His to Conquer (Alien Masters Book 3)
Page 3
The man on the throne stared at her for a few moments. Then he stood and descended the three steps from the throne. He stopped so close that she smelled the acrid odor of dried sweat on his body. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.
He saw it. His evil grin told Talia she would pay for the insult.
He barked an order. The leader who delivered her came forward again. Lord Balam waved a hand at her and the man untied the ropes around her waist. Balam slowly opened the cloak.
His eyes widened when he saw the purple robe underneath, hitched up above her knees by the gold sash. He growled a single word, stretched out a hand, and the man beside him slapped a stone dagger into his palm. Balam’s eyes never left hers as he grabbed the neckline of her robe, then slashed it from top to bottom, baring her completely. Only when he saw the flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks did he turn his gaze to her naked body.
It was all Talia could do to remain unmoving while the savage’s eyes raked her over from head to toe. She’d never been naked in front of anyone—not since she was a toddler. Even then, her caregivers had trained her to cover herself as quickly and completely as possible after being bathed. Being on display for this crude being’s enjoyment was a cruel and embarrassing consequence for her momentary lapse of self-control. When she got home and made a full report, her superiors, all of them instructors in the arts of diplomacy, would no doubt use the story of her degradation to illustrate the dangers of allowing that control to slip for even an instant, no matter how fleeting.
But her humiliation had just begun. Balam glanced up at her face again. He didn’t seem intimidated by the fact that she stood a foot taller than he was. Maybe that was one reason why he’d chosen to expose her body. It was hard to maintain her dignity when the cold breeze flowing through the palace made her nipples harden—puckering even as he ogled them, right at his eye level.
He stretched out the hand holding the dagger, flicking the tight little bud of one of them with its tip. Talia flinched, then cursed herself for making another slip when he grinned again. He said something else to the man who’d brought her here and they both chuckled.
He met her eyes and spoke, a few halting phrases in the Gadolinean language.
“You prisoner. I sell—for slave. Jamrons, Valans… like Gadolinean whore.”
As he spoke, his other hand gripped his crotch. He stroked the growing bulge in his loincloth, laughing harder. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to show her the Great Hall now filled with Neanderthal warriors. Standing behind her, he took hold of the both the cloak and the tattered remnants of her robe and yanked them off her body, leaving her completely exposed, naked and shivering. The roar of the crowd echoed off the rafters above.
Chapter Two
Kylar peeled the remnants of the gray cloak off his body, wincing as blood welled up from half a dozen shallow cuts on his arms and back. This wave of Tabun invaders had been even more fierce than the last. That had happened years ago, when he was only a child, but he remembered it well. He gave a nod to the courage of his ancestors, who drove them from Earth through a Portal thousands of years ago.
Gingerly, he lowered himself into the steaming water and laid back against the stones with a sigh. The holy ones claimed these raids were retribution for the raping and pillaging his own forebears had done in the distant past, long before coming to Gadolinium. They wanted everyone to weep and wail and pray for deliverance. But he put no stock in their explanation. Nor did he plan to rely on their solution to save his people.
In his experience, the universe was a fickle bitch, just as likely to fuck you as bless you, regardless of how good or bad a life you or your ancestors lived. When you were born, the three Norn, witches of destiny, chose the moment of your death. It was predetermined, unchangeable—and it was up to every man, woman, and child to make the best of the life they’d been granted, however long it lasted. And if there was pleasure to be had along the way, he believed the biggest sin in the eyes of the gods, if they truly did exist, would be not seizing it.
He raised a triumphant fist to the heavens and shook it. “I’m still here, no thanks to you, you callous bitch!”
His voice rang out, echoing on the stones lining the hot spring in which he sat. His ancestors had dragged them here from the valley below—hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago. Centuries of visitors to the spring, countless hands and feet and plump bare asses had worn the stones beneath him smooth as the skin of a babe.
He’d made his way alone to the healing mineral waters, needing some time to clear his head and think without the constant presence of his warriors—and the rest of the townspeople—intruding. Just a few moments of peace… then he’d head back to the fortress and meet with his leaders, find out how many of his brave comrades had died in battle this night. How many women had been left widows, how many children fatherless.
He didn’t know how his father had borne it all these years. Beloved by all his people, King Sigrun gave the same deliberate attention to a petty dispute between two squabbling farmers over ownership of the offspring of a wayward ram as he did to negotiating a treaty with the Neodymans. He never seemed to tire of being both firm ruler and loving father to the Gadolineans.
But over the past few years, his health had begun to decline. More often than not, it was Kylar who sat in on the endless meetings, shouldered the mind-numbing daily responsibilities. Should anyone step forward with the opinion that the role of king was a glamorous one, Kylar would invite him to take over just once from dawn to dusk.
And now he’d have to lead a raid on the palace, rescue that willful wench who’d been roaming the streets alone, defying his direct order for everyone to evacuate the city. When he finally got hold of her again, the first thing he’d do is strip off her cloak, toss her over his lap, and paddle her bare ass until she begged for forgiveness.
His rod grew hard at the thought of seeing the luscious body he’d felt under that shapeless cloak she wore. The mothers of Trondheim had been parading their daughters in front of him since before he sprouted hair on his balls. How had this beauty escaped his notice?
With a sigh, he turned his mind away from thoughts of that curvy bare ass and what else he’d like to do to it. Thank the gods for Elwen the dwarf. He’d have to serve his king as he’d done once before, many years ago. Small but stout, by disguising himself in a long hooded cloak pulled low over his brow, he could sneak into the palace and wander among the Tabun unnoticed, gathering information and reporting her whereabouts.
Kylar was fairly certain she’d be taken to the cavern, readied for auction. But Balam was a horny devil, rumored to take the comeliest ones into his bed first and have his fill of them before converting them to cash. No point in having his warriors storm the lowest level of the palace, only to find it empty.
He heard a noise behind him and jumped up stark naked, with his sword already in his hand, then sagged back, annoyed. His right-hand man Haldor, the one who’d saved his life not once but twice in battle, stood on the path. A giant of a man, he bent his head and bowed low, but not before Kylar caught the stricken look in his eyes.
“Pardon me, my lord. I know you gave strict orders not to be disturbed. But I thought you’d want the news as soon as possible. While you’re alone.”
He caught the unspoken message. Whatever Haldor had to say, he knew Kylar wouldn’t want anyone else to witness his reaction when he heard it. It wouldn’t do for the future king to show any sign of weakness before his subjects.
The news must be bad. Very bad. He took a deep breath, then gave a single nod. “Speak.”
“Your father, my lord. The Tabun have captured him.”
Kylar took a step back, stunned. “No. That’s impossible. I personally escorted him to the fortress when the first wave of invaders stormed through the Portal.”
“Yes, my lord. You did. But your father—well, he’s still our king. When you left, he called for his horse, vowing to take on the vile Tabun in battle a
nd drive them from our land once and for all. None of us dared refuse him. Six of his guards rode with him, each one swearing to protect him until the last breath left his body. They did, to the man.” His voice broke.
Haldor squared his shoulders and went on, as if his final words bore the greatest weight on his spirit. “Sigrun was last seen by Heinrick’s youngest son. The lad said he was being led away on foot, tied behind his horse. To his credit, the boy did his best to come to the aid of his king. But one of the Tabun drove a sword through his gut. It’s a miracle the boy made it back to the fortress alive.”
For a mighty warrior, there was no greater shame than being captured alive in battle and forced to walk to his prison, all the while staring up the ass of his own mount. The big man stopped, overcome. After Haldor’s own father had died, Sigrun brought Haldor to the palace, raised him like a brother to Kylar. Queen Astra had tucked him into bed at night, soothed his tears when he wept for his parents, both slain in a Tabun raid long ago. Kylar knew that for Haldor, it must be like losing his father once again.
As for his own feelings, there was no time for fear and worry, grief and pain. Kylar pulled himself together, stepped out of the mineral spring and drew on his clothes, then clasped Haldor in a fierce hug. “Come, brother. We need to gather our wits and our warriors together. We’ll hoist a mug for our fallen comrades. Then we’ll hatch a plan to rescue our king and defeat these ugly bastards once and for all.”
* * *
Talia huddled in a corner, naked, shivering as she tried to burrow deeper into the straw that served as both bed and carpet on the hard stone floor. Balam hadn’t bothered to return her cloak or gown, and he’d seemed to take extra pleasure in the sight of her trying valiantly to preserve her dignity as he’d led her through the crowded room—with her breasts and bottom available to be pinched and fondled by every man they passed.
She shifted, dislodging a nasty-smelling clump of straw. Something scurried away, brushing her bare leg as it ran. She stifled a scream. If she allowed herself to think about all the disgusting vermin probably living with her here in the darkness, she’d go mad.
A scraping sound drew her attention to the massive wooden door. It opened slowly, creaking on its rusty hinges. A blast of light seared her eyeballs. On the threshold stood a small, slight figure, the lit torches behind it throwing it into a dark, featureless silhouette.
“Come here.”
This new creature spoke Gadolinean but the voice was featureless too, neither distinctly male nor female. When she didn’t move, the creature turned its head and made a noise like the sharp yip of a small dog. Two more of the figures appeared, scrambling through the doorway and grabbing her by the arms to haul her to her feet. Cold slimy fingers dug into her skin. Talia shrank away at their touch.
They dragged her out the door and into the dank passageway leading through the cavern under the palace. She’d been brought here hours ago, tossed into the cell. How many hours ago, she couldn’t say. All alone in soundless darkness, time was meaningless.
The one who’d spoken turned and headed further down the passage. The creatures on either side prodded her, marching her along after him. They passed more wooden doors, all shut tight and barred on the outside. She tried to overcome her embarrassment at being naked in front of others once again, concentrating instead on memorizing the route they took.
They turned left into another long passage. She forced herself to count the number of doors they passed, trying desperately to ignore sobs and wails coming from behind one of them. Finally they reached a set of double doors, larger than all the rest. The little creature in front of her threw them open, revealing a huge square room carved out of solid bedrock.
Torches flickered every few feet, set in niches high along the stone walls. A dozen or more of the skinny little creatures stood around a knee-high wooden table in the center of the room. Each only as tall as her waist, they had hairless heads with large black eyes and no noses. Just a pair of horizontal holes above another bigger dark hole in a featureless face. Their skinny arms and legs ended in two bony appendages where human fingers and toes would be, with a third short, stubby one in the place of thumb and big toe. They wore no clothes, revealing hairless grayish brown bodies, with skin that looked slimy, like that of a snake. She could see no sexual organs from which to determine whether the creatures were male or female.
The creatures shoved her forward. Others swarmed around her and before she could protest, they had her lying face up on the table. Dozens of the cold slimy fingers wrapped around her arms, holding her in place. When she felt the first one grab her ankle, she kicked out, sending it sprawling to the ground. But others took its place, circling both her legs from ankle to thigh. As one, they slowly spread her legs wide apart. One of them made a low grunting noise as it looked down at her exposed labial folds. She flushed in embarrassment.
Talia turned away, blinking back tears of shame and helplessness, and found herself eye to eye with the one nearest her head. She could see nothing but her own reflection in the empty, dark pools. No soul, no spark of humanity. It was like staring into the eyes of a reptile.
The one who’d spoken walked to the foot of the table. Talia realized the piece of furniture that to her was only knee-high reached the level of its waist. The creature stared at her exposed vaginal area. Its toothless mouth widened into a grim caricature of a smile. It spoke again, Gadolinean uttered in that odd high-pitched monotone.
“You Tabun slave. Jamrons want buy. First—examine. You no fight. We no punish.”
She was still trying to figure out what he meant when she saw the finger-like appendages at the end of one of its arms begin to swell and lengthen. She stared, horrified, as the little creature climbed up on the table to crouch between her legs.
Suddenly the doors flew open, banging against the stone walls. Lord Balam strode in, his face dark.
“I tell you Jamrons over and over—you cannot begin an examination until I am here to witness it! The only reason I allow this at all is that you have no cocks to ruin the merchandise with. Just those disgusting bony little things you like to shove up any opening you can find.”
Balam may not have been proficient in Gadolinean, but now that the Tellex chip was fluently interpreting his own guttural language, Talia realized it was much more sophisticated than she’d originally thought, capable of communicating complex thought. Their bodies might not have changed over the last thirty thousand years, but either the historians were wrong about the Neanderthals’ intelligence level, or their brains had evolved. Rather than a slow-witted cretin, this man would be a clever foe.
And a crude one. Not only would he allow these disgusting aliens to violate her, Balam planned to witness every last moment of her degradation. He’d already stripped her naked and paraded her past his own men, laughing when she shrank away as they poked and stroked her. Talia wanted to sink into the table, to disappear, rather than have him take pleasure in seeing her shamed even further.
The little creature crouching on the table reached out, his finger-like appendage writhing and twining like a snake as it neared her vaginal opening. The others crowded around closer, making a low rhythmic humming sound, all in unison.
Talia closed her eyes and tried to will her consciousness elsewhere. But it was no use. She felt the cold, slimy fingertip, stroking her vulvar folds, then slowly, insistently, twisting its way inside her. She shuddered in revulsion.
The tip slid in. Slimy smooth skin covering a firm core. She gasped as it made its way deeper inside her. Wiggling, writhing, wending its way as though it had a life of its own. It began rubbing the inner walls of her vagina. She squirmed, desperately trying to get away. But that only drove it further inside.
When the first shocking stirring of arousal hit, she shuddered deeply. The probing appendage rubbed against a spot on her vaginal wall and she let out an involuntary moan. The creature concentrated its efforts there, stroking it insistently, moving faster and faster.
“No!” With a Herculean effort, she wrestled one leg free and brought her knee to her chest. A frantic kick to its middle sent the creature skidding off the table to crash onto the floor.
The low humming around her stopped immediately. Then it began again, this time an angry buzz. The alien picked itself up off the floor and shook the appendage that had been inside her at Lord Balam.
“No want. Bad whore. You punish. Sell to Valans.”
Balam looked furious. But the threat of losing a potential buyer had him taking a more conciliatory tone than any she’d heard from him up till now.
“Not a bad whore. Just an untrained one. Wild. Spirited. Like a Jamronian tessa cat.” He lowered his voice and bent down, putting himself at eye level with the creature. “This one is human, with many virgin orifices. Long human passages. Not just the slit between her thighs. Mouth. Ass. Tight and hot.”
The creature shook its head.
“I will punish her for what she did to you. If you guarantee a starting bid of twenty tribid right now, I’ll let you watch me do it.”
The Jamronian paused and cocked its head, considering. “You punish now. We all watch.”
Balam nodded once. “Done.”
Talia listened to the exchange. She guessed that the Neanderthal had chosen his own language deliberately, thinking she wouldn’t understand. He thought not knowing what was going to happen next would intimidate her. But hearing what little she’d heard worked even better. She tried to hide her fear. Punish? What could that mean?