Slavemaster's Woman, The

by Angelia Whiting

  Rube restrained him by wrapping and arm around his throat from behind, and then aimed his stunner to the back of Bazil’s head.

  “What the…” Bazil struggled, but his strength was no match against that of the younger royal. He stiffened when he realized that Scoac was standing beside them, his stunner aimed at both of them. He was accompanied by six guards. “—fuck. Where did you come from?” Rube asked.

  “I think the better question is where did he come from?” Scoac indicated Bazil. Reaching, he snatched the stunner from Bazil’s hand.

  “He was about to assassinate the king,” Rube tried to explain. “I’ve subdued him. There’s a mutiny going on.”

  “I’m aware,” Scoac returned. “I came through the back way and took the secret passage, leading here.”

  “You know of it?” Rube asked. He winced when he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the door to the passage was indeed ajar.

  “I’m aware of much little brother,” Scoac answered. He lifted a suspicious brow. “What surprises me is how you knew.”

  “I…” Rube hesitated. What in hades blazes was he going to say? Deny…deny everything… “I didn’t. I spotted Bazil, saw him open the wall and followed him through.”

  “Ah…” Scoac replied. He then laughed loudly and smacked Rube on the back. “Well nice work then, little brother.”

  Rube slowly released the breath punching around in his lungs when it seemed Scoac believed him. “What’s happening outside?”

  “We’ve killed at least thirty villagers attempting to storm the gates and the slaves who are still alive should be rounded up soon. Idiots they are, believing they could overthrow the throne.” Scoac snickered as he looked Bazil up and down. “Mecor is going to love this.”

  He pushed the drape aside and stretched out his arm toward the opening. “After you.”

  “Fuck,” Bazil murmured again. “I think we’re royally screwed.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Mecor sneered at Cushla and she boldly sneered back. He chortled at her audacity. “You have your mother’s spirit.”

  Cushla’s upper lip quivered at the mention of her mother but she kept a feral gaze firmly planted on the king.

  “Leave her be Anzer!” Bazil warned from his kneeling position on the floor. He struggled against the bonds holding his wrists firmly restrained behind his back, his shoulders twisting side to side as he pulled against them.

  “Leave her be?” Mecor turned and eyed him disdainfully. “Why Zaviot? Are you afraid I’ll expose to your daughter just what a coward you are?”

  Bazil’s body visibly shook with outrage. “Go to hades blazes!”

  Mecor stomped over toward him, drawing his hand back during the course of his stride. He backhanded Bazil, causing the man’s head to snap to one side. He then snickered. “I think I hit a nerve or two.”

  Silently, Tarken stood to one side of the throne room, struggling to remain calm while trying to plot his next move at the same time. Upon seeing that the device was still locked, and with Juliada verifying his story as to why they were in the bedchamber, the king, though reluctant and after several tense moments had allowed Juliada to remain free. Unfortunately, he remained suspicious of Tarken and called on extra guards.

  Twenty…Tarken counted so far, posting them throughout the chamber, essentially sequestering them within its walls. Four of those guards, their sizes matching Tarken’s stature, stood by him, their hands firmly on their stunners, should he make an unwanted move. He’d been disarmed of his weapon, but at least for the moment the king allowed him to remain unbound.

  The double doors to the throne room creaked open and all heads turned to the sound.

  “Those who aren’t dead have been rounded up,” Scoac reported as he stomped through the entrance.

  “Did you discover who was responsible for this uprising against me?!” Mecor demanded.

  “We’re investigating.” Scoac nonchalantly examined his fingernails and then brushed them against his shirt. “After a few severe beatings a few of the thralls choked up some information.”

  “Who then?” Mecor narrowed his eyes.

  “We’re still persuading those who are still conscious to chirp.” Scoac nodded in Bazil’s direction. “Though I did find out that he at least in part…is responsible.”

  “Damn you to hades!” The king stalked toward him and forcefully drove the sole of his boot into Bazil’s thigh.

  Bazil lost his balance and fell to the floor, grunting in pain when he hit.

  “No!” Cushla cried out.

  Mecor pressed a crooked finger to his lips and began to pace. Abruptly, he stopped. “There had to someone in charge on the inside. He eyed Tarken suspiciously. “Perhaps it was you, slavemaster?”

  “For what purpose?” Tarken shook his head. “The only thing I’m interested in your Majesty, is the hefty wage you pay me.”

  “Traitor, you liar!” Cushla squawked. “I thought you—I thought…”

  “You thought what, Cushla?” Tarken’s gaze shifted toward her though he was careful to keep his expression blank. “That I was your friend? My orders were to train you by any method I deemed fit.”

  “Rot in hades’ muck slavemaster!” Cushla heaved several heavy breaths, her anger obvious.

  Inwardly, Tarken groaned. When Juliada presented her own version of the tale about being in the bedchamber with him, and he failed to deny it with his silence, the warm crystal shimmer he so adored in Cushla’s gaze had grown chillingly cold, her eyes rounding with loathing. He had no choice but to try and bid for time, hoping to regain the king’s trust—but now…this!

  She glared at him with so much repugnance, believing he’d betrayed her.

  Tarken was sure that if she was loose she’d swoop on him and at the least pluck his eyes out. He’d surely lost her love forever. The thought had his heart cramping painfully inside of his chest. “Shall I assist with interrogating the slaves, your Majesty?” Tarken suggested, though he was doubtful the king would release him. “I’ve been able to be quite persuasive, with them…” He glanced at Cushla, knowing he may forever regret his next remark and then turned back to the king. “Particularly with the females.” Again, he glanced at Cushla but other than the slight flaring of her nostrils, and the blank stare at the empty space in front of her, she otherwise showed no emotion.

  “Hmm…” Mecor’s eyes narrowed on him as he became pensive, perhaps considering Tarken’s proposition. “I think releasing you might be rather senseless of me, slavemaster.”

  Tarken sighed. If nothing else the king was no fool. Now what? With the guards watching him carefully, the rebellion now thwarted and spirits knew how many dead, Tarken gave Rube a sidelong glance.

  The royal subtly pursed his lips in return. He too seemed befuddled at what either of them could do.

  Tarken decided there and then, that he would need to be patient if he was going to succeed with rescuing his beloved Cushla. Somehow, he was going to get off this hell hole of a planet with her, even if he had to carry her away kicking and screaming, which she most likely would be doing since she clearly hated his innards at the moment.

  “Comply with my bidding Zaviot, convert the stones, and I just may spare your daughter’s life. Fail to do my bidding and…” Mecor rubbed his chin. He strolled over to Cushla his lecherous gaze grazing up and down her body. “I think I’ll fuck you first.”

  “Let my father go,” Cushla snarled at him. “And I’ll give you the best fucking you’ve ever had.”

  “Touch one hair on her head, Mecor…” Bazil rasped out, the side of his face still planted on the floor as one of the guards pressed the sole of his boot to the back of his neck.

  “Dare to threaten me, Bazil?” The king responded without turning around. “You’ve already sacrificed one woman for your misplaced cause. Are you willing to risk another?”

  “What is he talking about father?” Cushla narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing with tension.

 
Still facing her, Mecor answered her, “Your father didn’t tell you?” He leered at her. “No, I suppose not, but you saw it. I know you saw it, Cushla. You were watching.” His gaze dropped lower. “I wonder if your pussy is as tight as your mother’s. I rather enjoyed watching my juices flow out of her after I fucked her.” The king roared with a raunchy laugh, throwing his head back. “Just as I will enjoy watching them flow from you.”

  Cushla released a room shattering scream, a release of utter fury, aimed directly at the king.

  Undaunted by her reaction, Mecor looked up again. Lifting a finger he traced the long, crooked digit along the crevice between Cushla’s breasts.

  She gritted her teeth and growled while attempting to twist away from him.

  At that moment, Tarken thought he saw something flickering in her eyes, flickering in her physique, a convulsion of sorts. It was something he’d seen before, on the king’s star cruiser, when he’d frightened her. There was definitely something happening to her long, silky hair. It seemed to be feathering, wisps of it fanning as if blowing in a breeze.

  Bazil saw it as well. He was staring at his daughter wide-eyed, almost fearful.

  “All you had to do was agree to reproduce the formula to convert the muartzin stones. Such a simple request. Your refusal was a foolish trade for your woman’s life,” Mecor addressed Bazil though his lecherous eyes remained on Cushla. “But you’ll agree to it now. Won’t you?”

  “Father?” Cushla beseeched him. Her head began shaking from side to side as if suffering from a tremor.

  “At first your mother begged me to stop,” Mecor continued his ruthless tale. “But the further I pushed my cock into her, the quieter she got.”

  “Your Majesty,” Tarken finally intervened fighting with all his might to keep his voice calm. His stomach however was churning in pure disgust at what he was hearing, what Mecor was forcing Cushla to endure, reliving the horror. “Is this necessary?”

  “I think your mother enjoyed being fucked by me.” Mecor ignored him and continued, “Just as you will, Cushla Zaviot. Though, I’m sure your father will crumble into a simpering wimp, just as he did that same dawning I fucked your mother.”

  “No!” Cushla squeezed her eyes shut, a pained expression crossing her face. She slammed her head back against the pillar and rolled it to one side. “Father, make him stop.”

  Mecor snickered mockingly. “You beg your father for help, Cushla? He won’t help you anymore than he did your mother. You know he just stood by and watched.”

  “I was being restrained by three of your cronies!” Bazil spat angrily.

  Turning toward him, Mecor smiled slowly, menacingly and then with his hand gestured to the guard who held Bazil down to back off of him. “Rise and face your daughter squarely. I want to watch you look her in the eyes as you convey your lies to her.”

  “Cushla don’t listen to him.” Bazil struggled first to raise his chest from the floor, lifting and raising upright to his knees, he struggled to his feet. “He lie—”

  “I lie?” Mecor interrupted. “Your father discarded you just as easily as he did your mother.”

  “No!” Cushla screamed again, unable to contain her rising rage. She opened her eyes and glared at the king. “He loved my mother. My father loves me!”

  Mecor pivoted toward her. “Your father sold you into slavery!” He roared the words in her face.

  Tarken’s fists bunched and he felt every muscle in his body seize. He was infuriated, and it wouldn’t be long before he reacted, before he lost all restraint and lunged at the king. He wanted to rip his cold, evil heart out and feed it to the hatchlings. Instead, he took a quick breath and gazed at Cushla, noticing that her fair skin was paling even further, and her entire body was trembling. His heart wrenched at the sight of her. A profound need to rescue her, hold her in his arms, shelter her from the pain Mecor was causing. Instead, he was forced to be patient and it truly was agonizing.

  Around them, there was an escalating vibration pulsing through the throne room. In fact, the entire room was beginning to shake.

  Tarken blinked unsure of what he was seeing but there it was…Downy fluff began to appear on her body, and now he could see the flaring in her eyes, a burst of variegated colors streaming through them.

  Mecor however, seemed completely oblivious to what he was causing, but Tarken knew. “How many men fucked you, Cushla?” The king looked her up and down with a distasteful expression on his face. “Who took your virginity? Did it hurt? Did you scream?” Mecor clapped his hands together and snickered as if taking pride in his own sadistic musings. “I love it when they scream.”

  “No—stop!” Cushla begged.

  “That’s it Cushla, beg for mercy.” The king sneered.

  “No, no!” Cushla thrashed her head from side to side. Her head then dropped forward and she began to cry. “Father it hurts!”

  “Enough Mecor!” Fury riddled through Tarken’s bones, his heart being torn from his chest at the sound of Cushla’s sobs.

  She never cried.

  He started forward but one of the guards kicked him behind the knees, causing them to buckle while a second cuffed him in the jaw with the side of his stunner, resulting in his head snapping to one side. A third buried a fist into his gut as he dropped to his knees. They all pulled their stunners, aiming them at his head effectively staying him—a position that seemed to be annoyingly habitual of late.

  “Cushla! Listen to me!” Bazil’s voice sounded almost desperate. “Your mother nearly bit her tongue out trying not to scream. She begged me to stop my threats and be silent. You were asleep. She didn’t want to wake you Cushla, didn’t want you to witness his sickening atrocity!”

  Mecor pivoted away from her and tucked his arms behind his back while casually strolling a few paces to where Bazil stood. He leveled his gaze at the man, a mocking gleam in his squinted eyes. Though he faced Bazil, he spoke to Cushla, “I wish your mother had screamed for mercy.”

  Cushla fell silent, her sobs halting abruptly, and she slowly, deliberately lifted her head.

  Her eyes were the first thing Tarken saw, and what he saw in them would’ve frozen a comet.

  Mecor however didn’t care, or he failed to notice, or even still, he was too pompous to even heed the deadly glare in the eyes of the petite slave girl he dared to menace. “You know, she never made a sound…” He snickered.

  Cushla’s mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back into her head. She cawed out a shrilling cry that echoed so fiercely, the entire room shook. Her neck began to elongate and feathery wings sprang forth from her back making a whipping sound as they flapped outward to their full length.

  “Holy shit!” Rube bellowed, his eyes widening.

  “You’ve done it now Mecor,” Bazil yelled. “She’s shifting!”

  “Fucking hades fire!” Mecor yelped. “Shoo! Shoo! Get her away from me!”

  “The Libertas!” Juliada screamed and then ran for cover behind the throne.

  Tarken sprang to his feet as the terrified guards dropped their weapons and they thumped to the ground. He snatched one of them up, preparing to take aim at the guards.

  There was no need however as they were all scattering, several of them fleeing toward the doors and nearly falling over each other as they fumbled to get them open.

  Cushla screeched again.

  Tarken turned to watch with amazement.

  Cushla shifted completely, the mere force of her expanding size, shredding her clothing and causing her slave band to pop free from her skull. It flew through the air, spinning and then hit the floor with a clank.

  It bounced and bounced again before rolling like a ring along the stone and coming to a stop before Tarken, his boot stopping its forward progress. It remained in its upright position, then briefly teetered, and with another clank, fell to its side, part of it landing on the tip of Tarken’s toes.

  A sardonic snort came from Cushla as if mocking the band’s once imprisoning hold.

&
nbsp; Everyone who remained in the room froze, staring in awe. The only sound cutting the tension filled silence was the bird’s hostile breathing, which seemed to cause the very walls in the chamber to expand and contract with every breast swelling breath.

  Reaching down, Tarken picked up the slave band and examined it. Blood streaked the prongs that had been embedded in Cushla’s temple, and he was both astounded and grateful that the force that dislodged it hadn’t killed her as it would have a normal person. Looking up, he stared at the creature seeing the blood soaked feathers on the side of her skull.

  She spread her immense wings, which Tarken estimated to have a span of well over four of his body lengths, and shook them out further. Flapping them twice, they created a gust so powerful the heavy drapes behind the throne flew up and caused all who were still standing to brace themselves against the flurry of air.

  Everyone gasped and ducked, save Tarken. He remained steadfast and watched her with both awe and admiration as she settled her massive wings and tucked them against her sides. She then went very still. Her quiet stance afforded Tarken time to study the creature she’d morphed into. She was impressively large to say the least, but in a stately way, or at least that’s the way Tarken perceived her.

  Long flowing feathers draped her back and swept downward like a luxurious cloak to rest on the floor. They were the purest white he’d ever seen, the same color as her silky hair he so loved to touch. Atop her head was a fanning crest of delicate golden feathers that stood proudly like an elegant crown, a replacement for the slave band she once wore—a slave no more.

  For as much as she stood before them proud and noble, as the mystical Libertas, Cushla was also equally formidable. Her feet had become talons, and they were honed enough to pierce a body clean through, the evidence of their razor sharpness could be seen in the scraping notches they created in the marble floor as she dug into it. Her beak looked likewise as dangerous. It was long and narrow and strong enough to snap a man in two. Slowly, it parted while she continued to hover menacingly over the frightened king. She stared down at him as if contemplating whether or not to devour him, but apparently decided against it. Instead, she stretched her long neck and snapped at him.