Prison Moon - Warlord's Mate: An Alien Abduction Sci Fi Romance
Page 9
It took her twenty minutes to figure out how to make the length of cloth resemble a top and not half a dress. She'd ended up wrapping it around her back and grabbing both ends and crossing them in front of her, pulling both ends up and tying them around her neck. She sewed the front together best she could and ended up with a crisscross halter top. A good portion of her midriff showed, but it was either pull her skirt up to her waist and potentially show her ass, or wrap it around her hips and show her belly. She opted for the belly.
The others looked at her when she stepped out of the hut. Tezhlia smiled. "Jityria won't be pleased you were able to make the scraps she gave you work."
Marcy tugged at the material underneath her breasts. "I figured as much."
She sat back down and tossed the filthy shirt she'd been wearing on the ground. It was so dirty, she doubted washing it would do much good but she wasn’t about to burn it without someone telling her to.
Picking up another of the ear-like things, she resumed cutting them into strips and for the first time since being dropped on Prison Moon One, felt like herself. She was clean, was covered in enough material she didn't feel naked, and despite the food here bordering on disgusting, she wasn't starving.
The ear-like things were called vacso, according to Sebra. They'd cut them all into strips for cooking and she was reaching for the last one when the sound of a woman screaming filled the air. Everyone in camp looked toward the forest, herself included, and she saw one of the aliens dragging a woman into the clearing.
“Do not look.” Celestia bumped her arm with her elbow. “It is not our business what happens. Your only focus is the task you’ve been assigned so keep your head down. You will be punished if they see you show any sort of interest in their affairs.”
That would explain why these women hadn’t paid her any attention when she was brought into camp.
The woman screamed again, struggling in the grasp of the alien who held her and fought like the devil himself had caught her. Apparently supplies hadn't been all they'd had in that drop shipment.
She turned away, trying to ignore what was happening but found herself taking quick glances their way, especially when the sounds coming from the surrounding forest grew in volume, voices starting to reach them now as angry shouts filled the air.
Marcy tilted her head in such a way she could see without it being obvious and saw half a dozen bodies come rushing into camp at once. The woman screamed again, saying, “Stop! You’re hurting him,” and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She knew that voice.
Jumping to her feet, she stared across camp, watching as dozens of aliens came rushing from the trees dragging a naked man with them. She sucked in a breath, not realizing she was holding it until the girl turned around enough she could see her face. Her heart started racing, the breath exploding from her chest as she recognized her.
Sara was in the warlord’s camp.
Marcy screamed Sara’s name and was running across camp, her heart ready to burst from her chest by the time Sara saw her and screamed her name in return. She was less than a hundred feet away when the snake-like alien who had stuck his hand up under her shirt the day before and copped a little feel stepped into her line of sight. He snarled at her and took a step to the side, throwing out one beefy arm to block her, the long appendage catching her at throat level.
Her feet flew out from under her and she hit the ground flat on her back—hard—the wind knocked from her lungs. She lay there stunned, gasping and trying to catch her breath as the noise around camp once again grew in volume.
The snake alien who’d effectively “clothes-lined” her stepped into her line of sight. He was smiling, amusement clear on his snaky face. The smile didn’t last long. One moment he was grinning down at her, the next, his eyes widened, his mouth opened in a silent gasp, that forked tongue once again visible as brown liquid slowly spilled past his lips to dribble down his chin.
Marcy blinked when she realized something was sticking from his chest. The long shard was pointed on the end and coated with the same stuff falling from the aliens mouth. He sank to the ground, both knees slamming into the dirt beside her.
Towering over the kneeling alien was the warlord. He raised his leg, placing his foot on the aliens back and shoved him forward. The bloody shard piercing his chest slid out with a sickening wet sound as he fell face first into the dirt.
One look at the warlord’s face caused her lungs to seize again. This was the alien brutal enough to control all the others in camp.
There was nothing about the expression on his face that even resembled anything civilized. His whiskey-colored eyes had darkened in color to near black as he ran his gaze over her. Whatever it was he’d been looking for, he apparently found as he finally looked away, slinging the long blade he usually wore near his hip hard enough blood flew from the shiny metal.
A look at that snaky face lying in the dirt beside her was all it took to know the alien was dead. The warlord raised his head, slowly turning as he looked at those around the camp staring at him. “I will not repeat myself again. Touch her … and it will be the last thing you do.”
Marcy swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She glanced over at the dead alien. Her limbs started shaking as someone touched her shoulders, pulling on her to help her stand. She barely saw Celestia's blue arm before the female scurried back off to their little circle in front of their hut.
The warlord looked her over again when she was on her feet, then turned to face Sara.
Marcy wasn’t sure what had happened to her friend since the dragon had plucked her from the sky but she looked healthy. Her skin was glowing and even though she was being restrained, she was trying to get to a naked man. The woman in the arena she’d thought was Sara had been with a naked man too, so it had been her she’d seen.
She glanced at the man quickly before looking away. He looked human from what she could see and was butt-ass naked. She looked back at Sara, wanting to run to her but was afraid to. Tension still hung in the air and the dead alien was reminder enough of who was in charge here and she wasn’t going to move a muscle until the warlord told her to.
Jorrick turned and walked across the camp, stepping up on the dais before folding his big frame into his throne-like chair.
“Marcy, are you all right?”
Sara’s voice drew her attention away from the warlord. Did she answer? There weren’t many things that scared her but—looking back at the warlord—she’d admit he did at the moment. His size alone was intimidating and something in his eyes looked … brutal. Primal. And scary as fuck. Not an ounce of warmth dwelled there, and he’d killed the snaky alien without an ounce of remorse showing on his face.
Killed him for touching you.
The revelation hit her so hard she felt gut-punched. Her pulse started racing when he held up his hand toward her and said, “Come to me.”
That small request felt like her entire fate rested on it. The way he was looking at her, it probably did. Was he pissed she’d been running to Sara? Had he thought she was trying to run away? Probably.
She glanced back at Sara, her friends familiar face enough to bring tears to her eyes. She wanted to run to her and hold on for dear life but the warlord would more than likely kill them both if she went to Sara’s side instead of his own. But—if she did as he said, she’d be sealing her fate, admitting she was his property to Sara and everyone looking.
The warlord narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not think you have any other option. You do not. You will do as I say or you will pay for your disobedience.”
Well, that settled that debate. His threat of cutting out her tongue and making her wear it whispered through her head again. Looking at his face, she didn’t doubt for a moment he’d do it.
She gave Sara an apologetic look then crossed to where he sat, every step like a death keel gong in her head. When she stepped up on the dais his throne-like chair sat on and moved closer to him, he reached
out and grabbed her arm, snatching her to him. She landed on his lap.
Marcy stiffened, clenching her jaw as he settled her on one large thigh, his arm circling her waist to pull her back against his chest. Sara and the man she was with were both shoved forward, the man, she just now realized, was bleeding and wore a strange metal cuff around his neck, much like the ones the guards had placed around her wrists.
One whole side of his chest and arm was covered in strange black markings and blood oozed from gashes dotted along those strange swirl of patterns.
Vikram grabbed Sara’s arm and pulled her closer to where they sat, the man she was with following. When Vikram reached the front of the platform, he stepped up and handed the warlord a small metal disk.
“It unlocks the collar,” Vikram said, before looking back at Sara and the naked man. “He should have tossed it away the moment he removed it. How he came about a key, I do not know.”
The warlord’s hold on her loosened, his hand splayed flat against her bare stomach. Marcy finally smiled when Sara looked over at her and said again, “Marcy, are you all right?”
Marcy took a breath to answer but the warlord’s hand against her stomach pressed harder against her skin. It was a silent demand to keep quiet. Looking across the cold fire pit to the dead alien, she did just that.
The warlord’s hold on her relaxed, his thumb making a lazy pass over her belly button. “Do you know this female, Mar-see?”
She turned her head to look at him when he said her name. For reasons she couldn’t explain, hearing him say it felt almost—intimate, the slight accent in his pronunciation of it making every muscle clench tight. “Yes,” she said. “She was on the same ship that brought me here.”
He held her gaze. “Why are you here?” Marcy was about to ask what he meant when she realized the question wasn’t for her. It was for Sara and her companion
The man Sara was with said, “Where is here?”
The warlord finally looked over at them. “My territory.”
“I was not aware this was your territory. I was trying to get my mate home where she would be safe, nothing more.”
“And where it home?”
“The red mountains.”
The warlord tilted his head to one side. “I remember you from the arena. Why did you not fly home? If I were a dragon, walking would be my last mode of transportation for such a journey.”
Dragon? Marcy looked at the man with Sara, confused.
“The Corporation collared him.” Sara glanced at the male by her side, the shiny metal cuff around his neck gleaming in the sunlight. “It was one of the conditions of our release. If they find out Toren can take it off, they’ll hunt us down and kill him.”
Toren, as Sara called him, said, “It is too dangerous to shift into my true form or I would have already taken my mate far from here.”
Marcy stared at Toren, his words slow to penetrate. “Your true form?” She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until Sara grinned.
“Remember that big ass blue dragon that snatched me out of the air? Well, turns out he’s a shapeshifter.” Sara nodded in Toren’s direction. “We went back to the temple to find you but you weren’t there. Are you all right?”
A hard press on her stomach told her to remain quiet.
The moment Sara realized she wasn’t going to answer, her friend threw a glare at the warlord. “Blink once for yes, Marcy, twice for no.”
Was she all right? She was alive, so far hadn’t been raped, and she was clean and had on clothes you couldn’t see through. All things considered, she could be worse. She blinked as the warlord’s hand continued to press against her stomach.
Sara’s jaw clenched. “Is she not allowed to speak?”
“She does only what I tell her to.”
In the past, that one statement would have been enough to make her come up fighting—had it been anyone other than the warlord who'd said it. She knew next to nothing about him but she wasn’t stupid. He’d killed one of his own men without a word said so she didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d kill her and not lose a minute of sleep over it.
The man—dragon—linked his hand with Sara’s. “Are we prisoners here?” He looked at those standing guard around them, then back to the small disk the warlord was toying with. “If not, give me the key to the collar and we’ll be on our way.”
No one said anything for long minutes, the air around camp filling with tension the longer the silence gathered. When the warlord finally spoke, everyone seemed to take a breath in unison. “What guarantee do I have you won’t shift the moment we remove that collar and burn us all?”
“They took his fire.” It was Sara who answered. “It was the other condition of our release. They were going to kill him after he won his battle but I was able to persuade them to remove his fire instead. The collar was to remain on but one of the guards slipped him the key when he released Toren’s handcuffs. If he shifts, they’ll know.” She looked up as one of the small camera orbs flew into view. “If they see him shift, they’ll know.”
They probably already did, but Marcy didn’t say as much out loud.
The warlord held up the small metal disk, turning it in his fingers as he looked at it. “And why did you not toss it aside once you were free of it?”
“Because if for any reason the wyvern came looking for us, that collar would need to be right where they left it, which was on his neck so, we kept it—just in case.”
The warlord lowered his arm and studied them both, finally looking at the man with Sara. “If you so much as look as if you are going to shift into your true form, I will remove your mate’s head from her body and make you watch her corpse rot. Then I will take your own.”
“He won’t,” Sara assured him. “You have my word.”
“The word of a female is nothing but a mouth full of lies. Do not test me, you will not like the outcome.” The warlord gave them both an icy look before nodding his head to Vikram. “Release them and get the dragon something to wear. I tire of looking at his cock.”
Chapter Eight
If asked why he’d allowed the little red one to go to her companion, Jorrick wasn’t sure he’d have an answer. Instinct told him to lock her away, to not let her anywhere near the outsiders but he’d done the complete opposite.
Once the male had been brought clothing and was dressed, the tension drawing Jorrick’s shoulders near his ears had relaxed. Nothing screamed challenge more than a male with his cock out and one nearly as impressive as his own so near the female he’d had on his lap made him want to kill the dragon where he stood. Him feeling territorial over her stunned him more than the knowledge a dragon had been lurking outside his camp. Had he taken any of the other females, Jorrick would have been annoyed at best, but only because he’d have to assign a few of his men to the females’ daily tasks, something they would grumble about until he acquired replacements to take over those duties again. But her? He’d rip that dragon’s head off and drink from his skull.
The sun had lowered in the sky, the shadows from the trees falling over the camp enough the central fire pit had been lit to provide enough light to see. Mar-see, as the other female had called her, was smiling and playing with that mass of red curls attached to her head. He’d lost count of how many times she’d braided and unbraided it, twisted it into a long, coiled rope then let it unravel before tossing it over her shoulder.
Her voice sounded hoarse. No wonder with the way Reitlas had hit her. It was a wonder he hadn't crushed her windpipe as hard as he'd swung at her.
Heat filled his veins as he remembered the way her feet had flown out from under her. At how hard she'd hit the ground, and each gasping breath she took made something inside him pull tight until it finally snapped.
He'd killed Reitlas too quickly and wished he could do it all over again. He'd string him up by his feet this time and slowly gut him, waiting until gravity pulled his entrails to the ground beneath him as a lesson to the others.
He ran an appreciative glance down the length of her. Those long legs of hers were tucked up beside her. He recognized the material wrapped low around her hips. It had been in with the clothing he’d given to Jityria to give to her. He hadn’t thought those strips of material were suitable for garments, but he was wrong. Mar-see had made them appealing despite it being an unattractive, bland color. The piece she had wrapped around her hips fell in such a way that most of her thigh was showing. Images of those shapely legs wrapped around his waist filled his mind’s eye as her laughter once again filled the air. He sighed. He needed to stop thinking about her. She wasn’t brought here for his comfort. She was only here in hopes Allok would initiate the war he’d been longing for.
You could use her until that happens.
The thought whispered through his head as he watched her. Waking with her in his bed had certainly been more pleasant than it should have been but he’d not fall back into old behaviors. He would never be so foolish again.
He watched her so long he could have made out her features had there not been a single flare of light. He memorized the shape of her nose, the small curve at the outer corner of her eyes and the fullness of her lips—lips he suddenly couldn’t seem to stop thinking about curled around his cock. Vikram stepping onto the platform drew his attention, and he tore his focus from her.
“I do not trust him, warlord. The moment you release him, he will kill us all.”
“He will not.” Jorrick shifted in his chair, leaning to one side. “A blade to his mate’s throat will ensure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Once they are well beyond our borders, his mate will be set free.”
“Do you intend on leaving the collar off of him?”
“I have not decided.”
“Doing so would be foolish.”