by Chloe Cox
Andromeda had become so upset about the idea of submission, about not being…what had she called it? An equal partner. It had amused him. No mate of his would be anything other than his sexual submissive, but just as the mating bond only guaranteed physical compatibility, he only demanded sexual submission. A true Leonid Dominant valued his mate as a partner.
But he had not explained, because it had not mattered. No human female could ever understand the implications of submission to Kragen under the circumstances. Kragen had sworn to protect Andromeda Knowles, and allowing her to submit to his claiming when she was unable to understand the consequences of mating a broken rivka would, without a single doubt, cause her great harm.
But she had said she understood, now. She had seen it, in their bond. She had used the word rivka.
His eyes trailed up the length of her leg, his nostrils flaring as he remembered the weight of it on his shoulder. His gaze lingered over the swell of her breasts, the glow of his mating mark on her body, until he found her eyes with his. Her eyes called to him. He could taste her on his tongue again.
“Lubcha,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Tell me what you saw when last I drank from you.”
25
Andie stared into Kragen’s eyes as his words echoed through out her whole body.
“Tell me what you saw when last I drank from you.”
It didn’t matter that they were in a Leonid military transport, surrounded by an entire Leonid guard, only some of them in Alliance uniforms. It didn’t matter that the only light in the strangely quiet ship seemed to come from Kragen’s eyes. It didn’t matter that they were, at that very moment, literally flying through space to an alien ship, where Andie would meet the Leonid queen.
All of it faded away. All of it was unimportant. Andie didn’t know why, exactly, but this question, from Kragen, in this moment…
This was important.
“Um…”
Awesome. Hugely important moment, and that’s what came out of her mouth. Andie couldn’t grab hold of her thoughts long enough to piece together a sentence. She was too distracted by the sight of Kragen, still bare chested, as most Leonids seemed to prefer, still all-powerful and Dominant, even bound in chains. Strength and confidence poured off of him in waves while the dull light from his own eyes reflected in the swirling rainbow highlights in his own silvery skin.
Andie remembered how he’d busted out of chains very similar to the ones he was bound in now, back at the warehouse. Unbidden, the thought of him doing it again, here, now, rose in her mind. He wanted her, just like she wanted him. He would want her so badly that he broke the chains, pulled her out of her seat, and ripped off her dress, leaving her naked and bare, her mating mark glowing in the dark.
Kragen, pulling her legs apart, falling on her without any more ceremony, without any more thought. Not caring that they weren’t alone. Not caring who saw, so long as they knew she was his.
His fangs sinking into her neck just as his cock drove into her wet heat…
“Lubcha,” he said.
Andie snapped back to reality, which was that she was visibly turned on in a military transport full of sexy aliens who had never known a woman, and her mate. Her mate who was very much noticing the fact that she was turned on.
This mating bond was like being in a storm on the open ocean. One minute, she thought she had a handle on it, and the next she was hit by another huge wave of need.
Of hunger.
How did Kragen stand it?
“I don’t know how to answer that,” she said, finally. It was hard to put into words. When Kragen last drank from her—she shuddered at the memory, because for her it was that he’d given her another shattering orgasm, this time against a freaking tree—she had seen and felt a bunch of things that she knew, somehow, were his memories. His feelings.
She knew what a rivka was. It was the sacred bond between Leonids who agreed to perform the rivkana for each other when one of them inevitably went mad with the mating sickness, but it also referred to the obligation itself, to the Leonid who promised to perform it for you, and to the best of what it meant to be a Leonid. Duty, honor, faithfulness.
To break the oath wasn’t just a disgrace. It was a danger to the whole species, and to the entire galaxy. And since no female Leonids had been born in a long, long time, it had taken on new importance—because this entire generation expected to need their rivka.
And she knew Kragen had chosen to break the oath anyway. Because he believed in his brother. And he believed there might be hope for his species.
“I know why you did what you did,” she said finally. “And I know what you think it cost you.”
Kragen did not say anything, not at first. The look in his eyes said it all.
This was a Dom who was willing to give up everything for what he thought was right. He was willing to sacrifice everything to save his brother, and now to save Andie.
“Please don’t blow up this ship, or whatever,” Andie said. “Please give me a chance to see if I can work something out with the queen. Please.”
Kragen inhaled deeply, his eyes still on her. The bond between them sizzled, and Andie struggled to keep a clear head.
Instead, she thought about Gramzy. And then she thought about the last thing Gramzy had said to her.
When are you going to learn to trust your heart?
“Kragen,” Andie said, her voice hushed. “Please.”
Kragen took a deep breath, his massive pectoral muscles straining against the chains that superficially held him. The Leonids around them leaned forward, wary, nervous.
“I will honor your request,” he said. “But you will stay close to me, on this transport, and on the queenship.”
“Isn’t the queenship the safest place in the universe?”
Kragen’s eyes narrowed, and the glow emanating from his skin and eyes grew a little brighter.
“Not all Leonids can be trusted,” he said.
Andie leaned back into her seat, not sure what to do with that information. Of course this was complicated. Of course she didn’t know everything. Doubt flooded through her, and she struggled to hold on to the confidence she would need to see her plan through. If it could even be called that.
Then the transport jolted, and she gasped.
“Are you all right?” Kragen demanded.
“What just happened?” she said. Andie had gotten used to the impossible smoothness of Leonid space tech. It had been like just sitting in a dark room for a while, until, suddenly, it wasn’t.
“That was the transport docking,” Kragen said. “We are on the queenship, lubcha.”
The other Leonids had begun to move in silence, none of them needing orders to carry out their duties. It was impressive, in a way, but it was also frightening. All of this was frightening. Andie was suddenly aware that she was perhaps totally out of her depth.
“What is it, lubcha?” Kragen said.
Andie wanted to scream. She didn’t know anything. She didn’t know if this was going to work, and she didn’t know what the hell was going to happen if it didn’t. And she didn’t even know what the hell he was saying. But every time he called her “lubcha,” a bunch of the other Leonids got weird looks on their faces.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “You keep calling me lubcha. What the heck does it mean?”
Two guards came forward, the pale-green guy with the white hair, and another silver Leonid, joined by the commander behind them. The others all had their weapons trained on Kragen.
Kragen didn’t wait. He simply rose out of his seat, snapping two of the chains that had held him there. Perhaps he wanted to make a point. Perhaps he couldn’t wait. But either way, he pinned Andie with his gaze as he did it.
“It means ‘love’,” he said. Then he looked up at the Leonids who were surrounding them. “Anyone who touches her will die.”
Kragen fought as hard as he’d ever fought while standing perfectly still.
Andromeda stood next to him. All others stood a few meters away. They all waited for the airlock doors to open, revealing their welcome on the queenship.
Only Kragen battled the hunger that raged within him.
He could smell Andromeda. He could always sense her through the bond, but the scent of her skin, of her hair, of the wetness he knew waited for him between her legs, drove him wild.
She had said she understood the risks. Did he believe her? If his mate understood the consequences and chose to submit to him anyway, no force in the known universe would keep him from her. If Kragen allowed himself to keep thinking about it while she stood there next to him, he would be unable to stop himself. He would claim her, right here, right now, on this metal floor. He would drive his cock into her, over and over again, tearing screams of pleasure from her as he drank of her kuma, until he’d planted his claiming seed deep inside her. Until he’d made her his, forever.
And if he did that now, Andromeda would feel everything. She would feel whatever happened to him next. She would suffer with him.
Never.
Kragen growled, and the Leonids surrounding them tensed. Andromeda reached out and touched his hand—and he growled again. The hunger beat against him like an invading horde, close to overrunning his defenses. But the contact did one more thing: it pushed his senses to new heights, as it had before.
And he could sense the unrest around him.
Kragen looked around the small airlocked room and pulled Andromeda closer to him. The feel of her skin against his made his cock jump and swell even more, but he forced his focus outward. The news of their stand off with Magnus would have gotten out—there had been many humans, all of them filming with their ubiquitous phones. The footage would be all over the human internet, and thus it would have spread to the Leonid queenship, too. News like that did not stay quiet.
News like the capture of the infamous renegade traitor, Kragen ka Anok. And his mate.
The first human mate.
The first hope.
But there were Leonids who would not see it that way.
A click broke the silence, and Kragen looked up to see the red light above the airlock doors switch on. Every Leonid present raised his weapon and aimed it at Kragen. The growl in his throat rose unbidden, knowing they were also pointing their weapons at Andromeda, as the doors slid open with a hiss.
On the other side was a common cargo bay. And it was filled with an entire Leonid century. One hundred Leonid warriors, all of them with phase rifles raised.
“Whoa,” Andromeda said.
“This is not the diplomatic bay,” Kragen growled.
His vision was changing as the hunger and the bond rose in him at the same time. He was beginning to see more than what was visible to the naked eye.
He did not have time to wonder if this was normal. If this was what happened to all Leonids who found mates, or if his bond with Andromeda was special.
Because the Centurion in command came forward, and Kragen could see that the light from this male’s eyes was dark and full of hate.
“Why are we not welcomed?” Kragen demanded.
“You are not diplomats,” the Centurion said. He practically spat the words. “You are nothing.”
“Where is Magnus?” Kragen said.
He felt Andromeda’s hand on his again, a calming presence this time. One that reminded him of what he had to lose.
“This is fine, Kragen,” she said. “We just need to see the queen. The rest isn’t important.”
But Kragen could not stop the animal from rising in his throat. Something about this was wrong.
“I was promised my mate would be treated with the respect due to her.”
“Your mate?” the Centurion laughed nastily. He looked pointedly at Andromeda’s mating mark, visible where it had burned through her dress. Kragen snarled. A dozen phasers powered up.
“She is unclaimed,” the Centurion said, gesturing at Andromeda’s mark with open contempt. “She is nothing.”
The bond was still strong. Kragen saw the look that passed on Andromeda’s face, and he felt the emotions that swept through her. He felt her humiliation.
Kragen had never seen the need to explain the mark to Andromeda, or much else, since he would not claim her. If he had, she would have seen the mark change to match his own silvery skin, where his…he did not know what his would do. She was a human, after all. It had not mattered. But now it hurt her. And he had sworn nothing would hurt her.
With a roar, Kragen shattered the remaining chains around his wrists and grabbed the Centurion by the throat with one hand, lifting him clear off the ground. With the other he raised a psychic shield around himself, Andromeda, and the gurgling Centurion, his gesture almost casual, almost an afterthought. He could see it shimmering in his peripheral vision, could hear the Leonid warriors firing on it with their phase rifles.
It was like shrugging off flies.
“You know nothing of mating marks,” he snarled at the Centurion. “The mark on her breast glows as she feeds me. It is an unending supply, and it is new, and yet she remains unclaimed and my hunger unsatisfied. Imagine how strong that makes me, Centurion. Imagine how close to madness. Imagine what I could do to you and your warriors. And know that no one will be able to touch her, no matter what I choose to do to you.”
The Centurion opened his mouth, spittle forming on his lips. Kragen growled, low and long, the madness beginning to crowd the edges of his vision. He could smell the hate pouring off this Leonid, a hatred of humans, the rotting stench almost the same as the smell that roiled off those who wore Humans First badges back on Earth.
Kragen was strong enough now to drink of a warrior’s kuma with or without that warrior’s consent. He could drain this Centurion, leave his dried husk as a warning to the others. The hunger begged him to do it.
“Kragen,” Andromeda whispered behind him. She touched his back, and heat radiated through out his body, warming his mad heart. “Put him down. Please.”
Slowly, Kragen lowered the struggling Centurion to the ground. But he did not let go.
“You are very lucky that my mate is a better soul than I,” he growled. “I will spare you, for no other reason than that she wishes it. But first, Centurion, you will apologize.”
Rage clouded the Centurion’s purple eyes for a split second, and Kragen tightened his grip. Every Leonid thought of himself as Dominant. In this room, only Kragen truly was.
The Centurion accepted it.
“I apologize, female,” he rasped.
“Her name,” Kragen said, “is Andromeda.”
The Centurion blinked. “I apologize, Andromeda,” he said.
With disgust, Kragen threw the other male to the floor, letting him skid outside the protective shield he still controlled around himself and Andromeda. Kragen was not even sure a phase rifle could hurt him in this state—but he would not risk her.
As the Leonids raised their weapons again, Kragen raised his hand, and the phase rifles flew upwards, ripped out of the warriors’ hands and smashed into the ceiling as though magnetized. They stayed there.
Kragen looked around the room, letting the madness, the desire to kill, conquer, and claim, play across his face. The Leonids took a step back.
And then, in unison, they stood to attention.
Kragen looked over his shoulder to find a familiar face—two of them, in fact. Magnus, who he still could not sense, for some reason. And Prince Rhazian.
“This is no way to treat Commander Kragen and his mate,” the prince announced, his voice booming with the confidence of a male who was used to being obeyed. “You will all stand down immediately.”
Kragen watched to see that the order was followed. Protocol demanded that he acknowledge the prince immediately. But protocol had never had a mate.
He turned to look at Andromeda. She was safe. Unharmed. Looking at him a little strangely, perhaps, but Kragen had grown used to that.
And now that the immediate dan
ger was past, he could lose himself in her eyes.
The hunger thudded in his cock as he threaded his hand through her soft brown hair and felt the warmth of her skin in his palm. Her eyes half closed, and he could feel the waves of her pleasure that washed over her through their bond.
Once more, the question rose in his mind: did she really understand the stakes?
Could she willingly submit?
“You listened to me,” she said, her voice heavy with lust. “Except for one thing.”
Kragen tightened his grip on her hair in response, momentarily forgetting about the hundred Leonid warriors in the room.
“What thing?” he demanded.
She smiled. “I keep telling you to call me Andie,” she said. “Now, let’s go find your queen and get this fixed.”
26
Andie was acutely aware that she should have a clear head at this moment.
After all, she was on a literal alien spaceship, for the first time in her life, surrounded by Leonid warriors who had just fired at Kragen while Kragen basically dominated the hell out of all of them, including the actual Leonid prince, and she was about to go play negotiation hardball with the Leonid queen. She needed to be thinking clearly.
And for some reason, all she could think about was Kragen. He stood over her, breathing hard with the effort of resisting the hunger. He could give an order, and she’d be on all fours in a heartbeat. The knowledge was terrifying—and exciting.
Andie still didn’t know everything about how the mating bond between them worked, or even how kuma worked, but she’d put some of the pieces together. The Leonids were basically space vampires, and they needed to drink the kuma of other beings to survive, killing them. Except for their mates. For some reason, the bond meant that Kragen could take his fill of kuma from Andie, and they’d both become stronger. If the choice was between finding mates and preying upon humanity, the Leonids had made the honorable choice, even if they hadn’t been upfront about it.
And Kragen was looking at her with hunger in his eyes. A hunger she wanted to sate. A hunger she felt, too.
