by Cynthia Sax
Bocc slid his gaze sideways. “You aren’t withdrawing?” He frowned. “What of your vow not to touch her?”
“I didn’t know she was real when I made that vow.” Tukbar sighed, his shoulders rounding. “She is one female, Bocc. There will be another mate for you. Minarb will be claiming age this—”
“I don’t wish to claim Minarb.” Bocc dismissed Tukbar’s unacceptable solution. “I will claim my sky mate and no one else.”
Bocc glanced at Starla, the female the Federation future-benders predicted he’d love for a lifetime. He had obsessively studied every report he’d received on his Little Star, memorizing her likes and dislikes, reading her cleverly crafted papers on the Lokan culture, and gleaning meaning from each precious word. Over the years, she had become a part of him, she’d become his.
“There are no other females for me,” Bocc declared while he wrestled with his emotions, heart-twisting, soul-binding emotions he hadn’t shared with anyone, including his fickle brother.
“There will be other females. Trust me in this, little brother.” Tukbar fidgeted, guilt written over his broad face. “If I could, I’d spare you this pain, but our father watches.” His dark head twitched toward the spectators.
The elders of the tribe surrounded the chief, the huge man decked in the richest, thickest blue furs, his graying braid decorated with antlers and feathers. Their gazes met and fury blazed in the chief’s silver eyes. He hates me. Bocc stared stoically back at the old man, not wishing to give his father the satisfaction of seeing his pain.
“By the gods, Bocc. Don’t look like that,” Tukbar pleaded, his voice cracking. “I need you to understand. I have no choice. A future chief can’t withdraw.”
And a future chief can’t lose…not in a fair fight. Bocc expelled air through his clenched teeth, releasing his anger. I owe him this and so much more. “Then we fight.” He held out his hand.
“We fight.” Tukbar clasped it and smiled, relief reflecting in his eyes. “There are many males.” He glanced around them, his face animated, and Bocc smelled his eagerness. “None of them match our abilities.”
“We should fight the others first,” Bocc suggested. “That ensures one of us will win.” Another male may defeat my brother. His mood lightened.
“Yes.” Tukbar bobbed his head. “I’ll fight far from you. We’ll save our battle for last. Good fighting, my brother.” He slapped his arm once more and lumbered away, calling out challenges to the other males.
Bocc chuckled and turned his head toward his Little Star, his future. She watched him, her brown eyes wide. He nodded to her and her lips curled upward, slashes of red staining her cheeks.
The elderly Master hobbled out to the middle of the ring. “You fight for the female.” He gestured to Bocc’s mate and her pale skin flushed red from the tops of her boots to the flat of her small forehead. “If you lose consciousness or you surrender, your fight is over. The last male standing will claim the female.” The Master pointed to the stack of furs in the center of the ring.
Claim her now. Bocc fought his desire for Starla, the scent of male lust filling his nostrils focusing his thoughts. No. I must win her first. He unsheathed his sword.
The Master pressed the curly horn of the mltat to his lips and he blew, the haunting sound signaling the start of the competition. Blades swung. Bocc dodged them, blocking blows as he moved toward the edge of the pack.
No one approached him and he didn’t seek out a battle, content to save his energy. Tukbar had no such conservative strategy. The reckless fool barreled through the men, fighting with a wide grin on his face.
Bocc watched the action warily, his sword in his hand, prepared for an attack, as he slowly backed away. He stopped less than an arm’s length from his mate, standing protectively in front of her, ready to shield her from any flying weapons.
My female. Bocc inhaled deeply and stiffened, smelling the faint trace of blood mingled with the scent of soil and leaves and a tantalizing aroma he suspected was Starla. “You’re injured!” Someone has wounded my mate! Outrage swept over him. “Where are you hurt?”
“Oh. Can we talk?” his Little Star whispered back in formal Lokan, her softly spoken words crisp and precise. “Or is that against the rules?”
Fuck the rules. “We can talk.” Bocc circled her, sniffing the air and scanning her small, slender body for injury. “Where is your injury?” he demanded, raw, fierce emotion making his voice gruff.
“My head, I bumped it.” She shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “But never mind about that. I’m on Lokan in a claiming ring. I’m actually here.” She smiled at him as though she had imparted starling news, her face as radiant as the sun.
“You don’t recall arriving here?” Has my mate damaged her senses? Bocc transferred his sword to his left hand and gently parted her hair with his right. She dropped her head forward, instinctively submitting to his exploration. Her brown tendrils curled around his callused fingers, the strands softer than orga down.
“Of course I do.” Starla frowned. “Well…I don’t remember landing and a little while after that but…” She inhaled sharply as he touched a small patch of pink.
“You’re in pain.” Bocc glanced at the fighting men, wishing he could release her. “You should be resting.”
“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin proudly. “My skull’s a little tender, but my wound isn’t anything major. My vision is clear. I have full control of my fine-motor functions.” She wiggled her fingers. They were so small…and filthy, her face and hands covered with dirt. “I’ll survive and I have tablets and supplies in my medical pack, wherever that is.”
“I’ll find your pack,” Bocc vowed, moving to stand protectively beside her. She’s an intelligent woman, he reminded himself, calming. She knows the extent of her injuries.
He turned his head slightly, alternating his gaze between his exotic female and the battle before them. She’s here. His body hummed with excitement, his cock hardening. After years of waiting, she’s here.
“And my android, Chrome—”
My android. “I’ll find all of his parts also,” Bocc assured her, pleased she asked about his Federation-relayed gift to her. “We’ll reassemble him.”
Tukbar bellowed with mock-anger, his fighting staged in front of their critical father. He battled three men—two farmers and a youngster barely old enough to enter the ring. Bocc’s brother pivoted, flicking the tip of his sword, and the youngster’s weapon flew from his hands. The two farmers turned on the boy and he raised his hands, pleading for surrender.
“I have so many questions, Bocc. You’re Bocc, right? The Federation operative?” Her voice lilted musically, and he glanced at her, startled that she recognized him. Has she been waiting for me, as I have been waiting for her? “Chrome looks like you, you know, except for…” Her gaze dropped to his loincloth.
His cock grew even harder under her perusal. “I’m bigger.” Bocc grinned. He watched the fighters, waiting for his competition to tire and the field of rivals to narrow.
“Yes, ummm…” Her pale cheeks flushed bright red, her emotions pleasingly easy to read. “I thought you were him when you entered the ring.” Starla scanned the boisterous crowd, a wistful expression on her beautiful face. “We’re never apart, you see. He’s always with me, answering my questions.” She squirmed against her bindings, her body rocking against the pillar. “And being alone wasn’t part of my plan.”
“You’re not alone,” Bocc reminded her. “You’ve never been alone and I can answer all of your questions.”
“You have time to talk with me?” She tilted her head, her brown curls sliding over her skin. “Shouldn’t you be fighting? If you are to claim me, that is.” Starla gazed at the battle, her exotic eyes wide with wonder. “I thought there would be two or three men fighting for me but this is unbelievable.” She shook her head. “To have so many men wishing to claim one unremarkable female…”
My Little Star isn’t an unremarkable female. Bocc
perused her freckled face with pride. “They fight for no purpose, as I’ll be the male to claim you.” Soon. “But there isn’t a need to join them, not yet.” He inched closer until he felt the heat of her body. “I’ll let the others tire themselves out and then battle the victor.”
Starla laughed, the sound filling him with joy. “Smart.”
He nodded his acknowledgement of the compliment, pleased that his human mate valued intelligence more than brawn. She’s perfect for me. Needing to touch her, Bocc reached behind the pillar and captured both of her bound hands easily within one of his palms. He inhaled sharply as a bolt of awareness raced up his arm straight to his heart.
She stilled, her arousal sharpened with the bitter scent of fear.
I frighten her. Bocc’s stomach twisted. Because she doesn’t know me, he reassured himself. Not yet. “You’re safe with me, Little Star.” His voice deepened. “And I’ll ensure no one else touches you.”
“Am I safe with you?” She searched his face, her brown eyes flecked with gold.
Bocc held her gaze, allowing her to read all of his emotions. “I’ll never hurt you.” He brushed her soft skin with his calloused thumb, touching her lightly, gently, lovingly. I must woo her slowly. “Trust me.”
She trembled and her breathing quickened. “Chrome trusts you. He claims you’re the most intelligent humanoid in all of the Federation.” Her lips curled up into a shy smile. “He might be a bit biased.”
Bocc stroked along the curve of her arm and circled the dimple at her elbow, enchanted by her smooth skin. “I created him that way.” He grinned.
She nodded, her brown curls bouncing against her cheekbones. “You created him for this mission, to help you save your planet.”
I created him to keep you safe. Bocc remained silent, exploring her shoulder with his fingertips.
“That’s also why I’m here…to help you.” The color on her cheekbones deepened and she looked away. “I know you need to…” Starla nodded at the stack of furs.
“I must cover you with my scent,” Bocc explained and her blush spread down her slender neck. He yearned to lick her pink flesh. Slowly, I must move slowly. “So all of the males know you’re mine.” He gripped his sword hilt hard with his left hand and caressed his mate lightly with his right.
“For the mission?” She peeked at him from under lowered lashes, her expression sweetly shy and demure.
“For as long as you remain on Lokan.” And you will never leave. Bocc followed the indent of her delicate collarbone, pausing above the curve of her breast, aching to touch that soft flesh.
“And if I—” Her eyes widened. “Bocc!”
He turned on his booted heels and swung his sword, disarming his challenger with one smooth strike. His rival’s heavy hammer thumped to the ground. Bocc breathed heavily, his heart pounded. Too close.
“Mercy!” The big man held his hands up, palms facing him.
“Granted,” Bocc replied brusquely and the man scrambled out of the ring. Baktot’s balls. I have to concentrate.
“We’ll talk later.” Bocc took one last long look at the female he fought for and she ducked her head, her curls falling forward, partially shielding her beautiful face. He nodded curtly and strode determinedly toward his brother Tukbar and Lork, the village’s metal wielder, his two remaining rivals. I will win her.
Chapter Three
I want him. Starla pressed her lips together to keep from sighing her appreciation as Bocc walked away from her. The muscles in his back rippled and his long black braid, unadorned by feathers, bones or any other symbols of status, swung over a tightly clenched ass, the defined flesh barely concealed by a skimpy skin-colored loincloth.
Bocc slapped the smaller man’s shoulder and his full lips curled up into a smile, affection reflected on his broad face. He looked over his shoulder and their gazes met, Starla’s breath catching as his silver eyes flashed with raw need.
He wants me. Her toes curled in her Lokan-style skin boots. This smart, sexy man wants me. Starla lifted her chin proudly.
Bocc turned his attention to the big man before them. His lips moved while the crowd around them cheered exuberantly, drowning out their quiet conversation. Large males, with coloring similar to Bocc’s, clanked together tankards of black liquid, their gazes alternating between the three remaining fighters and her restrained form.
See, but don’t be seen. Starla pressed back against the wooden pole and rounded her shoulders, trying to fade into the surroundings like a good researcher would. Be like the tribe you’re observing. She looked down at her dirty wrap dress, confirming that it was similar to the dresses she’d seen the other females wear.
The males continued to gape at her, their silver eyes wide, their big hands waving. They had tankards of some sort of liquid in their hands. What is the name of that liquid? She frowned, unable to remember. Chrome would know.
I’ll ask Bocc later. Starla concentrated on the impending battle, noting the lack of armor and the sharpness of the swords. Claiming Rituals Of The Lokans. She wiggled excitedly, anticipating the enthusiastic response of the drama-hungry Federation academics to her next action-packed paper.
The smaller man’s head tilted toward Bocc and he nodded. Bocc and the smaller man changed positions, Bocc’s face grim and focused, the smaller man laughing. The big man, a brute with arms like tree trunks, shifted from his left foot to his right, as though unsure of whom to attack.
Bocc moved first, swinging his sword at the man’s left shoulder. The big man brought his right sword arm across his body to block. Blade met blade, the metal sparking. Bocc bounced back, surprisingly light on his skin-wrapped feet.
The big man pursued him, grunting as he heaved his weapon, the blade slicing toward Bocc. Starla gasped. Bocc caught the blade with his sword and held, his biceps bulging, sweat beading on his large forehead. The brute leaned more and more weight on his weapon and Bocc grunted, his knees bending, his body lowering. The razor-sharp tip of his rival’s blade neared his chest, that wide expanse of exposed tanned skin.
He can’t lose. Starla’s heart leapt. He can’t. “Bocc!” She struggled against her bindings, the leather digging into her skin. “Bocc!”
The smaller man glanced at her and yelled something, his words concealed by the shouting of the bloodthirsty crowd. Bocc twitched his head. The smaller man grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and yanked his blade upward. The other swords flew into the air. Bocc caught his sword. The smaller man caught the big brute’s weapon.
The bigger man put his hands in the air, backing away. The smaller man held the defeated opponent’s sword in the air triumphantly and the crowd roared their approval. Even the disapproving man in the blue furs nodded, his gray braid cluttered with antlers and brightly colored feathers, testimony to his great rank.
Bocc juggled his sword from his left hand to his right and stalked behind his prancing rival. He wouldn’t. Starla sucked in her breath. Not while—
Bocc rammed his sword hilt down on the smaller man’s skull. The man looked up at him with stunned disbelief before he collapsed onto the ground.
He would. Silence hung heavily around them. The spectators stared, their mouths dropped open in disbelief. Bocc pivoted on his feet and rushed toward her. He would do anything to achieve his goals. She shrank back. I can’t trust him. Bocc flinched as though she had struck him and his face hardened with resolve.
He didn’t say anything as he sliced through her bindings, freeing her and the tongues of the spectators. She fell forward over his shoulder, his skin hot and moist, his scent of man and rich, dark earth. One man booed, followed by another, and another, until the air seethed with discontentment.
Bocc ignored them, carrying her to the middle of the ring, his fingers spread over her thighs. This is the maker Chrome idolizes. Starla placed her hands on his back, her fingertip tingling with the returning circulation. He’s a Federation operative and one of the most intelligent men in all of the galaxies. “Why di
d you strike him from behind?”
“I killed my own mother, Little Star.” Bocc stated it as though it were a fact. “I’m an outcast, capable of anything.” He laid her down gently on the furs, his gaze not meeting hers.
He’s an outcast? Starla glanced around them at the angry tribesmen, tribesmen she needed to gain the trust of. I’m the mate of an outcast. Sweet study. This is a mess.
She looked up at Bocc, his eyes turbulent with emotion and his face painfully blank. This is his life. He’s been alone. If not for Chrome, I’d also be alone.
“I’m an outcast too,” she confessed. “And you didn’t kill your mother. Your mother died giving birth to you.” She reached out to him, his body remaining beyond her grasp. “Tell me why. I want to know.”
Bocc sighed, his broad chest rising and falling. “My brother Tukbar is the future chief. Future chiefs don’t lose battles to village outcasts.” He clasped her left hand, frowning at the red marks around her wrist.
“So you sacrificed your honor to save his.” The booing had died down. Starla turned her head. Not everyone had left. The older man in the blue furs glared at Bocc, his face dark with disgust.
Bocc followed her gaze and his square chin jutted. The man immediately turned away, his long braid swinging. “The chief,” Bocc explained.
His father. “When we succeed at this mission, you’ll have the respect of the Federation. Surely then the tribe will accept you.” And accept me.
“They’ll never accept me.” Bocc crushed her hopes. “I only need your respect.” He pressed his mouth against the marks, licking the redness, his tongue soft and warm. “And my own.” He laid his cheek against her fingertips. “Your head pains you. Your wrists are scraped. Do you hurt anywhere else, Little Star?”
He wants to fuck me. Starla’s toes curled. “No.” She took a deep breath, counted to five and exhaled. Research, this is research for another paper. Mating Rituals of the Lokans. “I’m ready.”
