The Alien's Mark (Captives of Pra'kir Book 4)

by Megan Michaels

  Xan growled deep in his chest, and she chuckled at his jealousy rising to the surface. He flicked along her labia, fluttering in a circular pattern around her clit. She thrashed her head in frustration as she climbed toward orgasm.

  He pulled away, nipping and nibbling along the sensitive skin between her pussy and her thighs, teasing her with his mouth. She was so close, and yet he aggravatingly stayed away from anything that would tip her over into her release.

  Reaching forward, she grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him to her center, doing her best to come—on her terms.

  “Bad girl. Hands!”

  He glared at her so intensely, she forgot to breathe. “Yes, Master.” She’d more than likely pay for that later—in one of his evil methods requiring no punishment of her bottom, yet just as painful and more humiliating. Many times she’d beg for an old fashioned discipline session, wanting to avoid the objectification he subjected her to.

  He slipped a finger into her anus, lightly stroking and jiggling it in the sensitive hole. Leaning forward, keeping his dark-as-coal eyes on her, he slid his pointy tongue up the seam of her sex, not missing any area, slowly pulling the hardened nub into his mouth, laving and sucking on it tightly while thrusting his fingers deeper into her anus.

  Her heels pressed onto the cold metal table, her back arching, her neck lengthening while low, growls emanating from deep within her chest erupted from her throat as her orgasm overtook her body. Her whole body spasmed, the sound of her screams reverberating off the cold marble walls of his lab.

  Her heart raced, and her body vibrated with aftershocks, her arousal still thrumming through every inch of her, her skin tingling.

  Xan jammed the fingers of his other hand into her sex, stroking her G-spot, while he still stroked her dark channel. Her hips left the table, and she shouted with her second orgasm.

  Blythe shuddered and trembled with every ripple of her womb, still clenching and twinging with her release. “Dear God.” With her eyes still closed, she licked her lips, body listless, the tremors waning. “This may be a good time to take some data.”

  Her Master chuckled, lightly patting her sticky sex. “I give the orders around here, slave.”

  She peeped one eye open at him, worried he may actually be angry, only to see a barely contained grin under his dark, thin moustache, the dimple in his cheek oddly matching the dimple in his chin. Closing her eyes again, she felt her body coming under control again.

  Blythe had been a good girl, which meant she’d be allowed visitation as he called it. How her life had changed in just a few months, and now not only was she happy as a slave and ward, but she had something to look forward to.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amshal sat on the beach watching his great-great-great-grandchildren paddling around and splashing each other in the shallow water near the shore. The summer had been warmer than most, and for whatever reason the Council of Nine, the superior ruling party of their planet Pra’kir, had been busier than ever. The nine members were the most respected and senior of judges, they’d worked their way to the highest level of power, governing the planet and its citizens, ruling on the most important cases.

  He’d been in his position for sixty-seven years, and at a hundred and fifty-eight, he lived the good life with a mansion on the coast, basking in the sunshine with his family, enjoying his down time, and making memories.

  His great-great-great granddaughter, Sabi, played in the bright white sand, toddling to the water with her little pink pail then filling it with the ocean water to drench the scorched sand she had piled into a mound, calling it a house for her dollies only to have it evaporate as quickly as she poured it. But with the perseverance of youth she continued trudging back and forth, sloshing water with her unsteady gait.

  Arzela, his faithful wife of a hundred and thirty years, sat beside him, enjoying the escapades of their grandchildren and great-great-great-grandchildren as well. A good wife, supportive and kind, but probably more than that—patient. Being partnered with a Council of Nine judge wasn’t an easy task. Although the citizens of Pra’kir would argue the point, they did work hard, with long hours and their time off interrupted with many phone calls and confidential meetings.

  The years prior to his promotion had been filled with angst and the politics of rising to his current status. But through it all, Arzela had raised their children, and now she coordinated weekend get-togethers like this one with the family, for food and fun on the water. It made the grueling hours and years of trouble worth it to watch them playing in the sand and water—happy and without any discomfort or uneasiness.

  Sabi stopped traipsing with her water pail, dropping it carelessly into the sand, staring at the sky. “Poppy what is that up there?” She pointed her small index finger to an orange object in the azure sky.

  He stood from his squat chair in the white sand, quickly walking toward her, unable to tear his eyes from the flaming object hurtling toward their shore at a frightening speed. The indiscernible article left debris and black plumes of smoke, marring the picturesque view.

  “I don’t know, Sabi.” He scooped her up into his arms, yelling to the citizens and family surrounding him. “Run! Something is crashing. Everyone, run! Now!” He handed his grand-daughter to his oldest son and ran to get Arzela.

  “Amshal, what is going on.” Her dark eyes were wide with fear, and he needed to keep calm for her—for everyone.

  “I don’t know, but we need to move away from the shore.” Grabbing her arm just above the elbow, he started to run, wishing for the hundredth time of late he was forty years younger. He really needed to renew his membership at the club and work on his paunchy belly.

  “Run! Move, everyone, while you still can!” he shouted over his shoulder, scanning the landscape to be sure his family had all moved away from the shore.

  He paused, looking once again at the sky. The elongated contraption was breaking up, pieces falling into their ocean, flames and explosions could be heard as it burst into a million pieces, littering the sky with black, white, and orange flaming articles that sizzled when they hit the water, but also burst into flames, some exploding when they hit the sand and cliff rocks.

  The larger piece of the ship careened at an alarming rate toward them. He swore he could see faces in the windows, faces covered with bubbled helmets, small fists pounding on the glass, mouths wide open, yelling, he had no doubt, profanities and pleas to Na for mercy. His heart skipped a beat at the agony and despair on their faces, But quickly his heart changed and those emotions became replaced with a righteous anger at the audacity of these people to come crashing to their shores, with weapons and ammunition obviously shooting at them. After all, the loud blasts and destruction had to be proof of their intention to destroy their planet.

  Something large detonated, water and fish bursting into the air, covering the white sand and scattered lawn chairs and blankets with fish particles, blazing metal scorching everything in its path.

  “Run! Everyone, climb the rocks. Get to the houses!” He shouted as loudly as he could. He turned back to his family, breathing heavily, panting and trudging up the steep incline toward his house.

  Amshal ran toward the cluster of homes, the residences of his friends and children, hoping they would be spared from the attack on their coastal community.

  His mind raced as he dragged his weary and breathless wife up the rocks to safety wondering if an unknown enemy was terrorizing their planet. Could this be a takeover of some sort? A coup? Maybe in all their missions to space they had upset a planet and this was their revenge?

  As the beach guests ran away from the scene, police and military ran toward the chaos. Explosions reverberated, shaking the ground. A monitor bug whizzed past him to record the actions of the alien craft crashing into the water. But what concerned Amshal now, was the damn bug directly in front of him, recording his harried and frantic departure. It would be on a loop to the news, showing live video of his belly jiggling over his st
riped trunks, his red face and heaving chest.

  Just as he made it to the road to his house, he saw Rowth’s vehicle racing along the track toward the malls near the beach. He’d question the general magistrate after this bedlam ended to find out what and who had smashed into their beautiful shore, destroying it.

  At a safe distance now, he looked down into the sea of police and rescue vehicles, the normally placid, pristine beach covered in dead fish and oceanic life, as well as stretchers and workers tending to the injured. Vehicles raced toward the mall with other bodies. Were any of those on the stretchers the aliens? If there were any deaths, as awful as it sounded he hoped it was the intruders bent on destroying Pra’kir. Their idyllic community didn’t need anyone intent on destroying them.

  “Amshal, I want to go home.” His sweet wife, tears tracking down her cheeks, nestled into his chest.

  “Yes, my dear. We’re going home.”

  “Poppy, carry me.” His little great-granddaughter, Sabi, tugged on the leg of his trunks, stretching her chubby arms up to him. His eyes filled with tears. How close had he come to losing his newest grandbaby? Clutching her to his chest, he kissed her soft cheek, thankful to the God of Na his family had been spared.

  Everyone hugged each other. the largest piece had landed in the water and the inhabitants were swimming toward shore and running toward the mall. The police and rescue workers guarding and dragging them to an area away from the citizens of Pra’kir. One of the intruders had been put on a gurney, and although they didn’t cover the being with a blanket, signaling it had expired, it didn’t move or seem conscious at all, making Amshal wonder if it was near death or actually expired and they didn’t want to alarm anyone with the morbidity.

  He hoped these aliens lived. He wanted to meet them face to face and judge for himself if they were remorseful or what their intent had been with their invasion on a calm sunny day on Endermere.

  These people would pay. If they weren’t dead already, they would be. He’d see to it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Amshal filed into the room with the other judges. Each wearing the long shiny silver robes with bright blue piping at the edges. The men were all white-haired and wizened with their age and experiences. Each one was respected for their years of service to Pra’kir as judges and lawyers.

  All nine had shown up, which was unusual for them—typically, due to prior commitments or conflicts of interest, they would have four or five, but, with some nudging, the Council of Nine was fully present. They sat at the large U-shaped table, with the defendant’s box and the General Magistrate’s table in the middle. General Rowth had entered the room before them and was already seated obviously prepared with his files before him and his hands casually linked in his lap, waiting for them to enter.

  The hearing and sentencing of the five women who had crashed into their shores, destroying homes, fish, wildlife, and killing an Endermere citizen needed the full judgment and repercussions of the Council, and it had taken only a few phone calls to remind the wise, old men it was their duty to not only be visible to all citizens but to assure the sentencing went off without a problem.

  All five of the prisoners filed in after the judges were seated. The five women were dressed in the prison-yellow one-piece jumpsuits, each shackled and chained, and one of them, the heavier one, had a full metal face mask. He’d heard she was a biter and had become quite a hazard to the guards—or anyone, for that matter, who had crossed her path.

  The smaller of the women had been rumored to be an escape artist and they had her hands and feet shackled.

  The men quietly stared at these five women, and he knew many of them felt like he did about the situation. They were angry and disgusted with many questions on their intent and … well, the stupidity of crashing into their planet with no forewarning. Yet, due to their seemingly young age and status as women, they found themselves at odds with the desire for revenge. The men in Endermere were kind. They took care of their children and women, protecting them—so their instinct was to assure their needs and welfare were met.

  Councilman Breen addressed Rowth, “How do you find these five women?”

  “I find them guilty of all charges,” the Magistrate responded with his deep voice, loud and clear.

  Amshal had never been fond of Rowth but couldn’t find fault with him professionally per se. He’d always done what was required and been aboveboard in all his deals. Rational, meticulous, and orderly is how he’d describe him, but, in dealing with his employees, he tended to lack empathy and wasn’t always compassionate. The judge assumed that was probably due to his rational nature and need for order and discipline, but his sympathy was lacking at best.

  Breen continue, “Let the record show the aforementioned criminals have been found guilty in the eyes of our city-state’s first general magistrate, a law-abiding citizen who has proven his honor and loyalty to the state through his legal prowess and deeds, a man who is their superior in every way.”

  “So noted,” the remaining eight councilmen intoned.

  “Let the sentencing begin.” Breen dropped his tablet back on the table and looked at each of his fellow councilmen in turn. “What the hell are we supposed to do with these creatures?”

  “Jail, of course,” one of the judges on the far side of the table said.

  Amshal laughed shaking his head. What a ridiculous thought. “They’d be killed immediately. They’ve been plastered on every monitor in every house. They wouldn’t survive a day there.”

  The lunacy of the idea had him baffled. He didn’t want to see them beaten to death, especially as women. And small women at that—easily a foot if not two feet shorter than their own women. If they were going to sentence them to death, it’d be done decently—and quietly—with an injection. The very idea of letting these small, frail creatures be torn limb from limb in the jail seemed beyond cruel.

  Rowth spoke up. “I have an idea of what we can do with them.”

  Shocked out of his reverie, Amshal stared at the normally stoic man. He’d never spoken out of turn in all the years they worked together, and to speak during sentencing was a blatant disregard for protocol of the Council.

  The councilmen looked at each other, dumbfounded. “Denied. You are not allowed to participate in sentencing.”

  “I think we should hear him out—we have no idea what we’re doing.” The councilman at the far side of the table spoke up.

  Scoffing loudly, Amshal picked up his communicator to see if Arzela had sent him a note. As someone who’d spend over a hundred years in the legal arena, he could barely contain his anger at the deviation from the normal course of the proceedings.

  Rowth’s voice droned, interrupting his thoughts. “I believe our minefield caused the damage to their ship when they unwittingly wandered too close, and our discarded garbage ultimately led to their crash.”

  “Then they shouldn’t have wandered too close,” Amshal grumbled.

  Rowth let that go unargued. Instead, he continued on to his next point. “And how were they greeted? By screaming pedestrians and two field officers who opened fire on them.”

  Amshal drummed his age-spotted finger against the table. “They brought weapons to our world.”

  Cancy startled beside him. “Were weapons actually found?”

  “No,” Rowth told them. “No evidence of weapons was found, either on them or at the crash sites.”

  “The ocean exploded!” Amshal shot back. “You’ll have to forgive me, General Magistrate, but you were not there. You didn’t see what happened, but I did. I was on that beach. My great great-granddaughter was on that beach.”

  Amshal had not slept a full night since the accident. Over and over, his mind replayed the scene, grabbing his great-great-granddaughter from the shore, watching the debris and ship fall into the ocean, wondering over and over what would have happened if Sabi hadn’t noticed the orange blazing article in the sky when she had. Would they have all perished? How many of the citizens of En
dermere would have been injured that day?

  Dammit. These aliens needed to pay for their egregious sins!

  “I suggest we foster them out, like the Mekron. They’re still children—all of them are under thirty-five.”

  Breen blinked at Rowth,. “They put children into space?”

  “It appears so.”

  “But, these women have skills and know technology. First, we were invaded by the Mekron, now these beings. The Mekron, due to their illness could not be a benefit to us, but these women may.” Rowth sat quietly, waiting for each councilman to digest what he’d said.

  Amshal nodded. Rowth made very good points.

  Councilman Breen leaned back in his chair. “So, you’re suggesting we keep these women in high-security clearance families and study and watch them, learning their skills and trades to further our own technology in return?”

  Rowth grinned slightly. “Yes, that’s my thinking, Sir.”

  “They would need to be separated. Together they would be a risk and more than likely escape, but if we keep them one per household, they’d bond with their captors. Keeping them in a subservient, slave and ward status would establish the appropriate dynamic.”

  “Agreed.” Rowth turned his gaze onto each councilman, obviously trying to gauge their reaction to the proposal.

  “And you’d be taking one of them, am I to assume?” Breen raised his eyebrows at Rowth.

  “Yes, the sickliest one. If I’m going to propose this to other military men, I need to take one in myself. I would like to make one deviation to this, if you all decide this is the way we’re proceeding, I’d like to have one of the women, Blythe Wainwright—the biter—brought to Dr. Xan Breckett who, as you know, has a military background as well. It is our hope he may find out medically why she is inclined to use her teeth when communicating.

  “Agreed.”

  Breen looked to his fellow judges. “These women are definitely juveniles, and therefore are the responsibility of their parents, or in this case, the fostering system to train them on how to live successfully in our society.