Star Chasers

by Viola Grace

  He yanked his head back and gave her a mischievous grin. “Alien? You are the alien here.”

  Isabella giggled and pulled his head back down to her lips. She felt his fingers fumble with the laces of her bodice. He slipped it down. Then he loosened the belt of the dress and slid it down to her ankles. All she wore beneath was a pair of panties. He fumbled with it until she lay naked before him.

  He stood and removed his tunic and pants, then gazed down at her. His eyes blazed with passion as he admired her naked form. There was no embarrassment, not this time. He made her feel beautiful and alluring. Like she was the air he breathed.

  “The moonlight makes you look like a goddess, love. You are exquisite. Your hair is like spun moonlight rays, your eyes the blue of the ocean, and—”

  And he looked as if he could have been a Greek god. All muscles and tawny skin, his long, wavy hair blowing in the breeze. Polarium’s light shone brightly, casting him in an ethereal golden glow. She ached to touch every inch of him.

  “Keep telling me stuff like that, and I may just attack you. Come here,” she ordered and held her arms out.

  She felt his cock throb against her belly as he lay on top of her, his chest pressing against her breasts. His lips caressed her forehead while his fingers combed through her long hair. He kissed her nose, her temples, her chin, then claimed her lips again, drawing the love from her heart and soul.

  He broke free for a moment and murmured, “Never could I have imagined the gods and goddesses would send you to me.”

  “Did you really see me in your dreams?” she whispered.

  “Yes, I did. You are the one. My lifemate. Will you join with me, my princess?”

  “I’m not sure what that means. Are you asking me to marry you?” Isabella asked uncertainly, not at all sure if she was ready for marriage. All she knew was that she wanted him. That her body was on fire for him, and those flames needed to be doused.

  “Marry? Yes, if this means betrothal, yes again.”

  Isabella had to think for a moment, but not for long. “If this means we’re engaged, yes. But I don’t want to get married right away. Allow me to come to terms with everything that has happened first? But enough talking. For God’s sake, continue what you started.”

  “I love you, sweet princess. I want you to be sure before we—”

  “I’m sure, now shut up.” She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head close to hers. His lips crashed down on hers and revealed all the built-in passion within him. She moaned under his caresses. When his hand kneaded her breast, she pushed his head down and arched her back. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard while his other hand massaged the free breast.

  Her belly felt like it would burst into flames any minute. Her clit pulsed. His lips rained kisses across her breasts, and his fingers tweaked both nipples while he kissed his way down her chest, to her belly, to finally stop just above her pubes. He sat on his knees between her legs, gazing down at her. She spread her legs wide for him, drew her knees up. The breeze caressed her opened folds.

  He bent low and licked her juices, then gently nibbled on her clit while his fingers found her throbbing and waiting vagina. When he entered a finger and began to rotate it within her, she squirmed. “Take me, Tanoth, please,” she moaned throatily.

  She watched him sit on his knees again, take his cock in his hand, and guide it to her waiting opening. She drew in a sharp breath when she felt the tip enter. Oh, it felt good, so good. Like nothing she’d ever imagined. He was so big, he had to enter her slowly. When he was halfway in, he lay on top of her and took her into his arms, his lips claiming her in a neverending kiss that took her to the brink of insanity.

  She pushed up against him, wrapped her legs around his body, then felt him push in all the way in one thrust. It didn’t hurt like hell, as so many of her friends had claimed. Sure, she felt a ping of pain as he broke through, but then he filled her, completely. He lay still for a few moments, caressing her, kissing her and fondling her hair. Then he began to move, and she thought the exhilarating rollercoaster ride would send her over the edge.

  “Yes, baby, oh yes. More, please...” she called out.

  “I love you,” he said in a husky voice.

  “And I love you,” she managed to get out. Her libido was in overdrive. She was so ready for him to fulfill that desperate need, to come. His body began to tremble. He gasped, and she matched him thrust for thrust as they rode the final wave of passion.

  He collapsed on top of her and just held her, panting. They lay quietly for a little while until they got their breath back. Isabella leaned away from him. “Now I’d like to go for a swim.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, why not? You know all of me now. I’m no longer ashamed to be naked in front of you.” She scrunched up her face. “Besides... this sand gets everywhere.”

  Pushing him away, she stood and raced toward the gentle tide running onto the beach. The water was so calm now. She turned to see him just standing there, watching her. “Come on! The water feels balmy!”

  “You look like a moon nymph. I can’t help just watching you.”

  “But I want to play. Join me,” she shouted and waded deeper into the water. When she was waist deep, she dove in and swam a distance.

  Something grabbed her from below and dragged her beneath the surface. She choked, spluttered, fought... then surfaced to look into his grinning face. “I’m going to get you for this!”

  They played and frolicked in the water until finally he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to their campsite. “Time to bed down for the night, princess.”

  She pulled his head down, seeking his lips. “Sounds like the perfect plan to me.”

  The week had flown by. Before she realized, it was time to head back to Cront. Tanoth had to resume his duties at the mine in Xynnar, and she had to go back to the palace and help Cylena with the twins. It would not be a permanent job. She knew that, and so did the king and queen, and she was especially glad of that now. She and Tanoth had discussed getting married—or joined, as it was called on Ierilia. She wanted to wait a little while, and he understood.

  Isabella sighed and looked at the rising suns just peeking above the horizon, sending their beautiful colors across the sky. They were spending their last day together at the same beach where they had first made love. She decided it would be her favorite vacation place in the future. Their future. Leaning against him, she heaved a heavy sigh.

  “What’s wrong, sweet?”

  “Nothing. I almost hate to go back.”

  “Yes, as do I. But I’m afraid work calls for both of us.”

  “I feel so happy, so content. I love you so much,” she said softly.

  “And I you.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Now if only all strife on Ierilia would stop—if that ugly sorcerer and Zohmes would just go away, life could be perfect.”

  This time he sighed. “Life can never be perfect. How dull would that be? I wonder if the king and his team were able to recover the grimoire and the gem.”

  She turned and kissed him. “I suppose we’ll find out when we get back home. Now let’s enjoy this last quiet day together. It’s unfortunate there are some people on the beach this time, or I’d be stripping off my clothes and running into the water.”

  He laughed. “You are a little vixen.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and grinned. “No, just an illegal stowaway who has finally found a home.”

  This story is connected to the Crimson Realm Chronicles. Many of the characters appear in the following books.

  1 In Search of Pride—e-Book and Print (includes Carnal Twilight)

  2 The Dragon’s Lion—e-Book and Print

  3 Sword of Betrayal—e-Book and Print

  4 Sword of Judgement—e-Book and Print

  5 Testing the Crown—e-Book and Print

  6 Shard in the Mirror—e-Book and Print

  7 Initiation Genesis—e-Boo
k and Print

  The e-Books are available at extasybooks.com, amazon.com, and many other 3rd party sellers.

  About Taryn Jameson and Gabriella Bradley

  Taryn Jameson is a mother, artist, and avid reader who lives in an enchanted forest that sparks her imagination to create. Her latest outlet is the written word. She is the alter ego of cover artist Angela Waters.

  Gabriella Bradley is a mother, a grandmother, and runs a busy business. She has been a writer and artist all her life. Her hobbies include hiking, gardening, swimming, sewing, embroidery. Favorite movies are old timers like Gone with the Wind, Spartacus etc. Favorite TV series are Fringe and Lost, Favorite music is Abba.

  White Star

  By

  Belinda McBride

  Chapter One

  Attigua—The Blue Planet

  He woke with the lingering memory of green fields and skies of the deepest cerulean blue.

  Brock Uhern lay sprawled in what was probably the largest bed in the city, red silk entwining his bare limbs, wicking the cold sweat from his skin. He stared at the decorative mural on the ceiling, at the sumptuous carving surrounding the shuttered windows, and breathed the softly scented air. The sun didn’t shine past the shutters; the sky outside would be grey and ominous, the clouds heavy and low and a perfect match for his mood. The Blue Planet was nowhere near its romantic name. It was wet and cold and grey.

  He could count on his hand the times he’d seen a blue sky over the past seven years.

  He rose, visited the toilet, and stepped into the shower, frowning at the return of the scaly growths on the slate walls of the chamber. They flourished in this climate. Lately, they were returning more quickly after cleaning. The canisters full of tuffa rock weren’t absorbing the moisture from the air as they should.

  Ignoring the lichen, he ducked under the water, shivering slightly as it sluiced over his head, down his shoulders, and then his body. It was tepid, but he didn’t mind. It was clean and abundant.

  Stepping out, he wound sheeting around his body. It was bleached white, the fabric course and absorbent. At home, he’d have lounged naked in the bathing yard, allowing the cleansing bright light of his planet’s sun to dry and warm his skin. He was still darker than most of the locals on this soggy planet, but his skin had paled from russet to bronze in the seven annums he’d spent away from home. He barely recognized his own reflection when he saw it.

  One by one, he lightened the tall windows, praying for some view other than the cold grey sky, but was disappointed. He then saw a fleeting break in the sky. The blue shining through was pristine and pale. His heart leapt in hope, but the clouds quickly reclaimed their dominance. To his horror, his eyes filled with tears. He hadn’t cried in—he didn’t know how long. Forever, perhaps.

  He sighed and didn’t turn as the door to his chamber opened. He couldn’t afford to allow anyone to see his weakness. It would be reported to the trainers, and he’d have that to deal with as well.

  The soft shuffling step told him it was the cripple, the slave who was curiously independent. She rarely did housework. He mostly saw her attending King Jamis, or slipping innocuously along the hallways, face averted, arms laden with books and data wands. She must have slipped up and angered someone, to be assigned to cleaning.

  He opened his mouth to remind her to tend the shower but stopped.

  He’d be gone soon. Six weeks. Six more engagements. He’d then walk out of these rooms and never look back. He’d go home and pray for forgiveness. His parents would be stiff and hurt but wouldn’t withhold their love. He’d repent his sins and bring them the riches he’d earned. He’d work his hard muscles in the fields, or up in the sky farms. Anywhere they wanted him, as long as he never had to fight again.

  He’d build them a new farmstead if they wanted. Buy new equipment. But he wanted to go home. The need ached in his chest and tightened his throat. He stared out the window, out at the congested city down below, and further out, to the rough, grey ocean.

  The door opened again, and a pale young man delivered a tray laden with his morning meal and the scarlet tea that never failed to wake him. Once the table was arranged, he sat, staring down at the plate, trying to extend the illusion that he was alone. He ignored the paperwork set to the side of his plates.

  The young man helped the crippled girl with the bedding. It would be changed out with another color, but was always the filmy silk produced so abundantly on this planet. The damp conditions encouraged the growth of a slug-like invertebrate that wove intricate webs that laborers harvested on a daily basis. The farms sprawled up into the hills and mountains and were the backbone of the planet’s economy. It even grew wild, and a cottage industry had risen based on the silk... more crude and rough than his luxurious clothing and bedding. They grew some grain, but it was prone to spoil, so wasn’t stored. His meals consisted mostly of fish and fowl, and the few greens that flourished with the moisture and limited sun.

  It seemed fitting that this planet was wealthy from the silk of a slug. The whole place was wet and slimy on the best of days.

  He sighed again and sipped the tea, wondering if he’d have withdrawing pains when he left Attigua and no longer had access to the stuff. The food was well-prepared, though heavily spiced. The bitter clarity of the tea cut through the rich flavors. He ate methodically, efficiently—fully aware that his survival hinged on his physical well-being. He must remain healthy and robust, his mind sharp as a blade and his reactions quicker than those of his competition. He primarily fought bipedal humanoids like himself, but the competition had grown more challenging the past few matches. He was coming home with injuries, and far more fatigued than he’d ever been in his life.

  He looked at the empty plate before him. If someone wanted him to lose... He pushed the plate away, staring down at the surface of the table. It was a rich, dark inlaid wood. The wealth they squandered on one lone fighter was breathtaking. He was so famous, he couldn’t leave the palace complex without being recognized and sometimes mobbed.

  His image was everywhere. If he were to walk into the travel-port and purchase a flight off the planet, that news would spread planet-wide in a matter of minutes, and he’d be apprehended. He knew that because he’d tried.

  Losing him would be a huge financial blow to the planet. With that grim thought in mind, he touched the papers and scanned the newest version of the contract, wishing they’d provided a translation in Common as well as in his own Braccin language. That way he could compare both translations to the original.

  Not that he didn’t trust the Royal Gladiatorial Foundation and the king who headed it.

  Actually, he didn’t trust them with his life.

  Literally.

  He read again, wincing at the terms. The first contract they’d offered last week reflected the exact duplication of his original terms, but for an abbreviated term of five annum rather than seven. He’d been offered better housing. A few nicer advantages and a higher lump sum wage. A bed slave. The original wage had sat in an off-planet bank for seven annum, quietly collecting interest. He’d diverted most of his prize earnings as well and had converted it all into Coalition credits. He’d lose on the fees, as he’d have to travel outside his system to recover it, but the stability was its own reward.

  This second contract left him in his current housing. It wasn’t a significant downgrade from the original contract. Just enough to let him know he wouldn’t do better. Next week, they’d withdraw something else. The wages would drop. They’d withdraw some of his trainings.

  And his fights would grow increasingly dangerous. It seemed the RGF didn’t wish to lose their top fighter, nor did they want anyone else to take him. They were willing to kill him to prevent that. As he was their star, his fall would be spectacular, and the victor would quickly take his place.

  He shoved the papers away and carried his tea to the window, gazing out at the unchanging view. Wet rooftops. Wet streets. Vehicles splashed through potholes that were never ade
quately repaired. Out on the ocean, the water was choppy.

  There was a white glow behind the clouds on the horizon. It wasn’t this planet’s sun, but a distant star called Polarium. When he’d first arrived, the clouds had broken, and for a few moments, he’d witnessed the star’s brilliant, white light. He’d thought it was beautiful. Now, it just seemed weak and drab.

  As though responding to his mood, a minor tremor ran through the thick stone of the floor. They happened daily, as they always had. Even the planet itself was miserable with its lot.

  Behind him, dishes rattled, and he turned, watching the crippled slave stack them on a tray. She picked up the sheaf of papers, neatened them and centered them on the table.

  “Take them away.”

  She turned, surprise quickly suppressed by her normal submissive behavior. She quickly ducked her head, hiding her face, but he’d seen enough to hold him still, shock running through his body.

  She was beautiful. She was damaged, as many of the slaves were, a dark bruise staining her left cheekbone. She was shockingly pale, as most of the people on this planet were. They lacked exposure to their sun’s light, and it showed. But she wasn’t pasty white like the others. Her skin held a tawny hue, with time under the sun, she’d be golden, like the royals, who had the leisure to take journeys to other places, or even to spend time in artificial light.

  Her eyes... green. Green as the greenest fields reflecting the gold of the summer sun. Green as the most precious gemstone in a dragon’s hoard. Her eyes made him want to weep. Her hair was tightly bound, but the same tawny bronze that her skin should be.

  Before she turned away, he saw sharp intelligence in her expression, curiosity, and cunning. She boldly met his gaze, and then lowered her head, unable to hide her true nature beneath the mask of a slave. After she left, his gaze lingered on the door. His heart pounded, and for once the arousal of his body was spontaneous, rather than manipulated by a bold hand or a cunning mouth.