by Zora Jorel
“Hells,” I mutter to myself. The heat of friction and our burning attraction is like a white hot star.
Reaching and pulling her braided hair, I bring her head back so I can whisper in her ear. “This is what you’ve wanted since we met, isn’t it, Brea? Don’t even think about lying.”
She bites her lip and moan, the yes implied. I bite her ear softly. The way she squirms her ass against my pelvis in response is the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt.
Our slow dance picks up, our bodies slapping to a rhythm of a beat that’s been generations in the making.
“You were made for me, Brea Stone.”
“Lema co cous.”
She answers me in Duqaanian, her mind lost between this world and another. Give me more. Her cunt milks my cock with each thrust, forcing me to use all self control to keep my wits.
I pull out. She whimpers disapprovingly. Brea needn’t worry.
I roar when my cock splits in two, both rods glistening with her wetness.
A momentary look of apprehension frames her face as she looks back. There’s no going back, though.
“Stay.” I reach into my bag and pull out some of the aqueous solution used with tetlu preservation. I lather my thinner cock, nice and thick.
“Are you ready?”
She bites her lip, then nods. My queen, never showing any fear.
I push my cocks into her, one sliding effortlessly into her cunt, the other slowly through the tight passage of her ass.
She holds my hand tightly as I rut her at a measured pace, her tightness the thing of paradise. I feel her losing control beneath me, a slow build to a never-ending shiver, as her pussy clamps down on my cock.
Brea meets my thrust, then shakes wildly under me.
I lose control and release my seed in her, filling her treasures with my Duqaanian seed.
When the quakes finally stop, I let her collapse onto the floor.
I pick her up and carry her to my sleeping quarters. The moment she hits the cot, she’s unconscious.
I lie down next to her, our shared heat no longer supernova, but still enough to warm a planetary system.
Mine. You’re mine.
Hells help anything that tries to change that.
At the edge of waking up, I instinctive reach for her, only to find empty space.
“Brea!” I shoot up, looking around the empty room.
She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have, would she?
Leave. She wouldn’t have just leave me, would she?
“Hells!” I should’ve kept her chained and bound, the way strong-willed women were subdued eons ago on Duqaan.
It’s like my own essence has been stripped from me, leaving me a shell. The thought of not seeing her again, not feeling her…
Get a grip, Markuz. I abducted her once, I’ll do it again.
I storm through the door of my quarters, still naked and ready to expose all of Earth to my full glory if that’s what it takes to bring…back…my…Brea!
“Shit!” A voice says from down the corridor.
I rush to the interrogation room and find Brea hooked up to the projector, fists hanging by her side. She’s wrapped in a sheet, and there’s nothing I want more than to rip of off and spank her as she deserves.
“Why can’t I figure this out?”
She looks up and gives me a wry smile, filling my heart with relief. I rush and plant upon her a deep kiss, enjoying her taste. “Never leave me like that without first letting me know!”
She rolls her eyes and gives me a sardonic salute. “Yes, Commandant! Jeez. I didn’t think you’d mind me taking a shower and using your equipment. You did promise you’d help me if I helped you, right?” As she speaks, she eyes my hanging cock. I laugh.
“And what have you done to my projector, by the way?” The perpetual flicker that’s been in the crystal since I obtained it is gone. It’s like a brand new unit.
Brea shrugs. “I’ve always been good at mechanical stuff. I’m not as smart as my friend Cora or anything, but I hold my own.”
“You continue to amaze me, Brea Stone. And this?”
The scene in the crystal is of a human living quarters. There are items strewn in various directions, some broken. A large red stain is prominent in the center of the floor.
“Tenna Cotton’s living room. It’s where she was killed. I thought maybe now that I’ve supposedly freed my mind that I could see something—anything—that could help Trey. But…nothing.”
“Is it possible that he really might’ve…”
“No!”
I nod. What she believes, so do I.
I pull out a crate to sit. “Brea, earlier, when you were able to gain control of your thoughts, I saw an image of a tree. It seemed to bring you peace. Tell me about it.”
I can tell the memory is very personal, the way her eyes shift from side to side and she tugs a braid. “It’s one of the last happy things I did with my mother. There’s this park on the outskirts of the city and we had a picnic under a willow tree. It was during one of her sober periods. I could tell she was struggling, but she put me first, you know? Shortly after is when things got really bad.”
The image appears on the crystal. Brea’s eyes swell with a happy sadness.
“Le nea lu ma llet maco ramon, kalema le et mort. I will meet you by the remon tree, where spirits say goodbye…”
She looks at me quizzically. “Where have I heard that before?”
I laugh. “It’s the beginning of one of Kulan’s favorite poems. On our homeworld, a remon tree looks very much like one of your willow trees. Maybe that’s why that memory of yours helped you connect with Kulan’s essence.”
She nods understandingly, but there’s a bit of apprehension, one that I’ve observed whenever I mention Kulan. “She sounds like she was quite a woman.”
“Yes, she was.” I take her hand. “But everything she was, you are, and much, much more. Never doubt that.”
Brea gives me a soft smile, and kisses my hand. “Do you mind telling me about her? I guess I have her memories, but I’d like to see her from your perspective.”
I let out a deep breath. “She was brilliant, and beautiful, and dedicated to justice. That’s the side the public saw, the side that made her the most respected of sholqua.”
“And the other side?”
“It is an unofficial tradition that the Protectorate sholqua represent the coldness and detachment of justice. Kulan, though, had a belief: to deny passion is to invite corruption. She loved poetry, music, the arts. She believed in the boundlessness of the Duqaanian soul, including the radical notion of rehabilitation. Such notions caused controversy within the Protectorate walls. There were times, in fact, when I feared for her li…”
A thought strikes me. I stop, the very notion making me sick. Suddenly the Blademaiden betrayal takes on a new light.
“What is it, Markuz?”
“Nothing of importance right now,” I say, unsettled but unwilling to Brea be weighed down even more by my issues, when this moment should be about her and making things right for her family. “Brea, I want you to try again. Hold onto that memory of your mother under the willow. Let it bring you peace. Then see the scene of the dead girl’s home. Let Kulan help. She is not your enemy.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but pauses. Then she nods, trusting my counsel.
I sit back as she lets her mind wonder. The projector shifts from willow tree to murder scene, the color changing from a somber blue to a sharp red. Slowly, the color mutes, signaling her control of her emotions.
“Good.”
We sit in silence for minutes. Each time her frustration rises, I remind her to go back to her happy memory.
“Oh my god,” she finally says, breaking the silence. Her thoughts focus to a single broken item, an animal knickknack on the floor. “Why didn’t I see that before?”
“What is it, Brea?”
“Those figurines are special made and only sold one place in the city.
The shop’s a front for some sleazy stuff, which is why the owner doesn’t take NuCredits. He only deals with cash. I think…I think I might know who killed Tenna!”
“That is excellent, Brea.”
She jumps up into my lap. Her thick brown lips meet mine, wet and soft. “I need to go take this information to Harvey and my boss.”
I grit my teeth. “Harvey, as in your mate?” I feel my skin getting darker, my muscles tightening.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He and I are done, I promise. We’ve been done a long time, if I’m being honest with myself.” She narrows her eyes, scraping a single finger down my jawline. “And why do you care, anyway?”
“Because you’re mine.” I hold her tight. “My sera. My…jenu.”
I feel her heart quicken, her breathing get shallow. “You know I understand what that means, right?”
“Good. Then I won’t have to rut the knowledge into you.”
“Oh, then maybe my memory isn’t so good after all.”
I start to pull down the sheet, uncovering those plush mammaries I plan on sucking for the next hour.
“At some point, you’re gonna have to let me get some clothes.” She rolls her head back, giving me access to her tender neck.
“Clothes are overrated.”
It’s at that moment the entire warehouse starts to shake.
“Markuz?”
I gently drop Brea onto the floor. I rush to my makeshift communications room, praying this isn’t what I believe.
“Hells!”
It’s as I feared. My Protectorate computer has been remotely accessed by a ranking member of my command.
I rush to put on my uniform, tripping as I make way through the corridor.
“Markuz! What’s going on?” Brea calls after me.
My strides get longer and more desperate as I close the distance to my ship. To my horror, the view-screen on the bridge confirms my worst fears.
Grev. He’s here.
Back outside the ship, I look up through the rooftop windows, at the shimmering atmosphere, a tell-tale sign of a cloaked ship.
“Commandant. I see you’ve been busy.” I’m startled to find him standing behind me, a dark grin twisting his face. He leans his head to the side, his black eyes squarely on Brea.
“It looks like we have a problem.”
8
My muscles tense. My head pounds. Markuz stands stiff, the implied threat written all over his body. And most tellingly, the pendant around my neck pulsates with a fiery crackle. A warning.
I’m not sure who this new guy is, but all signs point to trouble.
“You must be…Brea.”
He speaks in native Duqaanian, but I understand him perfect. Not only the words, but the tone.
Be careful.
For once, I’m grateful I have Kulan in my head, by my side, a filter to this suddenly dangerous world.
“Sir, if only you’d made me aware of your pending arrival—”
“My arrival to the planet you were specifically ordered to stay away from? Hmph. I warned you I would possibly send an Inquisitor. What better one than I?” The scarred Duqaanian sneers.
Markuz eyes him with hatred as the alien walks to me, but doesn’t make a move. Grev pinches an edge of the sheet covering my body. I snatch it away. “Besides, from the looks of things, it seems you’ve been too…busy…anyway. All in the pursuit of justice, of course. Right?”
He leans in close.
“You are Brea, correct?”
“How do you know my name?” I don’t even attempt to hide my inherent disdain of him. I don’t give a damn what respect Markuz is willing to give him, I don’t bow to anyone.
A low huff. “Commandant Markuz keeps meticulous records about beings of interest, just as he was taught to. Meticulous until recently, that is. I’ve read about your detainment, but curiously not the results of it.” He turns back to Markuz. “You suspect this one of striking Kulan dead, do you not?”
Markuz purses his lips. “Yes.”
“And your interrogation?”
A couple of droids bearing the Protectorate sigil step forward out of the darkness. It’s almost as if they expect him to lie, to have a reason to act.
“Inconclusive.”
“Then I shall enjoy inquisitioning this murderer myself.”
Run, Brea.
The part of me that’s Kulan’s essence wants me to high tail it. No. Absolutely not.
He grabs my arm, his grip like iron, immediately cutting off the blood flow. A roar fills the air as Markuz goes crazy.
“Get your hands off of her, Grev!”
The droids have him now, holding subduing him with all of their might. It’s barely enough.
“You forget yourself, Markuz. Just because you were once Kulan’s pet, means nothing anymore. This wench will be strapped down and inquisitioned.” He lets out a hot breath. “And I will enjoy each moment,” he whispers.
Every fiber of my being tells me that what I’m about to do is a bad idea.
“Yana mi le, Grev,” I say in clear Duqaanian. There is momentary surprise on Grev’s ugly grill. Past him, I call tell from Markuz’s body language that he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. I’ve painted an even bigger target on my back, but there’s no going back now.
“Well, well, well.” Grev releases, taking a step back. “This certainly makes things interesting.”
What are you doing, girl? I’m not sure if it’s Kulan’s essence or my own conscious asking me, but shit, if I’m going to fake it, I better damn well make it, like Uncle Tee taught me.
“Markuz was only trying to protect me and, of course, his investigation. Duty, honor, justice above all else. I’m…well, I guess you can say that Kulan’s inside of me.”
Grev squints at me suspiciously, before looking back at Markuz. “Is this true, Commandant?”
We meet eyes. All this genetic and fated mates talk had better not be for naught. If there was ever a time to trust me…
“Yes. Yes, Commandant Superior. Before she died, Kulan performed the (()), transferring her essence to the one she deemed worthy. Brea Stone is that being. She is a warrior in every way a Protector should be.”
Grev motions for the droids to release Markuz. Despite the seeming downturn of tensions, the bastard seems more dangerous than ever.
“Does she have access to all of Kulan’s memories?”
Markuz shifts his eyes to me, to signal that he’s ready to play along. “No,” he lies. “And Kulan’s blade was destroyed.”
“So an incomplete transference?”
It takes everything for me not to clutch the pulsating pendant on my neck. I’m shocked that it’s not sending out a huge beacon to everyone in the area. Stuck within the rock is a piece of Kulan’s blade, the only remaining remnant of it from Brazil. It broke and melded with the surrounding rock when she fell. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I sense with all of my being that it’s the biggest threat to Grev on this planet.
“A pity,” he says, eying me greedily. “But perhaps she could have some uses.” I don’t like the sound of that at all. It’s getting somewhat easier to access Kulan’s memories and emotions, and what I can of Grev is not flattering. Arrogant. Ambitious. Political. A achieving snake if there ever was one. Honor is only a afterthought with him, and he’d gladly strike his own mother dead if it meant an additional stripe on his arm.
And suddenly, what Markuz was hinting at before makes perfect sense.
“What is the status of your ship, Commandant?” he asks, never taking his eyes off me.
“There was a fault in the transwarp core, but I’ve repaired it. You don’t really expect us to leave immediately—”
“That is exactly what I expect!” Grev growls. “We will take your sholqua tempora back to the motherworld, where she will undergo a true inquisition. As non-invasive as possible, of course.” He bares his teeth, overly white in the dim warehouse light. “If she p
asses, she’ll be put through the trials to become a real member of the Protectorate, and if the Circle agrees, our sania, a symbol for a new era.”
His era. I’ve been around Harvey long enough to recognize figurehead talk. Grev wants the true power.
“And you, Markuz, can remain by her side, as you were bred to be. There’s no need for you to do anything more than remain a good little pet.”
“Wait! I can’t just leave. I have family here. I need to help my cousin—”
“Your human needs are irrelevant. All that matters is duty, and your responsibility to the essence you’ve been gifted. X56, prepare the priso—I mean, our honored guest.”
As Grev starts to walk away, heat bubbles in my veins. If this son of a bitch thinks I’m just going to be his little tool, he’s dead wrong. I have a little surprise of my own.
“She was betrayed. A blademaiden betrayed them all.”
It’s like every molecule in the air sits still. Markuz’s fingers curl into a fist, ready for anything. Grev stops dead in his tracks. And I swear to god, there’s a hint of fear on that pugly face.
Brea, I hope you know what you’re doing.
“Interesting,” he rumbles with a half-breath. “This bears further investigation. We’ll, of course, do so. On the motherworld. X56! Get her ready.”
“I’ll get her ready,” Markuz growls, still ready to strike.
Grev gives a half nod as Markuz marches past him. “Fine. X56 will see to it that things move expeditiously, and will serve as your co-pilot back home.” He and the other droid step into some invisible conveyer, which takes them up through the rooftop window into what I assume is their ship.
Markuz firmly guides me by the elbow to the second level, X56 hot on our heels. “Brea Stone, this is a dangerous game.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You can wait there,” he commands the droid as we enter his quarters. The droid stands, eyes red, watching our every movement, as Markuz fits me into a self-fitting jumpsuit.
“Did you see his reaction?” I murmur. Markuz says nothing, but his nostril flare speaks volumes.
Maybe my outburst was a bit impetuous, but Grev’s response confirmed both Markuz and my suspicions.
