by Abella Ward
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
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In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Barbarian's Prisoner
An Alien Romance
By: Abella Ward
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Specially Selected Bonus Content
The Alien Warrior's Secret Baby
Mated to the Barbarian Heir
Bought by the Barbarian
Taken by Two Alien Kings
Slave to the Barbarian King
Sold to the Barbarian
Slave to the Alien Dragon
The Vampire Prince's Prey
The Dragon Shifter's Twins
The Shifting Boss's Mate
About Abella Ward
Selected Other Books by Abella Ward
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Chapter 1
Space Station Andromeda 13 – The year 2390
He was flying, flying… No... His mother carried him... The swoosh of her powerful wings against the wind, her magnificent horns shining in the light of the two moons, her long silver hair flowing in the wind...
He was falling now... Falling, falling...
He heard his mother scream, and then there was fire everywhere...
He lay in a hibernation pod on the ship. His mother stood beside the pod, almost naked and covered in dark blue blood. She was telling him something... something important... He couldn’t hear her... And then she was fading, fading away into the darkness...
Noooooooooooo!
Arathor woke up with a start. Sweat beaded his forehead as he breathed heavily. It was the old dream again. In his two hundred and seventy years, this particular dream from his childhood still haunted him. Sometimes, he felt it was almost like a lost memory. And he never found out what his mother was trying to tell him. He wondered for the umpteenth time when the dream would stop haunting him.
He couldn’t remember much of the night his mother had tried to hide him before getting killed by the rebels. He was just a boy, still half asleep when his mother took him out of bed and carried him to the window. She stepped up on the stone ledge, barefoot. His sleepy gray eyes looked up and he saw his father standing in the doorway.
“Go now. Take him to the ship,” he ordered his mother. She nodded, turned, and jumped off the ledge, carrying Arathor in her arms. He heard the flapping of her large wings as she flew into the moonlit night. His mother was in half-dragon form... Her powerful wings strained against the night wind as his gaze slid over the two magnificent horns on her forehead that swept upward and back, her silver-white hair flowing in the wind. She was beautiful, his mother. He clung to her, tightening his hold on her as she flew higher.
Minutes later, she was putting him in the hibernation pod on the ship as she hurriedly tapped in commands on the control panel of his pod. Her fingers shook, he noticed. She was hurt. Dark blue blood spattered her almost naked body, her clothes burned away in dragon fire. She was telling him something... He couldn’t make out what. All he saw was the fear in her steel gray eyes. It was her piercing scream that still shook him to the core. He wanted to reach out to her as he desperately pushed his hands against the rigid glass, but it was too late. White smoke filled the pod as darkness enveloped him, reaching deep inside him, sinking him into unconsciousness.
Arathor Darthoridan woke up years later to find out that his family, the Darthoridan clan had been long dead, assassinated by the rebels. As rulers of the Slazaryn race that inhabited the planet Trorth, the Darthoridan clan had been a family of pureblood dragons, rarely mating with other clans. For centuries, the fire-breathers had ruled Trorth until that one fateful night. The night when the meteor hit the planet, setting off a chain reaction of events. With most of the city destroyed, the rebels caused an insurgency, killing everyone that stood in their way.
Arathor was the only son and heir, and now the last of his kind, as a new king took over the throne. He was still a boy when he woke up, as staying in hibernation ceased cellular degeneration. He was taken up by the pirate who found his pod on the ship. Sadly, with his parents dead, the ship had never left the planet, and the hibernation pod in which he slept lay forgotten for years until the pirates raided the abandoned ship and found him. The pirates sold him to the slave master who trained space gladiators and sent them to fight battles in the arena on Andromeda 13, the largest space station in the Delta Quadrant. It was only a few years back when the ruler of Trorth hired him as his mercenary, having heard about his unusual skills.
Arathor took a deep breath and reached for his glass of wine. Taking a swig, he tapped in commands on the control panel. After checking the readings, he fired up the viewing station and saw Andromeda 13 come into view. He would need that drink if he were to embark on the mission assigned to him.
A throbbing headache was beginning to nag at him. He raked a hand through his shoulder-length silver-white hair. He took another long swig, trying to drown out any other old memories his brain was adamant on digging up. Another advantage of the wine was that it always numbed him enough to not think too much about the killing that he did.
“Computer, locate the target,” he said in a low voice, draining his glass.
Target is in the North Quadrant. 34766 is the number of his chamber, the electronic voice of a woman replied. There are three people. You are to eliminate them all.
“Initiate docking sequence. Docking Station 11185, North Quadrant,” he added.
Docking sequence initiated.
Arathor was in full human form. His kind could shift halfway, showing only wings and horns on the head. In full dragon form, they were invincible. But the Slazaryn King had not allowed him to shift in any way during the mission. His target was a human emissary, so he had to eliminate him in humanoid form.
Arathor stepped down on the metal walkway, his heavy boots thudding as he made his way toward the target. A scowl marred his handsome features as he checked his sword and the gun. He pulled back his hair and pulled up his hood, checked the breathing clip attached to his nose, and covered his face with a black mask. He wore dark leather pants and a dark shirt.
Arathor got into the elevator, which took him to the North quadrant. He walked to chamber 34766. A man of forty-something stood in the doorway, slightly confused. Without warning, Arathor brought the man to his knees. With one hand on the man’s neck, he drew his sword, the Silver Shadow, and pointed it at the area between the collarbone and the neck.
“Leave them alone,” the man said.
Arathor heard a whimper and noticed a woman cowering in the corner.
“P-please... don’t hurt him,”
she begged. Arathor tilted his head and gave her a sidelong glance, wondering whether he should kill her or not. She carried a baby in her arms. He decided to leave them alone.
“Please... d-don’t,” she whimpered. The baby started crying.
Arathor turned his gray eyes, hard as cold steel, toward her. He was getting irritated by the baby’s cries. It was too much of a distraction, and he wanted to get this task over with.
Ignoring her pleas, he vertically slid the sword in the man’s neck. The blade silently pierced skin and muscle, then reached the heart. The man fell with a thud. His body jolted once, twice, as blood poured on the carpeted floor of the chamber. The woman’s screams shattered the silence of the room. The baby cried louder. Arathor turned to walk out before the authorities arrived. But the woman was begging again. He hated that part.
“Kill us too! Why spare us?” she screamed hysterically.
Arathor stopped in his tracks. He suddenly remembered that the target was the whole family. But it was against his rules.
“I don’t kill women and children,” he said in a cold voice without turning. He walked out before she could say more.
He had done his duty. There was no point in killing a woman and a baby. They were not dangerous.
You were supposed to kill them all, hissed his dragon. The King will find out.
“No, he might not,” Arathor silently answered.
***
“Your Excellency, pardon me, but I have grave news,” the old man said.
“What is it?” Lorcan demanded, his tone making the man flinch.
“Lord Luther, the High emissary to Tirron, has been assassinated,” the old man said quietly.
“What!?” Lorcan yelled, rage threatening to surge. “Who’s behind this?”
“We suspect a Slazaryn is behind this,” the old man quickly explained.
The human King’s dark eyes blazed. “Did you capture him?”
“No, your highness. He is still here at the station... We... we have his location.”
“You fool! Take my men and arrest him now!” Lorcan yelled as he brought his fist down, the wine glass that he held shattering to pieces. “A Slazaryn, you say... He’ll be perfect for the pit.” A sinister smile appeared on his lips as the spy left immediately.
King Lorcan Blackwell the IV loved torturing his prisoners. He couldn’t wait to see this dragon fight in the pit.
Chapter 2
Human Colony on planet Tirron Year 2390
“I wish there were something else I could wear.” Arana sighed softly and stared at her reflection in the mirror. A pale young woman with long red hair in a white wedding gown stared back at her. Her big blue eyes looked even bigger in her gaunt face. “A dress that would cover my back. I... I don’t want the scars to show,” she said bitterly.
“My lady, they have healed really fast. But don’t you worry, I will let your gorgeous hair loose,” the maid said gently. “It will cover up your back perfectly.”
Arana was tired of the wedding charade. Today was one of those days when she missed her father even more than usual. It had been a year since King William Lorcan Blackwell III passed away. Although she was his bastard child, the King was always kind to her and she had lived in the castle all her life. The day her halfbrother Lorcan IV took the throne, her life had become a living hell. He loathed everything about her – even her very presence. And he hated the gift she was born with: the power of healing herself and others. So, she became the victim of his wrath every time. The scars on her back were evidence of that. It was almost a week since she was last punished. Her wounds healed faster than a normal human’s would.
Lorcan had come home from his travels a few days back. He had been constantly pestering her that this time, she had better marry the man he had selected for her or he would take her head. It would be the tenth time she was going to be paraded as a bride to be sold off like some goat to a tribal clan. All the other times, the prospective husbands had mysteriously ended up dead on the wedding day. The king blamed Arana for their deaths. As punishment, he would torture her and she would end up with twenty to fifty lashes on her back.
Arana wrung her hands nervously. She feared tonight would be the same as all the other times. The prospective groom would somehow die, and she would end up in the torture cell. She had come to fear Lorcan’s wrath and she wished she could escape it all. But where would she go? She had tried running away from the castle, but she got caught and ended up in the torture cell.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror as the maid did her hair. Her fingers lightly brushed the dark green stone hung by a gold chain at her neck. Her father had given it to her when she was thirteen. He had said it was her mother’s. A mother she never knew. He didn’t like talking about her at all.
Tears threatened to spill over as she took a shuddering breath. She was angry at the gods for putting her through such an ordeal.
“You are ready, my lady,” the maid smiled. “The King brought back a new prisoner the other day. He’ll be fighting in the Death Pit tomorrow.”
“Another lamb to be sacrificed for his blood sport,” Arana said disgustedly. She was sick of the King and his foolish arena. He was spending recklessly to buy gladiators from all over the galaxy while the kingdom was in chaos.
“It appears that this man is not like the others, my Lady. My sister told me she saw him yesterday,” the maid said.
“Oh really?” The lack of interest was showing in Arana’s voice. She stood up and walked over to the window. She wasn’t interested in knowing about the prisoners her brother brought home.
“He is really tall and strong... and very good looking.”
“Is he human?”
“Apparently, yes, but I think he is something much more,” the maid said gleefully.
Arana rolled her eyes and turned to gaze out the window. The light from the two moons lit up the garden below. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees every now and then. Planet Tirron – also called ‘the new Earth’ – was very much like the old one, which humans had left a few centuries back because of overpopulation. It was a human colony which had evolved into a cultural center. People from many different races and planets visited it, some even settling here.
Arana took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Her migraine was returning. She felt a bit dizzy and sat down again. She wouldn’t let him get to her this time... No. She had had enough. She almost had a plan ready... Almost. She just hoped it would work.
***
The hall was getting crowded as Lorcan’s men drank and talked. The expected party of guests had not arrived yet. Arana sat in the far corner at the table near the throne with her handmaids. She was good at appearing calm and composed – a thing she had learned over the years in her father’s court. Yet, her stomach knotted every now and then as the evening dragged on and there was no sign of the visitors. The warm lighting of the hall lit up her fiery red locks. Her ivory skin was so luminescent that she almost looked like a ghost against the white walls of the throne room.
She stole a glance at her brother. With one leg thrown casually over the marble arm of the throne and a drink in his hand, he was already drunk, getting loud and impatient. His fur cloak lay open, exposing his chest, and long dark hair fell over a face set in a permanent smirk. Some might find him attractive, but Arana saw right past his looks and into the real him. It was his eyes that gave her the chills. There was something sinister lurking beneath those dark depths... Something insane. He took another swig and caught her staring. The smirk deepened. Quickly averting her eyes and heart thudding in her chest, she took another sip of her wine.
A man in robes walked up to the King and whispered something his ear. Lorcan’s expression instantly turned murderous. “Arana!” he bellowed across the hall.
Arana almost jumped at the sudden summoning. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists as her stomach twisted. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.
“Arana, come here!” he yelled
again. The hall grew quiet as people stared at her.
She got up and slowly made her way toward him, making sure not to lose composure. All eyes were fixed on her, and people started to whisper. Her long white gown trailed behind her, softly rustling as she moved.
She walked up to the throne and stopped short folding her hands in front of her, trying to keep them from shaking. “Yes, your highness?” she spoke softly.
“Where are our guests?” he demanded, as if it were Arana’s fault they were late.
“I do not know,” she said calmly, although her throat felt dry and she dared not look him in the eye.
“You lying whore!” he seethed through clenched teeth. “It’s the magic working here. I know it’s your doing,” he slurred as he pointed a finger at her. Paranoia was taking over, she observed.
“I don’t know magic, Lorcan,” she said, suddenly tired. “I only heal the wounded.”
“It’s dark magic. I can smell it on you!” He glared at her.
She looked up at him, her clear blue eyes blazing as she finally met his gaze. “What you think is dark magic is a gift I was born with. And I mean no harm.”
“I don’t trust you, whore,” he said with pure loathing. “Get her out of my sight! Lock her up!”
Two guards who stood nearby stepped forward and grabbed her arms.
“No! NO! Get your hands off me!” Alana cried, tears welling in her beautiful eyes as they dragged her out of the hall. The lockup meant another round of punishment. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it this time. She was sick of the humiliation and victimization.
The guards walked in front of her, down the long hallway. Quietly, she slipped her hands beneath the folds of her dress, where she had hidden the two cylindrical devices that looked like lipstick. They contained a fluid that worked as a tranquilizer. She had stolen them from the castle’s sick ward with the help of her maids. Without warning, she stabbed the devices into the neck of both the guards from behind.
