Defending their Mate: a Sci-Fi alien romance (Tharan Warrior Menage Book 6)

by Kallista Dane

  They questioned her guards. One of them gave her a quick search, making her open her mouth then bending her over and holding her head down while the other shoved a finger up her rectum. Aliya gritted her teeth as he gripped her bottom, digging into the freshly spanked skin of her rear cheeks. She knew any show of resistance would earn her more painful whacks with the long wooden rod, and her bottom already felt like it was on fire.

  The soldier holding her head pumped his groin into her face a few times then said something her Tellex chip didn’t translate. The one with a finger in her rear passage swatted her ass hard, driving her head into the other’s groin. Both soldiers laughed. Then, with a line of grumbling aliens rapidly forming behind her, they reluctantly ended their game and waved her and her guards inside. Aliya shivered as the dank cold walls of the arena swallowed her up.

  From scraps of conversation she’d overheard, she figured out it was game day in the arena, and her guards were delivering her to Bophe’s on-site quarters. They marched her deep into the underground maze of tunnels, finally stopping at another set of ancient wooden doors flanked by yet another muscular pair of soldiers. This time, it seemed word had been sent on ahead because one of the soldiers immediately threw open the doors.

  Flickering torches lined the stone walls of the room inside. Thick rugs padded the cold hard floor. Overhead, massive beams hewn from trees chopped down ten millennia ago crisscrossed the ceiling. She glanced up nervously, wondering how much longer the ancient logs would support the weight of massive blocks of stone piled one atop the other, towering thirty stories into the air.

  At the far end of the room, a figure sat in the shadows at a desk made of a thick slab of wood easily as old as the beams on the ceiling. Bophe.

  He rose and came around the desk, stopped in front of her. Waving the little grey men away, he came within inches of her face. “Welcome to Tanis Major, human. I’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

  She stared back at her captor, refusing to show any fear. Bophe stood at eye level with her, shorter than she’d expected given his reputation as a fearsome combatant. He was nearly as big around as he was tall. He wore an elaborately decorated sleeveless purple tunic that reached to his knees, belted with a thick gold chain. He must have put on a great deal of weight since leaving the ring, since he couldn’t possibly have moved that bulk with the lightning speed required to wrestle victory from so many opponents. Still, she could make out the powerful musculature underneath that helped make him the most formidable foe ever to set foot in the arena back in his day.

  His body bore the scars of numerous battles. Slashes from swords, scars where he’d been beaten, wrinkled, pale patches of skin that looked like poorly healed burns.

  Aliya knew size and strength weren’t enough to rack up the number of victories he’d had. It took an incredible will to survive, to beat all the obstacles Fate put in one’s path, to persevere even when death seemed like the best option. All she had to do was look into Bophe’s eyes to see the cold steel in his soul.

  Or rather eye. He had only one – a shrewd black orb staring back at her with the cold dead stare of an alligator she’d seen once in the Louisiana bayou. Where his other eye would have been was an empty socket, sewn shut with crude stitches. A long ragged scar ran from his forehead to his ear on that side of his face, crossing the space where his eye would have been.

  He brought his mangled face within inches of hers. She refused to pull back, knowing instinctively this alien would home in on any weakness she showed and exploit it.

  “Attractive, isn’t it? Gods know, I’m rich enough to have flown in the best surgeons in the galaxy and have an ocular implant indistinguishable from my other eye installed, one that would transmit data better than the most sophisticated equipment on any of my ships. They could have fixed my scars, too.”

  He gave her a smile, flashing the razor-sharp incisors he’d used to slash open veins in his opponents back in the days before he battled his way out of the arena to become its owner.

  “You like them? I had that done a long time ago. Used these more than once to end a battle by sending arterial blood spewing out like a fountain. It was a real crowd-pleaser.

  “I did not become the Master of the Arena of Tanis Major because of my charm or these good looks,” he spat out. “I earned my title battling creatures more vicious than anything dwelling in the depths of the seventh hell. When I won, I fought again. Each time I bet not only my entire fortune but my very life. Now I own this Arena – and everyone in it. Including you.”

  She stared back at him without speaking.

  “Interesting choice for a female.” He reached out, traced the jagged scar that ran across her cheek, the one Magnus’s vicious blow had inflicted. She forced herself not to flinch. Clenched her teeth, put her chin up, and endured his touch.

  “We have more in common than I would have thought,” he said with a touch of admiration. “I’ve kept my scars, probably for the same reason you keep yours. As a reminder of all the pain I’ve had to endure, all the sacrifices I’ve made to get where I am today. They help me keep my hate alive.

  “Of course, your scar only enhances the beauty of the rest of your face.” He smiled again, a cold smile that never reached his eye. “Mine – well, they’re good for my image. Beings from other worlds take one look at me and quake with fear. They imagine the agony I’ve endured – and tremble at the thought of the pain I’ve learned to inflict.”

  He stepped back, leered at her naked body. “I think I’m going to enjoy our time together. You see, unlike my other slaves, I didn’t bring you here to fight, so I don’t have to send you to my stables for training. You, my dear, are bait. Very expensive, very unique bait. A sacrificial Tarindian lamb I’m going to stake out in the center of my arena to lure my prey.

  “If Chancellor Kal sends his best warriors to rescue you, they’ll have to fight to win you back. I’ll pit them against the most formidable foe in the Universe and fill this entire place with bloodthirsty crowds waging fortunes on the outcome.” Bophe shrugged. “If he chooses to ignore my challenge, I’m still going to make a huge profit. I’ll beam the holographic spectacle of a naked human female being torn limb from limb and eaten alive by dragons to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.” He rubbed his chin. “Honestly, I can’t say which one I’d prefer.”

  His mouth curved into another smile, this one lighting up his entire face, the cold dead eye suddenly gleaming. “Maybe I’ll do both. Let the Tharans send their best warriors and have my gladiators slaughter them. If by some miracle of the gods they emerge victorious, for the big finale I’ll chain up your would-be rescuers next to me in my viewing box and make them watch while I let the dragons devour you anyway. After all, everyone loves a surprise ending.”

  Chapter Nine

  Azar

  “We’re going.”

  Chancellor Kal sighed. “I know how much you want to be the ones who save Aliya. But we must be realistic, my friends. None of us are as young as we once were. A stronger, faster team of warriors has a much better chance of pulling this off.”

  “Fuck all of them. Fuck Bophe – and if you don’t want to send us, fuck you, too. We’re going,” Azar declared.

  The supreme ruler of Tharon put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Believe me, if someone had kidnaped Soraya and threatened her life this way, I’d feel the same way you do. But I hope reason would prevail and I’d see the wisdom of sending another warrior in my place. Gods know, I’m not as good as I once was – and I’d want my beloved to have every chance she could to survive. I don’t mean to be cruel, but look at you. Aartan, you’ve got one worthless arm. How can you expect to hold your own against an opponent who has two – or three, or four? Azar, I’ve seen you wearing better prosthetic legs. Frankly, you can barely walk across the room in those.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t allow it. I still miss Rielle, and I know Soraya thinks of her every day when she offers prayers to t
he Sacred Ones. You’ve already lost one mate. If it’s true the gods have seen fit to bless you with another, do you really want to risk her life because you’re too proud and stubborn to accept the truth?

  “Every pair of warriors we have has stepped up to volunteer for this mission,” he went on. “I’ll let the two of you choose the ones to go. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You’re right. It is the least you can do,” Aartan replied. “Although you know as well as we do that in battle, youth and strength are not always going to win out over cunning and wisdom.” He lifted his withered arm, brought it crashing down on the thick slab of tharonwood Kal used for a desk.

  At the same time, Azar sprang into the air. He did a somersault over the desk, wrapped an arm around Kal, and yanked him out of the way.

  The chancellor stared at the splintered remains in shock, even as Azar’s dagger dug into his throat deep enough to remind him he’d be dead if his friend had carried through with the move.

  Kal pulled himself together, displaying the cool demeanor under pressure that served him well leading his people. “That was…impressive,” he said mildly. “Nicely done. But, now, you sons of a jambora owe me a new desk.”

  Azar slid the dagger back into the sheath around his waist and grinned. “You’ll get one, even if we have to carve it out of one of those thousand-year-old beams holding up Bophe’s fucking arena. Now, can we all agree? Aartan and I go.”

  Kal turned to Aartan, waved at his arm. “I remember when you got that injury. You refused to allow us to replace it with a cybertronic limb. Apparently, now, you have. And you,” he went on, addressing Azar. “Is that a new set of legs? I think those are the best ones you’ve ever developed. I’ve never seen you jump higher or faster, even before you were injured.”

  Aartan answered for both of them. “Yes and yes. What better disguise than to walk into the center of the arena looking like two washed-up old warriors? I finally gave in and had my real one removed.” He held out the withered left arm. “Azar designed this. It’s far stronger than it looks. He’s already made me one to replace it when we get home. It will match my right arm, complete with all the tattoos.”

  “And I created this new set of legs to look like prosthetics made on some backward planet,” Azar broke in. “Bophe knows Tharans are formidable warriors ,but he has no idea how advanced our medical technology is.”

  “All right, all right. You’ll go. Both of you.”

  “We’re going, too!”

  All three stopped dead as Kyra strode into the room, followed by her mates Jax and Jynn and their adopted daughter, Ceres.

  The twin cyborgs dropped to one knee and gave Kal the Tharan salute, right fists over the glowing amethyst discs where their hearts would have been. “I’m sorry, my lord,” Jax said. “We tried to keep her out in the hall until you were finished, but our Khyee-ra has a mind of her own.”

  “Sounds like a little more discipline is in order,” Kal grumbled. “Apparently, you haven’t been spanking her long and hard enough.”

  “No spanking would have kept me away when my friend is in danger.” Ignoring his stern expression, Kyra ran over and gave the chancellor a hug. At five feet five, she could only wrap her arms around his waist. “It’s so good to see you again, my lord,” she cried. “We’ve all missed you. When we come back from Tanis Major, you and Lady Soraya will have to come to our place. I’ll cook you a real Earther meal. Fried nartu. It tastes just like the chicken we eat back home. Mashed podi root with gravy, sautéed greens fresh from the Great Swamp. And tharanberry pie,” she added.

  “What makes you think I’m going to agree to let all of you go along? Especially you,” he thundered, glaring down at Kyra’s smiling face.

  “That’s simple.” Kyra replied. “They need us. There’s no time to waste if they are to get to Tanis Major in time. Jax and Jynn can train Aartan and Azar during the voyage. Teach them how to defend themselves against alien weapons they may never have seen before. Get them ready for what they might face in the ring. And Ceres knows that arena as well as anyone in the galaxy. She practically grew up there. She spent years running errands for Bophe in the maze of shadowy corridors beneath the center ring. We’d never have made it out if it wasn’t for her knowledge.” She turned to her adopted daughter for confirmation.

  “I must go, my lord,” Ceres said. Her voice trembled at first, but as she went on it grew stronger, more determined. “I can draw maps of the complex, help them plan the best route to escape afterward. As a child, the bowels of the arena were my only playground. I’m not sure even Bophe knows about some of the secret tunnels I found.”

  Kal extricated himself from Kyra’s embrace and turned to the twins he’d raised after their parents died, frowning. “You’re allowing females to speak for you? I thought I taught you boys better.”

  Jax rose and faced his adopted father. “Kyra is not a female, my lord. She’s a soldier who has conquered formidable opponents. She was Bophe’s prisoner, but she fought her way to freedom. She’s earned the right to have a say in this matter. We went to Tanis Major to rescue her, but if not for her quick mind and fighting skills, we might never have left the planet alive. And, as for this one…” He went to Ceres, put an arm around her shoulders. “She’s as good in the heat of battle as any lad in our warrior training camp. Jynn and I were fortunate to have her by our side.” His brother nodded in agreement.

  Kal nodded reluctantly. “I can see why it would be helpful to have you and Jynn go along. But only to the outer reaches of Tanis Major’s orbit. Bophe was adamant. We are to send only two warriors. You will stay with Ceres on the starcruiser and let Aartan and Azar travel to the planet alone on a transport vehicle.

  “As for you,” he went on, addressing Kyra, “you nearly died in that arena. I’m not sending you back so Bophe can finish the job this time.”

  Kyra’s smile disappeared. “That’s exactly why I’m going. I made friends in his stable of female gladiators, friends who are dead now because of him. Bophe bought me to be his slave, made me fight for my life. I had to kill another sentient being because of him. You of all people understand how heavy that weighs on the soul. Remember the talk we had when I first met you? How you consoled me?” She looked up, met Kal’s angry glare without flinching. “I owe it to their memories to help rid the Universe of Bophe and his evil.”

  Kal sighed. “I can see you two have your hands full with this one,” he said to his adopted sons.

  “Female Earther, you are as fierce as any Tharan warrior,” he said, shaking his head.

  He took a step back, fisted one hand over his heart. “I salute you, brave warriors all. May you be victorious in battle. May you be courageous and strong and if the Sacred Ones call you home, may you die with honor. Blessings and peace to you – and to all sentient beings in the Universe.”

  Chapter Ten

  Aliya

  Though it was her first time at the arena, she’d had heard all about it from Kyra. Over the course of a day, Bophe offered spectators a mixture of excitement, shock, titillation, and plenty of blood and gore – with a dash of humor.

  The arena master began each day’s competition by pitting alien females from different worlds against each other. The more bizarre the pairing, the better the show. He set up some contests to amuse, others to arouse. These bouts were meant to warm up the crowd, give them time to ingest whatever intoxicating substance their species favored. Time to dull their better judgment and loosen their purse strings.

  Later, when the male fighters faced off, the real show began. Spectators placed enormous wagers, cheered for their chosen combatants, and hurled insults at each other. The fights that broke out in the stadium seats were as much a part of the spectacle as the battles in the ring.

  She had plenty of time to observe the carnage firsthand. True to his word, Bophe kept her near him. On days when he had competitions scheduled, she spent her days at the arena, arms and legs shackled together with only a foot or so of chain li
nking them. Just enough so she could take mincing steps after him when he headed from his private office below the center ring of the arena to his viewing box. He liked having her by his side in the open box. Occasionally, he’d have her wave to the crowd or toss a trinket to the victor of a match.

  At night, she was taken back to his palatial residence on the outskirts of the city, always traveling in an open chariot standing upright, flanked by two guards. He wanted her seen by as many potential customers as possible, hoping with her exotic looks she’d draw a sellout crowd to the arena. Aliya knew the guards were there to ensure the Tharans didn’t mount a surprise rescue attempt and foil Bophe’s plan for a huge spectacle.

  Soon after she arrived, Bophe called in the seamstress who made all the costumes for the arena combatants. A shrewd businessman, he chose the outfits his slaves wore when they competed with an eye to pleasing the masses. The uglier females in his stable were covered head to toe, while the ones he considered attractive fought in scraps of clothing that usually ended up being slashed away during the match.

  From experience, Bophe knew his customers would enjoy the sight of a nearly naked human female.

  “I want her in a half-tunic slung around her hips,” he ordered. “One that barely covers her ass. Make a couple of them – bright colors that will draw the eye when she’s next to me in my viewing box. I want every male in the stadium to come back day after day hoping he’ll get a peek at her pussy.”

  She stared at the far wall, trying to ignore his leer as he circled her, casually tweaking a nipple.

  “Let’s make sure these sweet little tits get noticed, too. I’m thinking a metallic gold halter top tied on with narrow laces. Something easy to slit with a casual flick of a blade when she’s tied to a wooden pole in the center of the arena.”