Claimed by the Warlord

by Maddie Taylor

  She lay still, taking inventory of the rest of her body.

  Cold air blowing against her back sent a chill over her bare skin. Where were her clothes? Horror overcame the pain and sickness. Her head came up, and she looked around for her attacker. He’d leered at her and spoken of her belonging to him for a time.

  What liberties had he taken while she’d been naked and unconscious?

  When she scanned the strange room, she realized—thankfully—she was alone.

  The quick survey of her surroundings helped her get her bearings, though it didn’t ease her distress. Not while lying on an elevated platform in the center of a room with walls made of floor-to-ceiling glass.

  Keeping her knees tucked up tight and covering her bare breasts with an arm for modesty’s sake, she pushed up with one hand to sit on her hip. Her gaze focused on the surrounding glass, so darkly tinted she couldn’t see through to the other side.

  Did something more abhorrent than the Ophigs peer in at her, as if she were an attraction at a menagerie?

  It didn’t bear thinking.

  Neither did imagining how she’d gotten here, or what had transpired since he’d drugged her. How long since she’d been taken? Hours, days, or more? Unconscious, she’d lost all track of time.

  She only knew the facts of the moment; her clothes were gone, and someone had locked metal manacles around her wrists and ankles, and a wider band encircled her waist.

  The fetters weren’t connected to anything, however, which allowed free movement. Aurelia slid to the edge of the round platform and carefully peeked over the side, trying to judge the distance to the floor and how much it would hurt when she landed. Ready to swing her legs over the edge and jump down, she froze when a man in a long flowing robe entered the room.

  This wasn’t one of her Ophig abductors. With its wan face, black sockets for eyes, and lacking any gender specific characteristics, she couldn’t say for sure it was male, but she sensed it.

  He crossed to a control panel on the wall and with the wave of a wide-sleeved arm, lights switched on. She didn’t know what he, or she—okay, it—was up to, but everything about the alien, especially the fact she couldn’t see a hand at the end of its sleeve, made her skin crawl.

  Suddenly, an unseen force dragged her to the center of the circle and jerked body upright. Her arms and legs flew out to the sides. With a series of metallic clangs, the manacles crashed against a frame that sprang out of the pedestal. Several softer clicks sounded, and she knew with mounting dread they had locked in place.

  She yanked and tugged hard but only wound up bruising her tender skin when they wouldn’t budge. Still, as her terror over what she might face next escalated, she had to try.

  A buzzer echoed in the glass-walled room. Then, all at once, she could see through the windows. Dozens upon dozens of alien creatures were gathered on the other side. They watched her with fascination, as if she were an animal on exhibit at a zoo.

  Hundreds of eyes were aimed her way, raking over her naked form. They were of every size and shape imaginable, in a myriad of colors, some in pairs, others in sets of three and four. One creature had at least eight, and still another, who stood head and shoulders above the others, only had one.

  Unable to bear it any longer, Aurelia jerked frantically at her restraints, not caring if she cut herself or that droplets of blood already trickled over her hands and dripped off her fingertips. Her thoughts were focused on one thing, getting away from the gawking aliens.

  The whole time she struggled, she kept up a constant ear-piercing wail of terror until a jolt surged from her cuffs and shot through her body. She fell silent. Not because she’d stopped screaming, but because she’d lost the ability. Somehow, her voice had been muted, and she blamed her captor at the controls.

  Her terrified gaze swept over the strange creatures gathered. Many were species she’d never seen before, and most so hideous she cringed.

  Overhead, a voice droned in an unknown language. Even though she couldn’t understand the words, the rate and cadence were familiar. Every so often one of the aliens would raise a hand or tentacle, and in one case, what appeared to be a hoof. In her fear-frenzied mind, all at once, it clicked.

  They were holding an auction, and she was the item up for bid.

  A helpless series of sobs burst from her chest. She felt certain she would faint at any moment and prayed for the bliss of not knowing any of this.

  Sadly, her wish didn’t come true. Instead, she had to continue to suffer through this, the ultimate indignity, until slowly, one by one, the gaping, leering, and, in several instances, drooling, aliens disappeared.

  Confused by this, she peered closer. Sometimes the images flickered, and other times they became translucent. The tension gripping her insides lessened somewhat as relief swept through her. Though the creatures on the other side of the glass moved and she could hear muted sounds, they were merely holographic projections.

  Before long, only three bidders remained.

  The chime sounded again. Without her volition, like everything else that had happened to her today, her arms and legs were pulled farther apart, and the platform slowly rotated, exposing all of her, breasts, bottom, and pubic area in a 360-degree vulgar display so the customers could get a good look at everything she had to offer.

  Humiliation consumed her. She’d never been naked in front of anyone before. Even her physician draped her with a cloth to preserve her modesty during an examination. Never had she been the subject of such rabidly hungry leers. Even worse, one of the three remaining creatures had his hand—assuming he had actual hands—in his pants rubbing himself. The next instant, he disappeared, too, as did the purple bipedal being with four arms and a tail, thank the gods in heaven.

  Her prayers of relief came much too soon.

  When her eyes locked with the lone remaining bidder, a violent shudder passed through her. They were red, like the rest of him, his skin a deep shade of crimson, and he had a pair of short, blunted horns on top of his head. He had only two arms and legs, at least, but his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk revealing two sharply pointed fangs as his gaze tracked slowly down her body. Then, with a laugh that penetrated the glass and chilled her blood, he also vanished.

  She glanced at the alien at the controls and found him observing her through the obscure holes that served as his eyes. As if he’d been waiting for her attention, he raised his arm, the robe slipping down to expose a hand of sorts with three long, gnarled fingers. He waved them over the controls, and another shock surged from the cuffs. This time it was prolonged, sending a current pulsing through her that made her light-headed. It kept up until every ounce of strength had seeped from her muscles. It stopped at the same time the metallic cuffs opened with a clang.

  Too weak to stand, Aurelia crumpled into a lifeless heap onto the platform and, for the second time that day, a wave of blackness engulfed her.

  ZOOMED IN AT MAXIMUM magnification on the viewing screen, the trading barge seemed to hover in the blackness of space. It was, in fact, speeding away now that the smaller ship had docked. Darios stood motionless, as he had for the past few hours, with his arms crossed over his chest, long legs spread and braced to absorb the subtle vibration of deck beneath his feet.

  Outwardly, he projected a calm, composed manner. It would serve no purpose to reveal the seething, barely contained fury churning inside him. They had a mission to complete and his crew, as always, would feed off their overlord’s emotions.

  He couldn’t reveal how badly the fact that an inferior species like the Ophigs had gotten past their global security, landed on the planet’s surface, successfully abducted three of their women, and taken off, all without their knowledge, burned in his gut like bitter gall.

  Known as little more than nomadic leeches who didn’t produce anything of value on their own, the Ophigs survived like parasites, feeding off their victims, sucking as much as they could from them before moving on.

  Few in the
galaxy would give them an audience. The council of leaders in the Euphyrion star system, of which Voltarre was a long-standing member, had gone one step further and banned them altogether. Other than plying their illicit trade—stealing, kidnapping, holding hostages for ransom, or acting as hired guns—for whoever promised the biggest payout, they had no business in their sector.

  The vermin contributed nothing to the common good. As such, they had few trusted allies, but their enemies counted many.

  They worked alone or in small crews of four at the most. This made them vulnerable, and because they spawned widespread antipathy, they had to constantly watch their backs.

  One thing worked in their favor; they had little to lose. It made them dangerous, and cocky. They thought nothing of entering the restricted airspace of a sovereign planet, committing intergalactic violations too numerous to count, and antagonizing the powerful overlord.

  After he got his women back, and before he snapped their abductors spines like twigs, Darios intended to find out how they did it. Then he’d ensure it never happened again.

  “Report,” he called to Ravern, his helmsman, the gruffness of his voice along with the utter stillness of his body the only indication of his boiling rage.

  “The six heat signatures we picked up while the craft was in transit are no longer registering, my lord. They’ve boarded the trader.”

  “Flaming hell! They’ve had her for three days. What are we waiting for?”

  Darios glanced at Daryk, his younger brother, who stood beside him. He couldn’t mistake the tension in his face or the tightly-clenched white-knuckled fists at his sides. Even if he missed the overt signs, no one could mistake the heat of his fury radiating off him in waves.

  He’d been jumpy, pacing, acting like he would come out of his skin ever since the call came in that his wife, Callae, was one of the missing women.

  They’d conducted a search on the ground, and though it seemed improbable that a security breach had occurred they alerted space command to initiate a perimeter scan around Voltarre, as was protocol.

  That’s when the pieces—at least some of them—began to fall into place.

  While the ground search turned up nothing, their defense scanners picked up the small Ophig vessel skulking just beyond the security boundary, far above the planet’s surface. The commander on duty hailed the ship, demanding an explanation. Their excuse, navigational problems while passing through. As the outermost planet in the system, and nearest to the second smaller sun with its strong gravitational pull, this wasn’t uncommon.

  After a warning, the vessel changed course and, in minutes, left Voltarrean space.

  Through the encounter, their planetary shields had remained intact, there were no breach alarms or unusual sightings reported; therefore, no one suspected the two were connected. Mostly because they’d never had a breach intrusion before.

  When they couldn’t find the missing women, and their intraplanetary scans told them their locater bracelets were no longer on the planet, they were stunned but took immediate action.

  Scouts were sent out, their quickness and stealth the best option to track and surveille the Ophig ship while one of their six battlecruisers was readied. With one always on standby for such an event, they followed within the hour. The scouts transmitted coordinates as they pursued the vessel across the galaxy. It wouldn’t be long before the Atagan, the premier ship in their fleet, would close in.

  Then, nothing.

  Their signal vanished and couldn’t be picked up anywhere even with their long-range scanners. For days, they searched with no signs of the small ship, but they discovered a Napsalese barge in the area.

  Everyone knew the Napsalese operated a small-scale legitimate trade as a front for their more reprehensible endeavors. They were flesh peddlers, plain as that, buying stolen females brought to them by scum like the Ophigs, and auctioning them off to the highest bidder.

  With their destination obvious, all Darios and his men had to do was lie in wait until their prey came to them.

  “We’ll be within range soon, Brother, and will take swift and decisive action. Until then, you must be patient.”

  Daryk turned to him, desperation on his ravaged face. “Easier said than done when the bride of your heart, who is carrying your child, is in the clutches of filthy slavers. If they have harmed her,” he went on to say in a bone-chilling tone, “so help me, there won’t be anything left of them for you to question.”

  His junior by only an annum, as strong and nearly as tall as him, his usually unflappable, steady-under-pressure brother was the voice of reason when Darios, who had a more volatile temperament, needed his counsel. Steadfastly loyal as anyone in the warlord’s inner circle, the men had nicknamed him the Paragon for these reasons. Now, with his budding family threatened, he sounded as brutally unforgiving as the most ruthless Voltarrean soldier.

  “You may flay the skin from their bones and rip their heads from their necks after I have the truth. It is vital for our future security to learn how they penetrated our systems and took Callae and two others from beneath our very noses.”

  Daryk’s jaw tightened, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. As his brother, who knew him better than anyone, Darios didn’t doubt he would win his internal battle for control.

  Clamping his hand on his shoulder when he nodded, he leaned close and spoke low for his ears only. “We are in time; the communications we intercepted tell us the slave auction was scheduled for today. Even if she has been sold, they haven’t had time to deliver to the buyer. They will take care with her, Daryk. Damaged goods won’t command a high price. Callae will be safe in your arms very soon, and her captors will pay dearly for daring to touch a fire warrior’s woman.”

  “We’re in range now, my lord,” Ravern announced from the helm.

  “Fire when ready,” was Darios’ immediate command.

  With precision strikes targeting their defense and navigation systems, the Atagan, the premier battlecruiser of the Voltarrean fleet, incapacitated the enemy vessel and advanced for boarding.

  “IS THAT ALL OF THEM?” Darios demanded, his tone sharper than usual due to the urgency of their situation. “This ship will be space debris and us along with it if we don’t go now.”

  As if on cue, a violent shudder shook the ship, and the hull, under considerable stress from the repeated bombardment of their weapons, let out an ominous groan.

  “There’s one other, my lord. It’s on the level below, but the life signs are faint. It might be too late.”

  His tolerance for delays at an end, he strode to the Ophig mercenary. Two of his men held his limp body by the arms. Their grimaces of distaste declared they weren’t pleased with their task. Darios didn’t blame them. The man had filthy hair and oily skin with profuse pustules on his face. Blood oozed from a cut above his eye—the result of a fight with Cogar he’d had no chance of winning—and his unwashed body reeked with a foul odor.

  Having no time to be squeamish over trivial matters, he grabbed a handful of stringy hair and pulled his lolling head upright. “Who’s down there?” he demanded.

  “Just another slave.”

  Iyo, one of his advance guards slapped the cowering man across the face. “Address Lord Darios with respect, pig, if you want to live to see morning.”

  “Forgive me,” the Ophig whined, looking ready to piss himself. “I meant just another slave, Warlord.”

  His true title of Supreme Overlord of the Sovereignty of Voltarre was used interchangeably with warlord, his role whenever they were engaged in militarily. Since they were often preyed upon by idiots who saw them as easy targets, despite their size and strength, because of the rumors they only had muscle between their ears instead of brains, this alternate title was most often used by his men, and his people.

  “Liar,” Darios accused with a bark that made the man flinch. “I don’t need to touch you to know you speak falsely. If it’s just another slave, why keep her separate from the rest?” Grabbi
ng him by the throat, he raised him to eye level, which meant his feet dangled a considerable distance above the floor. “I will have the truth.”

  The struggling man wheezed, his hands coming up to tear at those cutting off his air.

  “Brother, if you kill him,” Daryk warned, “he can’t give you the answers you seek.”

  He didn’t need to be told; this move was calculated to get cooperation. Loosening his grip, he allowed the worm to draw a breath. “Speak,” he growled.

  “It’s a special item, Warlord, offered for bid at a private, invitation-only auction.”

  He gave nothing Darios couldn’t have deduced on his own. His grip tightened until the man’s yellow eyes bulged. It would be easy to snap his neck, no loss to the universe, and the inevitable outcome once he no longer served a purpose, but he wouldn’t do it yet.

  “Lord Darios,” Cogar interrupted. “We’ve scanned the hold. Readings are the same as the rest of the ship except for two notable variances. The humidity is close to zero and the carbon dioxide levels are almost nonexistent.”

  He shot a concerned glance at his second-in-command. “Which means whoever it is, is likely dead already.”

  “Possibly, or the abundance of Xasithe resins present in the room would lead us to believe that is so.”

  “Xasithe resins?” He looked back at their captive. “Despite the damage, and the smoke, the ventilation system is apparently functioning since we aren’t all passed out on the floor. Why do you have high levels of CO2 scrubbers in a hold with a slave?”

  “My guess,” Cogar supplied when the man did not speak, “this is a very important slave, one with the capacity to transform this tub into a floating glacier if they didn’t dampen her ability. We’ve used similar techniques in the past while dealing with Aeldorian prisoners.”

  “My tolerance with you has ended, filthy maggot,” Darios bit out sharply. “Before I end your pathetic subsistence, you will tell me. Who is down there?”