by Renee Rose
He didn’t fight back, knowing it would be useless in the prince’s own pod, with his guards everywhere. When Zander let up enough on the sword for him to speak, he croaked, “She stole my ship!”
The prince released him, surprise flitting over his features.
“So she is free!” Lily’s sister bounced on her heels, looking excited. “Where? When?”
“Eight months ago, leaving Ocretia’s capital. She and two dozen escaped slaves overtook my crew and forced us to land and disembark, so if you know where she is now, I’d really love to get my ship back.”
Lamira licked her lips. The memory of her sister’s lush mouth closing around his cock flashed through Rok’s mind.
Yes, that was part of why he was so vecking mad. He’d known it was the oldest trick in the book and he’d still let Lily tempt him. His cock had taken the lead, and he had lost everything he’d owned. What had it been about that pretty little human slave that had tempted him?
Mierna had said they had some sort of connection. What in the stars could it be?
“I’ve never met her, actually.”
That surprised him.
“She was taken from our parents when she was just three, before I was born. I’ve spent my whole life hoping to meet her.”
Zander extended his arm, fist raised at a ninety degree angle in the traditional Zandian greeting. “I am Zander.”
Something painful tightened in his chest. He hadn’t seen the gesture since he’d left Zandia, but he remembered its use. Remembered his father, a palace laborer, using it when he greeted other beings. He crooked his arm into the same shape and touched fists with Zander.
“Rok.”
“Welcome to my pod, Rok. Please stay for the weekly meal so we can discuss Lily”—he glanced at Lamira—“and other matters further.”
He arched a brow. What in the veck were the other matters? He really didn’t have time to spare—his crew waited for him in the ship, and they’d made the dangerous trip to Ocretia just for him to recharge.
“His crew,” the human murmured.
Smart, for a human.
Zander’s gaze flicked to her and back. “Your crew is also welcome.”
He nodded once, slowly. “I’ll go ask them, then. They may not want to stay.” Mainly because he and three of his crewmembers had warrants out for their arrest for smuggling in Ocretia.
“Prince Zander does not work for the Ocretian government,” the human said.
A tingle washed over his skin. Did she read minds?
Zander shot her a warning look, but she laced her fingers in front of her, looking serene. “Many of us have reason to hide from them.” She met his gaze squarely.
She certainly would, if she possessed mind reading powers. Humans with any aberrant traits were exterminated immediately. The Ocretions bred their slaves for only one thing—servility.
Reason told him to get the veck out of there, fast. She knew about the warrants. It was probably a trap. She was Lily’s sister, after all, and that human had ruined the past eight months of his life. But his gut said to stay. Besides, curiosity nipped at his heels.
He wanted to know what this quirky human was doing with the prince of his species, and what they wanted from him. Because he sure as stars knew they both wanted something.
~.~
Lily dodged the flying debris from the firebombs, a sob stuttering in her too-dry throat.
Dead. The entire enclave of escaped slaves had just been found and demolished. If she hadn’t been out foraging for food, she’d be dead, too.
Tears streaked her cheeks. They’d been like family to her. For the past eight months, she’d been free. Yes, it had been hard. Hiding out on the planet of Jesel, they’d hoped to emulate those humans who had fought for freedom there and won over four hundred years ago.
But Jesel had been in the midst of another war and had fallen to the Republicans once again. And, funny, but the Republicans hadn’t cared that she and her fellow escaped slaves weren’t from Jesel. They were killing every human they could find.
She needed to get the veck off this planet, and fast. The trouble was, she had no one in the universe. No one to message, nowhere to go that would be safe for an escaped human slave.
Stumbling through the smoke, coughing the polluted air, she scrambled down into a crevasse, where she could at least breathe. Her eyes stung from the smoke and ash, and her knees, elbows, and chin were bloody from when she’d been knocked on her belly by the blast.
A shallow river sliced through the canyon, and she waded right into it, dropping to her knees, cupping the water in her hands and splashing the ash from her face. She screamed when a dark serpent shot out of the reeds and bit her ankle.
Vecking hell. She wished she’d died with the others.
She wouldn’t survive out here alone. There were too many wild animals and natural dangers, even if she didn’t have to worry about being hunted down and killed by the Republicans. She’d probably be better off using her laser gun on herself to save the terror and suffering of starving to death or being killed.
Veck that.
Her self-preservation instincts kicked in. She was a survivor. She’d somehow kept her soul after all these years in captivity, and now she was sure as veck going to keep it now that she’d found freedom. If she had to learn to live alone in the caves cut into these canyon walls, she would.
She heard a whistle to the left of her—a decidedly human whistle—and then an arrow whizzed by her head and hit the rock beside her. She grabbed the arrow and started running before she’d even figured out from which direction it had come.
In another moment, she was on the ground, pinned down by a large human male. “I got her,” he cried triumphantly in the ancient language once used on Earth. “Wait till you see her—she’s about as tasty as they come.”
A fraction of her fear eased. If they were interested in using her body, she’d convince them to let her live. This was one situation—perhaps the only one—she knew how to handle.
~.~
Rok had never eaten so well in his life. The food served at Zander’s table had been exquisite. They dined in his Great Hall, a magnificent room in his palatial pod. The walls were brightly colored, and crystals magnified the sunlight in here, too. Most fascinating, though, was the plethora of potted plants that made the room appear like a lush jungle. Food-bearing plants, from the looks of them.
An exiled prince lived a far different existence than the escaped laborer’s son. A large group of Zandians had gathered for the meal along a long row of tables. Almost all were male, save a few elderly females, which explained why the prince had taken an alien mate. Still, his choice of a human surprised Rok. Although Lamira was admittedly special.
Not that he was prejudiced, either. He’d grown up among aliens of all kinds. He didn’t have the luxury of presuming his species was better than another. But Zander and his pod were known for keeping to themselves, allowing only Zandians to work there or even enter the pod. The fact that Zander had invited his crew in for the meal meant he must really want something from Rok.
His crew sat at the far end of the table, but they didn’t seem to mind being relegated to the lower class section. Janu and Jaso, his two foster brothers, kept raising their glasses toward Rok and Zander in appreciation of the delicious meal. He was grateful they’d shown some modicum of manners, as the small but ferocious Stornigians could be as rowdy as animals, especially when there was wine involved.
Mierna, his Venusian copilot, had also obviously indulged in the wine, but then she functioned half-drunk on a regular basis, so that was nothing new. His giant, one-legged friend Gaurdo, an Elau, ate heartily but watched the entire affair in wary silence. Rok had rescued him from a pack of wild beasts outside a trading station once. That was how he’d lost the leg.
Depri had also taken in everything, particularly the opulence of the palatial pod. He’d probably already devised a hundred schemes for how Rok and his crew could benefit
from trading with Zander.
When the meal ended, Prince Zander, his human mate, and her mother remained, along with four older males. Lamira was as beautiful as he remembered Lily, but without the fire behind her eyes. Lily had been magnificent—her treachery as impressive as the way she’d handled a weapon, burning determination in her gold-flecked green eyes. And her scent...he still remembered that feminine musk. He’d stroked himself off to fantasies with her in the months since she stole his ship. Particularly to the thought of punishing her soundly for her misdeeds.
Lamira and her mother had grilled him on everything he knew about Lily, which was little. Their excitement at hearing about her was not diminished by what he considered the considerable unlikelihood she was still alive. Escaped slaves didn’t last long in this universe, or any other, for that matter.
Still, he had a feeling there was something else Zander wanted from him, so he wasn’t surprised when, at last, the prince asked if he and his advisors might have a word in private.
Lamira and her mother, Leora, stood. “Your destiny is woven with ours,” she murmured, as if only half intending him to hear. “And it is great. You were born to lead armies.”
Zander seemed to take this prediction in stride, as if his mate normally spoke in riddles like a Venusian. Rok frowned, but didn’t have time to respond, as Lamira had already glided from the room, one hand on a slightly swollen belly, signaling what he’d missed before—she was pregnant.
His crew waited for his command. He gave a single nod, which they would understand to mean, retire to the ship but remain alert.
When they all had left, Zander touched his fingertips together and leaned back in his chair.
“Your primary occupation is as a pilot?”
Rok narrowed his eyes. If this was coming back to the smuggling warrant, he needed to leave.
“Any battle experience?”
“Why? You planning on taking Zandia back?” He snorted.
The prince didn’t answer.
He sat forward in his chair, interest spiking. “You are, aren’t you?”
Zandians didn’t lie. Well, he might lie, to get himself out of a pinch with officials, but true Zandians didn’t. He watched Zander closely, waiting to see what he said.
The prince chose not to answer, which, to Rok, was as good as confirmation.
He tried to remember the vow his father used to give and lifted his fist, elbow bent at ninety degrees. “On Zandian honor, I will not speak of anything I hear here.”
Zander and the four warriors all held their fists aloft to acknowledge his vow.
“You have a battleship?”
“I may have access to a number of battleships.”
Rok’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? And you need pilots to fly them?”
“We are all experienced and battle-ready pilots,” he said, indicating the males present. “But I need hundreds more. There aren’t enough Zandians alive to build such an army.”
“Do you have the coin to hire such an army?” It was a rhetorical question, really. The Zandian prince was known for his enormous wealth, gained not only from what he’d escaped with, but from years of savvy investments.
Zander nodded.
He considered. Stornigians trained in combat flight were easy to come by, but they’d be unlikely to engage and fight with another species. If he led them, however, they might be willing. Still, could he find hundreds? He could only think of a dozen he might ask.
“I may be able to round up an army. I’d be their commander, though.”
Zander inclined his head. “How soon will you know?”
“How many do you need, exactly?”
“One hundred and fifty.”
He pursed his lips. If he were a wise male, he’d tell Zander no, thank you, and leave as quickly as he could. The possibility of taking back Zandia seemed slim, even with battleships and financial resources. But Zandia was his home. It still danced in his dreams—the vivid colors, the honor of the species.
“It may take a few months,” he hedged. “I have another job to do first.” They didn’t need to know it was another illegal weapons smuggling job.
Impatience flitted over Zander’s face, but he nodded. “I’ll be awaiting your reply.” He stood and bowed.
Rok barely resisted rolling his eyes at the pomp, but the prince had earned a grudging respect from him. Far from sitting on his cushioned throne, it appeared the male had been amassing his fortune for a reason—he sought to regain his kingdom.
Rok had to appreciate that goal, whether he believed it attainable or not.
2
Lily dozed on hard ground, where she’d spent the past forty-eight hours being taken multiple times by each and every one of the eighteen human rebels. She hadn’t resisted—she knew better than that. Instead, her mind had drifted off to her “safe place”—the one with rainbow-hued light beaming through crystals onto her skin, rejuvenating her, healing her. This was how she’d survived since the day she’d been placed into sexual servitude.
The humans who had taken turns on her had smaller cocks than Ocretions, so she hadn’t torn or suffered physically. Not that she’d know if she had—numbness inhabited every limb.
The sound of an airship forced her onto her hands and knees, and she staggered to her feet. One of the rebels grabbed her elbow and propelled her forward, toward the landing craft.
Every man in the camp ran forward, lifting weapons that didn’t match the primitive lifestyle they led in the wild.
The door to the craft lifted, and she blinked several times. Could it be?
No, she was delirious.
But the huge purple-skinned warrior who emerged had to be the same pilot whose ship they’d stolen when she escaped. How many horned purple-hued smugglers could there be?
His eyes swept over the group, and though his expression showed nothing, his gaze bounced over her twice—three times. Of course, it could be the fact that her clothing had been torn off so she stood naked in a crowd of clothed beings.
The smuggler addressed the men’s leader, bringing out several cases of weapons. She couldn’t hear any conversation, but it was obvious the rebels had expected the male and wanted the goods he brought.
He closed up the cases and stacked them on the ground outside the ship then stood directly in front of them and folded his arms. This would be the negotiation stage.
The rebel leader said something.
The smuggler shook his head and answered.
More head shaking and speaking. The smuggler lifted his chin in her direction, and all the men turned.
The rebel holding her dragged her forward.
“No deal,” the rebel leader said. “We’ve only had her for two planet rotations and there are no other human females alive on the planet. We need her to breed.”
The smuggler appeared bored. “So pay the appointed price.”
The rebel leader’s brows slammed down. He bent his head together with one of his friends to consult in low voices.
“Fifty thousand.”
“And the female.”
He was negotiating to buy her? Her idiotic heart gave a leap of excitement, right before she remembered that the smuggler surely didn’t intend to pick up where they’d left off. No, she’d stolen his ship and left him stranded on an uninhabited planet. He intended to exact revenge.
“We keep the female.”
“Then the price is one hundred thousand.” He had the bargaining face down pat, boredom sprawled over his features.
More downturned mouths and angry gestures. “Forty thousand and the female.”
The smuggler considered. His purple gaze swiveled to her.
Unaccountably, her nipples stiffened, as if excited by his disinterested up-and-down sweep. She folded her arms across her chest, but not before the smuggler noticed, a momentary twitch at the corners of his lips making her humiliation complete.
“Forty-five. Bring me the female.” He made an imperious gesture in her dir
ection, no longer looking her way.
Her captor shoved her forward, and she fell to her knees. As she crawled up to stand, her mind raced. Was she walking to her death? She figured there was at least a 50 percent chance of it.
Why, then, did hope keep fluttering in her chest?
She stumbled through the rebels and walked right up to the pilot. Though she ought to know better, she held her head high and met his gaze squarely with her best look of defiance.
She expected a face slap at best.
Instead, she found herself upended over his shoulder. His huge hand clapped down on her bare ass. The sting enlivened her, bringing awareness back to her abandoned body, sending prickles all across her flesh. Dearest Mother Earth, did she really hope he wanted her for sex?
The pilot collected his money and carried her, still slung ignominiously over his broad, muscled shoulder, up the ramp.
“What in the veck just happened out there?” a short, hairy humanoid—Stornigian if she knew her species right—demanded. “If you really just accepted a female in exchange for…” The male trailed off when the pilot dropped her to her feet. “Her? No vecking way. What are you going to do with her?”
The pilot’s grin held menace. “Anything I want.”
A shiver ran down her spine, but her pussy clenched. Why did this male always succeed in arousing her?
His huge hand dropped onto her nape, and he steered her forward, into the ship. A door slid open revealing a tiny washroom with a toilet and shower. “Clean yourself,” he growled. “I don’t want to smell those vecking males on you.”
Excuse the veck out of her. Like she could help it. She’d just been used as a veck-doll for forty-eight hours straight.
“Jaso”—he turned to face the Stornigian trailing them—“stand guard at this door while I take off. The sooner we clear Jeselian airspace the better.”
