Sexual Memory [Dark Colony 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Elle Saint James

  Were they in a sports arena?

  She opened her eyes slowly, squinting as she surveyed her surroundings. It looked like they were in a stadium, an open air one. The sky above the highest seats was a lavender blue shade and there wasn’t a single cloud marring the view of the heavens. In fact, it was a perfectly lovely day to kill beasts while chained to a strange man.

  The noise level around her was deafening. The people in the stands were dressed crudely in drab-colored tunics suggesting humble lives, but most of them also stood up and shook their fists, screaming, “Kill. Kill. Kill.”

  The man against her squeezed her around the waist until she looked into his eyes. He mouthed something she didn’t hear. She shook her head and squinted again. Every time the man chained to her had spoken, he’d had to scream his words. Even then she only barely heard him over the din of the others.

  He glanced over his shoulder as if to assess the immediate threat. There were other beasts, but they were across on the other side of the stadium involved with other chained people. Instead of screaming in her direction, he lowered his sculpted mouth to her ear. His breath ruffled her hair and tickled her flesh. A flash of desire drove inappropriately down her body. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice deep and sensual, sporting a slight accent. Sexy.

  She started to speak, but knew she wouldn’t be heard in this loud venue. She simply shook her head again, mouthing the word “no” so that he understood. She wasn’t hurt exactly, just weak, dizzy, and disoriented.

  He nodded and the hint of a smile curved one corner of his attractive mouth. Given the sexy dream she’d had before waking up here, she decided she shouldn’t get too attached to this man even if he had saved her.

  The man in her dreams—the one she’d been enthusiastically fucking—had several tattoos etched across his chest. One in particular stuck out in her mind. It was located right below his collarbone and she remembered kissing one particular alpha-numeric mark, knowing somehow that it was special as her dream man’s cock thrust deeply inside her pussy. A small shudder ran down her body as the sexy memory coursed through her.

  The gladiator man hugging her—while he also had a few tattoos on his impressive body—didn’t possess the same ones as the man in her foggy memory, and none of them were below his collarbone.

  Across the circular arena the sound of an uproar caught their attention. She noticed two other pairs of combatants fighting various mutant gigantic animals. However, the other pairs of fighters didn’t fare as well as she and her gladiator had.

  A tiger-like beast with brown, gold, and white stripes stepped toward a pair of men as if he wanted to play with them. Instead, the huge animal swiped a massive paw at one man and took his arm off cleanly at the shoulder joint. Unfortunately, it had been the hand holding his sword. Rich, red blood spurted from the fighter’s shoulder where his sword arm used to be attached. He turned his head to look at his arm on the dirt ground and started screaming. But only until the beast took another swipe and his head went flying in the opposite direction.

  “Oh god,” she cried and turned her head into her partner’s neck. But she couldn’t un-see the carnage.

  “What is going on here?” she asked again, but knew she couldn’t be heard over the loud cheering. Her inclination was to dart away screaming in any direction away from this horrid violent place.

  If any of her muscles had been capable of cooperation, she might have made a run for it. But the man she was chained to was the only thing keeping her upright. If she ran, he’d have to be willing to come along. And where would she go? She didn’t know this place. It was unfamiliar. Alien. A place she’d never been before, right?

  Then a very sudden and so much more disturbing thought occurred. Where am I suddenly shifted to who am I?

  Fuck.

  She didn’t know who she was!

  She frantically searched her brain for a clue, any detail to discover a name or an identity of any kind. Nothing. A blank.

  The roar of the crowd subsided drastically as the last of the other chained humans were slain. Across the stadium, the people in the stands began murmuring to each other as they departed their seats. Heads bent in contemplation and serious conversation rippled through the crowd. A few of them began disappearing through dark holes in the stands, presumably exits.

  The man she leaned against started to move and naturally she had to move with him or fall down.

  “Come on.”

  “Wait a minute. Who are you?” she asked as she again hunted her foggy mind for a familiar name to go with the only memory she possessed before waking up in this gladiator nightmare.

  “I don’t know who I am,” he said, with heated disgust. “I woke up ten minutes ago chained to you with a sword in my hand. Apparently, I know how to use the damn thing, lucky for us.” His unfamiliar accent called to her on some subconscious level, and made her want to watch his mouth as he talked. Engaging. Compelling. Sexy.

  She shook her head. Focus. She truly couldn’t get her name to surface in her mind. But the recollection was on the tip of her tongue. The more she fought to remember, the further the information drifted away. Just out of her grasp. Shit. Her head began to throb the harder she tried to retrieve the memory. Damn it.

  “I don’t suppose you remember how we got into this predicament?” he asked, as if he didn’t expect her to produce a good answer.

  Words wouldn’t seem to come from her throat, so she shook her head once more.

  “I don’t suppose you remember who you are either.” He studied her carefully, as if willing her to give him an answer. But she didn’t have one. It made her angry.

  Again, she shook her head as the urge to cry her eyes out rose swiftly. Tears welled up suddenly and leaked out of her lower eyelids on to her heated cheeks. For some reason this seemed totally out of character, even though she didn’t have a clue as to her true identity. Am really I a weepy type? Surely not.

  “Well, don’t cry about it,” he said gruffly. “At least we have each other.”

  Across the way, one member of a third pair of combatants, thought dead already, leaped up and made a run for it. He tripped over the person he was chained to and fell to his knees. His life was over when a beast leaned over, noshed on his head all the way to his shoulder, and massive amounts of blood exiting his wounds signaled his final untimely end.

  Instead of witnessing the beast across the arena feeding on the other chained people, she studied the man who’d undoubtedly saved her life. His burnished blond hair ruffled in the wind. It would brush his collar if he wore one, but he was shirtless. He was a head taller than she was and had very wide, muscular shoulders. He wore only a pair of woven pants. Two toggle buttons were secured across the fly instead of a zipper. The wide belt loops were threaded with the same small and deceptively strong chain that was attached to her waist.

  She looked down at her own garments and realized she wore very little. Her arms and legs were exposed along with her midriff, and she was barefoot. She wore a tight, brown vest-like shirt with no sleeves and a taupe-colored flared skirt with belt loops where her chain was attached. The garment’s hem only came to barely her mid-thigh. She slipped a hand down to her skirt, pressing it down to ensure she was covered.

  The fabric was surprisingly soft, but not very thick. Her palm slid over one butt cheek and she suddenly realized that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Perhaps that was why there had been booing from the crowd right after her partner had insisted she stand. They were likely staring at her uncovered privates like it was part of the show until he’d helped her up.

  He squeezed her tight, and a jolt of alertness coursed through her veins. Had the stranger she was chained to also seen her naked? The muscles across his chest rippled, making her even more aware. He was sweaty and dirt stained from his exertions to save them both from death by razor-clawed, alien tiger-beasts, but at least he wasn’t mortally injured.

  Not like the others still strewn about in the arena.
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br />   The sword, splashed with deep orange beast blood, rested comfortably in one hand. She reclined comfortably in his other arm, gaining more strength by the second.

  Given the situation, she should be panicked and crazed, but the urge to shriek with maniacal laughter seeped into her mind instead. People were being eaten alive, and she was worried about cheering strangers seeing her bare ass.

  Instead, she should be grateful that she’d been chained to the only man in the sizable wooden ring able to hold his own in a primitive gladiator-styled fight. She glanced down at his sword once more as a familiar feeling hit her gut. She felt in her soul that she could wield a sword. How do I know that? She mentally shook off the thought. Trying to remember anything from the past just made her head throb.

  Three panels along the interior of the arena slid open behind them, the one closest startling her. Six large men with laser pistols, two from each door, exited and began herding the remaining beasts into cages now emerging from the doors across the arena. They looked like guards. Each wore leather uniforms with small spikes running along the outer seams of their arms, across their chests, and down the outer legs.

  Two more men emerged from the closest door, walking swiftly to the fallen animals nearby. She checked to see if the beasts her partner had killed were fully dead as one of the leather-clad guards turned and approached them.

  The man she was going to refer to as her personal gladiator from now on lifted his sword, pointing it at the chest of the approaching guard.

  “Put your weapon away, slave. You’ve won the day.” The guard then glanced in her direction, and added, “Now you’ll be able to enjoy your reward.”

  Her gladiator didn’t lower his sword a single micron. “Where are we?”

  The guard smiled. “In the gladiator arena.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “You are slave combatants for his majesty, Lord Harcourt.” The guard sounded impatient but slightly amused. She would have been at least wary of the sword pointed at her chest.

  “Fine. I’ve killed my share of beasts. Release me this instant.”

  The guard started laughing. “Mighty imperious tone for a slave.”

  “I’m not a slave.” The emphatic words spoken in the unusual accent he possessed tumbled out of his mouth quickly as if he’d said them before planning the content.

  “That chain around your waist says different.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Her champion advanced a step, keeping his sword high at the man’s throat level. “Release me.”

  The guard stopped laughing. “Lower your sword, slave, or else I’ll help you lower it.”

  Her gladiator released her and promptly took several steps forward in a second, pressing his sword tip against the throat of the guard with chilling speed. “And I said release me.” He pushed his sword into the guard’s neck until a bead of blood welled, dribbling dark red fluid inelegantly down to the guard’s collar.

  The burly man didn’t even flinch. Instead he put a hand to his waist, touched what looked like a large red jewel on his belt, and her gladiator suddenly screamed and fell to the ground on his hands and knees, dropping his sword in the process. The guard pushed him over onto his side with a tap of his booted foot. She took a step closer as the guard then reared his boot back a ways in order to do damage with his next kick. She lunged forward and shielded her gladiator, taking the initial kick instead, grunting in pain when the guard connected his toe solidly to her side. He hadn’t cracked her rib, but she was going to have a nasty bruise there later.

  “Get out of my way, slave bitch, or else I’ll kick you harder next time.”

  Her body stiffened in anticipation of the next blow. She covered only her gladiator’s upper back, shoulders and head, her arms folded over her hair. He continued writhing in pain from the button the guard held down on his belt. His palms were pressed to each side of his head as if the pressure might help ease the pain.

  “No. I’m not moving.” She braced for a second hard boot tip contact to her ribs, hoping he’d find a new spot and not kick her a second time to the same place.

  There was a loud shriek of warning before a new voice boomed from overhead out of a loudspeaker, and said, “Get them inside, Gruvat. The show is over.”

  She moved her arms, looked up toward the sky, searching the stands, and saw a raised dais centered in the stadium seats nearby.

  The loud, amplified voice belonged to a large robed man dressed in rich fabrics. A king, perhaps? He was bejeweled from the crown on his head, to the ropes of gold draped around his neck, to the large stone-set rings adorning his fingers. The royal-looking man spoke into a small black rectangular device which apparently augmented his voice.

  The crowds of peasant people surrounding him were shuffling away, leaving the arena seats in droves.

  Gruvat grunted and nodded at the richly dressed man. He released the button on his belt and her gladiator stopped moving. Gruvat bent over and grabbed her by her waist chain, lifting her off her savior.

  Her breath caught in her throat when the chain dug in, and she wobbled on unsteady feet. Gruvat pulled her toward the black opening beneath the stadium seats. The man chained to her came around slowly and crawled to his hands and knees until he stood so as not to be dragged. When the chain stretched taut between them and dislodged her from Gruvat’s grasp, she went down on her knees.

  Gruvat laughed a gratingly ugly sound. He squatted down next to her and said, “Get used to that position, slave bitch, that’s where you’ll be for the rest of the night.”

  Her gladiator ambled over slowly, extended a hand down, and helped her to her feet once more. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning heavily into her at the same time. Whatever they’d done to give him pain—from the jeweled button on Gruvat’s belt—must have weakened him, too.

  Gruvat pointed once more to the opening in the arena wall, indicating they should make haste to enter the dark space. She knew he wasn’t above using his boot tips to encourage them, so she moved as fast as she could.

  She also grabbed her partner around the waist, pressed close, offering her support, and together they walked slowly into the darkness.

  Strolling along with her gladiator savior snuggled up at her side, she wished she had a better name to refer to herself than slave bitch and any inkling about how she’d ended up as one.

  But she had no idea. Just the sincere belief that her life hadn’t always been this way.

  Chapter Two

  The beautiful dark-haired exotic woman with the compelling eyes, that he was currently chained to, helped hold him up as they walked into the unknown darkness. Whatever device they’d implanted in his head had set off a tremendous burst of pain, centering in his skull and drifting down to all his muscles, as well. Once activated, the pain device rigorously spiked what felt like a broadsword through his skull repeatedly, rendering the rest of his muscles useless.

  However, he’d still been conscious once on the ground, even though incapacitated. He’d heard what happened to the woman chained to him.

  His focus had been on his muscles stinging with pain, but he not only felt her body cover his shoulders and head, he also heard Gruvat threaten to kick her harder after she’d shielded him and taken the first kick to her ribs. The blow meant for him. Bastard.

  Along with this terrible day fighting monsters was the infuriating inability to remember his name. And more importantly, how the hell had he gotten into this deplorable situation? All he had was a single snippet of memory. A scene presumably from his world before now, but it didn’t contain enough information to grab onto and decipher any life before the gladiator ring or, maddeningly enough, his name either. He found this all supremely frustrating.

  He’d been dancing with a woman he didn’t recognize but who seemed familiar, and the warm radiant sky at sunset filled with reds and oranges blended with gold was the ending to his only memory, set in a dream world he could barely remember. And his only lucid thought righ
t before he’d woken in the arena with a sword in hand, and a menacing beast ready to kill him.

  He hadn’t even noticed the beauty attached to him until he stood up to fight. She’d still been trying to wake up as he struck his first blow.

  He didn’t know her name, but already liked her. Of course he didn’t know his name either. A problem he wanted to solve. Soon.

  They were led into the depths beneath the arena stadium to a thick, stout-looking wooden door. The upper portion was arched and set two feet into the stone walls of the dank hallway they traversed.

  The place smelled worse than death.

  Gruvat pulled out a large rusty iron key, worked it into the lock, and pushed the door inward. He gestured them inside the dark space. Once they moved past the threshold, he then closed the door with a slam, relocking it immediately.

  A window high on the wall opposite the door provided the only light in the room, which wasn’t very bright. It didn’t illuminate the space much. Perhaps that was a blessing. It would be the first one so far.

  The woman clung to him like a second skin the moment the door closed. He’d seen a simple bed of sorts, two chairs, a table with a large vase of flowers, and lamp on it before the meager light from the hallway was cut off as the door slammed shut.

  Surprisingly, the room was larger than he’d expected. Not a cramped dungeon space he’d truly loathe, but a simple space with high ceilings. The room smelled musty, as if from disuse, but the fragrance of the flowers helped mask the odor. Even combined, the scent was certainly better than the hallway they’d come from. He dropped his arms, expecting her to still cling to him, but she didn’t. Maybe it had just occurred to her that they were strangers left alone and locked in.

  Seeking light, he made his way across the space to the left with a hand extended in case any pitfalls awaited his journey. The powerful scent of the flowers helped guide him across the room.

  He fumbled for a switch on the lamp and found nothing. Next to the lamp, he felt a jar with wooden sticks poking out of the top. He pulled one out and discovered it was a match. He struck it, lifted the glass globe on the lamp, and lit the wick. A meager light filled the room. Before he turned back, the tinkling sound of a dragging chain followed the woman as she crossed and seated herself on the edge of the bed. She bent over, resting her head on her hands. He expected to hear sobbing, but she didn’t utter sound.