by Tana Stone
Scarred--Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #10
Tana Stone
Broadmoor Books
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Preview of BOUNTY—Barbarians of the Sand Planet #1
Also by Tana Stone
About the Author
Chapter One
Captain Brok clasped his hands behind his back and peered out the ship’s front view screen. He tried not to be impatient, but after weeks searching the galaxy, he was starting to be on edge. Glancing around the dull-metal bridge and at the Inferno Force warriors at their posts, he knew that they felt the same way. The long-haired officers with unshaven faces and tattooed skin did not complain openly, but there had been a marked increase in informal sparring matches in the gym, and at least half of the Drexians on the bridge sported a bruise or two.
Brok touched a finger to the tender spot on his own jaw, a souvenir from his first officer, Kalex, during a particularly long and sweaty Kranji match. His gaze went to the warrior at his console, and he couldn’t help but grin at the black eye he sported. He knew they’d both been grateful for the distraction, and even for the sharp sting of pain. Anything to take their minds off the boredom of what had come to feel like an endless search.
The captain scraped a hand through his own dark hair that had grown even longer during their extended rescue mission. His Inferno Force crew had never gone so long without battle. He’d never gone so long without battle. Not since he’d taken command of his own ship. The elite fighting force of the Drexian empire was used to fighting their enemy on the outskirts, not chasing around after abducted humans. Well, to be more accurate, they were chasing after one tribute bride and one Gatazoid wedding planner.
A series of beeps jerked his mind back to the bridge, and his heart beat faster as he noted an approaching ship. “Report.”
“A freighter,” one of the officers reported, disappointment dripping from his voice. “Parnithian.”
They had no issues with the Parnithians, and no reason to stop the freighter. If only the ship had been Kronock, thought Brok. Then they would get the fight they’d all been itching for.
“How long until we’re in range of Spartos?” he asked.
Kalex twisted around from his standing console and gave him a crooked grin. “We’re about fifty astro-minutes closer than the last time you asked.”
The captain huffed out a breath. “Grek.”
When they’d first determined the possibility that the human female and Gatazoid might be on Spartos, he and his crew had felt victorious. It had been the first solid lead they’d had after losing the trail at the Ganthar pirates. But that had been days ago, and they were still traveling to the distant planet. A planet that was as mysterious to them as any in the galaxy. A planet known for being xenophobic and closed off to outsiders. A planet they weren’t even sure had Serge and Madeleine.
Madeleine.
He growled low as he thought about the human female they were tracking, and a few of his officers glanced over at him. Although he’d never laid eyes on the female in person, he had not been able to rid his mind of her image since he’d first seen it on the screen. He and his crew had been shown images of all the tribute brides they’d been chasing, but somehow, Madeleine’s image had been the one to take hold of him. The moment he’d seen her nearly-black hair, delicate features, and slightly upturned eyes, he’d lost the ability to think straight. The human looked like none he’d ever seen before—not that he’d seen many human females—and there was something in her dark eyes that made him need to know more.
The Ganthar pirates had dismissively called her the runt because of her slight stature, but Brok knew there was nothing weak about her. He could see the spark in her eyes even in the image. It was a spark that made his pulse quicken and his cock swell.
Stop, he told himself. She is not yours.
Technically, she belonged to no Drexian. Not yet. Even so, Brok knew she could never be his. He’d made peace long ago with the fact that he would never take a tribute bride. It was better if an Inferno Force captain had no distractions. And what human female would accept a scarred warrior like him, when there were so many young, perfect Drexians available?
Touching a finger to the slash that ran down one side of his face, he allowed himself to imagine a future in which he hadn’t been disfigured battling the Kronock. A future in which he could take a tribute bride. A future that was not him alone in his quarters night after night with nothing but images of the beautiful human to hold in his mind as he stroked himself.
“Captain?”
Brok blinked a few times and realized that Kalex was staring at him, waiting for a response to a question he had not heard.
“Transmission from Drexian High Command, sir,” Kalex repeated. “Should I put it through to the bridge?”
Brok gave a brusque shake of his head. “I’ll take it in my strategy room.”
Kalex spun back around with a single nod. “I’ll send it through.”
Brok strode off the bridge, his boots causing the steel floors to echo and his feet to vibrate. There was nothing sleek and sophisticated about Inferno Force battleships, and that was one of the things he loved most about them. He relished the sounds of clanging metal, the scent of stale sweat, and the constant growl of the ship’s engines. It was as tough and rough as the warriors who manned it.
The adjoining room he entered wasn’t large, and it contained a polished-ebony table with a single chair and a display screen that took up most of the wall across from it. A transparent star chart covered another smaller wall with blinking points in various colors and their route indicated by a glowing red line. The air inside was cooler—fewer bodies to warm it—and the lights dim.
Sinking into the chair, Brok tapped a button to activate the screen. Within moments, a familiar face filled the display.
“High Commander Dorn.” Brok thumped his fist to his chest in salute but also grinned at the Drexian with hair as shaggy as his own.
Dorn grunted and returned his smile. “You know I hate titles, Brok. I will always be just Dorn to you.”
Brok knew the former Inferno Force Commander had been unwillingly pulled into a role in the Drexian leadership after he was summoned to the Boat—the Drexian’s space station tucked away in Earth’s solar system—to take a tribute bride. He’d had to take his elder brother’s seat on the High Command, and then had stayed to clean up a particularly unpleasant mess involving a mole in the High Command and traitors among their people. Even though Dorn was vital to High Command, and rumor had it he was also besotted with his bride and their impending child, Brok knew he missed fighting with Inferno Force.
“Very well,“ Brok said. “You have news for me?”
Dorn leaned forward, his green eyes flashing. “You are still en route to Spartos?”
Brok let out a breath. “Yes. The planet is far from where we last tracked the tributes, although we hope to reach it soon.”
“Good. We have
been gathering intel about the planet, but there is not as much as I would have hoped.”
Brok steepled his hands in front of him. “They avoid contact with other species, even though they are warp capable, correct?”
“Affirmative. They are a curious society. From what we can tell from the limited reports, they are highly advanced, but they are distrustful of other species. They do not share technology, although there are rumors that it is impressive in unique ways.”
Dorn hesitated as he said the last words, and Brok cocked an eyebrow at him. “In what ways?”
“Again, this is mostly gathered from rumors and whispers, but the few aliens who have managed to interact with Spartosians or even sneak onto the planet have reported that they have used their developments primarily to enhance pleasure.”
Brok tilted his head. “I do not understand.”
Dorn shrugged. “They are a hedonistic society, but not a pleasure planet, so we don’t know how far their indulgence extends. Perhaps that is one reason they stay so isolated. Fear of judgment from other species. I do not know. And, again, this information is gathered from very few primary sources since they do not allow visitors.”
“If they are so fearful of outsiders, why would they buy a human and a Gatazoid from the Ganthar pirates? Why would they even be dealing with the Ganthar?”
Dorn shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, although the human female could certainly be seen as physically appealing. That would fit in with the idea of a hedonistic society.”
Brok’s stomach hardened into a knot. He did not want to think of Madeleine being used in any way by a planet full of pleasure seekers. Forcing himself to stay calm, he balled one hand into a fist. “That would not explain the Gatazoid.”
“Gatazoids are known throughout the galaxy as artisans. Perhaps that is why Serge was seen as valuable.”
“Isn’t he a wedding planner on the Boat?”
The side of Dorn’s mouth quirked up. “The little guy was actually my wedding planner, and my bride is insistent that he be returned safely. I know you have been told that the tribute brides are our highest priority, but I am personally asking you not to leave without Serge.”
Now it was Brok’s turn to give his friend a questioning smile.
“Trust me,” Dorn said. “Human females are quite stubborn, and I do not want to experience my mate’s wrath if anything bad were to happen to Serge. Not to mention the ire of half of the tributes on the station.”
“You have my word I will find both Serge and the bride and return them to you. I am sure the tribute’s mate is eager to see her returned.”
“Actually, this last bride has not been matched yet. The matching software that had been developed to pair up the brides with Drexians was damaged in the Kronock attack, and my mate refuses to let us go back to the old way of matching tributes. She called it ridiculous and painfully dated.”
Brok didn’t know what any of that meant, all he knew was that the female he’d been fantasizing about was not intended for another Drexian. “So, Madeleine will not be matched until she returns to the Boat?”
Dorn’s eyes flickered. “Correct.”
Brok realized he’d called the tribute by her given name, so he quickly cleared his throat. “How are repairs on the Boat progressing?”
Dorn’s expression darkened, and he rubbed a hand across his stubbly cheeks. “As well as can be expected, after the Kronock’s cowardly attack. Most of the damage was superficial, but the holographic systems needed to be rewired. Luckily, the attack revealed areas we needed to update, so the new and improved Boat will have much stronger shielding and significantly more weaponry.”
“Your idea?”
Dorn smiled widely. “Perhaps. If our enemy now has jump technology, then the Boat will always be a target. I argued successfully that she should be outfitted more like a battleship and less like a pleasure cruiser.”
“If he had his way, the bridge of the Boat would look like an Inferno Force battleship.” Another face appeared in the view screen. This one with shorter, lighter hair, but the same, vivid green eyes.
Brok recognized him immediately as Dorn’s brother who had served on High Command before his brother had taken his spot. Many times, it had been Kax who had given him updates and orders from the Drexian leadership. “High Comm—“ he began, then stopped himself.
“Kax,” the Drexian said. “Just Kax now. I am here simply in my capacity as a military intelligence officer.”
“Lucky bastard,” his brother muttered.
Kax chuckled low. “It is good to see you again, Captain Brok. I was pleased to hear it was your ship pursuing the final missing tribute bride and Serge.”
“We are approaching Spartos. I hope to have good news for you once we are within communications range.”
“That is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Kax’s face became solemn. “You should not approach Spartos like you would any other planet.”
“I know they do not welcome interference with other species,” Brok said.
Kax shook his head. “Their level of xenophobia is unprecedented. If they know your ship is in orbit, they might fire on you, and we just don’t know if your ship would survive.”
Brok shifted in his seat. “They would fire on an Inferno Force battleship unprovoked? That would mean war.”
“They would not view it as unprovoked. They consider any contact to be an act of aggression. Even diplomatic requests. And a war with Spartos is not the best way for us to get our tribute and Gatazoid back safely.”
Although Brok’s heart pounded at the thought of a skirmish, he knew the intelligence officer was right. It was not the best way to rescue the prisoners safely.
“If you use your stealth shielding, you should be able to orbit the planet without being seen. From our last reports, we know that the planet flies patrols regularly to guard from any incursions, but a single stealth shuttle should be able to slip by, if you time it right.”
Brok pressed his lips together. He had not envisioned a rescue mission on a shuttle, but if that was what it took, that is what they would do. And he would lead it himself. He knew he would never be able to stay on board the ship while Madeleine was below on the planet. No. He needed to be the one to go after her and ensure her safety.
“And one more thing,” Kax said. “This cannot be a full-out, Inferno Force, assault-style mission. It won’t work. If Spartos is what we think it is you need to send in one warrior who can slip into their population without being noticed.”
Brok’s mouth went dry. A solo mission on a hedonistic planet was not what he’d been expecting, but he reminded himself that Inferno Force warriors were trained for anything from intense battle to torture. He could handle this.
“The Spartosians appear similar to Drexians, do they not?” Brok asked, thinking back to the intel he’d read before.
Kax and Dorn exchanged a glance. “Yes, although they apparently wear much less clothing than we do.”
Brok looked from brother to brother. “How much less?”
Chapter Two
“There is no way I’m walking around like this,” Madeleine said, gesturing to the backless, draped halter top that dipped low in front. At least the skirt she’d been given was long, but the gauzy, silver fabric sat low on her hips, and appeared to have so many high slits that it felt like she was wearing streamers. “I look like a belly dancer.”
“What about me?” Serge’s usually purple, spiky hair was flushed pink from the roots to the tips. He dropped his gaze to the snug, black jumpsuit.
“What about you? I’d love to wear what you’re wearing. At least you’re not in danger of falling out of it.” She paced across the stone floor, avoiding looking in the standing mirror attached to one wall. There wasn’t a ton of floorspace in the tower room she’d been assigned, so she had to turn on her heel after a few long strides.
Serge rolled his eyes. “It’s got no color, no style. It’s clear they don’t know that I’m
a stylistic visionary.” He drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t think they assume I’m some sort of servant, do you, Madeleine?”
“I told you to call me Maddie. All my friends back home do, and since we’ve been prisoners together for weeks now, I’m going to say we’re friends.” She eyed Serge’s catsuit and the way it bloused around his skinny ankles. “Consider yourself lucky that you weren’t dressed up like a galactic genie-cum-cocktail waitress.”
Serge sniffed. “Then what would you call this atrocity?”
“It’s more Cat Woman-meets-auto mechanic.”
Serge slumped down in one of the two chairs across from the single bed, draping a small hand over his forehead. “I don’t even know what that means, but I’m horrified.”
Madeleine grinned. She’d gotten used to the petite alien’s dramatics, which had been significant since they’d been abducted by Ganthar pirates, and then sold off to some sort of traders, and finally delivered to another group of aliens who’d appeared normal, if a bit scantily clad. At first, she’d been grateful to be away from the rough pirates who had no problem looking her up and down like she was a meal. But after a relatively unassuming trip through space with the intermediary procurers, they’d arrived at their new home and things had gone from weird to worse.
The planet of Spartos had first struck her with its beauty. Most of what she’d seen of the planet had been covered by water, a crystal-clear water that looked impossibly blue, with cliffs and alabaster buildings jutting out from its depths. There didn’t seem to be roads, just canals for hovering gondolas to skim along, and the occasional narrow path. It was like a cross between Venice and a Greek island, with much better tech.
