Dark Flight (Refuge Book 2)

by Cynthia Sax

  Chapter Thirteen

  They fucked four times during the rest cycle, rutting hard, their passion tinged with desperation, with fear, with anguish, and that wasn’t enough for either of them. Rhea woke with Orol’s arms around her, his cock inside her, their bodies rocking together.

  He’d battle his friend this planet rotation. She clung to his shoulders. That friend had killed his last opponent with a ruthlessness, a savagery that horrified her.

  She had watched the two warriors battling and had pictured Orol in the Silan’s place. It was his blood flowing, his guts smeared over the barriers, his lifeless eyes, burned corpse.

  She couldn’t lose him. Rhea’s stomach fluttered, trepidation filling her. He was the only being who truly saw her, who knew her secrets, her dreams, her truth. If he died, her life would be shadows and lies, hidden grief and feigned joy.

  It was a future she didn’t want to contemplate.

  “Orol.” Rhea cupped his cheeks, bracketing his handsome face with her trembling fingers. “Don’t ever let me go.” She gazed into his eyes. In those dark depths, she saw lust, need, and an emotion stronger than mere caring, an emotion she also felt but didn’t dare give a name.

  “Never.” His possessive tone made her tremble. “You’re mine. Rhea.”

  “I’m yours.” She was connected to him, their link more than physical, her awareness of him amplified, her need for him unparalleled. “I will always be yours.”

  There wouldn’t be another male for her. She knew that as she knew the shape of his chin, the roughness of his palms, the sound of his breathing.

  They were mates, forever bound.

  “Mine.” Orol moved faster against her, his wings spread, his hips pumping between her legs, his cock sliding along her pussy walls, filling her as only he could. “Mine.”

  “Yours.” Rhea rose into his thrusts, seeking to show him how she felt. “Yours.” Sweat slicked her form. Her chest grew tight. She teetered on the edge of release, her body primed from the rocking.

  His desire was as fierce as hers, his muscles flexing, his jaw jutting. He ravished her, increasing the pace, ratcheting the passion upward. The sleeping support banged against the wall. His wings beat. His gaze didn’t leave hers.

  She saw the moment he broke, his eyes turning the blackest black, an unending void of need sucking her in. He drove his cock into her pussy and tilted his head back, releasing a roar, the epitome of power, of maleness. The cords on his neck pulled tight. His biceps bulged.

  Nanohumanic-filled cum connected with Rhea’s flesh and she joined him, diving into the abyss, her arms outstretched, waves of pleasure sweeping over her form.

  She fell, trusting in Orol, knowing he’d catch her. And he did. He pinned her hips against the sleeping support, bracing himself above her with his arms, not allowing her to venture too far from him, preventing her from hurting herself. She shook against him, clinging to his neck, bombarded by bliss.

  He shuddered once, twice, his wings batting the air, and he collapsed, flattening her, his body warm and hard, his weight reassuring. Rhea kissed his chest, tasting the salt on his skin, the male flavor of him.

  Orol lay on top of her. She could feel his heartbeat against her, his cock inside her. Neither of them wanted to break their physical connection.

  His wings moved slower and slower. Rhea stroked his arms to the same tempo, drifting her fingertips over him.

  Orol lifted his head and gazed down at her. Grooves were etched around his mouth.

  “You’re thinking about the battle this planet rotation.” She addressed the topic they’d been avoiding, trying to delay the inevitable.

  He dipped his head, her normally talkative male saying nothing.

  Rhea had spent her lifetime reading beings. He didn’t have to say a word. She saw his doubt. He didn’t believe he could defeat his friend.

  She couldn’t watch him die. It would destroy her.

  “Don’t fight Scales.” Rhea touched his cheek. His skin was warm against her fingertips. “Fly away before the sun rises.”

  He hadn’t much time to make his escape. The horizon already turned pink and orange.

  “Your sister would die.” Orol pushed against her palm. “You saw Scales, what he did to his last opponent. He’ll rip her apart.”

  “No, he won’t.” She wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  “He killed seven spectators after we left.” That message had been sent by a too-gleeful Novac. The beings had been seated in the low-credit section, weren’t anyone important, the male had relayed in his communication.

  As though that made the deaths acceptable.

  “I’ll shoot Scales before he’s awarded my sister.” Rhea met Orol’s gaze. He parted his lips. “I realize I’ll die.” She addressed that objection. “The organizers will execute me. But my sister will survive.” And her sacrifice would ensure the two beings she cared for lived. “They’ll move her to the next site.” The fights were never held in the same location. “You’ll be waiting outside of the mining fields to rescue her.”

  His eyes widened. “You’d trust me with your sister’s safety?”

  She trusted him with everything. “Yes.”

  “My Tiny Warrior.” He burrowed his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, his voice gruff. “You honor me. I know how much she means to you.”

  Did he know how much he meant to her? Rhea hadn’t the courage to ask that question. “You won’t let anyone harm her.”

  “No one will harm her.” His reply was reassuringly vehement. “And you’ll be there to see that. I’m not leaving you. Rhea. Ever.” His grip on her tightened. “I’ll defeat Scales, win your sister, keep you safe.”

  He’d risk his life to try to save her sister. Rhea slid her hands over his back. She couldn’t watch him be killed. She would shoot his opponent before that happened but that he would put his life in danger to protect Paloma meant the universe to her. “This was never solely about your mission, was it?”

  “No,” he admitted. “It was about you, making you happy, easing your worries about your sister.”

  “You accomplished that.” A ball of emotion formed in her throat, strangling her words.

  With others, nothing had ever been about her. The Rebel cause had been her parents’ priority. Marowit had been seeking information. Her sister, being young, was focused on herself. Orol was the only being to think of her needs first.

  “These past planet rotations have been the happiest of my lifespan,” she shared, needing him to know that…should the worse happen.

  “We’ll have a long lifespan filled with happiness.” Orol skimmed his lips over hers. “You’ll like the Refuge. Balvan, its gatekeeper, is the first being you’ll meet. He’s huge and green and doesn’t talk much. Many beings mistake his silence for lack of intelligence.”

  “Some beings assume that about me also.” They wrongly believed she didn’t respond to their questions because she didn’t know the answers. “I don’t correct them.” That stopped the probing.

  “Balvan doesn’t correct them either.” His voice lilted with genuine affection. He told her about the warriors he considered brothers, his rather scary-sounding boss, his boss’s fierce mate, the Chamele male he was training.

  She could improve their shooting skills, he said. Paloma would love the Chamele male’s mate. He was certain of that. They would complete renovations on his domicile. The top level was open to the air. They’d mate under the stars.

  Rhea listened to his musings, dreaming with her eyes wide open, envisioning a future with the male she cared for, the male she suspected she loved. She could fit into that world, be herself, find joy.

  Her brain told her that was all they were doing—fantasizing, but her soul yearned for it to be true.

  Colors streaked across the sky, the sun rising, the time for the fight approaching too quickly. Panic swelled in Rhea. “Orol, let’s skip the sunrise gathering.” She wanted more moments with him, didn’t want to spend
them with other beings, with strangers.

  “I—” He turned his head. “Someone is outside our chambers.”

  Orol strode across their chamber, unabashedly naked, all tanned skin, firm muscle, and wings. He opened the doors.

  The Host stood in the corridor. “Fighter Wings.” He looked at Orol, at Rhea reclining on the sleeping support, blinked twice, his gaze returning to Orol. “This is for your slave.” He handed him folded garments. “Courtesy of the management. She’s to wear it at the sunrise gathering.”

  That wasn’t a request. It was a demand. Rhea had no choice. She’d have to don it.

  “Attendance is mandatory for fighters.” The Host’s face was blank. “We won’t move on that stipulation.”

  She pressed her lips together. The chambers must be monitored. Had the male listened to every private word they’d said, seen everything they’d done?

  “I didn’t ask you to move on that stipulation.” Orol was as guarded as their visitor.

  “You’re not the only fighter attending.” The Host spoke in riddles and innuendoes. “Some beings believe that harming a fighter is our top violation.” He brushed off the sleeves of his chest covering. “They’re wrong.”

  There was a stretch of silence.

  “What is the top violation?” Orol finally relented, playing the smaller male’s game.

  “Harming a credit-rich patron supersedes all other violations.”

  Orol would never harm a patron. But, as the Host had pointed out, he wasn’t the only fighter attending. Rhea stared at the smaller male. He must be talking about Scales.

  Orol narrowed his gaze. “Are you asking me to relay this information to my friend?”

  “He’s no longer your friend, Fighter Wings.” The Host’s voice was barely audible. “And he’s past the stage of listening to any information. We’re relaying this for your benefit.” He turned. “Do with it what you may.” He walked away.

  Orol studied the male’s back for a moment and then closed the door. “We’re attending the sunrise gathering.” He transferred the garments to her. “And you’re wearing this.”

  She examined the unwanted gift. The chest covering consisted of barely enough gold fabric to cover her small breasts. Elaborately designed gold metal cups and straps held it in place. The ass coverings featured ankle-length strips of matching fabric attached to a waistband of gold metal.

  The bottom portion of the outfit was surprisingly concealing. She couldn’t see her fingers through the cloth. Rhea felt along the waistband, detected folds in the fabric. Looking at it closer, her eyes widened.

  “It has pockets.” She stuck her hand in one of them. “They’re big enough to hold guns.”

  That both thrilled and scared her. She always felt safer, more confident, more in control, when she was armed. Shooting was a skill she excelled in. But she suspected the Host had given her that capability for a reason. She would need her weapons.

  “You won’t be using your guns.” Orol disagreed with her unspoken conclusion. He donned his ass coverings, tugging the leather upward. “Until I meet Scales in the fighting ring, he is the organizers’ concern.”

  “You’d allow him to kill the patrons?” Rhea dressed quickly also. The fabric was soft against her skin. The garments fit her perfectly. They must have been made for her.

  Orol put on his chest covering. “Protecting the patrons is the Host’s mission, not mine.”

  “One of your missions is to protect my sister.” Rhea’s body smelled of sex and her male. She liked that, liked having his scent on her.

  “Her clear cage is fire-proof.” Orol slid daggers into his sheaths and guns into his holsters. “She’ll be safe. Everyone else at the sunrise gathering will be in danger.”

  “Including you. You’ll be in danger.” She eyed the two small guns and the long gun remaining on the horizontal support. “Scales will view you as a threat and target you.”

  Orol’s lips twisted. “I’m more concerned about your safety.” He handed her one of the small guns.

  She frowned. There were two small guns. “I can shoot with both hands.” Why was he withholding one of them from her?

  Orol lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you’d want to examine the guns first.”

  Any seasoned warrior would inspect her weapons. “Oh.” She felt sheepish. He was showing her respect, not trying to control her. “Yes, I do.” She took the gun apart, examined the pieces, fitted them back together, looked along the barrel, spun it in her hand.

  “It’s adequate.” Rhea slipped it into the pocket by her right hip.

  She lied. The weapon was better than adequate. It was sublime, a work of art, perfectly balanced, made of the best materials. With that gun and her skills, any targets they faced were dead beings walking.

  Orol grinned at her. “That’s my best gun.” He gave her the second one.

  Rhea examined that weapon as thoroughly. The gun was as superb as the first one. They’d be a treat to shoot. “Your best guns, huh?” She teased. “Is that why you’re keeping my weapons? They’re superior to yours?”

  “That’s doubtful. My guns are crafted by some of the most skilled weapons designers in the universe.” Orol lowered his gaze. “I would keep them, but the best shooter should have the best guns and you’re the better shooter.”

  His acknowledgement of her skills made her glow. His weapons were much better than hers and she could put them to good use. Rhea pocketed the other gun. But that wasn’t why he was holding onto hers. She read that in his body language. “You want to keep my guns.”

  Red streaked across his cheekbones. “I like having something of yours close to me. It…calms me.”

  Her winged warrior wanted to keep something of hers. He must care for her a little.

  Rhea blinked back tears, feigned an interest in his vast array of weapons, adjusting them on his chest covering, needing to touch him.

  Orol shifted his weight from one booted foot to another. “If you want them back—”

  “I don’t.” She wanted him to have them. “I can shoot with any gun.” Rhea studied the long gun with regret. “I can’t hide this in my pockets.” She skimmed her fingers over the barrel.

  “Taking the long gun to the sunrise gathering would be too obvious.” Orol left it on the horizontal support. “And you remain my slave.” He pulled her to him, folding her body into his, his heat engulfing her, his strength surrounding her. “Slaves don’t carry weapons.”

  Rhea caught her breath. He was hard against her, his desire as strong as it was that first planet rotation, never dimming. “Unless I need the guns to defend you or defend me, I won’t draw them. No one will know I’m armed.”

  “You will know.” He pinched her raised chin. “Lift those beautiful eyes to me in public and I’ll have to spank the strut out of your walk.”

  “I might enjoy that, Master.” Rhea wiggled with excitement, remembering the feel of his palms against her tender ass. “But I won’t give you any reason to reprimand me.” His admonishment had been necessary. She did gain confidence from carrying her guns, would have to be cognizant of that. “I’ll be the perfect slave.”

  “You’re perfect.” Orol held her face between his hands. “But you’re no slave.” He brushed his lips over hers. “It’s merely an act.”

  “It’s a role I play convincingly.” She was certain of her acting abilities, had spent a lifespan honing them.

  “You fool others.” He rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. “You don’t fool me.”

  “I never fool you.” She smiled. “You have always seen me.”

  “Because you’re mine.” His eyes blazed with heat. “I’ll protect you.”

  And she’d protect him. “If we avoid Scales at the sunrise ceremony, you might not have to protect me. The Host might resolve that situation.”

  Orol wouldn’t have to kill his friend, wouldn’t have to risk his life. He’d win her sister by default. They could leave the mining fields with her and never look back
.

  “You won’t leave my side.” His response dashed her hopes. He believed they would be in danger. Orol strung a golden chain from her collar to her wrist restraints, not attaching it to his waist. The draping created the illusion of her being bound but gave her the freedom to part from him. “If I say to move, you move.”

  “Yes, Master.” She could shoot targets from almost any angle, almost any distance. “I am your slave.” And he was her male, one of the two beings in the universe she cared about. “I will follow your commands…as long as they’re logical.”

  Orol’s lips twitched. “You’ll end up over my knee by the end of the planet rotation.”

  “I hope so, Master.” Rhea smiled at him, happy with that prediction. She’d have his big hands on her body. They’d both be alive, would have survived the upcoming confrontations. Her sister would be free. “I suspect we’ll deserve that reward.”

  “That is supposed to be a reprimand, slave, not a reward.” Orol chuckled. “You’d test the most patient of Masters.”

  “And that is not you.”

  That quip earned her a swat on the ass. Rhea’s smile widened.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Orol’s good humor had dissipated by the time they’d arrived at the sunrise gathering.

  Scales wasn’t waiting for them. That was one tiny piece of good news amidst a certain-to-be-shitty planet rotation. Orol wouldn’t have to immediately face his friend, knowing he’d have to end his lifespan. He could mentally prepare for the confrontation.

  It would happen. The organizers expected Scales to attend and security was braced for his arrival. Males in body armor, carrying guns, were positioned in every corner.

  Orol stood protectively behind his female as she gazed at her sister. The other female smiled, looking blankly into space, her eyes unfocussed.

  “She’s happy and she’s safe,” Rhea whispered, the love in her voice pulling at Orol’s heart.

  His sister would continue to be safe. He squeezed his female’s hip, offering her the reassurance he couldn’t verbally give. Any damage to Paloma would damage Rhea and he’d never allow that.