“Or more of you,” she corrected. “But not in a good way. Are you saying that you could have lost control on me?” She found that quite unnerving. When she’d left, it looked like he was a stone’s throw away from ripping Thorton’s tongue out of his mouth. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s not about what you did. It’s about what we did,” he explained gently, and reached out his hand as if he wanted to touch her, if just to rub her shoulder. But he thought better of it—he closed his fingers into a fist and withdrew his hand.
“And what did we do? Besides freak out over a couple of sparks?”
“A couple of sparks?” he guffawed. “A couple of…” His jaw locked. “There was goddamned lightning shooting out of there! You were this close to being crispy-crittered.” He tried to illustrate this ‘closeness’ by pinching his thumb and forefinger so closely together that a flea would have suffocated.
“Sure, whatever,” she doubted. The memory of the near-miss was foggy to her at this point. She remembered the aftermath much better.
He put his hands over his eyes. “Whatever?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, her expression vacant. “Don’t care.” She raised her shoulders up in a defensive shrug. “You’re exaggerating.”
He pursed his lips, wanting to threaten her—to do anything that would make her take him seriously. She needed to go over his knee, and she would eventually—obviously, she needed a little bit of hand-taming. But now was not the time. He had to make sure she realized, first, that he was her mate; that she was his now, fully and completely.
“You’re very frustrating. That attitude won’t serve you well in the future,” he informed simply. “Now, to your question about what happened: didn’t you feel it?”
“Feel what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, knowing she didn’t want to answer in the affirmative. What would she say to that? Oh, you mean that deep sense of arousal I felt, and am still feeling? The urge to take off your pants? Yeah, right!
“You’re lying,” he said flatly. “I can see the effects on your face. In your eyes.”
Suddenly, his eyes widened. For a moment, she thought he was horrified by something. In the next, she was certain that she had seen the same look when she was watching a Sherlock Holmes movie, when everything suddenly became clear to the hero before he ran off somewhere, leaving an irritated Watson in his wake. “Of course!”
She hesitated for a second, but asked anyway, “What?”
“You’re not something else. You’re a Swarii!”
Chapter Four
She sighed and looked back at her work.
He sensed her skepticism. “Look—we almost colonized your planet, did you know? Not even a hundred years ago! We sent a squad out to bring back military intel for the maneuver, and then, when the commander came back, he said that your planet could not be colonized; that you were infected with a contagious disease. None of his team came back with him, supposedly they died!
“Of course, we didn’t know he was lying through his teeth until just after he died. About fifty years ago, the Frians started grabbing you in batches for their slave force, and reported no similar troubles in their own intel. There was even a scandal about it—when we tried to access our commander’s personal files, they were encoded. Nobody could access the info that would allow us to figure out what really happened on Earth…”
“Nice bedtime story,” she replied, looking like she was barely listening as she continued to twist wires up together.
“Don’t you get it? There was a whole team of Swarii that stayed on that planet, probably settling in with the locals! So well, in fact, that they didn’t want to return! And I told you that we consider you close-cousins, maybe you’re closer than we’ve even considered. What if we’re actually more like two different breeds than species—one where we can create offspring?”
“You mean, that our species are so close we can actually create… an in-between?” She shook her head. “Yeah, right. What are the chances?”
“Ellie, you are an in-between!” he exclaimed. “Think about it—don’t you have a suspicious number of similarities to our species? Yet many suspiciously similar to theirs? There’s no other explanation!”
She found herself chuckling at this claim. “But look at me—I’m smaller than most humans!”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you’re female. What do the men in your family look like?”
“Oh, they’re HUGE. In fact, my brother’s a line-backer for the University of Tex…” She stopped herself short. “Huh.” She hadn’t really thought of it before, but come to think of it, her size was much more the exception than the rule. She was her mother’s size, who married into the family… the idea was still ludicrous. She may have never completely finished a biology class in her life, but she watched enough of the discovery channel to realize how crazy it was. “So, you think because we’re the same species—sort of—that I was able to do this… onion thing with you?”
“Union,” he corrected fervently, “is the best translation. We call it Mak-Tah, but…”
“But you wanted to call it something lame. I got it. We call it ‘voodoo’ back on Earth. That’s the best translation for ‘bullshit’.” She snorted at her own joke. “Get out of here, Crazy,” she chuckled. “I got work to do.”
He rubbed his hand over his face, frustrated and weary. “Look here—whether I’m right or not makes no difference. We DID have a union—which means that you and I are together for life, which you’d better start getting used to. You’re mine, little girl.”
She had still been chuckling at the idea that she was an alien when he said this. Suddenly, all signs of humor ever being present on Eleanor Jonas’ face disappeared. “Excuse me? I’m not anybody’s. Particularly not yours. You’re in a prison cell. You’ll be lucky if you see the light of day again before you’re decapitated by Jazeel.”
“I won’t be executed,” he assured with a sigh. “You need to have a little faith in me. I’ll get us out easy enough—I’m a professional.”
“Well, have a good life, then.” She stuck her nose back in her work to finish up before he said anything else too crazy. Yet, she had to admit, she was strangely relieved by his confidence. “I’m almost done here.”
He turned his head and said something in his native language to a Swarii across the room, who looked over and ambled up with a grin. “Hey, little lady.” She remembered him—it was Thorton—much friendlier and warmer towards her than he was not two hours ago. “May I step in there for a moment? Kick you out?”
“If these doors don’t work right, they won’t let me finish,” Ellie warned, glancing towards the doors, which she was sure the Frian guards were on the other side of, napping.
“They’ll work alright,” Thorton said, smiling a wide, toothy grin. “You love birds can just argue a few feet away, for now. I know what I’m doing.”
She blushed and glanced ruefully at Graham, but found herself giving in. She took off her gloves. “I don’t think these will fit you,” she warned.
“Gloves are miserable, anyway,” Thorton commiserated.
“Do you want my pliers?”
“I like using my fingers.”
She looked at Graham, who helped her up to her feet with a blank expression. “So... HE’S allowed to go in there without gloves or ANYTHING, and I can’t?” she complained to Graham, causing Thorton to chuckle as he got to his knees.
Graham led her into the farthest, darkest corner in the room, obviously under the illusion that they would have more privacy there to argue. “Thorton’s a grown man. He can do what he wants. He’s not my wife.”
“Neither am I!” she cried, leaning against the corner. “What can I do to get you to understand that? You don’t even know my name!”
Graham’s posture froze at that realization. She was right. He never learned her name, and he could stake his life on the fact that her name wasn’t ‘Pet’, which was the only thing Jazeel h
ad called her that morning.
It didn’t matter, however. She was his universe—he probably wouldn’t have chosen her to be that for him, and if he had, it definitely wouldn’t have been during a time like this. Still, it was not extremely tactful not to have asked by now, but every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but think he needed to call her, ‘Young Lady’ or ‘Little Girl’. “I am sorry about that, my sweet. Please, what’s your name?”
She rolled her eyes and said flatly, “Ellie.” She leaned her back up against the wall, glaring grumpily at him.
He leaned over her, bracing his body only by putting a hand on the wall over her head. “That’s a beautiful name,” he hummed. “Short for something?” He leaned down and breathed deeply. Lord, she smelt fantastic.
She looked a little nervous at this and tried to sink lower to the ground, hoping to give the distance between their faces a little bit more space. “Eleanor. Eleanor Jonas.”
“Eleanor Jonas Masterson,” he corrected shortly, raising his finger like a teacher would after she mistakenly called an adverb an adjective.
Her face turned beat red with anger. “Why on Earth would I put on your last name onto mine?” she growled.
He grinned, looking somewhat surprised. “You’re actually pretty damn adorable when you’re angry,” he mentioned.
“I must be nearly unbearable right now, then,” she seethed. “Look, on Earth we marry—you know, in front of… the community, and God, and our family, and… There’s a courting process, normally…”
“Yes, and that’s very cute, but God knows who He chose for me. This is pre-approved! A union is sacred—it only happens once in our entire lives! I mean, scientists think it’s just a hormonal exchange with people who are genetically compatible, BUT everyone who has a fingernail of religion in their blood knows there’s more to it! We don’t need the community to approve. We don’t need parents to approve—there’s no happiness anywhere else than with each other—maybe if we didn’t meet there would have been chance of something else, or you could have felt the union with someone else. I don’t know—I never have, obviously. But it doesn’t matter. It happened to US—now. And the more you push against that fact, the more miserable you’re going to be; you’ve already got the sickness. It’s only going to get worse if you don’t have intercourse. With me. It’s the only cure.”
At this point, she was light-headed. She nearly felt intoxicated by being so close by him. He smelt so good—so manly. His body was so close that if she took a deep breath, she would bump her breasts against him.
“That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life! You’re insane!” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her hot forehead. “I’m fine. I don’t have the sickness, whatever the hell that is! We didn’t have the union! I’m not your mate, your wife, your ANYTHING. I hate your guts! You’re egotistical, pushy, domineering, insulting, thoughtless…” She spit out every word, but then she looked right at him.
And her body took over. She didn’t know who made the check-mate move first, but it was as if two magnets were finally tired of repelling against each other and slammed together with force. He kissed her mouth deeply, pressing her firmly against the wall. She reached out for him, putting her arms around his neck, allowing him to rip her buttoned shirt open, revealing her lacy bra, which still did nothing to keep back her obviously stone-hard nipples. “I hate you.” She growled when his mouth released hers, and started to kiss along her neck.
“And you’re a brat,” he rasped. “Stubborn! Foul-mouthed! Whiny!” He might have had more descriptors, but he was too busy suckling one of her little, pink nipples which he had broken free from its lacy confines. “…And covered with too many god damned layers!” he continued, his hands shaking as his hands fumbled about to pull off her utility belt.
She wasn’t the type of girl who would normally allow herself to lose her virginity in the middle of a dank, poorly-lit prison cell with four spectators trying to ignore what was going on –with little success—just on the other side of the room. But she didn’t care right now. All she cared about was Graham and the heat rising from her loins. Something told her that if he could only bring her to release, if he would only release inside of her, then everything would be normal again. Everything would be alright…
Suddenly, there was the sound of the door opening. She heard it, even though it was apparent that Graham didn’t, because he was two seconds away from ripping her belt in half. It was her gasping that stopped the movement, and Thorton coming to get in Peyton’s way.
Peyton had seen what was happening through the small window on the cell’s door, and was now marching towards them with purpose. Graham turned his body around to shield her after Thorton was thrown literally aside; obviously not expecting Peyton to be anywhere near as strong as he was. “Peyton, wait. Chill out!” she squeaked, trying to rearrange herself, but quickly noticing that her shirt’s buttons were everywhere but on her shirt.
Graham growled, exposing his teeth which, she had never noticed before, actually had some sharp K9s. Wow. They were alien! Peyton obviously wasn’t intimidated, however, and marched up to Graham as if he merely presented a much-desired challenge, despite Graham, unlike Thorton, being larger than Peyton by over half of a foot.
“Graham! Peyton! Don’t!” She jutted in front of Graham, pushing her arms against Peyton’s chest. “Shh! Just don’t. I’m done here, we can go.”
It looked like the two men were going to launch themselves at each other, but Graham’s men quickly came along and pushed Graham safely back just as he stepped forward to attack. A Swarii gently pushed Ellie in Peyton’s direction and then put up his hands, as if to show that he had no quarrel, and that there was no need to inform anybody about anything that was going on.
Peyton took off his coat and tossed it violently to Ellie. “Put that on,” he said in a low growl—she knew he’d probably be barking at her if he wasn’t afraid to make the guards get off of their chairs and come investigate. “You and I are going to have a long discussion.”
She would have gulped, but her mouth was too dry. Mostly, she was embarrassed—and was becoming more and more so as she put on Peyton’s thin overcoat obediently over her exposed skin—shame had returned, and it wasn’t pretty.
“You’re not gonna touch her,” Graham growled from behind his men, still trying to claw his way past them. “She’s mine.”
“She’s mine,” assured Peyton, his dark blue eyes were piercing. “I’m prime. You’re chopped liver. I see her down here again; I will bring your world to a quicker close. Ellie,” he grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the door, “let’s go.”
* * *
It wasn’t much of a discussion. It was more like a begging ceremony, where Ellie tried her best to keep Peyton from taking the skin off her after he dragged her by the scruff of the neck of the coat he’d lent her to the gardens to snap a fresh switch. She’d never been switched before, but she still had bruises from earlier, and thus, she didn’t really want to find out what the combination would be like.
“Now, Peyton, if you just hear me out—” she said, her eyes following the switch’s every movement as he quickly tested his choice on his thigh.
Peyton didn’t hear her out. In another moment, he had grabbed her upper arm and wheeled her down to her bedroom.
“I know what I saw,” he retorted. “And what I saw was you lose your mind. I’m gonna tan the brains back into you, girl!”
She tried to grab at the door frame of her room as he tried to yank her in, knowing as soon as the door closed behind them, she was in for a world of hurt. “Well, I can kind of explain that if you—Ack!” She forgot how strong Peyton could be if he wanted to—she was surprised she didn’t take a chunk of the door with her when he pulled her in and shut the door behind them.
He started stripping the bark off the switch he’d found as Ellie regained her footing. “Alright, before you go nuts—I told you that the whole thing downstairs was
weird. Maybe I did lose my mind! I don’t know. I couldn’t help it, though, Peyton. I mean, Graham’s actually kind of an ass, but I was still…”
“Lettin’ him in between your legs like a lil’ hussy? Yeah. I saw,” Peyton assured grimly.
She blushed profusely before she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “I’m not a hussy, Peyton,” she finally said, feeling small. “I know I put you at risk, though, and I AM super-sorry.”
“Risk? Risk? You were about to screw me—and not in the good way!” he blared. “May I remind you of what would happen if you…”
“I wasn’t thinking about you…” she admitted. “I just… forgot.”
Peyton looked at her with a very intimidating, very offended expression. “Yeah? Well, consider this your reminder, kiddo. Pants off.”
She, instead, put her hands on her pants like she was determined to hold them onto her hips at all costs. “I have something important to talk to you about!”
“Alright,” he said, tapping the switch impatiently against the side of his leg. “Talk. It better be REAL educational.”
She shifted her weight foot to foot, staring at the switch. “I can’t talk when you have that… thing in your hand,” she told him.
“Talk,” he ordered.
“Okay…” She bit her lip for a moment, and then unleashed everything. She basically recited everything word-for-word, but in the end, Peyton just looked more pissed than he was. He didn’t say anything, though, just locked his jaw and stared at her.
She got goose bumps over her arms as she realized that the reason he didn’t say anything, or move, is because if he did, he was afraid of hurting her.
“Can I change my shirt, at least?” she said, her posture an illustration of capitulation.
“Strip,” he ordered, but it was a short, controlled word.
“Peyton…” Peyton hadn’t seen her completely naked since her first day at the palace, when he ripped about a thousand towels off her body so that he would be able to leather her bottom, resulting in a lesson that she thought she wouldn’t have to learn twice: Never blatantly disobey Peyton. She couldn’t believe that she would be forced to be naked now. Now they knew each other.
Never Submit! The Swarii Brides, Book One Page 6
