Untamed Hunger

by Tiffany Roberts

  The volturian’s boots clacked across the floor as he walked to the front of the vehicle and climbed into the operator’s seat. A moment later, the vehicle’s engine hummed to life. The back steps rose and folded up, sealing the rear wall of the cab, and Murgen grinned around his blunt tusks.

  The hovercart moved forward. Drakkal felt the gentle hum of its antigrav engines beneath him.

  “This is a real treat,” Murgen said, settling a hand atop one of his thick thighs. “My collection is the best in Arthos. You’ve never seen its like.”

  Drakkal would’ve asked what Murgen was talking about if only to garner a better understanding of what was happening—which he should have done before coming this far—but the answer became apparent before he could open his mouth.

  The hovercraft passed a shallow recess in the wall—a large observation window at least two meters tall by four across. Beyond the window was a lush, dense section of jungle, within which stood several big, squat, golden-scaled creatures. They were khochi, native to the swamps of Zanjin—popular quarry for intergalactic trophy hunters.

  “All genuine,” Murgen said. “Holographic displays don’t do the animals any justice. It’s always best to see directly with one’s own eyes, I say.”

  They drove past a few more displays, each containing unique environments and creatures, some familiar to Drakkal, many not. Drakkal glanced toward the front of the vehicle. The corridor stretched on and on ahead, bisected by intermittent perpendicular corridors.

  This place was a zoo. A damned zoo, right beneath the Gilded Sector.

  Drakkal’s unease intensified. All these cages, all these cells…

  Murgen’s eyes gleamed with pride. “I’ve rare species from across the known universe here. Some of the most beautiful, most dangerous animals in existence. It’s taken decades to build this collection.”

  All Drakkal could do was nod and force his expression to remain neutral. His eyes flicked from cell to cell; the hovercart must’ve passed a dozen such displays on either side before Nostrus guided it around a corner into a wider corridor. The mysterious scent strengthened further; it was reminiscent of sundrinker flowers, a fragrance Drakkal hadn’t smelled since before he was enslaved nearly twenty years ago. But this scent was spiced with something exotic, something foreign, something…alluring.

  Murgen chuckled, making his body shake. The hovercart trembled. “We’re almost to the best part, my friend. The heart of my collection. The specimens that make it truly unique. You know, I…”

  Though Murgen continued speaking, Drakkal didn’t hear the words. The azhera’s chest was tight, his blood hot, his stomach knotted. He’d spent several years of his life hunting and fishing, but seeing these creatures caged in a place like this, held by a person like this…it woke something within Drakkal, a primal rage that railed against all cages.

  Drakkal clenched his fists at his sides, barely resisting the urge to bury his claws in the seat cushion beneath him. And Murgen kept talking, jowls jiggling, his voice reduced to a meaningless, self-absorbed drone in Drakkal’s perception.

  But Drakkal’s rage only intensified when the vehicle came to a stop in a large, circular chamber with viewing windows all around. The fires burning in Drakkal were momentarily overpowered by a chill so strong that it threatened to freeze his blood.

  “These are the real prizes.” Murgen grasped the edges of the cab and pushed himself onto his feet; the cart wobbled with his efforts. The rear steps unfolded. “Animals that think themselves more than what they are. Smart enough to learn some language, perhaps even to reason on a rudimentary level”—he grunted as he stepped down—“but little removed from beasts, regardless.”

  Nostrus turned his head to glare over his shoulder at Drakkal, but the azhera barely noticed.

  There were people in these cells. People.

  Powerful memories clawed their way to the forefront of Drakkal’s mind. It didn’t matter how long ago he’d earned his freedom—freedom that had been his all along—it felt like only yesterday that he’d been kept in a cage, that he’d been treated like an animal himself.

  Only that smell, that sweet sundrinker fragrance, stronger here than before, kept him grounded and afforded him a modicum of self-control. He stood up and exited the vehicle, his movements slow and stiff.

  “Of course, my interest in these creatures is largely based in scientific curiosity.” Murgen walked toward the nearest window without a backward glance at Drakkal. “I’ve always said I’d have become a scientist, were it a career that actually earned any money, and I’ve gone so far as to hire on a few researchers to help guide my pursuit of knowledge.”

  This is just business. Endure it for the sake of business…

  That thought only soured Drakkal’s stomach. Pressing his lips together, he forced himself forward, joining Murgen in front of the window. Nostrus’s footfalls were light as he moved to stand behind Drakkal.

  The interior of this cell was plain compared to the others Drakkal had seen thus far, much closer to the quarters of a slave—or a prison cell. The walls were decorated with simple paintings depicting animals and people in basic shapes and lines. Two people were huddled together on the cot attached to the far wall, both with pale gray skin, long white hair, and dark claws. Drakkal knew their species only because of one of Arcanthus’s more memorable clients.

  They looked lost. Afraid. And so young.

  “Zenturi,” Murgen said. “Fascinating creatures. They’ve a venom they can deliver in their bite that is deadly to most other creatures. The few tests I’ve performed thus far have supported that. Quite strong and agile, as well—don’t let their appearances fool you. With proper training, I think they may prove exceptional guards and soldiers. Of course, my true ambition is to use these as a breeding pair once they’ve matured.”

  Murgen turned and walked toward the next window. Drakkal’s gaze lingered on the zenturi for a few seconds before he numbly followed his host.

  “I find the science around breeding and genetics to be engrossing subject matter. It’s been proven that the mutative compound administered by the Consortium has side effects on certain species that allow them to interbreed with unrelated species. Imagine the potential combinations!”

  Drakkal grunted; he wasn’t sure if the sound came off as agreeable or not.

  The next cell contained a lone alien. Drakkal wasn’t familiar with its species. It looked bigger than him—standing well over two meters tall—and had thick, powerful limbs, shaggy brown fur, and a bony crest sweeping up from its forehead that split into two large, curling black horns. The creature was pacing restlessly along the far wall of its cell.

  “Another rare one, and just as primitive as the zenturi. It’s called a halthid, though no official name has yet been entered into the Consortium’s database. I’d imagine this species barely knows how to harness fire. Still, it’s been implanted with translators like all the rest, and they all seem capable of following simple instructions.”

  Don’t be stupid, Drak. That’s a simple instruction.

  Drakkal had the sense he’d not leave this place without violating that directive.

  Murgen finally turned to look at Drakkal again. “Even if the scientific aspects of all this are beyond your comprehension, I’m sure the spectacle is well worth the extra time. You may be one of the lowly, but you have far more in common with me than you do these creatures.”

  Drakkal drew in a deep breath. Don’t be stupid. Don’t respond. Just keep your mouth shut. But the words came anyway. “Only science I’ve studied is anatomy. Seem to have a mind for those facts.”

  “Oh? I personally find alien anatomy fascinating. Do you have a particular species you’ve focused on?”

  Drakkal kept his face toward the viewing window, but he wasn’t focused on the halthid inside. His attention was on a faint reflection in the glass—the ghostly blue face visible behind his own dark reflection. “I’m a generalist. Benefits me more. So I know things like how tralix
have two hearts, and that one of them isn’t protected by their ribs. Or that the average volturian has six liters of blood—and can lose two-point-nine liters before succumbing to blood loss.”

  There was a faint rustling of cloth behind Drakkal. Nostrus’s indistinct reflection shifted slightly but didn’t move any closer.

  Murgen laughed that deep, booming laugh that inflated his jowls. “A practical individual, I see.”

  “Yeah. You ready to finish this deal?”

  Waving a hand dismissively, Murgen walked on. “One more to show you, azhera. Can’t let you go without gazing upon my most valuable prize. After you see this, you’ll be the most popular person in your, uh”—Murgen glanced back at Drakkal, features tightening—“in your…social circles.”

  “And here I thought people liked me for my natural charm,” Drakkal muttered. He glanced at Nostrus; the volturian’s brows were low, and his eyes, for once, were no longer cold—they burned with anger.

  Drakkal bared his fangs in an expression that would have been considered a smile only by someone with poor eyesight before following his host.

  Murgen bypassed the next three cells, each of which contained one or two aliens of species with which Drakkal was unfamiliar. All of them had that gleam of intelligence in their eyes.

  As he finally drew to a stop in front of the fourth cell, Murgen said, “An ertraxxan who used to live in the neighborhood had one of these creatures for several years. He used to parade it around the city. But I’ve done better. I’ve obtained two for the price of one.”

  The unease within Drakkal built to a sense of dread. He’d known this delivery would be an unpleasant experience the moment Arcanthus had given him the details, but he’d not realized just how unpleasant it would be. He didn’t care how much Murgen Foltham was willing to pay, Arc would no longer be conducting business with this durgan.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Drakkal moved to stand beside Murgen and turned toward the cell.

  His eyes fell upon the female inside—the female terran—and widened. He’d never seen her before, he was certain of it, but she seemed familiar all the same—and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  She was sitting in the corner, legs bent with her arms draped around them. Long golden hair hung over her pale, bare shoulders concealing her breasts. Shapely brows arched over bright, piercing blue eyes, angled toward a small, narrow nose, and her full, pink lips were downturned. She looked so small, so delicate. She was…stunning.

  She was also clearly with cub.

  Two

  Murgen interlaced his fingers and settled his hands on his prodigious gut. “A female terran, currently pregnant. She has a few months to go, by my estimates, and I’m terribly eager to observe the process firsthand. I understand it’s rather painful for their kind.”

  Drakkal’s gaze roamed over the female, lingering on the blotchy bruises scattered around her body, the thick collar around her neck, and the matching cuffs at her wrists and ankles. The cuffs weren’t attached to any visible tethers, and the skin around each was red and irritated. Drakkal tightened his fists; a powerful instinct had sparked within him, as though his very essence rejected the sight of this female in her current condition. She should’ve been free, should’ve been unharmed, should’ve been…his.

  “The expected offspring is fully terran, of course, but these terrans have proven remarkably adaptable.” Murgen moved closer to the glass. “Though there’s not enough research by which to draw concrete conclusions, it seems her species—after the Consortium’s mutative treatment—can reproduce with almost anything. The compatibility is astounding.”

  Separating his hands, Murgen brushed his fingers lightly over the glass. “I’m not normally inclined to partake directly in my research, but I find myself tempted by this one. What would we produce?” He cleared his throat and stepped back suddenly, jowls jiggling as he spun to face Drakkal. “For science, of course. You’d be a fine male specimen to breed with some of my collection, now that I’ve mentioned it. I’ve seen many azhera, but none built quite like you. Normally I would charge for the privilege, but in your case, I might pay to have you breed with some of my subjects. I trust your…equipment is in working order?”

  Drakkal dipped his chin slightly, willing away some of his shock and confusion. He needed to conclude this business and leave, but that sundrinker scent perfumed his every inhalation, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the terran.

  “Why is she chained and bruised?” Drakkal asked.

  “Because she is amongst the most dangerous creatures in my collection. Nostrus can personally attest to that fact.”

  Nostrus, still behind Drakkal, released a bitter, affirmative grunt. In Drakkal’s imagination, a brief scene played out of the volturian striking the terran and leaving one of those bruises. Drakkal barely resisted the urge to turn and hammer a fist into Nostrus’s face.

  “We mustn’t allow her demure appearance to deceive us,” Murgen said. “She’s sent several members of my security staff to the infirmary with varying injuries. Nothing life threatening, of course. But when she’s ready to breed again… Well, I’ve access to potent sedatives and exceptional restraints. Unless, of course, she’s awoken something more primal inside of you. I understand that even those of more evolved species sometimes wish to simply rut like animals. I’ll pass no judgment regarding that; it’s not as though you’ve a reputation to protect.”

  Clenching his jaw, Drakkal pried his gaze from the terran and settled it on Murgen. He reminded himself again that all he had to do was exercise a bit of self-control, make the deal, and go. It didn’t matter how this place made him feel, didn’t matter if seeing all these people caged stirred old, bitter memories, didn’t matter what connection he thought he might’ve had to the terran.

  Conclude the deal and walk away.

  Drakkal’s ears slapped down flat against his head, and he asked through his teeth, “You have the credits for this chip or not?”

  Murgen frowned, brows falling low. “Not the reaction I’d hoped for. I suppose I understand if you’re too uncultured or uneducated to appreciate—”

  “Then give me a closer look,” Drakkal snapped. “Open the cell and let me see her face-to-face.”

  The durgan recoiled as though he’d been physically struck, and Nostrus’s boot came down heavily as though he were advancing to attack.

  “All that I’ve shared with you, and you take this tone with me?” Murgen said; Drakkal couldn’t tell how much of his host’s offense was genuine, but he didn’t care.

  Drakkal growled. “You want me to come back later to fuck her, I need to see her up close. I need to smell her, to touch her. I need to see if she sparks those animal urges in me.”

  Just the thought of being close to her, of touching her, heated Drakkal’s blood. His cock stirred, threatening to emerge from its sheath.

  Kraasz ka’val, I already feel those urges. What’s wrong with me?

  “Time to go, azhera,” said Nostrus.

  Murgen shook his head sharply. “No, Nostrus. Not yet. Azhera… Why should I let you close to my prized possession? You’ve just demonstrated that you’re barely in control of yourself. I won’t tolerate disrespect in my own home.”

  Drakkal took a slow step forward, releasing a huff through his nostrils; he was surprised that smoke didn’t flow out given the heat of the fires raging inside him. “Then stop disrespecting my time. Let me see her face-to-face or pay me for this ID so I can leave. A simple choice.”

  “Perhaps this attitude works with the other sorts you do business with, but I will not be swayed by intimidation, azhera.”

  “You’re the sort I usually do business with. A criminal,” Drakkal replied. “You have the best security in the business glaring at my back. You afraid I’ll hurt your pet? Maybe you weren’t serious about breeding her.”

  Murgen narrowed his eyes and stared at Drakkal for several seconds, stroking his fingers along his dangling jowls. Drakkal kept his
focus on the durgan; there’d be a signal, perhaps a subtle one, that would precede Nostrus’s inevitable attack, but so long as Drakkal was ready for it…

  “I was right about you, azhera,” Murgen finally said. “When I looked at you in the study, I thought you were a prime candidate for breeding with my pets. You’re big, strong, and bold. Direct. A male who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to reach out and take it. You remind me a little of myself. I’ll put your rudeness behind us this time.” He lifted his hands and activated the holocom on his right wrist. “You’re the perfect male to breed with my terran. An exceptional specimen. Of course, we’ll have to finalize the details later, but for now, yes. You may see her up close. I know you’ll enjoy what you find.”

  Nostrus stepped forward, his brows angled down over the bridge of his nose. “Master Foltham, I think it best to finish your transaction and have this azhera escorted off the premises.”

  “Haven’t you paid any attention, Nostrus? This azhera is a prime specimen. Exactly what I’m going to need access to in the future. Why, he seems the sort who might even pull himself up out of poverty and become something respectable someday.” Murgen twisted to glance over his shoulder at Drakkal. “He may even be the sort whose services I employ for other sensitive endeavors. The two of you may one day be colleagues.”

  Nostrus didn’t try to mask his disgusted sneer.

  Drakkal clenched his fists tighter still, and the claws of his right hand dug into the rough flesh of his palm. He flicked his gaze to the terran. She remained hunched in the same spot, her position seemingly unchanged, her beauty somehow greater than it had been a few moments before.

  That only further sparked Drakkal’s desire and rage. His want for her had already grown into something undeniable and overwhelming. His fury was like a maddened beast, a snarling thing antagonized by Nostrus, fed to immense size by Murgen, and now threatening to break out of its cage at the sight of this trapped, suffering terran.

  Murgen’s fingers moved with surprising dexterity, manipulating the controls on his holocom. A soft whoosh called Drakkal’s attention to the left. A section of the wall—likely one of countless concealed doors in this place—had opened between this observation window and its neighbor. Drakkal stepped backward to grant himself a better angle; the opening revealed a long corridor with dull gray walls and floors. Two doors stood across from one another a few meters beyond the entryway, lining up with the cells on either side.