Dark Flight (Refuge Book 2)

by Cynthia Sax

  The male disappeared back into the crowd.

  “Fraggin’ hole.” Orol expressed Rhea’s thoughts. “You’ve caused enough trouble for me this planet rotation.” He grasped her by the waist and hefted her over his right shoulder. She gasped as her stomach smacked against his hard form. “We’re returning to the chambers where I’ll discipline you in private.” He spanked her ass, the sound of flesh hitting fabric-covered skin ringing out.

  Rhea took one last look at her sister as he carried her away.

  Be strong, Paloma, she tried to communicate with her eyes. I’ll rescue you.

  Chapter Ten

  As Orol strode toward the ring half a planet rotation later, beings yelled, cheered, waved banners. They hung over the barriers, trying to get closer to him.

  He ignored them, his attention on the slave walking behind him. Seeing her sister displayed had upset his tiny warrior but she refused to talk about it. Instead, she listed every fighter’s perceived weaknesses, examined Orol’s daggers, insisted he rest.

  She was concerned about this melee. He wasn’t. The first battle was to filter out the weak warriors. The fighters didn’t target the strong. That would come later.

  Orol entered the reserved viewing area. Guards stood at the entrance, nodded as he passed. More guards were stationed inside. Influential patrons sat on the tiered seats. Fighters had left their valuables in their assigned areas—their guns, their devices, their slaves.

  A guard waved to his designated spot.

  “Sit, slave.” Orol kept his tone brusque.

  “Thank you, Master.” Rhea kneeled on the seat, her descent graceful, her beautiful face downcast.

  Frag. He missed seeing her eyes, missed her smart mouth. Slave Rhea was no challenge for him.

  Orol unfastened the chain from his ass coverings, clipped it to the seat. His female would be safe in the viewing area, would be able to watch the battle, watch him fight for her.

  She was the reason he was doing this. The sister didn’t interest him and Kralj would have understood if he had returned with Rhea only. Orol believed her when she said she alone had the information the Humanoid Alliance sought.

  But saving her sister would please his female and he wanted to please her. Very much.

  Orol removed the guns from his holsters, set them beside her. Only blades were allowed in the ring—axes, swords, daggers, other primitive weapons. He laid her long gun in front of her.

  “You won’t move. You won’t make a sound.” He gripped her chin hard, lifting her gaze to his, needing to look into her eyes one more time. “Do you understand me, slave?”

  “Yes, Master.” She was scared for him. He saw that in her eyes.

  “Trust your Master.” His voice was husky.

  Her lips parted. Orol claimed them, the force of his kiss driving her head back. She matched him passion for passion, sucking on his tongue, mashing her lips against his, their teeth clinking together.

  He ravished her mouth, imprinting his lips on hers, communicating how much he wanted her, needed her. Her scent teased his nostrils. Her taste filled him.

  A horn sounded four times. He broke the embrace, turned from her, walked toward the fighter chutes. “Protect my things.” Orol stared at a guard, memorizing his appearance. He would hold the male personally responsible for Rhea’s safety.

  “I’ll protect your things.” Novac was waiting by the entrance. “Especially that passionate little slave of yours. I wouldn’t have minded being part of that show.”

  “Touch her and you die,” Orol growled.

  “Die and I touch her,” the male countered.

  He couldn’t lose. Orol stomped toward the chutes, the thought of that slimy bastard mating with his female casting a red veil over his vision.

  Novac was obsessed with him. Orol didn’t mind that. Many fighters attracted overenthusiastic followers. But Novac had the means to take his obsession a few steps farther.

  He made it a mission to track down the prizes Orol had won. When the male located one of the females at the Pleasure Domicile, he used her so harshly she’d almost died. Queen revoked Novac’s membership and Orol became more careful hiding the females.

  The male would treat Rhea even harsher.

  Orol had to focus on the battle before him.

  Scales was positioned at the far chute. He looked over the barriers and nodded at Orol. His friend wasn’t yet lost to the darkness. He still recognized Orol. But his eyes were already wild and his claws were visible.

  Orol chose the nearest chute to the entrance, positioning as far from the warrior as possible. The stench of sweat and urine clung to the air, some males having lost control of their bowels.

  The horn sounded three times, counting down. Orol extended his talons and waited.

  A male in front of him puked, spraying vomit over another male’s back. Orol didn’t know why the male was fighting. He was clearly inexperienced and would die in this first round.

  He didn’t ask. A fighter’s reasons were his own.

  The horn sounded twice and the gates opened. Warriors pushed their way out of the chutes, racing for positions. One male didn’t leave. That earned him a projectile in the skull from one of the guards. There was no hiding from the battle.

  Orol claimed a spot in the ring with a wall to his left and a wall behind him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. The darkness intensified. His inner predator tore at its confines, eager to fight, to kill.

  The crowd stomped their feet and clapped their hands, that pounding matching his heartbeat. His female was watching him. He didn’t look in her direction but he was aware of her gaze, of their connection.

  A blue-skinned giant stood across from him, axes in both of his hands, scars on his face. He would be Orol’s first kill. He nodded at the giant. The giant squinted back at him.

  He lacked either the eyesight or the intelligence to be afraid.

  The final horn sounded and the ring erupted with motion. The giant lumbered forward, operating at human speed, swinging his axes.

  He didn’t see his death coming. Orol propelled himself toward his opponent, his body a blur, and he decapitated the male before the giant’s eyes widened, Orol’s talons raking over the male’s thick neck. Blood spurted. The male’s body fell. The crowd cheered.

  Orol ran to the next warrior, jumping, spinning, slicing. Crimson coated his chest, his face. He killed as quickly, as painlessly as possible, eager to return to his female.

  Novac wouldn’t dare touch her.

  Orol funneled his rage into the battle, killing two more males. A target ran from him. He let him go. Another warrior would end that male’s life.

  He approached a long-haired barbarian from the left side, utilizing his female’s observations on his opponents. The male struggled to turn.

  Orol dragged his talons over the barbarian’s exposed stomach, cutting to the backbone. The weight of the male’s body snapped the spine, the two halves of him falling to the stone-covered ground.

  The horn sounded, a long blast indicating the end of the melee. The field had been reduced to eight warriors. They would be paired off in subsequent rounds.

  Orol returned to the far side of the ring but he didn’t retract his talons. Others weren’t as prudent, lowering their weapons.

  Scales, being in the grip of a killing frenzy, lost to the darkness, ignored the horn and continued to fight, slaughtering the warriors close to him, cutting them to pieces and then burning their bodies. His eyes were bright red and wide. His nostrils flared. Flames billowed from his mouth.

  His friend had lost all control. Rules, honor, thinking, all the things that defined a warrior, had been abandoned. It was horrifying and frightening for Orol to watch.

  He had the same lust for killing. He was a modified humanoid as Scales was, as unstoppable, as driven to end lives. It had been difficult to cease fighting.

  What if his female had been in the ring? Would he have killed her too? That possibility scared the arrogance o
ut of Orol. He wouldn’t survive if he harmed his female.

  The cage dropped on Scales. His friend slammed his body against the reinforced metal bars, denting them but not breaking them. He spewed flames and roared with outrage.

  His friend was a mindless beast.

  A chill settled over Orol. The gates opened. He, the four-armed Palavian and a ridge-faced Silan exited the ring. Scales would remain in the cage until the killing rage left him.

  If it did leave him. Orol had never seen his friend like that. He retracted his talons. Scales hadn’t exaggerated. He had become worse.

  Orol entered the reserved seating area. His gaze met his female’s. She must have been too wound up to lower her head. Her entire body vibrated.

  Novac sat beside her, a smirk on his handsome face.

  The male dared to breathe the same air as his female.

  The heat of Orol’s anger warded away the chill. He rushed toward Novac, toward Rhea. Beings scattered before him, moving out of his way.

  Orol was torn between killing his rival and greeting his female.

  Rhea’s scent hit him, the musk of her arousal making his cock harden and his decision was made. Oral snapped the golden chain into two and swung her into his arms, covering her lips with his.

  His beast had fought. Now it sought to mate.

  His wings spread. Unable to wait, not capable of foreplay, of soft caresses and slow buildups of passion, Orol unfastened his ass coverings, yanked them lower, lifted her high above him and impaled her on his hard cock. Rhea screamed into his mouth, her lips vibrating against his, and she wrapped her legs around him, holding him as savagely as he’d claimed her.

  Orol growled his reply, telling her she was his. He’d fought for her. Only her.

  He drew her upward and drove her down on him, drew her upward and drove her down, rutting into her with a ferocity he couldn’t hold back. She was too wet, hot, tight around his shaft, and she was his mate, designed for this, for him.

  Orol had to have her and he took her as the creature inside him would, fast, with vigor, uncaring of their audience. He had killed for her. Now he would claim his prize, the only prize he truly wanted.

  She panted, her breasts rubbing against his blood-covered chest. Crimson smeared over her golden skin, the blood of his opponents marking her, declaring that she was his.

  His female was as wild as he was, biting his bottom lip, soothing it with her tongue, beating her heels against his ass cheeks. Her wrists remained bound. She slid her hand over his chest covering, as though seeking bare skin.

  And she constricted around him, the most intimate of embraces.

  One planet rotation, he would mate with her leisurely, take his time to learn every curve of her body. This was not that planet rotation. The thrill of the battle had stripped his control.

  When his release came, hard and fast, surging through his body, he couldn’t stop it. Orol filled her with all of him, smacking his base against her pussy lips, and he let go, bellowing down her throat, hard spurts of cum jetting from his tip. She shook, her inner walls clenching around his shaft.

  The most exquisite pleasure he’d ever known cascaded over him. It was good. It was right. He would grab hold of that bliss and never let it go.

  She would save him from the darkness, his female of gold, glowing, warm, and alive. He held her to him as she danced in the air. The tips of her hair brushed against his battle-roughened hands. It was the softest of caresses. Her slight curves flattened against his muscle. Her ass quivered in his palms.

  Orol became aware of the gazes on them. He wanted to wrap his wings around her, hide her from view, keep the moment private, for only the two of them. But mating after killing was expected. It was why patrons negotiated to share the private seating with the fighters.

  Both the Palavian and Silan were bent over slaves, pounding their cocks into the females, using them hard. The Palavian had his arm around his slave’s neck. Her lips were blue. Her eyes bulged. Orol doubted she would survive the experience.

  He didn’t want his female to see that death. Orol settled his tiny warrior over his shoulder, fastened his ass coverings, restored his guns to their holsters, slung the long gun over his other shoulder.

  “Leaving so soon?” Novac pouted. “You barely gave us a show.”

  Orol snapped his wings shut. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He walked away without a backward glance, carrying his female, ignoring the male’s chuckle.

  He ignored the cheering of the crowd also. In the past, he’d played to them, mocking his opponents, boasting about his prowess.

  But one of the opponents in this battle would be his friend. Scales struggled with his sanity. Orol wouldn’t mock him. And the prize was his mate’s sister. He wouldn’t trivialize the battle with his bravado. The spectators, with the higher than expected body count, had sufficient thrills for one planet rotation.

  Orol bent his knees and pushed off, flapping his wings, flying upward with Rhea, taking her back to their chambers. He needed to be alone with his mate.

  “Show-off,” Rhea murmured against his back.

  His heart lightened. His feisty female was back. Orol opened the glass wall, stepped inside, closing it behind them. “We both need to be cleaned.” He carried her into that chamber.

  “It pleases this slave to tend to her Master.” She reached for a cleaning cloth as he lowered her feet to the floor.

  “We’re alone. There’s no need for the act while we’re in private.” He wanted to talk to his defiant mate, not a subdued slave.

  “I thought you liked the act.” His female ran the fabric over his chest, navigating the dips and swells of his muscles. Her touch eased his inner turmoil, lit the last shadowy corners of his soul. “It makes you hard.”

  “You make me hard.” Orol grasped a cleaning cloth also, eager to care for her as she cared for him. “I want to earn your submission. Not be given it.” He removed the streaks of red he’d left in her beautiful hair.

  “You’ll never earn it.” Rhea presented that challenge with a smile. “You’re not injured?”

  He shook his head. “No one touched me.” And no one had touched her. He didn’t detect any other being’s scent on his female’s skin.

  “I thought so.” Her shoulders lowered. “But I wasn’t certain.”

  “You were worried about me.” Orol grinned.

  “No.” She scowled at him.

  “You were.” He tugged on her hair. “And not because you need me to free your sister. You would have mentioned that if it had been the case.”

  “You’re my captor.” She flicked the cleaning cloth, transforming the blood to air. “Why would I worry about you? If you died, I’d be free.”

  If she died, Novac would claim her as a slave. Orol’s happiness faded. “You’ll always have access to the guns if anything should happen.”

  “Nothing will happen.” The lines around her mouth told him she didn’t believe her words. “You have a one in three chance of meeting your friend in battle next. If he fights another warrior, he could lose. He’ll still be dead.” She winced. “But not by your hand.”

  “Scales and I will meet in the final.” The Host always manipulated the matches so the two strongest warriors met last. It increased the gambling revenue. “I will be forced to kill him.”

  “There might be another way.” She stroked his right arm with the cloth.

  “There isn’t.” Orol saw no other alternative.

  Silence stretched as they cleaned each other, touching with the squares of specialized cloth. Orol thought of past battles, how he’d completed this task alone, how no one had truly cared if he had lived or died.

  That had changed now. He had Rhea, his mate, his female. Judging by her grim expression, she was thinking of the battle ahead of them.

  “We’ll win the battle and free your sister.” He slid the cleaning cloth over her ass, erasing his handprints on her skin. “I always complete my missions.”

  “Seeing her
in that container, with the males ogling her.” Rhea shuddered, her slender shoulders shaking. “Knowing I couldn’t protect her, that I would have to leave her there. That was torture, Orol.”

  The pain in her eyes ripped at his heart. If he could have rescued her sister immediately, he would have, simply to spare her that agony.

  “She is so innocent, so trusting. I remember when she was born.” The words gushed out of his female. “She was tiny, her eyes brilliant blue, her hair like blonde fuzz on her head. I reached out to touch her face. She curled her little fingers around mine and I knew, I knew I would do anything for her.”

  “Your sister is no longer a baby,” Orol said gently. His female needed her own babies to tend to. Their babies. His soul warmed. She’d be a good mother. “She’s nearly grown.”

  “She tells me that all the time.” Rhea’s smile was rueful. “But she’ll always be a baby to me. I remember when she learned to walk.”

  Leaning against him, his guarded mate trusted him with her truth. Rhea told him of her childhood, how she looked after her sister while their parents ventured on missions, how she sheltered the younger female from the danger, the lies she’d told, the risks she’d taken to safeguard her.

  Orol listened, humbled by her words, her sharing. He wasn’t knowledgeable about childhoods or about parents. He’d been genetically engineered, grown in a laboratory, raised as a warrior. But he knew about siblings. The modified humanoids were his brethren—Kralj, Balvan, Scales.

  They were his only family. He loved them as she loved her sister, with his entire heart.

  And he’d have to kill one of them.

  He didn’t know if he could do it. Orol drew his female closer to him.

  He didn’t know if he had a choice.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next planet rotation, Rhea stood in front of her sister’s clear container once more. Paloma’s eyes were vacant. She was unaware of her older sister’s presence, or of the lecherous gazes of the males at this second sunrise gathering.