answered when the universe suddenly seems to freeze. It’s as if no one dares utter a sound. Every eye in the room is focused on Lord Oblog.

  “…have you fucked her?”

  My breath catches. I look up, meeting Oblog’s eyes in complete defiance of how a slave should act in front of her masters.

  I’m terrified to discover Oblog already staring right at me – his bulbous eyes narrowed into glistening little slits. The smug smile is gone from his fat lips.

  The triad of Aurelians remain silent – stunned by the brazen question. As if not expecting an answer, Lord Oblog turns his words to me.

  Too late, I lower my eyes – but the damage has already been done.

  “You make eye contact with me as if you don’t consider yourself property,” Oblog sneers. “That’s all the proof I need.”

  The sadistic smile begins to creep its way back across Oblog’s disgusting face.

  “You act as if you have not been treated as property… Not yet.”

  Not yet?

  Oblog turns, exposing his back to the three Aurelians. To make himself so vulnerable in front of three of the deadliest warriors in the universe is the ultimate demonstration of his superior position.

  With a gurgle, the Toad L
ord begins climbing back up the stairs to his throne, his body quivering under the exertion.

  Across the room, the Sentinels slowly lower their weapons – those black gun barrels sinking an inch lower with each wobbly step Oblog takes. By the time he reaches his throne, the Sentinels have their weapons by their sides; but I know it would take less than a heartbeat for them to be raised and aimed again.

  Oblog slumps down with satisfaction into his throne.

  Marcel still hasn’t answered the question. I can sense him trying to find an answer – one that will satisfy Oblog, and allow us to escape this place.

  However, no such answer is readily apparent. If Marcel admits that he and his triad haven’t yet claimed me, everyone in the room will know his triad aren’t truly committed to the Old Ways.

  Even more damning? No answer to the question is an answer.

  Each second of silence that ticks by confirms Oblog’s accusation.

  Just say you’ve fucked me, dammit! Just tell them you did it!

  Oh, Gods. If only Quint hadn’t interrupted Lucius and I, none of them would have to be lying right now. Maybe fate had offered me salvation, but I’d foolishly rejected it.

  Oblog’s smile widens as the silence drags on.

  “You see, my court?” He turns to address the circle of Bullfrogs. “These Aurelians think themselves so much smarter than us – just because they were born with handsome faces and powerful bodies. Aurelians believe the universe belongs to them…”

  There’s a chorus of chuckles, gurgling, and grunts – but the laughter is empty. I wonder how many of these Bullfrogs can speak the Common tongue that Oblog addresses us in – and how many are merely grunting along based on the tone and derision of Oblog’s tone.

  They don’t need to understand his words to overwhelm us, though. If the Bullfrogs charge, it’ll be a short and ugly battle. Many of them will die at the Orb-Blades of the triad – but we’ll be crushed under the sheer weight of their numbers.

  Behind me, Tessa cringes, pulling herself closer to Lucius. I crave that same sense of protection, so I step backward and find myself pressing against Marcel’s huge thigh.

  His big hand falls and caresses my shoulder, like a trainer soothing a startled horse.

  His eyes and words, though, are directed at the Toad sneering down at us.

  “We work for you, Lord Oblog. We have proven our loyalty – and what we do with our own property is not of your concern.”

  The other Toad Lord, in the floating throne – Lord Qavar – turns to Oblog.

  “Do you believe them? You promised me dinner and a show on your beautiful ship.”

  The Toad Lord licks his thick lips.

  “Perhaps there is some way you can find out if the Aurelians are loyal to the Old Ways, and entertain me at the same time?”

  Oblong’s eyes widen, and his own tongue wets his lips.

  “Why, yes! What a novel idea, Lord Qavar!” The two Toad Lords are enjoying playing out this manufactured spectacle.

  “Perhaps there is some way we can ensure our loyal Aurelians won’t have a change of heart and go running back to their Empire.”

  I feel Marcel’s body grow taut, vibrating with energy.

  He’s in this over his head, the same way Tessa and I are.

  It’s daunting. Aurelians often treat humans as if they’re difficult little children – to be protected and guided by the Empire’s fair hand. As such, just as with parents, there’s often this belief that Aurelians know what they’re doing.

  They’re so tall, and powerful, and certain…

  But I can see there’s nothing certain in Marcel’s actions now, and being tall and powerful isn’t such an advantage when you’re surrounded by murderous robots and bloodthirsty Bullfrogs.

  Ever since Ling died, I’ve known the truth about the universe. Aurelians paint themselves as the ‘good guys’ – the benevolent, guiding force in the universe.

  In the end, though, it’s creatures like Lord Oblog who really shape the future.

  Lord Oblog raises his spindly hands theatrically.

  “Aurelians,” he calls out. “Tonight, you will prove your dedication to our cause. You have two women. One will remain as my… guest, guarded closely to ensure your compliance. She will witness the spectacle.”

  What spectacle?

  Marcel suddenly grips my shoulders, pulling me tightly against his body. It’s instinctive – his protective reaction to the thought of me being a prisoner of the Toad Lords.

  “What of the other woman?”

  Marcel’s voice is harsh, because I think we all know what the response will be.

  “The other female will be the center of attraction in our little show.”

  Marcel gently moves me aside, stepping forward. The Sentinels, as one, raise their weapons the moment he moves.

  “What show? Dammit, Toad, you go too far! We are not your playthings!”

  Lord Oblog grins that deadly grin of his.

  “My playthings? But that is exactly what you are, Aurelians. What I say, you do, understood? Tonight, you’re going to prove your adherence to the Old Ways. You’re going to fuck one of those little slaves, right in front of me, my honored guest, and all my most loyal men.”

  I gulp dryly as the Toad Lord continues.

  “You’ll do that – or I’m going to kill both of them.”

  It’s as if somebody just dropped a brick into my stomach. I stand there, feeling woozy at what we’re being expected to do.

  Oblog warns: “And afterward, should any of you try to betray me, or weasel out of your duties before our contract is completed, I’ll send footage of you fucking your slave to the Aurelian Law Enforcement – confirming your status as Rogue Aurelians, and securing you a place on their Kill List which will haunt you for the rest of your short, miserable lives.”

  7

  I feel faint. I lean back against Marcel and take comfort in his huge, protective bulk. Marcel’s thigh alone is like a tree trunk – stabilizing me, and giving me strength.

  There’s no way out of this. Either Tessa or myself will have to be hauled up onto stage and…

  …I can’t think about it.

  But I have one goal – I just need to get out of this throne room alive.

  I don’t want to be the one sat next to Lord Oblog – I can’t be. If I leave the vicinity of these Aurelians for even a second, I might lose their protection forever.

  But I know what the alternative requires.

  So does Lord Oblog, who struggles to stand once again, his legs wobbling under the exertion.

  “One thing is for certain, my big, strong Aurelian friends. Only one of those women is leaving with you today. Choose which one.”

  Then, Oblog sits down heavily again, his point having been made. The throne squelches beneath the cushion of his thick, wet buttocks.

  The Bullfrogs step forward – the circle of them closing around us.

  It’s just one step, but the room suddenly feels so much smaller. Oblog has clearly chosen the biggest and strongest of the Bullfrogs for his personal bodyguards. Most of them stand ten-feet-tall – towering over even the Aurelians.

  Perhaps Marcel, Quint, and Lucius could take them on in a fair fight – but Toad-kind has long since learned that victory is not achieved by fighting fairly.

  Right now, these Bullfrogs outnumber us ten to one.

  My mouth is suddenly dry, even in this wet, humid throne room.

  Lord Oblog is going to force the Aurelians to fuck either Tessa or myself – right here, in front of a crowd of disgusting Bullfrogs and Toads.

  The other will sit and watch the proceedings – in the slimy grip of Lord Oblong, as they witness the huge Aurelians lose themselves in the mating frenzy and rut the other woman like a mare in heat.

  The worst part of all this? As I stand there, I feel the fabric of the pleasure dress start squirming across my skin - clinging to my body and touching me obscenely.

  I know it’s designed to do th
is – to stimulate a woman, especially in circumstances that might otherwise horrify and disgust her. That’s why they’re the standard outfit of slaves – because they keep the human females in an artificial state of arousal, so their masters have a warm, wet hole to satisfy themselves with at any moment.

  But there’s more to it than that – a dark and hidden part of myself that is as insistent as the pleasure dress.

  For a moment, I imagine the humiliation of being fucked in front of this jeering, laughing crowd – in front of every important Bullfrog and Toad on this mothership.

  I visualize them watching the tall, proud Aurelians lose themselves to the mating frenzy. According to the whispered rumors, Aurelians lose all rational thought when the frenzy overwhelms them. They’ll lose their proud demeanor, and their icy control. Instead, they’d become rutting, feral beasts.

  What would it look like if Tessa was on the receiving end of that? I suddenly imagine her on her hands and knees – Marcel’s huge fingers curling around her hips as he pounded her roughly from behind.

  A surge of hot, red jealousy bubbles up inside me. Even with my life on the line, I don’t want her to be the one they take.

  But it’s not simple jealousy – it’s more. Lucius told me that I smelt ‘right.’ The three Aurelians haven’t been able to take their eyes off me – even when Tessa stands by my side, taller and more beautiful.

  There’s a connection between me and the three Aurelians, and my surge of emotion wells from somewhere much deeper and more evolutionary than mere fleeting jealousy.

  One thing is certain, though. Whether it’s Tessa or myself, it will be impossible for the Aurelians to ever come back from descending into slathering beasts and claiming one of us.

  If they can’t get us off the ship before tonight, the footage of our mating will be secured by Lord Oblog, and used for his nefarious purposes. Even though it’s not their fault, the footage will be enough to earn Quint, Marcel, and Lucius a place on the Aurelian Law Enforcement Kill List instantly.

  One of the most foundational rules of modern Aurelian slavery – all mating must be consensual, and slaves are by definition unable to consent.