by Reagan Hawk
The outer force field retracted fully and the vessel entered its final stage of descent to landing pad two. Jaston never put much interest in the technologies his people possessed. He took what was forced upon him and often retreated to the woods to hunt and survive, even though he had a perfectly acceptable dwelling. It was the envy of many since he was high in the ranks of the guards, but Jaston liked being one with nature. Not one with machines. Their ancestors of old did not rely on technology for day-to-day living and they had become fierce.
Already Jaston’s beast wanted to be free, to run, to be one with the planet. It hated being caged within him as much as he hated keeping it there. Once the women were offloaded and a price negotiated, he’d shift forms and run free and wild once more.
The ship sputtered before coming to a final rest on the landing pad. There was a flash of red, and then the planet’s defense system took hold of the controls. The vessel would not be able to fire upon anyone or leave without their say-so.
Jaston waited with baited breath as the bay doors opened slowly. Smoke billowed out the sides, and he remembered hearing how the Voxenites added certain elements to the breathable air upon their vessels. It made breathing for them easier, but for any humanoids, it tended to cause at least slight discomfort, and in some cases hallucinations or extreme agitation. When the additive met with other, normally oxygen-rich air, it reacted, causing a puff of smoke.
The smoke cleared and Jaston’s heart lodged in his throat. The first sign of life was the legs of lowlife Voxenites. Then Jaston spotted the telltale signs of females. He and the other Ralenium males around him drew in large breaths. One by one the women were offloaded into a large, huddled-together group. They looked scared, underfed, barely clothed and some appeared battered.
The rage he carried already for the Voxenites intensified, and he found himself stepping forward, ready to confront them all. His hands itched for the change. He could feel his beast spring to life within him, wanting free, wanting to tear the gill-breathers to bits and feast upon their entrails.
Lorne shook his head. Not yet. You will scare the females.
Chapter Three
The ship sputtered and tipped slightly to one side. Sara gasped and fell against the unforgiving wall of her cell. Her fingernails were long since worn to stubs and the scabs on the tips of her fingers had only just started to fall away. She’d had pretty nails once. Well-manicured and even dyed a light pink. That was gone now. So were nearly all traces of the life she’d finally built for herself. It wasn’t plush or anything, but it was hers and she got by on her own. She’d had her own repair shop and she was damn handy when it came to fixes on ships, outrunners or other standard modes of transport. She wasn’t bad with tinkering around with other objects either.
She’d picked up the skills out of necessity and they’d helped her carve a way for herself. A path that didn’t leave her having to spread her legs for coin like many of the women on Panciline were forced to do. It was the oldest and most reliable profession for a reason, and now she was closer to being part of it than ever before.
The smelly, threadbare scraps of clothing her captors had her in were gone, replaced with sheer material that covered very little and emphasized her assets—mainly her ample breasts. The damn smarmy traders had even taken a keen interest in them, squeezing them, talking to each other about how much extra money she’d fetch with them.
Bastards.
Sara was thankful for the decontamination chamber time she’d finally been allotted. Of course, it had been under the strict supervision of two guards who forced her to shave nearly all the hair from her body, excluding the hair on her head. Sara didn’t mind. She liked being clean-shaven. She just didn’t much appreciate an audience. She despised her holders and tried to make nearly every task they set forth before her a challenge.
She’d spent nearly every day of her captivity trying to escape. She’d traveled in space before and had enough training as a pilot to steer a ship if need be. She hated being pinned in. Pain lanced her left shoulder. She’d injured it pitching her body at one of the disgusting creatures holding her prisoner. He’d been much stronger than she expected, and she’d only hurt herself with her failed attempts at freedom.
Her thoughts wandered back to when she was young, when the halfway home for orphaned children she’d been part of had locked her away for each infraction she supposedly committed. Their goal had been to break her spirit. To end her disobedience. They’d nearly been successful. They’d nearly broken her will to live.
She jutted out her chin, proud she’d never given in, never surrendered to them. Just as she’d never made anything easy for the slave traders who now held her prisoner. It had been her own fault she’d ended up in their hands. She was only on the stinking ship thanks to a crooked judge on her planet. She’d been treated with the same lack of respect the damn fish men treated every other woman on board—as if they were merely property to be traded and bargained off.
She righted herself as the ship sputtered to a final stop. One of the guards appeared, a breathing apparatus affixed to his fish-like face. When he spoke, it was garbled and hard to understand.
“Come,” he demanded. He bandied about an electric prod, though the numerous times she’d been shocked with it had yielded anything but the results she was guessing he’d been hoping for. She didn’t like showing pain or weakness.
She’d been raised with enough Earth girls at the orphanage that she’d picked up a number of their customs. Her favorite by far had always been lifting her middle finger in the air in a gesture of fuck off. She did so now. While he wore gear similar to the Galactic Guards and had on a badge that appeared legit, she knew better. She lived on the fringe of society long enough to spot fakes and impostors. He didn’t get the thinly veiled respect she would have given an actual Galactic Guard. Instead, he got her middle finger in the air.
The guard’s already narrow eyes moved to the size of slits as he lunged at her. He bounced the back of her head off the wall and then dragged her to the door. He yanked at the shackles around her wrists. The prod was charged with enough electricity to reduce her to pulp should they deem it necessary. She almost wished they would decide to pull the switch.
She snarled at him, her long, unruly auburn hair falling into her face. He shoved her hard and pain shot through her shoulder once more. She couldn’t stop the gasp that fell from her lips.
Bastards.
She hated giving them the satisfaction of knowing they’d caused her pain. If she could have figured out exactly where their genitalia was, she’d have kicked them in it already. The damn fish men seemed to lack reproductive organs. She was fast beginning to suspect they were simply hatched from eggs.
He said something to her that she missed and she glared at him. He caught her around the upper arm and dragged her down the long corridor.
She caught fleeting glimpses of the other women, dressed as she was—like a slave girl—and wondered who was who. They’d spent months talking through vents and the metal walls of their cells. She’d befriended a number of them yet had never seen their faces. They were voices of hope, of something more, of not being alone.
Exit-bay doors opened and a plume of smoke appeared. Several of the girls coughed violently and she recognized one of the coughs.
Reya.
The girl was from Earth and young. She also had weak lungs and didn’t take to the air onboard the ship well. Sara soaked in the sight of Reya, having never seen her before. She was as she’d imagined—thin, frail, with hair of varying shades of blonde and gold.
The guard shoved Sara down the ramp and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the brightness of daylight. She’d been deprived of it for so long. A few girls shielded their eyes, having trouble with the light levels as well.
The guard finally stopped pushing her and stepped away. She thought of kicking him while his back was turned but she resisted. She wanted to be sold and soon. If she wasn’t sold off, she’d b
e disposed of. She knew how slave traders worked. Her only hope was appealing to those wishing to purchase a female.
The guard mixed in close with the others of his kind, and Sara glanced at the men all lined up and gathered near the vessel. Most wore nothing but loincloths covering impressive packages for sure. The men made a shiver of fear rush over her. In her past quite often strong men equaled men who were cruel.
Many of the men before her had battle scars on their chiseled chests. They were all tanned as if they spent much time outdoors, and from the looks of their bodies they spent a lot of time conditioning themselves. Some were dressed in tight-fitting pants that looked much like the leather she’d traded once while working the markets of Denki. Power, dominance and something else, something feral poured off them in waves. It was impossible not to take notice of them.
Her inner thighs flexed and cream began to build. She’d not had sex in too many moon cycles to count, and she wanted nothing more than to catch the eye of one of the sexy hunks and spend the night riding him until she had her fill.
You’re not here for your pleasure, she reminded herself. You’re here for theirs.
A woman with long, dark hair motioned them all closer. Sara obliged even though she wasn’t much of a joiner. A few of the women looked as if they might try to escape. They fidgeted endlessly and kept staring at an opening in the warrior men.
The brunette spoke. “If you run, they’ll send bolts of charge through your shackles. It will kill you.”
Sara pursed her lips, liking the woman instantly and recognizing her voice.
Teon.
The walls of their cells butted against one another.
Teon grinned at the women. “I’m Teon.”
Sara would have introduced herself as well but her attention moved to one of the male warriors. His long, dark hair blew slightly in the breeze. His strong features could easily be seen as too harsh. They appealed to her. Everything about him did. His blue gaze was settled on her and her heart fluttered. Her cheeks flushed with heat. She chanced a glance at him again only to find his eyes had not wavered.
She couldn’t pull her gaze from the markings on his chest and arms. Tattoos. She’d seen many people with them before but none that were this intricate. The markings curled around his biceps, showing off how large they were. Her mouth watered and her body screamed on the inside, wanting him in ways she shouldn’t.
Sara clenched her hands, doing her best to resist the overwhelming urge to nod to him, as if telling him he could take what he wanted from her. She wasn’t one to give in. And she certainly wasn’t one to submit.
Why did she want to?
What power did they have over her?
And how the hell did they get so big?
Chapter Four
The men neared and then held their ground. Many of the female prisoners made sounds indicating they were nervous at their closeness. Even Sara found herself uneasy. They were even larger the closer they drew.
Large men had a history of being violent with her. She tried to steel her nerves. It didn’t work. These men were larger than ones she’d ever encountered before. They had to be almost seven feet tall.
All of them.
Not only that, but they were each muscle-bound and currently staring at the women from the ship as if they were all appetizers to be feasted upon. The idea had merit, but with the size of the men she couldn’t help but quake in fear. She deplored weakness in herself yet she stepped closer to Teon, a whimper falling from her lips.
Teon’s hand came to a rest upon Sara’s arm. “It’s okay. They won’t hurt us,” Teon said softly.
“But they’re…they’re huge,” muttered Sara, hating how pathetic she suddenly felt. It was as if she were a child, at the mercy of the large men around her.
“They don’t hurt women,” Teon said. “It’s against everything they stand for. They are fiercely protective of their women.”
Some of the tension left Sara. The warrior with the blue eyes and dark hair locked gazes with her. Instead of blushing, she found herself digging her nails into Teon’s arm. Teon offered a comforting pat to Sara’s wrist, and with it Sara found some of her courage again.
Still, the urge to submit to the alpha warrior who continued to watch her was great. Her knees threatened to do just that—to give out and force her to bow to him. She bit her inner lip, refusing to permit such a thing from happening.
I bow to no man.
“I promise, they won’t do anything you don’t want them to do,” Teon said, as if reading Sara’s continued unease.
Sara glanced back at the male, only to find another watching her in the same manner. This one had a scar above his eye. His hair was lighter in shade than the other male who had held her interest. The new male watched her in a way that said he was already picturing her spread beneath him. Her nipples responded. She wanted to be under him.
She shook her head. She wasn’t one to give in to anything so easy. Why now? Why with these two men?
A different male neared them and took a keen interest in Teon. “Where do you hail from?”
Sara jumped slightly at the sound of his deep voice. Teon did as well.
Sara knew Teon came from Old Earth while Sara came from one of Earth’s sister planets. All the women aboard the vessel seemed to come from the same regions.
“Do you speak?” demanded the man, his focus still locked upon Teon.
Sara was so swept up in the closeness of the male to Teon that she hadn’t noticed the two men coming close to her. She gasped when she realized the one who had first caught her attention was within arm’s reach of her. When he lifted his hand, she flinched, expecting to be struck. It had been the way of things for months aboard the ship.
He held his hand out, just shy of making contact with her, his blue gaze seeming to soften somewhat, as if he needed to touch her. She found it impossible to deny him. She took a small step towards him and lowered her head, a sign of surrender, something she wasn’t so sure she liked.
His large hand wrapped around her hair. He leaned in, drawing in a deep breath. He was so close she could smell him as well and he smelled like pure man—pure sin.
“It is the color of the yalenise flower,” he said, his voice even deeper than the other she’d heard speak.
Her lips trembled with both excitement and fear. “The what?”
He eased closer, his large body invading her space. “The yalenise flower. It is rare and greatly valued among my kind. Your hair, it is the same color as its petals.”
“Oh,” she mouthed softly.
His chest was so close she could kiss it. She would have, had the male with the scar not lifted her hand and drawn it up to his lips. As he planted a kiss upon it, the blue-eyed one snarled at him, startling Sara. She was used to the rough and hard streets of Panciline, but even Panciline with its reputation of ill and notorious crime problems lacked men of this stature.
She could have sworn she saw the scarred man’s teeth lengthen, his incisors resembling that of the katanie wolves that inhabited the outer regions of Panciline. The animals had been trained by the Galactic Star Union guards to attack on command. She’d always had a healthy fear of the katanie wolves. With a gasp, she backed up, the blue-eyed man’s hand still caught in her hair. It pulled. She whimpered.
He released her hair at once, his hand coming to her cheek. He looked at a loss for words and she wondered how many times in this warrior’s life that he’d ever said he was sorry. Her guess, not many. She nearly told him the words for which he was searching, but held her tongue. If she angered him there was no telling what could happen. He could hurt her or give her back to the traders. They’d kill her.
The males near Teon said something, but Sara didn’t hear what. She couldn’t look away from the blue-eyed warrior. He lowered his hand from her face.
The one with the scar—that did nothing to take from his sex appeal—grinned. The smile just missed reaching his eyes. “Jaston, already you harm her
. You know this is against every code we have.”
Jaston.
What an interesting name.
Sara licked her lips, unsure how much she should intervene between the alpha males. Still, she needed to right the spoken wrong. It was her nature. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“You lie,” said the one with a scar. He eyed her. “You are very pale. Have they not sun on your planet?” He poked her rib. “And you are very thin. Have they not food?”
Sticking her chin out, she felt her natural defiance come to the fore. She narrowed her gaze on him and he tipped his head back and laughed, clearly amused by her ire. The sound of his laugh was rich and deep. He motioned to Jaston, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did. “This one is full of the same fire her hair is made from. I choose her.”
Sara froze.
Jaston growled, the sound just like the katanie wolves. “I choose her. She is to be mine, Malock.”
Every ounce of her being screamed at her to run, to get away, that she stood between dangerous and deadly, albeit both hunky to look upon.
Malock shrugged. “You think to purchase her. I plan to collar her.”
Collar me?
The fear that had been coursing through her dissipated. Sara put her hands on her hips, her stubborn streak flaring in its full glory. “Collar me? Like a dog?”
“Dog?” Malock questioned, seeming confused at her wording.
“Canine,” said Jaston. “The domesticated ones many of the inner planets inhabited by humans have.”
Malock seemed amused by this. His dark eyes twinkled with daring desire. “Perhaps. I do so like my women on all fours and obedient. Will you come when called?”
The man was intolerable. She was fast beginning to change her mind about finding someone to purchase her instead of going to the corrections facility, or even to her death at the hands of the traders. Rage rushed through her. Sara had been still one second and the next she thing knew, she lurched at Malock, intending to remove the smug smile from his face. A strong arm caught her around the waist and held her to an equally powerful frame.