by Renee Rose
The orgasm coiled tight within me again, drawing close.
“Pike,” I cried. “Can you feel it? Do you feel the connection? It’s as if the lifeblood is still there.”
He nodded. “Yes, I feel it. I fucking feel it.”
He slipped a hand down to stroke my clit, and I allowed him to throw me over the edge as he thrust his final release into me with a deep growl. I screamed as a flood of light knocked the wind out of me. Wave after wave of heat coursed through my veins as Pike pumped his seed inside of me. His entire body lit up as mine did. Bright, brilliant, light exuded from our bodies, causing both of us to have to shield our eyes from each other’s luminance.
When the shocking radiance dimmed enough that I was able to open my eyes fully, I gasped in surprise. “Pike! Your skin.” He lay beneath me with a soft hue of red flowing beneath his skin. His lifeblood had returned. Somehow, some way, it had returned. The red wasn’t as bright or bold as before, but seemed warmer, softer. Any signs of white had vanished.
He sat us both up and looked at me with surprise. “And your skin. Truth, look at your skin.”
He held my hand up so I could see what he was talking about. Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw the color of a soft orange flowing beneath my once white skin. I exuded light of the setting sun.
“My red, and Cross’s gold—”
“Combined somehow, to make the orange.” I studied my hand and turned it so I could see the pulsing light run along the palm of my hand. “Cross’s lifeblood. But how?”
Pike pulled me into his arms and whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“We have our lifeblood back,” I cried against his heated chest.
“We do,” he said as he kissed my head. “Somehow Cross gave it back to us.”
“And Trinity,” I added, which may have been a long shot, but there was a part of me deep inside that felt she had a part in this. That somehow Pike and I making love brought a part of our Lifeblood Twins energy to the surface.
Pike stood and helped me up and gently led me to the galley table. “How do you feel?”
“Really good. Better than ever, in fact.” And it wasn’t because I just had the most powerful sexual experience of my life. “That dark hole that was inside of me when my sister died seems to have gone away. The light flowing through me makes me feel whole again. Like she is right inside of me.”
Pike nodded. “I feel the exact same way. I feel Cross as if he were standing right here in this room.”
“Why? How?” I asked, not sure what the answer was. I had never heard of any old myths of something like this happening in the past. It was believed that once you lost your lifeblood, it was gone forever.
Pike simply shook his head in a silence response.
“So what does this mean now? We have our lifeblood, so we aren’t technically Pallid Slaves. Do we continue to transport like you and Cross did before?”
“No. I still want us to join forces with the Unin soldiers. We may never see the defeat of the Drenken. The war between them and Unin has lasted decades already. But we should try. We should spend the next decade or two, if that is what it takes, going to war and trying to win back our planet.”
I nodded in agreement, looked at Pike’s determined face, and smiled. “It’s what Cross and Trinity would have wanted.”
“Yes. We were born and trained to be soldiers. Not slave transporters.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “But we will fight side by side. We are not only joined by lifeblood, but we are joined by love.”
I studied the glow coming from Pike and could see an energy of sorts. I could see the gold of Cross very faintly. It was almost like Cross stood all around Pike’s frame. Cross was there. I knew he was. “I can see Cross,” I whispered. “I can see him shining from you.”
Pike nodded with a smile. “I can see Trinity. There is a soft light of pink blending with your orange. You are the prettiest sunset I have ever seen.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I could feel Trinity, but the fact that Pike could see her, made it all the more real. “Is this the eternal life the myths have spoken of? The gift that all Lifeblood twins have?” Did Pike and I just stumble on what the Drenken had been destroying our planet to discover?
“Possibly.” He nodded and looked pensive. “Yes. I believe so. Our twins are here. Though they may not be here in the physical form, they are still very much here. Immortal through their light.”
“They live on,” I added.
“They live on.”
“Pike?” I asked tentatively. “Now that the red flows through you again…”
“Do I feel any differently toward you?” he asked with a wicked smile.
I couldn’t help but wonder. I looked down at the ground, worried about what the answer may be.
“No. If anything, I feel even more love. I feel all the love Cross felt for you as well as your sister’s. I can feel their love.”
He stood up and walked toward the control room. “Come on. We have a planet to find and a battle to win.”
About Alta Hensley
Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling erotic romance author who has had #1 selling books in erotic science fiction, humor, BDSM, western, victorian and historical. She writes the naughty... and then the cure for it.
Being a multi-published author in the erotic romance genre, Alta is known for her alpha heroes, sweet love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission. You can find out more about Alta on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads. You can also contact her at [email protected]
His Human Slave
An Alien Warrior Romance
by
Renee Rose
Chapter One
Zandian Breeding season.
That was the last consideration in his mind before liberating his planet from the Finn.
Breeding season.
Zander sat at the round platform, studying the faces of the elders he respected most, the ones who had risked their lives to save him when the Finn invaded Zandia and wiped out the rest of their species solar cycles before.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” Daneth, the only Zandian physician left in the galaxy said, tapping his wrist band. “You are the best male representative of the Zandian species, the only one left of the royal bloodline, and, more importantly, the only one young enough to produce healthy offspring. If you go to battle without first procreating, our species will die with us.” He gestured around the room at the other members of his parents’ generation.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in exasperation. “And exactly which female do you think I will produce these offspring with? Last I heard, there is no Zandian female under the age of sixty left alive.”
“You will have to cross-breed. I purchased a program and entered your genetic makeup. It uses all the known gene files in the galaxy to predict the best possible mate for breeding.
He raised his eyebrows. “So have you already run this program?”
Daneth nodded.
He glanced around the table, his gaze resting on Seke, his arms master and war strategist. “Did you know about this?”
Seke nodded once.
“And you approve? This is foolish. My time should be spent training with the new battleships we bought and recruiting an army, not...” He spluttered to a stop.
“The continuation of the species is paramount. What is the point of winning back Zandia if there are no Zandians left to populate it?”
He sighed, blowing out a breath. “All right, I’ll bite. Who is she? What species?”
Daneth projected an image from his wrist band. The image of a slight, tawny-haired young female appeared. “Human. Lamira Taniaka. She’s an Ocretion slave working in agrifarming.”
A human breeder. A slave.
Veck.
Zander didn’t have time for this excrement. “There’s been a miscalculation.” He waved his hand at
the hologram.
“No, no mistake. I ran the program several times. This female bested every other candidate by at least a thousand metapoints. This female will produce the most suitable offspring for you.”
“Impossible. Not a human. No.” Humans were the lowest of the social strata on Ocretia, the planet where his palatial pod had been granted airspace.
“I realize it seems an unlikely match, my lord, but there must be some reason her genes mix best with yours. The program is flawless.”
“I thought you might suggest someone worthy of formal mating—an arranged marriage with royalty of another species. Not a breeder. Not a pet.” Humans were not mates, they were slaves to the Ocretions. An inferior species. He hadn’t had much to do with them, but from what he understood, they were weak, fragile. Their lifespan was short; they did not recover easily from injuries. They spread disease and died quickly. They lacked honor and fortitude. They lied.
Zandians—his species—never lied.
“I was not seeking a lifemate for you—I found the best female for producing your offspring. If you wish to find a mate, after you have bred, I will search the databases for the female most compatible to your personality and lifestyle preferences. But this is the one you must breed. And now, during the traditional Zandian breeding season.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. The breeding season didn’t matter. For one thing, they weren’t on Zandia—weren’t affected by her moons or her atmosphere. For another, he wouldn’t be breeding with a Zandian female coming into cycle.
But Daneth was like a sharkhound on a hunt—he wouldn’t stop until the stated goal had been reached. He’d been his father’s physician and had served on Zander’s council as a trusted advisor since the day they’d evacuated Zandia during the Finn’s takeover. Zander had been only fourteen sun-cycles then. He’d spent the last fifteen sun-cycles working every day on his plan to retake his planet. He’d settled in Ocretia, where he’d amassed a small fortune through business and trade, making connections and preparing resources, training for war.
“I will take care of everything. I will purchase her and bring her here until you impregnate her. Once it’s done, you can send her away. I’m certain you’ll be satisfied with the results. The program is never wrong.”
“She’s human. And a slave. You know I don’t believe in keeping slaves.”
“So set her free when she’s served you.” Lium, his tactical engineer spoke.
“A slave will have to be imprisoned. Guarded. Disciplined.”
“She’s beautiful. Would it be such a hardship to have this woman chained in your bedroom?” This from Erick, his trade and business advisor.
Beautiful? He looked again at the holograph. Dirt covered her hands and cheeks, her unkempt hair pulled back and secured at her nape. But, upon closer inspection, it seemed Erick was right. She was pretty—for a human. Her tangled hair was an unusual copper color and wide-set green eyes blinked at the imager that had captured her likeness. A smattering of light freckles dusted her golden skin. She wore drab, shapeless work garments, but when Daneth hit a command to remove the clothing and predict the shape of her naked body, it appeared to be in perfect proportion—round, firm breasts, wide hips, long, muscular legs. His horns and cock stiffened in unison.
Veck.
He hadn’t had that reaction to a female of another species before. He’d only grown hard watching old holograms of naked or scantily clad Zandian females from the archives.
For the love of Zandia.
He didn’t want a human. He wanted the impossible—one of his own species, or, if not, then a female of a species that was on the same level as his own, not inferior.
“Why do you suppose her genes are best? What else do you know about her?”
“Well, there’s this.” Daneth flashed up a holograph of a human man, dressed in combat gear, a light ray gun in his hand, blood dripping from his forehead. “He was her father, a rebel warrior who fought in the last human uprising before her birth. He may even have led it.”
“Hmm.” He made a noncommittal sound. His species were warriors. Why would he need the human genome for that? “What about her mother?”
“Not much to be found. She’s still alive—they’re together now, working on Earth-based plant and food growth production. Keeping their heads down, is my guess. The data about her father isn’t in the Ocretion database file. My program gene-matched to give me that information. I’m surprised the Ocretions don’t do more gene study.”
“I’ll probably split her in two the first time I use her. Humans aren’t built for Zandian cocks.”
“The program can’t be wrong.”
He sighed. “Is she even for sale?”
“No, but you are highly esteemed royalty and the unofficial ambassador from Zandia. I’m sure she can be purchased for the right price.” Daneth referred to his position on the United Galaxies. Since the Finns were not recognized by the UG due to their genocidal practices, Zander served as the Zandian ambassador. Not that it did much good. No one on the UG was willing to put their resources behind him to overthrow the Finns.
He made a grumbling sound in his throat. “Fine. But don’t spend too much. Our resources are needed for recruiting soldiers.”
“Your offspring are top priority. Even over the war plans,” Seke said. The male didn’t speak often, and when he did, it always had a definitive ring to it, as if his was the last and only word.
“As you wish. I’ll breed her. But if she doesn’t survive the first coupling, her death is on all of you.”
Daneth chuckled. “Humans aren’t that weak.”
***
Lamira crouched beside the row of tomato plants and flicked a bug off the leaf before anyone saw it. The Ocretion foremen always wanted to spray the plants with their chemicals at the first sign of any bugs, even though it had been proven to harm the plants.
Her stomach rumbled. She longed to pluck just one juicy tomato and pop it into her mouth, but she’d never get away with it. She’d be publicly flogged or worse—shocked. The fresh Earth-based fruits and vegetables they cultivated were for Ocretions. Human slaves had to live on packaged food not fit for a dog.
Still, her life was far better than it might be in another sector, as her mother always reminded her. They lived in their own tent and had little contact with their owners after working hours.
It might be worse. She could be a sex slave like the sister she’d never met, her body used and abused by men every day. After the Ocretions took her sister, her father had led a human uprising, which had resulted in his death. Her mother, pregnant with Lamira, had been picked up by slave smugglers and sold to the agrifarm. Her mother had been careful to hide her beauty and taught her to do the same, keeping mud on her face and hair and wearing clothes too big. They hunched when they walked, ducked their heads when addressed, and kept their eyes lowered. Only in their own ragged tent did they relax.
“You, there—Lamira.” A guard called her name.
She hunched her shoulders and lifted her head.
“The director wants to see you.”
Her heart thudded. What had she done? She was careful, always careful. By the age of seven her mother had taught her to distinguish what was real—what others knew—and what was claircognizance. She’d learned to keep her mouth shut for fear she’d slip up and say something she knew about someone without having been told. Had she made a mistake? If she had, it would mean certain death. Humans with special traits—anything abnormal or special—were exterminated. The Ocretions wanted a population they could easily control.
She dropped the bushel of tomatoes and walked up to the main building, showing the barcode on her wrist to the scanner to gain admittance. She’d never been in the administration building before. An unimpressive concrete slab, it felt as cold and dreary inside as it appeared from the outside. One of the guards jerked his head. “Director’s office is that way.”
The gray concrete floors chilled her dirt
y bare feet. The director was a fat, pasty Ocretion female with ears that stuck straight out to the sides and cheeks as paunchy as her belly. Beside her sat a male of a species she didn’t recognize.
“Lamira.” The director said her name, but didn’t follow with any instructions.
She stood there, not sure what to do. She tried for a curtsy.
The humanoid male stood up and circled her. He stood a head taller than a human, but unlike the doughy Ocretions, he was all lean muscle. Tiny lines around the outsides of his eyes and mouth told her he might be middle-aged—whatever that meant for his species. Two small horns or antennae protruded from his head. “She’s in good health?”
The director shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
The male lifted her hair to peer under her ponytail. He lifted her arms and palpated her armpits. His skin was purplish-peach, a nice hue—an almost human color. His interest in her seemed clinical, not sexual, more like a doctor or scientist.
“What is this about?” she asked.
The male raised an eyebrow, as if surprised she’d spoken.
The director touched the fingertips of her four-fingered hands together. “They are not house-trained, the humans we keep here. They’re mainly used for outdoor agricultural work.”
House-trained. What in the stars does that mean?
He cupped her breasts and squeezed them.
She jerked back in shock.
“Stand still, human,” the director barked, picking up her shock-stick and sauntering over.
Lamira froze and held her breath. She hated the shock-stick more than any other punishment. She’d heard if you got shocked enough, permanent paralysis or even death may result. In her case, she feared she might say something she shouldn’t while coming out of the daze from it.