An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Nyssa’s Guardian
ISBN # 1-4199-0304-7
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Nyssa’s Guardian Copyright© 2005 Reese Gabriel
Edited by Pamela Campbell
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book Publication: October 2005
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Nyssa’s Guardian has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Nyssa’s Guardian
Reese Gabriel
Dedication
With love and thanks to my best fren-fren Rose, for setting my dreams free and believing in me all the way.
Chapter One
The High Councilor had no right.
Tricking Nyssa into a meeting only to introduce her to one of them.
“Fem Nyssa,” said the gray-haired but well-preserved Fem Dekalia. “May I present to you Primale Theron of the Guardians.”
Nyssa smiled icily. At least they were all standing, which meant it would not be a prolonged meeting. “It is my honor to serve, Primale,” she offered, trying not to drip too much sarcasm into her deliverance of the formulaic greeting between citizens.
“The service is mine,” he replied, expressionless.
Primales were all like this. Forever appearing on the holonews and tri-vids, rescuing crash survivors, fighting disasters and battling fearsome enemies. Insanely confident, duty-bound to the point of obsession, sickeningly, tediously brave—and totally fucking gorgeous.
This one had clipped brown hair, a military cut, framing a perfect oval face, a dimpled chin and firm jawline. His eyes were the kind of blue you would swear you could never see twice.
And in fact you wouldn’t, because every one of these specimens of genetic triumph was uniquely designed, super-strong, and super-quick. Super-domineering.
His body made Nyssa want to do things. Sex-making things. Curse her traitorous anatomy! This was not the place for swollen nipples, not the time for cloying wetness, or creeping warmth at the delta of her skirt-clad thighs.
And certainly not the time for posing naughty questions to herself. Like wondering what it might be worth to see the primale naked. The splendid torso, rock-hard abs and biceps under his skintight, painted-on exo-steel suit. And that package below the waist—she could imagine his cock and balls, so tightly constrained under the material, ready to burst free, full and heavy.
She would lay him down on his back and crawl on top of him, kissing and licking him until he was groaning and begging for release. And then she would mount him, maintaining perfect control as she let his thickly veined, purple, throbbing cock slip between her thighs, parting the moist and eager envelope, filling that canal that was so perfectly shaped for sex-making.
Supposedly primales were super all over. Hugely endowed with incredible endurance. And a surprisingly keen ability to tune in to the female body for the purpose of delivering slow, maddening pleasure culminating in mind-blowing orgasm.
This she found hard to believe, given the primales’ role as the hyper-masculine protectors of the society. They were the heroes, notoriously chauvinistic and narrow-minded.
To that end, they might well be the perfect lovers, handsome as they were, but for fems like Nyssa, engineered to be free and independent, primales represented a dangerous temptation. A forbidden fruit guaranteed to lead one down the path to destruction.
For primales did not take sex-making idly as did the ordinary brand of males, the mems. A primale took his mate as a possession and once he bonded to her, she became his for life. They were not evil or arbitrary, but they weren’t liberal either.
Thus it was that the body of the High Council, the society’s planners and overseers, had engineered in their wisdom a fourth sub-gender to fill the primale’s needs, which no fem could ever manage.
These women were called obedients and it was literally their greatest joy and pleasure to find a primale to serve. Without such service, these creatures were lost.
“What is it I can do for you?” Nyssa inquired, desiring to end the encounter as quickly as possible. “A signed holoprint, perhaps? An authorized impression scan?”
His lips barely budged. She had said this tongue-in-cheek because primales were inherently practical, devoid of the kind of aesthetic sensibilities needed to appreciate her work on the hologrid.
“I desire neither,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“No?” His equanimity was beginning to annoy her. “What about for your obedient, then? Would your little mate like my print?”
“I’m unmated at present.”
“Really?” Nyssa was already well past the pale of courtesy, but she had her reasons for pressing further. It wasn’t just principle, either. She had experience to go on, too. Deeply personal experience. “I’m surprised…given what a great conversationalist you are.”
“The choice was not mine,” he said. “Guardians are not mated until after the conclusion of their service to the nation.”
Nyssa offered a grudging, “Harrumph.”
“Primale Theron has been engaged in defense work,” the High Councilor sought to salvage the conversation. “He is a highly decorated veteran.”
Now Nyssa was flat-out mad. So the man performed his engineered function—that was the responsibility of every citizen. Why should these primales get special treatment?
“Is he really?” said Nyssa. “Then perhaps the highly decorated veteran would be willing to explain to me why he and his fellows fight for the freedom of only some of our people and not all.”
“Fem Nyssa…” the Councilor objected.
“To what people do you refer?” The primale addressed her directly.
She laughed lightly, hiding the way he was managing to put her off balance. “Why your precious obedients, of course. What freedom do they have?”
Nyssa fought desperately to maintain control. Was it his voice, with its undercurrent—not aggressive—but full of raw power doing this to her? Or was it simply his presence? The pumping of testosterone into the air? If she was another sort of woman—not a fem—would she be able to bear up? Or would she find herself down on her knees, while he stood over her…doing what…gloating?
Primale Theron’s lips flattened into a slight frown. She imagined kissing them. More precisely, being taken by them. “Obedi
ents are not compelled to do anything. I fail to see your point.”
Smug bastard.
“Of course you don’t. Fem Dekalia, if you will excuse me, I have a performance in three intervals. I need to prepare. Primale…it’s been…an experience.”
“Fem Nyssa,” the Councilor stopped her at the rounded auto portal.
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid you’ve not given me a chance to explain the purpose of this meeting. Primale Theron is not to be a passing acquaintance in your life. He is to be an intimate part.”
“Intimate?” Nyssa nearly choked on the word.
“The High Council has determined that you are in need of protective service,” the woman explained. “Sun and moon time both. For the foreseeable future, at least.”
Nyssa cast a glance at the statue of a man—at attention even when he wasn’t. There was no way she could endure his presence even for a minute, let alone sun to moon. “But, I don’t need a guard, Fem Dekalia.”
“There is the matter of the threats made against you, dear. These must be taken seriously. Your liberationist views have made you unpopular in certain quarters.”
“So? I have a staff already to watch over me. Lots of men.”
“Mems, you mean.”
She turned on him instantly. “That’s right, Primale. I work with mems—sensitive, caring males who understand my female equality.”
“Nyssa, please,” Dekalia implored. “This is leading nowhere.”
“You are right,” she agreed. “Let me make this nice and simple. The only way this gorilla will be watching me is over my dead body. Are we clear? Good.”
With that, she was off, her pert posterior making a rapid but imperious exit. That was a close call. She sighed, her inflamed sex continuing to throb as she took a vacuum tube to the nearest transport hub.
A little too close for comfort as a matter of fact.
One thing was certain—her viewers were in for an extra-special treat tonight as she performed on the grid, working out her sexual frustrations from meeting the primale.
Not that she would ever let him know.
* * * * *
The saucy little fem was in dire need of a spanking.
Never had Theron witnessed such insolent behavior. Never had he seen such utter disregard for propriety. Never had he viewed…such an ass. So maddeningly pert, so perfectly shaped, designed for no other purpose than to inflame the blood of a man.
“My apologies, Primale,” said the High Councilor as they watched the beautiful young woman make her exit, impudently parading the back of her short skirt, the silver-blue flame of her hair shimmering and sweeping side to side across her exposed back as she moved. “My daughter tends to be a little…high-spirited.”
Theron hid his reaction. So the High Councilor was her surrogate mother. No wonder the little creature was so spoiled. Strange, though, that a woman of Dekalia’s rank would be assigned maternal duties. “I was not aware that members of the Council ever served as cluster parents,” he said.
“We don’t,” said Fem Dekalia. “I was referring to our genetic link.”
This time he couldn’t help but reveal shock. How had Fem Dekalia come to learn this information from the Genetics Bureau? No citizen, no matter how important, was allowed to know how his or her DNA was being used to produce the next generation. Biological attachments only complicated the art of child-rearing and the functioning of a smooth society. Every citizen had parental figures within their growth clusters, but this was hardly the same thing.
“Nyssa has been created for a special purpose, Primale Theron. She is to lead our society in a challenging time.”
Which meant what? The Narthians? Social unrest?
Dekalia’s admission did explain one thing, though. If this imp Nyssa had the High Councilor’s own genetic makeup in her spoiled little bones, it was no wonder Guardian Command had rushed him back from the front to baby-sit a hologrid star.
“Theron, I’m choosing you for this assignment for two reasons,” General Morax said. “First, you’re my most loyal and trusted officer. Secondly, you have the discipline and patience of a saint.”
“The confidence is appreciated, Sir,” Captain Theron answered, the cascade of emotion hidden behind a face of granite. “May I have permission to speak freely on the matter?”
Morax sighed. For three campaigns, over six solar cycles he had been like a cluster father to Theron. That meant much to a primale, as members of his sub-gender were removed at a very young age to be raised in structured military-like camps. To some it might seem cruel, but it had a function—to keep the society’s strongest fighters and protectors one hundred percent devoted to their work.
With the exception of the love they were allowed to share with their one and only lifemates.
“I can read your mind all too well, son,” lamented the dark-haired, robust general as he put a hand on his protégé’s shoulder. “You cannot bear the idea of leaving your men. Especially not with the Narthians gathering for a fresh attack. And least of all are you prepared to do so to assume work ordinarily left to men far inferior to yourself.”
Theron felt a rare stab of pain. Was he letting the General down? “I mean no disrespect, Sir. We are all born as we are. I seek only to serve.”
“I know you do, but I stand by my words. It is true. You are the best of the best. And though I cannot share exactly why, we can afford nothing less than the best for this particular job. May I count on your support?”
“To my dying breath,” he vowed, his hand cupping his heart in a Guardian salute.
Thus did he find himself here, staring down an assignment that was shaping up to be the toughest of his career. “With all due respect, High Councilor, spirited is an understatement.”
Dekalia smiled, the faintest bit of pride and amusement behind her professional demeanor. “My daughter has received quite a brew of DNA, hasn’t she? We took special care in her mixing…and in her nurturing. We intend for her to be a creature of unprecedented abilities and character.”
Something occurred to Theron. “She doesn’t know who she is, does she?”
Dekalia nodded. “You are excellent proof that your kind is bred as much for intelligence as strength. You are correct. She is completely unaware of her lineage, or of her future fate. It was decided that she be allowed to enjoy her youth in an…unstifled atmosphere.”
“She’s provoked enemies, though,” Theron noted.
“Yes. Her courage and leadership abilities, combined with a questioning imagination have led her to challenge the entire framework of society with only limited experience to judge. Frankly, she poses a challenge we have never before faced.”
“She has twenty-five solar passings, does she not?”
“Twenty-seven” Dekalia corrected. “And yours is thirty-five, tempered with the experiences of battle and all the sweeping maturations of war. Your commanding officer sees great things in you, Captain.”
“But for such an assignment as this…”
“You’re what we are looking for,” said the leader of the nation curtly. “And you will commence your service immediately.”
The change in her tone brought him ‘round, reflexively, bones and muscles easing wearily into obedience. The most reluctant obedience he’d ever felt in his career.
He did not wish to guard this woman. He did not wish to even see this woman. And that was more than a little disconcerting. For a primale was nothing without his duty. Theron swallowed hard. Like it or not, he was going to have to pour himself into Nyssa, learning her patterns, anticipating her motions and guiding her footsteps.
“Understood, High Councilor. My service is yours…and hers.”
“Good. There’s one more thing.”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
Dekalia appeared to be weighing her words. “We…that is to say the Council and your own superiors, as well as myself, recognize that your challenge is going to be a difficult one. My daughter is a risk-taker. She i
s headstrong. She listens to no one. She has no fear at all—you saw her walk out of here defying me. And mind you, that was without having any knowledge of her blood ties to me. We have had to walk a fine line, keeping things a secret from her. Some on the Council argued that she be trained from an early age in the matters of government. It was my opinion that she be given a chance to mature on her own. When it is time for her to accept her fate, she will be ready.”
Theron couldn’t help but smile thinking of the fiery Nyssa learning that she had another identity no one had told her about. “I can only imagine the day you level with her. I suspect she will have quite a lot of questions for you…”
Although it did beg an interesting question. Such a special offspring, with such special maternal DNA must also have extraordinary paternal genetics as well.
“True,” agreed Dekalia. “And until such time as we desire that she learn the truth… As long as you have responsibility for her, we want you to feel free to be…firm with her.”
Theron raised an eyebrow. “Firm?”
“Yes, firm. A little primale discipline won’t hurt her, you know.”
He could hardly believe his ears. “But, Ma’am, she’s a fem…”
Dekalia’s lips curled playfully, almost impishly. For a split second he saw the younger woman. “Young man, despite what you may have heard, fems are neither shrinking violets nor screaming harpies. We are capable of appreciating the virtues of unadulterated masculinity.”
Theron wasn’t sure what to be more blown away with—the notion of the High Councilor even intimating attraction to a primale or the images he was now having of saucy Nyssa receiving the discipline she so obviously required.
And at his hand no less.
His cupped, punishing hand descending rhythmically and systematically onto her behind as she lay helpless across his knees, her loins grinding against his thigh, her breasts against his other thigh. That tease of a skirt flipped up to bare her flesh.
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