Captured--A Sexy Medieval Fantasy Interracial BWWM Romance Novelette from Steam Books

by Annette Archer

  This man here had ruined all of that. If she couldn’t bring home her kill, then she would bring home a prisoner. It wasn’t the same, but it would have to do.

  “There are caves just west of here,” she said to him. “We will go there and rest until the afternoon.”

  “How can you tell where anything is out here?” he asked, his breathing heavy now and his steps becoming unsteady. “It all looks exactly the same.”

  “You foreigners are all the same. What you do not understand, you dismiss like a child. The desert tells us everything we need to know. It gives us everything we need to live. You would not understand, soldier man.”

  “My name,” he said slowly, “is not soldier man. My name is Brioll Everstock.”

  She laughed. “Your name has no meaning. It does not bring you pride.”

  “Oh really?” He took her direction and started walking west. “I’ll have you know that the Everstocks are an important family back in Rikketh.”

  “If you were important, your name would have meaning.”

  “All right then, desert girl. What’s your name?”

  She straightened her back and smiled as she answered. “I am called Naga’su.”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “And that means what?”

  Her mouth hung open. “You show me your ignorance now. The fact that you do not understand the words of my name shows how much you do not know.”

  “How can something be important,” he said, keeping his face forward now, “if no one knows what it means?”

  She had no answer for that. She had never had to defend her name before. Everyone in the Orcirin knew her and respected her. It was this foreigner’s own fault that he could not hear the meaning in her name.

  Wasn’t it?

  “My name has a great importance,” she said to him in a pout. “Naga’su means Strength of a Woman.”

  “Oh,” he said, shrugging his bound arms and trying to keep to a straight line. “When you put it that way.”

  She poked his ass with her spear, making him jump. “Do you mock me, soldier man?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all, oh great Strong Woman.”

  She was still deciding if he had insulted her in some way when they reached the caves a few minutes later. They were really just outcroppings of rock that sand and wind and time had hollowed out. But some of them went down deep. She knew which ones to avoid, the ones that were infested with venom ants, for instance. The one she steered them to had a gentle downward slope and a flat floor at its bottom. She had used it several times herself, just like many of her people had. Water would be more difficult to come by, but at least they would have shade.

  Inside, Brioll collapsed onto the floor in the cool, dark interior. “Oh, sweet relief. I think I can feel my skin starting to blister.”

  “You are soft. Your soldiers would not last a day in our desert.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  She looked at him, at the red tint to his skin, and then down at her own black skin. Then she growled in frustration and went back to the mouth of the cave. Digging her hands into where the sand met the rock formation, she found the small green plant she had expected to find. The tuber was a relative of the potato and the carrot only in that it grew underground. This was a Fishtail plant, and its green, pulpy length soaked up moisture from dew and what little rain came its way. This one had sponged up a lot and its skin was fit to burst. Good. Just what she needed.

  Going back down to where Brioll lay on his stomach, she squished the plant in her fist and then smeared the mashed flesh all over his shoulders and back and arms. He sighed in pleasure at it. “That feels wonderful.”

  “It is not for your pleasure. It is meant to calm the sunburn and protect you. Turn over. Let me do your face.”

  He did, the loose sand scattered over the rocks sticking to the salve she had applied. She put what little she had left across his nose and forehead, and then ran her hand across his chest.

  She felt him shiver as she did. It was a masculine thing, an erotic sensation of flesh on flesh. His eyes were large and unfocused looking up at her. She felt her heart skip, and suddenly she wondered when she had sat across his lap like this.

  His crotch pressed up into hers, his pants brushing against her naked, wet cleft. Her people never wore underclothes. There was no need for them in the heat of the desert. It made sexual play easier, too, because even the men wore a variation of these skirts. Now, she pressed herself down into him, thrilling to the pressure it built into her clitoris and her swollen flesh around her slit.

  “I think I will have you after all, soldier man.” She scooted down his legs so her hands could work at the simple catch on the front of his pants.

  “Uh, you could untie my hands,” he suggested. “It might make it more fun. For both of us.”

  She felt the shocks of pleasure work up her spine and she arched her back and raised her hands to tangle into her hair. “I am enjoying…myself…just fine…thank…you!”

  Her orgasm caught her off guard. She hadn’t realized how close she had become just by lusting after this man. She was so ready for him now.

  Swallowing and catching her breath, she went back to pushing his pants down enough to reach into them and grasp his cock, his thick and hard shaft, and pull it out. She was pleased to see it was so big. Gat’ulan’s was bigger, but this would do.

  She let him stand, tall and proud, and then hiked herself over him until she could gently ease herself down. She felt his tip press against her and adjusted her position so he was right where she needed him. Then she pushed down on him, letting him fill her, letting him glide into her silky smoothness.

  Her tits ached, and now she wished she had cut his hands loose to play with her. But she knew the way to solve that problem. Leaning down along his length she grasped her left breast and fed it to his mouth. He took her eagerly, mouthing and licking her in a way that was very different from Gat’ulan’s sloppy kisses. This was incredibly intense, and it made her rush toward an explosion again that built up between her legs around his manhood and then it was right there to wash over him in pulsing waves that she had no control over.

  “You are good at this,” she whispered to him.

  “Thanks,” he replied, licking at her between words. “It’s easy, with the right partner.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or joking with her again. Right in that moment, she couldn’t care less either way. She was only interested in using him for everything he had.

  When she felt him getting close, she stopped, perfectly still, and although he whined and tried to move under her, she held still until she was sure he had calmed down.

  Then she began moving on him again.

  In that way, she made him last for more than an hour, judging by the way the sun had changed its position when she finally came up for air and slid her trembling, wet flesh off him. She wanted to do that again. She doubted he would survive the treat, though, so she’d have to settle for what they had just done.

  For that, and for presenting him as a prisoner to her village.

  Chapter 3

  Her village was named Sandkill. It was a strong name for a strong people. It had existed long before her, long before her mother, long before her mother’s mother. Her ancestors walked this very ground, and walked it proudly. Naga’su knew that her children and their children would walk here proudly, as well.

  It was a place of scrub grass and not one, but two oases. The presence of so much water made their people wealthy in a land where a single cup could buy and sell a person twice over. This pale foreigner, Brioll, would probably only fetch half that price. Unless she sold him as a sex slave. He might be worth a full cup for that, she thought to herself, feeling a ghost sensation of him between her legs.

  Brioll had been more than content to go wherever she led him after their little tryst. He was a dog on a leash now. She could make him sit up and beg whenever she wanted. She giggled at that ima
ge in her head, earning a backward glance from him.

  “You could untie me now, you know,” he said to her for the third time. “I’m so deep into your cursed desert now that I couldn’t try to escape if I wanted to. I’d never find my way out.”

  “We are closer to our borders here than we were when I found you, moron,” she named him with a roll of her eyes. “Besides. I have already told you. You are my prisoner. I will release you when I say.”

  He sighed and grumbled just like he had the last two times they’d had this conversation. She smiled at his back, covered still in the green palp that was keeping him from being burned. That may have been a mistake on her part, telling him how close they were to the desert’s border. She could easily smell the air and know which way the desert sands ended, though. She doubted this man could do the same. He was, as he had said, well and truly lost.

  Walking into the outer ring of animal-hide tents and low hutches brought on a sense of calmness for her. This was home. Familiar faces greeted her with the traditional palm to their forehead, a salute of friendship and deference.

  And all eyes were on Brioll. She wondered briefly if any of them could tell what she had done to this man, back in the caves. No. That was their secret. Her expected payment for capturing him.

  A crowd formed and she found herself surrounded by naked little children with white teeth smiling in dark faces and old women with their gray hair in long braids and men folk who had the good sense to stand back and wait their turns.

  Then she saw Gat’ulan. He placed his palm to his forehead in greeting, and across the crowd she did the same. He excited her heart and made her joyful. Then she looked from him to Brioll, standing there with a mix of fear and curiosity on his face, and her emotions grew conflicted. Somehow, Brioll lessened her joy at seeing Gat’ulan. Now why would that be? This man was pale and stupid and…well, strong and pretty to look at, certainly, but Gat’ulan was all of that and more.

  She looked back at her lover. Was he less pretty than she remembered?

  “Enough! Enough!”

  Naga’su looked back to see the village Elder, Maka’la, demanding way through the crowd. Maka’la was older than anyone else in the community, yet she bared her breasts proudly still, and if they were not as pert as the younger women’s were, they were still honored.

  “I would speak with our wayward hunter,” Maka’la announced. “All of you, go on now. Scoot!”

  Maka’la laughed as the children squealed and ran away in all directions and the women and men folk signed their respect and went about their daily business. The only one left was Gat’ulan. The Elder looked at him with disapproval, but with a nod she let him stay.

  “What have you brought us, Naga’su?” She walked a circle around Brioll, who had the good sense to stay motionless, his hands tied behind his back still. Naga’su flinched every time the Elder poked the soldier man, expecting him to do something stupid and be killed for it.

  “He was captured by me, honored Elder,” Naga’su answered her. “I claim him.”

  “No one claims me,” Brioll muttered. “I am a free man of the Kingdom of Rikketh—oof.”

  He suddenly bent over double as Gat’ulan’s fist rammed into his midsection, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.

  “Silence, foreigner!” Gat’ulan screamed in his face. “You will show respect to our Elder!”

  Naga’su loved Gat’ulan’s deep, resonant voice. The way his body moved was like sleek and unspoken poetry. But for some reason she reached out to draw his arm back. It concerned her, to see pain on Brioll’s face. She wasn’t sure where these feelings were coming from. She did not care for this foreigner…yet, she did not want to see him hurt, either.

  “Men,” the Elder said with a smirk. “So violent. Always trying to hurt someone. Is that why you are here, foreign man? Are you here to hurt us?”

  Getting his breath back, Brioll stood and faced the Elder with a fire in his eyes. “My name,” he said between clenched teeth, “is Brioll.”

  Naga’su gasped. That kind of behavior would have gotten any man in the village severely disciplined. Possibly killed. But now, she watched as something bordering on respect settled over the Elder’s face. She nodded to Brioll, and again to Naga’su’s surprise, he nodded back.

  “Cut him loose,” the Elder said.

  “What?” This complaint came from Gat’ulan. “Elder Maka’la, you cannot be serious!”

  “Do not question me, Gat’ulan.” She leveled her faded brown eyes at him, and Gat’ulan bowed his way back with a sour expression. “Now. Naga’su, I believe I said to cut him loose.”

  “Yes, Elder.” Confused, unsure of what was happening or what dangers she may have brought into her village, she took out her knife and cut away the strips of cloth binding Brioll’s wrists.

  He brought his arms back around, rubbing at his wrists, rolling his shoulders to work circulation back into them. “Thank you, Elder,” he said to Maka’la.

  She inclined her head to show her appreciation.

  “Now. Is there any chance you might let me go?”

  The Elder pursed her lips and scowled at him. “You show promise and then show us your ignorance. No, man called Brioll, you will not be allowed to leave. You belong to this woman here. She captured you. It is her right.”

  Brioll looked over at Naga’su then and she stood taller, her spine straight and her chest puffed out. “I will release you when I say. Not before.”

  “Of course.” Brioll lifted his hands helplessly. “So what do I do as your prisoner, oh wise Elder?”

  “You will have a list of chores the same as any man in our village. Naga’su will explain to you what your duties will—”

  “Elder Maka’la! Elder Maka’la!” a little girl came running up to them now, clothed in a long dress from chest to ankles. Panic was on her face. “Paleskins! Many of them! They ride their horses in our direction!”

  Gat’ulan growled and shoved a palm hard into Brioll’s chest, rocking him back a step. “This man has brought them here. He has brought trouble to our village!”

  Naga’su felt stunned. She felt like she could not move or think. Had she done this? Had she brought warriors to her village to slaughter them like dogs? They had not been attacked by any outside force in generations. Had Brioll really led them here?

  Had she been that stupid?

  “They aren’t coming for me,” Brioll said, speaking directly to the Elder. “They’re coming for all of you. Naga’su, listen to me, please. This is why I left them. Rikketh is trying to expand into the Orcirin deserts looking for diamonds and gold. They want those resources and they don’t care who they hurt because of it. You have to get your people out of here. Make them leave!”

  His words were like arrows into her heart. She had done a horrible thing. Starting to trust this foreigner with her heart. How stupid could she be!

  With a shout she shoved him with both her hands, hardly moving him at all. “You will not tell us what to do! We are the Ba’nar! We are a strong people, and we will not run. We will fight!”

  Gat’ulan screamed a ululating warrior’s cry that was echoed from others throughout the village. A battle was coming to them on swift horses. They would meet it head on.

  She saw Brioll looking at her sadly, his expression serious. “Then you will die,” he said.

  “Tie the foreign man up,” the Elder ordered. “Tie him to a post in the middle of the village. They will ride in for him, and then we will kill them all!”

  Gat’ulan was quick to follow her command. Naga’su was slower to it, but she helped drag Brioll to the center post of the village, the tall beam carved with runes of protection and harmony in the middle of all of their tents and homes, and several of the village men lashed him tightly to it.

  When he was tied down, forced to stand and watch as the villagers made their preparations, he spoke to Naga’su again, the desperation in his voice plain. “Please, you have to believe me. You can not wi
n against these men. These soldiers will wipe all of you out.”

  She ignored him. What did the soldier man know of Ba’nar bravery?

  Nothing. Nothing at all. She would teach him.

  Chapter 4

  Sulan raised a gloved fist and halted the riders behind him. His horse skittered to a stop, sidestepping until Sulan brought it under control. The animals were nervous. This raid on the Ba’nar peoples was something new for them. New sights, new smells, and this cursed heat wasn’t helping anything, to be sure.

  He took off one glove and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. The village was just ahead. His three dozen men sat tall and intimidating in their leather and chain mail, the metal shinguards and other bits of armor gleaming in the sweltering sun. He’d already lost two men to heat stroke. And then that blasted Brioll, running away in the night like that.

  No matter. What he had was more than enough to fend off any resistance these sand eaters might give him. Rikketh would have the resources of gold and diamond hidden beneath this desert. Sulan would see to that.

  They had made their way to the Ba’nar settlement. It was a lowly place of animal skin tents and low round buildings made of clay or rock or some such thing. How could anyone live like this, he wondered. Bloody savages.

  “Fan out,” he ordered his men. “Find me the leader of this place so we can discuss the King’s offer.”

  He pulled out the heavy knife from his weapons belt and hefted it a few times to show exactly what kind of discussion he intended to have.

  Dismounting and walking their horses, the army from Rikketh spread out through tightly packed homes and buildings. There was no one to see, anywhere. Sulan didn’t like the way his people were becoming separated from each other, but he wouldn’t let it worry him. He was more concerned with the obvious question.