by Lily Graison
The female alien that reminded her of a wingless fairy righted the baskets they had been sitting around, the wevolts that had been spilled from their bowls picked up and put back in their place.
Slowly, the females started cleaning the camp and as much as she hated to clean, she did the same knowing she’d be made to do so, eventually.
Her arms were full of broken pottery when she saw the warlord walk back into camp. Her pulse leaped again at the sight of him. He’d been frightening the first time she saw him, now he looked positively barbaric.
The leather straps that crisscrossed over his chest was void of the knives that had been there earlier. His golden skin was stained red, blood covering most of his chest and arms and a few bright streaks were slashed across his face. His hair looked wet, either from sweat or blood and the long length of it stuck to his back. He looked terrifying, but all that registered to her dumbstruck brain was this big—man—who was covered in Lord only knew what from a battle where he’d killed untold numbers of aliens, looked fucking hot as hell stalking across camp.
There is something seriously wrong with you, Marcy.
She gawked at him, the blade she just now noticed in his hand coated in blood, and she reminded herself that this—alien—would probably offer her to his men when he got tired of her. Her thinking he was attractive was dangerous, and she’d be better off remembering it.
He stopped in front of Jityria, handing her the blade in his hand, then headed for the path that led to the pond she’d bathed in earlier. When she could no longer see him, she turned her head to find Jityria staring at her, the expression on her face full of hostility. Marcy sighed. Fighting with that one was going to get old.
She threw the broken remnants of pottery and the smashed baskets into the large fire pit that sat in the middle of camp and tried to keep a neutral expression on her face when Jityria marched over to where she stood. The look on her face still screamed how displeased she was with her, not that she cared, but being held against her will was bad enough. Having to deal with someone with a shitty attitude would only make it worse.
Jityria turned to the female whose skin was a pale pink and could easily pass for human if it weren’t for her flared nose and enormous eyes. “Tezhila, take this one to Cayen. She will serve the others.”
Tezhila, the pink female apparently, nodded to Jityria and hurried her way, nodding in the other direction. Marcy took the subtle hint and followed her, crossing camp past the warlord’s hut.
The scent of cooking meat hit her moments before she saw a makeshift kitchen sitting beneath the trees. An open fire pit sat next to a hole in the ground and a look down into it showed a cooking pit, meat of some kind roasting over hot coals.
Two aliens looked her way. One she’d seen talking to the warlord earlier and shared the same golden hue to his skin. Unlike the warlord, this one's beard was cut close to his face and his long hair was adorned with twin braids near his temples.
The other alien was tall and thin, his skin a brownish-green. His hair grew down the back of his neck to end just under his shoulder blades. He reminded her of a dog in the face, his snout long and a pair of massive tusks were sticking up from the bottom row of his teeth to curve over his top lip.
The golden alien grabbed something from a bowl on a work table and popped it into his mouth before looking at her and grinning. “Welcome to camp.”
Marcy raised an eyebrow at him. He laughed and grabbed more of whatever it was he was eating from the bowl. “You have the most expressive face I’ve seen of any female here. Everything you’re thinking is written there for any to see.”
“And what am I thinking now?”
He laughed. “That I’m a nosey bastard and you have no idea why I’m talking to you.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m Aris.” He nodded to the dog-like alien. “And that’s Cayen. He’s not the friendly sort so stay away from him unless you’re forced to be in his presence—like now.”
Cayen mumbled something under his breath and grunted, the noise coming from deep in his throat, before reaching for a large rounded platter. Tezhlia took it from him and turned to offer it to her. “Take this down the path and place it on the table.”
The platter was heavier than it looked and Marcy strained under the weight of it. She wasn’t sure what sort of creature it was they were eating but it smelled horrid.
“It tastes better than it smells. Well, it does when Cayen doesn’t cook it through. Its best when the blood is still running.” Marcy nearly gagged as Aris grinned again. “But don’t ask what it is. You’d never eat it if you knew.”
“Thanks for the tip.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to eat the stinking thing whether she knew what it was or not.
She held her breath and started down the path, the sound of voices growing in volume the further she walked. The bushes and trees gave way to a large clearing a few hundred feet away, the longest table she’d ever seen sitting in the middle of it.
A dozen or more aliens were already there, drinking from cups that looked as if they were carved from large bones. The blue alien and the female that reminded her of a fairy were carrying large pitchers and filling the cups around the table.
Marcy set the platter down on the table and was shoved out of the way as the aliens started pulling hunks of meat from whatever animal it was Cayen had cooked. She stood there gaping at them as the platter was pulled down the table, loud grunts and the occasional curse word thrown as they fought over the food.
Something slammed into her back hard enough she stumbled. She caught herself on the edge of the table and looked behind her to see Jityria who reached out, took her arm and shoved her in the direction of the path.
“Your job is to serve, sevit. Now move.”
The words, does not translate, filled her head at the word sevit. Marcy wasn’t sure what it meant but if Jityria had used it with her, she was sure it was a curse word of some kind.
She headed back to the cooking pits and passed Tezhila on the path, the female not making any eye contact with her. She was handed a large bowl by Cayen and Marcy gagged as she looked down into it. It was fill with the wevolts. They were in a thick brown liquid and still wiggling. Did they eat them? While they were still alive? She gagged again.
After endless trips back and forth to the table, the alien’s meal was finally set out for them. Tezhila handed her one of the pitchers. The liquid inside had a strong odor that burned her nose. She started around the table, stepping between the aliens to refill cups and gasped when the one to her right grabbed her ass. He grinned, his toothy smile showing her teeth sharp enough to cut bone in half.
Every alien she stopped beside of did the same, all of them laughing as each one grew more brave. When an alien that reminded her of a snake stuck his hand up between her legs, his fingers grazing her pussy, she jerked out of his grasp and backed away from the table. So much for the warlord’s order that no one was to touch her.
The snake-like alien had scales over the entirety of his body. His skin was muted shades of bronze and copper and when he grinned and stuck his tongue out, wiggling the forked end at her, she wondered what bizarre planet a walking, talking snake came from.
He hissed at her, that tongue still wiggling as he said, “You’ll feel thisssss against your cunt instead of my hand once the warlord tiresssss of you.”
The others laughed at his comment and Jityria ordered her to continue filling the cups. Her ass was probably covered in bruises by the time the warlord walked through the trees and into the clearing. He was now clean, his hair still wet, the sides pulled back by braids much like Aris wore in his hair. The length of it lay against his bare back and his beard had been combed into two sections, the ends tied with colorful beads. He definitely looked barbaric now.
The leather straps that usually criss-crossed over his chest were missing and she was able to see all that golden skin without anything covering it. He was massive and although she’d never been int
o the body-builder type, Jorrick, as the blue alien had called him, was making her change her mind about all those muscles.
The warlord sat at the head of the table and the blue female gave her a wide-eyed look and motioned in his direction with her head. Marcy started his way, pausing a step when he looked at her, those strange amber eyes taking her in from head to toe as she approached.
She filled his cup as Tezhila gave him a plate already piled high with food swimming in blood. When she went to step away, he grabbed her arm.
“You do not have my permission to leave.”
Marcy stared at him, his eyes locked with her own for long moments before he turned and started to eat. Another glance at his plate and she turned away. The meat was nearly raw. At least there weren’t any of the wevolts wriggling around on it.
She stood unmoving, watching those around the table to distract herself from the warlords meal. A few of them occasionally looked in her direction and for the first time since being put on that space ship, she felt her heart ache at where she’d ended up.
She was a glass half full kind of girl but as she stood there, filling the warlords cup, she realized she was nothing more than his possession. A thing for him to do with as he pleased and at the moment, it was stand by his side and make sure his cup was never empty. She was a servant, more or less, a slave to put it more bluntly.
As horrible as that should make her feel, it was better than the alternative. She could be on the table, trussed up with an apple shoved in her mouth about to be the next meal these aliens feasted on. If they would eat those wevolts as they wiggled in thick brown sludge, then they’d probably eat one skinny human girl. As sorry as she felt for herself, all things considered, being a human pet for a warlord was the lesser of two evils.
If he knew it wouldn’t cause more trouble than it was worth at the moment, he would have killed half the aliens at the table, starting with Reitlas.
Jorrick cut off another piece of meat from his plate, taking his time to chew it as he stared at each of his men in turn before stopping at Reitlas. He’d touched the girl and the desire to rip that forked tongue from his head was pulsing through his veins. His orders had been simple and should have been followed without question yet the moment they thought he wasn’t looking, they’d handled her as if she were a prize they had won.
She stood unmoving by his side. Him refusing to let her leave would be seen as nothing more than him showing them that she was his to do with as he pleased, even if that was to have her stand beside him the rest of the night. He refused to acknowledge the desire to keep her from the others was his sole purpose of refusing to let her fill their cups. She’d been through enough for one day. Him even caring burned in his gut like acid. It was probably just fatigue. The fight had taken more out of him than it should have.
Aris sat down beside him and leaned forward. “You’re not looking so good there, old man.” His voice drew his attention. It was pitched low enough the others wouldn’t have heard him but him uttering them to begin with grated on his nerves.
He stabbed another piece of meat with the end of his knife before looking over at him. “It’s been a long day.”
“Is that why I saw you fall on your ass in battle?” Aris laughed. “Perhaps its time I challenge you for position here. I could probably take you now.”
Jorrick flipped the knife in his hand, caught it in his fist and slammed the point down between Aris’s fingers, the blade nicking his skin hard enough a thin, red line of blood appeared instantly.
The arrogant ass laughed as he jerked his hand away. “You grow more ornery in your old age.”
“And less patient with your foolishness.” He wiped the blade clean and speared another piece of meat, glancing down the table as he stuck it in his mouth. A few of the others were looking in their direction.
Aris leaned forward, bracing both arms on the table. “So, what are you planning on doing with that one now that she’s here?”
Jorrick saw him glance at the girl. “I haven’t decided.”
“Do you think she truly wields magic?”
Jorrick had seen no sign of it. “No. I think it's all rumor.”
“Then I suggest you find out and make sure the others know she does not. I’ve already heard talk from more than a few of them.”
“As have I.”
“And?”
“And—my word stands. No one is to touch her, magic or no.”
Aris grinned. “Your word has little effect on some. She’s been touched more today than all the other females combined.”
Jorrick looked down the table, his gaze landing on Reitlas again. “I’m aware of that.” He picked up his cup and took a drink. “He’ll find out soon enough what disobeying my orders mean. Its time they all get a reminder.”
He set the cup down in front of the girl and looked up at her as she refilled it. She met his gaze without flinching, which proved she was either unafraid of him or incredibly stupid. Or maybe she was more like the females he’d commanded back on Tridian III. They were fierce warriors and even though this thin female didn’t look strong enough to lift her own body weight, she had looked ready to kill in the arena. While most females captured and offered as prizes cried and screamed, this one had not. She’d been defiant, her chin raised arrogantly. Kr’Atek wanting her for Allok made him step into the ring to fight for her but he wondered, thinking back on it now, had Kr’Atek not been there, and had Allok not wanted her, would he have challenged for her? She’d no doubt caught his attention before Kr’Atek stepped into the ring. Before that moment, he hadn’t even known which female the other warlord had wanted but this one had caught his eye. Had drawn his attention and kept it.
She blinked and looked away, glancing down the table before staring at the ground.
No, he decided. He’d not have stepped into that ring to fight for her had Allok not wanted her. He’d learned his lesson the first time. Females were not worth the trouble and this one wouldn’t be either.
Zasra’s image filled his head and his mood blackened. She’d given him nothing but coy smiles and a mouth full of bitter lies. The mere thought of her caused the anger to return. He stabbed at another piece of meat and wished it was her traitorous heart he was piercing.
The food turned to ash in his mouth and he barely got it swallowed. He washed it down, draining his cup and got up from the table, not sparing a glance in the girls direction. He’d leave her to her fate. He was beyond caring. Zasra had made sure of that and he’d be damned if he let another in to rip out the rest of his heart.
Chapter Four
Serving food to a group of ungrateful aliens was nothing compared to the backbreaking work of cleaning up after them. Full night had fallen by the time the last of the dishes had been washed and put away.
Marcy followed the other females back to camp, the voices and laughter of the aliens loud in the stillness. The central fire pit had been lit, the light from the dancing flames shining up on the dais the warlord was sitting on. He was leaning to one side on his massive throne, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The flickering light cast shadows around him that hid most of his features but she saw enough to know he was looking at her.
The females walked straight toward him, stepping up onto the dais before sitting near his feet. Marcy met his gaze before sitting down beside his chair and looking out at the camp, wondering what was to happen now.
The men were scattered, sitting in small clusters. A few looked as if they were arm wrestling, of all things, while others were in groups talking and laughing.
Music filled the air a few moments later. Marcy looked for the source of it and saw a silver skinned alien sitting a few feet away, an instrument that reminded her of a flute in his hands. She watched him, the soft melody surprisingly soothing.
The chatter around camp was—odd. If she hadn’t seen the aliens scattered around the fire, she would think she was back home, sit
ting by a large bonfire in one of her friend’s back yards. This seemed so—domestic. Wasn’t this place a prison? She imagined the people here had to have done something major to end up dumped on a prison planet to rot yet, so far, other than the skirmish earlier, everything seemed so—civilized.
She’d let her mind fill with hundreds of scenarios of what took place on this moon while being held captive in that dank cell and what she was seeing now never entered her mind. As brutal as some of these aliens appeared, their action spoke volumes. Come end of the day, they were just like she was—someone trying to survive on this shit-hole world.
Her eyelids grew heavy as she sat there watching the activity around camp. The day had been long and exhausting and she was ready for it to end. The oblivion of sleep would at least give her a reprieve from what was now her life. She’d woken in a cell filled with the scent of her own waste and ended up the possession of a warlord. At least in her dreams she was still in the mountains of Tennessee, surrounded by trees and clean, fresh mountain air.
She nodded off, her head tilting to one side before coming to rest on the side of the warlords chair when a scream filled the air. She sat up straight, the other females not moving an inch, their gazes drawn down. They weren’t kidding about not watching what was taking place around camp.
Commotion by the trees brought the camp to a stand still. Several aliens stepped into the light of the fire pit, one of which was being held by both arms. When they stopped in front of the dais, the one they were holding was flung to the ground.
“Found sneaking into camp, warlord.”
The warlord didn’t move, just sat there staring down at the alien on the ground. Marcy stared at him too. His legs were long and spindly, his head overly large for his body. His eyes seemed to take up the majority of his face and when he blinked, a thin film covered them before it slid away. It sat up on its knees and held boney arms up. Marcy blinked when what looked like wings appeared. His skin was black and now that she was really looking, he reminded her of a bat.
