Stolen: A SciFi Alien Warlord Romance

by Alison Aimes

  “Yes, Brother.” Cecilia whispered. “I apologize for failing you and I promise I will do better next time.”

  She shot Aurora a hostile look that pleased him immensely. It wouldn’t do for the two of them to start colluding. He’d thought he’d cured Aurora of such foolish chivalry when she’d first arrived, but obviously she continued to hope she and Cecilia could be allies.

  “I expect, Cecilia, this will prevent you from disappointing me again. As for you,” he returned his attention to Aurora, “I hope it will help you learn your lesson as well. Can you imagine the talk? How your scandalous behavior will reflect on me?”

  Just remembering how she’d looked at the half-breed enraged him all over again.

  “That male is a menace. Even his own father didn’t want him. None of us do.” He paused to see her reaction. She didn’t even blink. “Believe me, any false charm he might extend toward you is just a means to get me to lend him support with the judge handling his case. He wants that title badly and will use any means to get it.”

  “Really? He struck me as a male of unabashed honesty who doesn’t suffer fools—or hypocrisy—lightly. Perhaps he decided to flirt with me in spite of his legal considerations.” Her nostrils flared. “You seemed fairly convinced of his sincerity when he told you to take your hands off me and you scurried back like a terrified tyrant who’d finally met his match.”

  “You ungrateful whore!” He lunged across the seat.

  Her soft skin gave under his harsh grasp as he slammed her backward. Her head smacked against the hard leather of the seat. Satisfaction streaked through him.

  Her hands struck his chest, trying to ward him off.

  But she was no match for him. “You will never escape me. Run toward other males if you like, but I will determine where you end your days.” He gripped her tighter. His gaze dropped from her eyes, to her full, carnal mouth, to her lush breasts. “And your nights.”

  His control slipped, power and lust a potent cocktail in his veins. Yes, he’d told himself to wait until the contract was secured. Yes, he’d promised himself a sweet reward when the ink was dry and his Chancellorship ensured, but in the moment none of that seemed to matter.

  Even Cecilia’s wide-eyed look of horror wasn’t enough to stop him now.

  He’d held himself in check for far too long as it was. His lips descended.

  “No!” Aurora’s hands crashed harder against his chest, her head twisting sideways to avoid his claim.

  He welcomed it. She would soon discover just how immoveable he was. He raised his hand, intent on grabbing her hair. His other moved to rip her skirt aside.

  A sharp rap cracked against the floater door. What in the hell?

  “Executive, we have arrived home. Would you like me to lower the steps?” It was the cautious voice of one of his footmen, easily audible over the silence of the now-still thrusters.

  Damn! They’d arrived home without him realizing. What had the man heard? Aurora was not the only one who needed to remain scandal-free. Ascending to the esteemed position of Chancellor required the appearance of an unimpeachable reputation as well.

  He released Aurora and turned toward the door. “Yes, of course.”

  He scooped up his hat from the carriage floor and smoothed out the rim. Then, slowly, precisely, he stepped out of the floater and down the unfolding steps.

  “Come ladies.” He held out his hand. “It is time to go inside.”

  Neither woman moved.

  Profound irritation flared. There were servants about, after all.

  Conscious of his audience, he did not move or repeat himself. The only change he allowed was the slight narrowing of his eyes.

  It was enough.

  Cecilia scurried forward. Her hand trembled as he helped her from the floater. It almost made him smile.

  “You have had a long and tiring day. You should go to bed at once.”

  “Yes, Brother.” She did not look at him. Merely curtsied and hurried up the stairs and into the house.

  He swiveled to find Aurora descending the stairs, her face pale but her head held high.

  He really did admire her spirit. And how pleasurable it would be to break it.

  Affecting concern, he held out his arm. “Let me help you, my jewel.”

  “No. Thank you” She couldn’t get away fast enough. “I am already down.”

  He let her have her little rebellion. He knew the true winner in their battle. Her hands might be steady, but she couldn’t hide the rapid pulse at the base of her neck. She was terrified. The insults he’d suffered at the half-Martian barbarian’s hands lost a bit of their sting.

  His shaft hardened at the thought of dragging her inside and finishing what he’d started, but he resisted. Discipline was essential, rash action unacceptable. He’d had a momentary loss of control, but that would not do. Not until the breeding contract was secured and his position, too. As Chancellor he would be next to untouchable, able to do what he liked, when he liked. Instruct and punish whenever necessary.

  Like the thoughtful, doting father he was, he’d already included a long engagement period in the breeding contract during which his stepdaughter would remain under his roof.

  Not that he didn’t intend to hand her over to a new master eventually, but only once he’d had his fill.

  As if she knew his thoughts, her gaze flitted to the servants still standing by the floater as if for reassurance. “I have had quite a long night. I will retire.”

  “Perhaps that is for the best.” He needed to keep to his initial scheme. If all went according to plan, that would only mean two wheeks more of waiting, max—and even he could do that. He let her get as far as the top of the stairs that led inside before he spoke. “I believe we came to a true understanding this evening. I won’t forget it and, if you are wise, you won’t either. Pleasant dreams, my dear daughter.”

  She stiffened. It pleased him to know he could rile her with the servants none the wiser.

  He was still smiling to himself when she disappeared into the house.

  He produced a casual shrug for any curious help and set off on his customary walk around the estate grounds. He did it every night. Both for his constitution and to ensure everyone in the compound remained right where they belonged.

  Tonight, he was especially glad for the routine. After recent events, he had some planning to do and always thought best on his feet. It wasn’t easy to hold such great responsibility, but he would always do what needed to be done. His father had instilled that trait in him at great cost and pain, but in the end, he’d learned the lesson well. He looked forward to the rotation when Aurora would say the same.

  10

  Seven lunar rotations later

  DaKar scanned the card room, his blood humming. He didn’t want to insult the two men playing Tardishian tiles with him, but after a wheek of making the rounds at various élithe events he was beyond restless. This was the twelfth ball he’d been to in seven rotations and the beast-like impulses churning inside him had him wanting to climb the walls.

  He didn’t understand where she was. Or how he could already crave the scent and feel and voice of someone he’d only held in his arms for the length of a song.

  Bleeking Martian heat. He would be the first to admit that this time it had knocked him on his arrogant asht and transformed him into an idiotic, snarling, overaggressive fool who’d lost the very control he prided himself on maintaining above all else.

  His eyes lit on a blonde head. His gut tightened, anticipation surging. Wait...too pale. And, of course, it wasn’t her. There was no fiery blaze of lust at the base of his spine. No pounding in his blood and thickening of his cocksto to the point of pain, to the point of irrational behavior.

  With a grunt of disappointed dismissal, he kept searching

  He couldn’t shake the fear and pain he’d sensed right before he and Aurora parted. It ricocheted through his chest with every heartbeat and made each breath an effort.

  A
s he’d told her, the mating heat and the ties that formed from it could offer a glimpse into someone else’s emotions and feelings—like pulsing flashes of sensation in cascading lights or colors—but they did not come with clear explanations or any kind of useful battle plans or blueprint diagrams. All you got were raw sensations—and he’d never been good at deciphering his own, much less someone else’s.

  He needed to set things right with her.

  That, however, was proving difficult. She had yet to make an appearance at any event since their dance and anytime he tried to reach out along the fragile threads that were barely still pulsing between them, all he encountered was a thick wall of empty, bleak nothingness. As if his golden-haired female had shut down and closed everything else out.

  The thought made him want to throw back his head and howl, and then tear somebody’s flesh with his bare hands and teeth.

  “What the Corporation needs now is new blood and new direction. Pennington and I think you could be a real asset.” Zhang, a prominent shareholder, shouted over the din of the zephrin musicians, pulling DaKar back to the present—and the second reason he was at yet another ball: his pursuit of the title and his campaign to make nice with as many élithe as he could stomach.

  “Yes.” Pennington smacked down a tile that would never win. “We could use your support in beating back some of the troubling trade proposals introduced by the anti-Martian shareholders that are bad for profit.” His eyes tightened at the corners. “Though, of course, you will first have to squelch those troubling rumors about you as a thief.”

  The small tile in DaKar’s hand cracked in two.

  He’d thought he’d dealt with that situation.

  Obviously, Lady Everly was determined to make trouble.

  He’d love to know who’d set her on his path.

  The same night he’d lost his cool with Aurora and then her stepfather, the hostess of the ball, Lady Everly, had sought him out and, in the company of a handful of tittering, viperous look-alikes, accused him of stealing her jewelry. She’d demanded sex in return for keeping quiet.

  It had been the cherry on top of an already shanus-sundae night.

  When he refused, she’d threatened to damage his reputation and hamper his legal case.

  It would have been amusing if his hold on the title wasn’t so tenuous. Especially after his ill-conceived threats toward Aurora’s stepfather.

  Grayson, who’d still been by his side, had just shaken his head, saying nothing. Which was good. His friend had already almost lost a limb for daring to try and hold him back from Aurora—until he’d mentioned Tom and the other servants and reminded him why he was back on this miserable planet in the first place. After that, DaKar had been forced to let his friend’s body remain intact.

  He’d been stuck, though, on how to handle Lady Everly’s accusation. He couldn’t in good conscience endanger his sex partner from that night or Aurora by asking either to serve as his alibi, explaining what he’d actually been doing out in the garden. But he certainly wasn’t about to serve as stud for a female who deserved to be punished with orgasm denial for at least a planetary rotation.

  Fortunately, his garden fuck partner, Lady Bainbright, hadn’t felt the need to be discreet. She’d eagerly imparted their activities to anyone who would listen. He’d thought that would have ended the idiotic idea that he was the thief.

  Not so.

  The rumors continued, almost as if someone was fanning them.

  “Thank you for the heads-up.” He told the men. “I thought those rumors had been squashed.” Tossing the broken tile aside, he laid down another from his hand, clinching the win.

  “Darn it.” Pennington threw down his remaining ivories. “That’s the fifth time you’ve won tonight.”

  Volkan ignored the bellyaching. Pocketing his winnings, he stood, barely managing to keep the flimsy chair from toppling over. “With your help, it’s a streak I intend to carry me all the way to title.” Issuing the élithe gesture of respect, he bowed. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  He didn’t want to give them the chance to start in on him again. Their expectations pricked at him, making him wonder if he was missing out on an opportunity to actually do some good at a broader level.

  Shoving such thoughts aside, his shoulders loosened as he stepped out of the crowded card room and into the hall connected to the ongoing ball. With any luck, he would be in the Forbidden Zone within the hour, the mess with the title forgotten for the moment, enjoying a nice scotch and tavil in a seat that was made for someone his size, waiting for Grayson to show in case the male wanted to vent about his latest investigation—and hopefully offer up some news about Aurora Blake.

  The female was hard to find intel on, and even harder to track down.

  DaKar’s hand hit the terrace doors as the sound of scuffling feet echoed behind him. He turned.

  His shoulders tensed, veins in his chest and forearms popping as his Martian blood heated and the alpha rose to the fore.

  His worm of a half brother, Peller, was backpedaling as fast as he could, a look of surprised horror on his face. He was surrounded by a group of men with equally wary expressions.

  It would have been amusing, if it wasn’t so infuriating.

  DaKar moved fast.

  “Peller, how nice. Were you looking for me? Because I’ve been hunting you.” He noted with pleasure how the male’s face paled.

  Peller had taken after their father. He had the male’s handsome face, dark hair, patrician sneer, and a build bigger than most élithes. Tonight, he wore an ugly puce jacket and a flashing polka-dotted dinner vest inlaid with danashe stones, but beneath the ridiculous showy finery, his shoulders were wide, his arms thick, indicating he’d successfully transformed himself from a stick-thin boy into a male in impressive shape. But for all his half brother’s talk about being born to lead, he always preferred to hide behind someone else when it came to the real battle.

  That did not appear to have changed at all.

  His stepmother and half-sibling had deliberately absented themselves from all gatherings this past wheek, no doubt hoping to avoid exactly this run-in.

  But if they didn’t want a confrontation, they never should have gone after his title in the first place.

  “Volkan, ah…good evening.” Peller took a last step back and stopped, hemmed in by his friends. “Actually, we’re just on our way to the Forbidden Zone. Time to let off a little steam with the kind of girls you won’t find in this crowd.” He winked at his friends and they offered a strained chuckle in return. “Perhaps another time.”

  “I think now would be best.”

  “Fine.” Peller dropped the cordial, casual act. “What do you want?”

  His friends exchanged nervous glances.

  The urge to growl and see if they squealed was tempting. DaKar went with actual English instead.

  “I want to give you a warning. Withdraw your suit now and I will hold no grudge. You can keep your annual income. However, if you continue with this challenge and I emerge the victor, I will not be so generous.”

  “Why should I settle for a pittance while you, an accused half-Martian thief who deserves nothing, gain it all?”

  Hell. Those rumors had spread everywhere.

  “Be very careful,” he warned his half brother. “I won’t tolerate your slights as I once did. By now you should have learned to behave better.”

  It was as if the planetary rotations since they had last seen each other had never passed. The animosity as great as when they were children.

  “Me?” sputtered Peller. “What of you? You can dress up and play the élithe gentleman, but as mother says, it is always easy to discern the savage in you.”

  “Too true, Peller. Too true.”

  Peller’s eyes widened. Obviously, his half brother hadn’t expected agreement.

  He closed the gap until he towered over his opponent. The man’s so-called friends took a collective step back.

  “You know wh
at I’ve discovered from my travels outside this narrow-minded dome, Peller? Being a so-called savage has its advantages. So be forewarned, references to my mixed parentage don’t upset me as they once did.” Fact was, he thanked the Goddess for his Martian blood every bleeking rotation.

  “You won’t feel so self-assured when it causes you to lose the title.”

  “I don’t intend to lose it. If you were smart, you’d stop lying before you get into real legal trouble and land in a shuttle headed to the closest prison planet.”

  Peller’s expression turned mulish. “The title should be mine. Father always said you were nothing but an abomination.”

  Peller was more self-assured than he’d once been, but his tired insults were the same.

  “The sad truth is,” he told the younger male, “our father didn’t care enough about either of us to consider what would happen after his death. That means, Brother, the élithe archaic rules of primogeniture stand. I was the product of his first breeding contract. I am the elder. Those are the realities.”

  “You talk to me of realities?” Spittle flew from Peller’s mouth. “How about the reality that your off-planet mother was a scheming harlot slut who tricked father into getting her pregnant? She was as big a mistake as you. Thankfully, like all females who whore themselves and sin, she got what she deserved. She died, bleeding, alone, unwanted—just as you will.”

  DaKar’s vision tinged red. His horns snapping into swordlike points that abutted from his forehead as savage darkness and the need for violence pounded through every cell. Impulses that had nothing to do with Martian justice, and everything to do with dark, uncontrollable rage.

  His hand snaked around the worm’s throat, lifting upward until only the bastard’s toes brushed the floor. “Do. Not. Insult. My. Mother.”

  Peller’s face changed from red to blue to white.

  Even that did not appease. Crush him now. Grind him under your boot.