by Aubrey Cara
At his words, the veran drops her chin back down.
Curious. I have many questions for this little veran, but they’ll have to wait.
I pull a sack of gemstones from a pouch on my vest and toss it to the Ikbar on the left. It hits him in his boney chest, and his four hands fumble to catch it before it falls.
The other Ikbar frowns. “What’s that?”
“Payment. She’s ours, now.”
I scoop her up, and she stiffens for a moment before softening, her arms wrapping around my shoulders.
Mine.
My cybernetics have to work to even my accelerating heartrate and the pulse of heat rising in my body. Her tantalizing scent weaves its way around my senses, imprinting on the fabric of my being. The rightness of her presence in my arms hits me so hard, everything else fades to the background.
Zapexian or not, she is mine.
TAWN
“Did he just fucking say she’s ours?”
Banx scoops up the veran and strides toward us, the Ikbar click-clacking unhappily behind him. I have no idea how much Banx gave them, but they obviously don’t feel it’s enough. Wisely, the creatures don’t give chase.
Banx hops off the stage with the veran in his arms.
“Is he cracked in the head?” Ast exclaims in disbelief then turns to Banx and asks directly, “Are your cybernetics glitching?”
It’s a reasonable question. We’re Monrok. Everything we do is exact, with purpose to the best outcome. Irrational behavior is…illogical. Weak.
Our bodies act as a protective barrier against the crowd, but I have to elbow in the face more than a few beings trying to get a better look at the female in Banx’s arms.
“I hate to be the voice of reason,” Jor says with a seriousness he hasn’t shown in decades. “But a veran, Banx? I want to get my dick wet as much as anyone on this filthy planet, but maybe think this through, yeah? She’s a fucking oracle. A Zapexian oracle. Nobody just takes Zapexian flesh and goes unnoticed.”
“I’ll second that,” I say, and Ast nods in agreement. The Galactic Unity Council just granted Monrok our freedom. In good faith. This kind of shit starts wars.
Banx just shakes his head. “She comes with us.”
“So that’s it?” I ask, genuinely curious. “We’re publicly taking the veran we’ve illegally purchased?”
“I’m sure the Unity Council will be thrilled to find out we’re the scavenging beasts half the galaxy think we are,” Jor says gruffly.
Banx just scowls at us, possessively clutching his prized purchase, and stalks back the way we came. I curse but fall in on his left. Ast flanks his right, and Jor takes the rear. In formation, we make our way back through the crowd. Only the most daring try to reach out and touch.
Ast whips out his long blade, and those with grabby hands receive severed limbs for their trouble. With their agonized cries in our wake, the rest of the mass steps back, giving us a wide berth.
I glance over at the female to get a better look at her, but her face is tucked into Banx’s shoulder. Her bruised arms are wrapped tightly around his neck. Even marred, her body is captivating, and I wonder how’d she feel pressed against me.
We’re halfway back to the main shuttle bay when Ast warns, “Incoming.”
Just ahead are a group of seven Zapex. Three are well muscled and wear furs and leathers instead of traditional robes, indicating they’re Zapexian warriors. They’re all heavily armed, but we can easily kill them all.
I still have to ask Banx, “Do you really want this fight?” We Monrok have just been granted our freedom. The Galactic Unity Council has forced the Zapex hand to give up any claim on the Monrok they think they once had, and have taken an alliance with us in good faith we’ll keep war from erupting in the Jun’pn galaxy.
And the Zapex will not go to war with us, unless clearly provoked.
There’s no clearer provocation for war than us being seen taking a veran by force off of Ak’ba.
“We should hand her over,” I try to reason. “Send her home with her people. She’s a tempting baggage, but is veran pussy worth going to war over?”
Banx looks down at the female. “Are you with us, or with them?” He nods to the Zapex in the distance.
She follows his gaze and stiffens, her grip tightening on Banx. A hint of fear escapes her before she blocks it. “You. Please.” Her entrancingly melodic voice hits me like a punch. “I’m with you.”
“You understand what it means for you if you come with us?” Banx asks, his heated gaze leaving no doubt what will be expected from her.
She shivers but nods. “Yes.”
One word from her pouty blue lips and my lifebringer is at full awareness.
Shoulders set, Banx nods once, resolutely. “Then we fight.”
Ast’s laugh is dark and hearty as he swings his handmade machete.
Jor spits in the dirt at Banx’s feet, never once taking his eyes off our approaching adversaries. “Let it be known we’re the hadhr who started the war, all in the name of Zapexian pussy.” It’s a curious statement coming from Jor. He’s usually the first to want a battle.
I gaze again at the gorgeous veran in Banx’s arms, so sweet and innocent. Ripe to be plowed.
“We’ve all fought and killed for less,” I remind Jor.
His jaw ticks. “I just thought we were done fighting for the fucking Zapex, is all.”
“We’re fighting for ourselves, and what is ours,” Banx snarls irritably.
“At least we’ll have a warm cunt to rut as consolation,” Ast points out.
“That’s the spirit,” I say, grinning, just as the first blast shakes the air.
CHAPTER TWO
Sana
Then we fight.
A shiver goes through me at the Monrok’s statement, spoken with such deadly promise, and the rest of their exchange is a buzzing in my ears. There’s no time to think of the consequences to my actions. I will not go back. I cannot go back.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see my fellow Zapex struck down because of me. It was bad enough having seen the Monrok to my right lop off the hands of creatures trying to reach out and touch me. Quicker than I could fathom, he’d drawn a long blade from his back and sliced it through the air in three different directions with a rotation of his wrist. My legs are speckled with the spattered blood that went flying.
My stomach gives a sick twist.
Blasts cut through my musings. The static energy shimmering around me awakens my senses. My hair lifts and undulates in waves as a current pumps through me. Shocks of electric currents snap from my hands. The beast carrying me curses and shifts me up over his shoulder. I drape his back as we run, trying to hold onto the fitted garment he wears.
“Shit. There’s more of them,” one of the Monrok yells over the fray. “Get her back to the ship. We’ll follow.”
I lift my head and see at least twenty Zapex giving chase and firing on us. The Monrok with the long blade is hit in the leg, flesh torn away, but he doesn’t break stride or seem affected at all.
The Monrok to my left stumbles, his shirt smoking with from a blast. The Monrok carrying me turns and sends a blast in the air from his hands, the shock wave rippling the air. Three Zapex are thrown back at the impact.
My gut clenches. There’s already so much carnage. Another Monrok on my far right is hit, and he sends out a series of blasts from both hands, knocking out three Zapex.
“No more!” I scream, jackknifing up in my Monrok’s hold, and instinctively raise my hands. Palms out, I draw the electric currents in the air to me. Through me.
“What are you doing?” he snaps. “Get down.”
I close my eyes against the heady rush zinging through me and concentrate on channeling the electric shock current of the blasts from Monrok and Zapex alike. The deafening booms turn to that of sizzling zaps as my protective shield shimmers in the air around us.
The Monrok all stutter to a halt in the sandy road, staring at me.
“Move,” I yell at them. My arms are trembling, and soon my entire body shakes with exertion. I don’t know how long I can hold this. My vision blurs as pin prickles tear at my skin. I focus all my efforts on holding the shield in place as we race past shuttles.
We turn a corner, and either distance or lack of sight makes me break my connection. Panting, I sag over the Monrok as we race up a hatchway.
The loud pings of laser fire hitting the ship begin to echo and fade the deeper into the vessel we go.
I’m unceremoniously dumped on the floor as the Monrok who bought me and two others race to the control panels. The fourth stands over me, his scarred face pulled down in grim lines, his thickly muscled arms crossed over his chest.
I scramble back from his malevolent stare and look around the spacious control room as the ship rocks and lifts off the ground.
The vessel is huge, much larger than anything I’ve ever seen, not that I’ve had much experience with off-planet travel. My master’s pleasure cruiser was modest. It had only three sparse sleeping rooms and a small communal area behind a narrow control room. I’d only been on it a handful of times.
As for my voyage off Jar’jn, I don’t remember much. I was stuffed in a crate. Pippen had promised I’d be safe, but something went wrong, and instead of being taken to Pacbar I was found by the pair of Ikbar. I tried to fight them but was still too weak to even mind meld them. They bound my arms and hands and locked me in a cage in the back of a cramped cargo area.
And now I’m here.
The familiar pull of a ship in flight presses down on me. I grit my teeth, curling into a ball as it intensifies, and then it’s gone. I float up into the air, weightless before gravity drops me back down.
I rub my hip where I landed and find the angry Monrok standing so close his boots touch my thigh. I’ve never seen a Monrok in person. They are frightening beasts. Giant in stature, with hard bodies that could be chiseled from stone. Yet, like the one who bought me, there is something about this one that calls to me.
A scar runs from just under his eye, across his cheek to his throat, and I wonder what happened to cause such sustained damage. I heard tell Monrok could heal from any wound. Perhaps they are more mortal than I was led to believe.
His skin is pale, his hair a lighter color still. Like moonbeams, a golden that’s nearly white. The tips of one side are singed from where he took a blast. His garment is torn at the shoulder, revealing burnt flesh. It looks terribly painful, but like the Monrok who was blasted in the leg, he seems unaffected by his injury.
All the Monrok are from the same species, but their coloring is not the same at all. Except their eyes. They all have fascinating light-blue eyes that shine like tash stones in a backdrop of white. The colors don’t swirl or meld together at all. They’re most unnerving. Steady.
I shore my courage and blurt, “Pacbar. We need to get to Pacbar.”
“And why would that be?” he asks.
I tip my chin up, refusing to be intimidated. I’ve come too far. “I know things—things the Galactic Unity Council needs to be made aware of.”
“Do you?” He squats, his elbows on his knees, and pins me with his stare. I stiffen in apprehension. “And what is it you know?”
My gaze darts from him to the other Monrok throwing glances our way as they maneuver the huge ship around a space crater and pull up coordinate maps. I swallow thickly. The things I know…they could mean my freedom and help prepare millions of inhabitants in the Jun’pn Galaxy for the destruction coming their way, but…in the wrong hands, the information could be the end of the Zapex.
“Hmm, nothing to say?”
I drop my gaze to my lap.
“I don’t trust you, veran.” His words are a warning. His voice gruff. All their voices are, as if hinting at the savagery they’re capable of. They speak Zapexian, but with a coarse accent I’ve never heard before.
The words of a veran priestess I grew up learning from, come to me. “It is inherently unwise to trust in that which we do not know. Instead, in time of doubt, we must trust our spirit.” The priestesses also said Monrok were simpleminded beasts. That I keep to myself.
“Yet, here you are,” he accuses. “By choice.”
What choice did he think I had? “I’m here due to circumstance and necessity.” Would he think I’d choose this fate? That any of us get to choose.
“For those same reasons, you’ll go where we take you.”
“Leave off her.” The one who bought me comes over and scoops me off the floor.
My body tingles in awareness just as it did when he came up on that stage and claimed me. It makes me believe he was woven into my fate by the stars.
“You’ll have to ignore Jor,” my fated one says. “He’s an aheh.”
I huff out a laugh in surprise at his use of this term. An aheh is the anus of fat prickly little creatures called breekis.
“We should take her to Pacbar,” Jor grumbles from behind us. “Drop her off and be rid of her.”
My new master ignores him, sets me on a gel hover pad, and straps me down at the waist.
My hands move the strap. “This isn’t necessary.”
He bats my hands away and holds out a thin scanner. “Hold still,” he says as he starts running it over my body from head to foot.
“May I have a robe?” The Ikbar humiliatingly stripped me of my robe and cape before they bound me and shoved me in cage.
“We have no Zapexian garments on board. Perhaps, later, we can get you a shirt.” He flicks a heated glance at my breast then sex. “After.”
His tone leaves no doubt what after is referring to. I suck my lips in, endeavoring not to ask any more questions. Even when warm air begins to circulate around me, and I wonder if I owe him thanks.
“Do you have a name?” he asks.
“Sana, sire.”
He quirks a brow. “I’m Banx.”
Banx’s skin is much darker than Jor’s, his hair as black as my own. He’s big and wide everywhere. His jaw. His shoulders. His hands. He’s thickly padded with hard-packed muscles my hair twitches out to explore. He bats it away, and I try to subdue my unruly tresses.
My old master, Kechlyn, was likely just as tall if not taller than Banx, but thin bodied, like most Zapex. And he didn’t awaken my senses the way being in the presence of these Monrok does.
“She has a collaring chip.” He says this to the room at large, scooping my hair back in his fist and roughly turning my head to the side.
My hair wraps up his arm, my hand finds his wrist, but he easily plucks my fingers off him and holds me down.
There’s a sharp burning sensation at the back of my neck. I scream and fight his hold.
“Be still,” he demands. “This will go quickly if you settle.”
“What are you doing?” Panic spikes through me. The scanner the Monrok laid on the pad at my hip goes flying across the control room. The lights flash.
Banx grabs my face. “Calm yourself.”
There’s a low whistle from another Monrok. “Is it safe to have her onboard?”
“I’ll throw her out the airlock if she’s thinking to take us down.” This from Jor.
“She’s fine,” Banx says, not taking his gaze from mine. “Aren’t you?”
I nod to reassure him I have settled.
“We’re removing your collaring and tracking chip.”
I nod again, swallowing the apology that rises to my lips. These are not the indulgent gearan I’m used to dealing with. An admission of guilt would not put me in anyone’s favor with these men. Had Banx told me what they were doing, I wouldn’t have panicked in the first place.
I turn my head once again, and move my hair up out of the way. “I’m ready.”
“Try to hold steady,” Banx growls while removing my collaring chip from my spine, but the pain makes it difficult not to move. All my instincts scream at me to get away from the pain.
Shivers of ice go through my body as the tentacles of the chip fight to stay latched to my nerve endings.
My stomach rolls.
There’s another burning touch to the back of my neck, the scent of searing flesh, and I whimper as they close the small wound. A cool salve of some kind is spread over the cut, immediately soothing the pain.
I hear a crunch then the angry Monrok with the moonbeam hair scrapes the crushed remains off the floor and moves to the wall to dispose of it.
The tracking and collaring chip I’ve had in me since I was a child is now gone. Banx releases me from his grip and, for a moment, I am unmoored. Weightless. My identity is gone, as well and truly is the life I have led up until this point.
Thanks to the powerful Monrok, I’m not being dragged back to Jar’jn to face execution. And these Monrok are powerful. Banx alone is three times my size. He’s a magnificent beast, built for battle. Possibly built for much more carnal things. Things, I was very much created for but have never gotten to experience the way I know I was meant to.
My nipples tighten as I imagine just what he may have planned for me.
A flush works up from my core, and I hope they can’t tell where my thoughts have strayed.
I’m studying my Monrok captor-slash-hero intently enough I see when his gaze flicks over my body, but with a much more clinical eye than the one I’ve been watching him with.
“Who gave you those bruises?” he asks gruffly, his grip on the scanner tightening to the point the handheld cracks on one side.
My belly flutters with nerves as well as something else at his show of strength. “My master’s honored mate.” The answer comes quick and easy. I have no reason to hide how I came to be here.
Banx’s brows go up, whether from my words or what he is fixedly reading on the screen of the scanner, I’m not sure.
The Monrok with a head of burnished curls and kind eyes stands beside the hover pad, his fingers lightly skimming up my stomach. They boldly tweak over the taut buds of my breasts, and a warmth unfurls from deep within me.
My hair comes alive at the sensation; strands whips out to wrap around his wrist. I should be feeling trepidation at my predicament, but instead glory in his touch. It’s like quenching a terrible thirst. I’ve been denied sensual contact too long.
