by Lily Graison
She sighed. “Nothing. It would be pointless, anyway.”
“No, it wouldn’t. It would piss her off.”
Marcy smiled. “There is that.”
Krista was tapping her foot to the beat of the music and Marcy looked over to where Vorta was sitting. Another alien had joined his little band and the beat, along with the high pitch of the nidi almost sounded like the Hindi music she’d used in her belly dancing classes.
Jityria laughed again and Marcy smiled as an idea came to her. If Jityria wanted to play a game of who can keep the warlord’s attention longer, then the hateful heifer was about to lose spectacularly. “You’re right.”
“About what?”
“About pissing her off.” She grinned. “Let’s see how long she’s laughing when she gets a little competition.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. Just keep watching.”
Marcy stood and headed toward Vorta. She could only imagine the look on the warlord’s face. No one got up from the dais without his permission and that was usually only when he ordered them to bed.
Vorta never stopped playing when she stopped beside him, but the one drumming did. She told him what she wanted, the beat she wanted him to keep, and he’d given her a quizzical look before she stood back up and turned around.
Out of the light of the fire pit, Marcy headed toward the make-shift clothesline and gathered her now dry clothing, which was still nothing more than long strips of fabric, and headed to the females hut to change out of the warlord’s shirt.
The skirt was pushed down her hips further than she normally wore it and she adjusted her top to show more cleavage—and ensure her breasts wouldn’t fall out as she moved—and walked back into the light and stopped near the fire pit.
She faced the dais. The warlord’s attention was on her, his head cocked slightly to one side and as she’d guessed, Jityria looked murderous.
With a glance back at Vorta’s little band, she nodded her head. The one she’d spoken to hit the make-shit drum twice and Marcy turned her attention back to the warlord and lifted her hands above her head. She waited three beats, then moved her hips left, then right, and started to dance.
The slit in her skirt fell in such a way her leg was exposed when she bent her knee and she made sure to favor that leg just to make sure the majority of it was showing at all times. The warlord was looking right at her and when she rounded her hips, swinging them in fast succession, he sat up in his seat and leaved forward. Jityria scowled and Marcy’s smile widened.
Within minutes, all the noise in camp came to a halt. The laughter and raised voices vanished, the sparring matches stopped, and every alien she looked at was staring at her. Not only did she have the warlord’s attention, she had the attention of every single person there.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced so enthusiastically, or felt so empowered by doing it, because at the moment, the warlord looked positively enthralled—and Jityria looked ready to kill.
Jorrick had never seen his men go so still. Everyone was turned toward Mar-see, and there wasn’t a sound to be heard other than the nidi and the drumming beat that Wyvind was making on one of the stools.
Mar-see had changed back into her own clothes, the piece around her hips pushed so low, his gaze kept darting there, knowing what lay just inches below the top of that fabric.
Her body moved in ways that drew his attention to every rounded curve she possessed and the firelight reflecting off the bare expanse of her belly cast shadows against her skin that were as mesmerizing to watch as she herself was. Had Allok been right about her? Did Mar-see possess magic? If the expression on the faces of those around camp were any way to judge, then yes, she did. His men were bewitched, her every move watched as if there was nothing else in the entire galaxy they’d rather be looking at.
And he hated that so many were witness to how provocative she was and wished she would have saved this dance for the privacy of his hut.
He looked at those sitting and standing around the central fire pit. Desire was clear on several of their faces and as much as he hated seeing it there, he couldn’t blame them. His little red one was a seductress.
His cock throbbed as he watched her, that flame colored hair spilling down her back in long spirals. He wanted to feel the texture of it against his fingers again, to bury his face against the softness of it.
Her full breasts were all but falling out of the crisscrossing bands of material covering them and he knew, hidden behind that material, her nipples were rosy pink and he wanted nothing more than to taste them again, to feel them harden against his tongue. She was—perfection, his e’mahn neok, and suddenly, their tryst at the waterfall wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted her beneath him, her limbs locked around his body.
He lifted his cup and held it out to Jityria, saying, “Refill this,” without taking his eyes off Mar-see. Her focus was solely on him until Jityria walked away, her head turning to watch her leave and when she turned back to him, she was smiling. Was Jityria the reason she’d danced for him? Because she’d been sitting beside him?
It had been so long since he’d seen female jealousy but there was no denying what he saw on her face. They were both vying for his attention. It would explain Jityria’s need to always be at his side and the looks she gave Mar-see—and the looks Mar-see returned—when they didn’t know he was looking.
A subtle warmth heated his chest at the realization these two were more or less fighting over him and had been doing so quietly. Had Zasra been here, she would have shouted it to the world what her intentions were. These two doing it silently told him that maybe he’d underestimated most females. That maybe they weren’t all like Zasra had been.
Mar-see finished her dance much to his disappointment. She walked back to the dais and sat down at his feet where she’d been, the human she sat down beside giving her a wide smile. All that red hair was gathered in her hands, twisted into a rope, and pulled over one shoulder before Mar-see looked back at him. When she smiled, his body jolted. She’d finally given him that smile he’d wanted directed at him.
The sparring matches resumed, the laughter and raised voices once again filling the camp when Jityria returned with his drink. He drank it all, watching the back of Mar-see’s head while she and the human she sat beside talked and laughed.
Everything he was going to do to his little human once he had her naked underneath his furs ran through his mind as he sat there. He ordered them to bed not long after, watching Mar-see as she stood. She gave him a sly smile, and he was more than ready to follow her and perform every depraved act his mind conjured. He waited until he knew she’d had enough time to prepare for bed, then stood, the world spinning as he did.
The last batch of swoquix Cayen made must have been stronger than it usually was. He felt groggy and staggered as he stepped off the dais and made his way to his hut. Mar-see was already in bed when he came through the doorway and let the leather flap drop behind him. Kicking his boots off wasn’t as easy as it should have been and when he staggered and had to hold on to the table while unfastening his pants, he stopped and looked around the room. It was spinning.
Jorrick raised a hand to his head and closed his eyes, the sensation of moving worsened when he did. Why the hell was he so disoriented? He forced his eyes open and saw a pile of cloth on the floor. It took a few moments to realize it was the clothing Mar-see had been wearing. She was naked underneath those furs on his bed. His heart thumped in his chest at the realization. She never sleeps naked. Her doing so tonight could only mean one thing.
She wanted him, too.
Jorrick pushed off the table and headed for the bed. She’d have to help him get his pants off. Her undressing him held an appeal he hadn’t given much thought to in the past. Now he did. He was halfway across the room when it tilted again. He stopped, his focus on Mar-see when he realized his cock wasn’t as hard as it should have been. He reached down, cupping himsel
f and frowned. He wanted her, had been painfully aroused half the evening just thinking about her and now—he wasn’t.
It couldn’t be the swoquix making him so foggy headed. Even inebriated, he’d been able to bed Zasra with no problem plus, he hadn’t drunk enough of it tonight to make him this dazed.
The room spun again, his vision blurring before going dark around the edges. His legs slowly gave out and when he sank to his knees, he realized someone had drugged him—someone who would pay for it with their life when he found them.
Marcy’s heart was in her throat waiting for the warlord to come to bed. She knew he’d follow her and anticipated him crawling into bed by removing her clothes. She’d never slept naked under the furs and it was an odd sensation but she hadn’t wanted to waste time trying to untie the knot at the back of her neck, or removing her skirt so, she’d opted for removing them all together. The warlord wasn’t making much noise, and she wondered what he was doing but couldn’t bring herself to look. His silence probably meant he was undressing.
The way he’d watched her dance left little room for doubt that he wanted her and she hoped her clothes on the floor would be enough to tell him that she was in agreement. A loud thump behind her brought her head up, and she finally looked behind her, then gasped. The warlord was face down on the floor, inches from the bed. “What the hell?”
She scooted to the edge of the mattress and turned enough to see his face. He was breathing, the little wheezing sound loud in the stillness of the room.
Marcy leaned back and propped her body up on her elbow. He had drunk a lot and if it was the same alien juice that had laid her out on her ass, then she knew why he was on the floor. He’d passed out which meant, she wasn’t having sex tonight.
She sighed and crawled out of bed, rummaging through the clean clothes she’d laid on the table against the wall for one of his shirts, slipping it on when she found it and turned back to face him.
Sleeping on the ground wouldn’t be comfortable but there was no way she could lift him. Grabbing one of the furs from the bed, she threw it over him and climbed back under those that remained and watched him sleep, her mind playing back over everything that had happened that evening. She smiled. She may not be getting screwed into a screaming mess but she couldn’t be completely unhappy. Jityria had gone to bed pissed off again and the look on her face during her dance was enough to bring her happy dreams for a solid week. Besides, there was always tomorrow. She may not be under these furs with a very naked warlord but she had no doubt come tomorrow night, she would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Marcy yawned, her jaw popping as she did. Noise around camp told her nearly everyone was up and about already. She had no idea what time it was. Light surrounded the leather door flap and was bright enough to tell her she’d slept longer than she should have. It was a wonder Jityria hadn’t been in to yank her from the bed by her hair.
Thinking of the hateful heifer brought back memories of the night before, of dancing for the warlord and climbing into bed naked in anticipation of more sexy times like she’d had in the waterfall cave. It never happened, though.
Rolling to the edge of the bed, she looked in the floor. The warlord was gone. Maybe she’d misread him the night before. Maybe what happened in the cave was more about him getting off than it was about him wanting to be with her.
She flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the night before began playing through her mind again. Now that the burning need to get back at Jityria was gone, she cringed at her behavior. Jealousy certainly didn’t become her.
What possessed her to put on the little display in front of the entire camp, she’d never know. Getting back at Jityria was one thing but to dance so provocatively for the warlord in front of everyone in camp was just—desperate. And she hated feeling desperate but their little tryst under the waterfall had been fresh on her mind when the idea of dancing for him popped into her head and she’d wanted to piss Jityria off so if anyone asked, she'd plea temporary insanity induced by jealousy.
She smiled. Seeing that look on Jityria’s face had felt damn good, though.
And the look that had been on the warlord’s was—
A shiver raced up her spine. He hadn’t said a word after she’d sat back down but she could feel his eyes on her. Knew he was staring a hole into the back of her head and knowing she had his full attention was a heady thing. As much as her rational mind told her to stay as far away as she could, that getting involved emotionally with him was a stupid thing to do, that little voice in the back of her head was begging her to see where things went. She obviously wasn’t getting off Prison Moon One so—it was do or die. Self preservation meant she had to find the biggest, strongest alien here to protect her or get passed around by a multitude of them. If she had to pick a protector, it might as well be the hottest looking one of the bunch, right? Crawling into his bed every night wasn’t a burden in the least, neither was waking up every morning wrapped in his arms. It was obvious he was interested. Even if that interest was to only have her on her back but unless she was mistaken, she’d only be on it for him.
She finally crawled out of bed and dressed, then headed outside. The camp was bustling more than usual today, the din of voices filling the air at a much higher volume. Something was happening.
Hurrying through the woods, she used the crude bathroom in the trees before heading over to the cooking pits. Cayen was rushing out the morning meal faster than normal and shoved a platter into her hands without a word.
There were very few aliens at the table today but of those that were there, more than a few of them watched her as she set the food trenchers out and she wondered why they were so focused on her. When one of them leered at her and asked if she’d be shaking her ass for them at breakfast too, her little dance routine from the night before popped back into her head. Of course they’d all be looking at her. They’d all been witness to her little seduction routine for the warlord the night before.
Embarrassment made her face heat, but she ignored it. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. It was done and despite her musing while lying in bed, she wondered if things would be awkward between her and the warlord now.
She waited by the table in her usual spot for him but he never showed up. She kept looking over her shoulder, back into camp, and even though the movement never ceased, she never saw him.
The morning meal was over and had been cleared away before the voices of the aliens rose in volume. She stepped out of the trees when she saw a large number of them gathered. They were strapped with weapons and several of them carried large packs. They were going somewhere.
They started moving out, heading into the forest a few minutes later. She searched the sea of bodies for one in particular and saw him near the back of the group. He was shirtless today and wearing the crisscrossing leather bandolier he kept those small knives in and his long blade hung from the hip scabbard.
He looked fierce, his hair wild around his face, and it wasn’t until the entire group started moving that he looked up. Their eyes met and to her utter astonishment, he turned away as if she wasn’t even standing there.
For reasons she didn’t want to examine at the moment, his dismissal—hurt. She looked at those around her, hoping her face didn’t reflect that it had.
The warlord never looked back, and she didn’t move until those leaving could no longer be seen and the noise in camp was almost nonexistent. Half of the aliens were now gone.
The two aliens she considered elders were watching her again. As usual, they were sitting in front of their hut staring at her, whispering amongst themselves. When they saw her watching them, they turned away, their gazes on the sky as if they weren’t looking at her at all.
Their antics erased her sullen mood and seeing Krista and Dawn heading back to the females hut, she turned to follow them.
The others were already seated and performing one of the many chores there always seemed to be. They did
nothing but mend clothes, cut up the many roots and vegetation they ate then served, repaired hides, and made new ones, along with shoes and anything else those around camp were in need of. The list was never ending.
A basket of the blue turnip roots was sitting off to one side. She grabbed it, found a stool, and sat down. The chatter around camp was so minimal it didn’t take much to hear someone say, “How could you even want to fuck it?”
Marcy paused, her eyes widening as she turned her head. The two old aliens were staring at her again but looked to the sky the moment she made eye contact with them. She snorted a laugh and went back to her turnip roots, but her focus was still on them.
“Look at it,” one of them said. “It’s hideous. Its skin is colorless except for those dots that match its hair and its face is flat.”
Dots? Were they talking about her freckles?
“I don’t like the way it watches us, either.”
“How does it watch us,” the other said.
“Like … she’d kill us if she had a chance.”
“Do you think they’re all like that?”
“Yes. The other two stare at us like that, too. Like we’re the strange ones. Trust me. Those ugly things are vicious. They’ll suck our brains out through our nose if we let them get too close. Stay clear of them. I know these things.”
Marcy bit her lip to keep from laughing. The humans were the ugly ones? And he was afraid of her?
She turned her head to look at them and smiled, showing her teeth.
“See! It wants to eat us!”
The one making all the fuss jumped to his feet and grabbed the other one's arm, pulling on him until he stood and hurried across camp.
“What was that all about?”
Marcy looked up as Krista walked into her line of sight. She picked up one of the stools and set it down beside her.
“They were talking about us ugly humans.”
