The Vampire King’s Virgin (The Vampire King Series #4)

by T. S. Ryder

  "It's okay," he told her. "Just hold onto me."

  She nodded, clinging to his arm with one hand while the other rested atop her swollen stomach. He couldn't let himself spend time thinking about what a beautiful sight it was, to have Erica's body round with his child. He promised himself he would worship every inch of her later, when they were out of this life-or-death situation.

  Ronan shook his head. They had to get out of here now, before more security showed up. He couldn't waste time thinking about what he would do in the future. He led Erica through the corridors, listening for any sounds around him that indicated enemies nearby. Twice he picked her up and tiptoed past an open door where a scientist or two were peering into the darkness, calling for help. Tag came silently behind them, her twin swords drawn. When they came to the stairs, they headed upwards.

  "Bethy has the ship positioned at level with the roof. They'll be expecting us to get out the way we came in, which is downstairs," Ronan explained. "But Tag took care of the power so they can't see we have a ship upstairs waiting to fly us away."

  The lights came back on. The night vision adjusted instantly, so there was no blinding glare of light, but Ronan tensed nonetheless. They were out of time. Erica blinked hard, her eyes watering. A look of horror came over her face.

  "Until they turn the lights on again, you mean," she said.

  Ronan picked her up and ran hard, taking the steps two at a time. His chest pulled, and by the time they were halfway up, a thin sheen of sweat covered his face. Without a word, Tag took Erica from his arms. They reached the roof just as the sounds of pursuit came up the stairwell after them. The ship was hovering right at the edge of the building, the gangplank extended to rest on the roof.

  Tag ran towards the ship with Erica in her arms. Ronan followed close behind, shielding the two women with his body. Shouts followed them. A few blaster shots fired at them. Ronan answered with his own fire, and then they were there. He followed Tag into the ship even as Bethy raised the gangplank. Wind whipped around, throwing things off the wall, as they started away.

  The gangplank closed and the wind stopped. Ronan groaned, letting himself fall to the floor. His chest was on fire and he felt like he was about to pass out, but he still couldn’t help but laugh. They had done it.

  Erica knelt beside him. Her cool hands pressed against his face. He smiled up at her beautiful face. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she laughed as well. She kissed him, hard. Ronan wrapped his arms around her, bringing him closer. He didn't break the kiss until he couldn't breathe, and even then Erica kept peppering his face with smaller kisses.

  "I love you," she gasped. "I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  She pulled back then, lips trembling. "You're alive. I thought you died."

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I should have come for you—"

  A finger pressed to his lips silenced him. Erica shook her head, smiling again. "You did come for me. I don't care that it took a few months. You came for me. That's all that matters, Ronan. You came for me."

  He smiled. "Always."

  Erica wiped her face and nodded. "Bethy, pass me that regenerator. You're covered in cuts and bruises, and judging from the way you were gasping and clutching your chest back there, your heart needs a little help, too. A transplant! You're lucky you didn't give yourself an attack carrying me around. Why didn’t you let Tag carry me?"

  "Sorry."

  "Lie still."

  Ronan obeyed, grinning like a fool as he watched Erica's brows pinch in concentration. If he had never bought her, he'd never be in this situation, with a strange heart in his chest and no real way of knowing if he would ever fully heal. But there was one thing for certain–if he were given the choice, he'd do all of it again.

  "I love you," he told her again, and her work-focused expression melted once more.

  "I love you. But the Planchet Corporation is going to follow us. What are we going to do?"

  Ronan shook his head. "They won't follow us where we're going. Zon's fleet. I'm taking you home."

  Chapter Fifteen: Erica

  Erica paced the floors, gently bouncing her newborn baby girl. Little Lelya was born healthy and screaming. Her skin was even redder than her father's, with black eyes and black hair, but her little snub nose, the shape of her eyes, even her chubby cheeks were all Erica. A beautiful baby.

  The door to the little apartment she and Ronan had been given opened. Ronan came in, followed closely by another T'shav. This one was a little shorter but broader than Ronan, and his eyes twinkled merrily. Erica smiled in greeting, before heading for the bedroom to put Lelya down.

  Life was good at the Zon Sanctuary. Ronan was being recruited into the protective guard and once Leyla was old enough, Erica was going to work as a paramedic again. Even better, the Odap that had sold her and Bethy in the first place had been arrested by the USC and wouldn't be abducting any more women.

  After settling Lelya down, Erica came back out. She kissed Ronan's cheek. "How was training?"

  "This guy's still going too easy on me." Ronan punched Tom's shoulder.

  Since their return to Zon's sanctuary, the old friendship between Ronan and Tom sparked again. It had been odd for Erica to witness it. They had stood staring at one another for a few minutes, then Tom challenged Ronan to a duel. That had been it. They had been near-inseparable since.

  Erica was glad to see Ronan so happy. There were other perks, too. Ronan's surgery left him needing physical therapy and being friends with Zon's son meant that he got the best care available. The apartment was a nice perk, too. Most couples in the Sanctuary had to make do with sharing a two-bedroom place with another couple while more housing was built, but Ronan and Erica got their own place. Something that Bethy, whenever she visited, was envious of.

  "I don't want you ripping open your heart. Although some might think you already did that." Tom punched Ronan back. "But your recovery is going quicker than the doctors expected. You should be pleased with your progress."

  "We are," Erica said. "Would you and Sara like to join us for supper?"

  "We would love to, but Sara isn't feeling up to going out much." Tom grinned broadly, which made Erica smirk. It was pretty obvious why Tom's mate wasn't feeling well.

  "She's pregnant, isn't she?"

  Tom's grin widened. "I'm not allowed to say."

  Ronan clapped him on the back. "Congratulations! Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

  "Hypothetically, we're hoping for a little sister for Alex. Speaking of Alex, I'd better get home. I promised him I'd start to teach him the basic fighting stances when he grew his first toe claw, and he thinks that one's breaking the skin now." Tom smiled fondly and shook his head. "He's an impatient one. I don't know where he gets it from."

  Ronan gripped Tom's shoulder. Erica recognized the serious expression on his face and pointed behind her. "I'm going to just get the vegetables started."

  She slipped into the kitchen, noisily going through the food, trying to give them some privacy. Their voices still carried through, though, and Erica eavesdropped despite herself.

  "I never thanked you," Ronan said, his voice low. "For everything. You didn't have to give me a second chance."

  "Well, if you're thinking that way, then you didn't have to give me a second chance, either. I've thought about that day for a long time, Ronan. Tang and your father's deaths weren't your fault."

  "But—"

  "They weren't, and as your commanding officer I forbid you to keep blaming yourself." Tom's voice choked. "Seriously, Ronan. There is nothing to thank me for. I'm just glad to have my friend back."

  Erica peeked around the kitchen door to see the two T'shav men in an embrace. She ducked her head and rooted through the bottom cupboards. There were distinctive sounds of sniffling and Erica smiled. The two T'shav would never admit being emotional, and she didn't want to embarrass them–not yet, at least. If Sara were here, they'd share a knowing eye-roll. She slipped back deeper into t
he kitchen

  "Anyway, I need to get home." Tom leaned into the kitchen. "I'll tell Sara you said hi."

  "Thanks." She waved at him. After he was gone, she looked seriously at Ronan. "Do I need to get you a hanky?"

  He jumped over the counter and grabbed her. "You wish, woman. Just admit that you're the emotional one in this relationship."

  "Hardly. You cried more than I did when Lelya was born."

  Ronan kissed her gently. "Maybe. But only because my heart was so full of love."

  Erica nestled against him, smiling gently. She looked out of their window towards the darkening sky and noticed something. "That's odd."

  "What is?"

  "That star. I've never seen it before. Actually, I never see any stars at this time of day." Erica frowned. "Is that even a star?"

  Ronan peered out the window. He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "Can't say I've ever noticed that star before, either. But that doesn't really mean anything… although, according to T'shav tradition, when Starmates join together, the star that their souls were born from glows a little brighter. Maybe somewhere out there are a couple of people who are finding each other for the first time today. Their souls joining… You know, I never did see you on your knees, begging for my touch."

  Erica rolled her eyes. "You just completely ruined the moment. You were being so romantic and then all of a sudden you get back to that. Besides, you know you're more likely to beg for my touch than the other way around."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes, it is."

  She grinned as she kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. The doctors recommended she take it easy for a few weeks, but with regular visits under the regenerator, she had been declared fit as a fiddle that morning. And even though she was bone-tired from taking care of Lelya, that didn't mean her libido had cooled any. Especially when looking at her handsome T'shav mate.

  "Have you taken your perijan injection today?"

  "Yes. Why? Are you feeling a little frisky? Thinking that maybe you're dealing with some musth pheromones?"

  "Maybe it's because I don't want to stop what I'm planning so you can give yourself an injection…" She leaned in closer to whisper in his ear. "I bought some rope today."

  Ronan's eyes darkened. A grin spread across his face and Erica ran for their bedroom, giggling. He chased after her, and neither of them noticed the star shining a little brighter.

  *****

  THE END

  Taken by Two Alien Kings

  Description

  What’s better than being paired with a hot alien? Being paired with two hot aliens of course.

  Cheryl is the new queen in the Demante System. Purchased from Earth and raised as a temple-virgin, she was selected to rule. She’s about to meet her king, chosen through a series of battles. Only to find that there’s not just one, but two candidates...

  Oh my, whom to choose? One is even hotter and more dominant than the other. There’s Bjorn of the house of Leshire, the one everybody expected to claim the queen. And then there’s Maskin, the warrior-slave who is challenging the noble houses. Both are equally ready to punish any disobedience and submit her to their desires.

  The task is easy: who gets her pregnant first gets the throne. But who knew there’d be enemies along the way? Enemies that beat her alien kings to hell to have Cheryl for themselves?

  Staying alive isn’t easy, but it’s easier than choosing between the two warriors. Right? With the enemy on their heels and time ticking, Cheryl has to make the choice of her life. All she can hope for is that her sexy warriors stay alive long enough to hear her out.

  Chapter One: Cheryl

  Today was the day. The previous king of the Demante System had died, and the widow-queen was ready to hand her crown to the next temple-slave chosen to be queen. Cheryl would meet her husband and give the system a new king.

  The human tried to keep herself still as the temple acolytes buzzed around her. Their shiny metal skins flashed in the bright light cast by the sun rods, long tubular lamps that were charged in the sunlight and released their warm glow indoors. She was so excited that she couldn't stop herself from beaming, although she knew this was a solemn occasion.

  The acolytes painted her lips red and braided her golden hair into a crown around her head. The black gown she had been put into was tighter than anything she had worn before. It accentuated all her curves, although the seams strained at the waist. Probably a reminder from Priest Quincy that she hadn't dropped the twenty pounds he had told her to lose by this date.

  Well, no matter. She'd be away from the priest soon enough, and he couldn't remind her again and again that she was fat. She knew that she weighed more than she was supposed to, but she didn't care. She knew in her gut that her king wouldn't mind, either.

  "Are you excited?" one of the acolytes asked, tinny voice reverberating in its metal shell.

  "Deliriously happy. I love my life in the temple, but I am eager to see what the world is like. And to meet my husband." Cheryl ducked her head and blushed, a small smile on her face.

  She was more excited about her wedding night than she cared to admit. The only man she had regular contact with was Priest Quincy, but late at night, she liked to indulge herself in imagining what her king would be like. Cheryl had known from the time she was a little girl that her destiny was to be the next queen of the Temadian people. She had been selected from among the slaves purchased from Earth by the Demante System when she was just a baby.

  The Temadians were a society built by men. Their women had left eons ago, although nobody knew where they had gone. For centuries, the only way for the Temadian people to reproduce was to take their massive starships and steal women from other systems.

  Although that custom had long since died, the coronation of the new queen was a remembrance of those days. She was always a temple-slave obtained through trade with another species, and her king was selected through a series of battles. The Gods selected one of the champions to survive the tournament, and once he was married to the queen, he was king.

  Cheryl's king was rumored to be the previous king's nephew, Bjorn, but she wouldn't know for certain until she was presented to him. Her heart pounded with excitement as the acolytes put the finishing touches on her hair and rolled back to inspect their work. The dim, gold light of their eyes turned red, a sign that they approved of what they saw. The human took a deep breath, grinning widely.

  "Remember, child, not to expect too much from your wedding night," one of them said. "Just close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere else."

  Cheryl nodded meekly, although her mind was always full of dirty thoughts when she thought about her wedding night these days. She imagined intense pleasure, both for her and her king. Would he tear her dress right off her skin, the way she liked to imagine it?

  She smoothed her skirt as she stood, following the acolytes to where Priest Quincy waited. As head of the Queen's Temple, he was responsible for the ceremony today, as well as Cheryl's upbringing, although her teacher for most of her life had been her mother, until her early death. He shook his head when he saw her, a look of distaste coming over his face. Cheryl's heart dropped, though she tried to suppress it.

  Since she was a child her genes have been altered little by little so when she became pregnant with the king's baby, a pure-blooded Temadian would be born. It would take a lifetime to replace her, and the Demante system could not last without a king to rule over the dozen planets and order the fleets of warrior-slaves in their defense. No matter what Quincy thought, he would not take her destiny from her.

  "Our king will need nerves of steel to bed you. I told you to lose weight." Priest Quincy squinted his eyes at her. "A queen must be regal, not round. Well, you are your king's problem now, not mine."

  He turned and walked away, clearly expecting Cheryl to follow. She did so. Deep down, she knew she should be sad about leaving her temple and fearful about her future. But she was the queen. The only luxury was i
n her future, and a lifetime of giving her king beautiful, dark blue babies.

  Priest Quincy led her outside. Cheryl winced as a roaring cheer echoed in her ears. As she stepped onto the platform at the top of the temple steps, it rose into the air, a slight hum all that was indicative of the hover engines beneath the slab of stone. A sea of people spread all around the temple and they chanted her name as she floated over them. After a few minutes, the platform set down at the top of the palace steps.

  This was it. Cheryl eagerly looked down the steps, to the courtyard below. It was full like the temple grounds had been, but her king would be waiting for her on the bottom step.

  Her brow furrowed. There were two men standing below her.

  "I should have said that you are the kings' problem," Priest Quincy whispered in her ear. He stepped forward. "Bjorn of the house of Leshire."

  The man to the right stepped towards her and bowed. His brown hair was trimmed neatly around his ears. He wore the sleek, ruby-red armor of the noble houses. It was molded to his body, made from nanites that would detect coming pressure and thicken the armor at points of impact. It also showed off his impressive shape. He was muscular and lithe, like the panther in the Earth storybook her mother used to read to her. His skin was midnight blue, indicating that he was a pureblooded Temadian–or as pure blooded as was possible these days. The crowd chanted his name.

  "Maskin, Hero of the Apdratee invasion."

  The second man's most prominent feature was the fierce scowl he wore. His hair was long, braided down his back. He was larger than Bjorn. His black studded armor was clearly meant for heavy battles, rather than the ceremonial skirmishes Bjorn's nanite armor was designed for. His arms were naked and bore scars, both of blade and blaster. Dark diamonds were tattooed under his eyes. Judging from the sky-blue of his skin, he was born a warrior-slave. A mix of insults and cheers rose for him. He did not bow.