Moon Struck

by Heather Guerre

  “Yes!” she cried. “Please!”

  Errol bent his body over hers. “There’s my good girl,” he growled against her ear. His good hand gripped her waist and he drove into her with powerful thrusts that slammed her forward again and again. Her sweat-slicked skin slid over the flight panel. His grip on her waist tightened painfully, but it was just one more sensation among many. Each powerful thrust slammed into her core and then rippled out to the rest of her body. Each ripple built and built until a wave was cresting, rising higher, and then she was coming again, back arching, fingers clawing helplessly against the surface of the flight panel. She could feel the convulsive flex of her inner muscles gripping his cock.

  It was what he needed. His thrusts became even more brutal, more manic. His hand left her hip and fisted in her hair, pulling her head back. And then he roared, and she could feel the force of his seed flooding into her. She sagged as he jerked against her, a feeling of utter bliss washing through her. This was what she needed. She wanted to be claimed by him, marked, made to be his in the most primitive way. She canted her hips up, taking every last spurt of hot seed that he could give her.

  And then she felt it again—the same dizzying want that spread through her mouth when he kissed her—but now it was spreading deep inside her. The toxin was in all his bodily fluids, she recalled dazedly. Even though he’d just come inside of her, even though she’d just had her own orgasm, her need spiked. She was frantic with it, twisting and writhing against him.

  Errol’s orgasm relented, and he pulled out of her with a snarl that rippled over her skin like electricity. She could feel her body clenching on the emptiness, could feel his come running down her thigh. He spun her around and hoisted her up so that she sat on the edge of the flight panel. He forced her thighs apart, spreading them wide, forcing her to present her swollen pink flesh to him. Her hips rolled, her body electric with need.

  “Please Errol,” she begged. “Please, I need you inside me.”

  Still gripping one of her thighs with a painful hold, he gazed down at the sight of his seed dripping from her folds with primitive satisfaction.

  “Mine,” he snarled.

  He ran his finger along her thigh, gathering a runnel of semen, and thrust it back into her pussy. She jolted in surprise. Then he pulled his finger out, and replaced it with his cock, shoving in without preamble. Fully seated within her, Errol looked down on their joined bodies. A satisfied growl rumbled in his chest.

  He began to move inside of her again, a steady, measured pace. He’d gained enough strength in his injured arm that he could brace his hand on the flight panel, giving himself more leverage to fuck her. Deep, punishing strokes shoved her forward across the flight panel, and then the snug grip of her pussy dragged her back before he caught her waist and held her in place so he could fuck her harder, faster. He came again, filling her with hot pulses of seed, growling with vicious satisfaction as he staked his claim on her.

  Full. She was so full of him. And she wanted more. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t—how could it ever—

  She trembled, helpless to the unquenchable lust. Fear underpinned the desire. She was like a starving woman who ate and ate but could never satisfy her hunger. She wrapped her legs tight around Errol’s waist, trying to pull him deeper, urge him harder, faster. His gaze met hers, and she saw the same urgent desperation reflected in his eyes.

  He plucked her from the flight panel with both arms, and sank back into his seat, slamming her down on his cock like she weighed nothing at all. It hurt, and she needed it so badly. Needed it harder, faster, forever—keep going—keep going—

  “Come in me,” she begged. “Come in me again.”

  Her breathy plea must have shot straight to his groin, because he shuddered and pulsed into her with hot, slick waves of seed. He overflowed her body, running down her thighs, but still she needed him.

  “Again,” she pleaded. “Again.”

  And on and on they went, clutching each other, thrusting together, clawing and biting and moaning and begging. Streaked with sweat and come, muscles aching, gasping for breath, they fucked and fucked and fucked and—

  How much time had passed? Had she always been here? Always joined to Errol’s body, always filled with the hot claim of his seed? Had she ever known anything but the iron-hard feel of his skin and the coarse abrasion of his hair? Would she ever know anything else?

  Did she want to?

  Her body moved without her mind, growing clumsy and weak, but unable to stop.

  “Please,” she begged. She didn’t know who she was asking. She didn’t know what she was asking for. She didn’t even know which language she’d said the word in. But it was all she could think, all she could say. “Please, please, please—”

  “Rourra,” Errol panted against her ear. “Rourra.” His hands gripped her, everywhere. His body filled hers, everywhere. Everywhere. Every—

  Chapter Thirteen

  Where?

  Where was she?

  Dimly she became aware of a loud noise, somewhere distant. She lay limply against Errol’s chest, thighs spread over his lap. His cock was buried inside her, but neither of them were thrusting against the other. They both lay weakly in his pilot’s chair, breathing faintly.

  “Errol?” It came out as a faint rasp. Her throat was dry and tight. Her skin felt dirty and crusted. Her whole body was sore, but between her thighs hurt most of all. She tried to find the strength to rise up, to pull Errol’s cock out of her body, but she couldn’t. After a faint effort, she slumped against him again.

  “Errol?” she asked again.

  He murmured indistinctly.

  She suddenly remembered his injury. Terror gave her new strength, and she rose from his lap. She let out a little gasp as the flaring head of his cock passed through her sensitive entrance, but ignored the pain. She clambered weakly from his lap and peered at the taped wound on his chest. The tape had curled away from his skin, loosened by sweat and movement. But beneath it, the injured flesh looked like a wound that had been healing for at least a week. Feeling faint, she bent to examine the makeshift relief valve embedded in his side.

  But it was gone. It must have been knocked loose in the chaos of their intoxicated sex. She felt the spot where it should have been. It was like the incision had never existed. His skin was smooth, unmarked. She straightened, and nearly toppled over as a wave of dizziness washed through her.

  Water, she thought. We both need water. And Scaevens need more than humans.

  She crouched to crawl through the ruins of the shuttle toward the galley cabinets. Outside the shuttle, the distant noises were growing closer. It sounded like another ship.

  Enforcement! Hadiza remembered. Errol had sent an emergency message to his people. They were saved! She found the galley cabinet, busted apart by a fallen overhead panel. She managed to find two unbroken vials of water. She drank half of one for herself. Hydrated relief flooded through her body. She instantly felt ten times more alive than she had just two seconds ago. Moving quickly, she scrambled back to where Errol lay slumped in the seat.

  “Errol,” she said loudly, slapping his cheek.

  His eyes blinked open. She handed him the half-vial first.

  “Drink this.”

  He moved sluggishly, clumsily, nearly dropping the vial, but he managed to get it down his throat. She could see the vitality return to his eyes. She handed him the other vial, and he slammed it. When it was empty, he sat up. He reached for Hadiza, his expression stark with fear.

  “I hurt you,” he rasped.

  “No.” She touched his cheek. “I’m alright. But we can talk about it later. I think somebody found us.”

  Errol’s gaze darted away from her, and he listened the growing noise of an incoming ship. They heard the sound of a large body settling onto the ground, and the engine noise died away entirely. Through the thick growth of the surrounding jungle, they could see nothing.

  Errol stood, pulling his trousers back up
his legs and fastening them. His shirt was a lost cause, but he let the tattered remnants drape over his torso rather than removing it entirely. He found Hadiza’s trousers and handed them to her. She stepped into them quickly, and then found her sweater. She bent to pull on her boots.

  Dressed, they both glanced at each other.

  “Is it your people?” she asked “Other Enforcers?”

  “I hope so, but I don’t know for sure. Stand behind me.”

  She slid behind him. She could hear voices, distant, but quickly growing closer. And then Errol stiffened.

  “They’re not Enforcement,” he growled.

  “Who is it?” Hadiza asked, a spike of fear stabbing through her chest.

  “Scaeven military.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  Errol didn’t have time to answer. A snarling voice shouted at him in Scaeven, a long string of angry, guttural syllables. Errol responded, his answer brief, firm.

  The sound of heavy bodies thrashing through the jungle, the beat of their boots upon the shuttle’s nose—and then they were in the shuttle. Two big Scaevens, wrestling Errol to the floor.

  “Stop!” Hadiza cried.

  Errol blocked her, using his body to keep the other Scaevens away from her. But he was fighting two against one. They overpowered him, dragging him out through the shattered windshield. And still he fought, making it hell for them. Two more Scaevens joined the fray.

  A fifth Scaeven was headed for Hadiza, his gaze pinned on her. Before he could reach her, Hadiza sprinted out of the shuttle, sliding down the nose. She had to stop them from hurting Errol. They must have assumed he’d abducted her, since human contact was forbidden, but if she could just explain—

  She darted out of the fifth Scaeven’s reach and threw herself towards the fray surrounding Errol. If there was one thing she’d learned about Scaevens, it was that they wouldn’t physically harm human females.

  “Stop it!” She fought through the Scaeven bodies, reaching for Errol. Big hands—not Errol’s—closed on her arms, dragging her back. “Don’t hurt him!”

  It took all four of them to subdue Errol, to wrestle him into thick metal cuffs. As soon as the cuffs closed around his wrists, Errol’s eyes went blank, his face slack. All the fight left his body, and he allowed himself to be led tamely aboardship.

  “Errol!” Hadiza cried. “What happened? Errol!”

  He disappeared aboard the ship, blank-faced and careless.

  Hadiza rounded on the one who seemed to be in charge. He wore a different uniform—a pristine black jacket and trousers, instead of the others’ utilitarian blue flightsuits. Four shining silver tabs lined both shoulders, and silver-threaded insignia marked the left breast of his jacket. He had to be over eight feet tall. His skin was darker than Errol’s, a dull lead gray. His hair, though, shorn short like Errol’s, was an astonishingly bright shade of silver. His face was all harsh angles and hard planes. There was no warmth in his eyes. He held himself with the predatory alertness of a falcon, amber eyes taking in everything, missing nothing.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

  The stranger flicked a disinterested glance at her. He loomed like a veritable mountain. Unlike Errol, his size didn’t suggest protective strength and safe harbor. But neither did he threaten, as the traffickers had. Instead, he towered over her with an imposing air, a conquering brutishness that suggested she was insignificant and unworthy of his attention. Without acknowledging her, he turned away, growling orders to his subordinates in that deep, guttural language.

  The hands that had trapped Hadiza ushered her forward, onto the ship. Moving through the darkened flight deck, they passed Errol, who stood blankly beside a docked shuttle.

  “Errol!” Hadiza twisted in her escort’s grip.

  Errol didn’t blink, didn’t look up. His unfocused gaze stared vaguely into the open air.

  Hadiza’s escort tightened his grip on her arms, marching her onward. She twisted as hard as she could, staring after Errol until they stepped into a corridor off the flight deck, and he disappeared from her view. What had happened to him? He’d said the patriarchs would kill him. Was he already dead? A living vegetable with no more sense of self? If that were the case, then why leave him cuffed? Surely that meant the vacancy in his eyes was temporary?

  And if it wasn’t? Hadiza thought of the dagger in her boot. She wouldn’t use it yet. Not until she was certain of Errol’s fate. But its hard length was a comfort, the flat of the blade pressing against her ankle with each stride. These Scaevens were different from the traffickers. They wore crisp uniforms. Their hair was cropped close, like Errol’s, instead of long, intricate braids. They hadn’t intoxicated her, and while plenty of them stared at her in open fascination, their looks carried none of the leering sexual desire of the traffickers. She felt more like a rare kind of animal than a potential rape victim.

  Why didn’t they stare at her with that predatory desire? Even Errol—honorable, honest, protective—had been brought low by her pheromonal lure. But the uniformed Scaevens aboard this ship simply gawked at her with sexless astonishment. Were they all mated? Errol had told her that the mate bond rendered a Scaeven oblivious to other females.

  That must be it. And she thanked her lucky stars for it.

  Midship, her escort led her to a narrow berth, shoved her in, and bolted the door from the outside. She was a captive. Again. Her accommodations were much nicer this time, but the fact remained that she was being held captive, and she had no idea what her captors intended with her. She clambered onto the bunk and rested her back against the bulkhead.

  She slid her fingers into her left boot, feeling for the hilt of the knife she’d bought at the market, only a few days ago. It was reassuringly present, warmed by her body heat. It’d be next to useless against her captors. Even if she could take one of them out, they’d eventually overwhelm her and then she’d be back where she started, except minus her knife. And under even tighter lock and key. She needed to think. She needed to plan. She didn’t know where they were headed or how much time they had. But Errol had already freed her once from a ship loaded with armed guards. If she could get to Errol, maybe they could pull the same trick twice.

  Errol came to in the austere confines of a Scaeven military brig. The last thing he remembered was Hadiza’s panicked voice crying his name. His wrists still burned where the disruptor cuffs had been attached. His vision was blurry, his normally acute hearing diminished by an incessant, high-pitched buzzing. It would fade. The last time he’d worn disruptor cuffs had been during his Enforcement training, solars ago, but he remembered the disorienting recovery.

  There was only one other person in the brig with him—a Scaeven in military dress, who stood on the other side of the security glass enclosure. Errol’s vision was still too blurry to make out the finer details on the male’s uniform, but he knew he was looking at a commander of some kind. Command commissions had to be bought. Commanders were usually the sons of patriarchs. Even when they came from lesser lines, they were always bought and paid for by one patriarch or another. Either way, the other male was not on Enforcement’s side—not on Errol’s.

  “Where is—” He just stopped himself from saying Hadiza. He couldn’t let them know how important she was to him. “—the human?” he finished on a snarl.

  The other male drew up to the glass. Even by Scaeven standards, he was massive. At least twenty-four hands tall, bordering on twenty-five, and broad as a freighter. Errol’s vision slowly resolved and the buzzing in his ears lessened. He took in the other male’s details. His skin was a mid-tone gray, neither light nor dark. His silver-white hair was shorn in a severe, utilitarian crop—unusual for a military commander. Unlike grunts, commanders were permitted to grow their hair long, to wear the braids that signified moon origin and paternal lineage. That he chose not to could be for any number of reasons. Perhaps he was young, just recently done
with his compulsory service, and hadn’t had time enough to grow his hair.

  Errol’s gaze dropped to the insignia on the other male’s chest—an admiral. This was no freshly commissioned commander. This was a seasoned veteran. And the fact that he’d achieved an admiralty bore two possibilities—he was either a the son of a highly influential patriarch, or he was in the pocket of one.

  Neither boded well for Errol.

  “Enforcement knows you’re here,” Errol told him blandly. “And they know you have the human.” His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beaded on his spine. Where was Hadiza? Was she okay? How could he get to her?

  The other Scaeven surveyed him for a moment, his ochre eyes cold and unreadable. “Enforcement,” he repeated icily. “Don’t tell me you’re an agent of their esteemed ranks?” His accent was rough—not the rolling tones of a patriarchal son. Which meant he was a lowborn cur, kept on a leash by someone powerful.

  “And if I am?”

  The admiral smirked, flashing long, unadorned fangs. “For an agency dedicated to reigning in the worst of Scaeven cruelty, your people have an alarming tendency towards breaking their own rules. First the right honorable Mor-Talis brings home a human mate and a second human pet. And now I’ve caught yet another Enforcer trading DNA with a human.”

  Asier Mor-Talis was the tactical head of the cartel operation—the intellectual counterpoint to Errol’s field command. Shortly after the Kiri Incident, he’d disappeared from Scaevos without a word to anybody, only to return home with an ethereal, golden human female, her unmated sister, and a newborn Scaeven infant. Errol had been dumbfounded by the incorruptible Enforcer’s sudden break from form. And while Mor-Talis’s human mate was widely regarded as a stunningly beautiful creature, Errol couldn’t understand why Asier had risked everything for her.

  He understood now. Hadiza called to him in a way that nobody and nothing else in the universe ever had. He’d throw his entire life away for her, if it came to it. He didn’t care about his honor, his dignity, his good name. He cared only that she was safe, that she was his.