Retribution

by Sue Lyndon

  “Report?” Zamek asked.

  “A fleet of fifty Bexxanian warbirds were just destroyed in sector 42.”

  Shock filled Zamek. Sector 42 was very close to Earth and the Bexxanians had never been spotted there before. “Those fools,” he said, biting back a laugh. “They likely didn’t realize how many Kall vessels still patrol that sector.”

  “Early reports indicate it was a good battle, General,” the commander replied. “Few Kall casualties were sustained, and no Kall warships or airships were destroyed.”

  “How many Kall vessels in total converged on the Bexxanians?” Zamek asked, wanting to better envision the great battle in his head.

  “Over two hundred.” Commander Vavvis sighed with longing. “I wish I had been there. To have participated in a battle that large, I would sell my grandfather’s battle-ax,” he said with a chuckle.

  When they arrived on the bridge a short while later, the viewscreen displayed a feed of the High Council’s chambers. Zamek aimed a nod of respect to the council members.

  “Good evening, councilors,” he said. “To what do I owe this honor?” It was most unusual for the entire High Council to call upon a Kall warship, particularly via video comm. More frequently, coded messages were transmitted back and forth.

  “Good evening, General Zamek,” Councilor Jonall said with a deep nod. “My fellow council members and I would like to extend our deepest gratitude to you and your warriors for the assistance you provided in helping Kall forces defeat the Bexxanians. The technology you stripped from the Bexxanian warbird was extremely useful to our engineers, who were able to use it to better track the fleet of warbirds in sector 42.”

  “I will forever be at the service of Kall,” Zamek replied. He’d been hopeful that the technology stripped from the enemy aliens’ vessel would be useful, and he’d ordered it to be analyzed immediately and for all data to be transferred to the central command system.

  “Because of your actions, the Bexxanians are no longer a threat. Our intelligence tells us that their entire fleet has now been destroyed. Please convey my thanks to the rest of your warriors, General Zamek,” Councilor Jonall said.

  “I will. Thank you, Councilor.”

  After the call ended, a triumphant shout went up on the bridge, and Zamek’s warriors slapped one another on the back and offered congratulations on a job well done. Zamek even found himself cracking a smile as he joined in his crew’s celebrations.

  Of course, this also meant they could now set course for planet Kall and cease looking for the Bexxanian warbirds that no longer existed. It meant he could take Layla home, where she would be safest. Despite his conflicting feelings and his guilt where Shessema was concerned, he still wished to keep the little human safe.

  He departed the bridge, and to his surprise, Commander Vavvis followed him out into the corridor, keeping up with his rapid pace.

  “General, there is another matter I would like to discuss with you. It’s rather urgent.”

  Zamek gave an internal sigh but paused and turned to face Commander Vavvis. At this late hour, there was no one nearby in the corridor to overhear their conversation. “What is it?”

  “Your human prisoner, Layla Remington, is no longer in the brig,” the commander said, and Zamek didn’t like the look of disgust that tugged at Vavvis’s face when he said Layla’s name.

  “Yes, I know,” he replied, standing tall to stare down at the shorter male. He wasn’t above using his physical size to intimidate another Kall. “Her location is none of your concern.”

  “Many warriors claim to have seen you carrying this human female to your quarters. I’ve tried my best to defend you, but if it is true, General… tell me it is not true. Tell me you have done the right thing and killed this human already and that perhaps you’re just keeping her body parts as a trophy.”

  Zamek growled and slammed Vavvis against the wall, then he wrapped his hand around his commander’s neck, squeezing until his face turned a deep purple. “Question me about the human again or offer an unsolicited opinion, and I’ll relieve you of your command. Understood?” He loosened his grip on the commander’s throat, just enough to allow the male to speak.

  “Yes, Ge-general. Under-understood,” Commander Vavvis rasped out.

  Another growl left Zamek and he released his subordinate with a jerk. Then he marched down the corridor, heading for the morgue. He couldn’t face Layla in good conscience until he’d prayed over Shessema. Until he spoke to his late wife and tried to explain his actions to her. Not that she would be able to respond, but perhaps he would sense her presence. Maybe he would even sense her acceptance, or her sadness or disapproval.

  To his relief, he found the morgue empty. He hurried inside and moved to the glass-topped coffin that held her body, which rested in a back room. He stared at her, thinking she appeared so alive that she might open her eyes at any moment. The Tammusha’s mortician had embalmed her, preserving her innocence and her beauty.

  His heart ached as he gazed down at her.

  “Shessema,” he began, “I have come here to ask the ancient gods to watch over your soul, and to tell you that I hope you are resting peacefully in the afterlife. I hope the afterlife is as breathtaking as the Holy Ones claim. I hope you are running through fields of tall vhenn grass as you reunite with old souls. Perhaps you will live again, in another body, if you decide to reincarnate, though I know if you do, you’ll have no memory of this life, at least until you perish again.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder how many lives she’d already lived. And how many had he lived? What about Layla? He’d heard many humans believed souls could reincarnate. Perhaps Layla had already experienced several lives as well.

  The knowledge that even though Shessema was gone she was still living on somewhere else did bring him a level of peace, and gradually the tightness in his chest began to lessen.

  “Shessema, I must tell you something.” He paused and ran a hand over the glass covering. Then he started from the beginning, and he told her all about Layla and the trial and how he’d hesitated to kill her in the courtroom, even though he’d gone to the trial that day believing he would indeed take the human female’s life.

  He continued by confessing how he’d threatened Layla’s life and even whipped her, hoping that a taste of her suffering would make him hunger for her blood. As he spoke, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he gasped and turned around, but there was no one there.

  And even as he continued turning in a slow circle, the slight weight of a hand remained on his shoulder.

  He peered down at Shessema. Was this a sign? And if so, was it one of acceptance? The instant this question entered his head, the hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly, as if to say yes.

  His throat burned as he regarded Shessema’s unmoving form.

  Once he could get his voice working, he resumed his story, though he omitted the most salacious details of his time spent with Layla. The longer he spoke, the more he felt as though he were unburdening his soul. The tightness in his chest was almost entirely gone, and in place of his earlier guilt was an image of Shessema that kept flashing in his mind, of her running through the tall vhenn grass in the afterlife, laughing and playing tag with her nieces and nephews who’d perished in the human miners’ explosion. The image was so detailed, it was as though he were watching it in real time.

  At last, he came to the conclusion of his story, where he told of his frustration with Layla over not willingly accepting his offer to become his mistress, but also of his contingency plan to marry her, should her safety be threatened.

  She needs protecting, and so do you.

  He heard Shessema’s voice inside his head and nearly jumped. He stroked the glass lid of her coffin, wondering why she’d chosen to talk to him now. He’d visited her many times before, to pray over her and speak to her.

  She needs protecting, and so do you.

  It sounded like a blessing, but also a warning.

  Chapter 19
>
  Layla sat in a chair near the viewscreen, the tablet in her hand, as she tried to lose herself in a romance novel. But concentrating wasn’t easy, because her thoughts kept drifting back to Zamek and his strange mood during dinner.

  Exhaustion weighed her down and she supposed she ought to get some sleep, it was rather late, but she wished to remain awake until he returned.

  The door to his quarters zipped open and he strode inside, his larger-than-life presence filling the room. Though matters weren’t yet settled between them and her future with him remained uncertain (at least from her point of view), her heart warmed at the sight of him.

  She set the tablet aside and rose to her feet, turning to face him just as he closed the distance between them. He took her in his arms, and she thought he meant to kiss her, but instead he simply embraced her, hugging her tight as his masculine scent overwhelmed her. She breathed deeply and sank farther into his arms, even going so far as to wrap her arms around him and hug him back.

  Technically, it was only the second time they’d mutually hugged one another.

  And he wants to keep me as his mistress.

  He withdrew partially to peer into her eyes, and she was shocked by the raw emotion in his gaze. He swallowed hard, then drew in a deep breath.

  “The Bexxanian threat is no more, which means the Tammusha can now resume course for planet Kall. We are set to arrive in approximately sixteen days.” He stroked a hand through her hair. “I am anxious to get you to the safety of my home, Layla. All I can think about is keeping you safe, keeping you to myself.”

  “That is good news about the Bexxanians,” she said. “But when it comes to arriving at your home, you-you speak as if there’s a specific threat we need to worry about.”

  His expression became shuttered, and she suspected he was keeping something from her, but there was also a strange peacefulness to him as well. Maybe whatever had caused his brooding mood over dinner had been resolved.

  “It is nothing for you to concern yourself with,” he said cryptically, though the sudden hardness in his gaze told her she wouldn’t be getting any information out of him. For now.

  He guided her into the bathroom, and they got ready for bed at the same time like an old married couple. She stood at one sink washing her face, while he stood at the other sink brushing his teeth. Once she brushed her teeth and untangled her dark locks (with a comb borrowed from Zamek), he was already finished with his nighttime routine.

  “Did my servant deliver any boxes today?” he asked.

  “I saw him carry a few boxes into the closet.” She’d snooped, of course, but she hadn’t wanted to presume the contents of the boxes were for her and just dig into them without Zamek’s permission.

  He grasped her hand and led her into the spacious walk-in closet, where he stripped off his uniform and donned a pair of snug black shorts. She hovered awkwardly nearby, trying not to ogle him as he undressed but failing miserably. His huge muscles rippled with his every little movement, and she couldn’t help but notice his cock was growing hard. Her pulse raced. Would he claim her before bed?

  “More clothing for you, human,” he said, opening one box. He drew out the gorgeous purple dress she’d admired earlier.

  “Thank you, General. It’s beautiful.”

  He set the dress aside and dug into the boxes, apparently looking for something specific. One of the exceedingly sheer nightdresses, she realized, as he produced a translucent, light pink garment. He held it up in front of her, then placed it in her hands.

  “Put it on,” he said, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against a dresser, apparently settling in to enjoy the show.

  Face flushing, she stripped off her blue dress and leggings, tossing them into the clothing refresher. It still boggled her mind that he had two clothing refreshers in his quarters—one in the bathroom and one in this closet. Such appliances were not cheap. Back on Earth, she’d always used old-fashioned washers and dryers. Those located in the basement of her apartment building had creaked and groaned and shuddered violently with each load.

  The cool air in the closet caused goosebumps to rush over her arms, and she quickly donned the sheer nightdress, hoping to get under the warmth of the covers soon. Zamek regarded her with a heated gaze and drew her close, wrapping his arms around her.

  “I like this one,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “I think I’ll have one in every color made for you.”

  Slaves aren’t supposed to have nice things.

  She almost said it, but fatigue held her back. She was too tired to argue with him anymore tonight.

  “Come,” he said, leading her out of the closet. “It’s time for bed.”

  Layla grimaced at the soreness between her thighs as she turned over in bed. General Zamek had used her roughly last night, forcing her to bend over the bed while he pounded into her. Her face heated as she recalled what had come after that—he’d ordered her to remain in place as he went to the bathroom, and he’d returned a moment later with a warm wet cloth, which he used to clean her up before tucking her into bed next to him.

  Her eyes still closed, she stretched and felt around in the bed, searching for Zamek, only to find his side empty and the sheets cool. He must’ve gotten up a while ago. Finally, she opened her eyes and sat up against the pillows. She gasped at the sight in the viewscreen.

  A lush valley with rolling green hills stretched to a snow-capped mountain range. White billowing clouds floated in the brilliant blue sky, and just beyond the tallest mountain peak, the ghosts of twin moons hovered, looming large and watching over the land. A small city lay in the midst of it all, the houses colorful with unique architecture. Homes and farms and vineyards dotted the mountainside, though most of the mountain homes were constructed of stone.

  Recognition waved through Layla.

  This was planet Kall. To be more specific, it was Sumlin District. She recognized several of the buildings in the town, as well as the layout of the streets, which spread out in a winding pattern from the town square.

  She crawled out of bed, ignoring the soreness between her thighs, and walked up to the viewscreen.

  How could they have already arrived on planet Kall?

  She eyed the controls of the viewscreen. Some viewscreens could show picturesque scenes. President Carson had had a picture wall in the Oval Office, which usually displayed an image of his favorite beach spot in Turks and Caicos, so she was sort of familiar with the pricey technology.

  She studied the controls and it appeared as though this were a live view. Disbelief curled inside her, as well as a healthy dose of fear. She’d thought she would have at least two weeks before they reached planet Kall to mentally prepare herself for the life that awaited her. Two weeks to get more answers out of General Zamek.

  Her stomach flipped and she touched her right upper arm. Zamek had said she would receive a slave tracker upon their arrival in Sumlin District. She knew it would be painful, but it wasn’t the pain that scared her. It was the realization that she was here now, on fucking planet Kall, and there was no going back.

  Officially a slave, unofficially a mistress.

  That would be her life now.

  Zamek had decided for her. He wasn’t giving her a choice.

  Oh, Betsy, where are you?

  She peered at the mountainside homes, wondering which one belonged to her dear friend’s husband. Well, she supposed the house belonged to Commander Edek’s older brother, Draken, but they all lived under the same roof—Betsy and Commander Edek, and Draken and his wife Lissa.

  Would she get the chance to see her friend again? Would Zamek permit it?

  Her heart sank at the prospect of being locked in his house, or restricted to his property, without the freedom to visit her best friend who happened to live in the same district.

  On the day we arrive in Sumlin District, I will be required to take you to the slave office and have a tracker placed in your arm. Then I will take you to my h
ome on the mountainside and keep you all to myself.

  General Zamek’s words came back to her now, an ominous echo in her head.

  Keep you all to myself.

  Part of her liked his possessiveness, but another part of her riled against it, the part of her that wanted the freedom to forge her own life. If it wasn’t for Michael and the horrible Kall judge and even Zamek, she would still be on Earth, settling into her new job at the Interstellar Intelligence Agency.

  But it all went back to the war. Her life had begun to unravel during the war, after Amos died and Michael’s grief turned to anger, and when Aunt Colleen refused to evacuate and later perished in a Kall attack. She supposed she couldn’t blame one person for her current predicament.

  Sighing, she watched as an airship zipped across the sky, moving beyond the mountains and out of sight. A crowd was gathered in the square of the town, and she squinted, trying to get a better look. When she couldn’t make out what was going on, she peered at the control panel and figured out a way to magnify that portion of the viewscreen.

  What she saw horrified her.

  A crowd surrounded a platform that contained dozens of poor, shackled souls—most of them human, but some were Kall or from other worlds.

  Slaves. They’re being sold as slaves.

  It’s an auction day.

  A shiver rinsed down her spine.

  During the two years she’d spent on planet Kall, she had purposely avoided the slave auctions, knowing such a sight would break her heart. The cruelty of the Kall astounded her sometimes.

  Layla watched in horror as a short human woman was pushed onto the slave block. She was naked, just as all the slaves were.

  Tears burned in Layla’s eyes and she knew she ought to turn away from the viewscreen, but she couldn’t seem to stop watching the scene unfold.

  Multiple Kall males in the crowd lifted their moneybags, presumably offering bids. A skinny Kall male stood near the slave block, shouting until his face turned purple as he pointed from bidder to bidder. The auctioneer, no doubt.