by Renee Rose
Laake stood and prowled over to the workstation. “I’m going to check.” He waited for Damon or Granit to tell him no, that it was wrong to spy on her—on them—but no one spoke. They both had turned, expectation glinting in their serious gazes.
He flicked on the security feed and scrolled through the rooms until he reached hers.
There. Elit and Banf were in her room, the veck-holes.
And Eslyn didn’t look happy.
Not at all.
“I smell them on you. In this room. What in the veck did you do, Eslyn?” Elit advanced on her, menace glazing his eyes.
“You,” she hissed. “You don’t get to come in here and ask questions. I did my part—I got you free. But you didn’t give me the same courtesy.”
He laughed—a dark, crackling sound that seemed to snap her bones in its wake.
Banf stood with his back against the door to the children’s room, arms folded over his chest. Both of them had hollows under their eyes, which should’ve called up her sympathy, but it didn’t. They deserved every ounce of hell they’d received in that dungeon. And more.
“You never were the brightest in our little family, were you?” Banf sneered.
Elit joined in. “Hmm, let’s see… there’s only two Zandian females left in the galaxy so I think I’ll just hand over mine so she can breed with the remaining population. Are you really that vecking stupid?”
“Yes, she is. She really thought she was going to get to spread her legs and let some other male claim what we already bought.”
“Bought?” she spat. “How do you figure?”
“Fifteen years of taking care of your whiny ass!” Banf snapped. “Complaints and tears and a whole lot of bitterness is all we’ve had from you and now you want to deny us our due?”
“I’m not your due. I’m going to tell Prince Zander that I lied today, and you both deserve to rot in that dungeon with Sankro!” she spat.
She didn’t see Elit’s fist flying because Banf had lunged for her throat at the same time. Her head snapped back on her neck and she fell to the floor. Banf straddled her, choking her breath with a tight squeeze under her chin.
She scrambled beneath him, legs kicking uselessly, unable to cry out. Terror gripped her, as it always did when they choked her. Her vision popped with lights around the edges, then bled with darkness.
A rushing sounded in her ears.
She clawed Banf’s face, dug her nails into one of his sensitive horns.
The last thing she saw was his bared teeth as the room darkened to black.
And then she was dragging in long breaths of air, as the sound of grunts and thuds crashed all around her.
“Get her up out of the way.”
Was that… Damon’s voice?
Laake’s concerned face swam into view and she rose in his arms, scooped onto the hover disk and gently arranged. Behind him, Granit’s fist slammed repeatedly into flesh and bone with a sickening wet sound. Two figures wrestled back and forth across the room—Damon and Elit.
“Stop,” she croaked.
“She said stop.” Laake spoke across the melee. He’d put his body between hers and the rest of them, guarding her.
Granit’s fist paused in midair, but Damon continued his assault on Elit, sending him flying over a hover chair and sprawling onto his back.
“I’m not finished,” Damon gritted, leaping over the fallen chair in a graceful bound.
“I’m with you, but don’t make her watch.”
Damon also paused. “Right.” He swiped blood from his mouth and glanced over at her. For the first time, she saw his expression go soft, the way his brothers always looked at her.
She dragged her hand up to her throat, coughing. Her head pounded, eyes gritty.
Dimly, she heard Damon issuing commands into a cuff on his arm, something about guards and dungeon.
Then all three of her males—the ones who mattered to her—gathered around the hover bed, brows furrowed, fingers gentle as they stroked her hair from her face, caressed her arms, held her hands.
Guards burst in the room and there were more barked orders issued from Damon, deep grumbling growls from Granit.
Laake scooped her into his arms again. “I’m taking her to the crystal bath to speed her healing. If those bruises don’t go away before bedtime, I’m going to vecking kill those males, whether they carry Zandian blood or not.”
“Agreed,” Damon said. He and Granit trailed behind Laake, apparently unwilling to let her out of their sight.
“Sol,” she croaked weakly, thinking of her baby in his protective cradle. Had he been hurt? Had the cradle been knocked around during the fight?
“I’ll get him, little flower,” Damon soothed. “He’s fine.”
In the circular crystal bath, light poured in through skylights, amplified by giant Zandian crystals. Laake sank into one of the beds, nesting her ass between his legs, pulling her back against his warm chest.
Granit and Damon pulled two more beds up right beside hers and sat down. Damon handed her Sol, who greedily attached himself to her nipple to nurse.
“You left me vulnerable.” She didn’t mean to blurt the accusation, but it flew out of her mouth. She should apologize for lying, for hurting them, but instead she spit out the one pain that wouldn’t be resolved by a crystal bath.
All three males started talking at once, something like, “I’m sorry—” and “Forgive us—” and “We didn’t know, Eslyn.”
A sob erupted from her mouth, and then she cried like her three-cycle-old.
Sol pulled his lips from her breast and joined in the wail, frightened.
Her males tightened their ring around her, touching her, murmuring. No, not murmuring, begging. Despite the way they talked over one another, she caught enough to understand.
They were sorry.
Something her ex-mates had never been. Not once.
She sniffled back her purple-tinted tears, trying to recover. “I made a deal with them, but they betrayed me. I wanted to get free. I hoped—”
She stuffed her knuckles in her mouth, afraid to say it.
“Hoped what?” Granit wrapped his huge fingers around her wrist and tugged her hand away.
She beseeched them with her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to say it. What if they didn’t feel the same way? But no, they did. They’d been hurt by her choice to visit the dungeons.
“Mate me. Pierce me with your crystal and keep me forever. Keep us.” She stroked Sol’s tiny cheek with her thumb.
“Veck, yes, Eslyn.” The outburst came from Damon, the only one she hadn’t been sure of.
She smiled, though it made the bruise on her face throb. “Yes? What about Prince Zander?”
Damon drew himself up. “We’ll make sure he approves. It’s not for you to worry about, lovely female. Consider it already done. You’re ours. Your children are ours. Your future, ours.”
A tear spilled down her cheek, but it wasn’t from sorrow. Granit thumbed it away. “We love you, little flower. We promise to take good care of you and the young. We’ll make sure you’re happy.”
She sniffed, the joy bubbling up from her chest in sobs of laughter. “I know. I know you will.”
Epilogue
Damon adjusted his swollen cock in his trousers. He had their beloved female naked and bent over the hover disk, legs spread wide. Laake and Granit each held one of her wrists—not because she’d offered up any struggle. More because they needed to touch her in every moment, even if it was holding her down and making her take her punishment.
He tapped her ass with a cane. “If you want something, who should you ask to help you get it, beautiful?” They’d given her the night to heal from her harrowing experience with Banf and Elit, who’d been permanently returned to Zander’s dungeon.
“You three,” she gasped, her twitching ass probably smarting from the two lines he’d already laid across it.
He swished the cane through the air and applied a third. “E
xactly, love. Do not make deals with other males, especially without telling us. Understand?”
“Yes, Master!” She’d persisted in calling them master, even after Prince Zander had granted permission for them to mate her and they’d each chosen one body part to pierce and adorn with crystal. He’d chosen the top of one of her ears. He wanted it in a place every being would see. Laake had pierced her navel; Granit, her nose.
He stroked his hand over her hip to calm the trembling in her legs. “You will always receive punishment for putting yourself in danger. That’s a promise we won’t break, Eslyn.” He dipped his fingers between her legs, knowing how wet he’d find her. As if he could’ve ignored the intoxicating scent of her arousal filling the room. It had them all struggling to stay sane.
She moaned as he pinched her clit between two knuckles.
“And we’ll always take care of you afterward. I hope you know that. You can count on us to kiss it better. Are you ready for a good vecking?”
“Yes, Master!” She sounded impatient, so he delivered another light swat with the cane.
“Ooh-oh! Please?”
He chuckled and lifted her by the hips to prop her knees on the hover disk. Parting her with his thumbs, he licked into her, tracing her inner lips, sucking her clit.
Granit moved in to fondle her dangling breasts while Laake fisted a hand in her hair, growling something in her ear.
She went off before he’d even given it much effort—the moment he shoved one finger into her heat. Her muscles contracted, shudders running through her body.
“Again,” Laake rasped.
Damon flipped Eslyn onto her back and hooked her knees over his shoulders, filling his hands with her ass. “Let’s try it from this angle, shall we?”
Eslyn made an incoherent sound, her knees tightening around his ears. He flicked his tongue over her clit, sucked and nipped her nether lips. Only when she’d come again did he lower her hips to the hover disk and push into her moist heat.
Her pussy was even better than he remembered, not that he’d ever let vecking her become something routine. His fingers tightened on her hips and he pistoned in and out of her, watching her expression to make sure she enjoyed every vecking second of it.
She bucked and writhed beneath him as if greedy for every inch he fed her and he closed his eyes and let greed take over him, too.
“Mine now,” he growled. “Mine, mine, mine.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Yours. My masters.”
Granit and Laake growled, but didn’t move in; they must’ve known how close he was.
“Veck, yes!” he issued through clenched teeth.
“Yes, yes, please!” Her keening cry made him veck her even harder, plunging as deep as he could get inside her until his movements grew jerky, thighs tensing.
He came, hard and grateful, still pounding Eslyn with every bit of passion inside him.
She cried out, arching beneath him, fingers reaching for his horns, which she squeezed and jacked as her pussy milked his cock.
Dropping down over her, he nuzzled her neck, dragging his open mouth over her skin before biting her shoulder. “Mine.”
“Ours,” Laake corrected.
“That’s what I meant,” he mumbled, barely able to form words. “Mine is yours. Always.”
Granit and Laake rumbled a sound of both approval and hunger as they nudged him off Eslyn and positioned her on her belly, with her head at one edge of the hover disk for Granit’s cock, her ass spread wide for Laake’s.
He watched in bleary-eyed contentment as his brothers rode his female—their female—to yet another peak of pleasure. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the rest would be easy. Forming a family, adopting the children, taking back Zandia—all of it. Eslyn was the missing piece of the puzzle piece for him. His life had been focused on making sure Laake and Granit were happy, but something had been missing. And now he knew what—their female.
As his brothers and female collapsed, satisfied, on the hover disk, the males arranged their bodies protectively around her. Granit and Laake on either side, Damon on the end, where he could watch the door.
Nothing malevolent would ever touch their female again.
Not when she had them.
The End
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Night of the Zandians: A Reverse Harem Romance
(Zandian Brides Book 1)
Night of the Zandians - Chapter One
Riya
The Zandians require brides.
Prince Zander—no, King Zander now that he’s taken back his planet—stands in front of all of us, human and Zandians alike, and makes his intentions for repopulation clear.
I gaze around at the throng gathered in front of what used to be the palace. Everything seems so vast and empty under a bright sky, devoid of any cloud cover. The Zandian sun reflects off the white marble stone that makes up the rubble, nearly blinding me.
How can such a small group possibly ever rebuild this planet, dedicated as they—we— are?
The devastation in Zandia’s capital is so absolute that it makes me sick to my stomach. The crumbled ruins of once-majestic buildings, now heaps of marble rubble and twisted metal, look as gruesome as any bloody wound I tended during the battle.
I shouldn’t care—it’s not my planet. My planet was raped and ruined a thousand years ago by the Ocretions, but Zandia’s been dangled in front of us humans like Shangri-la. A place we’ll be able to be free.
Supposedly.
But what Zander’s saying now puts ice cold fear into me.
A shiver runs down my spine and I can’t stop my gaze from flicking to the giant Zandian warrior across the plaza.
Tarren.
The one whose firm thigh I straddled when I sewed up the gash splitting the side of his face. He’s standing with two other Zandians and—sweet mother Earth—they’re all looking at me!
A lock of my thick black hair blows into my face on a hot, dry wind that smells of nothing except ash, and I brush it back with impatience, then wipe more dust from my strong thighs, bare beneath my—short tunic. I haven’t had a chance to wash or change since the battle—I’ve been tending the wounded non-stop. The warrior beside Tarren lets his gaze slide to my bare legs and heat crawls up my neck. I should’ve found a pair of leggings before this meeting.
“If you wish to receive a land and homestead grant, I suggest you form a group, find a female, and ready yourselves to petition,” King Zander declares.
My stomach knots. Find a female.
I’m not an idiot. I know what that means for me. For the other human females of breeding age. We’ve just become breeders. We’re probably no better off than any breeding slave in the galaxy.
My mouth goes dry and I have to will myself not to look across the plaza at the warrior again. Will he and his friends come for me? Claim me? How will it work? Do I have to be willing, or can they just come carry me off?
King Zander has said we’re no longer slaves, yet there’s nowhere else we can go in the galaxy where our freedom will be recognized. In other words, we have no choice but to accept whatever the Zandians offer.
And it sounds to me like my only option is to become a Zandian bride.
I scrunch up my hands at my sides, not because I’m making fists to defend myself, but to stop my fingers from shaking.
I don’t want to be claimed by one alien warrior, much less two or three. Or—stars forbid—more!
I barely hear the rest of the announcement, but when the gathering breaks up, I seek out Lily. She’s a human mated to a Zandian and sister to the Queen.
She might know more about what I can expect.
Already the air in the plaza crackles with sexual tension, as if the king’s proclamation has every warrior ready to fight to claim a female.
There are no more Zandian females—at least none who are unmated—so the females Zander referred to are human. Former slaves, like me.
Oh hell. I tug my tunic down as if I can make it grow to cover my bare thighs.
Several Zandian warriors eye me from across the cracked plaza. I really should have changed my clothes before I came out. I suddenly realize how provocative my boots must look below bare legs.
On the training pod we females were protected by warriors like Lundric, who has a human mate. I was able to dress for pure comfort and ignore any interest my bare skin garnered. After what I’ve endured at the hands of the Ocretians, I preferred to keep myself apart.
I find Lily, but she’s talking with her mate. I sense warriors closing in on me from all sides.
Fuck.
Like a coward, I run.
I head straight for the makeshift med bay where I’ve been working all night. It’s a stupid place to go, but I haven’t been assigned a room yet, and I don’t know where else to hide.
As soon as I’m there, though, the memory of treating Tarren’s wounds comes rushing back.
The way my core heated standing so close to him. The way he gripped my buttocks when I stabbed his cheek with the needle.
I lean against the metal wall of the crashed ship which became my headquarters to steady my breath.
I’m not interested in the male. I’m not interested in any male.
Of course, it may not matter what I’m interested in.
King Zander wants the planet repopulated.
As soon as possible.
Tarren
“Looks like you’ve already picked out our mate.” My cousin Jax follows my gaze to the dark-haired beauty streaking across the plaza. It’s all I can do not to chase her down, toss her over my shoulder and carry her back to our quarters right now.
