Hours went by as the men debated courses of action. Kylar knew his warriors chafed at the inaction, desperate to rush into battle. But he also knew the invading Tabun force was huge, larger than any they’d assembled in the memory of even the oldest Gadolinean. Well-trained and fearless, ready to fight to the death. In his opinion, it would be cunning rather than force that would give his men the advantage.
He listened to half a dozen ideas argued vehemently by his men, then held up a hand. “In the absence of my father, I act as your king. I’ve learned many lessons from our great ruler. The most valuable is that no action taken rashly bodes well for the outcome. I need some time alone to weigh all your ideas. We will take a break. Eat, drink, rest a while.” He glanced at Heinrick. “Spend time with your loved ones. Let us gather here again at dusk.”
He stood and headed out of the room. Haldor made to follow him, but he waved the man away. Much as he would have valued discussing all the ideas with his friend, Kylar couldn’t allow anyone to shoulder the burden of this decision. It must be his and his alone. The weight of an invisible crown lay heavy on his head.
* * *
Darkness had fallen when he walked silently back into the Great Hall. His men awaited him. All the boisterousness, the bravado, had slipped away. They spoke in hushed tones, partaking sparingly of the lavish banquet laid out before them. As one they stood, solemn and quiet, as they bowed their heads in respect at his entrance.
“My lord.”
He acknowledged the greetings as he walked to the head of the table, clapping a shoulder here, shaking a hand there, stopping to murmur a few words in Heinrick’s ear. The man nodded and the ghost of a smile flickered in his eyes. Kylar ignored the hand he offered and gave the man a firm hug, then took his place before them.
“I’ve thought long and hard about all your proposals. Asked myself what would King Sigrun do. Even sent for the oracle to cast bones and read them for me, at the insistence of our holy ones.” He gave them a wry smile. “You all know how I feel about that old windbag. I’d have been better off gnawing the bones instead and sucking out whatever dregs of dried-up marrow still remained inside them.”
Kylar stopped and scanned their faces. Of their physical bravery, there was no doubt. Each of them had proven his valor time and time again. But the men he had chosen shared other traits as well. Honor, nobility, respect for all living creatures, and the character to do what is right, no matter how great the price.
“Elwen will go back to the palace tonight. He’ll say he’s a Gadolinean slave from Naritea who seized the chance for freedom when they sent his master fleeing into the hills. They won’t know we’d sooner become slaves ourselves as put other living souls into a lifetime of bondage. He’ll be laden with flasks of honey mead, tell them he stole them from his master’s storehouse. Once their tongues are loosened, he’ll mingle with the Tabun to see what more he can learn. When the auction is to begin, which other worlds are sending representatives to bid. The rest of us will remain here.”
He raised his voice to drown out the growing murmurs of discontent. “I know, I know. It is the worst kind of torture for a valiant warrior to sit and wait, doing nothing. But trust me, brothers. We’re all chafing to take action—and so are the Tabun. They’ll be up all night, expecting an attack. Tomorrow night we send Elwen in again, spreading rumors of our army gathering in the foothills, waiting for darkness to descend. The Tabun will muster every man they have, guard every entrance to the city, every narrow passage and alleyway.
“By the time the auction is held on the third day, they’ll be exhausted from nights with no sleep, days spent jumping at every little noise they hear coming from the empty buildings. I will go alone into the palace, in disguise, as a bidder from a distant planet. Once the auction has begun, we’ll sound Odin’s horn and you’ll storm the palace. With creatures from so many different worlds in their midst, chaos will reign. We’ll be able to smuggle the captives out while driving the Tabun back through the Portal.”
Haldor’s voice rang out. “No, my lord. You will not go alone. I will be by your side.”
Gunnar stood. “And I as well. You cannot deny me that. My beloved Signe is one of those captives.”
One by one, the others rose, declaring their allegiance and their vow to fight to the death for king and country.
Kylar raised his hands high in the air. “Brothers. Valiant men all. I thank you for the respect you show to your king. Your bravery has never been in doubt. I acknowledge your need to avenge the wrongs that have been done to us and win back your honor.”
He paused for a moment, realizing he had to offer them something that would allow of all his men the dignity of playing a crucial role in the battle to come. “We will draw straws. Five of you will accompany me. As for the rest of you—your king and I need your strength and courage to lead the men in battle against the Tabun. Your role is more important than that of the handful of us fate will choose to slink into the midst of them in disguise, like children playing dress-up.”
Kylar knew his words wouldn’t fool any of them. Soldiers all, they recognized the danger of going into the heart of the Tabun stronghold. Defenseless, without shields or swords. But they also knew his plan was sound.
The next two days passed slower than any in Kylar’s memory. The twin suns Phalyx and Zalyx crept across the sky. At times he swore they hung motionless for hours. He joined his men, leading mock battles and drills, all honing their skills for the mortal combat awaiting them. He drove himself until he nearly dropped from exhaustion.
But if the days dragged, the nights were even worse. Sleep eluded him, no matter how hard he pushed himself. He lay tossing and turning, his heart sick with worry for his father. Like a true Viking warrior, the old man had refused to acknowledge his growing frailty over the past few years, insisting on joining in every competition, leading every hunt. The caverns below the palace were cold and damp. His father was stubborn and proud. Balam would surely beat him, try to starve him into submission. Kylar feared he wouldn’t survive until the auction. And if he did, the shame of being chained up and led into the Great Hall of his own palace as a slave to be sold to the highest bidder would surely finish him off.
When Kylar did manage to drift off into fitful sleep, his dreams caused him another kind of torment, filled as they were with images of that willful wench he’d held in his arms for a few brief moments. He woke with his fingers curled, as though still sinking into her soft breasts under the rough wool cloak she’d worn. His lips aching for another taste of her sweet mouth. His cock hard, remembering the way her body had molded itself to his when he’d had her up against the wall in that dark passageway.
If his slumber was filled with her touch, her feel, her taste, the early dawn brought even more compelling images. In that land of half-wakefulness, half-sleep, she came alive. Running beside him as she had, flashing him a triumphant grin when she kept up the pace by his side, even as he pushed them both hard. He felt her hand in his and dreamed that he pulled her against another wall and guided it to his cock. Her fingers wrapped around him. Moving slowly. Exploring. Feeding the fever. Building the need to bury himself inside her. Then the throbbing of his cock would drag him back into wakefulness.
He never stopped to ask himself why this woman who he’d spent only a few fleeting moments with had managed to worm her way so deeply into his mind. He simply accepted it. She was meant for him. His Norn must have decreed it. The three witches had linked their souls at the time of his birth. One did not question fate. What was to be had been written long ago.
He knew in his heart that she was one of the four female captives. Felt it. Truth be told, far too often it was images of her, and what Balam was no doubt doing to her, that drove him to fight so hard. Haldor had to step in more than once to rescue one of his warriors during their mock battles. Only the clash of sword against sword, muscles trembling with fatigue, erased for a moment the image of that fiery vixen being shoved to her knees, forced to ope
n that sweet mouth wide and take in Balam’s stiff prick.
Kylar prayed that when the time came, he wouldn’t have to choose between freeing her and rescuing his father.
* * *
Talia forced herself to stand tall when the cell door opened. Her dreams had been filled with disturbing images again—images of a man with piercing blue eyes like that of the stranger who’d seized her in the street. In them, it was he who spanked her, fondled her until she was near to achieving gratification. Lately she’d taken to summoning his face when Leto made her bend over the table and worked the horrid tool in and out of her bottom hole. She discovered if she pretended it was his hand, his body touching hers, the shame and revulsion receded, replaced by a shocking thrill.
She felt certain he’d survived. He’d somehow managed to fight off their attackers and escape. When the training sessions became unbearable, she’d indulge in flights of fancy, imagining him coming to her rescue once again.
She didn’t know how the other women coped. Through stolen moments, whispered words, she learned that one of them, Signe, was certain her husband Gunnar would lead a raid on the palace and rescue them. Her stubborn refusal to yield to Sori’s commands had earned her the harshest whippings of all. The crack of the mastodon penis against her bruised skin made Talia wince. She admired the woman’s bravery.
She said so during one of the few moments they found themselves alone. Signe looked back at her, surprise evident in her eyes.
“I only followed your lead,” she whispered. “It was your courage the first day that inspired me. When you stood up and protected Irna—I vowed that I, too, would not let them strip me of my honor along with my clothes. I’d remain true to myself, no matter what the consequences.”
She looked around to make certain they weren’t being overheard, then went on. “They’re afraid of you, you know. Both of them. That’s why they keep your hands bound, keep that little prick stuffed in your back passage. Your spirit won’t be conquered, so all they can do is try to control your body.”
Talia flushed with embarrassment at the mention of the implement with the curved handle poking out of her bottom. Sori seemed to take special pleasure in twisting it and moving it in and out whenever she came near, watching Talia’s face all the while. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep from crying out.
To make matters worse, all the intimate attention to her private parts had had the effect her instructors warned her about: fully awakening Talia’s sexual needs and desires. Being constantly brought to the edge of achieving gratification, yet never allowed completion, left her mind obsessing over the act. When Leto forced her to kneel at his feet while he pinched and twisted her nipples into hard red peaks, she felt a bolt of hot lust flow straight to her core. Hands bound behind her back, unable to touch herself, all she could do was writhe and pant, feeling the heat build.
Those were the times Sori seemed to enjoy tormenting her the most. She’d force Talia to her feet, pulling on the hook protruding from her bottom to propel her up. Then she’d move the dreaded tool in and out, slowly. Leto would squeeze both nipples between his fingers then, increasing the pressure on them.
Once Sori shoved her legs apart and pumped the tool in and out of her backside, pressing her up against Leto. Her exposed clitoris, engorged and throbbing with need, rubbed against his hard, bony thigh with every stroke.
Talia closed her eyes and pictured herself back in that dark alley. The stranger’s firm thigh had rubbed up against her pleasure nub too, when he pressed her against the stone wall. Then, it shocked her. Now, the memory made her frantic with desire, aching to have him do it again.
That cruel cackling laugh rang out again, jerking her back to the present.
“She’s starting to enjoy this,” Sori declared.
Lust turned to blazing anger. She wasn’t some cyborg to be used by them at their whim. She wouldn’t let them manipulate her for their own pleasure. She bowed her head, then brought it up with a jerk, smashing against Leto’s chin. His jaw slammed into his tongue, catching it between his teeth. He fell to his knees, howling in agony.
Sori let out a piercing shriek when a few purple drops of Leto’s blood dripped onto the stone floor.
“My dear one, are you all right?”
Leto nodded, his face contorted with pain. “Punish the bitch,” he managed to mutter.
Sori stroked his head, cradling it against her. “I will, my dearest. Watch—and let the sight of her pain ease yours.”
She grabbed the hooked handle and half-pulled, half-dragged Talia to the wooden table. Bending her over, she called to two of the other women who had been cowering on their knees the whole time. Watching, as ordered.
“Signe, Freya—come here. Now!” she snapped, when they didn’t immediately spring to their feet.
“Hold her arms, so she can’t move.”
Signe shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she declared.
Sori bellowed in rage. “Guards!”
The door burst open and two of Balam’s men rushed in. Sori pointed to Signe. “Take her back to her cell. I’ll deal with her later.” She looked down at Leto, huddled on the floor near her feet. “Wait. Take them all to their cells,” she said, her voice colder than Talia had ever heard it. “Then come back here. I have a treat for you.”
The women were led away. Sori kept Talia bent over against the table top, twisting the probe in her rear passage if she so much as twitched. Her mind free to imagine the worst, Talia tried not to panic when she heard the footsteps of the guards drawing near.
“Lord Balam has put you at my disposal,” Sori announced to them. “I require your help. This one is in need of especially harsh punishment.”
Cheek pressed against the rough wooden table top, Talia couldn’t see the faces of the guards behind her. But she heard a lecherous grunt from one of them.
“You. Go to the other side of this table. Grab her arms and hold her down. And you—come here. Balam won’t let you fuck her, but he said nothing about allowing you to watch as I use my tools.”
Talia choked back a cry as Sori yanked the hated wooden implement out of her bottom hole. She heard the familiar swish, then gasped as the mastodon penis dug into her tender backside.
Fueled by rage, Sori whipped her harder than she ever had before. Talia bit her lip, trying desperately not to make a sound. The hide of the mastodon’s giant organ lashed her again and again.
Fire licked her flesh, an agonizing burn that seared her skin, building higher with every stroke. Finally Sori tossed the strap onto the tabletop. She reached for something on the bench, then brought it close to Talia’s face, so she could see it.
“You think that little prick was punishment? Wait till you feel this. They may not get to sample your pussy but I’ll see that they have fun watching me shove this huge one in your ass.”
Talia’s eyes widened in horror as Sori brought the implement closer. Another probe, nearly as thick at the tip as the other had been at its widest point.
“Spread her apart.”
Talia flinched as the other guard dug his rough fingers into her hot, bruised bottom cheeks. Sori worked the rounded tip in. Then she shoved it deeper, inch by inch.
Talia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to send her mind away. But this time it wouldn’t work. Sori gave the probe one last push, then held it in place, deep inside her.
“Are you feeling better now, my darling?”
“I will be when you hold me again.” Leto’s words were slurred, as though the very act of speech put him in agony.
Sori drew the probe out as slowly and relentlessly as she’d put it in, prolonging Talia’s punishment as long as possible. Then she tossed it aside and dropped to her knees, putting her arms around Leto.
“Take her back to her cell,” she commanded. “And don’t you dare touch her when I’m not around. I’ll drag you both back here to whip your asses with my strap.”
Talia’s legs were shaking so badly she could barely sta
nd. She shook off both the guards and forced herself to take one painful step after another. The pain in her backside was nothing compared to the crushing humiliation she’d endured. She vowed that somehow she’d find the strength to go on. She’d never let them conquer her spirit.
Chapter Five
Kylar tried not to show his revulsion as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Balam had flushed the bowels of the galaxy to come up with his guest list for this auction. He shied away from a Jamron trying to stroke his thigh with its slimy appendage. Apparently the vile creatures would copulate with anything.
Up ahead, he saw Haldor go head to head with a Zolexian who had delivered the blatant insult of flashing his naked ass after Haldor accidentally brushed against him. Zolexians were known throughout the galaxy for their hot tempers, perceiving even the slightest missteps by other beings as tantamount to acts of war.
“Swallow your pride,” he muttered, knowing Haldor couldn’t hear him. “We dare not draw attention to ourselves.” Haldor stiffened, then bent to plant a kiss on the man’s hairy ass. Mollified, the Zolexian pulled down his cloak, and moved on without giving Haldor another glance. Kylar knew that one way or another, the man would suffer Haldor’s revenge before the day was done.
He glanced around the Great Hall, spotting his other men. With so many bizarre creatures in the room, it was easy to blend into the crowd. His team of warriors all wore dark floor-length robes. Their hands were gloved to hide the warm tone of their skin. Each one carried a long sharp dagger tucked into a hidden pocket. Hoods drawn up, faces covered with elaborate carved demon masks like those worn by the Tridacians. Only their eyes, barely visible behind narrow slits in the masks, revealed their deception.
The din of the crowd died down as Balam strode into the room, resplendent in a full-length cloak of vibrant feathers of the eskasis, a creature thought to be extinct everywhere in the galaxy. No doubt he’d slaughtered the last one in existence just to provide himself with this garment. Around his neck he wore an elaborate necklace. Gold links decorated with fangs and claws—and other severed bits of living creatures, not all of them from the animal kingdom.
His to Conquer (Alien Masters Book 3) Page 6