by Draven, Zoey
Perhaps, he didn’t though. Perhaps it had been a test, she thought, watching him scan her body, her hands, the small table in her room where the needle glinted in the bright light. Cara raised her brow and he grunted in response, gaze finally flashing down to her legs to see her handiwork.
She’d done her best. She hadn’t sewed in years. Growing up with only her father, surrounded by the tough, rugged, no-frilly-bullshit type men of his MC, Cara had always been embarrassed about asking her dad to go shopping with her. Imagining him in some girly boutique shop her friends always shopped at with their moms was laughable then. He wouldn’t have fit in with his grease-stained jeans, cracked leathers that smelled like cigarette smoke, and salt-and-pepper beard.
Cara’s heart ached at the thought of him, as it always did. He would’ve went shopping with her though. If she’d had the courage to ask. He would’ve done anything for her.
She’d learned to make her own clothes. It had become a hobby for her, altering old clothes and making new ones. She’d enjoyed it and if her father had ever noticed, he’d never said anything.
The pants she’d crafted in just a few short hours were actually pretty good, considering the last time she’d picked up a needle had been at nineteen. A little rough around the edges, but the soft, linen material allowed her free movement without restriction. She hadn’t had time to make panties, but she did make a bandeau bra to bind her breasts with the leftover material. She didn’t need to be jiggling all over the place.
“Come,” he commanded, his lips tightening as he glanced over them. He could see the black material clearly through the grey shirt. Cara ignored the sizzle in her belly and followed him back down the hall to the training room.
It was dimly lit, the weapons gleaming on the walls. The metal floor was cool under her bare feet, but then she noticed he’d laid out a cushioned mat in the center. On his forearm, he clicked something on the metal band and she watched as the one wall—the only one devoid of weapons—shimmered into a mirror. Cara saw her own stunned expression in the reflection. She saw her freshly washed hair around her shoulders, her clean face, and baggy clothes that hung off her body.
She approached the mirror and reached out to touch it. Her face was slimmer than it’d been, her cheekbones jutting. She’d lost all her softness and she couldn’t help but lift up her shirt slightly, noting the way her ribs showed, how her hip bones poked out.
It looked like she’d lost twenty pounds, at least. And it didn’t make her happy. She looked weak. No wondered her alien had hesitated when she’d asked him to train her.
Instead of discouraging her, it only made her more determined. She didn’t know how long they’d be traveling. It could be a couple days, it could be a couple weeks. But she would take full advantage of her time with him. The moment she returned to her room, she’d take another travel ration even though she was still full from her last. She wanted to regain the weight, regain her strength so that she would at least have a fighting chance if the time came where she found herself in a precarious position.
Never again did she want to feel helpless. Never again did she want to be caged. She’d rather die.
Expression grim, Cara turned to face him, dropping her shirt. He was studying her, eyes narrowed. His skin was a dark gray in the light, but his eyes were a bright blue, glowing in the darkness.
“Where do we start?” she asked, eager to begin.
He was searching for something, she realized. Then he nodded with a sharp jerk of his head and Cara wondered if he’d found it inside her, whatever it had been.
“Offensive attacks are useless if you cannot defend,” he told her slowly, approaching, “if you cannot escape. Your best chance is to run, not fight.”
“Run away? You don’t strike me as the type to run,” she told him, surprised by his advice.
“I do not run because I was not trained to run. With your strength,” he ran his eyes over her body again and Cara flushed with shame and self-consciousness now that she’d seen the full effects of what captivity had wrought, “you should run if you have the opportunity. Your species is weak.”
Cara sucked in a breath, fire replacing her embarrassment. “We are not weak!”
He cocked that arrogant brow at her and he circled her. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, her fight-or-flight mode kicking in again. He was a predator, cornering his prey.
Cara stifled her cry of surprise when he grasped her arm, pulling gently on her skin before releasing her with a huff. “No protection, no scales. Vulnerable,” he murmured. He looked then at her nails, bringing her hand up to his face. “Blunt. No claws. You could not draw a youth’s blood with these.”
“Nor would I want to,” she argued, snatching her hand back, feeling his cool touch linger over her palm.
“Hit me,” he commanded.
“W-what?”
“As hard as you can. Here,” he said, patting his chest, right over where a human heart would be.
Cara’s mind rebelled. She’d never hit anyone in her life.
His eyes narrowed. “Stop thinking. Do it. Do not waste my—”
Cara’s hand exploded in pain and she hissed when it made contact with his chest. His pectoral was as hard as a rock and she’d just crushed her hand willingly into a boulder.
He didn’t even budge. In fact, he hissed out a breath, like he was impatient. Like she’d just tapped him and not thrown all her strength—however diminished it was—into that punch.
“You see?” he said lowly. “Offensive attacks are not your best strategy. You are small. Weak. Beings much larger than you, stronger than you will easily overpower you. You will not be victor against them.”
That stung if she was being honest.
Her throat burned, wondering if it was all hopeless anyways. She’d pushed him to train her and yet, it seemed like he was saying she was a lost cause.
She felt like a fool. A weak fool.
His eyes became stricken when he saw her expression. Even he could comprehend the hurt on her features.
“Female,” he purred, his hands grasping just below her shoulders. His touch made her shiver but she was brave enough to meet his eyes.
“It was a stupid idea,” she murmured quietly, her hand throbbing in agreement.
Cara felt his quick exhale hit her cheek. His fingers twitched on her skin when he said, “My words are harsh, tev. But soft words will not help you. Not if you need to defend yourself. You wanted honesty. I am giving it to you.”
Her eyes flashed up to his. “You’re right. I did. I didn’t expect it to sting so much. But you’re right.”
His frown deepened. This close to him she could see the throb of his heart beat, slower than hers.
“You misunderstand me,” he murmured. “Physically, even if you were tonnes stronger than you are now, even if you were the strongest human breathing, you will still not compare. It is a fact of your species. Other beings have evolved for fighting and battle. Yours has not yet. Your species is young still.”
Cara drew in a breath, knowing his words were true. She’d seen the aliens at the Pit that fought. Ranging from monstrous beasts to lithe, willowy beings that could probably throw a school bus with one hand…no human would stand a chance.
“Where you lack physical strength, you have a form meant for quickness. Are you fast?”
She’d run one of the slowest miles in her class for P.E., but she didn’t tell him that. “I could be,” she said instead, feeling hope blossom in her chest. She would be.
“You could slip away easily, like a shadow,” he murmured, gazing down at her, assessing her. “There is no shame in running if it means your survival. You can best your opponent in a different way that does not rely on strength. That is what I will show you.”
Somehow, Cara knew the alien standing in front of her would never run from anything. Even if it meant his death, he would never retreat, never back down.
“I understand,” she murmured, tilting her head down in a
nod.
His hands dropped from her shoulders and her body tensed when he circled her again, stopping when he was directly behind her. In the mirror, she saw him over her shoulder, with his darkened skin, his jutting horns, his wide shoulders. She looked so small next to him.
Cara sucked in a surprised, startled breath when his arms suddenly came around her, a vice-like grip wrapping around her torso, just beneath her banded breasts. Her back made contact with his chest, pressing into the full-length of his front.
In her ear, he hissed, “Try to run.”
Panic rose in her veins, threatening to consume her, but she knew—somehow she knew—he wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want. She didn’t know how she knew. It was just…something inside her. An instinct.
He was solid. A pillar of marble, of strength and muscle, and pure, tightly leashed power. And he was at her back, binding her, just like a cage, in his arms.
“Show me,” he growled. “You want your freedom? Fight for it.”
Cara’s eyes narrowed. Her blood was rushing in her ears, adrenaline making her hands shake.
He wanted her to fight for it?
She would.
Something in her broke free and it surged within, making her veins feel like they were on fire. She let that panic fuel whatever was happening, she let it drive her.
So, with everything she had, she tried to run. Tried to break free from his hold. Her muscles protested and strained. Her toes clenched into the rubber mat he’d put down for her on the floor, grappling for traction. His arms were like steel around her, unmoving, firm, impossible.
But still, she fought.
Cara didn’t know how long they struggled against each other. She did know that sweat dripped down her face, her heart felt like it would beat a hole through her chest, and her underused muscles were already weakening and failing her.
What she did also know was that the alien at her back hadn’t said a single word during all this. Except for a few grunts when she did manage to jab an elbow into his side, or the one time she’d connected with his shin, he’d been quiet. His strength never had any mercy on her. He didn’t loosen his hold once.
Finally, when exhaustion began to take hold, when her movements became sluggish, he stepped away.
Cara sagged to the mat, drawing in deep lungfuls of air, too tired to be embarrassed that she probably looked pathetic right about then, probably looked weak, just like he’d told her.
Her arm shook to support her as she glanced up at him, pushing sweaty strands of hair from her eyes.
His next words made her draw in another sharp breath. She saw anger in his eyes and didn’t know why.
“You have six spans before I relinquish you over to the Azatian that purchased you,” he said, voice unreadable, monotonous, not winded whatsoever. His stamina was impressive because right then, Cara realized that she’d fought against him for a long time.
His words—at least up until that point—were nothing that she hadn’t already guessed for herself. At least now she had a timeframe to work with.
Six days.
But his next words made the travel ration in her stomach rebel. “He purchased you to be his next pleasure slave. To join his harem, his collection of females from all around the Quadrants.”
Scar’s hands clenched at his sides. Again, blood was dripping was them.
Cara’s gaze fell to the mat in front of her, sliding away from him. Again, nothing that she hadn’t already guessed. But hearing it confirmed didn’t make her feel any better.
She didn’t expect the disappointment, however.
Once she caught her breath, her voice was raw and husky when she said softly, “So that’s what you do. You’re a nameless mercenary that collects women for this pig’s pleasure. Do they all ask you to train them? Do you make them believe they might have a fighting chance before you hand them over like possessions, bought and traded with the money that he gives you?”
It wasn’t anger that was radiating off him. It was rage. Whether it was at herself…it was yet to be determined.
“Cara,” he growled. A warning. The first time he’d used her name.
She didn’t care.
Instead, she pushed up from the floor, wavering on trembling, spent legs.
“Fine,” she whispered. “I don’t care what you do or what you think about me. What I do care about is taking advantage of the time I have to learn from you. And you’ll teach me everything you think you can in the next six days.”
The alien was silent but his blue eyes turned so black that Cara wondered if she should have the common sense to be frightened. More blood dripped from his palms. It was so quiet that she heard each drop plink on the floor.
She didn’t fear him anymore though. She had a new enemy. This Azatian who he worked for.
He didn’t say anything about what she’d just thrown in his face.
The only thing he growled was, “Again.”
Once more, his arms gripped her from behind.
Once more, she felt that surge of panic, but it was quickly replaced by her own anger and determination.
And once more, she fought.
And then they did it again, and again, and again, until she could do no more.
EIGHT
Devix stared out at the vast view of space from his chair in the command center. Except for a gentle hum of the engines, it was completely silent. Dark. Almost peaceful, but he knew better.
It was anything but peace he felt swirling inside him.
He couldn’t get Cara out of his mind. He couldn’t get the image of her, exhausted from their grappling, looking at him like he was the lowest of Quadrant scum when he’d told her the truth. He hadn’t been planning on telling her, not right then anyways. It had slipped out, like tevvax smoke, from his treacherous lips when he’d seen the defeat in her eyes.
He’d wanted the words to motivate her into action. He’d wanted to give her a clear visual of why she’d asked him to help her.
It had worked, he thought grimly. She’d tried to break free from his hold over and over again. Yet, she hadn’t been able to. When Devix finally called an end to the session, he’d made a move to carry her to her quarters, thinking she wouldn’t be able to walk, but she’d pushed him away with the last remnants of her strength and pulled herself to a standing position.
Pride and loss and disgust at himself warred inside him as he watched her walk down the hallway to her quarters. The limp he’d first noticed when he’d retrieved her from the Baquarian was more pronounced and he frowned, wondering if he’d pushed too hard.
He took a strong pull from the goblet of Brew perched on the console. It burned down his throat, but did nothing to calm his mind.
Remembering the rage, followed by the calm acceptance in her gaze when he’d told her her fate, Devix wanted to vomit. It was the acceptance that he’d hated the most. Her choices had been taken from her ever since the Krevorags had captured her from Earth, her home planet. Devix had only reminded her that yet again, her choice was not hers, her life not hers.
His Instinct raged inside, but it was Devix that snuffed the raw emotion that climbed in his throat.
That was his female, his fated mate. And he’d told her those ugly truths, to frighten her, to taunt her, to make her fight him.
What kind of sick fuck did that? He was wrong in the head. Exile had morphed him into an unrecognizable being, a darker being.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a growl in his chest. His fated mate…the one female he was meant to protect, to cherish above all else…
Devix knew that no Luxirian in his species’ history had ever turned their backs on their luxivas.
Yet, he was doing that very thing.
And he was doing it in exchange for his own freedom, his own peace, his own name cleared of wrongdoing so that his blood brother, the only true family he had left, would know he was not the monster Pidixa claimed.
She didn’t even know his na
me. To her, he was just a nameless mercenary, no better than Sarkon, who had bought her future with a sack of coins.
Devix clutched at his horns, feeling that knowledge rip him apart from the inside. It hurt more than any blade could.
The transport tube whirred and Devix looked behind him only to see his female stepping out into the command center.
She looked freshly bathed, but not rested. She’d limped into her quarters over four telex ago and had not emerged once. She should be sleeping. After that training session, she should’ve fallen into an exhausted stupor.
Yet, there she was. Freshly washed golden hair curling around her shoulders, a fresh tunic she must’ve found in her quarters, bare feet, wide brown eyes that flickered from him, to the view of space, to his goblet of Brew. She had one of the furs from her sleeping platform draped around her shoulders and he wondered if she thought the temperature of the vessel too cold.
He didn’t deserve to be in her presence. He didn’t deserve to look at her, to want her. But his eyes ran over her like a being starved, like a tevvax addict getting his next fix.
She shouldn’t be looking at him like that. She should be looking at him like she had in the training quarters. Like he wasn’t worth anything. Because he wasn’t.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured quietly, as if afraid to break the silence of the command center. Her voice was soft and it floated over his flesh, soothing the beast inside him like a gentle touch.
“Neither could I,” he admitted, wondering if it was the Brew or his guilt that made his tongue loosen.
Devix gaze wandered to her small, bare feet. Her toes curled into the metal floor where she stood and he noticed automatically that she favored her left leg, releasing pressure on the right.
Without breaking his gaze away from her, he fumbled at the console and another chair rose from the ground to his left, the mechanisms whirring quietly. She took his unspoken invitation and settled into it, right next to him, pulling the furs tighter around her shoulders.
He ached to touch her. Luxirians were an affectionate race with their mates or Breeding partners, with their family and offspring. To be so close to his luxiva and not feel her against him…it wrecked him. But he had no right, no claim.