Acquired Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 1)

by Cari Silverwood

  “How?”

  “Well, radio or whatever you call it?”

  “You have that on your world? A way to talk across many miles?”

  She turned and looked at his face, and her heart caught unexpectedly at how he affected her. The strength in his jaw made her want to put her hand there to absorb some for herself. Compassion, he had that too. He wouldn’t say it, but that was a part of him. She was still learning who Mako was, and not just what was expected of her as a slave.

  “Yes. We call it radio. I had wondered why no one seemed to communicate long distances. Us, we’d have had radio on your Ramm, and you could’ve talked to this ship when you followed me and JI.”

  “Amazing. No, we can’t do that. A few miles at most. It is said we could talk between planets when we were star dwellers.”

  “The Aerthe, again?”

  “Possibly. She does hate us immensely.”

  Mammoth trotted about nearby, poking with his trunk, looking as if he was scavenging for bugs on the hull, though he didn’t eat. His steel skin was covered again, this time with pink fur. She’d begged Mako, and he’d shaken his head but arranged for it to be done. It’d disconcerted her to see Mammoth’s steel skin and joins showing – she was used to viewing him as a toy.

  “He’s changed, though he’s shy and doesn’t think many thoughts at me, so far. JI said he might do this.” No one could hear her. “Go sun-mad.”

  “Yes. I’m hoping he’ll let me use him as a spy on the ship’s system.”

  She shook her head slowly. “So weird. Him, a spy.”

  “I’m going to need him in the future. This place is a boiling mess beneath the surface. I just never knew how bad it was until what happened the day we came back.”

  Emery puffed out her mouth. A beautiful bright day up here. The idea of Mammoth probing for the dark information on this ship would never have occurred to her, if she didn’t know what he was. Guess that made him a great spy.

  “Come here. When you look at me with those lips inches away...” He wrapped his hand around her shoulder, slid it to the base of her neck, and pulled her in for a kiss.

  * * * * *

  The four swathes had surrounded the skeleton of the ancient starship, making a large crescent-shaped area that had rapidly filled with Mekkers putting their feet to the ground for the first time in years.

  The crowded corridors in the royal ship had made the Mekkers seem a dour and work-orientated folk to Emery but this space was filled to the edges with entertainment stages, stalls, and tents for demonstrating equipment and techniques. They traded everything people could trade...including people. The atmosphere crackled with excitement and some stalls literally crackled with blue energy. Mechlings gathered in groups, powering whatever they sat on. There were even a few stalls selling sexual devices. Through their open flaps, she glimpsed the purple energy the accuator used.

  Those stalls made her want to pluck at Mako’s sleeve and drag him away. Instead she had to follow quietly, and be mortified if he wanted to demonstrate anything on her.

  Ropes, wires, new variations of the accuator – she’d swear he was taking extra glee from humiliating her. Not that she really minded, if she was honest with herself. There was a certain amusement within her at his demands, whether those were sadistic, fun, or simply meant to arouse her.

  A Gathering lasted only a week.

  On the fifth day the main ceremonies were held on a high, circular stage that could be observed from any angle. At midday the vows of the blood concubine were to be taken.

  Lined up with five other slaves, she waited on her knees in a square area before the steps leading upward. Everything was broadcast to the immense audience that sat in the seats radiating out from the stage. Others watched from the upper hulls of the ships, like the birds on the wrecked starship. If any Mekkers weren’t here, they must be horribly ill. Every vantage point thronged with people.

  Why was this so important to them?

  She could see Mako being handed the mic.

  “Emery, formerly Slave Twelve of House Oren, advance up the steps to me.”

  So damn loud.

  They might not have had radio but they had microphones.

  He waited for her, dressed in comfortable black pants and a silver-gray shirt, and she had on the flimsiest of red coats that flared and fluttered around her as she rose and took the first steps. Her limp was almost gone. The white shift beneath was also made of some gossamer fabric. Beneath that was her skin but even that was embellished. Two slaves had painted her with red, making teardrops and a sparse and expertly judged watery rain of red on her lips and chin, below her eyes, across her breasts, and down her legs. Delicately done.

  Mako had said it made her the prettiest offering he’d ever seen – like a warrior princess taken in battle and offered to her captor. Funny how the word princess translated but not prince. Her request for a sword and a rifle to complete the outfit had made him threaten to spank her after this.

  Oh well. She smiled to herself thinking of that as she took the last few steps – it’d been worth a try.

  Mako stood before her. She walked to him with her head high, but at his signal went to her knees and waited. At a second hand signal and a word, disrobe, she slid both the coat and the shift from her shoulders. They floated down her body, pooling at her knees.

  “You are declared to be my blood concubine, and are now to be called Emery of House Laste. I take you into my house, into my care, under my protection. All that is yours is now mine. You are mine. As a blood concubine you are no ordinary slave and have a status that will be honored by all Mekkers.

  The significance of this, the pomp and circumstance, made her tremble. If ever there was a moment her world pivoted on, it was this.

  “So that all may see you are mine without question, I have placed my cuffs on you at wrist and ankle, and I now add my collar. Raise your head and expose your neck.”

  She did so, keeping her eyes on his as she’d been told to do. Mako circled her neck with the collar. The whisper and rustle of skin on skin and of her hair being touched by his hands triggered a wave of shivering. Her nipples rose and tightened. Even there, she was painted in red.

  “Beautiful,” Mako said to her, quietly, so no other could hear. “Your nipples are behaving well. I think I will pierce them soon, and below.”

  Her sharp intake of breath had him chuckling.

  “It won’t hurt much.” He clicked the lock on the collar, positioned the embossed cogwheel to the front. “I promise.”

  Then he stood tall. “Last of all, I will inscribe my house name on Emery.” He held his hand to the side, palm up and the Mekker announcer placed a tool across it, one resembling a paintbrush with a long handle.

  That was a special pen. She’d been shown it up close. In the point and facing sideways was a small blade, designed to cut shallowly.

  A chair was provided for Mako and he sat. “Place your head on my lap, Emery.”

  She crept forward on her knees and rested her head on him. His hand cupped the back of her head and nape then she felt the first sting of the blade. Seconds later a trickle of blood began to crawl down her back.

  “Breathe steadily,” he said when she flinched. “Be still or my writing will be crooked. Then...”

  A stab made her gasp but she stayed motionless.

  “Then I would have to redo it. We don’t want that. Besides, the crowd would enjoy it too much, and you are for me to enjoy not them.” The stir of his fingers in her hair sent a reassurance through her. Silent and uplifting.

  For the rest of the cutting she was perfectly still. The stings he created were flooding her, potent as wine on an empty stomach, raising her until she floated on the ambience of these moments under his hand. Time languished, subject to the whispers of his hands on her skin as if he drew in some lost, sorcerous language.

  “I’m done, Emery.”

  She swayed, disorientated.

  When he stood she saw his right
hand was red. “She is mine. Emery is of House Laste. Beware any who trespass upon her body, for my anger will be great.” Then he licked his hand, consuming some of her blood.

  The crowd erupted into cheers.

  That part was a little nauseating, if expected. Not that terrible, and she loved seeing him above her, acclaimed by the crowd.

  He stooped and took her jaw in his left hand, his gray eyes intent but also confident. “Why do you want to be mine, Emery?”

  Again this was said only between them, but she had a small moment of anxiety, her heart thudding, and she stalled.

  “I know you know this. I just want to hear you say it, again.”

  “Because, I love being yours.” This had come from her heart and she doubted she would ever feel otherwise.

  “Exactly the right answer, my girl.” He moved his hand and clipped a leash to a point on the collar, then drew her up on her knees and to his lips using it. His kiss was an owning kiss that left her panting and would’ve had her dragging any man to bed with her on Earth. She’d never thought she’d like being owned, yet here she was.

  She waited by his side while the rest of the slaves became blood concubines. One of them was a man and he was claimed by a female Mekker.

  At the end, when everyone began to file off the stage, Mako stopped her, using the hand signal for stay. The announcer droned on with new words that had the crowd standing and cheering.

  Seven new men climbed to the stage and took places in a row alongside Mako. He, with her at his feet, stood at one end of the line.

  She’d not listened well to the announcer’s words. Her back had been stinging with the lotion Mako had washed it with and, being naked, she was more than a little self-conscious. The lotion was meant to make the cut become a fine white scar that would forever show Mako’s name.

  But now? She wrinkled her forehead. What had the announcer said? He’d run through a list, naming each man.

  “And so, witness before you the men who have been chosen to be the kings-in-waiting!”

  Oh. Oh my. Eight men? Of course. Two from each swathe. She had her mouth open for ages before thinking to close it; then she looked up at Mako. All the men had joined hands and raised them but when the crowd quieted, he noticed her.

  The line had broken up, each man congratulating the other, and she realized one of them was Ormrad – Ditter Ormrad the announcer had said but she’d thought it a different person. Him as a king-in-waiting? As if he sensed her thoughts, the man turned and stared – long enough for them both to register the other. His mouth turned up in a derisive sneer, then he turned away, but fear surfaced. She recalled the hooks, going in. The searing pain.

  What he might do if king...

  Mako had gone to one knee before her. She shoved the other to the background. He had no hold on her anymore. None.

  “My surprise for you, Emery.”

  “Very much a surprise,” she said, trying to be quiet, though likely nobody would notice them with all the celebrating going on. “Congratulations, Sir. Does that make me anything if you are a king-in-waiting?”

  “Yes. I believe it makes you a princess concubine.”

  “Whoah. A princess?”

  “Yes.” He smirked. “One minus a rifle and sword though. One I get to put over my knee and spank.”

  “Uh-huh.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, thinking on this momentous and stunning change in her status. “I do believe I can be happy with that.”

  “Good.” Everyone else was far from earshot and he added quietly, perhaps reminding himself more than anything. “Things are more complicated than I thought. Ormrad is a KIW.”

  She fidgeted on her knees. The uncertainty about this was killing her. “So you didn’t know who was –”

  Mako smacked his palm onto her pussy, hard, and she gasped in shock. He squeezed in with his fingers. Now that got her attention.

  “I’m your master. Stop thinking about that. Today is for me and for you. That other matter is my concern, though I understand why you’re worrying. I don’t want you afraid. I do expect the world of you. I expect obedience. I expect you to look up to me. I expect trust that I will protect you until the Aerthe crumbles and falls about my head. You’re my possession, my concubine, and you’re more than a simple slave to me.”

  He drew a long breath then she felt him slide two fingers inside her pussy. An audience of thousands was beyond his broad back and she was naked and on her knees, but she willed herself to only look at him.

  “Once, when I was with you, I had to remind myself that House Masters weren’t supposed to kiss slaves. I’m not that now. I’m your master and I get to do what pleases me.” He leaned in, taking a rock-solid hold on her hair that felt as if it would pull out several thousand of her hairs if she dared to shift. “The taste of your blood gave me a fucking hard-on and I’m kissing you.”

  Electrifying words.

  He planned to kiss her in front of thousands with his hand between her legs and his fingers inside her. It would’ve been mortifying to the Emery she once was, but now...now she wanted it.

  His mouth pressed to hers, her eyelids fluttered down, and she sighed and opened her mouth.

  The kiss itself wasn’t hard and forceful. Gentle and forceful, if there was such a thing. He plied her lips with his; he stole her breath; he surely made her eyes roll upward. This was a long, warm, slow kiss like the move of waves across the open ocean, one that took her away into a whispering place where no one else could go except for her and him. With his tongue in her mouth she tasted him. With his lips on hers, she felt him. She heard the sound of his breaths when he paused for air and she smelled him. She’d forever know him by his scent, whether kissing, being crushed and manhandled as he fucked her, or snuggling up to him in that big, cozy, wrap-herself-in-man feeling.

  At last she was sure she’d found the man she’d needed all her life, if not the man she’d dreamed of back on Earth. Her dreamed-of man was in bed sleeping off a hangover or a night of binge-watching Game of Thrones. Her real man was here, with his hand holding her so close to him she couldn’t get away if she tried.

  He was her Master, the man who wanted to keep her, come hell or high water, come calamity or peace.

  He pulled away, removing his fingers, releasing her hair. It flooded over her shoulders in a whispering tide.

  Breathe. Her surroundings took a long, heart-thudding century to reassemble.

  “Tell me, my girl...”

  She inhaled, listening.

  “...what would a man do with a princess in one of your Shakespeare stories?”

  “Umm. Take her home and screw her until she couldn’t walk straight?” She was hoping, and with the reverberations of where his hands had been still rocking her, her hope was a little desperate. She gulped. “And kiss her into oblivion.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mm-hm.” She nodded vigorously.

  He grabbed her and stood, with Emery draped over his shoulder and her head at his back. “Let’s go try out my new quarters.”

  The fire in the cuts blazed up with his hand on her ass. The man had written in script or something and the writing had drifted down.

  “Ow!” She hissed as he walked, scowling at his arrogant butt.

  “Hope you like being kissed on the ass, my princess.”

  CLAIMED POSSESSION excerpt

  Book 2

  THE MACHINERY OF DESIRE

  series

  by

  Cari Silverwood

  The following is the first chapter from the next book in this series which can be found on preorder here.

  They opened the door of the carrier vehicle and set him free. Sawyer stepped out, smelled engine grease, felt the dirt shift underfoot, heard the cry of birds and saw the drift of their wings above the arching trees. Free was an irony, but he could breathe air that wasn’t soaked with the smells of a dozen other slaves and see the sky; it was good.

  He closed his eyes to let his minor liberty en
compass him, let his nostrils expand...his chest. Beautiful clean air. Any freedom spoke of hope.

  Then he opened his eyes.

  Data. Lock it in.

  Forest. Open road that was straight for hundreds of yards, front and back. Straight as a ruler. As always the guards were here. Months and months of being a slave had dampened his fire but not extinguished it.

  What was different? His special services training had him scanning for info, for openings, for differences.

  Three nearby guards. The steel manacles on his ankles and wrists meant doing anything was ridiculous unless he could get them off. In the past few months, he’d tried picking the locks but they looked like nothing he’d ever seen. Not surprising. This was a different world slash universe.

  Her.

  She was different. The girl hurrying up the line accompanied by a hulking guard.

  He knew her as Aribelle but hadn’t often seen her on the journeys between markets.

  Pretty, small, and female. White hair in a neat short cut – shorter than his, which was as messy as Conan the Barbarian’s in the movies. On his passage to this world his hair color had shot into a black so deep and dark the devil would have trouble competing with it.

  God. All the people who’d arrived that same day. Scattered. He couldn’t help going back in time, in memories. Fern was most likely dead by now...

  Maybe she was alive... Hope kept him going.

  Fucking Mekkers. The Grounders were callous and had the morals of street cats prowling for food in the gutter but the Mekkers were violent maniacs.

  Aribelle. He followed her path, surreptitiously. Female and it’d been so long since he’d fucked anything – or even better spanked then fucked. A man could dream. Ironically, she barely looked like a woman most of the times he’d seen her. Today she wore long, dark pants with a buttoned, blue shirt. Slightest possible amount of cleavage showing, though even at a distance he’d spotted the jiggle of her breasts. Practical black boots.

  As she neared him, he spotted some sort of black stain smeared across her face and shirt collar.