by Kayla Stonor
Gabrielle simmered with resentment as she explored the luxurious cabin assigned for her use. Oltu brought her here to make her feel vulnerable; surround her with the grandeur of a Qui warship, display the superiority and wealth of Qui technology as it hovered mere miles above Earth, an overt threat Oltu masqueraded as his good deed for the day.
Why didn’t he thump his chest and roar, too?
She fed her anger with memories of Oltu’s arrogance—his pompous posturing at the negotiating table; his torture of Jaden in the wake of Sonestra’s abduction; and his threat to obliterate Earth for a Surashan infiltration they knew nothing about. She fanned the fury inside her, kept it burning hot, for without anger to hold her strong, she might run from sheer terror, and Oltu wanted her to run. The persistent ache between her legs intensified; a throbbing rush that slicked her inner thighs.
God damn him! His pheromones turned her body against her. His intoxicating desire permeated the air and she willed her eyes away from the bed.
This cannot be happening!
His presence both dominated and protected, a hateful dichotomy she needed to resolve or everything she was doing—her mission—would collapse in an unmitigated shit pile. A decanter of golden liquid on a table beckoned. She pulled out the stopper, inhaled the alcoholic aroma.
“Allow me,” Oltu offered, picking up a cylindrical glass smoked at the bottom.
He poured a generous amount and Gabrielle snatched the glass out of his hand and moved away before downing a large mouthful. She coughed as it slid down her throat, a burn harsher than whiskey and much drier. It tasted like thick black coffee. The pick me up effect hit fast and she brightened.
“Wow.”
Oltu nudged a decanter of clear liquid. “A small measure of glosta will counter the effect of the krah.” He stepped closer, glanced at the bed. “You’re scared, but we both know you want this.”
She raised her glass between them. “Ah no. Not in my head. My head says you are dangerous... Christ, am I saying this out loud?”
He chuckled. “You are. Do not fear me. I remember our deal.”
He approached closer, caressed her chin with a finger.
Gabrielle instantly tensed and drew back. “Nothing more than I can endure, remember.”
“I remember.”
“What you just did,” she watched his frown, a look of puzzlement, “touching me. Touching is more than I can endure.”
His stood silent for a moment, his frown unaltered, searching her eyes.
A girl could drown in those sea-green eyes of his.
“You evaded my touch on the transport.”
“I don’t like to be touched,” Gabrielle slugged down more of the Qui whiskey, the krah. “I’m not reneging on our deal. I can still give you satisfaction.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Wow,” she laughed, her glass swinging wide, the liquid sloshing the sides. “You’re taking this better than I expected. Bea told me the Qui are skilled in the use of toys. You know... games...”
“Captain Solomon? Yes, she and Ardant worked out an understanding, but you have not suffered like Bea Solomon.”
His words slammed Gabrielle like a gut punch.
Her shock must have registered on him for his eyes narrowed. “You have?” Anger crossed his face. “When? How? The K’lahn? Tell me his name and I will have him eviscerated!”
“No, not K’lahn.” Gabrielle trembled, the painful memory still strong.
What was happening? How did the subject turn to her past?
Her eyes fell on the other bottle. Glosta he’d called it. She put down her glass, and filled another with the clear liquid, prayed it worked as he said. The sweet liquid cleared her head, an instant effect, and the mortification of her confession intensified.
“Don’t let me have this stuff again,” she whispered waving at the offending decanter.
“If not K’lahn, who?”
God. Gabrielle pressed her fingers against her forehead. “It’s done, finished. Please don’t make me talk about it.” A black weight filled her, a thick tar that coated her skin and invaded her mouth and down her throat until she couldn’t breathe. “Do you see now? I’m not lying to you. Touch is more than I can endure.”
Oltu did not answer for several long seconds. When she looked up his green eyes blazed with a golden fire, his skin shifting to his Qui scaling and back again. She had angered him.
“Then you should not have made our bargain,” he snarled. “You deceived me. Used words designed to coerce me to your will, knowing my honor required me to fulfill the conditions you set. I did not appreciate the depth of your negotiating talent.”
Her blood pounded. “That’s not fair. You tricked me too! I thought I was at your mercy! That we were under attack! That you were my only option! You didn’t blink when Colonel Tennant arrived. You knew UR forces were approaching. But I didn’t lie. I can give you satisfaction, just not the way you imagined.”
His jaw clenched, his Qui altering his bone structure, widening his brow. Her stomach turned. Abruptly he spun on his heel and stalked out, a sharp thump against the lock pad opening the only entry to her room. Her throat parched dry, heart thumping, she watched him march down the corridor until the door closed.
She swallowed, reached for the still loaded whiskey glass.
Downed the stuff in one swallow.
*****
Oltu slammed open the hatchway to the transport.
The lights switched on revealing a startled Colonel Tennant. The human’s eyes widened as Oltu marched over, unable to contain his shift as his Qui burst forth. His bio-clothing adapted to contain his increased girth as bony ridges crested across his forehead. Wings burst forth, the left one shooting fire into his shoulder. Oltu slammed the armrests to stall a full-on contact, his flaring nostrils ending millimeters from Tennant’s. Even in his rage, Oltu admired Tennant’s courage as the man eyeballed him back, refusing to give ground. Sweat broke out on Tennant’s forehead. Oltu could smell the man’s intense fear, but still the colonel’s gaze did not break.
“Is Gabrielle okay?” Tennant whispered.
“Who hurt her?” Oltu demanded. “It wasn’t K’lahn, so he had to be human.”
“Shit! What did you do to her?”
Oltu roared in the man’s face. “I did nothing! You know the answers to my question. I see the knowledge in your eyes, in your fear for her. Who was it?”
“They’re dead now. General Zubarev made sure of that.”
Zubarev had replaced Jaden as leader of the UR’s military.
“They?” Oltu asked.
“Scum. Losers. Cowards who spent the war looting and raping. After Gabrielle’s brother died, she went off the rails, ah, angry, rebellious. She got drunk, high on drugs, anything to obliterate the pain.”
Oltu pushed back and away, needing air. “What drugs?”
“Nothing too crazy, except the bastards who—” Tennant’s voice trailed off, words inadequate and unnecessary. “Zubarev found her broken real bad in a basement. She was out of it. When she could speak, Zubarev got a description and went after them. Her dad just wanted them dead. We didn’t bother with courts back then. She was only fifteen. Please, don’t rake this up for her again, if you have any feelings for her—”
Oltu wasn’t about to discuss his feelings. “She was grieving.”
“The K’lahn had picked Ben up a few weeks before. Jaden was tracking his transport from the ground. A rogue cell in the Fringes brought it down, many back then believed death to be better than capture, and well, the transport exploded mid-air. We located a few survivors, but Ben wasn’t among them. If your records show that, maybe you can give her some closure, but I doubt it. Gabrielle’s chasing her brother’s phantom. He’s haunted her for years and you’re encouraging her deeper into that downward spiral.”
“Tell me about your relationship with her.”
Tennant blanched. “Fuck.”
“Specifically the games you playe
d; games where you couldn’t touch.”
Tennant growled something. Oltu’s sharp hearing caught a word his psi-translator failed to translate, but unmistakably coded with resentment. Skal. Human prejudice would not thwart him.
Anger flared hot behind Oltu’s eyes. “I will acquire the information I seek.”
Tennant nodded, expelling tension on his breath.
“She restrained you?” Oltu questioned.
“Sometimes.”
“You enjoy this?”
The man looked uncomfortable, embarrassed, and Oltu’s cock hardened.
“Not usually. Gaby has this way with her. I enjoyed it for her.”
“Explain.”
“Gabrielle needs to feel safe, in control.”
Until today, Oltu’s diplomatic encounters with the golden-haired temptress had always ended with rejection. Maybe she hadn’t been toying with him. His pheromones drew her in, but then she encountered a will stronger than she could handle and backed away with a flawed hauteur that only intrigued him more. “She thinks she’s dominant, but she’s not.”
“Gaby’s not stupid. She understands what she needs and so do the men she lets close. She makes sure of it.”
Oltu would explore the how later. “Men?”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
A need to prove her attackers had not won. Gabrielle painted over her naked fears with sexual aggression and a shiny fake smile.
“What are you going to do?” Tennant asked.
A question with no immediate answer. Oltu did have a painful erection and a desire to draw blood. Moving over to the ship’s console, Oltu released the colonel’s seat restraint. Tennant looked surprised but stood, stretching his spine and rotating his shoulders, a charade of casual ease. He watched Oltu from his peripheral vision.
Oltu stepped to the exit hatch. “Follow me.”
As they walked a corridor that led to the ship’s cells, Tennant asked, “Are you taking me to Gabrielle?”
Oltu swished his wings. “If I must spend an uncomfortable night, then so will you.” He chose a cell with the adaptation he wanted and palmed open the door. K’lahn guards moved up behind them as Tennant surveyed the bare white room with a central square pillar at thigh height. Metal bracelets on a short chain hung from the top of the pillar.
The colonel audibly ground his teeth. “Oh come on. I told you what you wanted to know.”
“I wanted details and you looked too comfortable on the transport.” Oltu briefly considered that his actions could be considered a violation of the Qui Treaty. He walked a fine line in his treatment of Colonel Tennant, but his Qui fury demanded an outlet. Tennant had his orders and the colonel was one of the best. Oltu didn’t trust him on the loose. Not on a warship.
He nodded at the guard and Tennant fell forward as a large hand shoved him in the back. “Secure him.”
Chapter Five
Oltu ripped off his psi-translator.
He took the long route to his residence, stomping his frustration out on the ship’s interminable corridors.
The knowledge that Tennant faced a disagreeable night didn’t lessen the blood pounding his erection. Fury still darkened his mood. Colonel Tennant had enjoyed carnal relations with Gabrielle, understood her even without the ability to culminate, everything Oltu wanted and more. Games over or not, Gabrielle trusted Tennant, held deep-seated feelings for him. If not for the treaty with Earth, Oltu might have drawn his sword, but manacling Tennant already strained diplomatic relations. Drawing actual blood would obstruct his cause with Gabrielle.
Fortunately, satisfaction awaited elsewhere.
Saiorse greeted him at the door to his personal quarters. She dropped to her knees, head bowed, dark straight hair cut short at the back long enough to veil the left side of her face.
“Honored Lord.” She spoke K’lahn, a second language on her home world.
Saiorse sensed his ire, his tributes attuned to his mood; they would be unsuited for culmination if they were not. Her prostration only heightened Oltu’s irritation for Saiorse did not submit to discipline from guilt, she had committed no wrong.
She sought to deflect his anger away from his young Alegian tribute, Yulla.
Oltu’s gaze snapped to Yulla, now frozen by a low-slung daybed, her skin paled to near transparency. He marched over and grabbed her wrist. She whitened and he relaxed his grip before he crushed her delicate bones.
Skal!
He always indulged her.
The need to mate—to imprint his will—demanded satisfaction.
“Enough evasion!”
Blue tears trickled out the side of her oval-shaped eyes. Her stiff body trembled, caught in a paroxysm of fear. The thrill of power burned through Oltu’s veins and into his cock. He sensed movement, turned. Saiorse’s palm cracked across his cheek.
“You will kill her,” she hissed, eyes ablaze, head tilted back.
Oltu struck, wrapped his fingers around Saiorse’s exposed throat and let loose a low rumbling growl of rebuke. Yulla pulled away, but Oltu wasn’t finished with her. His unrelenting grip on both females tightened. Saiorse’s mutinous stare challenged him for long seconds, and then, slowly, her eyes dropped down his body, not in submission, but drawing his attention to the form of his body.
The wings at his back flexed, an involuntary movement, feathers rustling.
His hardened scales shifted color, signaling the strength of his anger.
Small wonder Yulla cringed. He had not shifted from his natural Qui.
It was Oltu’s custom to adopt a Dralexin form with his tributes, a physical reminder that they were fragile creatures, although less so than humans—his tributes endured much, but never a full Qui mating, not while they lived under his protection.
He relaxed his grip on both females, then released Yulla altogether.
Yulla moaned as she dropped to her knees in supplication, clutching her wrist. It was the first sound she’d made since his arrival. Yulla lived in a permanent state of terror despite Oltu employing uncommon leniency with her. Her obedience he couldn’t fault, but achieving culmination between master and tribute required devotion. Forcing her now would destroy any chance of Yulla fulfilling her obligation.
Instead he focused on Saiorse, understanding his favorite tribute offered him a means to reverse course, her disrespect an excuse to redirect and vent his anger. Saiorse was Dralexin, stronger and more robust than other humanoid species in the galaxy and with a bone structure that hinted of a K’lahn heritage in generations past—a ridged brow narrowed to a raised bony protrusion that swept under her hairline. Oltu always opted for a Dralexin shift over any other, until the day he met Gabrielle and inhaled her intoxicating scent.
Saiorse lifted her chin. Oltu saw through her defiance. His tribute provoked his desire to punish knowing he found her the greater temptation. She both offered pleasurable release for his agitation and spared Yulla.
He played along, as Saiorse knew he would. “You dare to hit your Lord and master, Saiorse.”
She straightened, affirming she did; such a devoted tribute.
His erection throbbed, a compelling urge to take her now. His Qui body craved relief, indulgence of his darkest desires. He wanted Saiorse screaming for mercy only his mind drifted to another.
Gabrielle edged his thoughts.
He could still taste the woman’s scent on his tongue.
A consuming guilt roared into life, an emotion unwarranted as it was unfamiliar. He had no cause for guilt. Appeasing his mating urge benefitted Gabrielle. Irritated, Oltu pushed past the distraction and shifted his hold on Saiorse’s throat to a forceful squeeze of her jaw. “I will punish you.”
“Yes, my lord,” Saiorse whispered.
Her hand fluttered and Yulla heeded her direction.
As the younger tribute crept away, Oltu leaned towards Saiorse until his breath warmed her ear. “One day you will test my patience too far.”
“I beg that will not be today. Can
I offer you refreshment, my lord? Surashan krah?”
Saiorse’s guile soothed the edge of his rage. He enjoyed seeing her diplomatic skills at work. As much as he appreciated the mind-bending benefits of Surashan krah, his Qui form metabolized the substance too well. To savor the liquor he would need to shift—Saiorse’s intention. He rubbed the scales of her skin with his thumb, releasing pheromones to ignite her arousal.
Her eyes glazed. “Thank you, my lord.”
Oltu smiled. “In my chambers.”
A short corridor connected his tributes’ domain to his personal rooms. Oltu shifted as they walked, losing height, his wings folding away and then disappearing into his back. His Qui attire shrunk to his lessened girth, sealing the gaps where his wings had emerged. He retained his Qui scaling, but smoothed off the ridged peaks in his forehead and cheeks.
They entered his quarters and Oltu gestured to a large chest that housed tools he used on his tributes. “Bring me the scytah whip.”
He headed for the krah and poured a careful measure into a tiny glass. Although Saiorse’s disobedience demanded correction, she deserved he maintain control of his anger, and in addition, her protection of Yulla reminded him of Sonestra. He could not count the times Sonestra had distracted Xyon from flogging Oltu’s hide. Sonestra employed artful charm and political subterfuge on her father before she could fly. Oltu slugged the liquid to the back of his throat. The brew hit his bloodstream hard, firing his empathic sense. Closing his eyes, he savored Colonel Tennant’s frustration, frowned over Yulla’s longing for home, and skated away from a petty resentment that appeared to be brewing between two of his K’lahn officers—to be dealt with later. His mind shifted though the ship, homing in on Gabrielle, surprised he hadn’t sensed her first.
Her emotional silence jolted him, so much he outstretched his hand for balance.
Oltu grasped for an explanation. He’d been convinced of their compatibility, had sensed the whisper of her thoughts at their first meeting. She had to be sleeping.
His heart jolted. Skal. Gabrielle was susceptible to abusing drugs for emotional release and he had left her angry and frightened with a bottle of krah. Krah was a far stronger substance than any drug produced on Earth and she had… Skal!