by Anna Carven
She is mine.
Confusion fled. Indecision scattered. There was only single-minded focus. Obsession. Right now, he was useless as a guard. He could not rest, could not concentrate, could not breathe until he knew she was safe.
If they have harmed a single hair on her head…
“Take me to the boy,” he ordered. Tyrak didn’t argue, didn’t question, didn’t even dare look surprised. He simply gave a respectful nod, turned, and led Iskar out of the gallery.
Iskar opened his comm. “Torin, I have unexpected business to attend to.”
“You want me to hold down the fort here, Commander?”
“I would… appreciate that, Torin.”
“It’s about a female, isn’t it?”
“What makes you say that?” Iskar’s left eye twitched in irritation. Was he so easy to read? No, it wasn’t that. Torin was just unusually perceptive.
“Unpredictable isn’t your style, Commander. We all know you play by the book for the most part, but you’ve had that look ever since we left Darkside last night.”
“That look?”
“Once you’ve seen it a few times, you know it for what it is.” Quiet laughter filtered through the comm. “I’ve witnessed several of my brothers go through the exact same thing. We’re all savages at heart, my friend, and you’re no exception.”
“Hm.” Always the fucking philosopher, aren’t you, Mardak? But for once, Iskar couldn’t disagree with the warrior.
As he strode down the corridor, his boots cracking loudly on the seamless polished stone, human bystanders cast apprehensive looks in his direction.
Iskar ignored them. It took every ounce of his willpower to rein in his fury, his impatience, his desperation. It was a good thing nobody dared get in his way, because his temper was about to explode.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Iskar was on the verge of losing control.
How interesting, that the thin veneer of civilization could be so easily torn away, revealing the true Kordolian beneath. Amongst the five commanders, Iskar had a reputation for being the measured one, the cool-headed one, the methodical one. He had just spent a great deal of time reassuring the Commissioner of Teluria that his men would work with and not against the district’s human Enforcers.
And now he was about to blow it all up.
For a female.
There would be damage control. Human-Kordolian relations might take another step backwards. He would have to answer to Tarak al Akkadian, and justify his actions.
None of that bothered him.
Perhaps the General would understand.
“We are on Earth because we choose to be. We abide by Earth’s laws when it suits us, but never forget that we are the invaders. Humans must understand that it is possible for us to co-exist peacefully. At the same time, they should fear what we might become if they were ever to invoke our anger.”
That’s how Akkadian had explained it. To Iskar, it made perfect sense.
Still, he’d been curious. “And your human mate? Do the same principles apply to her?”
“No. She stands apart. She is mine to cherish, to protect, and to adore as I please, and she will never, ever have reason to fear me.”
Iskar was finally beginning to understand that exquisite madness.
Chapter Fourteen
“Whatever you were called before, forget it. From now on, you’re to be known as Miss Wednesday.”
“Miss Wednesday,” Mari repeated skeptically. She winced as the nameless attendant—or whatever the hell she was—grabbed her hands and ran some sort of exfoliating machine over her palms. “I’m reduced to a fucking day of the week?”
“Except for tonight, the Master will visit you only on Wednesdays. On the other days, you will be free to do as you please.” The woman’s blue eyes narrowed as rubbed the calluses on Mari’s palm with her thumb. “You slum girls are all the same. Rough hands. I will give you a cream. Apply it to your palms before you sleep for a week. You have to soften that hard skin, girl. The Master likes it that way. And no swearing. The next time you use a filthy word, I will have to punish you.”
“Free to do as I please…” Mari looked around at her new environment. She was in a large, sumptuously appointed room. One one side, a seamless floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto a lush tropical garden. Water cascaded down a grey wall, rippling the glassy surface of a lily-filled pond. In the center of the room was a curved white couch decorated with black velvet cushions. The couch alone was bigger than Mari and Arturo’s domicile in the Dust Alleys. A large blue patterned rug softened the polished stone floor, and the walls were adorned with fashionable projection-art depicting images of nature—trees, flowers, landscapes.
It was all very nice… and sterile.
Through an open doorway, she spied a bedroom. The doorway revealed a glimpse of a bed covered in silken black sheets.
Mari suppressed a shudder. Whoever had bought her was rich, and it was obvious he only wanted her for one thing.
She was supposed to become someone’s pet.
What did they expect her to do for the other six days of the week? Fucking vegetate?
“As you can see, every effort has been made to ensure your comfort. Food can be ordered from the menu provided by the AI beside the entrance. An attendant will arrive every morning to present your outfits and supervise your grooming. You must maintain your weight between one hundred and thirty to one hundred and thirty-five pounds at all times. Any gain or loss outside these parameters will result in punishment. The garden-door will be unlocked between ten and eleven a.m. every morning. Use your outdoor time wisely. He likes the slight tan you have now.”
What kind of messed-up place is this? Her new owner—even just thinking about the concept made her shudder—was obviously very specific in his requirements. He was also a weirdo. Only visited her on Wednesdays? What, did he have a different girl for every bloody day of the week?
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” The woman slipped on a pair of black silk gloves and crossed her arms. “He’s doing you a favor. You’ll have a much better life here than you did in the Dust Alleys.”
“Favor?” A bitter laugh escaped Mari’s lips. “I’m a prisoner in a fucking gilded cage.” She put special emphasis on the curse-word, just because the attendant had warned her against it.
The woman reached into her tailored black jacket and produced a small silver device. “I warned you.” She pressed a button.
Mari gasped.
Excruciating pain shot through her neck, coming from a thin silver necklace.
Bastards! The innocent looking piece of jewelry they’d placed around her neck was actually some sort of shock-collar. In desperation, she tucked her fingers under it and tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no clasp.
“It can’t be removed without this key,” the attendant informed her, waving the silver thing—a wand of some sort—around. “As long as you behave, it won’t be used.”
“You think you can tame me with that thing?” Mari’s eyes narrowed in hatred. These rich people and their enforcers thought they could own people… thought they could turn other human beings into their playthings.
“It’s a safety precaution, to make both our lives easier. Once you know the boundaries, you won’t be tempted to overstep them. We don’t want to hurt you, Miss Wednesday. If you obey, we won’t have to.”
Mari glared at the woman but kept her mouth shut. Now that the battle-lines were drawn, she could plan her disorder. These soft Telurians didn’t truly understand where she was from. In the Dust Alleys, every day of one’s life was a punishment. Poverty was pain, and Mari had a high threshold for it. She would just have to tread carefully until she understood this place a little better. With time, this so-called Master would understand that he’d purchased defective goods.
“Who is he?” Mari wanted to know who the bastard was, so she could put a name to her hatred.
“You don’t ne
ed to know who he is in the real world. To you, he is Master. Now, take off your robe.”
“What?”
“Don’t waste my time, Wednesday. He will be here soon to view you.”
View… Mari suppressed a shudder.
“You want me to strip…”
“Off!” The attendant’s voice became stern, cracking like a whip. The choker around Mari’s neck tingled with a faint electric charge, reminding her of the consequences of disobedience.
“And what happens if I refuse?” Mari’s voice grew soft. The rebellious part of her wanted to spit in the woman’s face, but the voice of reason inside her head told her not to.
You should probably try and get a better idea of what’s going on here before you do anything crazy.
What she really wanted to know was what happened to the girls who refused to obey even after they’d been punished time and time again. Mari wasn’t born yesterday. She knew her life was worth less than a speck of dust to these people if she didn’t serve her purpose.
And people who dealt with Darkside gangsters could do sinister things.
“I would not recommend it. If you refuse, we will have to do things the hard way. That would be humiliating for you.” The way the attendant said it, along with her completely deadpan expression, told Mari she was prepared to go to extremes.
Mari carefully swallowed her smart-ass retort.
Lord, this place gave her the creeps.
“If you have any qualms about being naked, you’d best forget them now. There’s nothing we haven’t already seen.”
Assholes! When Mari had first arrived at the compound, she’d been sedated. Whatever they’d injected into her had put her in a barely conscious state, and her recollection of events was hazy.
All she remembered was a white room, medical people wearing masks, bright lights…
And when the stuff had finally worn off, she’d found herself in this luxurious prison, wearing only a fluffy white bathrobe. Her hair was damp, and a pleasant floral scent surrounded her. Her fingernails and toenails had been trimmed. The red lacquer coating on her nails had been removed, replaced with a pale shade of pink.
So they’d done what? Stripped her, bathed her, primped her up and wrapped her in this fucking robe. She wore no shoes, not even slippers, and she was naked underneath the robe.
An unpleasant sensation crawled down the back of her neck. What else had they done to her? Her body had been violated.
The shock of that realization threatened to bring tears to her eyes, but Mari refused to cry. Instead, she closed her eyes, held her chin up and unfastened the belt of her robe, letting the garment slip over her shoulders and drop to the floor.
She wouldn’t give them any reason to sedate her or punish her. So what if she was naked? She was proud of her body. If she refused to feel humiliated, then they couldn’t use her nakedness against her.
Mari stood with her skin bare, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead as the attendant slowly walked around her, inspecting every inch of her body.
“Acceptable,” she said at last. She pressed another button on her device and a wardrobe opened. A porter-bot emerged, emitting a soft mechanical whine as it rolled toward them.
A white garment was draped over one of its rails. Impossibly tall silver heels sat on its main shelf.
Fuck-me heels.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape Mari. She’d lost one pair of fuck-me heels and found another.
“Get dressed,” snapped the attendant. “Then you will sit here and not move until the Master arrives. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t disappoint me now, girl.” The attendant slid her the silver wand—the device that controlled the shock-collar—into her coat. “If you make a good impression on the Master, you might just earn yourself some special privileges.”
“Uh, huh.” Mari took the white garment from the porter-bot and held it up. It was a dress, made from some silky, barely-there stretchy fabric.
“Put it on.”
The dress was open at the front. Mari slid her arms into the long sleeves and fastened the collar, which concealed her neck. A barely visible zipper ran from neck to knee. As she slowly drew it closed, she realized they’d removed all the hair from her nether regions.
Creeps.
Of course, the dress fit perfectly, hugging her curves and leaving little to the imagination. The outline of her nipples was clearly visible, and the garment narrowed at her knees, forcing her to stand in a slightly awkward position.
Nice taste, asshole.
Mari swiped the silver heels from the porter-bot and dropped them on the blue carpet. She slid her feet into them and stood. Suddenly, she was about six inches taller than the attendant. “What do you think?” She produced her most charming smile.
“Do not change anything. This is exactly what he wants.”
Mari took a step forward and stumbled. “Oh!” She put out a hand and grabbed the woman’s shoulder. “Sorry.” She faked a nervous laugh. “Guess I’m not used to these new heels.”
As she righted herself, the attendant stepped back. “You’d better get used to them, because you’ll be wearing them a lot.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Mari fought to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Go and sit on the sofa with your legs crossed, right over left. Do not move until he gives you permission. Remember, you are being watched at all times.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Mari kept the sweet smile on her face as she slid the item she’d stolen—the shock collar’s control wand—up her sleeve. What these people didn’t know was that she was used to being watched, and she was well versed in the art of distraction.
All she had to do now was engineer a miracle. The wishful part of her secretly hoped for a Tall, Dark, and Brutal miracle, but she quickly quashed that thought.
Life in the Dust Alleys had long ago taught her that wishful thinking could dull even the most finely honed survival instincts.
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you sure this is the place, boy?” Iskar glanced out the viewport of the glider and saw nothing but a slightly run-down eating establishment. Its name was printed across the windows in incomprehensible human-language characters. Inside, empty tables were arranged around a central serving counter.
The place seemed deserted, but as Iskar narrowed his eyes, staring into the deep shadows at the rear, he saw movement.
“That’s where the Collector does business from,” the kid said. “People go to him, not the other way around. He’s always there.” His eyes darted nervously around the cabin before settling on Iskar’s hands.
The boy’s eyes widened.
Ah. Iskar’s claws were out. When had that happened? It must have been in response to his dark thoughts. On the ride from Teluria to Darkside, he had quietly been contemplating how he was going to hurt the man who had taken Mari against her will.
Surprised by his lack of self-control, he slowly retracted his claws.
That was the effect she had on him. There was no denying it now. He was deep in the grip of this exquisite madness, and there was no turning back.
Mari. Maribel. Her younger brother had told Iskar her name. Iskar imprinted it on his mind, pleased to finally have a name to attach to the face, a face that had blessed him with lustful fever-dreams.
His anger twisted and writhed inside his heart, turning into a deep feeling of possessiveness.
“He usually goes around with these three mean-ass looking guards. They’re probably in there with him right now.” The boy, Arturo, looked over Iskar’s shoulder.
Behind him, Iskar’s men, Tyrak and Vaka, were checking their weapons. Like Iskar, they were heavily armed.
Tyrak and Vaka were experienced grunts, having served in many ground campaigns under the former Empire. They were supremely proficient at both street and close-quarters combat, and they had the ability to adapt to any situation—Is
kar should know; he’d trained them himself.
They also knew better than to question his orders. When told that they would be accompanying him into Darkside, Tyrak and Vaka hadn’t so much as blinked, although Iskar had caught them giving him odd looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.
He was the first to admit that his behavior was unusual for a Kordolian commander—irrational, even—but the terrible sense of urgency that flooded every fiber of his being robbed him of all coherent thought.
At this point in time, Iskar was not a rational man.
When Mari’s brother had explained what had happened, speaking in broken Universal, Iskar hadn’t wasted a moment.
And now they were here in Darkside, sitting in a Kordolian glider that silently hovered above deserted streets.
It was probably only a matter of time before the authorities showed up, but Iskar didn’t give a fuck.
“Tyrak, you come with me,” he growled. “Vaka, wait here with the kid. This won’t take long.”
“Sir.” Vaka thumped his fist against his chest in the old military salute.
Movement below caught Iskar’s attention. Men in dark suits filed out of the shop. Armed with large guns, they stared up at the glider with hostile expressions.
Yes, it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring a highly conspicuous military-issue Kordolian glider into the crime-ridden streets of Darkside, but Iskar was done with trying to appease these humans.
We abide by Earth’s laws when it suits us.
He would deal with the consequences later.
A loud crack split the air outside. One of the men stood with his gun raised in the air.
“Looks like someone just fired a warning shot,” Vaka drawled, appearing suitably unimpressed. He glanced at the sylth—the glider’s monitoring system. “A weak energy blast. Barely disrupted our shields. You want me to hit them back, Sir?”
“Give them a small taste of plasma fire. Just enough to maim, not kill. We don’t want humans to get the impression that we’re indiscriminate killers.” Iskar was also mindful of the boy—Mari’s very own blood. It was his duty to protect the child from things a child wasn’t supposed to see.