Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Other Titles
About the Author
Izzie and the Icebeast
Alien Abduction Book 9
Honey Phillips
Copyright © 2020 by Honey Phillips
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Maria Spada Book Cover Design
Edited by Lyss Em Editing
Chapter One
The crowd cheered as Baralt’s name was announced, and he strode out onto the glittering white sands of the arena. Although carefully designed to mimic an ancient historical site, it was essentially the same as every other place he had fought. He cast a quick, practiced eye at the spectators packing the stone seats rising high above the sand. A good turnout for a minor match. Relkhei, the fight master, might be a despicable male, but this had proven to be one of Baralt’s most lucrative contracts.
After a brief introduction, the match began. It was immediately obvious that the other fighter would not provide a challenge. The initial skirmishes proved him correct. Unwilling to prolong the fight, Baralt ducked under his opponent’s guard and raked a claw across the other male’s stomach. The male collapsed to the ground, green blood pooling beneath him as he clutched at the wound. He would live, but the fight was over.
Three suns blazed above, uncomfortably hot, but he ignored the heat just as he ignored the roar of the crowd. He lifted an absent hand in salute as he turned to the exit tunnel. There had been a time when he might have appreciated the adulation, but after more than ten years on the fight circuit, it no longer mattered to him.
Had it ever mattered to him? Perhaps. When he’d first started fighting, the admiration he had received had been a satisfying contrast to the disapproval he had received from his own people.
“Good fight, Baralt,” Mehexip gushed as he met him inside the tunnel, handing him a cleansing towel and a bottle of water.
He drained the water and tossed the bottle back before wiping away the blood staining his white fur.
“He wasn’t much of an opponent. Is that the best you can do?”
Mehexip gave a nervous laugh. “You know Relkhei likes to save the big fights for the end of the feast week.”
“Matches like this aren’t even worth showing up for,” he growled.
“You were well paid,” Mehexip assured him.
In other words, Mehexip had been satisfied with his cut. The small orange male served as his agent, arranging the fights and negotiating the contracts. Baralt knew that he cheated him, but as long as he kept it within reasonable levels, it was worth it to Baralt not to have to deal with the arrangements.
“What’s up next?” he asked.
“There’s a new batch of slaves.” Mehexip lowered his voice. “A couple of them looked like good candidates.”
“I doubt it.” The slave fighters might be driven by desperation, but their skills were usually lacking.
He headed up the tunnel, ready for the icy comfort of his quarters.
“No, really.” Mehexip scurried along beside him. “There is a Naimal in this batch.”
A faint stirring of interest surfaced. The Naimal were dangerous fighters, but they rarely appeared on the circuit. It could represent an interesting challenge, something that was becoming ever harder to find.
“When?”
“You know the drill. Three days of elimination matches, and then the final fights on the feast day.”
A group of guards came toward them, herding a line of slaves. Baralt gave them a quick assessment as they passed. Weak and untrained. They would be tossed in the arena and forced to fight, but they would be lucky to last a round. They were simply there to entertain the crowd and give the real fighters the chance to warm up.
He looked away again, but just as he passed the end of the line, an unexpectedly sweet fragrance washed over him. Female. It was not unexpected—female slaves were provided as rewards for successful fighters—but something about this particular scent caught his attention.
Trailing behind the other slaves at the back of the line, a small female was flanked by a watchful guard. Baralt had never seen one like her before. She was completely naked—nothing uncommon in the fight pits—but it was more than her lack of clothing that made her appear so bare. She had no fur, no scales, not even the armored plates common to many species. Only the dark curls covering her head and another small patch between her legs interrupted that smooth bare skin, glowing a warm gold even in the muted light of the tunnel. Nothing shielded the heavy weight of her breasts, topped with big dark nipples, or the lush swell of an ass that would fit perfectly in his hands. His kotra stirred at the thought.
“What is she?” he found himself asking.
The guard next to her grinned at him. “They called her a human. Not bad, eh?” He shook his head. “Shame to waste her on one of these animals.”
“She’d fetch a good price as a concubine,” he agreed, even though he hated the idea of this small female subjected to Relkhei’s whims.
“Apparently she’s a fighter. Caused enough damage to her last owners that they sold her with a warning.”
A fighter? This small female? Now that he looked closer, he could see that she had been injured. Bruises shadowed that silky skin, marking her neck and hips, and he could see red scratches on those lush breasts. The protective instincts ingrained in him roared to life, and he growled.
For the first time, she looked up, and he was shocked by the defiance blazing from her eyes. Eyes as dark as the bottomless caves he had once known so well. Yes, despite her size, he could believe that she was a fighter.
“Is she for sale?” he heard himself asking.
Mehexip shot him a startled look. He knew that Baralt rarely took an interest in a female. Baralt ignored the speculation on his face and stared at the guard, waiting for an answer.
The male shifted uncomfortably. Baralt’s fighting skills were one of the main draws to the fight pit, and he generally got what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, sir. Relkhei
plans to offer her as a prize to the winner of the freedom contest.”
He bit back a growl. The freedom contest was a series of death matches—brutal, bloody, and ruthless. The kind of male who won that contest would not be careful with this delicate female.
He started to turn away, but then he looked back down at her face. Despite the fierce glare, he could see the shadow of desperation in her eyes. He couldn’t abandon her to such a fate.
“Tell Relkhei that I will battle the winner for her.”
Both Mehexip and the guard gaped at him. He never entered a death match.
“B-but,” Mehexip stuttered, but Baralt ignored him.
“Convey my message.”
He stepped closer, letting his size intimidate the guard. “And she is not to be touched. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The guard looked disappointed, and Baralt knew that he’d had plans for the female. He wanted to demand that the female be given to him immediately, but he knew that Relkhei would never permit it.
“Mehexip, make the arrangements with Relkhei,” he ordered. “Then see that she is adequately housed and protected. I will hold you personally responsible if anyone so much as lays a finger on her.”
Mehexip opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but he must have realized that it was pointless and simply nodded.
The female still hadn’t spoken, her gaze darting from him to the guard. He gave in to temptation and touched a single finger to her cheek. Her skin was impossibly smooth and silky, and he almost groaned at the sensation. He couldn’t wait to explore further, to see if her entire body was as soft and delicate.
“Don’t worry, little female. I will take care of you.”
She snarled, and to his utter astonishment, whipped her head around and snapped at his finger with small white teeth. Fuck. His kotra threatened to emerge from its sheath at her fiery defiance.
The guard started to yank on her chain to force her to her knees, but Baralt had his claws around his throat before he could finish the move.
“No damage,” he growled.
The male’s eyes widened, and he immediately loosened his grip on the chain. “No, sir.”
Baralt let his hand drop, then hesitated, unusually undecided. He didn’t want to leave her. But while he might hold a privileged position, Relkhei ruled his fight pit with a ruthless hand. He would have to wait. With a last look at his female, he turned and strode off to his quarters.
He sighed with relief as he entered his rooms and the cool air surrounded him. Most of the other fighters chose living quarters with views out onto the desert landscape of Tgesh Tai, but as part of his contract, he had negotiated for this set of rooms beneath the surface. Originally intended for the slave overseer, they had been carved out of the rock, and their rough walls reminded him of home.
No, not home. He would never be returning to Hothrest. The thought caused the usual blend of guilt and longing, but he pushed it aside with the ease of long practice.
The main room consisted of a seating area equipped with furniture large enough for his body, covered in velvety pinks like the mosses that occupied his home caves. Grabbing another bottle of ice water from the small kitchen area, he collapsed on the long couch with a sigh. Even though it had been an easy fight, each year he felt the effect of his efforts a little bit more. He rubbed his bad knee. The old injury had been flaring up more often recently.
The door alarm chimed.
“Enter,” he growled. He had no desire for company, but he knew from long experience that it was better to take care of whatever problem was facing him now rather than put it off.
The door panel slid aside, and Sadari entered. She was a tall, slender Ostroth with green scaled skin and a smooth scalp. Crossing the room with her usual graceful step, she knelt in front of him, keeping her head and eyes lowered.
“Relkhei sent me to you,” she said softly. “He is most pleased with your decision to fight the winner of the death match.”
Fuck. It didn’t take long for word to get around. Sadari was one of the concubines Relkhei employed to reward his fighters. Baralt had availed himself of her services once before, and he knew that she was talented. His kotra was still half erect, and for a moment, he was tempted. He put a hand to her head, smooth and dry and pleasantly textured, but he found himself remembering the silky softness of the slave’s cheek and knew that this was not what he wanted.
“Thank you, Sadari. I prefer to conserve my energy until after the fight.”
They both knew it was a lie, but she accepted it as docilely as she accepted everything else, and once again, he remembered the little slave snapping at his finger. Had he changed so much that he had forgotten how to appreciate the female with spirit?
Sadari bowed her head once more, then rose gracefully to her feet and walked to the door. The door alarm sounded again just as she reached it, and Varga appeared in the opening. Sadari shrank back almost imperceptibly. Most of the concubines were afraid of the big Sorvid warrior even though, as far as Baralt knew, he had never given them any reason to be frightened.
Varga scowled, stepping out of the way with an elaborate mocking bow as Sadari scurried past him.
“Done already?” Varga asked as he entered the room and threw himself down next to Baralt. “A fast fight and a fast fuck?”
Baralt shook his head at his friend—or at least as close to a friend as he had in this place. All the fighters knew that they might be called upon to battle each other, and it created a certain distance, but Varga had never been bothered by the prospect. He was one of the few in the current stable who could provide Baralt with some serious competition. Massive, scarred, and heavily muscled, he looked as if he would be slow. He wasn’t. He also had some very…unique abilities that assisted his natural skills.
“A fast fight perhaps, but the competition was pitiful. And I have no interest in Sadari.”
“Shame.” For a moment, the big male looked almost wistful. “Pretty little thing.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Heard you want one of the new slaves.”
“Are there any secrets around this place?” Baralt asked rhetorically. Between the fighters, the guards, and the concubines, the fight pit was a hotbed of gossip.
“Nope.” Varga studied him from underneath heavy brows. “You sure about this? A death match?”
Baralt sighed. Varga was another fighter who avoided the death matches. They had never discussed it, but Baralt suspected that beneath Varga’s forbidding countenance ran a strong moral streak.
He got up and crossed to his liquor stock before pouring them both a healthy serving of Aldarian whiskey.
“She’s small. Soft. She wouldn’t survive whoever won,” he said as he handed Varga a glass.
“If she’s compliant enough, she might get through it.”
Baralt shook his head. “Small as she is, she’s a fighter.”
Once again, his kotra stirred at the memory of the defiance in her eyes. He found it intriguing and arousing, but he knew only too well that many males would see it as a challenge to be conquered. They didn’t understand the joy of having a woman surrender because she chose to give herself to him.
Varga frowned at him but said nothing. The two males sat in silence, sipping their whiskey. Despite the tiredness beginning to overtake him, Baralt found an unexpected comfort in Varga’s companionship. He had sat this way many times with the members of his tribe after a successful hunt. It wasn’t until after he’d left Hothrest that he’d realized how much he missed it.
“Going to train,” Varga said finally as he drained his glass. “You coming?”
He started to shake his head but reconsidered. He might be one of the top ranked fighters, but he wouldn’t stay that way if he didn’t keep himself in good condition. The fact that he felt the effects of the match only made it more imperative. He drained his own glass and stood.
“I’ll wager you a bottle of my finest Aldarian whiskey that I win the first match.”
An unexpe
cted—and slightly terrifying—grin crossed Varga’s face. “You’re on. Might even let you have a drink after I win.”
Baralt laughed, ignoring the faint ache in his knee as he followed Varga out of the room.
Chapter Two
Izzie stared after the massive alien. With the white fur covering his enormous body and the all-too-obvious fangs and claws, he rather resembled a mythical yeti. But the longer fur covering his head had framed features more humanoid than animal, and there had been a fierce intelligence burning in his vivid blue eyes. Like every alien she had encountered so far, he had studied her body with obvious appreciation, but unlike the others, he hadn’t immediately started making lewd suggestions or attempting to grab her. Based on the deference with which the guard had treated him, he was obviously a big deal around here.
The guard motioned her to move forward. An odd combination of bird and reptile with scaled skin in shades of red and gold and a feathered crest in the same colors, he had been brusque but not overtly cruel. Even now, he didn’t yank on her chains to hurry her along. She was almost tempted to see how far that forbearance might extend, but this hot, rocky tunnel with the sound of a crowd up ahead didn’t seem like the best place to take a stand. She shuffled forward obediently, thinking about the conversation between the guard and the yeti. So she was to be the prize in some kind of fighting contest? Her fists clenched. She would make damn sure that whoever won her regretted it.
Her defiance faltered as the guard turned off from the main tunnel and led her into the slave quarters. The ship that had taken her from Earth had been bad enough, but most of her fellow captives had been either animals or small aliens. Only the Derians had been a real threat… She shuddered and hastily shoved those memories away.
But here, every cell was filled with large, terrifying aliens. They ranged from humanoid to completely alien, but they all seemed to be equipped with fangs or claws or worse. The only thing they had in common was the lust with which they regarded her.
Izzie and the Icebeast: A Scifi Alien Romance (Alien Abduction Book 9) Page 1
