Sexual Memory [Dark Colony 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Elle Saint James

  “Do you have any memories at all before waking in the arena?” he asked. He almost hated to disturb her.

  Her head lifted, and she stared at him for a long moment. The low light cast shadows across her troubled features. Her expressive face led him to believe she warred with herself over revealing any pertinent information.

  Finally, she said, “Not any that I’m willing to share with you.”

  Unexpected response for their current situation, he thought. What was she hiding? His tone was perhaps slightly harsh when he asked, “Why not?”

  Her razor sharp gaze pierced him. “Because they’re personal.”

  Personal? What did that mean? Did she remember something? “I see.” But he truly didn’t. “Well then, I’ll share mine with you. I have a flash of memory where I’m inside of a building. I’m in a large stone room with high-vaulted ceilings, rich tapestries on the walls, and lush carpets on the floors. Perhaps like a castle. Across the space and out a window, I see a brilliant sunset full of warm colors filtering into the room.” Perhaps he understood her need to keep secrets. He also remembered that he’d been dancing with a woman wearing something lacy and white, but he kept that detail to himself. A wedding dress, perhaps? Was he the groom?

  As he pondered that complication, it was a long space of time before she said, “Good for you.”

  Then she didn’t say anything else. Her gaze wandered from his face down his body and stopped on his torso or perhaps the crude fastening of his pants.

  Did she study his waist chain or his cock? He found himself hoping for the later, although honor dictated he remember more about his previous life—like if he had a bride or not—before seeking a woman to fulfill his baser needs. Needs that were making themselves strikingly clear the longer he was in her intoxicating presence. The unruly pulse of desire within his body grew at an alarming rate. I must have her!

  He allowed his gaze to wander along the beautiful planes of her face in the low lamp light before any prudence returned. Take her now! His libido became more desperate. He turned away purposefully to break his virulent longing and circled the room. He looked to discover any useful ways out of their crude prison so as to disrupt the direction of his thoughts.

  Before he scanned the whole room, she stood up from the bed suddenly and a sound of concern escaped her throat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re bleeding.” She bent to look at his side.

  He lifted one arm, twisting to look at the initial wound he’d received. “That’s how I woke up. The first beast I killed swatted me to get me to play. I’m just lucky he didn’t take any limbs off with his first tag.”

  Three deep scratches were embedded in his flesh along the muscle on one side of his lower back, tracing around his side. The wounds were starting to throb, truth be told. He hoped a toxic venom hadn’t been introduced into his system from the claw marks.

  Nothing like looking forward to a painfully long and agonizing death from blood poisoning while he tried to remember his name and life before this hell-born reality. Although he suspected he already would have died screaming by now if any venom had been introduced in his aching wounds.

  She straightened again and did her own search of the simple room. On the wall next to the door was another trestle table. On one end a basket of fruit and a loaf of bread rested alongside a pitcher. At the other end were some bandages and small bottles hopefully filled with something to help heal his wounds. Next to the table was a door partially ajar. The primitive conditions of the arena and this room made him think there wasn’t going to be running water behind the privy door.

  The striking girl he was tethered to marched over to the table after three steps. He was pulled along with her due to the connection. She bent over and studied the containers while he stared at the full length of her bare, long legs. She opened several of the containers and sniffed the contents of each one. The honey color of her skin covered muscular limbs. Her ass was perfect. A sudden visceral snatch of memory from the arena assaulted his mind.

  She wasn’t wearing any panties beneath that incredibly short skirt, and he’d seen much more than her derriere. His cock stiffened in reaction now as he’d been busy saving both of their asses the last time.

  His next thought had to do with what Gruvat said about her being his reward for the victory in the arena. Another strong sensation stirred his cock wide awake, but he didn’t think he was the kind of man who would take advantage of a situation like this. Cooling his ardor with a firmer mental hold, he approached the table to see what she’d discovered.

  She lifted one small porcelain pot. “I think this might help clean out the wound. It smells like an astringent of some sort.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  Her mouth opened as if she might answer, but her gaze shifted to the wall and she remained silent.

  “It’s okay if you’re not. I just thought maybe a sudden unexpected question might stir your memory to something you might be willing to share.”

  Her lips shaped into a devastatingly beautiful smile. “I may have some basic medical skills, but I don’t have the sense that I’m trained as a full-fledged doctor, no.”

  He shrugged. “We need to come up with names for ourselves, don’t you think?”

  “Apparently, my name is Slave Bitch. Pleased to meet you.”

  The laugh erupted before he could stop it. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t laugh. This situation isn’t funny.”

  Her smile warmed him. “Maybe we need a little bit of levity to help endure this unusual place. I was going to call you gladiator hero, or if you think you’re a king from the castle in your memory, I could simply call you, Your Majesty.”

  “I don’t sense that I’m a king. Maybe a royal prince though.” His eyebrows lifted.

  “So…your highness, then? Is that what you’ll expect me to call you?” She paused, grinned mischievously, and then added in a whisper, “Not going to happen.”

  He smiled, loving the fact that she had a sense of humor along with an attitude. These circumstances would be so much worse if she were sobbing hysterically or otherwise out of control during this extraordinary situation. They’d just survived being eaten alive by vicious beasts, ones he’d never seen before. They didn’t remember anything about their pasts, including their names, and yet she still joked like they were old acquaintances.

  “My answer is no. Those names are not at all what I’m expecting. How about we name each other?”

  Her brows furrowed for a moment, but then she nodded. “All right. You go first. Since you don’t like Slave Bitch, what do you want to call me?”

  He studied her carefully. She was above average in height, lean and muscled like a fighter. Her almond-shaped eyes were, surprisingly amber brown in color and mesmerizing. Dark silky hair drifted well past her shoulders. The honey color of her skin made him want to run his tongue over any part of her. Stop. In all ways, she was striking.

  “You should have an exotic name, maybe something heavenly.” He wanted to hug her close, sink his fingers into her wavy locks, steal a kiss and lick her cheek. “How about Parisa? It means angelic.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.” She squinted and looked at him from head to toe before saying, “You look like a William. But I don’t know what it means.”

  “Actually,” his grin widened when he added, “It means protector.” Perfect. She was perfect. His crazed libido rose again quickly. Take her!

  Her sudden grin hit him in the gut like a meteor crashing into a planet surface. She was extraordinarily beautiful, especially when she smiled. She was not a shrieking harpy or an ugly shrew in attitude. If he wasn’t so certain she was innocent, he’d suspect a set up.

  “How do you know what the name William means?”

  He shrugged. “I remember lots of things that don’t matter much here.”

  “Not true. You remembered how to fight skillfully with a sword and that mattered very much just a little while ago.” Her amber g
aze settled on his face. Gratitude shown easily in her expression. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He might have moved closer and kissed her full, luscious lips, but a sound at the door startled them both.

  A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open to admit the guard, Gruvat. Directly behind him was the opulently dressed man from the spectator dais in the arena. Gruvat stood to one side and allowed his superior to cross in front of him.

  “Since you’re new here, let me formally introduce myself,” the richly dressed man said with a slight bow from his waist. “I’m Lord Harcourt. I own this warrior arena and all its participants.” His interested gaze strayed to Parisa. “And also the rewards afforded to the winners.”

  William, as named by the woman he suspected was about to be told was his feminine reward, nodded his head once in civil greeting. A glance at Parisa told him she wasn’t as social in this regard. Hard to blame her, given the way she’d been treated.

  “I don’t understand how I came to be here in this place, nor do I remember my name.”

  Lord Harcourt shook his head sadly. “I can’t help you with that. You could be a prisoner serving out a sentence or a gambler owing a debt or any number of instances. I do not ever concern myself with any gladiator’s history. I’ve purchased you to fight and that’s what I expect from you.”

  “I don’t even remember my name.”

  “Make up a new one. Your life before the gladiator’s arena doesn’t matter. This is your life now. The sooner you accept that fact, then the easier your journey here will be.”

  William bit his tongue, finding the slim information he’d told them convenient. If he didn’t concern himself with any gladiator’s history, how did he know when people had been unjustly incarcerated?

  “Have you selected a new name?” he asked.

  William looked at Parisa. Nodding, he said, “I’m William.”

  “Excellent. I’ll note that for the next fight.”

  Lord Harcourt snapped his fingers at Gruvat. “Remove their chains.” Gruvat moved closer, pulling a foot-long rod-shaped tool from his belt with a black ball attached to the end. He twisted the rod and the black ball glowed red. He lunged forward, tapping the now-red ball to the waist of William’s chain. The link he touched seemed to disintegrate. The chain slipped out of his belt loops and fell to the ground.

  Parisa stepped toward him, surprising William with her lack of fear of this particular guard. The man had already proven beastly by kicking her.

  Gruvat sneered at her and didn’t move a single whisker to release her from her bonds. She took one more step.

  William said, “Remove her chain.” Gruvat grunted, thrust the device into her belly with a sharp jab, and her chain fell onto the stone floor as well. As Gruvat collected the chain, wrapping it around one beefy forearm, William took a step sideways, and closer to her. But he also kept his gaze on Lord Harcourt, not trusting the man in the least.

  Lord Harcourt’s gaze went once again to Parisa for a long moment. “And have you been rewarded, William? If not, I’m happy to wait for our discussion to continue once you are.” He snapped his fingers again, gesturing for Gruvat to turn his back on them. The guard sneered, moving very slowly to comply.

  “Shall I turn my back, as well, or may I watch?” His palms came together softly, and he rubbed his hands together slowly as if anticipating a coming peep show. Harcourt’s smug expression told William he enjoyed the reins of power over all those in his domain, and likely had well-developed streak of depraved voyeurism beneath his haughty exterior.

  While William wasn’t sure of the proper protocol for this situation, he knew he wasn’t about to let this pompous gladiator sentry and royal slave pimp dictate or watch any sexual performances in this room.

  Parisa scrunched her brows in confusion and turned to him. “What is he talking about?”

  Lord Harcourt lunged forward, grasped his hand in Parisa’s silky hair and pulled her head back until she was so off balance, she fell to her knees. “You will suck his cock until he’s satisfied, slave bitch. Do it now!”

  William grabbed Lord Harcourt’s forearm and squeezed until the man released his hold on Parisa. “I’m well satisfied, your Lordship, please let her go.”

  Nostrils flaring in anger, the man released her after a few seconds with a harrumph. William helped her to her feet again.

  Lord Harcourt cleared his throat. “So be it. She is your female reward until the next battle since you won in the arena. If ever you lose, and she survives, she’ll go to the next winner.”

  Parisa’s lips were pressed into a thin line of anger. William figured his best bet was to get this pompous asshole out of here as soon as possible before she launched herself at him with fingernails bared and scratched his eyes out. “And by lose you mean if I’m killed in the battle arena?”

  “Precisely. You’re only good to me alive, so I hope you’ll make an effort.”

  “Count on it. And speaking of that topic, how many battles must I fight in order to win my freedom?”

  A cruel smile surfaced. “Twenty for you.” He glanced at Parisa. “And another twenty if you want to take her with you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Indeed. Now tomorrow is a day of rest, but the day after that will be a battle arena day. A day to fight and a day to rest, if you win, that is.” He laughed uproariously.

  When his self amusement died down, William asked, “Tell me, will I enter the ring conscious the next time?”

  “Of course. We’ll even give your slave girl a weapon to hold for you in case you need it to dispatch other threats. I warn you, there will be more beasts for you to slay in the coming battles. Today I was generous, since it was your first battle, and you weren’t quite awake yet.” His smug smile deepened.

  William thought he was a brave man to give Parisa a weapon of any kind. If she had the ability, she’d likely chuck it like a spear solidly into his lordship’s heart instead holding it for any use in the arena.

  Harcourt leaned forward slightly. “Oh, and there will be different challenges as time goes along, too. Don’t get used to anything, as each day’s battle will be different.”

  “What sort of challenges?”

  “Different animals, different weapons, different gladiators you’re competing with for favor from me. You see, regardless of how many fighters enter the arena, there can be only one winner who exits the fighting ring.”

  William now had his incentive.

  Lord Harcourt glanced at William and then back at Parisa. The man’s intense gaze fixed on her breasts and then lowered to her hips. Perhaps he also remembered she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her skirt. He remained there, staring her down as if he expected to be allowed to watch William’s next reward.

  “And then the winner always has a gratifying prize to look forward to.” On that ominous note, he snapped his fingers at Gruvat, and they exited the room. The door slammed shut, and the locked clicked.

  “I’m warning you right now that if he gives me a weapon to hold for you, I’m going to throw it like a javelin at his bloated, sadistic head.”

  “Oh? A head wound? Interesting. I figured you’d cut his heart out.”

  She shrugged and a conspiratorial smile appeared. “Another good option to consider, thank you for the suggestion.” She moved away toward the table with the bandages.

  “Well, at least we have a day and a half to rest up before we get to participate in another battle.”

  “I might be able to help you when the time comes.” She crossed her arms. “I believe I can also wield a sword, I’m just not sure of my skill level.”

  “What skills are you sure of?” His question sounded like a sexual overture, and he almost took it back.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hand-to-hand combat.”

  She’d probably kill him in his sleep if he made a sexual overture. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that.” She lifted a
cloth and dipped it in one of the pots on the table. “Come here and I’ll clean your wounds.”

  He moved closer and turned so she could tend his injury. William was startled when she then spoke in a low tone. “The only memory that I have before waking up in the arena is of having extraordinarily passionate and extremely satisfying sex…with another man.”

  “Who was it?” Is she spoken for?

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t see his face, and I don’t remember his name. However, I know he isn’t you because you don’t have the same tattoos on your chest that he did.”

  He nodded once. “So for my earned reward tonight I’d imagine that sucking my cock is out of the question?”

  Her exuberant, sudden laughter warmed his soul. However, his amusement was cut short when the searing heat of the cloth she pressed to his side forced a yelp from his throat.

  Chapter Three

  “What do you mean you can’t locate her?” Jeremy Cahill had docked his ship, the Stargazer, in Bravura’s main space hanger, wrapped up all his post-flight paperwork in record time, and exited his ship on a trajectory to find the Mirage and more importantly his love, Angelica.

  She should have landed two hours ago, but the space where she usually docked was empty and the flight officer didn’t show her on his manifest as being on the planet or even on her way back to Bravura.

  Had there been another job for her before leaving the Fulchrome System? How late was she going to be? He tried not to be annoyed at the delay, but he’d missed her more desperately than expected while they’d been separated. He planned to find a quiet spot somewhere here on Bravura’s air dock and kiss her silly as his first official act once they were together.