Terran (Breeder)

by Cara Bristol

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Loose Id Titles by Cara Bristol

  Cara Bristol

  Breeder 2:

  TERRAN

  Cara Bristol

  www.loose-id.com

  Breeder 2: Terran

  Copyright © May 2014 by Cara Bristol

  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 Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  eISBN 9781623007645

  Editor: Ann M. Curtis

  Cover Artist: Mina Carter

  Published in the United States of America

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 806

  San Francisco CA 94104-0806

  www.loose-id.com

  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 author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Author’s Note

  Although Terran is second in the Breeder science fiction romance series, it can be read as a stand-alone.

  Acknowledgment

  I’m grateful to my talented editor, Ann Curtis, who applied her magic to Terran; to the other Loose Id editors who comb through my manuscript, searching for bloopers; and to artist Mina Carter, who designed a great cover. I’d also like to thank the members of my street team and fellow authors whose support for the first Breeder book meant the world to me.

  Chapter One

  Marlix eyed the shopkeeper finalizing a transaction with a customer. “Terran.” He spat to expel a sour taste from his mouth. “Female.” He speared his beta, Urazi, with a sharp glance. “Are you certain this is the right place? That she has what I need?”

  Urazi nodded and pointed to the sign. TEXTILES BY TARA.

  Marlix scrutinized the vendoress. She was clothed in a garish mottled green-and-brown uniform. “She walks like a male with an overabundance of confidence,” he said, denouncing her as he continued his appraisal. Terrans did not attain the height of Parseons—although this one’s legs stretched surprisingly long for a creature as small as she.

  “That she does,” Urazi agreed. “But her…plumage…is quite…” He paused, struggling to extract a word. “Fowl-like.”

  “Coro.” Marlix nodded. Even the bright feathers of the indigenous bird could not compare with the hues of the female’s shock of pink hair or her bare right arm, which appeared to be…purple. Marlix exhaled. “We tarry,” he said. “Let us complete our transaction and depart.” He shuddered. “I do not know how Commander Dak tolerates these people.” Interacting with a Terran violated everything he believed. If he could, he would banish every single alien back to his—or her—planet. Yet circumstances forced him to engage in commerce with one. He hated that the female owned something he wanted.

  Let us get this unpleasant business over with. Marlix threw back his shoulders and entered the pink-haired female’s stall.

  “Thank you for the business.” The vendoress bestowed a wide smile on her beta customer, and the male’s mouth curved in response until he noticed Marlix. His congeniality vanished, and the color bled from his face. The beta snapped a hasty salute, clutched his purchase under his arm, and scurried from the store. Two other customers who had been browsing quickly exited as well.

  The vendoress planted her boot-shod feet wide apart, anchored her hands on her hips, and glared at him. “Well, you do know how to clear a room.” Her tone and countenance glowered with enough disrespect to warrant punishment by themselves but on no account should a female address an Alpha without prior acknowledgement. Had she been Parseon, Marlix would have disciplined her. But the treaty with Terra awarded her diplomatic immunity. Pity.

  He motioned for Urazi to deal with her and walked away. She muttered something in her language that sounded like “jackass,” but Marlix didn’t speak enough Terran to understand the meaning. He pretended to examine a bolt of fabric as green as new spring growth. Its weave appeared finer than most Parseon textiles, but it was far too bright. Who would wear such an inappropriate color? He tightened his lips with disgust. The Terran female probably would. Her hair was pink!

  “How may I help you?” she purred to Urazi in a syrupy voice.

  “You have a fabric that is impenetrable to projectiles,” Marlix’s beta stated.

  “Maybe.”

  A length of pale cloth caught Marlix’s eye. Despite his irritation with the female, he strode across the room to inspect it. He rubbed his hand across its surface and found it to be smoother than anything he’d encountered. “What is this?” He glanced over his shoulder and found the vendoress eying him with distrust.

  “Silk,” she snapped. The ire tinting her face drew his attention to its unblemished perfection, her cheeks appearing even smoother than the fabric that snagged on his rough hands.

  “We wish to purchase some.” Ever efficient, Urazi remained focused on their purpose.

  “Silk?” She arched her eyebrows, one ringed by a metal loop.

  Marlix gave an imperceptible shake of his head in disapproval. The only body part suitable for piercing was the right nipple, and then only to attach one’s identification insignia.

  Urazi snorted in exasperation. “No. The fabric that cannot be penetrated by projectiles.”

  “What do you want it for?”

  Marlix had tolerated far too much of her obstreperous behavior. “That is not your concern.” He confronted her. “Do you have it, or do you not?” This close to her, he could see that what had appeared as solid purple from afar was actually a vine of distinct red-and-blue flowers winding from shoulder to wrist. Surely she could not have been born that way? Warriors sometimes painted their faces, but her design appeared permanent.

  She thrust out her small chin in an insolent way. The top of her pink head failed to even meet his col
larbone, but what struck him most was the unnatural color of her eyes, like a meadow after a soaking rain. The Parseon people had golden eyes, sometimes blue, and, in a rare genetic anomaly, purple, but never green. Her bold manner and unusual eyes reminded him of a feleen cub, pouncing and attacking with foolish brazenness, unaware it had not matured from prey to predator. Full of hiss and spit, but harmless. Yes, she was just like that. Annoyance melted into amusement. He folded his arms and stared down at her, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

  “How much do you need?” She spoke as if she were gritting her teeth.

  “Enough for forty uniforms. Half in light gray, half in brown.” That would be enough to outfit his alpha subcommanders, members of his personal guard, and his beta support staff. “And enough dark gray for a uniform for myself. I will purchase more later—if the fabric does what you claim.” He’d been present during Commander Tarbek’s attempted assassination of his brother, Dak, who’d been wearing a shirt sewn from the fabric. He’d witnessed the cloth deflect the dagger. Marlix did not question its properties. He baited the vendoress for sport.

  His taunt hit its mark. The female’s eyes flashed, and she jutted her chin higher. “That will be twenty-five gilia.”

  Urazi gasped at the outrageous price, but Marlix shrugged. “Fine.” He would not quibble over cost. As a wealthy Alpha, money did not concern him, and the lifesaving properties of the fabric made it worth every gilia anyway.

  “Shall I have it couriered, or will you carry it with you?”

  “We will take it,” Urazi said.

  “Very well.” She clomped across the wooden floor to grab an entire bolt of light gray off a shelf, then shoved it into Urazi’s arms. “I must retrieve the rest from the stockroom.”

  With a frown, Marlix’s beta hefted the gray material in his arms. “It weighs almost nothing. Are you sure this is the correct fabric?” Suspicion etched his voice.

  “Do you doubt me?” She responded to Urazi’s question but scowled at Marlix. She so much resembled a hissing feleen cub, Marlix would have laughed, except for the warming in his loins. In contrast to this Terran, Parseon breeders were meek creatures. He’d never taken a female who’d demonstrated as much fire as this one. What would it be like, he wondered? Would she claw at him, or would she submit?

  Had she been a breeder, he would have been within his rights to shove her to the floor and find out. But the treaty prevented him from using Terran females in that manner, and Parseon faced enough problems without causing a diplomatic incident. But he did take full liberty to study again the softness of her skin, the length of her legs, and the points of her nipples tenting her uniform. She dressed like the people of her race, covering her entire torso. She did not bare the right side of her chest the way Parseon people did to reveal their insignia.

  As unbelievable as it seemed, Terrans did not recognize status. They considered all people to be equal, one of many issues shaking an already uneasy alliance. Who could trust a race that lacked discernment?

  He inspected the vendoress’s chest again. Given the breast-baring construction of the beige shifts breeders wore, female mammary glands held few secrets. But the fact that this vendoress had hidden hers aroused his curiosity. Did she have round breasts or conical ones? Long, thick nipples or small ones?

  “Hey, buddy. My eyes are up here!” She snapped her fingers in front of her face.

  Marlix frowned in confusion. “I am aware of the location of your eyes. Besides your pink hair, I noticed them right away. Tell me, are all females on your planet similarly hued?”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?” She planted her hands on her hips. The motion drew his attention to her mammary glands again.

  “I am out now,” Marlix answered in all honesty but got the impression he’d annoyed her again when she tsked.

  “I’ll get the rest of your order.” She stomped away, muttering something about a pig. She disappeared behind a curtained entrance.

  “What is a pig?” Marlix consulted with Urazi.

  “Let me research it on the translator.” His beta tucked the bolt under his arm, unclipped his Personal Communication Device, and tapped into it. He raised his head. “A domesticated porcine mammal indigenous to the planet Terra.”

  “What about a jackass?”

  Urazi tapped and peered at his PCD. “A domesticated member of the equine family. Male.” He looked up. “I am not sure, Commander—” His beta exhaled. “But I suspect pig and jackass are derogatory terms.”

  “That was my impression.” Marlix threw back his head and laughed.

  Urazi stared in amazement. “You are not offended?”

  He shook his head. “She is harmless. And she is as colorful in her speech as she is in her appearance.” He had expected to be disgusted by his interaction with a Terran, and a female no less, but found he’d enjoyed himself. He could not remember the last time anyone had amused him so.

  The curtain was flung aside, and Tara marched out. She threw the roll of brown fabric at Urazi along with a length of dark gray. “Twenty-five gilia,” she demanded.

  Urazi counted out the coin and handed it to her.

  “Thank you for your purchase. Come again. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass,” she said, sounding not at all sincere in her gratitude, invitation, or expression of concern.

  OF ALL THE nerve! Tara Diehl’s pulse thundered with anger, remnants of fear, and something else she refused to identify as the two males left. As they exited the shop, her assistant, Ramon Ortiz, swept in. He did a double take. Tara could see Ramon practically drool with appreciation.

  “There goes a hunk of man flesh,” her clerk gushed after her unpleasant customers had disappeared into the crowd. “If I didn’t already have plans tonight, I’d call dibs on the sexy one.”

  “The one in dark gray?” she asked. He might be Ramon’s type, but there was nothing about the Alpha’s tall, muscled body or chiseled facial features she found sexy.

  Ramon shook his head. “No. The one in brown. With chin-length hair. The beta. The alpha scared the crap out of me.”

  “That’s because he was Alpha,” Tara explained, adding the special inflection on the first letter to indicate he was one of the five ruling Commanders of the planet and not just an ordinary alpha male of status.

  “No shit?” Ramon whispered.

  “No shit,” she said. The Commander had worn the standard Parseon uniform in dark Alpha gray. The shirt cut diagonally across his beefy chest to bare the right side and display his nipple insignia. But even without the identifiers, there could be no doubt. Without their uniforms, one might have some trouble differentiating between alphas and betas, but an Alpha stood a head above them all. She’d recognized him for what he was the moment she’d spied him glowering outside her fabric store.

  Don’t come in here. Don’t come in here. She’d attempted to ward him off with a telepathic mantra. Spotting him in the aisle had been akin to discovering the bogeyman under the bed existed for real. She’d heard about the Alphas of Parseon, of course, but in the two years she’d been on the planet, while she’d met plenty of alphas, she’d never come face-to-face with any of the ruling Commanders. She’d never met a fiercer warrior in all her life, in all her travels, and at the age of twenty-nine, she’d hadn’t been born yesterday.

  The Alpha’s shoulders had stretched a kilometer across. Power and strength bulged in his arms and tree-trunk-like thighs. She’d had to crane her neck to meet his golden gaze. He’d commented on her coloring, but she’d never seen his shade of amber anywhere else. The eyes of a predator, she’d thought.

  The males in this part of the universe held some backward beliefs about women, and she’d accepted her responsibility to educate them by word and deed. So she had to set an example to demonstrate what women were made of.

  Rendered animal byproducts.

  Gelatin.

  Her legs still trembled from the effects of his presence. It had taken every milliliter of cour
age she possessed not to cower in his presence, to face him as an equal. The arrogance with which he’d looked down his haughty but perfect nose had helped her ignore how intimidated she’d felt. In retrospect, she realized she’d acted a tad rudely—would never have treated another customer in such a discourteous manner. But he’d set her teeth on edge when he’d chased off her customers and addressed her as if speaking to her was beneath him. He acted like he ruled the entire planet and not just one province!

  “Which Alpha do you think he was?” Ramon asked.

  “I know he wasn’t Commander Dak. Omra has shown me images of him.” Tara had become friends with Omra, Dak’s breeder, who was a frequent customer. The Market and its Terran Bazaar was located in Dak’s province, but due to its success, it drew people from the other provinces. But she’d never expected an Alpha to appear.

  From the stockroom, she’d heard the rich, insulting rumble of his mirth. Parseons rarely smiled. Yet his handsome face had borne a smirk the entire time he’d been in her shop. And laughter? About as rare as a trey moon. Yet she had served as the object of his humor. The butt of some Alpha joke. Oh, a chance existed the Commander had been chuckling at something else, but she’d place the odds at 99 percent he’d been making fun of her.

  Anger had shimmered, and she’d allowed him to leave without informing him the material could only be sewn with special alloy needles. Impenetrable to bullets, daggers, and projectiles, the composite cloth could not be pierced by ordinary sewing implements. The males would not be able to use the fabric they had bought.

  In effect, she’d sold a ruling Alpha bum goods. And, still acting out of ire, she’d overcharged him.

  But the arrogant, sexist ass had deserved it. From her briefings and personal research, Tara knew Protocol embodied laws, customs, and traditions—but not manners or chivalry. Those did not exist on the planet. She couldn’t believe the blatant way the Commander had checked her out. The man was an oaf. Her retaliation had been justified!