Izzie and the Icebeast: A Scifi Alien Romance (Alien Abduction Book 9)

by Honey Phillips

  “He arranged tomorrow’s fight, didn’t he?” she finally asked as they reached the bedroom and Baralt half collapsed onto the mattress. “So you have all the information you need?”

  “Yes, Isabel. You don’t need to worry.” He gave her that sweet smile again, his eyes already closing.

  As he drifted off to sleep, she left him long enough to turn off the lights and set the door alarm as he had shown her, then crawled into bed next to him. Tonight, she didn’t even try to keep her distance. Instead, she curled against his big, warm body. His eyes never opened, but he pulled her close, and she breathed in his musky scent.

  He murmured something in his sleep, his body tensing, and she ran her fingers soothingly through his mane until he calmed and his body relaxed again.

  Although the fact that he was here and safe relieved some of her anxiety, her mind refused to settle. Tomorrow’s fight would be the last one under his contract, and then Baralt would be free. The following day was the end of the time that she was allotted to spend with him.

  They planned to sneak away soon as tomorrow’s fight was over, hoping to slip out with the audience. Tomorrow was a major feast day, and there would be a huge crowd not only at the fights but in the city itself. Hopefully that would help make their presence less obvious. Baralt’s friend Varga had arranged for passage for them on a small trader at what she suspected was an exorbitant price.

  One more fight, she thought. He just has to make it through one more fight. Then everything is going to be all right.

  Despite her attempt to convince herself, she slept poorly and awoke feeling tired and grumpy. At least Baralt seemed better in the morning, and he told her that the effects of the gas had completely disappeared.

  “Varga will come and get you once the fight starts,” he said as they ate breakfast together. “He will have clothes that will help disguise you. As soon as the fight is over, I will find the two of you, and we will head for the audience exit.”

  She nodded and tried to conceal butterflies tumbling through her stomach. Unable to eat, she pushed her plate to one side.

  “You must eat, my aria. You will need your strength.”

  “I can’t. I just keep thinking of all the things that could go wrong.”

  He smiled reassuringly at her. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”

  The door alarm sounded just as he finished speaking, and she jumped nervously.

  “I’m sure it’s just Mehexip,” he said reassuringly as he got up from the table.

  Before he reached the door, it slid open, and Relkhei swept in. Izzie shuddered, remembering his last visit, but did her best to keep her face impassive.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Relkhei said coldly.

  “What do you mean?” Baralt asked.

  “Today is the last fight under your present contract. Although, I am sure you are quite aware of that fact.” Despite his smooth tone, Relkhei’s anger was obvious. “And I assume that since you have not come to see me, you do not intend to sign another contract with me.”

  “Or with anyone,” Baralt said calmly. “I have family obligations that will take me back to Hothrest.”

  The annoyance on Relkhei’s face seemed to lessen.

  “You are not going to another stable?”

  Baralt shook his head. “I will not be fighting for the foreseeable future. I am afraid the situation on Hothrest will not resolve itself quickly.”

  “I see.” Relkhei’s gaze swept over the room, and for the first time, he seemed to notice her. “This looks very…cozy. I find it a mistake to encourage a slave to share a meal.”

  Baralt shrugged. “Our time together is growing short. Her next master can correct any bad habits I may have instilled.”

  “I shall do just that.” Relkhei walked over to the table and put a cold hand under her chin, lifting it to study her face. Remembering Master Napunsa’s instructions, she kept her eyes down and didn’t look back at him. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

  Relkhei’s hand slid casually down to her breast as she did her best to remain still. He found her nipple and gave it a sudden vicious twist, and she instinctively tried to knock his hand away. He didn’t release his grip and instead twisted harder. “Oh yes, I’m definitely looking forward to it.”

  Baralt growled and clamped his hand around Relkhei’s wrist until the male released her. “Do not touch her.”

  A flash of rage threatened the fight master’s usual suave urbanity before he could control it. “You forget yourself. She is my slave.”

  “She is mine until tomorrow, and I do not want her damaged. Once I’m gone, you are free to have your fun.”

  “You won’t be sorry to leave her behind?” Relkhei asked. “You are acting as if you care for her.”

  Baralt gave a casual shrug. “She has been entertaining, but I will have access to females of my own kind once I reach Hothrest. I prefer one of them to any alien female.”

  Even though she knew Baralt’s speech was intended to make Relkhei believe that he had no lasting interest in her, the words stung more than she would have expected. And even though he seemed happy with her company, was he secretly longing for a Hothian female?

  Relkhei laughed. “I prefer a variety. She will be my first human. Are you sure you do not wish to give her to me now? Since you are so looking forward to your Hothian females?”

  “Ah, but they are not here now, are they? This one will do to satisfy my needs until it is time to leave.”

  “Very well.” Relkhei started for the door in a swirl of perfumed silk, then paused. “Since this will be your last fight for me, I thought we should make it a memorable one. I have arranged a special opponent for you.”

  Unable to help herself, she darted a quick look at Baralt’s face. He looked as impassive as ever, and she admired his composure.

  “Who do you have in mind?”

  “I believe that I would prefer to surprise you.” Relkhei looked back at Izzie. “And I think it only fitting that your slave attend as well. I will send Master Napunsa to make sure that she is suitably attired.”

  “I prefer that she remain here so that she will be available immediately after the fight.”

  “I will make her available to you. In fact, she can watch the fight from my box and you can…use her in one of my private rooms afterward.”

  This time, she had to clench her nails into her palms in order to avoid reacting. How were they going to leave with the crowd if they would be with Relkhei? And she certainly did not want to spend any time with the bastard. Her nipple still throbbed painfully.

  Baralt darted a glance at her. “I said I don’t want her damaged, Relkhei. You are rough with your toys.”

  “I assure you that I will not lay a hand on her. Yet.” And with that ominous promise, Relkhei departed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Izzie experienced a depressing sense of déjà vu as she was led into the arena once again. At least this time, she wasn’t paraded around the entire arena or chained to the posts. Hopefully she would even avoid having her dress ripped away.

  Shortly after Relkhei had left, Tugtai had appeared with Master Napunsa himself. Baralt had given her a rueful look, but he hadn’t protested.

  “I have to leave to prepare for the match,” he said, shooting a glance at Master Napunsa. “Don’t forget I have plans for you after the fight.”

  Plans she could only hope they would still be able to carry out.

  “Yes, master,” she said obediently even though she hated even the pretense of obedience.

  “Very good.” Master Napunsa clapped four of his little hands together. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all. Now run along, warrior. We will take good care of your possession.”

  Her anger increased, but she did her best to hide it. Now was not the time to show the overbearing harem master exactly what she thought of being referred to as a “possession.”

  “Good girl,” Baralt murmured, and she knew he was praisin
g her control rather than her obedience. He flashed her a quick smile and left.

  “Now, let’s see.” The harem master surveyed her critically. “What do you think, Tugtai?”

  “Cloth of gold. Master Relkhei wants her to stand out, and you know he likes gold.”

  “With that hair and that skin? Yes, that could work. Proceed.”

  The two of them set to work—or rather Tugtai worked, assisted by two silent females, while Napunsa investigated Baralt’s liquor cabinet, then made himself at home on the couch.

  An hour later, she had been primped, oiled, and perfumed. Far too many cosmetics had been applied to her face, but the results were undeniably stunning. And the dress… An almost Grecian-style gown of shimmering gold cloth fastened with gold ribbons, it was cut low across her breasts and high on each leg, and the result was equally stunning.

  She caught a glimpse in the mirror and barely recognized herself. What Betty at the diner would have said if she could see her now. Unexpected tears threatened at the thought of the gruff but well-meaning older woman, and she blinked them back furiously.

  But then Betty had been forgotten as Master Napunsa had fastened matching gold chains around her wrists and led her out of Baralt’s quarters.

  As much as she wanted to yank the damned things away from him, she had to cooperate. She reminded herself of that fact over and over—as she was led into the arena, as she was displayed to the crowd, and most of all as she was presented to Relkhei, also clad in shimmering gold. It was an obvious statement of his ownership of her, and she suspected he had done it specifically to remind Baralt of that essential truth.

  After he too had displayed her to the crowd, Relkhei let her retreat to the back of the box as he continued to wave to his fans like some depraved Roman emperor. A small group of sycophants also lingered at the back, including Mehexip. As soon as she was out of Relkhei’s hearing range, the agent sidled up to her.

  “This is your fault, isn’t it?” he hissed in her ear. “You’re the reason Baralt is leaving the fight circuit. He was perfectly content until he won you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He has family obligations.” Her icy tone was more suited to a princess than a slave, but she had no reason to placate this odious little alien.

  “I think you bewitched him with that whore’s body. Or did you fill his head with thoughts of home and family? Did you think he’d offer to buy you?” He laughed cruelly. “But he didn’t, did he? And once Relkhei is tired of you, I’m going to ask him to give you to me. He was very grateful when I told him that Baralt’s contract is expiring.”

  “You told him?” If she was surprised, it was only because she hadn’t thought he had the intelligence to notice what was happening. “Disappointed to be losing your meal ticket?”

  He frowned, but apparently the expression translated well enough for his face to darken. “Perhaps I will be able to use your body to make up some of that lost income. Assuming Relkhei leaves you in salable condition. I suspect he blames you as well.”

  She managed to hide her shudder, redirecting her gaze to the arena and ignoring Mehexip. Was that why Relkhei wanted her in his booth? And if the fight master didn’t already blame her, she wouldn’t be surprised if Mehexip managed to convince him.

  A gong sounded to silence the crowd, and she moved back to the front of the box. An amplified voice began announcing the match, but she ignored it, already scanning the arena for Baralt’s big white-furred body, until a name caught her attention.

  “Did he say Varga?”

  “Yes, he did.” Relkhei smiled mockingly at her. “Under the terms of our contract, I have the right to determine the opponent of his last match.”

  “But he’s—” She stopped midsentence. Of course the fight master already knew that the two males were friends. That was undoubtedly why he had chosen Varga.

  A second gong sounded, and the two fighters entered from opposite ends of the arena. Baralt looked reassuringly strong and confident, and her anxiety lessened—until she looked at Varga.

  Varga was easily as big as Baralt, but his bluish-green skin was not furred, and it was easy to see the heavy, bulging muscles covered only by a brief, black loincloth. He was built like a weightlifter, but he moved with a sinuous grace that argued that his muscles were completely natural. Terrible scars covered much of his skin, oddly highlighted by hints of gold.

  He looked big, brutal, and utterly lethal, and her pulse raced. Even if they were an even match under other circumstances, Baralt was suffering from the week of constant matches and his still-healing knee. Would their friendship be enough to prevent Varga from inflicting serious damage?

  The two males came to a stop in front of the box. Baralt’s gaze went immediately to her, and she saw him snarl as he took in the matching outfits. Relkhei smirked.

  “Baralt the Exterminator won the human slave at last week’s death match; however, he must prove that he can keep her by defeating the Juggernaut. She will be awarded to the winner of the match.”

  “You can’t do that,” Baralt protested as the announcer finished.

  Relkhei snatched her up next to him and raised her chained hands. “I most certainly can. My slave, my rules.”

  “You cannot force us to fight to the death.”

  “No. But I insist on third blood.”

  There was a murmur from those around her, and she wished she understood the significance.

  “You’re on.” Varga’s voice was a deep, rumbling growl, as if the planet itself was speaking. “I wouldn’t mind a little human to fuck.”

  “Never.” Baralt’s eyes blazed.

  Relkhei laughed. “Then let the games begin.”

  There was no other signal. The two males flew at each other as the arena erupted with cheers. They both moved with unbelievable speed, and her heart pounded along with the punishing blows they exchanged. Baralt roared, and she saw a streak of blood darken his white fur. Her stomach twisted.

  “First blood,” Mehexip cheered.

  Baralt barely paused before resuming his attack, but even though she could hear the heavy thud of his blows, neither they nor the rake of his claws seemed to affect Varga.

  “Did you know that he can turn his skin to stone?” a tall female with ice-blue scales exclaimed to the female next to her.

  “Really? Do you think he can do that all over? That could be…useful,” her friend responded, and they both tittered.

  Her stomach clenched again. How could Baralt fight an opponent who could turn to stone?

  “Varga’s weakness is the scars,” Mehexip answered her unspoken question. He was watching the fight with professional detachment, but she was too anxious for information to move away. “There? See that?” A thin trickle of gold flowed from a wound on Varga’s chest. “Baralt managed to catch the edge of one with his claws. First blood.”

  “You mean second blood,” she blurted out.

  “No. The contest is won by the first person to draw blood three times.” He shot her a triumphant glance. “I suspect most of it will belong to Baralt.”

  The battle continued for what seemed like hours as she watched in horror, unable to look away. The heat of the three suns beat down on the arena, and the crowd screamed with every blow, but it all faded away except for the two males fighting on the sand. Even her untrained eye could tell that they were very evenly matched. Baralt dealt a punishing blow, knocking Varga to the ground, but it didn’t count as a blood blow. Then Varga caught Baralt across the scalp, and blood streamed down Baralt’s face. She couldn’t help giving a horrified gasp.

  Mehexip laughed. “I knew you had feelings for the bastard. It will make it even sweeter when he leaves you behind.”

  She ignored him, too focused on the fight to respond. If Varga managed to make Baralt bleed one more time…

  But the next blood to be spilled belonged to Varga. They were tied. The pace of the match had slowed—they were both obviously exhausted—and the crowd yelled insu
lts and encouragement. Varga aimed for Baralt’s stomach, but Baralt ducked back, and the blow missed. She watched in horror as Baralt’s knee gave out, and he started to fall, but with a last remnant of his incredible speed, he reached out and took Varga with him, slicing one of the scars in the process. Third blood. Baralt had won.

  Baralt rolled out from under Varga’s body and pushed himself painfully to his feet, then turned to assist his friend up as well. It had been a good match, and he was oddly grateful that Relkhei had offered him the opportunity to end his fighting career in such a way.

  “Well met, my friend,” he said, retaining his clasp for a second.

  “Well met. Now go claim your female. Everything is prepared.”

  His hand tightened. “I hope we meet again.”

  “If only you weren’t going to that damn ice planet. I don’t like the cold. Now go. Your female is waiting.”

  Baralt dipped his head and turned to the stands. The crowds cheered, throwing flowers and coins at his feet, but he ignored them, his only focus on Isabel. She was leaning over the side of the box, watching him anxiously. Was she truly concerned for him? Or only because he was her path to freedom?

  No. He knew she worried about him, and he refused to believe it was only because he would be useful to her. He limped his way across the sand, no longer trying to hide his injury. There were no more opponents studying his weakness, and he found he didn’t care in the least. All he cared about was the female waiting for him.

  “Congratulations.” Relkhei’s voice was as mocking as ever, but Baralt could see the fury in his eyes. It lessened somewhat at the sight of his injuries.

  “I have need of my female,” he growled.

  “Ah, yes. I remember your rather dramatic departure after the death match. Are you planning to—”

  He had already reached Isabel and thrown her over his shoulder. Her small fists beat against his back, just as they had the previous time, but at least she was just acting this time. He hoped.

  “Where?”

  Relkhei eyed him, and for a terrible moment, Baralt thought he would renege on their agreement, but then he summoned one of his servants.