by Renee Rose
His Human Slave
An Alien Warrior Romance
By
Renee Rose
Originally published in Human Surrender, the dark alien romance box set
Copyright © July 2016 His Human Slave by Renee Rose
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published in the United States of America
Renee Rose Romance
Editors:
Kate Richards, editor—His Human Slave
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices but this is a work of fiction and as such should not be used in any way as a guide. The authors and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Zandian Breeding season.
That was the last consideration in his mind before liberating his planet from the Finn.
Breeding season.
Zander sat at the round platform, studying the faces of the elders he respected most, the ones who had risked their lives to save him when the Finn invaded Zandia and wiped out the rest of their species solar cycles before.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” Daneth, the only Zandian physician left in the galaxy said, tapping his wrist band. “You are the best male representative of the Zandian species, the only one left of the royal bloodline, and, more importantly, the only one young enough to produce healthy offspring. If you go to battle without first procreating, our species will die with us.” He gestured around the room at the other members of his parents’ generation.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in exasperation. “And exactly which female do you think I will produce these offspring with? Last I heard, there is no Zandian female under the age of sixty left alive.”
“You will have to cross-breed. I purchased a program and entered your genetic makeup. It uses all the known gene files in the galaxy to predict the best possible mate for breeding.
He raised his eyebrows. “So have you already run this program?”
Daneth nodded.
He glanced around the table, his gaze resting on Seke, his arms master and war strategist. “Did you know about this?”
Seke nodded once.
“And you approve? This is foolish. My time should be spent training with the new battleships we bought and recruiting an army, not...” He spluttered to a stop.
“The continuation of the species is paramount. What is the point of winning back Zandia if there are no Zandians left to populate it?”
He sighed, blowing out a breath. “All right, I’ll bite. Who is she? What species?”
Daneth projected an image from his wrist band. The image of a slight, tawny-haired young female appeared. “Human. Lamira Taniaka. She’s an Ocretion slave working in agrifarming.”
A human breeder. A slave.
Veck.
Zander didn’t have time for this excrement. “There’s been a miscalculation.” He waved his hand at the hologram.
“No, no mistake. I ran the program several times. This female bested every other candidate by at least a thousand metapoints. This female will produce the most suitable offspring for you.”
“Impossible. Not a human. No.” Humans were the lowest of the social strata on Ocretia, the planet where his palatial pod had been granted airspace.
“I realize it seems an unlikely match, my lord, but there must be some reason her genes mix best with yours. The program is flawless.”
“I thought you might suggest someone worthy of formal mating—an arranged marriage with royalty of another species. Not a breeder. Not a pet.” Humans were not mates, they were slaves to the Ocretions. An inferior species. He hadn’t had much to do with them, but from what he understood, they were weak, fragile. Their lifespan was short; they did not recover easily from injuries. They spread disease and died quickly. They lacked honor and fortitude. They lied.
Zandians—his species—never lied.
“I was not seeking a lifemate for you—I found the best female for producing your offspring. If you wish to find a mate, after you have bred, I will search the databases for the female most compatible to your personality and lifestyle preferences. But this is the one you must breed. And now, during the traditional Zandian breeding season.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. The breeding season didn’t matter. For one thing, they weren’t on Zandia—weren’t affected by her moons or her atmosphere. For another, he wouldn’t be breeding with a Zandian female coming into cycle.
But Daneth was like a sharkhound on a hunt—he wouldn’t stop until the stated goal had been reached. He’d been his father’s physician and had served on Zander’s council as a trusted advisor since the day they’d evacuated Zandia during the Finn’s takeover. Zander had been only fourteen sun-cycles then. He’d spent the last fifteen sun-cycles working every day on his plan to retake his planet. He’d settled in Ocretia, where he’d amassed a small fortune through business and trade, making connections and preparing resources, training for war.
“I will take care of everything. I will purchase her and bring her here until you impregnate her. Once it’s done, you can send her away. I’m certain you’ll be satisfied with the results. The program is never wrong.”
“She’s human. And a slave. You know I don’t believe in keeping slaves.”
“So set her free when she’s served you.” Lium, his tactical engineer spoke.
“A slave will have to be imprisoned. Guarded. Disciplined.”
“She’s beautiful. Would it be such a hardship to have this woman chained in your bedroom?” This from Erick, his trade and business advisor.
Beautiful? He looked again at the holograph. Dirt covered her hands and cheeks, her unkempt hair pulled back and secured at her nape. But, upon closer inspection, it seemed Erick was right. She was pretty—for a human. Her tangled hair was an unusual copper color and wide-set green eyes blinked at the imager that had captured her likeness. A smattering of light freckles dusted her golden skin. She wore drab, shapeless work garments, but when Daneth hit a command to remove the clothing and predict the shape of her naked body, it appeared to be in perfect proportion—round, firm breasts, wide hips, long, muscular legs. His horns and cock stiffened in unison.
Veck.
He hadn’t had that reaction to a female of another species before. He’d only grown hard watching old holograms of naked or scantily clad Zandian females from the archives.
For the love of Zandia.
He didn’t want a human. He wanted the imp
ossible—one of his own species, or, if not, then a female of a species that was on the same level as his own, not inferior.
“Why do you suppose her genes are best? What else do you know about her?”
“Well, there’s this.” Daneth flashed up a holograph of a human man, dressed in combat gear, a light ray gun in his hand, blood dripping from his forehead. “He was her father, a rebel warrior who fought in the last human uprising before her birth. He may even have led it.”
“Hmm.” He made a noncommittal sound. His species were warriors. Why would he need the human genome for that? “What about her mother?”
“Not much to be found. She’s still alive—they’re together now, working on Earth-based plant and food growth production. Keeping their heads down, is my guess. The data about her father isn’t in the Ocretion database file. My program gene-matched to give me that information. I’m surprised the Ocretions don’t do more gene study.”
“I’ll probably split her in two the first time I use her. Humans aren’t built for Zandian cocks.”
“The program can’t be wrong.”
He sighed. “Is she even for sale?”
“No, but you are highly esteemed royalty and the unofficial ambassador from Zandia. I’m sure she can be purchased for the right price.” Daneth referred to his position on the United Galaxies. Since the Finns were not recognized by the UG due to their genocidal practices, Zander served as the Zandian ambassador. Not that it did much good. No one on the UG was willing to put their resources behind him to overthrow the Finns.
He made a grumbling sound in his throat. “Fine. But don’t spend too much. Our resources are needed for recruiting soldiers.”
“Your offspring are top priority. Even over the war plans,” Seke said. The male didn’t speak often, and when he did, it always had a definitive ring to it, as if his was the last and only word.
“As you wish. I’ll breed her. But if she doesn’t survive the first coupling, her death is on all of you.”
Daneth chuckled. “Humans aren’t that weak.”
~.~
Lamira crouched beside the row of tomato plants and flicked a bug off the leaf before anyone saw it. The Ocretion foremen always wanted to spray the plants with their chemicals at the first sign of any bugs, even though it had been proven to harm the plants.
Her stomach rumbled. She longed to pluck just one juicy tomato and pop it into her mouth, but she’d never get away with it. She’d be publicly flogged or worse—shocked. The fresh Earth-based fruits and vegetables they cultivated were for Ocretions. Human slaves had to live on packaged food not fit for a dog.
Still, her life was far better than it might be in another sector, as her mother always reminded her. They lived in their own tent and had little contact with their owners after working hours.
It might be worse. She could be a sex slave like the sister she’d never met, her body used and abused by men every day. After the Ocretions took her sister, her father had led a human uprising, which had resulted in his death. Her mother, pregnant with Lamira, had been picked up by slave smugglers and sold to the agrifarm. Her mother had been careful to hide her beauty and taught her to do the same, keeping mud on her face and hair and wearing clothes too big. They hunched when they walked, ducked their heads when addressed, and kept their eyes lowered. Only in their own ragged tent did they relax.
“You, there—Lamira.” A guard called her name.
She hunched her shoulders and lifted her head.
“The director wants to see you.”
Her heart thudded. What had she done? She was careful, always careful. By the age of seven her mother had taught her to distinguish what was real—what others knew—and what was claircognizance. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut for fear she’d slip up and say something she knew about someone without having been told. Had she made a mistake? If she had, it would mean certain death. Humans with special traits—anything abnormal or special—were exterminated. The Ocretions wanted a population they could easily control.
She dropped the bushel of tomatoes and walked up to the main building, showing the barcode on her wrist to the scanner to gain admittance. She’d never been in the administration building before. An unimpressive concrete slab, it felt as cold and dreary inside as it appeared from the outside. One of the guards jerked his head. “Director’s office is that way.”
The gray concrete floors chilled her dirty bare feet. The director was a fat, pasty Ocretion female with ears that stuck straight out to the sides and cheeks as paunchy as her belly. Beside her sat a male of a species she didn’t recognize.
“Lamira.” The director said her name, but didn’t follow with any instructions.
She stood there, not sure what to do. She tried for a curtsy.
The humanoid male stood up and circled her. He stood a head taller than a human, but unlike the doughy Ocretions, he was all lean muscle. Tiny lines around the outsides of his eyes and mouth told her he might be middle-aged—whatever that meant for his species. Two small horns or antennae protruded from his head. “She’s in good health?”
The director shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
The male lifted her hair to peer under her ponytail. He lifted her arms and palpated her armpits. His skin was purplish-peach, a nice hue—an almost human color. His interest in her seemed clinical, not sexual, more like a doctor or scientist.
“What is this about?” she asked.
The male raised an eyebrow, as if surprised she’d spoken.
The director touched the fingertips of her four-fingered hands together. “They are not house-trained, the humans we keep here. They’re mainly used for outdoor agricultural work.”
House-trained. What in the stars does that mean?
He cupped her breasts and squeezed them.
She jerked back in shock.
“Stand still, human,” the director barked, picking up her shock-stick and sauntering over.
Lamira froze and held her breath. She hated the shock-stick more than any other punishment. She’d heard if you got shocked enough, permanent paralysis or even death may result. In her case, she feared she might say something she shouldn’t while coming out of the daze from it.
“I’ll take her. We’ll require a full examination to ensure her good health, of course, but if everything seems in order, I will pay for her.”
The director folded her arms across her chest. “Well, we weren’t planning to sell her. I understand Prince Zander has a lot of influence with the United Galaxies, but—”
“Two hundred steins.”
Her breath caught. Surely they weren’t negotiating for her—for her life? What about her mother? Her plants? She couldn’t leave.
“Three hundred fifty.”
Her head swam and she swayed on her feet. No. This couldn’t be happening. Her claircognizance should have warned her about this, but it never worked in her favor— only told her meaningless things about other people. A true curse.
“Done.” The male punched something into his wristband and a beep sounded on the director’s handheld communication device.
The director glanced at it and smiled. “When do you want her?”
The male gripped her upper arm. “I’ll take her now.” He bowed. “It was nice doing business with you.”
She swung around to meet him, terror screaming in her chest. “I can’t—wait—”
The male ignored her, pressing a device to the back of her neck.
She felt a sting before everything went black.
Chapter Two
She awoke on her back, naked in a well-lit clinic of some kind. The same male bent over her, taking blood from her arm.
“Ow.” She attempted to move her limb but found her wrists and ankles strapped to the table. “Where am I? What are you doing?” Her tongue felt too thick in her mouth.
As before, he ignored her. He injected her blood into a test tube and shook it with a solution then inserted it into a machine and watched the readou
ts.
When he returned, he put on a pair of protective gloves. He had five fingers, like a human. He wore a lab coat with a name tag that read DANETH.
She licked her dry mouth. “Daneth?”
He gazed directly at her for the first time. “It is not your place to address me, slave.”
It wasn’t her place. Right. This must be the “house training” the director had referred to. Though she’d been a slave all her life, other than suffering hard work and poor conditions, she’d escaped the subtleties of groveling indoor slaves were taught. “Are you my master?” She needed to get clear on what was going on.
“No. Your master is Lord Zander, Prince of the Zandians.”
Prince of the Zandians. But Zandia had been taken over by the Finn solar cycles ago. So if this man was a ruler, he was king of nothing. Just another wealthy statesman living in exile in Ocrea territory.
“His name is Lord Zander. What, was he named after his planet?”
Daneth brought the pads of his fingers to her right breast, massaging in small circles around the nipple then squeezing it, hard.
She gasped and jerked.
He repeated the action on the other side, checking the readout on his armband, as if following a protocol. With two fingers in her mouth, he pried open her jaws, adjusting the light from his wrist cuff to shine inside.
“Lift your tongue.”
It was stupid, but she refused to obey. She’d inherited her father’s rebellious mind, she supposed. Knowing he died trying to free his daughters from this exact situation obligated her to resist.
He nudged her tongue up with his finger. She attempted to snap her teeth closed, but he was far too strong, and she only succeeded in straining the muscles of her jaw and throat. Her rebellion did not seem to bother him.
He traveled down the length of her body, palpating every inch. Her nudity felt shocking after a lifetime of baggy clothes. Someone had washed her and even applied a shimmery powder over her skin. Her hair sprawled in soft waves around her head. It, too, had been cleaned and smelled sweet, like citrus blossoms. Violation at being touched so intimately—especially when she’d been unconscious—coursed through her. She had to get out of here. To escape and—