by Roxie Ray
But every night, without fail, he came anyway.
When I first woke up, I couldn’t move my arms or legs. My mind was sluggish and slow as I tried to guess at what drug my captor had dosed me with—Rohypnol? Ketamine? Probably, I decided, it was something far more alien and sophisticated than that. My body felt so heavy and weak at first that I could barely even turn my head to look around the small, dimly lit room I’d been placed in.
It was a room I came to believe I’d probably die in.
Sometimes, I thought that might have been a blessing. Maybe I would have prayed for that instead—if I had any hope that my captor would grant me a quick death.
The room contained a large, dark bathtub made of a dull black metal. Once a day, a mountainous, many-armed creature unlocked the room’s doors and came in to bathe me in it. The creature was humanoid, with slate gray skin and muscles so thick that I couldn’t fight against its grasp to cover my body up or get away from it even when I exhausted myself trying.
At first, when it dragged me to the icy waters of the bath it had drawn for me, I’d been mortified, but soon enough, being embarrassed by being scrubbed clean by the creature seemed silly compared to the other indignities I suffered in that room. The creature bathed me with a mechanical disinterest, the way a dog groomer would wash a mud-covered puppy, or a waitress might wipe down the tables in her section at the end of her shift.
When I was clean, the creature dried me off and dragged a comb through the wet tangles of my hair until it lay smooth, trailing all the way down to my waist. It rubbed my body down with a perfumed oil that made my skin glisten and filled my nose with the sticky-sweet scent of something like orange blossoms. It dressed me in a black robe, too thin to protect me from the cold of the room and too sheer to provide me any privacy or comfort. The robe was well-made, crafted seamlessly from a material that shimmered iridescent when I ran it between my fingers, but given the circumstances, I would have rather worn rags. At least rags would have covered up my body. At least rags would have kept me warm.
I suspected the creature was female, but if she had any sympathy for my plight, she didn’t show it. If she could understand my pleas to be released, to be let out of my prison and taken home, she obviously didn’t care. When she left me each day, she locked the door behind her. No matter how hard I tried to pry it back open, it was no use.
The door stayed shut.
By the time it opened again, my white-blonde curls had finally dried on the pillows of the bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room. The scraping sound of the lock shifting out of place for the second time each day was a noise I came to dread.
“My name is Var-arak,” my captor told me the first day he came for me. His lips, such a dark red that they may as well have been black, were always curled into a sickly grin every time he locked the door behind him. “I am your master. I am your king. And you, Alyse—you are my possession. You are my slave.”
Every time Var-arak came for me, he peeled my robe away from my skin like he was unwrapping a present. That first night, I struggled against him, and he backhanded me so hard my cheek burned and my ears rang.
“Fight me, and I will beat you,” he snarled down at me. “Bite me, claw me, or simply annoy me, pretty one, and I will choke the life from your lovely, slender throat.”
After that, I knew I could only lie there. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do anything at all.
When he left, he locked the door behind him again. That first night, I vomited in the small toilet concealed behind a screen next to the tub. I spat the dark iron taste of his tongue from my lips and cried harder than I ever had in my life.
The next day, it started all over again. Bathed, oiled, dressed, and then, when Var-arak came for me, used. On the second day, he brought me bitter fruits and salted greens to eat. He watched me as I ate them, even though I had no appetite. If I had refused them, or spat them out, I was certain he would have just hit me again until I did as he said.
“You must keep your strength up, pretty one,” he purred to me. When his long, black claws traced the curve of my cheek, I nearly threw up all over again. “When I chose you, I did not imagine to find such a perfect specimen on what was only meant to be a scouting mission. But I could not help myself, Alyse. I have loved you since I first saw you. I killed your parents, just to prove to you my strength. I watched you blossom into a woman to prove my patience. I waited for the perfect time. And now, you are mine to care for. Mine to own. Mine to breed.” His claws trailed down my body and settled over my stomach. “You must eat and stay healthy, so you can give me the heir I desire. And another, and another. With your womb, I will rebuild my dynasty. Your children, and their children, and their children, will rule over my race until the stars go black. Until the end of time.”
On some nights, when he was finished with me, Var-arak would hold me while I sobbed. He could be gentle. Almost loving, in a way. But no matter how he smoothed down my hair and stroked my back, it wouldn’t stop the tears from coming. At first, I thought they might anger him too—but as long as I didn’t resist him, he never lost his temper with me.
In a way, I thought he must have enjoyed the tears. The tears meant that I was still terrified of him. My body, he wanted strong and healthy, but I was sure that if my spirit was broken, he would have liked that just fine.
“Someday—someday soon,” he told me on one such night, “you will come to love me, pretty one. Your hips will rise to greet my touch and your lips will move greedily against my kiss. When that day comes, I will dress you in fineries so decadent, you could not even imagine them. I will make you my queen and present you to my people as my bride. I am a brutal king, but a fair one. I promised you a crown—and if you give me what I want, I will give you one.”
But even as he said the words, I knew them for what they were: bullshit.
I would never want him. I would never love him. He could do what he wanted with my body. There was no stopping that. If he wanted to, I was sure, he could break my mind and crush my spirit, too. I’d heard of men who could do things like that in the sectors—and they didn’t have the benefits of Var-arak’s horns and claws.
But no matter what he did to me, he would never have my heart. Every night he came for me, I could feel it shriveling up in my chest, compacting and hardening into a dark, cruel little bullet that rattled around in my ribcage.
And someday, I decided, I’d find a way to kill him with it. I knew I’d die just for trying, but…
But on some nights, death felt like it would be a blessing. At least then, it would be over.
At least then, I’d never have to feel his disgusting, cold breath against my lips or the brutal scrape of his claws against my skin ever again.
On the eighth night—or maybe, it was the ninth—when he came to my room, his smile was broader than I’d ever seen it before.
“We draw near to my planet now, pretty one.” He pulled his shirt off eagerly. In his excitement, he hadn’t even bothered to bring me food this time. So much for keeping my strength. His belt and pants came off next. He left them on the floor as he crawled onto the mattress and placed a clammy hand on my knee. “When we arrive on Rutharia, these long, beautiful legs of yours will cause much envy.” He forced my knee aside sharply, then reached up to rub one of my curls between his fingertips. “This pale, silvery hair will catch the eye of every Rutharian male. They will all want you for their own—and they would not be so kind to you as I am, nor so gentle.” He moved his lips an inch away from mine and I swallowed hard as I breathed in his chilly, ashen breath. “You had best tell me that you love me now, Alyse. Lest I decide to give up on you, to give you to my warriors instead.”
The next breath I drew in caught in my chest. For a moment, I was so terrified that I nearly gave into him.
Maybe he was right. I hated him. The taste of his kiss turned my stomach. His touch made my skin crawl. But even though he had kidnapped me, violated me, put me through my own personal nigh
tmare every day and every night…he hadn’t been as cruel to me as he could have been. He treated me like a possession, but a prized one. A beloved pet.
And as for his men…I believed what he said about them. Var-arak had killed every guard and guard dog on my family’s estate just to prove that he could. He’d murdered my parents just to get to me.
He said that he loved me.
I didn’t want to find out what would happen to me if he handed me over to someone who didn’t.
I closed my eyes and felt the tears well up on my lower lashes.
But when I opened them again, I didn’t tell him that I loved him.
I spat in his face.
Immediately, I flinched, ready for the slap or the punch or the strangle that was sure to follow. But even after several seconds, nothing came.
Var-arak only laughed and petted my hair in amusement.
“You are a feisty one, Alyse. I have loved that about you from the start.” His laughter grew more sinister as he moved his lips to my neck. His kiss was as cold as the rest of him. There was no love in it—only want. “You will make for a fine queen. My dark, fiery bride. Just as cruel and vengeful as I am. Yes—I know now that I have chosen my mate well.”
I braced myself for what would come next. The cruel, heavy thing that my heart had become sank deep in my chest, grounding itself in my body. But my mind, I’d come to discover, I could send elsewhere while he took what he wanted. Textbook disassociation. I couldn’t escape this place physically, but in spirit I could float a million miles away from here, back to my little apartment on Earth. Back to a time when my only concerns had been my patients at the hospital and my idiot friends. Ski trips and hand sanitizer. CPR and champagne.
I closed my eyes and let my mind float away.
But before I could escape completely, something pulled me back down.
A sound.
A sharp, quick hiss followed by a dull, stifled croak.
Something warm and wet splattered across my face and I blinked my eyes open in confusion.
Var-arak was still over me, but his deep red skin was suddenly ashy and pale. There was a blade against his throat, with thick black blood oozing out from beneath it. The hand that held the blade had claws at the tip of each finger, but it wasn’t Rutharian. Its skin was a pale, soft orange color, like the sky at the beginning of a beautiful sunset.
I tore my gaze away from Var-arak’s wide, stunned black eyes to look up at the face of my captor’s killer. He had deep green hair that rose up into thick, curled peaks. His nose was broad and handsome, almost feline until it sloped up to the tip, which formed a sculpted point. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, baring a set of sharp-looking fangs.
But it was his eyes that enchanted me the most. As Var-arak gasped and slumped in the killer’s grasp, I watched the new alien’s irises turn from blood red to purple…then, as he stared at me, to a deep, sensual blue.
Var-arak’s own eyes rolled back. The blood from his throat began to slow as his heart beat its last.
A sob of relief tore through my chest. I let out a ragged breath, one that it felt like I’d been holding in ever since I first came to this place.
Though I didn’t know who Var-arak’s killer was—or even what species he was—I knew that he’d just rescued me from another night spent curled up in my bed, dreading the next morning when it all started over again.
“Nion,” the warrior told me. “My name Nion. No hurt. Only keep safe.”
Saved.
I was saved.
4
Nion
She was not the first human female I had seen, but in that moment, I struggled to recall the face of any other.
Green eyes, the shade of the sky just before a hurricane. Soft, full lips, their deep pink blossoms splattered with the black of her Rutharian captor’s blood. Her hair was a mess of curls so pale they were nearly white. And beneath the thin, sheer black robe she wore…
I wrenched my gaze away from her body before I found myself staring, but in the brief glimpse I had not been able to deny myself, I found unfathomable beauty. She was perfectly shaped, exquisitely formed. Small and slender, but curvaceous too. Her legs seemed to stretch on for infinities. And though I had little doubt she had been brutalized by the Rutharian whose throat I still held beneath my blade, there was not a mark on her.
That, at least, I knew was likely deceptive.
The Rutharians knew ways to hurt delicate, defenseless females like this one that did not necessarily leave bruises and scars.
I tugged the Rutharian’s body off of the bed and away from her. He dropped to the floor at my feet, naked and still gushing blood. A death-gurgle left his throat as I kicked him aside.
He would not harm anyone else now. In that, I took more pleasure than I wished to reveal—especially with the female still on the bed, staring me down with her wide green eyes.
I moved to reach for her, then hesitated. The last female I had pulled from a Rutharian ship had nearly clawed my eye out for my efforts—but that female had been beaten, bloodied and kept in a cage like a wild animal. This female, though…I could smell sickly-sweet perfume on her skin, even over the stink of the Rutharian on the floor.
She looked as though she had been treasured aboard this ship. Cherished. For a moment, I feared that she had perhaps been willingly kept there. My heart sank horribly in my chest.
Had I just killed her mate?
I could not fathom why any female would have want for a Rutharian mate, though. And when I looked upon her further, I saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.
No. She had been hurt by her captor. Even the most beloved things a Rutharian felt he owned were subject to unspeakable cruelties. Of this, I felt I could be sure.
But then a second thought rose to mind. This one pierced my heart clear through.
Perhaps she thought I would be no different than the Rutharian she had just seen me kill without flinching. The Rutharian’s blood was still on my blade. Perhaps she would see me as just as brutal as he had been. Just as ruthless.
This fear, too, was assuaged—not by the powers of my own observation this time, but by the female herself.
She leapt up toward me and threw her arms around my neck, hugging me tight.
“Thank you.” Her voice was a sob against my collarbone. Her tears burned hot against the skin of my neck. “Thank you. Thank you.”
I opened my mouth to speak to her, then paused. The communicator chip implanted beneath my ear allowed me to understand her human language, but when I had slit her captor’s throat, a translator chip on his vocal chords had caught on my blade. It led me to believe that, like the other humans we had rescued from the Rutharians, she had not been fitted with a communicator chip of her own.
That itself was its own cruelty. Her captor had been able to speak to her in her own tongue, but she would not understand the words of anyone other than him.
Wracking my brain, I found the few human words that I had learned from Haelian and Koran’s mates.
“Safe now,” I told her. “Rescued. Will not harm.”
“Thank you,” she said again. It seemed to be the only phrase she could muster as well. “Thank you so much.”
Gingerly, I let my blade fall to the bed as I wrapped her up in my arms. Her shoulders were bony. I could trace the curves of her shoulder blades beneath my fingertips, count the vertebrae of her spine as I smoothed my hand down her back.
Were all human females so thin? I wondered. Or had the snake who had been keeping her here been failing to feed her? But as she pressed her body tight to mine, I could see that she was not thin all over. Her breasts were full and soft, shoved firm against my ribs. And at the small of her back, her hips flared out wide. Her flanks were full, too. Thick enough that I yearned to grab hold of them just to feel her in my hands. Ripe and taut, like a sun-ripened peri-fruit plucked straight from the vine.
I cleared my throat as the full weight of my desire hit me like a club to the h
ead. My manhood was already swelling at her touch. Beneath the cloying sweetness of the oil on her skin, I could smell her true scent. It was fresh and salty, clear, clean waves as they crashed against a cliffside after a storm.
I found it all too pleasing—almost even more pleasing than the feel of her body against me as she clung to me tight.
“Nion,” I told her again, thumping my chest with my fist as I drew away. If I had stayed close like that for any longer, she would have felt the swell of my cock against her belly. Given all that I imagined she had been through here, that was the last thing she needed right now. “My name Nion. Your name…?”
“Ahl-iss.” She bit her lip, looking up to me like it pained her to no longer be hugged so close to my chest. “My name is Ahl-iss.”
Ahl-iss. It would be a struggle for me to pronounce it, I already knew. Bria’s had taken some getting used to as well, though Sawyer’s name had been simple enough in my native tongue.
It was no less beautiful for the difficulties it presented me with. Ahl-iss. The sound of a cool breeze on a hot summer day.
“Here to save. Not hurt,” I told her next—though, from the way she had hugged me, I sensed that she may have already gathered that. “Never hurt. Only keep safe.”
“Thank you, Nion,” she said again—then, a yelp left her throat as an explosion sounded somewhere down the hall.
Blood. That could not be good. The sounds of the battle I knew was still raging outside were drawing nearer, but an explosion meant there was danger of a fire—or worse, a breach of the Rutharian ship’s hull. This ship was smaller and more finely made than the others we had boarded so far, which led me to hope we might be somewhat safer if the hull was penetrated.
But in war, hope was a fickle thing. Better to lean on action, rather than hope that could turn false at any moment.
“Come,” I urged her. “Must go.”
She looked at me blankly for a moment. The boom of the explosion seemed to have left her frozen in place.
I paid that no mind as I scooped her up into my arms. Before, I had hesitated to touch her, but now, there was an urgency to our situation. If she could not move, then she would have to be carried. And if she did not want to be carried, I would have to apologize for it later. Much later.
