Beast: Book Nine in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

by Alana Khan

  Chapter Nine

  Aerie

  “That’s a planet? Is it because we’re still far away? It looks small.”

  “It’s an agricultural moon. The only things on its surface are gladiator training centers, farms, and a few tiny towns.”

  I smooth my gray pinstripe suit and run my palm over my hair, ensuring it’s nice and spiky. I’ll put the stilts on when we’re ready to walk off the pod. Listen to me, I’m calling my beloved Louboutins stilts now. Beast is a terrible influence.

  This pod must be top-of-the-line. Even though we were buffeted off course several times yesterday we’re right where we need to be. Plenum’s property is large and important enough to have its own landing strip, we’ll be touching down there. The staff on the ground are talking directly to the pod and it looks to be right on target.

  “Remind me of the rules again. My brain just doesn’t want to absorb them because they’re so repugnant.”

  I turn to look at him and he takes my breath away. He looks like something out of ancient Rome. He wears a crimson knee-length toga that covers his back, a leather chest plate on his front, and greaves that stretch from ankles to knees. He hasn’t yet pulled on his helmet, but only his eyes and part of his mouth won’t be covered. Those tell-tale rings on his nose will be obstructed from view. I hope to hell Plenum doesn’t recognize him.

  “Normally, slaves are to walk six to ten fiertos behind, but since I’m your protection, I’m to walk at your left side. I’m not to be served food or drink except by your hand. It is custom to allow me no food or drink in public.

  “Should Plenum invite you for dinner, you can ask for another portion at the end of your meal, and then request a slave bag. You’re expected to carry it to your quarters and allow me to eat and drink there.”

  “Slave bag? Are you describing a . . . doggy bag?” I could be wrong, but I think my tone borders on outrage.

  “I don’t know what a doggy bag is,” he says. “The servants scrape all that remains on your plate into a bag for you to dispense when you wish.”

  “Perhaps someday my mind will be able to wrap around the fact that people have vessels that can travel at the speed of light and move between planets in mere days while at the same time having gladiatorial fights and owning slaves. Until then, let me just say that sometimes the juxtaposition of incongruity makes my head feel like it’s going to explode.”

  He reaches out and caresses my cheek with the back of one finger. “I’ve lived with this my whole life. It’s normal to me.”

  “Yeah, and if Jeffrey Dahmer had kids they’d think it was normal to have human heads in the refrigerator,” I say under my breath.

  “People have been known to give water and food to a bed-slave who accompanies them, but it screams weakness and will tell him more about us than you want him to know.

  “If he offers us to sleep on his property, you can allow me to sleep in your quarters ‘for your protection’. It’s a hint that I’m your bed-slave, but shouldn’t be acknowledged by a polite male.”

  He looks me up and down. “You look ready to go into battle.”

  “That’s a funny statement coming from a gladiator who seems ready to go into the arena.”

  “Those are your battle clothes,” he acknowledges. “You look beautiful.”

  “Braxxus said both ships will arrive on Trent tomorrow? The last thing I want is to spend a night here. I have a feeling it will be weirder than the evening we spent at Tsing’s mansion.”

  “Perhaps I can see my comrades if we have time.”

  “You’re incognito, remember. Talking to your old friends sounds risky.”

  “Slaves stick together.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen those movies, too. Slaves stick together until there’s something in it for them. I vote no on trusting any of them. So,” I change the subject, “we’re going to allow Plenum to stall us, since he obviously can’t produce the Beast of Tramachor. When the Fool comes to collect us, we’re going to hand him the money and make him sign your papers of manumission?”

  “That didn’t translate.”

  “The papers that signify you’re a free male.”

  “Yes.”

  We’re interrupted by the shipboard computer instructing us to belt in before we land.

  I slide onto his lap, he belts us in, and we hurtle toward the planet at such an astonishing speed I cover my eyes with my hands and discover the frantic moaning sound I hear is coming from me. Beast hugs me tighter around the waist and murmurs into my ear, “It will be alright. The pod seems to know what it’s doing.”

  A few minutes later, we touch down with a smooth landing. It takes a bit longer for my breathing to return to normal, even though my brain got the message that I’m safe.

  Beast puts on his slave collar and pulls the brass-colored helmet onto his head before the door slides open. I’ve got it bad for this guy. Even though his face is obliterated, except for a glimpse of his emerald eyes in the deep recesses behind the mask, there’s something about him that tugs at my heart.

  I have no time for this, though. As I’m slipping into my shoes, an official-looking alien approaches us. He reminds me of a living tree. He—at least I think it’s a he—is dull brown with bark-like skin.

  “Welcome to planet Trent and the ludus of Plenum the Second. I’ll be your liaison for the remainder of your stay, call me Crom.” He bows stiffly.

  “I regret to inform you that Master Plenum has been called away on business. Master Plenum received your message that you will stay on Trent until tomorrow when your ship will retrieve you. He very generously offered you to stay in his guest quarters. May I escort you there?”

  “That will be fine,” I say imperiously, having no idea how to talk to servants, well . . . slaves.

  “I’ll give you time to refresh yourself after your ride in that tiny vehicle. Then I’ve been instructed to give you a tour of our galaxy-renowned ludus if that would be to your liking. Excellent. There is a small quarters behind the cottage for your slave.”

  I will never in a million years admit that my choice of footwear was an egregious mistake. This planet, or moon, or whatever it is reminds me of the Sahara. Not that I’ve been to the Sahara, but all you need is to see a few pictures and you get the drift. All I can see is sand, blowing sand, and more sand, which on Trent must have been made of igneous rock because it’s black. And don’t even get me started on the heat. It’s got to be over 120 degrees.

  I almost fall on the shifting terrain and Beast chastely grabs my elbow, releasing it as soon as I’ve recovered my balance.

  Crom leads us only a few feet away to a small, enclosed vehicle that reminds me of a golf cart on steroids.

  “Shall I fetch your bag, Mistress?” Beast asks in a voice that’s an octave higher than his usual. I hadn’t even thought of it, but that’s a brilliant maneuver since he’s traveling incognito.

  “Yes, Cyril,” I reply. I have no idea why that name popped into my head. We hadn’t discussed his alias; it somehow matched his almost-squeaky voice. A moment later he returns with our two backpacks.

  The gold pouch is stashed in his loincloth. That’s a picture that will keep me warm on long winter days in the future. No wonder I’m thinking fondly of winter, I’m about to die of the heat.

  We traverse the property in our little hover, free of dust, and sixty degrees cooler than the ambient temperature. The ‘cottage’ Crom promised looks to be about four thousand square feet. I see Plenum’s mansion up ahead. Even from this distance it looks like he spared no expense.

  Crom opens the door of the cottage with a flourish and shows me around with Beast wordlessly trailing behind like the good little housepet he’s supposed to be. When my bags are deposited in my room, Crom beckons me to the window and points to a little lean-to in the backyard. It consists of four vertical posts with a roof over it—maybe eight by eight. The heat and blowing sand would be unbearable to endure for even a few hours.

  “There’s a sp
igot out there,” Crom informs me. “Cyril can drink at will. It does get warm here.”

  “Cyril will stay with me. I like to keep him and his sword close when I’m traveling.”

  “As you wish. Would two hoaras be enough to refresh yourself? I’ll collect you then to give you the tour.”

  “When will we be able to meet with Mr. Plenum?”

  “That remains to be seen.” With that, Crom shows himself out.

  Beast warned me before we left the pod that we’d most likely be spied upon. After being at Tsing’s this doesn’t surprise me.

  “May I draw you a bath, Mistress?” he asks in that simpering tone that is my libido’s kryptonite. Good. Now I’ll be able to keep from attacking him for the duration of our stay. If I can keep my eyes off him, it will be like having a female roomie.

  He keeps his helmet on, which, if we’re being watched, is probably suspicious. Well, there’s nothing we can do about that.

  “May I help you out of your clothes, Mistress?”

  It’s hard to intuit what his mood is with most of his face obscured, his voice like a girl’s, and his cock hidden under a million credits in gold, but I have a feeling what’s coming next is going to be fun.

  He slowly unbuttons my suit jacket, ‘accidentally’ caressing each nipple as he does so. Then each successive garment is removed with equal care.

  “I’ll wipe the dust from your garments in a moment. Would you like some help with your bath?”

  “Why, yes, Cyril,” I’ve decided to enjoy our little game. Who cares if Plenum himself is watching? Although the thought of tree-like Crom observing us is a bit of a buzzkill.

  There’s an azure sponge on a shelf at the foot of the deep tub, along with a plethora of soaps, lotions, and potions.

  After Beast helps me step into the deep tub, he applies a generous amount of liquid soap to the large, natural sponge and begins at my feet. He’s on his knees outside the tub, and seems perfectly content to wash me very thoroughly.

  “Is this to your liking, Mistress?”

  “The trip here was very stressful, Cyril. You know the way to help me relax.”

  “Indeed I do, Mistress. It’s my pleasure to assist you.”

  After washing my feet, he tosses the sponge onto the shelf next to the soaps, and leans to kiss, then suck my toes. Holy crap. If this is a fetish, then call me a freak because dear God it feels amazing.

  “Cyril,” I moan as I dunk further under the water to be able to press my foot closer to his mouth. “Big toe,” I manage to bite out. Sucking on it results in a corresponding pull directly on my clit. How do bodies even work this way? And why am I trying to figure it out right now as my arousal is growing so fast I’m about to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius?

  “Fuck me,” I demand, fully into the fantasy that handsome Cyril is my slave for the day.

  His hand makes a little splash as he slips it under the water and two fingers slide inside me. Water sports can be painful, as natural lubrication can float away into the H20, but I’m wet enough to welcome his thick fingers inside me.

  “Is this to your liking, Mistress?”

  I can’t see his face for shit, but I’m certain he’s smiling.

  “Keep sucking,” I order with a sigh.

  He sucks and thrusts and I come easily, rising out of the water with a slosh as I reach to sling my dripping arms around his neck.

  “You’re so good at that, Cyril,” I tell him when my panting slows. “No wonder I haven’t sold you to fight in the arena.”

  “You’re so kind, Mistress.”

  Even shrouded behind the metal helmet, his emerald eyes laser beam into me. I want to reciprocate, to give him pleasure, but I doubt sucking your slave’s gorgeous cock is standard operating procedure. I imagine it violates all sorts of written and unwritten space labor laws.

  “You’ve been so good today, I give you permission to relieve yourself in the shower,” I toss him an indulgent smile. “After you finish bathing me, of course. Oh, and although your body is divine, I still can’t bear to catch a glimpse of your hideous face. Keep your helmet on. And one more thing,” I tell him a moment later, “I want to hear your pleasure.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he may be trying to simper, but those last two words came out husky with arousal.

  After he leaves me to enter the separate shower, I luxuriate in my bath, filling it with more hot water as necessary.

  I recall every stroke and tug he gave his cock when he performed for Tsing and me. I picture the way he cupped his balls and thrust his hips. For long minutes I hear his soft pants and muffled moans. Finally, he grunts his lusty release loud enough to be heard all the way to Plenum’s mansion. I almost enjoyed his solitary session with himself as much as he did.

  “Well done,” I praise, a wide smile on my face.

  Crom arrives like clockwork two hours after he left, then takes us via hover-golf cart on a tour of the property. It’s too freaking hot for formalities. I’m wearing a t-shirt, leggings that I hacked into shorts with a butcher knife in our well-appointed kitchen, and the adorable purple-with-glowing-green-alien-eyes flip-flops that Dahlia so generously equipped me with.

  “These dremple trees were imported from Aramanth.” Crom heaves a loud sigh. “I’m afraid they’re not thriving as we had hoped.”

  I’m only half-listening as he continues the tour. I can’t tear my eyes from his face. His narrow mouth and thin dirt-brown lips are fascinating.

  “Over there is the indoor pool. It must certainly be refreshing to take a swim. Only Master Plenum’s honored guests are invited to partake,” he sounds so forlorn. “And here we are, my master’s pride and joy, the ludus, our gladiator training facility.”

  The facade is impressive. It’s two stories high with intricately-carved columns of white stone. We exit the hover, Beast gripping my hand and helping me down in sufficiently obsequious fashion.

  We ascend a dozen white stone steps that impressively travel the length of the building. Once through wide double entry doors, we’re bathed in dim light and, thankfully, blasting air conditioning.

  Crom escorts us through another set of double doors to a small theater with wide reclining seats upholstered in plush crimson. Thick crimson curtains, bordered in gold brocade, open soundlessly to display an arena, perhaps half as large as the one Beast fought in on Galgon.

  “The males are sparring today. They normally fight behind their living quarters, but Master Plenum ordered me to entertain you today.”

  Beast’s jaw tightens, I catch it from the corner of my eye.

  “I’m not sure I’m up for that today, Crom. Shall we—”

  “I wouldn’t want to upset my master.” Whites are visible around his alarmed irises. I don’t want him to be punished for my refusal to watch.

  “I’m fatigued, and I’m certain there’s so much more to see. But you’ve talked me into it.”

  Crom walks to a chaise lounge that’s large enough to accommodate two people. I imagine that watching gladiators is only one of the activities it’s used for. Perhaps this room is used for orgies.

  The tree-like male lifts the sofa up as if it weighs no more than a can of soup, and sets it perfectly in the middle of the viewing window. Considering his arms are like branches and his legs are like tree trunks, it’s no surprise he’s strong.

  “Why don’t you recline here, milady,” Crom asks with a flourish of his hand. “And you,” he says to Beast, “are expected to remove your head covering.”

  “Crom,” I say in my best damsel-in-distress voice, “I have an admission to make.” I pause for dramatic effect. “I’ve been known to be . . . self-indulgent. Cyril’s body is magnificent, he’s a slave to be proud of, but . . . well, there’s no way to say this politely. I find his face repugnant. Perhaps in time I’ll come to appreciate the facial features of males from Tramachor, I am, as you know, about to purchase another. But until then, could he leave the helmet on?”

  “Oh.” His thin lips purse. “V
ery well.”

  He presses a button near the viewing glass and speaks into a microphone. Two pairs of gladiators begin fighting. I thought sparring involved lots of movement and very little striking, but these guys are really going at it. One of them gets slashed on his upper arm and begins bleeding profusely.

  Even from the corner of my eye, I can detect how tightly Beast’s muscles are clenched.

  I watch, appalled, as the ‘sparring’ continues without abate, even though one male seems too injured to continue.

  “Crom, be certain to inform your master how impressed I was at this remarkable show of skill. I’m a skilled judge of gladiator flesh, and Plenum has some fine fighting stock here. I have to admit, though, that terrible ride here took more out of me than I was aware.