Wicked Captor

by Draven, Zoey

  “Yes.”

  Against Sarkon’s wishes, he’d received a language implant for the most widely used languages on Earth. He recognized her language as ‘English’ and he made a mental note to have the others wiped from his mind. He doubted he’d need them and they took up valuable space.

  “Then you heard my first question,” she pointed out. The comment almost made him pause in the street, torn between laughing—which he hadn’t done in eight rotations—or taking her over his knee as punishment for her sharp mouth.

  The image of her upturned backside, colored from the sharp swipe of his palm, made a dark growl rise in his throat. He didn’t even know what she looked like, but his imagination conjured a multitude of images. Striking a female was forbidden to Luxirians. Hurting them in any way was forbidden. But his mind was warped, tainted, blackened. The thought of punishing her in that way made hot lust rise in his belly, not disgust.

  Just another reason why he’d deserved exile, he thought, quickening his pace with a deep scowl.

  He’d truly become the monster he’d been accused of being.

  Though he pulled her along quickly, the female began to struggle against him, her cloak-covered hands tugging at his arm that held her firmly in place at his side.

  “Answer me,” she demanded in a low voice. Her tone became more pinched with his extended silence. “Answer me, dammit!”

  Annoyance and intrigue battled for dominance inside him. Sarkon hadn’t wanted him to get a language implant because his employer had reasoned there would be no need for it. Devix’s only task was to deliver the Azatian’s newest pleasure slave. He didn’t have to speak to her to accomplish that.

  Perhaps it was because Devix lived mostly in isolation on Rozun and only ventured out around others when he made his deliveries but he found he wanted to speak with her. Or perhaps it was because she was the first creature to stand up to him and not immediately quake in fear.

  Again, the female fought against him, struggling. Devix let her body slip away, wondering what she’d do, but he kept a firm grasp on her upper arm.

  “I am sick and tired,” she rasped, taking a step back, “of being jerked around. I am sick and tired of being ignored.” Her voice was quiet but her tone was clipped and strong. Admiration for her courage caught him by surprise. “I don’t care if you hurt me. I don’t care if you hit me or touch me or drag me. You will answer me and you will answer me right now.”

  His jaw ticked at her words, dread weighing on him heavily when he wondered what had been done to her up until then. He knew she’d come from the Pit, a fighting tournament hosted by the Krevorags. Species from all Quadrants journeyed there to participate in the fights. The prize for the winner of each round was his choice of a pleasure slave. Devix had heard that the offered species of choice lately was human females, a newly discovered species from the Fourth Quadrant. They were rumored to be worth tonnes because their cunts could make a male see more stars than in their entire universe.

  Sarkon had purchased the human female in front of him from the Baquarian fighter that had won her in the Pit. The price had been exorbitant.

  Stopping in the middle of the dark, quiet road, Devix turned to face her. Still, he could not see her face. Perhaps it was for the best.

  Heavy chains dipped from her wrists. With one quick tug, Devix broke them and they dropped from her, hitting the filth-covered ground with a thud. His voice was guttural when he answered her first question, “I am taking you to a night room. Once the sun rises, we will leave.”

  Devix knew he’d never return to Petrika again. The sooner he left, the better.

  “A night room,” the female repeated. Her body went still under his grasp. “You…you plan to rape me? Is that why you bought me?”

  Devix hissed, almost dropping her arm when her words penetrated like a blade.

  “Never,” he growled roughly.

  Old memories surfaced. The brightness of the Luxirian tribunal room, the betrayal he felt on trial, the face of his blood brother, already in mourning…

  Devix shook his head, attempting to regain control, pushing away the rage that he’d long battled. Deliberately, he avoided those memories. They only led to darker and darker places.

  Even attempting to soften his tone, his voice was still gruff as he said, “We will rest. My vessel is being refueled. I will not touch you.”

  Casting a quick look over his shoulder, Devix tugged her gently back into step. He’d rather not linger in the streets. Though most feared him, Petrika was home to desperate criminals, who could go nowhere else, who were wanted nowhere else.

  Before Sarkon took him from that colony, he’d been no better. He remembered that desperation well.

  Devix made quick work of the remaining distance to the night rooms he knew from experience were the cleanest and the safest. That wasn’t saying much on Petrika, but it was their best option.

  As he walked, he assessed the situation. Despite what suspicions he may have about the female at his side, about what she was to him, he decided it didn’t matter. She belonged to Sarkon. He would deliver her to his employer and then he’d live out the rest of his spans on Rozun, on his land, in the home he’d crafted little by little over the past six rotations. He would finally know the peace he’d so desperately searched for. And Sarkon wouldn’t bother him again.

  Steeling his resolve, he decided speaking with her would only make his task harder. Perhaps he should’ve listened to Sarkon. Perhaps he shouldn’t have received the language implant.

  So why did his whole body ache at the thought? Why did his Instinct roil in his chest like it was trying to break free?

  Devix didn’t speak to the Kirverib male manning the night room entrance. He pulled two flat coins from his belt as payment. The Kirverib peered too closely at the female, his three eyes running down her cloaked body. Despite not meeting Devix’s eyes, the Kirverib leered. He thought she was a whore. Devix said nothing for him to think otherwise, though what he truly desired was to swipe that smirk off his face with his claws.

  Finally, the male grunted, “Top level, last door.” He procured a tarnished key off the loop on his belt, tossing it at Devix. The Kirverib didn’t spare them another glance as they passed into the establishment.

  Once he located the room, ignoring the moans and heavy snores and raucous laughter that seeped through the thin walls, Devix pulled the female inside and bolted the door closed.

  She stood in the center of the small, dirty room, her cloaked back to him. She was so still, as if afraid that one small movement would mean her end.

  The space was cramped, but smelled relatively clean. A small sleeping platform that would barely fit his own body was wedged against the side of the peeling wall. An even smaller bathing tub with tepid water lay just underneath a square window looking out to the deserted street below. A round table and chair took up the remaining space. A flickering light barely illuminated the room.

  Shame crept over him, old feelings emerging, knowing that the female deserved better. With a frustrated growl, he ignored it.

  “What happens after tonight?” she murmured into the humid room. “Where are you taking me in the morning?”

  Devix said nothing, crossing to the small table before unstrapping his belt. He thought better of unsheathing the blade at his hip. He knew that she would have to be relatively skilled with a weapon to draw his blood, but he didn’t want to tempt her. Never had he been careless with his weapons. He wouldn’t start then.

  “Back to ignoring me again?” she questioned, whipping around to face him. “I thought we were past that.”

  Brushing against her, he pulled the bathing tub away from the window. It screeched on the creaking floor.

  “Bathe if you wish,” he grunted, gesturing to the bath.

  The female was quiet. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was looking at the tub. Judging by her smell, she hadn’t bathed in some time and females tended to be more particular about hygiene,
at least Luxirian females were. She would want to bathe, wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t that please her?

  “Nice try,” she breathed, her arms looping together across her chest. “I’m not taking a bath when you’re in here.”

  Devix frowned, desire mingling with irritation, a baffling combination. It had been too long, he decided. It had been too long since Devix had mated a female. That was why his Instinct was awakening, why his cock was hard and pulsing in his leg coverings, when he had not known lust in eight rotations.

  Finally, his body was rebelling after all that time. Luxirians were a carnal race, after all. Fucking and fighting, that was the warrior way.

  “I will guard the door,” he grunted, surprised at his own words. His Instinct wanted to please her, but the rational part of his mind told him leaving her alone was a mistake. Which was why he added, “Only if you do not try anything, female.”

  “Afraid I’ll escape?”

  Devix felt the corners of his lips curl before he forced them back down. “You can try. I welcome it. I like a good chase.”

  He heard her breath hitch in her throat. Fear? Or something else?

  He continued, “Let me make this clear, female. Petrika is one of the most dangerous colonies in all the Quadrants. If you try to run, another predator may find you before I do. For your sake, you better pray to your gods that I track you down first. I will not harm you while you are under my care, but another will. They will beat you and rape you, perhaps at the same time.” Disgust made him sicken, but he spoke the truth. “If you try to escape, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

  Devix realized it was the most he’d spoken in eight rotations. His voice was nothing more than a rasp, as unused as it was.

  “Y-you’re just trying to frighten me.”

  “I am,” he admitted, “but only to keep you safe. While we are on Petrika, you best stay close to my side.”

  Under her hood, the female studied him from a few paces away, as if trying to gauge his honesty. He could practically hear her mind working.

  Good, he thought. An intelligent charge would be easier to deliver to Sarkon. He didn’t have time to fix any foolish decisions on her part. He only had six spans to deliver her to Azatia.

  Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “I wish to bathe.”

  Devix’s shoulder relaxed slightly and he jerked his head in a nod. He unbolted the door and stepped into the dark, narrow hallway. He shut it firmly behind him. His hearing was excellent and the walls were thin. He’d be able to hear if she tried anything.

  It didn’t prepare him for the sharp stab of lust at the rustling of fabric, however. It didn’t prepare him for the light sound of trickling water, or the small, breathy, feminine sigh that drifted through the door.

  Devix clenched his fists at his side, the slabs of muscles lining his body growing in size. His horns lifted slightly off the crown of his skull. His claws curled. Luxirian always became stronger when aroused, but right then he was trying to control the raging desire, as hot as it was punishing, not feed it.

  Six spans, he thought, leaning his head against the door, listening.

  Devix had a feeling the next six spans would be the most trying of his life.

  THREE

  Despite the fact that the bath water was lukewarm and a strange greenish color, Cara didn’t care. It had been so long since she’d last bathed that she was certain she could bathe in dirty, muddy, slimy water and she would think it’d feel like heaven.

  Again, she tried to think how long she’d been locked away in the Pit, but couldn’t. Her throat tightened with panic whenever she thought back, so she tilted her head to lean against the edge of the small tub and found the dull light that illuminated part of the room with her eyes. She’d spent so much time in darkness that she wondered if she’d ever be able to be in it again without wanting to scream.

  Cara lifted her hand and watched as water trickled through. Again, she thought of the alien just on the other side of the thin door. She strained to listen for him, but heard nothing. She could hear other things, however. Yelling, laughing, loud moans. There was no doubt in her mind that this place was filled with beings like those in that bar. This whole—what had he called it?—colony was filled with degenerates.

  But it wasn’t worse than the Pit, from where she’d been caged.

  Where she was going, she didn’t know. Nothing else mattered up until that moment. She couldn’t change what had happened to her, but perhaps she could influence what her future would be.

  Cara wondered if she’d ever see Earth again. If she’d ever see her friends, her city, her restaurant again.

  Unlikely, she thought, steeling herself against the pain that assaulted her at that realization. She’d always been pragmatic. She’d always been a realist. So she knew that the possibility she would ever return to her planet was slim to none.

  Who the hell knew how far from Earth she was?

  Far enough where it doesn’t matter, she thought.

  Cara eyed the door again.

  She knew better than to try to escape. She’d caught enough glimpses of this colony to know that she’d probably be raped or dead or both by the morning, despite her heavy cloak shrouding her face and body.

  No, she knew that gruff, maddening alien spoke the truth. Her best bet was to stick close to him regardless of what his motivations were. He said they would be leaving in the morning, which meant getting off this god-forsaken colony. Perhaps wherever he was bringing her would provide more means for escape. She could rest as they traveled, revive her strength, which would give her a better fighting chance once the time came.

  One thought, however, wouldn’t stop nagging her. What would happen if he brought her somewhere worse than the Pit?

  Cara scrubbed as much of the filth off her body as she could, banishing the thought. As always, she’d deal with it if it ever happened. She’d learned it was no use dwelling on something that might never come.

  When she felt slightly better, slightly more refreshed, she hopped out of the tub, looking at the dirty cloak in dismay. There was no towel to dry herself with so, unless she wanted to roam around naked, she realized she had no choice.

  Cringing, she donned the heavy material that smelled like acrid, sour piss, feeling it stick to her damp skin, erasing all feelings of cleanliness that had marginally lifted her spirits just a few moments before.

  The room was cramped even with just her inside. A small bed was shoved into the corner, a brown stained-covered blanket draped over top. The tub the alien had dragged out took up the only space in the center of the room. She spied a small chamber pot that emanated a foul smell off to the side.

  Better than your cage, she told herself, over and over again. A sense of relief drifted over her. Yes, she would live in that small, dirty room for the rest of her life if it meant she didn’t have to return to her cage.

  The moment Cara gingerly sat on the rock-hard mattress, she heard a fist pound on the door, a question. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her voice slightly and said, “Yes.”

  The horned alien immediately shoved himself through the small, narrow doorway and locked and latched the door behind him.

  Again, she felt breathless looking at him. His eyes were glued to the opening of her hood, as if still trying to peer inside. She wondered why he didn’t just rip it off if he wished to see her.

  The intense blue of his gaze made her belly warm and she turned her head away, feeling a flush in her cheeks. It was a combination of shame and desire, which irritated and confused the hell out of her.

  Cara cleared her throat, shielding her body with her arms, but the alien spoke before she could.

  “Are you hungry, female?”

  Her eyes flashed up to his. It was strange looking at someone, knowing they couldn’t see your own facial expressions.

  She’d been hungry ever since she’d been abducted. Considering her chosen profession was in the food industry, she was always around food, always tasting, sampl
ing. She’d never felt the type of gnawing hunger that plagued her every single day in the Pit.

  So, she told him honestly, “Yes.”

  The alien’s lips turned down slightly, as if her answer displeased him, but she couldn’t understand why it would. Then he asked, “Did they not feed you?”

  Brows furrowed, she replied quietly, “Once a day, but never enough.”

  In alarm, Cara watched his fists clench at his sides. His fingers were tipped in long, sharp claws and they cut into his flesh easily, blood beginning to drip. In reaction, her automatic response was to huddle her body, curving her spine towards her thighs…and she hated it. She hated how fearful, how afraid she’d become. She wondered if her own father would recognize her, if he’d still been alive.

  The alien hissed when he saw her reaction and immediately took a step away, which, for some reason, shocked her.

  A heavy moment of silence stretched thin between them. Cara eyed him warily, all while drops of blue blood pooled on the floor beneath his palms.

  Then he spoke, his voice like a whisper of rough velvet across her skin. “Female, I will not harm you. Never. If you trust in nothing else, trust in this. I give you my vow as a Luxirian war—” he cut himself off, something crossing his expression that made Cara want to comfort him of all things. He simply ended with, “I give you my vow.”

  Cara felt her heart pounding deep in her throat. Nothing would ever make her trust him completely. She doubted she could trust anyone fully again. Regardless, she felt her body release its defensive position, uncurling slowly.

  After another moment of silence, Cara licked her dry lips and murmured, “Your hands will need wrapping.”

  His sparse brows thinned to a line and he glanced down. He seemed surprise when he saw the blood, as if he hadn’t felt the pain of slicing into his own hand.

  He simply said, “It will heal.”

  Then, he reached into a pocket near his waist, retrieving a small metal tin. Cara heard something rustle around inside, piquing her curiosity.