by Alison Aimes
“You need to leave. Look what you did to the railing.” His half-brother’s constant whine buzzed like an irritating insect in the background. “I told you. You will embarrass us all.”
“Peller, shut up before I show you what a true savage can do.” The little shanus was a constant pain in his side, but he wasn’t the real cause of DaKar’s anger. That was reserved for himself.
He shouldn’t even hesitate. She needed him.
All his life he’d heard his blood was tainted, that his mother’s Martian Warlord heritage was barbaric and not befitting of their family—and neither was he. He’d pretended not to care, but up until tonight, he’d done his best to prove them wrong.
Tonight, he needed to put ego aside and gladly prove them right. She was what mattered.
He prowled forward once more, following the railing that led to the stairs, his gaze still locked on her.
“Stop right there.” Another voice, higher-pitched and far more dangerous. “You were told not to show your face tonight and you will do as you’re bid for once. Turn around and crawl back to your hole. You are not welcome here. I have a reputation to uphold.”
He didn’t have to turn around to know his stepmother loomed behind, her streaked gold and black hair piled high on her head like a coiled snake and laden with glittering danashe stones while her meticulously maintained body was draped in the finest of iridescent red fabrics that fastened tight to her body and billowed out behind her like the echoes of a scream. Nor did he have to look to know her face was pinched in a sour expression. Or that she was surrounded by the same four burly, blank-faced guards with thick forearms and brutish knuckles that followed her every command.
Most of the servants were kind to him, sneaking him food or patching up his injuries on the sly, sharing what they had, despite having very little. But not these four. They served his stepmother with pleasure, and her pleasure was his pain.
She hated him for having Martian blood and golden skin. She hated him for his father’s refusal to remove him from her home. Mostly, she hated him because he was his father’s firstborn, and élithe rules were very clear on lines of inheritance. Her younger son Peller would never inherit the full title, lands, and shares of the Starlight estate. Half-breed or not, freak or not, that right belonged to DaKar.
“I may not be welcome, but I am still going.” His stare still on the girl, he suddenly felt far older than his ten planetary rotations, his blood pumping with an ancient impulse that gave him the wisdom of a thousand Martian Warlord ancestors. “This does not concern you or your precious reputation.”
“Everything you do concerns me.” A slight pause, her voice sharp with excitement as she issued her next directive. “Teach this half-breed some respect.”
It hurt to turn away from the girl, his soul ripping like shredded fabric as the connection severed, but he couldn’t protect her if he was dead. His fangs lengthened. His chest expanded, the seams of Peller’s old clothes giving way.
He ducked, air hissing against his cheek as he barely dodged the meaty fist slamming toward his jaw. He was not so lucky with the next kick to his stomach. His bigger body was unfamiliar and awkward, making it harder to avoid the blows, while the roar of possession and protectiveness in his blood made focusing difficult. He had the instincts, but not the skills or understanding— and despite the ancient drive throbbing through his veins, he was still only ten. Smaller and weaker than the handful of grown males closing in.
He went down hard, the railing and half wall hiding him from the ballroom below. His palms slammed into the tiles, along with his chin. His fangs punched into his lower lip. Blood splattered. Fists and boots battered him.
“Not here.” His stepmother’s hiss cut through the haze of pain. “Take him to his room. Make sure there’s no chance he can make another unwanted appearance tonight.”
Firm hands gripped his arms and jerked him upright and forward, his toes barely skimming the ground. Bucking and thrashing, he tried to escape the males flanking both sides. Minel. He needed to get to her.
“My Lady,” Tom, a hardworking servant in his mid-twenties who’d only recently been promoted from outside work to doorman and floater driver, appeared from behind the column, his expression a mix of nerves and determination, “the boy meant no harm. If you would show him some kindness, I—”
Before DaKar could even open his mouth to warn the man off, his stepmother flicked her fingers. “You’re dismissed.”
Her lackey’s brutal fist plowed into the brave male’s jaw. Eyes rolling back, he crumpled. “No.” DaKar fought harder.
“I do not want a scene.” His stepmother flicked her wrist once more.
A slight hiss of air and something hard punched the back of his head. His neck snapped.
Black dots danced in front of his eyes as his body sagged and his senses shut down one by one. Until all he knew was the grim beat of his heart and the knowledge that he’d failed those he should have protected, her worst of all.
The connection, the heat, the golden tendrils growing fainter with every step they dragged him away, until it was only a mocking echo, until he wasn’t sure it had even been real, and then, there was nothing at all.
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Excerpt from Trapped, Book One in the Condemned Series
Want more Condemned series heat and fierce warrior convicts? The first three books in the Condemned series are available as well…
Below is an excerpt from TRAPPED.
“You can’t just leave them here.” A woman’s furious voice reached prisoner 673 through the rocky canyon. He froze. Cocked his head. Inhaled, but scented nothing except the usual arid scent of dirt and dust.
After so many years alone, the sound of such loud squawking was jarring. And that the voice was a woman’s? His cock twitched and rose, taking notice. Eight years was a long time to go without. The last time the droids had dropped a woman on Dragath25 was five years ago. 223’s pack had gotten hold of her first. She’d lasted five minutes.
It was a good reminder. Fragile things didn’t last here. And nothing, not even long overdue pussy, was worth risking his survival.
“You hear those shrieks? They’re coming.” An equally enraged male’s voice boomed through the canyon, thoughtfully telegraphing his precise location. “Our shuttle streaked through the sky like a clear come-and-get-me invitation for the entire penal population of murderers and psychopaths. We don’t have time to dick around. We don’t have time for those who’ll only slow us down. We’re moving out.”
“You coward. I saved your life. The least you can do is try and return the favor.”
673 cleared the canyon in time to see a bull of a red-haired soldier dressed in fatigues grab a far smaller woman in a torn gray uniform, her boots dragging along the ground as he shook her hard.
673’s whole body went tight. He didn’t like bullies. He dropped into a crouch, instinct taking over as he slunk forward, his gaze absorbing everything: the way the soldier bastard favored his right side, the large firearm strapped to his holster, the second weapon at the man’s back… the way the woman’s ripped uniform clung to her curvy body and the outraged rigidity of her spine even up against a man twice her size. Then, there were the nine other thick-necked, smug soldiers with similar military-issued buzz cuts standing close by, no clue of the danger he represented, their sole attention on the woman.
In the next instant, the woman dropped into the dirt. On a perfect, heart-shaped ass.
Freezing in place, 673 waited to see what happened next.
“Fine,” the woman shouted, stumbling to her feet. “Go. But I’m not leaving. We’ll find a way.”
“Your funeral.” Soldier bastard grabbed a pack off the ground. He slung it onto his shoulder next to a similar one.
“At least leave us one.” She surged forward, grabbing for the pack, but soldier bastard darted out of reach.
“Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, Cadet West? In fact,
seems like you and your Council friends might need us after all.” Soldier bastard patted the pack. “These were issued to the military crew, and you know how strict Command Council is about ensuring resources are relegated to the proper department. You survive the night, I’ll be ready to hear just what you’re willing to do to get an unsanctioned taste.” With a final leer in her direction, soldier bastard kicked it into a jog. “Let’s go, men.”
An odd frisson of uncertainty snaked through 673. He wanted those weapons, wanted what was in those packs. But he’d come for a different reason entirely, and with the seven soldiers out of the way, the few left would be easy pickings.
It was a curious thing: choice. For so long, there had been only the option to survive. He didn’t like having alternatives. It almost made him feel human again.
“West, please,” a dark-haired female in a similar gray uniform limped over to where the other woman stood, the quality of her boots marking her as Council even without his ability to see the CC designation on her skin, “go with them. You’ve done so much for us already. Why should you die, too?”
He’d already noted this second female and the wounded Council officer on the ground and dismissed them as any kind of threat. Fact was, like fighter girl, they were dead folks walking—because, in this case, soldier bastard was right. The strong barely survived out here. The injured didn’t have a chance in hell.
His fighter girl didn’t seem to care, though. His? No, she wasn’t his. She wasn’t anything but Dragath25 dirt in the making.
He’d learned long ago not to stick his neck out for anyone else. Keeping himself alive was hard enough.
Just beyond, the wind picked up, brushing against 673’s skin, signaling the start of another dust storm. Within the half-hour, this place would be choked in dirt and debris, everything within suffocated under an indifferent cloak of dirt and rock.
“I’m not leaving you.” Fighter girl stumbled forward, her wavy, soot-colored hair brushing her ass . . . so easy to grab and wrap around his wrist. “Let’s find something I can drag Dr. Winthrop in.”
She turned in his direction, giving him his first full view of wide green eyes, a lush pink mouth, and firm, high tits full enough to fill his hands.
His body rioted to attention, the man he’d once been waking with a silent roar as white-hot lust flooded his veins. He jerked to standing, all subterfuge, all caution, forgotten. The absence of touch for eight long years, a sudden agonizing stab of need across his skin.
“Look!” She pointed near to where he stood, and for a heart-stopping moment, he was sure he’d been sighted. But then she turned back to her friend. “There’s something that looks like a cave only a little way up. If we can make it there, we can hide.”
“But—”
“No but. We are making it there.” She dropped to her knees beside the wounded officer’s body. “No one else is dying. Headquarters will send search and rescue to investigate the crash. We only have to stay alive until then.”
The shrieking cry of 223’s pack sounded again. Closing in fast.
The reminder cooled 673’s lust enough to get him thinking again.
His gaze flickered between the woman, now frantically working with her friend to wrap the man in some kind of fabric, and the strewn, burning wreckage that littered the ground. His hands clenched and unclenched.
Choices.
His dick was telling him one thing. His mind another. Shit. He really hated choices.
He started forward.
To read more, click TRAPPED and settle in for another wild ride!
Acknowledgments
First, thank you! Yes, you. Thank you for reading my work. I’ve said it before, but I know there are a lot of amazing books out there and I appreciate you taking the time to read mine. It means a lot.
Next, I want to do a special shout-out to some incredible readers who have gone above and beyond. Persephone Black, Tricia Len, Holly Grays, Janey Dyson, Holly Hill Mangin, Christen Roxo, Jean Stillman, Janet Seavey, Carol Hanlon, Rose Files, Anthony Abignale, Lori Rattay, Katrin Ähmsry, and Ema Cristina—thank you for your support, your reviews, your shares, your posts, your pictures, and your ideas. The writing journey can be lonely, but not with you guys in my corner.
I’d like to thank Daqri Bernardo at Cover by Combs for another gorgeous cover, Margaret Bates and Lisa Knapp for their terrific editing and proofreading, and Veronica Adams at L.Woods PR for all her incredible PR help.
A HUGE thank you is also owed to the extraordinary Danielle Raleigh from Danielle Leigh Author Services. She saves me every day. From newsletters to social media to beta reading, she makes it happen—and she’s an incredible, patient, funny lady as well. I feel very lucky to have found you, and your tips with this book were spot-on. Thank you!!!
Nor would I dare forget my author friends including the brilliant Lynne Silver, Monique Moreau, Lynn Winchester, and EJ Frost who are always generous with their time, writing suggestions, and support. Lynn Winchester was particularly amazing and her final beta read caught so many last-minute details that needed to be tweaked. I am so grateful for her support and keen eye.
Thank you, as well, to my dear friends Karen, Phyllis, Jay, and Louise for your friendship and your continued determination to hold a book party despite my lameness and for just being all around terrific people.
Thank you, too, to my wonderful dad for loving this series and always being excited to read the next one. You’re the greatest dad a girl could have.
An infinite number of thank yous are owed to my mom for her editing, constant support and cheerleading, and insane patience in the face of my whining. She is the heart of each book and my life, as well. You are so extraordinary and I am so grateful to have you in my life.
Finally, how does one thank the husband that inspires each and every hero I write? You are my anchor and my refuge, my shelter and my home. You are my everything.
About Alison Aimes
Alison Aimes is the award-winning author of the sizzling, action-packed sci-fi romance Condemned series and Alien Warlord series, as well as the sexy contemporary romance Billionaire Bad Boys collection. A book fanatic with a PhD in Modern History, she’s an all-over-the-map kind of woman with a love for dramatic stories, no matter the era. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two kids, and her dog. When not in front of the computer, she can be found hanging with family and friends, hiking, trying to turn herself into a pretzel through yoga, or, last but not least, sitting on the couch imagining her characters’ next great adventures.
Alison can be found online at www.alisonaimes.com or at any of the places below:
Books by Alison Aimes
THE CONDEMNED SERIES:
TRAPPED
TAKEN
TORMENTED
TAMED
IN THE SCI-FI ALIEN WARLORD SERIES:
STOLEN
IN THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY SERIES:
BILLIONAIRE BLACKMAIL
BESTING THE BILLIONAIRE
To learn about her latest releases and receive a copy of STOLEN for FREE, sign up for her newsletter at www.alisonaimes.com
TAMED
Book Four in the Condemned Series
Bookmark: Copyright
Published by Orchid Publishing
Copyright 2020 Orchid, Inc.
Cover by Daqri Bernardo, Cover by Combs
EPub Edition ISBN: 978-0-9964683-6-7
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-9964683-7-4
Excerpt from TRAPPED copyright © 2016 by Alison Aimes
Excerpt from STOLEN copyright © 2020 by Alison Aimes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Thank you
Thank you for reading Tamed: Book Four in the Condemned series! I hope you enjoyed it. If y
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