Dark Flight (Refuge Book 2)

by Cynthia Sax

“Fighter Wings.” A pair of immaculately shined boots appeared before him. “You will wish to recover in the privacy of your own chambers.”

  Orol had much to recover from. Loose flesh hung from his face, from his arms. His entire body throbbed with pain. “The prize—”

  “The prize will be awarded to you during a sunset gathering.” The Host’s tone indicated he was bored. “You are no longer needed here.”

  He was ordering Orol to leave. Hurting, grieving, wanting to snap at someone, anyone, he was tempted to tell the male to frag off.

  But that would only upset his female more. She required comforting, reassurance.

  As he did.

  “We’re returning to our chambers.” Orol swung Rhea into his arms, ignoring the agony that movement caused him, needing to feel her body against his.

  Her face was blank. His appearance must be horrifying.

  But he was alive. They were both alive. Orol glanced down at Scales. “Give my friend a warrior’s disposal.”

  The Host pursed his lips. “We always do, Fighter Wings.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rhea had almost lost the male she loved this planet rotation.

  She gazed up into his damaged face. When the flames had engulfed him, she thought he would die. A scream had stuck in her throat. She believed she had failed him as she failed her parents.

  All the feelings she’d kept hidden had clawed their way to the surface, unable to be denied.

  She loved him. He had wrapped his wings around her heart, her soul, was the confidant, the friend, the lover she’d always desired. When she thought they’d be permanently parted, an agony unlike any she’d ever experienced had surged through her body.

  His life likely would have ended if he hadn’t had the ability to quickly heal. New skin already formed over the scorched flesh. The angry red blisters were flattening.

  His chest covering had been completely destroyed. The waistband of his ass coverings was singed.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying me.” She protested yet again as they entered their private chambers. “You must be in such pain.”

  “I’ve endured worse.” He set her on the sleeping support, claimed a spot beside her, lying on his back. “I trained with Scales.”

  The sadness in Orol’s eyes pulled at her heart. “He loved you.” Scales might not have said the words. The two of them were warriors and male. But the mutual caring had been in their voices, their gazes, their actions. “He knew you felt the same way about him.” Someone had left a medic pack on the nearby horizontal support. She searched through it. “And he died fighting, something he enjoyed.” Something she suspected both of them enjoyed.

  “He died fighting me.” Worry lines grooved around Orol’s cracked lips. “That must have shocked him. I had never defeated him.”

  Orol hadn’t defeated Scales alone. Her projectile was the cause of death. She was certain of that. “Either we defeated him or a stranger would have killed him.” Rhea extracted a pain inhibitor from the pack. “He had to be stopped and that was only happening one way.” She sprayed the wounds on his chest, beads of liquid forming on his tattered flesh. “Close your eyes.”

  He complied. “We fought together for many human lifespans and he didn’t recognize my voice.”

  “He wouldn’t have recognized his own voice.” Rhea misted his face. “He was too far gone.”

  “He was,” Orol agreed, a sigh escaping him. “I need you close.” He stretched out his wings. “Lie beside me as I rest.”

  She set the pain inhibitor on the horizontal support and gently rested her head on his feathers. Tension eased from his form as though he required contact with her to relax. His breathing leveled.

  Her warrior slept.

  Rhea stared up at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the battle, reliving the frustration she’d felt at being unable to down her target, the terror she experienced when she thought Orol would die, the gratitude at realizing he’d live.

  She had run to him, not knowing, not caring if that would put her in danger, her heart beating wildly, her adrenaline pumping from the fight. When she touched him, when she felt the warmth of his skin, her world, previously off-balance, had righted.

  Every couple of moments, Rhea checked on Orol’s wounds, verified they were healing, that he continued to breathe. She sprayed him liberally with the pain inhibitor.

  His ravaged face repaired, the dead skin falling off. Utilizing the cleaning cloth she found in the medic pack, she continued to tidy him. Soon, he was the handsome male she’d met that first planet rotation.

  “You should at least have one scar.” She touched his chin. There was no evidence he’d been through any trauma.

  “If it is any consolation, I can’t feel my face.” He opened his eyes. “Or my chest or my fingers.” He wiggled them and grinned. “I’m numb from my forehead to my toes.”

  “Then you can’t feel this?” Rhea stroked the bulge in his ass coverings.

  He groaned, lifting his hips, pressing his leather-bound cock against her palms.

  “You sound like you’re in pain.” She teased him, unfastening his ass coverings, freeing him. “Should I give you more pain inhibitors?”

  “Spray my cock with pain inhibitors and I’ll paddle your ass,” he growled, rolling on top of her.

  “Stay still.” She pushed against his chest. “You’re injured.” She returned him to his original position. “You’ll lie there while I tend to your needs.”

  “I’m healed.” His eyes glimmered. “And I need to be deep inside you.” He shifted.

  “Don’t move.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or I’ll shoot you in the groin.”

  “Injuring your patient won’t heal him.” He became still. “Your medic act needs some work.”

  “You don’t believe it?” Rhea curled her fingers around his thick shaft. Her warrior was a big male. “Should I stop?” Pumping his cock, she savored the feel of his hot, hard flesh against her fingertips.

  “No, no, don’t stop.” He lifted his chin. “I’m a believer. Your touch is healing me.”

  “I thought so.” Rhea laughed softly, running her hands up and down him. “I’m a skilled spy. We know how to fool the beings around us.”

  “You’ll fool only me this way.” The possessiveness in his voice tightened her nipples.

  “I’ll attempt to fool only you this way.” She bent and hovered with her lips just above his tip. A drop of pre-cum had formed, glistening, tempting her. “You’re the sole being for me, Orol.” It was an echo of the words he’d told her at the sunrise gathering. “And I have other tactics.”

  “I like this one.” His eyelids partially lowered. “Very much.”

  “What about this one?” She flicked her tongue over his cock head. He twitched. His nanohumanics bubbled inside her mouth.

  “Like this one too.” His voice deepened.

  “And this?” She pushed her lips over him, swirled her tongue around his rim.

  “It’s another favorite.” He cupped her head, encouraging her to sink down on him.

  Rhea inhaled his unrelenting cock, taking him until his tip tapped the back of her throat, then tilting her head back and taking the rest of him. Her lips sealed around his base. She sucked.

  “Frag.” His body tensed, his muscles flexing. “You’re made for me.”

  She released him, withdrawing, dragging her lips over his shaft. He’d said those words when she first took him. She had thought he referred to their physical compatibility.

  But they were made for each other in all ways, the connection between them palpable. He was the only male in the universe she trusted, the only being she told her truths to. She felt that link from the beginning, although she had denied it.

  Orol guided her back down his cock. Rhea slapped his shaft with her tongue in protest, offering him the resistance she sensed he needed.

  “Behave.” The admiration in his voice confirmed her suspicions. Orol might be playing her Master but
he didn’t want her total submission.

  She had learned a million ways to taunt him, having studied what he liked and didn’t like during their time together. No one matched her powers of observation and she used those skills now to torment him.

  While she drew him inside her mouth, she slid her right palm over his taut abs and glided her left palm along his thighs, increasing the stimulation zone. His form stretched tight, every dip in his muscles growing more defined.

  Rhea bobbed over him, the juicy sound of cock in wet mouth filling the chamber. She stroked, caressed, working him with her lips, tongue, fingertips, the heels of her hands.

  “I revise my earlier statement.” Orol shook. “You’re not healing me. You’re killing me.” He lifted his hips. “My Tiny Warrior, my mate, the keeper of my soul.”

  Rhea ravished him harder and his words morphed into grunts. He was a modified humanoid, had survived a dagger in the gut, claws down his arm, a burn that would have killed another being, yet she could make him speechless, melt his ever-active brain.

  That was power and she reveled in it, ratcheting his passion skyward. His chest heaved. His hips thrust. The darkness in his eyes expanded, eating away the brown. His wings beat against the sleeping support, the thump, thump, thump setting her rhythm.

  She brushed the tips of her hair over his balls and a strangled noise came from his throat.

  “Rhea.” Her name was a plea on his lips.

  She could extend the teasing. She enjoyed having him in her mouth. But she saw the strain on his face. Her warrior wasn’t yet fully recovered and she’d never cause him harm.

  Rhea met his gaze and grazed her teeth over his shaft. He howled, his hips hitching upward. Hot cum shot down her throat, hit her stomach, and her world exploded.

  Screaming around his cock, she tried to pull back, the bliss too much. Orol held her in place, forcing her to take every mind-frying drop. He came and came and came, the pleasure hitting her again and again. She quivered. She sucked. She clenched her thighs together, her pussy dripping.

  “Come here.” Orol hauled her higher, sliding her along his fit physique, and he captured her lips, kissing her with a thrilling urgency. She tasted like him yet that didn’t stop him from claiming her mouth. He drank her dry, rumbling with appreciation, his eyes glowing.

  When he released her, she breathed heavily, her lips humming, her world spinning.

  “Once we leave the mining fields, you’ll no longer be my slave.” Orol rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot against her cheeks. “But you will always be mine. I’m never letting you go.”

  Rhea smiled, his words giving her joy.

  ***

  Half a planet rotation later, Rhea followed Orol into the reserved viewing area. Guns were hidden in her ass coverings and she carried a covering cloth. That was for Paloma. She didn’t want her sister to be naked for a moment longer than she had to be.

  Orol was wearing the new chest covering the Host delivered to their chambers. The small male also had Orol’s weapons delivered. They had been cleaned and repaired.

  “Only the fighter is allowed in the ring, Fighter Wings.” The Host informed them of this rule, his face blank, his tone bored. “Your slave will wait here.”

  Orol looked at her and then at the Host. Rhea saw his concern and shared it. They had almost died and neither of them wanted to part from the other.

  “She will be safe.” The Host adjusted his cuffs. They covered the heels of his hands.

  “As the credit-heavy patrons were safe?” Orol dared to question him.

  “They were never promised safety.” The male met his gaze directly. “The danger was part of the appeal.”

  Orol glanced at Rhea. She tried to communicate through her eyes that she’d be okay. She must have been successful because he curtly nodded. “Wait here, slave.”

  “Yes, Master.” She peeked up at him through lowered lashes.

  The seating area was as crowded as it was during the fights but many of the faces were new to her. The slain credit-heavy patrons must have been replaced.

  Rhea sat in her usual spot, was shocked when the Host perched beside her. An awkward silence stretched. She wondered what the male wanted from her.

  Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get it. A slave only followed her Master’s orders.

  The crowd cheered, rising to their feet, as Orol entered the ring. He stalked to the middle of the space, stood there with his arms at his side, his wings spread, his feet braced as though he expected an attack.

  The beings in the seats made even more noise.

  “Others play the crowd. He does nothing and they love him for it.” The Host shook his carefully coiffed head. “They expect him to use his prize as he’s been using you.”

  “That’s expected?” Rhea glanced at the male.

  He lifted a finely plucked eyebrow.

  “Sir?” In her shock, she’d forgotten she was a slave.

  A slave who was supposed to sit still and watch as the male she loved fucked her innocent sister. She curled her fingers, digging her fingernails into her palms.

  “The organizers hope for that result.” The Host returned his gaze to the ring.

  A white-haired male with a paunch entered the ring. He lifted his hands, accepting the cheering as though it were meant for him. The organizer rambled on about the greatness of the battles, talked about the credit-heavy patrons who had lost their lives. There was a moment of silence, followed by promises of additional events to be added to the schedule.

  The organizer handed Orol a small pack of sunstones. A clear container lowered. It held Paloma. Her sister sat in it naked, leaning against one of the walls, a smile on her beautiful face.

  The audience cheered. Some males yelled crude comments. Rhea pressed her lips together, sucking back the urge to defend her sister. She wanted to tell all of them to shut up.

  The container was set on the rock floor. The walls fell away, freeing Paloma. She didn’t move, didn’t appear to notice her freedom. The organizer backed away, exiting the ring with a smirk on his face.

  The crowd chanted, “Use her,” stomping their feet.

  Rhea’s shoulders crept higher and higher with each repetition, the tension inside her rising. Orol knew how she felt about her sister, knew how she felt about him.

  She had to trust him. He wouldn’t betray her.

  Not like the others had.

  Orol scooped Paloma into his arms. She smiled at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lush curves, her naked form against his chest.

  They looked good together, Rhea reluctantly admitted to herself. Her sister’s pale curves and lush beauty was framed by Orol’s dark strength, handsome countenance.

  His lips moved, his face softening.

  With caring.

  The sharp pangs of jealousy jabbed Rhea’s heart. Every other male had preferred her sister. She thought Orol was different.

  No. Rhea forced her fingers to straighten. He was different.

  She had to believe in him, believe in them. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t damage their relationship.

  She was his mate. Not simply another female.

  Rhea trusted him.

  “He won’t use his prize.” The Host confirmed that truth, saying the words Rhea desperately needed to hear. “He has never used any of his prizes.”

  That wasn’t the only reason he refused to use her sister.

  “Every knowledgeable being in the community knows your fighter’s stance on slavery.” The Host wasn’t a chatty type of male, wouldn’t volunteer information unless he had a reason. His one-sided conversation and sudden friendliness made Rhea extremely nervous. “We thought it was clever of the sister to approach him. He’d be sympathetic to her situation. It wasn’t clever of her to insist on accompanying him, however, and we were surprised he agreed to that. But then we realized who she was to him.”

  “I’m his slave, sir.” Rhea stuck to her story. That was the safe tactic.
>
  “We are a slave.” The Host surprised her with that revelation. “You’re no slave. You’re his mate. He broadcasts that connection with his body language, his voice, his words. A wise female would remember that if she was ever in a similar situation.”

  Rhea made note of his advice, hoping she’d never be in a similar situation. “Thank you, Sir.” The Host might be a slave, an extension of his Masters, but she gave him the respect he deserved.

  The slender male’s eyes warmed. He dipped his head ever so slightly.

  Rhea got the impression she had pleased him.

  The male she most wanted to please left the fighting ring, carrying her naked sister. The fickle crowd, deprived of their entertainment, got to their feet, booing him, yelling obscenities.

  “See to your mate.” The Host stood, smoothing down his ass coverings. “We must send in fighters to calm the crowd.” He walked away, his tread silent, his head held high.

  Orol entered the private viewing area. Rhea rushed to meet her mate, holding out the covering cloth. He wrapped her sister in it. Paloma’s smile didn’t dim.

  Rhea felt along her sister’s arms and legs, wiggled her fingers and toes. Paloma appeared to be in perfect physical health. They wouldn’t know about her mental state until the psychotropics wore off.

  “She—”

  “Silence, slave,” Orol barked and Rhea’s spine straightened.

  She needed that reminder, the excitement of seeing her sister having purged all other thoughts from her brain. Beings watched them. In their eyes, she was a slave and a slave didn’t address her Master unless she had been given permission to do that.

  “You’ve earned two reprimands.” He hefted Paloma onto his right shoulder.

  “Yes, Master.” Rhea bowed her head.

  She squeaked as he slung her over his left shoulder. “For that noise, you’ve earned an additional two.” He smacked her ass.

  “I’ll receive no reprimands if you drop me,” Rhea whispered against his skin, unable to resist teasing him. She was relieved the ordeal was almost over.

  Her sister had been rescued. The male she loved had survived his battles.

  Orol cuffed her ass again, his rough handling turning her on. “Hold on, slaves.” He flapped his wings.