by Kara Fey
Gaze locked with his, she raised her hips off the chair, took the tip of his cock inside her, and introduced him to paradise. Torturously slow, he slid forward until he was buried to the hilt. Her inner muscles convulsed around him, caressed him in heat and wet demand. Then she pulled back, tightening her muscles around him as she did so. The pleasure nearly blinded him, shattering his good intentions. Nothing mattered but filling her. Claiming her.
Mercilessly he pumped into her, watched her breasts rise and fall on her chest in surrender to his driving passion. He found the swollen flesh of her clit with his thumb, rubbed and stroked her with each forward rush of his hips. In and out he rode her, reveling in his power when she threw her head back and screamed in release.
Triumph pulsed through him. Primal. Possessive. The corners of his mouth curved in a wicked smile. He’d conquered her.
Her answering smile should have warned him, but surprise forced a laugh from him as she lifted her legs from the chair and wrapped them around his hips. Locking him in place with her ankles, Kamara sat up enough to reach down and lightly stroke his balls. That fast, he was at her mercy. She held him immobile. He bucked. Her legs gripped tighter, harder, held him captive buried deep in her cunt as she squeezed him with her inner muscles and stroked him to release with her hand. He pumped his seed into her, then leaned in to taste her mouth once again. Nothing would ever taste as sweet as Kamara. Nothing would ever be home like her hips cradling his, her body soft and pliant beneath him.
All thoughts of conquering her fled before one indisputable fact. He’d never be able to deny her, to resist her, to refuse her anything. The thought was sobering. Frightening.
Tobiath pulled her off the chair and tumbled them both to the rugs on the floor. Seemingly content, she curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Tobiath?”
“Hush.” Thought. Movement. Both a waste of energy. He wanted to savor the moment, memorize every detail of her soft body lying against his, the tenderness in her touch, the desire in her eyes. Tomorrow they would find Zira and the two women would go back to Anthea. He would return to his empty life. Alone. Again. He would need the smallest detail to sustain him through the coming years.
“Tobiath?”
He silenced her with a kiss, drank in her taste like a starving man would a feast, and knew he would let her go. Knew she would scar him forever. Knew this night would be worth the price.
Chapter Five
“What are your orders?” Trystan knelt before his master and hid his disgust beneath the long hood of a dark cloak.
“He found the princess for us?”
“Yes. I saw him carry her to his ship. I tracked him to the far side of Tantra. He hides in the shadow of its second moon. Should I pursue?”
“No.” Gnarled fingers wrapped around a crystal staff. A large black stone winked at Trystan from the ring his master wore on his thumb. “Be patient. The Sentinal believes Zira is still on the station. He will come back for her and bring the princess to us.”
“And then?” Trystan knew what his master would say. Hatred for Kamara’s family always caused his master to lose objectivity. Seemed a shame to destroy someone so rare. Someone like him.
“Kill him. Bring the princess to me.”
“Should we not keep him alive to track Zira? We still don’t know where she is.”
“No. Kamara will do just as well. You will make her believe you are Tobiath, be her escort. He is expendable and will only get in the way.”
“Yes, master.” Trystan rose and left the old man behind to plan his schemes, his coup d’etat over the royal family of Anthea. The two women, bartered as slaves, seemed a small price to pay. His master lived by another code. What worth was a soul when he could have power instead?
Shoulder blades on fire, Trystan felt the power of his master’s glare on his retreating back. Good thing the old one couldn’t see his face, or touch his thoughts. He would follow the Sentinal and the precious princess as ordered, but killing Tobiath was not part of the plan. He needed them both alive. But first, there was someone he needed to see.
* * *
Naked. Exposed. Every shifty eye she caught looking her way, every lecherous grin, assured her the scum of this station saw right through her disguise. Tobiath insisted there was another, an enemy on board who could see through the illusionary effects of her 5-S holographic mask. So she wore something he called a wig. False brown hair hung to her shoulders, straight and unremarkable. From head to toe, she looked the part of a Moon Warrior, a Daughter of War, all silver and white. The moon dagger strapped to her thigh was not carrying the dreaded microbots, but no one else would know of the lack. Anyone who looked at her would be less inclined to risk their life by approaching. All knew the daughters of Anthea ran the station. None would cross them, especially after several dead men had been found. The Anthean half moon symbol on her uniform had been carved into their faces.
“Are you sure this will work?”
“Yes.” Tobiath moved silently behind her, his bare flesh covered in standard slave gel. From neck to ankles the translucent black material accentuated every curve and hollow of his powerful frame. The gel was common practice, meant to showcase a slave’s physical attributes when taking one to market. Gelled slaves always garnered a higher price.
Unable to resist, Kamara glanced over her shoulder yet again. Why did he have to be so… so… Her core rippled to life, to instant heat. She wanted him, again, right now. “Toby…”
“Mara, you can’t look at me like that.”
Kamara yanked on the small silver chain corded around his neck and whispered, “Get that arrogant, self-satisfied look out of your eyes, or no one will believe you’re a slave.”
“And if you don’t stop looking at me like you want me to ravish you, no one will believe you’re a Moon Warrior.”
The man had a point. They were moving into the most dangerous section of the station, the small markets. Every few steps beheld another door, and each doorway another flesh dealer. Here, slaves were bartered and sold, traded and stolen. In this section of the station, you held on by will and might alone.
“I don’t want to sell you to the bastard. Are you sure she’s down here?” Kamara flexed her fingers around the blaster strapped to her hip, for the first time in her life happy to be armed. Before men like Tobiath, there had been no need. And he claimed an Immune like himself walked here, someone with no allegiance to the crown. He said it was a hunch. Instinct. She’d long ago forgotten the small voice.
“Yes. And you’ll sell me anyway. It’s my fastest ticket behind their doors.”
“How do you know they’re the ones who have her?”
“Blood bond.”
Kamara gasped. How could she have forgotten? All Sentinals were bonded by blood to their assigned royal. Using a specialized genetic linking procedure, a Sentinal’s intrinsic psychic abilities were enhanced so they could track their ward anytime and anywhere, without the interference of magic. She’d forgotten; the ceremony took place when the royal was a small child. “So where is she?”
That earned her a frown. “I don’t know. This is where her signal was the strongest, but…” Tobiath tensed and grabbed her by the elbow. “Something’s wrong. She’s not here anymore. It’s a trap.”
All pretenses gone, Tobiath grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet and turned her around. “Don’t run. The bastard’s watching us. I can feel it.”
A shiver of ice-cold awareness slithered down her spine as she forced her legs to carry her. Hot and hard as steel, Tobiath’s hands were clamped around her waist, directing her through and around the steady flow of flesh being brought to market. Strobe lights flashed and sparked overhead. Combined with her next thought, they made her stomach jump and twist until she had to fight not to embarrass herself by vomiting on her beautiful silver boots.
“Is she dead?” Kamara’s heart turned to lead in her chest. Just yesterday she’d believed
the worst, then been handed a miracle. To lose hope again might kill her.
“No. I would feel it. But he moved her. He knew I was coming.”
“Who is it? Point him out and let me question him.”
“Look, Princess. You weren’t listening. He’s like me. You can’t touch him. You can’t control him. And he won’t hesitate to sell you to the highest bidder. I think that was his plan all along.”
“What do you mean?” She tossed the words over her shoulder. Tobiath still pushed her through the milling people.
“Why are you out here? Why did you leave Anthea and set yourself up as a slave?”
“Because I…” Fire flared to life in her chest and she clenched her jaw to hold her temper in check. Oh, she knew exactly what he implied. She’d been manipulated. Used. Set up by a Luci, a master at hallucination, at manipulating memories. Another person who had her abilities, but kept it a secret, hadn’t registered the gift with her father’s court. And she suspected he was right.
Murder would be good. Slow, painful extraction of the bastard’s entrails followed by public hanging. She would find someone to Spell him with longevity, send a healer to him every hour so he lasted for several spins.
The burning in her chest expanded to her throat, and behind her eyes. Even her hands felt too hot. Power she didn’t know she possessed hummed through her, surged into every cell until she literally felt like she might explode any moment.
“Mara, calm down. Your energy is attracting attention and I can’t absorb it fast enough. Moon Warriors don’t use magic!”
True. Mind blank, she concentrated on breathing, on the feel of his hands on her hips, and let him guide her through the crowds.
“We go back to my ship. I’ll hook up to the brain wave stims and find her.”
They passed writhing orgies and screaming slavers. Kamara let her rage die and saw, for the first time, the truth of their world. Tobiath’s touch transformed everything. Beautiful rugs were in truth filthy, shaggy mats beneath her feet. Fine metal carvings became old rusting walls. Eerily beautiful slaves were haggard, starving wretches who reeked of illness and decay. The world that appeared to be beautiful, enchanted, that lured and seduced, was ugly. Sadness filled her at the reality he saw every day. Her whole society was addicted to a drug they didn’t even realize they were still ingesting, and that drug was illusion born of magic.
“My God.”
“Keep moving. You can ponder reality later.”
He could sense her thoughts. Their bond was growing stronger every moment they spent together. “Is he following us?” Even as she asked the question, she tested their new link, reached out to him and felt what he felt. Hair rose on the back of her neck and her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Instinct, he called it.
“Yes.” They turned a corner and hit a small market square. Chaos always reigned here, as hundreds of bodies crammed the small space.
Fascinated, she spotted Lizard in the far corner selling her services to the rich and perverse. Apparently, he had yet to discover her missing. He wouldn’t knock on her door for another hour at least. The thought of her empty chamber lifted her spirits. The hag who bowed before her with rotting teeth and a bag full of galactic coin offered to buy Tobiath for twenty thousand galactic and pissed her off.
Too many were staring at him. In gel, his sculpted muscles were even more pronounced, more perfect. Just looking at his lips made her cunt clench in memory of their sweet torture. She wanted to taste his lips again, feel him draw her nipple into his mouth and nip at it with his teeth.
“Mara!”
“Sorry. The link.” Despite their situation, she laughed and shrugged helplessly as his cock rose proudly to attention, clearly visible in all its glory through the gel. She’d taken less than three steps when she got another offer for him. This time for twenty-five thousand galactic from a fat old man who carried a spiked whip like it was his best friend. She ignored the man and pulled Tobiath after her. “Let’s get out of here before I either have to sell you, or kill someone.”
They hustled across the area and through the long corridor lined with writhing three-dimensional images of sex and orgies. The station air smelled rotten, vile without its magical enhancements, like a thousand people’s sex and sweat had been rubbed into the walls and left to ripen. Kamara struggled to pull it into her lungs. Tobiath moved beside her, silent as a ghost. Deadly. Intense. Sexy as hell.
Her mind shut down as awareness of him whipped like lightning through their link. All control of her body vanished, all logic overcome by the infinite number of tiny threads linking her soul to his. Despite their situation, memories flooded her consciousness like a vid recording gone wild, images of Tobiath kneeling between her thighs, of his tongue licking and tasting, of his body pumping into hers, stretching her cunt. Kamara shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to regain control of her sight, but the violent twist of her neck forced her breasts and nipples to brush the coarse fabric of her uniform. A jolt of raw need released a soft moan from her throat. She wanted him to stop, rip off her clothes, and slam her back against the wall. Gel was said to enhance sex somehow. Suddenly she was obsessed with discovering exactly what that meant, what it would feel like when his hard, gel-coated cock stretched her, slid in and out as his hands massaged her ass.
“Mara! God, woman. Stop.”
Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks, but didn’t prevent the horny hellcat her magic created from taunting him. “This uniform unzips in the crotch.” Kamara was shaken by the invitation, the low throaty craving in her voice.
“You’re going to get us killed.”
“Tempted?”
“Yes!” Faster than the word could register, her back was against the wall and his cock shoved hard and hot against her mons. If she’d been naked…
“Are you going to fuck me in the hallway, slave?” She traced the line of his jaw with her tongue, swirled the tip over the metallic tang of the slave chains around his neck. The logical part of her, locked behind a wall of lust and appalled by what she was doing, counted on Tobiath’s control. The maniac she’d unleashed by bonding to him fervently hoped he’d unzip her pants, that his strong fingers would pull her open and his magnificent cock would ram home. Her cunt roared to life at the memory of him. Throbbed. Ached. Needed. In this place they’d just be one more couple who didn’t use the bedchambers.
“We’re being followed.”
“I know.” Wicked, wicked thoughts continued to plague her. She’d never been in more danger, and she’d never had more fun in her life.
“Shut up.”
She wanted to reply to his rude order, but his mouth crushed hers, punished her for tempting him, for driving him to the brink of control. Tobiath didn’t ask for permission to taste her. He forced her mouth open with his tongue and took what he wanted. Wrapping her arms around his back, her hands came into contact with the gel coating his broad shoulders. The gel lay inert, which disappointed her until a tiny jolt of sexual electricity jumped through her fingertips, up her arms, and shot into her nipples, rendering her helpless and weak with wanting more. She moaned into his mouth and everything but Tobiath faded from existence. What would happen if more than her palms were bare?
Before she knew what had happened, she was on her feet once more and Tobiath gripped her hand hard, pulling her down the corridor. “Enough! Move, woman, or I’ll smack you across the ass.”
Laughter welled up in her chest. She conquered all but a soft chuckle and pulled her blaster free with her other hand. Their feet pounded the station floor grid, every step so forceful their echoes could be heard despite the obnoxiously loud surroundings.
They ran about two minutes, then burst into the trading square and stopped cold. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Their predator had closed in on them. She knew from the way her gut felt heavy and tight and her teeth clenched. No magic involved. Instincts, Tobiath called them. Well, it looked like she had suddenly developed some. Or was she simply f
eeling his? Regardless, the damn things were screaming at her that they weren’t going to make it out of here without a fight. Finally, the knowledge quelled the relentless hunger and she could think. Think!
About fifty people milled around in the large space, some buying, some selling, and the usual rabble picking pockets, others running messages between one shady criminal and another. Not enough bodies to really get lost in. Their clothing varied from complete coverage, including masks to hide their identities, to naked slaves writhing on privately owned stages, masturbating or publicly pleasuring their masters. This was her new world.
The thought made her nauseous.
Tobiath stood behind her right shoulder and pressed the cold metal links connected to his neck collar into her hand. She didn’t remember dropping it. The chain was one of many adorning slaves in the room, and the realization pushed her one step closer to loathing what she’d become. She hated this place, hated these people. Hated it all the more because she’d plugged herself into their system, fed off it, exposed herself to forbidden desires and felt her soul darken in response.
Kamara wrapped the links around her palm once, twice, so tightly the metal cut into her skin. If she ever took the throne, she’d find a way to destroy Tantra-9, even if she had to rip this station apart one bolt at a time. Perhaps then she would feel clean again.
Firm and in control, Tobiath’s voice broke her train of thought. “Good. That’s the expression you need to have. You must lead. Stay to the shadows along the walls. Head right and we’ll avoid most of the party.”