by Lily Graison
She didn’t know why she did it, when most people thought the exact opposite. They knew the good-looking ones were usually assholes, but not her. Nope, she saw a hot guy smile at her and instantly thought—he’s the one. And he usually was. The one to rip her heart out, stomp it under his boot, then kick it in the street as he laughed at her tears and she was sure this guy—this alien—the warlord, would shred her to pieces without much effort at all.
He was watching her when she looked back up at him, those unusual amber eyes reminding her of whiskey. What she wouldn’t give for a drink. In her current state, she’d almost be willing to give one of those ugly fuckers outside a hand job for a bottle of Jack Daniels just to calm her frazzled nerves. She’d known what was coming the moment she’d been forced off that spaceship and told to run but she didn’t think it would hit her so hard when she finally—belonged—to one of the aliens here, but it did. She was a prisoner, a captive—nothing more than a slave if you wanted to get right down to it and she was stuck here until she died.
The warlord gave her one more look from head to toe before walking back to the door, pausing to say to the female alien, “take her to bathe,” before leaving without another word. When the alien turned to look at her, Marcy wasn’t sure if her face always looked like that or if she was pissed off because the look she was throwing her way wasn’t friendly at all.
The alien ran her gaze down the length of her, then sneered. “Come. The warlord wants the stink washed off you.” She started for the door. “Your other flaws will no doubt be dealt with.”
Flaws? Marcy raised an eyebrow. The alien woman was just as strange as all the others she’d seen here and if anyone had flaws, it was this chick. Her skin was pea soup green, her hair a shade lighter than her skin. Her eyes were two large round circles on her face and black as night, not a speck of white to be seen. Small pale specks dotted the bridge of her flat nose like wayward freckles and she only had three fingers on both hands. If anyone was flawed, it was definitely her.
Marcy gave the room a quick look as she headed for the door. This structure was the largest of all the buildings in camp but still small if you compared it to houses back on earth and she had no doubt that’s what this was. It was the warlord’s home, primitive as it was, sectioned off with a long table and benches on one side of the room and a bed big enough to sleep three people on the other.
Images of herself butt ass naked in that big bed filled her head, and she pushed the thought aside as the alien woman walked outside and told her to once again, “follow.”
Stepping out of the warlords crude wooden hut, Marcy gave a quick glance around the camp, covering her bare breast, then rolling her eyes at the action. It wasn’t as if everyone in camp hadn’t already seen everything she had to offer.
Most of the aliens who’d been gawking at her were once again doing various tasks and only a few of them looked her way when she started following the alien woman to the trees. When the shadows covered them completely, she stared at the back of the aliens green head. As much as she hated being here, it was worse to be here alone. Having Sara that first day had done more than help save her life, it had saved her from a massive anxiety attack. Having a friend in this camp would help with that.
She quickened her steps and said, “I’m Marcy. What’s your name?” She waited long minutes but never received a reply and wasn’t really surprised. Nothing about this woman said she was the friendly type. Maybe one of the others would be less of a bitch.
The incline grew steeper and the sound of rushing water grew louder as they followed a trail through the woods. The trees grew more sparse, the sun filtering down through the branches to leave the trail in dappled light. Rocks lined the trail in varying sizes and the further they walked, the larger they became. When the trees gave way to a wide, open area, Marcy stopped and sucked in a small breath.
The walk from the arena had been through the forest and had a slight incline but she hadn’t thought much of it. Now she did. There was a mountain in front of her. A mountain spilling water down its side to splash into a large pond at its base.
“Wash and make it quick.”
The green alien wasn’t any friendlier now than she had been. Marcy ignored her hateful stare and hesitantly walked past her.
Black sand edged the pond, the water the brightest turquoise blue she’d ever seen. Sticking a toe into the water told her that waterfall was fed by a mountain stream somewhere. It was bone-chillingly cold. She debated wading in slowly or just running for it but didn’t get time to decide as the alien woman slammed both hands into her back and shoved her in face first.
The cold water felt like tiny daggers piercing her skin and Marcy came up screaming. She pushed her hair from her face and turned to look behind her. “You bitch!”
“Wash. The warlord waits for no one. Follow the trail back to camp.” She smiled suddenly, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture. “Or you can leave.” She nodded to the forest on the opposite side of the trail. “Head that way. It leads deeper into the woods.”
There was a string of words on the tip of Marcy’s tongue but the alien woman walked back into the trees before she had time to utter a single one. Marcy crawled to her feet, the initial shock of the cold water wearing off a bit, even though goosebumps pimpled her skin and made her nipples so hard she was sure she could cut glass with them.
She waded in further, the alien woman’s words—telling her to leave—ringing in her head. Could she get away? She looked behind her. She was alone. Did the warlord trust her that much or had the woman wanted her to leave so she could be punished for it when found? If she had to guess, she’d say it was the latter. Whatever the chicks problem was with her, she was making it no secret she didn’t like her and she had no doubt she’d tell her to do something that would get her beaten—or worse—just for shits and giggles. She may not want to be a captive but she wasn’t stupid, either. The warlord might not be the most friendly brute she’d met here, but he was certainly better than a hoard of wild aliens running her down and she had no doubt that’s what would happen if she were to leave. This was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t, situation if she’d ever seen one so she’d take a single devil over a group of them any day.
Mind made up, she walked further into the water. She’d lost count of the weeks—or had it been months now?—and she’d not had a drop of water other than a small amount to drink since she was abducted which meant she’d not bathed. The female alien had been right about one thing—she stunk, so she bent her knees and submerged her whole body, shooting back to the surface a second later. “Fuck, that’s cold!”
She shivered violently for a few minutes before lowering her hands. She hissed as the water hit the abrasions on her wrists. They’d stopped bleeding but it would take a while for the cuts to heal.
Cleaning the blood off best she could, she made sure her wrists were clean before bending to grab handfuls of the black sand, scrubbing her body until it was red and tingling. She washed off layers of grime, scrubbed her head until she was sure her scalp was bleeding and dunked back down to wash the sand out of her hair. Then, she repeated the entire, soapless bath again.
The mountain stream that fed this pond had a small rainbow over it, the mist from the water spray shining like diamonds in the sun. The mountain curved a bit and made a semi-circle stone wall.
Her gaze shot to the sky. She would probably never get used to seeing the huge planet Prison Moon One orbited when she looked up. Seeing it was a constant reminder she wasn’t on Earth anymore and likely never would be again.
As she scrubbed her skin again and looked at the forest on either side of the mountain, she noticed a dark opening off to the right. It looked like a cave from here but might have just been a trick of the light.
Marcy ducked down into the water and rinsed the sand from her hair again. When she surfaced and pushed the water away from her face, she shivered and turned to head out of the water but froze the moment she saw
the warlord. He was standing at the water’s edge staring at her.
How long had he been back there? Was that why the alien woman had left? Was it why she’d encouraged her to leave? Because she knew he was following them?
He said nothing as he watched her, his gaze darting over the entirety of her face before lowering to her exposed breasts. She raised her arms to cover herself, but wondered why a moment later and dropped them. It wasn’t as if he—and his entire camp—hadn’t already seen her tits.
In the full light of the sun, she could see his skin did actually look gold. The scars along his chest stood out more now that the light was better and he was indeed nice looking, which pissed her off. How was she supposed to hate the guy if she found him attractive? She noticed a bit of cloth in his hand.
“Come dry yourself.”
His voice was deep and did crazy things to her pulse but walking out of the water meant he’d get a full view of her, up close and personal. Of course, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to use her like his own personal sex-toy come nightfall and he’d see a lot more than her tits and bush when that happened.
His unusual whiskey-colored eyes drank in every ounce of her flesh as she made her way to him, lingering on her breasts until she was knee deep in the water, then his gaze shifted lower, to the red curls at the apex of her thighs. He looked at her as if he’d never seen anything like her before and goosebumps dotted her skin for an entirely different reason by the time she stopped in front of him.
The cloth in his hand was long and wide and when he brought it to her shoulder, she realized it was a drying cloth of some kind. She reached for it but he brushed her hand away, taking his time drying her skin, lingering over her breasts to the point her already hard nipples ached as the scratchy material hit them over and over again.
He locked eyes with her as his hand lowered and dipped between her legs. Marcy swallowed the lump suddenly forming in the back of her throat. His gaze flicked to those red curls and her womb clenched tight. Was this where he’d do it? Would he force her to have sex with him here?
He dropped his hand and stepped so close she saw his nostrils flare moments before his lips parted and saw why the bite he’d given her had hurt so damn bad. His canines were sharp and resembled fangs.
Whatever he’d been about to say or do was forgotten as something big splashed in the pond. He looked out across the water then took two steps back, dropped the drying cloth and turned away from her. “Dress and come back to camp.”
On the ground, behind where he’d been standing, was a single garment. Marcy bent to grab it when his voice brought her head up.
“Do not try to run.” He stopped and looked back at her. “If I find you before the others do, you will beg me for death by the time I’m through punishing you.”
He left without another word, leaving her there by the waterfall pond, thoughts of running screaming through her head.
The garment he’d left looked like a dress but when she slipped it over her head, she realized it was nothing more than a very large, oversized shirt. The material draped over her shoulders and barely stayed up, the arm holes so big she knew the material hid very little of her. It fell to her knees but at least her ass was no longer showing.
Marcy rolled the sleeves up best she could. A musky scent lingered in the fabric and she lifted her arm, inhaling it. It smelled—manly. Not exactly a cologne but it reminded her of leather and exotic oils. She glanced to the path. Was this one of his shirts? For some reason, she thought the answer to that question would be yes. The guard had said she belonged to the warlord. To take nothing from anyone but him. A man that possessive wouldn’t dress her in someone else’s clothing so that musk she smelled on the oversized shirt was him.
She grabbed the drying cloth and headed up the sandy beach in the direction he’d gone, ducking under the canopy of trees that left the path in shade. She could see the warlord. He’d not gotten very far, which told her he was waiting for her. She sighed and quickened her steps, stepped on something sharp a moment later and yelled.
She was loud. The other females he’d acquired over the years never made a sound unless instructed to but this one made enough noise to be heard three vecs away, her steps noisy and clumsy. She’d give away her presence and be captured or dead in less than a neosec but he found little reason in teaching her to mask her presence. He hadn’t taken her to keep anyway and had no doubt Allok would come for her and honestly, couldn’t wait for the fight.
Scenes from the arena played inside his head again, the look on Kr’Atek’s face the most pleasing. Rumors of a female unlike any of the others had traveled fast. She was said to possess special powers and he knew Allok would want to add her to his growing number of unique captives. Jorrick had been disappointed when he hadn’t seen him in the arena but it hadn’t lasted long. Spotting Kr’Atek when he stepped into the ring told him why Allok hadn’t bothered to come. He expected the Trakon to win his prize for him.
The fact Kr’Atek was now doing anything for that qek cursed warlord made him want to rip Kr’Atek’s head off with his bare hands and doing just that was half the reason he’d stepped down into that ring. The traitor had walked away without a fight, though, but next time he saw him, he wouldn’t get the luxury. If the guards in the arena hadn’t been there, Kr’Atek would have been sent back to Allok in pieces.
The female stumbled and hissed a word under her breath his translator couldn’t decipher. Another of her swear words, if he had to guess. He’d heard more than a few of them the translator did recognize on the trek from the arena. Her language was as colorful and vibrant as she herself was. Allok would have enjoyed breaking her.
She was the first of the females dropped on this wretched moon and offered to those willing to fight for her not to weep uncontrollably, scream, and beg to be let go. No, this one had fire in her as bright as the hair on her head—and between her legs.
She wasn’t anything like the other females here. They were all compliant. Obedient. But not this one. This one had a volatile temper. One he’d have to break her of if she survived past the next moon.
“Ouch! Damn it … shoes would have been nice, you know.”
Jorrick stopped at her mumbled words and turned to look at her, letting his gaze roam the length of her body. His shirt swallowed her whole and fell off one shoulder to drape half way down her arm, the top of her breast showing before she reached for the fallen material and pulled it back up.
The light behind her gave him a good view of her underneath the shirt. Her form was curved in places the other females in his camp were not. This one's waist was small and tapered, her hips wide. Her legs were quite long—shapely—and she stood much taller than most. He raised his eyes to her breasts. Those were unnaturally pleasing as well. They were high and round and looked firm. The sight of them as they’d been in the arena flashed in his mind’s eye. Her nipples had been so rosy pink they’d reminded him of the cherite blossoms that bloomed back home and for the first time since being dumped on this hell hole of a moon, he’d longed for things he’d vowed to never indulge in again.
His mood turned dark the moment he thought of all he’d lost. If he ever got off this krinshi of a planet, he’d find a way back to Tridian III and lay waste to every foul soul that helped put him here. He’d leave that traitor Strathos for last and—
The female shifted on her feet and dragged him from memories best left forgotten. She was staring at him, but looked away when he stared back. He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head so she’d look at him. “You will speak when spoken to, otherwise I will remove your tongue and string it around your neck as a lesson for the others. Do you understand?”
His tone was harsh—as he intended it to be—and was effective as hoped. Fear that hadn’t been there moments ago clouded her eyes, her heart rate increasing. He could hear it pounding in her chest and sense the blood rushing through her veins. Good. She should fear him.
His thumb pressed into her
full bottom lip. “Your needs will be provided for as I see fit. You are in no position to demand anything of me.”
The muscles in her jaw clenched. If he had to guess, he’d say she was on the verge of saying something he’d indeed have to rip her tongue out for. She remained silent, restraining that defiance she displayed in the arena. “Once we reach camp, you will do as Jityria instructs you to do, is that clear?”
She gave him one firm nod of her head, hatred burning in her eyes.
Jorrick’s gaze roamed her face, taking in every curve, every small splotch of color dotted across her nose and the fullness of her lips before meeting her eyes. He’d never seen that shade of green before. So clear. Vibrant. As vibrant as her spirit seemed to be.
A noise echoing through the trees reminded him where he was. He released her and turned, heading back to camp. He couldn’t afford to be distracted at the moment, and he knew, given enough time, this female would be a distraction he would live to regret. Her temper alone made her more desirable than the others. What good was a female who just laid there silently weeping? He’d rather use his hand to slake his desire than endure such from one of his captives. Aside from Jityria—who didn’t weep, but wanted things he’d never give—the fiery female at his back was the first to stir him in many, many moon cycles. She made him think things he’d long given up desire for but maybe, if he dared risk it, he’d have her naked and underneath him, in front of him, bent over with those long legs spread wide as he slid through those red curls and plunged deep. His cock twitched just imagining how soft she’d be, how wet. How she’d sound as he rode her.
Shouts quickened his steps. Aris and Vikram were stalking across the camp toward him, the look on their faces enough to tell him something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked when he was close enough for them to hear him.
Vikram flicked a quick glance at the girl before saying, “A disturbance of some kind within our borders.”
