Steel (Dark Monster Fantasy Book 2)

by Cari Silverwood

  Talk to his cock, okay, that was totally normal. For once.

  “A severe emergency? What if I’m on another planet?”

  Within the bounds of reasonableness, of course. There are also certain stipulations associated with your new sexual appendage. Violate these and ownership and warranty will be revoked.

  Baz frowned. “No fucking way.” They’d remove this cock from him only if he were dead.

  All in the manual.

  He waited for more of an explanation but the voice had died away. When it said nothing further, he slid off the table and went in search of his clothes.

  He’d wring the rest of the details from the cybermonks.

  * * * * *

  After he’d insisted over and over, the roach bot had led Baz to the cybermonks. He stood at the side of a vast stage, overlooking a crowd of thousands of supplicants and followers of the monks. Or he assumed that’s what they were from the cheering whenever the cybermonks announced anything.

  The three of them were out in the middle of the stage, dwarfed by their surroundings but apparently at ease from the drama of their gestures, the way they spat out their adages and punctuated the phrases by punching the air.

  So far they’d spouted many general helpful but vague directions, like be good and good will come to you. Water your zalias daily and the crop of small crab things they sprout come next summertime will be your blessing.

  Most theologies said the same stuff. To his mind, what mattered was how you treated people. Be selfish and only love those who agree with you would’ve fitted most of the ’ligions he’d come across.

  He eyed the above. Morning, judging by the bright blue-pink sky. His internal clock agreed. So that was running properly. From the shadows, the sun shone from somewhere behind the curved roof. The crowd roared again, waved small whirligigs. The monks droned on. Looked as if it’d be best to wait for them to be alone before he tried discussing the handful of multi-colored festivities he now had in his pants.

  Really, what was it about big that translated as I want a spiked dick that glows in the dark?

  Without further requests to deviate from the path, the bot led him through a maze of pathways to a gap in a sandstone wall, past a pool, and hence to where...

  To where Ember and Hoss slept peacefully on a bed, curled up together. His face was in her hair. His arm over her body.

  Spooning with an orc.

  The red crackly haze of anger shot into him. Though he controlled it and walked back the way he came in, he grazed the wall next to the entry with his nails as he left. The pain and the scratching sound, the leftover rock gathering under his nails, it let him focus on leaving. He had an urge to both go over and smash in the orc’s head and to drag her off the bed and fuck her.

  The smashing the orc idea was normal for him when he got like this.

  The fucking her inclination? That was abnormal.

  The surgery must really have screwed with him.

  He needed to go have a lie down.

  “Take me to my rooms, you dumb bot,” he snapped.

  The thing trundled away, obediently, its gangly antennae and limbs insect-like and irritating.

  He resisted stomping on it, and was proud of his restraint.

  Wasn’t until his own idyllic set of private rooms, with dangly ferns and greenery and waterfalls, was before him that he turned, drew back his leg, and booted the small critter-bot back over the wall. As it crashed through the branches of the outside trees, it made a satisfying tinkle.

  Good. At last something had turned out perfect.

  Then he lay on his bed and tried to sleep, only to find himself staring at his dick and wondering when it’d transform into a singing and dancing chainsaw. Idly, he tried searching for the warranty. If it was in the files, it was buried under mountains of words. What could possibly void the warranty?

  He noticed the grit under the nails of his left hand and began to pick it out. That wall...he’d scraped bits off it with the other hand, hadn’t he? Yet his right was clean.

  Okay, odd. Mind games again. Baz frowned and went back to the important stuff.

  He did find a new mode that made him shudder – split mode. He wasn’t touching that one, not even with a long stick with a dildo on the end. What the fuck did the monks think humans were into if they’d added that?

  Funny how every time he thought of sex, Ember came up in his mind, naked. Not allowing females on his crew was probably a mistake. He lowered his eyelids as he felt his cock begin to erect. Testing, testing, one, two, three.

  Chapter 14

  Ember noticed Baz come almost into the bedroom before backing out. There was the clear wrench of anger on his face. What had made him angry?

  At her, for choosing a half-breed orc to have sex with?

  At the monks for leading him here? Or did he come across this place accidentally? She supposed that depended on where he was supposed to go.

  Or was he jealous of Hoss? That one would be the most bizarre since she barely knew Baz. He was just a spacejunker captain who’d sort of fucked her with tubes. If he were a doctor she’d think nothing of it. With him, it did seem lewd.

  Men though. Men! Making assumptions, as always.

  Or he hated orcs.

  When she next floated into wakefulness, Ig was back. She rarely gave him instructions and he wandered in and out, wherever it was she ended up. Nothing seemed able to hurt him, let alone see him.

  “Hi,” she whispered, smiling as he crept across the bed sheets, his wings folded and high, to snuggle into her front. She scratched under his wedge-shaped chin. “Where have you been, mister naughty?”

  Already he was happier here – his red eyes and the tiny red-and-black scales on his body became less translucent the longer she stayed most places. Was it because he felt safe, or something else? She’d never found out.

  If she knew what species he was, maybe it’d say. Wickedopedia said nothing about small, flying, dragon-like creatures that could possibly hit hyperspace all by themselves. Or zip into other dimensions? He could go from A to C without wandering though B. That had to be special.

  If she’d studied the space-time continuum and physics instead of programming, she might’ve been able to guess. Ig dug his teeth into her lower hand’s index finger, nipping and drawing blood. Ember grimaced but let him. It was a part of their bond and he’d always done it.

  As a CESS princess she’d been given neurosensory enhancements so she could exchange data with her knife and the specs without any extra equipment. She’d always been able to do something similar with Ig. Ever since a toddler, she’d grown accustomed to hearing some of his thoughts. He brought her stuff. At first it had been visions of places he’d been. She’d wanted candy back then but got the Tale of Agamemnon or Alice in Wonderland, or what the servants were doing in the kitchens of a restaurant. Stuff.

  Once her enhancements kicked in, he began to deliver more sensitive info. If she wanted, he got. If he felt like it. Nothing was guaranteed with Ig.

  The data was often patchy – she’d get a recipe for steak mixed in with details of the spy network on Planet X – but that anything came to her at all was probably miraculous.

  “You’re a good boy.” She stroked his head, gently, careful not to mess up the tuft of wire-like silver hairs on the crest of his head.

  Ig had fleetingly been in the cybermonks’ library. He was afraid of them, which was terribly unique, and she didn’t know why.

  He closed his eyes and she withdrew her hand. Flying elsewhere tired him.

  Hoss was behind her, big, warm, and far more comforting to cuddle than Ig, who was hard and bumpy. Except for that growing erection. Even though her body screamed at her to stay and to let him wake her in a more sexy way, she wriggled out from under his arm and sat, moving faster at the end when he blindly clutched at her.

  Ember sat perched on the bed. Her boobs reminded her of her nakedness. Clothes?

  Clothes?

  On the chair,
and possibly damp. She stood and padded to the chair, touched her dress. Yes, very wet. Her tights though were dry. She’d removed them before climbing into the pool. Verd was a temperate climate, warm enough that she wouldn’t be too uncomfortable in wet clothes.

  Sighing, she picked up the dress.

  “You don’t need those.” Sleepy, large, orc eyes caressed her, taking in her form, smiling.

  “Hi.”

  Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips, wriggle on his...

  Swallowing, she wrenched away her gaze, began to don the dress. The design worked well with her full but average-sized breasts – it supported her enough, showed some cleavage.

  Hoss whistled. “On second thoughts, come over here like that. Sit on me.” He rolled onto his back, whipped off the sheets, revealing his...

  Ember gulped, stared some more.

  Her groan was a mix of dismay, regret, and arousal. “I can’t. I already said this...” But she might as well re-say it. Hoss wasn’t getting the facts straight yet.

  This would come out so wrong, and she realized she was dreading the conversation.

  “I can’t be with you, Hoss.”

  “Your body wants to be. All night long you squeezed back at me, left your cunt juice all over me.”

  She blushed, hard, feeling redder than a furnace.

  Cunt juice. She was not repeating that.

  “Hoss,” she squeaked, swallowed, began again. “You’re an orc employed to guard me. I have a job that requires I don’t fraternize with other employees of lower status. I lose my job if we keep...doing this. You know this. They might even terminate your employment.”

  He frowned but nodded. “You don’t want us fucking. Then why last night?”

  “I...you wanted it too, and I am not sure why I did. I should’ve stopped myself.”

  “It wasn’t you. Uh-huh. I remember.” He rolled again, this time to the bed’s edge, and he planted his feet on the floor, stood. “Guess I need to find my clothes too, then go off and wank to get you out of my system.”

  Any other time her blush would’ve deepened but the ache to jump him was back – or to allow him to jump her. Besides, that was looking impressive. “I’m so sorry.”

  So sorry that she almost wanted him to shove her to her knees and make her take that fucking enormous cock in her mouth. As much as was physically possible at least.

  Wishes didn’t count.

  Just thinking this had made her wet, and she closed her legs and told herself not to bend over.

  Hoss noticed her movement, gave a half-smile, shrugged, but looked pained. He coughed then stooped and snatched his clothes from where they were piled at the end of the bed.

  “I’ll get dressed in the garden. Goodbye, Ember. See you around here, later.” But as he stalked past her, he muttered in an aside. “I know you know what a purr means.”

  “Of course I do. It’s impossible, though.”

  “No.” There was a crack in his voice, she thought. Just in that one word. He stopped, raised his hand as if to touch her. “It’s unthinkable and only to you. Not to me. Different.”

  She pouted but merely watched as he brushed past, even though his scent drove her closer to that maelstrom of crazy.

  Purrs weren’t a marriage vow.

  How dare he remind her. It meant a shag had found his perfect mate. It was an involuntary sound, but Hoss was only half shag. So it wasn’t as valid. Was it? Purring probably meant he sort of liked her. Same as her urge to let him spear that eye-wateringly large cock inside her was stupid.

  She wanted and didn’t want.

  He was gone. She’d succeeded in driving him away, and she wanted to smack herself in the face. She’d upset him. A painful throb lanced into her forehead.

  Bitch.

  The heat in her groin intensified. “Gods, gods, gods. Stop it.” She sucked in a breath, held it, then put her palm over her belly.

  * * * * *

  The library where the cybermonks’ database was kept was easy to find. Finding a clothing store was more difficult. Did this planet do retail? She lifted her head to follow the rise of the almighty glasslike spearhead that decorated the roof of the library. It went to the heavens, had clouds drifting across up there. Down here it began as something that would cover several blocks of an ubermarket.

  Did they have real books inside? Why else was it this big?

  Ornamental, maybe. The library was surrounded by open land which was dotted with small gardens, seats, fountains, a few strolling people in robes. It’d taken her several minutes to walk here since she’d exited the door in the previous building.

  “Should’ve brought lunch and hiking boots.”

  Certainly her restitched tights, damp dress, and boots were different from the garments of the others. If she stayed long enough she might have to wear a CM-trademarked followers robe.

  Looking like a blue pillow was not her current life’s aim.

  At least she’d finally ditched the males. Baz, Hoss, they seemed more interested in what was in her tights than her head. For once, she wasn’t sure which was best or which she wanted. Truly. Falling into bed with an orc was both her ultimate experience and her least proud.

  Make that falling onto his cock.

  Ember sighed. Once she left Omm, a memory was all she’d have left.

  Hoss was her poison, and the best antidote was distance and ignoring him. Thank the gods he wasn’t much of a stalker. He didn’t just assume things. He asked. This was good.

  Ember resumed her walk toward what was obviously the entrance to the library – twice man-height, big blue doors with a gold-outlined, black CM on them. Everyone went in there.

  Yet...was asking overrated? Taking was one of her little fetishes. Being taken, like the heroines in those romance ebooks she downloaded on the sly. Those might get her sacked too. CESS could be terribly pure of heart, as in biased.

  Being taken by a mate, like Hoss...and her pussy chose to squeeze in as if to remind her it was time she tried this...it was a kinda sorta maybe fetish, as was impaling herself on big orc cocks.

  Ember folded her arms as she walked, and stared unfocussed at nothing on the ground. That had remained a secret of hers and if she never told anyone, it would never happen, right?

  Shouldn’t she be living life? Doing what she wanted?

  Only if she wanted to be poor.

  “Fuck.” She tossed off that swear word flippantly, knowing no one was close enough to hear.

  She was a princess of CESS and she knew how to reprogram a battlesnark with the flick of a few fingers. Not someone to be messed with, or taken, or denied.

  She was who she wanted to be. Really.

  “Hi!” She smiled brightly at the door attendant to the left. There was a matching bald guy on the right. Both had CM tattooed all over their faces and blue writhing tentacle tattoos all over their hands. “Like your robe. Pretty blue. Say, I need to go in there.”

  Then she stepped forward. Unlike with everyone else, the glassomer doors stayed shut.

  “Ummm. Would saying please help?”

  The attendant shook his head. Through the doors she could see long rows of desks with people seated at them. How primitive was this place? Door attendants and no automatic scanner at the entrance she could use her data knife on?

  Ember kicked the door. It rattled.

  “Miss Ember,” the attendant began.

  She hissed. “I am not someone to mess with. Open this!”

  “I’m sorry. We have instructions not to let you in.”

  For several seconds she contemplated coming back with Hoss, no, with a piece of weaponry he carried. Something that’d turn this man into a big red splatter on the glassomer.

  That’d be wrong. He was simply doing his job.

  What did she expect? The cybermonks had said no access to their database, unless she gave them the DSU.

  Which she couldn’t give them. It was CESS property. She hadn’t even looked at it herself. Why was this so impo
rtant?

  As she wandered away, she kept thinking about this, and she brought the data storage unit from the pocket of her skirt belt then ran her fingers over the slick white surface. In an adjacent clip-on pocket on the belt was an almost identical DSU.

  What if she looked at the data? She was good. CESS would not know. What if she copied it?

  These options were running through her mind when the first ship burst into view above.

  It was closer than the top of the glassomer spire and the plunge down through the atmosphere had ruptured clouds – scattering them like sheep on fire and leaving a hole in the sky where they’d been.

  A hole the size of a small Xatar landing ship.

  The hull was black and gleaming, with bitter-cold mist streaming off the non-aerodynamic points like the banners of an ancient race of horse warriors. Xatars went for bruteness not finesse.

  The arrival and engine scream had nearly destroyed her eardrums.

  Jogging backward, mouth agape, Ember wondered if she should be yelling at someone to do something. She stopped. She’d sprain an ankle running backward, and she was never going to be that stupid.

  Turning her back on this ship felt wrong too, and vulnerable – as if someone might have their weapon trained on her. Why her? They were no doubt aiming for battle with the cybermonks.

  The database at the library! That was it.

  The ship dropped the last fifty meters and smashed onto the gardens. Earth flew; trees toppled. Ramps fell open, squashing plants and people. Above, a battle commenced. Laser and missile trails made pretty colors, as did the muffled explosions.

  A tiny ship spiraled downward, hit the land not far from her but thankfully it was directed elsewhere. It skidded and skipped over the earth then rolled, collecting everything in its path – small things that she didn’t want to see.

  Ember cringed.

  The earth trembled. Spinning, she found a squad of helmet-wearing, red-eyed, Xatar death warriors running at her. They were shooting at anyone and anything – a small tree, a planter, a statue of a monk – at anything that might look good exploding, apparently.