by Renee Rose
He removes his finger and lifts his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Wh-what?” I pant, barely able to think straight.
“I want to come inside you,” he says, rising to his feet and squeezing his erection through his flight pants.
I reach for his tunic and wrap my fist in it, tugging him down on top of me. He chuckles as he falls over me, catching his weight with his arms, kissing me.
“Hurry, Tarek,” I urge, desperate for release.
He laughs again. “You need this, little human?” He frees his erection.
“Yes,” I breathe, reaching for it. I guide him into me and he pushes deep, stretching me wide with his girth. I moan with satisfaction. He feels so good.
“Veck, Zina. How could I ever deny we were made for each other?”
“I don’t know, how could you?”
He plows into me harder. Faster. “I’m going to make it up to you.” His breath grows ragged. “To you and the young.”
I’m already ready to explode.
The cot rocks against the wall, striking it with each savage thrust.
“Now, Zina,” Tarek grunts.
“What? Oh!”
He thrusts in deep and stays, his hot seed filling me.
My muscles clench and pulse around his large purple cock, milking the rainbow-hued cum in a glorious release.
Tarek nuzzles my neck. “I love you, Zina. I’m sorry I had my head shoved so far up my ass I couldn’t accept that.”
I breathe in his scent, cling to his strong arms. “I love you, too, Tarek,” I breathe. “You’re the only male for me.”
Epilogue
Tarek
“The lights on the ship go blink-blink-blink, blink-blink-blink, blink-blink-blink, the lights on the ship go blink-blink-blink, all through the sky!” In a training dome annex, a chorus of little voices sing, led by the sweetest voice of all—the one belonging to my mate.
I enter the room, a smile on my face.
I don’t need to see to know how beautiful she is, standing in a circle of tiny halflings with her belly swollen with our child.
Zina opened a preschool where she, a few other humans, and two elderly Zandian females care for the young of the community, teaching them a blend of human and Zandian culture.
She and her friend Abbi have been working to collect the human songs and stories that have been passed down through the generations, many of them originating way back on Earth, before the Ocretions overtook the planet and gathered all the humans as their slaves.
She’s truly gifted at managing the young, who are one hundred times more emotional and irrational than adult humans, even with their Zandian genes. She encourages, cuddles and redirects, somehow keeping the entire group not just in order, but happy and thriving.
And I laugh every time I remember my sweet mate attempting to learn navigation, when her true calling is so obviously here.
I walk up behind her and put my arms around her, settling my palms over her firm, swollen belly.
The children giggle.
“Say hi to Warrior Tarek.”
“Hi, Warrior Tarek,” they all call out in a chorus, followed by more giggles.
Zina turns her face up to mine, and I steal a quick kiss. My sensors register the chips of my Zandian crystal in her nose and earlobes, marking her as my mate.
Yes, it’s true. I’m officially mated now—something I never believed would happen. When I returned from the spysat mission, I asked for King Zander’s dispensation to mate Zina and he granted it.
“All right, class, your parents will be here any moment. Please go to your cubby and collect your belongings and then come back and sit on the rug.”
Miraculously, they all obey her, even the tiniest ones.
I shake my head in wonder. “I don’t know how you do it. You are truly a gift to Zandia.”
I sense her smile, her warmth even before I note the feedback from sensors. But that’s not unusual. Sometimes I sense the love pouring from her, filling my chest with warmth. It’s like my lack of sight allows me to sense things no one else can.
And I wouldn’t give that up for the world.
“Come on, we’ll be late,” I tug Zina’s hand. We have a check-up with Dr. Daneth today for the baby. Even though I’ve resigned myself to whatever may happen with our young, I’m still on edge. My fear of losing Zina the way my father lost my mother keeps me up at night, even though Dr. Daneth promises medical advances would never allow that scenario to happen.
“All right, I have to run, do you have it from here?” Zina asks one of Zandian elders. The ancient female nods with a serene smile. There are so few elders left in our society, but those who remain find the most glory in our species’ return to our planet and our newest halfling generation.
I lace my thick fingers through Zina’s slender ones and we walk across the courtyard to Dr. Daneth’s medical center.
Zina squeezes my hand when we enter. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
I yank her into my body and deliver a searing kiss. “That’s so vecking sweet,” I tell her between kisses. “My fragile human comforting her warrior.”
I sense the rush of love pour from her. “Everything’s going to be all right.” She lays her hand on my face.
I hear a throat clear and release my bride, turning to face Riya, the med tech. “Zina, please put on this gown and have a seat on the table. I’ll let Dr. Daneth know you’re ready for the examination.”
I help Zina out of her clothing and into the gown, not that she needs my help, but just because I’m helpless to assist her in any other way to grow our young. Females bear so much.
Dr. Daneth enters, takes a few samples of blood and puts them into a machine for analysis. Then he uses a small monitor over her belly. A hologram springs into the space above her belly projecting what’s inside.
I’m unable to see holograms, but when Zina gasps, I nearly crush her hand in mine.
“Her thumb’s in her mouth, Tarek!” Zina exclaims. “It’s so unbelievably cute.” I hear the tears in Zina’s voice and my eyes instantly lacrimate, even though warriors never cry.
“And you’re sure it’s a female?”
“Definitely,” Dr. Daneth says. He’d told us that before, but I keep double and triple-checking everything he tells us.
“And… the eyes? Her sight?”
Daneth turns off the monitor and goes to the blood analysis machine. This is the date when he said the gene mutation should show up. He told us if she doesn’t show the change by this stage, she’s safe. Of course, he also said there are no guarantees.
“Her genes appear to be a normal blend of human and Zandian. I see no gene mutation.”
I exhale loudly, then pull Zina into my arms, dropping kisses all along her hairline, her cheeks, her forehead. “She’s all right. She’s safe. She’s going to be all right.”
“She’ll be perfect, no matter what,” Zina says, which is what she’s said from the beginning.
“I know, but I’m just so happy. I love her so much.” Stars, now my voice is choked.
“I do too.” The salty scent of Zina’s tears reaches me and I squeeze tighter.
“Are we finished here, Doctor?” Because I need to get my mate home and veck her senseless. Need to spank her ass the way she likes it and then lick her until she howls.
“Yes, we’re finished.” Dr. Daneth leaves the room and I strip the gown off Zina.
My cock punches out when my sensors take in her nudity—the shape and curve of her swollen breasts, the big belly, the rounded buttocks.
“Not here, Tarek,” Zina giggles, guessing at my thoughts.
“Right,” I say, grabbing her clothes and helping throw them on her. “Let’s go, little human. I need to make you scream.”
The scent of her arousal reaches me and she beats me to the door.
“Last one home is a rotten egg,” she says, throwing some arcane human expression she discovered at me and taking off at a run
.
I growl and give chase, catching her in a single stride and sweeping her up into my arms.
“You think I’d let you walk all the way home, little human? Never. You don’t go anywhere but in my arms.”
She laughs softly. “Silly male,” she murmurs against my neck. “I love you so much.”
“I adore you, beautiful female.”
From the Authors
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Night of the Zandians
Bought by the Zandians
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His Human Slave - Excerpt
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, looking at 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 and predicts the best possible mate for breeding.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So have you already run this program?”
Daneth nodded.
He looked 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’s no Zandians left to populate it?”
He sighed, blowing out his 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 from injuries quickly. 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, I will search the databases for the female most compatible to your personality and lifestyle preferences after you have bred. 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. He’d 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. The female looked filthy, with dirt covering 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 looking at 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 superior to 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 lightray 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 have even 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 not built for Zandian cocks.”
“The program can’t be wrong.”
He sighed. “Is she even for sale?”
“No, but yo
u are a highly-esteemed royalty and 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 word 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. The tomatoes looked so juicy. She longed to just pluck one 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 only for Ocretions. Human slaves had to live on packaged food that wasn’t 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 work 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 that were 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.