by Ivy Barrett
“Out here,” he called from the living room. “I wanted a glass of wine. Would you like one?”
“That sounds nice. I’ll be right there.” She pulled on the filmy gown, wondering why she bothered. More than likely she’d be naked and bent over the nearest flat surface as soon as Moxtel returned from the science lab. He was stubbornly fighting their attraction, trying hard to keep her at a distance, at least emotionally. He returned to the cabin every few hours to enjoy his ‘body-slave,’ but as soon as his desire subsided, he returned to work without a word or a backward glance. He wasn’t cruel or overly rough, just cold and detached.
Belton, on the other hand, had barely left her side for the past twenty-four hours. He’d shared her meals and spent hours learning about her life before and after the Skarilians. It didn’t seem possible that she’d been aboard the Yashonty ship less than three full days. She’d grown comfortable with Belton both in and out of bed. He was still aggressive and demanding, obviously not opposed to using discipline to change her behavior. Still, his interest went deeper than physical release. He wanted to understand her thinking, the emotions that shaped her actions.
Earning their trust and cooperation was her best hope of either rescuing Brianne or at least gleaning the needed information and passing it on to Celeste. Lorna wasn’t just indulging her need to submit, she was working toward an important goal. So why did she feel so guilty about enjoying her masters’ attention?
She found Belton sitting on the padded bench, dressed in uniform pants, a glass of wine in each hand. He extended his arm as she approached, offering her the wine.
“Thanks.” She took the glass and sat down beside him. Leaning against the wall, she gasped then shivered. “Is all Yashonty furniture this useless? The designs might look sleek and minimalistic, but everything is really uncomfortable.”
“Except for the beds.” The sensual rumble in his tone never failed to curl her toes.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “We’ve spent more than enough time there already.”
Momentarily setting down his glass, he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against his warm chest. “Better?” He reached over and retrieved his drink as she settled into a semi-reclining position supported by his strong arm.
“Much.” She let her gaze wander over his angular face as she sipped her wine. His features were bolder than Moxtel’s, but his reluctant smiles kept him from looking harsh. Long white hair, unbound for a change, framed the lower half of his face before spilling across his broad shoulders. The markings on the top of his head were echoed on his chest and upper arms. During their long conversations, he’d told her the coarse, bonelike ridge encircling the back of his head was called a corona. Most Yashonty believed their ancestors had once possessed horns and the corona was all that remained.
His blue-black skin and purple eyes made it impossible to forget they were from different planets. Lorna just wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. They were all victims of the Skarilians. And like some intergalactic support group, their numbers would continue to increase until the Skarilians were stopped. The rebels were willing to pay any price as long as the enemy was destroyed. The Protectorate was focused on integration and recovery. More and more Lorna found herself agreeing with the rebels. None of this would end until the Skarilians were obliterated.
She’d expected this mission to be harrowing, more traumatic than anything she’d endured on Earth. The sex was often rough, and her discipline was intense, but she felt shockingly content as their captive. The situation on Earth was depressing and strange. The ruined planet no longer felt like home. She loved her sisters deeply, would obviously do anything for either of them. Still, loyalty came hand in hand with responsibility and pressure. And she was tired of being responsible, burned out by the pressure and hopelessness. This felt surreal, like an elaborate, incredibly immersive fantasy. If it weren’t for Brianne and the other body-slaves, Lorna would be tempted to lose herself completely and pretend the rest of the universe didn’t exist.
But this wasn’t a fantasy. It was a mission, and not every female could find contentment in the arms of her masters. Lorna had chosen this situation. Most had not.
His warm gaze moved over her features as he bent toward her. “Every time you insist on cleansing your body, I want to scent mark you all over again.”
She shivered, nipples tingling. “How much longer will these urges last?”
“I don’t know. I’m not completely sure what’s causing them.”
Lorna didn’t believe him. He raised his gaze and looked beyond her, then took another sip of wine. He clearly knew more than he was saying.
Lorna had a pretty good idea why they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but she hesitated to say anything. When Celeste was briefed about Rh-negative compatibility, she’d insisted all three sisters have their blood typed. Information was power, and they needed to know if they would be targeted as breeders. As Celeste feared, all three were O-negative. Their blood type was O, and they did not have the Rh protein on their red blood cells. They were young and healthy, all of childbearing age. In short, they were perfect candidates for the Ventori transformation program.
Then Brianne was kidnapped, and they couldn’t help wondering if genetic compatibility played a part. Still, Lorna wasn’t sure how to ask Belton without revealing a potentially damning secret. If the Yashonty didn’t know about the anomaly, she sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to tell them.
Hoping to explain the extended pause, she wet her mouth with some wine so her voice would sound more natural. “May I ask a question, Sir?”
“Of course.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Remain respectful.”
She nodded, then realized it would have been more respectful to give a verbal response. “I remembered who mentioned the auctions. It wasn’t Tarn, Sir. It was you.” She leaned forward and set down her glass before looking into his eyes. “Can you tell me about them? I know Brianne is the type of female who often ends up at one. Am I too late? Has she already been sold?”
“Moxtel is looking into what happened to Brianne.” With a heavy sigh, he set his glass aside too. “When he knows something definite, he’ll tell you.”
Belton had tried to create an intimate, even romantic moment, and she was turning it into an interrogation. Anyone would be annoyed. But she needed specific information too badly to squander this opportunity.
Carefully bunching her robe around her hips, she rearranged her legs so she straddled his lap. She rested her hands lightly on his bare chest and chose her next question carefully. “I’ll ask Master about Brianne specifically, but can you tell me about the auctions? Are they arranged by the Yashonty? Who gets the proceeds from each sale?”
He slid his hands up under her robe until his long fingers rested on her butt cheeks. Heat ignited in his gaze, warning her that he wouldn’t tolerate her questions for long. But he gave her a firm squeeze and explained, “War is expensive, vengeance even more so. We can pillage already devastated worlds, or sell a very small percentage of the females we collect. This is the lesser of two evils.”
It was harder than hell not to react to his words, especially knowing that Brianne was more than likely one of the lesser evils. How could he be so callous, so uncaring about innocent females? She didn’t need to ask. The answer was glaringly obvious. They weren’t Yashonty, so they meant nothing to him or any of the rebels. She could not allow herself to forget that fundamental belief. Any female who could not produce Yashonty offspring was expendable to them. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and waited to see if he’d say more.
“I know what you are thinking. It’s obvious you disapprove, but sacrifices must be made, or this war will never end. Do you agree that the Skarilians must be stopped?”
“Of course.” If she said more, she’d end up with a bright red bottom.
“You sacrificed yourself for your sister,” he pointed out. “You obviously understand the concept. This is no
t all that different.”
“Respectfully, Sir, I disagree.” He wasn’t trying to anger her, but his attitude was infuriating. Regardless of how it was justified, slavery was wrong.
“I give you permission to speak freely.”
Thrilled by the opportunity, she lowered her hands to her half-covered thighs and unleashed her temper. “I chose to endanger myself for the potential benefit of my sister. Brianne and all the others were taken against their will. If Brianne is auctioned, she is a victim, not a sacrifice. There is no excuse for selling anyone. Ever.”
His body tensed and his features froze, becoming utterly expressionless. “I said the same thing to Ram and he challenged me to find an alternative that accomplished our goals, but created less—what do your people call it? Collateral damage.”
Was he serious? He’d claimed her as his body-slave and fucked her within hours of her arrival. Why would he think twice about selling alien females? Knowing better than attacking him directly, she asked, “Did you come up with anything?”
“Not for lack of trying.” He gazed past her with a heavy sigh and lapsed into silence. His eyes looked particularly tormented.
She felt like she was poking a wounded animal, but needed to understand his reaction so she could bring the conversation back on track. “Why did you object?”
He looked at her as if the answer was obvious, and suddenly it was.
Her eyes widened and compassion squeezed her heart. “Were you once a slave?”
With a stiff nod, he admitted, “I was captured by the Skarilians and held for three years.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’ve seen them? Oh, Belton, how did you escape?”
“I didn’t.” He lowered his gaze, though his expression was still closely guarded. “They blew up the ship I was serving aboard after they rounded up the crew, so we were presumed dead. We were taken to a mining outpost and put to work. Once the ore was gone, they just flew away and left us there to starve.”
She scooted closer, wanting to comfort him, but needing to see his face. “How did you get off the outpost?” And how bad did things get before he was rescued? No wonder he seemed haunted half the time. Three years of forced labor, followed by a slow and agonizing death? The only thing merciful about most Skarilian attacks was that they were over quickly.
“Everyone in the Yashonty military is chipped. One of our scout ships picked up our signals and rescued the survivors. There were only seventeen of us still alive.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“That I was still alive?” He attempted to smile, but pain still shadowed his eyes.
“Of course not, Sir.” She needed to let this go, let him regain his composure. Unfortunately, curiosity was in her DNA. “What do they look like?”
Belton shook his head. “I only saw the overseers and they were not Skarilian. I’d never seen their species before, but the local miners said they were Melmon, or Malmonian. They were clearly allies with the Skarilians because they were evacuated, along with what remained of the food.” He waved away the topic, as if it were incidental. “That’s why I despise our need for body-slaves and selling virgins. But despite my best effort, I couldn’t come up with an alternative that didn’t harm someone else just as badly as the existing programs. War requires sacrifice, whether or not the victims volunteer.”
“And that’s why I hate war,” she whispered. But then, she wasn’t sure she believed in an afterlife, much less the need for blood sacrifices to redeem the fallen.
“Is your sister’s virginity really more precious than the lives of millions, perhaps billions on the next planet the Skarilians target? Is she more important than the Tavorians?” The indulgent calm gradually faded from his expression and tone. He’d invited candid honesty, yet hearing her perspective—and reliving his past—obviously angered him. “If the Protectorate had joined forces with us when we first arrived in Earth’s solar system, Tavor would not have been attacked.”
“That’s not fair,” she insisted. “No one knew Tavor was in danger, including the Tavorians. That attack was senseless and unprovoked.”
“All of their attacks are senseless and unprovoked,” he countered hotly. “They are irrational beasts with an insatiable hunger for destruction!”
She’d heard the characterization much too often. “That doesn’t make sense.” She sighed, frustrated by months of people accepting the lazy explanation. “Irrational beasts don’t build interdimensional starships.”
“Irrational beasts leave hundreds of people on a barren planet with nothing to eat and little to drink!” He tried to push her off his lap, but she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’m not defending them,” she assured him, then waited until he calmed a bit to explain, “I only meant that the Skarilians could have a purpose, a specific goal. We don’t understand their motivation. But maybe if someone could figure it out, we’d have some hope of stopping them.”
“I don’t want to understand them,” Belton snapped. “I want to obliterate them.” The finality in his tone left no room for further discussion.
With a tense nod, she finally let it go. There were other subjects much more important to her.
He pulled his hands out from under her robe and placed them on her waist. “Once we have ended the Skarilians, we will have no reason to take alien females.” He looked directly into her eyes, his expression intense, yet unreadable. “We will return to our own star system and rebuild our lives.”
There was logic in his thinking. It was brutal and merciless, yet logical all the same. Tired of thinking about their enemy, she returned to the original question. “Do your people control the auctions? Can you get Brianne back for me?”
“Again, these are questions for Moxtel.” Belton’s hands tightened and dragged her closer to his body. His burgeoning erection pressed against her barely covered mound.
She was still too upset to play and wasn’t sure how much longer Belton would indulge her, so she blurted, “Why is Moxtel so determined to dislike me?” The question made her cringe. She sounded like a thirteen-year-old with her first unrequited crush.
The barest hint of a smile bowed his lips. “What makes you think he dislikes you?”
Lowering her gaze to his chest, she absently ran one hand along his muscular arm. “He’s always eager to fuck me, but he can’t get away from me fast enough once he’s satisfied.”
“He cares for you, Lorna.” His voice was low and sincere. “More than you can imagine.”
She looked up as emotions swept over her, threatening to abolish what little remained of her composure. They were a means to an end. The way they felt about her was irrelevant. Revealing that she cared made her needlessly vulnerable. “Then, why does he keep pushing me away?”
Tension rolled through Belton’s body, and he shifted his hands to her hips. Her gown separated his skin from hers, but his heat sank through. “It’s a long story, and I don’t think he’d appreciate my telling you about it.”
Which meant Belton wasn’t opposed to her knowing, just having Moxtel find out. They might spank her for being so bold, but it would be worth it. She needed to penetrate Moxtel’s protective shell, make him care about her on some level. “It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out why he’s so cold. Can you confirm my hypothesis? That’s not the same as telling me.”
A reluctant smile lifted one corner of his mouth. His full-on smiles were still rare, but any progress was encouraging. “What is your hypothesis?”
“I think he had a mate before. So feeling anything for me makes him feel disloyal to her.”
“If he felt nothing for you, he wouldn’t keep coming back for more.”
Even after all the time they’d spent in bed together, the comment made her blush. “I know he enjoys having sex with me, but—despite what you say—I think he’s determined to keep it entirely physical.”
One of his silky white brows arched, drawing her attention to his smoldering violet gaze. “Do you want it t
o be more? You were taken against your will, forced into sexual servitude. How can you possibly feel anything but hatred for us?”
A hint of mockery in his tone challenged and annoyed her. He was right. She should hate them, but she didn’t. She hadn’t from the first moment they touched. Rather than admitting she was as confused by this attraction as they were, she stressed, “We’re talking about Moxtel. Am I on the right track? Did he lose someone he cared about deeply in the attacks on Yashontara?”
“We all did.” Belton averted his gaze as the familiar pain sparked in his eyes. “They were not yet bonded, but she had chosen him as her protector. They had just started to plan the ceremony. I’d never seen him so excited about anything.”
She nodded, then started to express her sympathy, but Belton wasn’t finished.
“And now all the life-bringers who survived have chosen new protectors, so none of us seeking vengeance will become immortal even after this war ends.”
Trying to ignore the tension building inside her, she slid her hands up to his shoulders and centered her weight on his thighs. His hands still rested on her hips, and his desire seemed banked for the moment. “How does a Yashonty become immortal?” Tarn indicated that children allowed the Yashonty to pass from one life to the next. Was that what Belton meant?
His pale brows bunched above his nose. “Humans do not believe in immortality?”
“Most humans believe in a soul, a part of our being that lives on after our body dies. The afterlife itself is described in different ways by different human cultures. What do the Yashonty believe?”
He caught a lock of her hair, studying it closely. The auburn strands looked particularly red against his blue-black skin. “There are multiple stages of existence, and we pass from one to the next each time our lifecycle ends. If we upheld all the sacred vows and pursued worthy goals, the next stage is more enjoyable than the last.” He spoke casually as if reciting concepts that weren’t quite real to him. “If we squander our divine energy or intentionally do wrong to other Yashonty, the next stage is much more challenging.”
