81. Chapter One
Chapter One
S omewhere in Space aboard the ship the Fool’s Errand
Present Day
Savannah
I love the feeling of strength and exhilaration as I spar in the ludus with my friends. As a Marine on Earth, I enjoyed many things about basic training and my deployments, but was never keen on hand-to-hand combat. Maybe it was the unfortunate combination of my lack of enthusiasm and my lackluster abilities.
In the past few years on this vessel, as we fight for our lives against the people who used to own us and who are still trying to re-enslave us, I’ve had plenty of time to hone my skills.
The males I spar with are all different species from me, all former gladiators who trained much of their lives to fight and kill in the arena. I couldn’t ask for more skilled trainers or a better support system.
Today, I’m sparring with Dax, the largest male on the ship. He has no desire to fight in arenas anymore, but this guy can spar with the best of them. Soft-spoken and kind, after he hands me an ignominious defeat, he never fails to give me advice about how I can improve.
“Come on, Savannah,” he urges. “Don’t hold back. Trust me, I won’t let you hurt me. I have a shield.”
We’re using longswords. The high-pitched clink when the swords connect at just the right angle still raises the hair on the back of my neck. I’m sweating, straining, and pushing my body to its limit.
In my mind, I tell him I’m not holding back. If I wasn’t panting so hard, I’d tell the big lug I’d lunge for his chest if I could. But I funnel all my energy into the fight.
I focus only on this moment—the smell of the gym, my exhaustion, the drive to win, the sounds of my breath, our grunts, and the weapons clanging. It’s the only time of the day I can ignore the worry and guilt hanging over my head like a hangman’s noose.
A s water sluices over me in the shower, I feel the first stirrings of need pooling low in my pelvis. I haven’t felt aroused in months, maybe more. Possibly it’s because it’s been such a long, hard day. Maybe it’s the stress I’ve been under since Theos was stolen off this very ship a month ago. Perhaps it’s because it’s been almost two years since I was abducted from my bed on Earth. For whatever reason, I’d thought my sensual feelings had died long ago.
Music drifts into my private bathroom from my cabin and I feel the steady thrum of the spaceship motor beneath my feet. I drop my washcloth and shutter my eyes as I allow my hands to roam over my water-slicked body.
Remember this, Savannah? Pleasure? The enjoyment of your body?
Yes, I do.
I luxuriate in the simple feel of the water on my skin, then squeeze some liquid soap into my hands and slide my palms over my thighs and belly. The floral fragrance scents the room, and I tip my head back, enjoying the simple pleasure of sensual touch.
I prolong my explorations until the wanting expands, becomes insistent, then I pluck my nipples. Softly at first, then more forcefully. I alternate between palming circles on the hard tips and strumming them until, for the first time in ages, I feel a twinge between my legs.
Desire. Dear God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt it. It suddenly strikes me that feeling desire and feeling desired are connected. Sadness creeps in at the edges of my soul when I allow that thought. I haven’t felt desired in such a long time.
Shaking my head to remove that thought, I return to my physical explorations. A few more minutes playing with my breasts results in little pulses in my clit.
That’s right. It’s like riding a bicycle. Remember this?
I pull the shower head off its perch, twist the dial to a hard, steady stream, and aim it between my legs. Teasing myself, I don’t point it to where the need is. I circle my clit, building the urgency.
Retreating until my ass hits the metal wall of the tiny shower, I tip my head backward, open my legs wider, and point the water right where I want it. Now I remember why I quit even trying to give myself pleasure. My body refuses. Like a balky horse, shaking its head when refusing to step into a trailer, my body backs away from the pleasure.
I change the direction of the water from one side of my clit to the other, but instead of getting closer to my goal, it retreats.
After turning the shower off, I barely towel dry before I flip the covers off the bed, slide in, and spread my legs. I’m a woman Marine. A warrior. Not too long ago, one of the males on board told me if I’d been born in a different place, I would have been a gladiator. He was right. I don’t back down. I don’t give up a fight. I’m not going to let this release escape me—I’m going to chase it.
I pull the little vibrator from my nightstand drawer and place it next to my clit, trying to at least bring myself back to the precipice I was on when I was in the shower, but the feeling eludes me. After tossing the machine to the side, I work myself in earnest with my fingers, circling, circling. Pleasure retreats even farther.
Remembering that sometimes you have to go backward to go forward, I play with my breasts again, trying to ramp myself up to where I was in the shower, but the feeling is gone—vanished. Instead of release, now I’m filled with more anger and frustration than when I started.
“Shit!”
I leap out of bed, wash the vibrator, neaten the bathroom, and slip into my nightgown and panties.
Miserable. I’m miserable. Of course my body doesn’t want to experience pleasure. Why should it when my emotions are in shambles?
I grab paper and a pencil from the drawer and sit at the little table in my room. We all get meager stipends from the ship to buy sundries when we’re in port. As much as I love clothes, I squandered some of my money on paper and pencil—they’re quite a commodity on most planets. I have no talent for drawing, but I’ve found it comforts me to doodle then throw the paper away. Wasteful, I know, but don’t I deserve a small amount of comfort?
My hand’s movement allows my brain to unfreeze. Some part of me might as well be unfrozen. Since my body wants to hang onto its frigid status, perhaps my mind can relax.
Time gets wonky in space, but I think I’ve been gone from Earth for almost two years. At least my abduction is far behind me. If I think about it for more than a second, I recall in vivid detail the sheer terror of waking up on the floor of a spaceship after being stolen from my bed and sedated. As soon as I came out of my drug-induced stupor, I saw nine other human females of every size, shape, and state of undress. The second thing I noticed was there was a metal collar around my neck that I couldn’t remove.
A vid came on demonstrating this piece of tech. It showed a male in a similar collar as the pain was turned up. We saw every excruciating second of his agony until his head exploded right off his shoulders. It left me shaking with shock and disbelief. I could hear sobbing and retching all around me as the violent image was left on the screen.
They equipped us with subdural translators, then forced down metal hallways at gunpoint, each tossed into a cell with a huge alien gladiator—all of different species—and ordered to mate under threat of death if we disobeyed.
Luckily, I was thrown into Theos’s cell. I was a Marine. I’d trained with Marines, hung with Marines, and dated Marines, but I’d never met anyone with a body like Theos. Thighs thick as tree trunks, washboard abs, shoulders so well-muscled they could hold up the Brooklyn Bridge. His skin was alabaster white and, despite his years as a gladiator, surprisingly unblemished.
The first emotion I read on his face as I looked up at him from where I’d been thrown on the floor was suspicion. I guess living for years as a slave will do that to you. If the same thing happened to me today, my first thought would be wariness too.
As it was, panic and disorientation were the only emotions coursing through me that day. Especially after our boar-like captors announced over the loudspeaker that they’d kill us if we didn’t mate within an hour.
My brain wasn’t working. I’d like to think it was due to the residual effects of the drug they’d doped me with, but let’s face it, I was terrified. Hysterical crying coming from some of the women in the neighboring cells didn’t help my frame of mind, either.
I desperately wanted to believe this was all a very vivid, horrible nightmare and that any minute I would wake up. My military-trained brain informed me this was real. My new reality included abductions by aliens, not small gray ones with round heads and big eyes but ugly boar-faced gun-toting brutes on two legs.
Luckily, I was thrown in with quiet, calm Theos. He was the one who managed introductions. He talked me through what we had to do. I later learned he had been with few females—none recently—but forcing me onto the mattress was the last thing on his mind.
When our captors announced we only had fifteen minutes left, he motioned me to the only bed in the cell, then placed his back against the bars as far from me as possible.
“We have to do this,” the huge male had explained. He’s a big man with a big chest cavity and when he wants to be heard, his voice can project the length of a football field. But that day, he’d spoken so softly I had to strain to hear him. “You’ve seen what the pain/kill collars can do.”
Oh yes, very motivational. I nodded.
“Tell me,” he asked, “what would make this bearable for you?”
That moment, his words touched my heart as they broke through the barrier I’d erected. There was something about the juxtaposition of his large frame and his soft voice. Or maybe it was his tender offer to make this as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. Whatever it was, I found myself liking him.
I’m a soldier. Performing unsavory tasks in challenging circumstances was not new to me. I needed to focus and accomplish the task.
As our captors reminded us of the minutes passing, I pulled off the nightgown I was abducted in and watched as he unwound his loincloth. He’s a big male, the size of his equipment shouldn’t have surprised me, but it was shocking.
“We’ll do this together, Savannah. Tell me how.”
He joined me on the tiny bed, no bigger than a twin, and we huddled under the thin blanket. There were ten alien males and ten newly abducted human females in that cellblock, all laboring under the same insane orders. I heard couples on both sides of us getting down to business and knew our time was short.
Because the bed was so narrow, he laid on his back and I straddled him. I kissed him, hoping to relax. Getting the deed done, considering the size of his equipment, was going to be difficult even under the best of circumstances.
Keeping his hands at his sides, he never touching me until I placed them on my waist. He let me set the pace. He could have made the experience so much more terrible and terrifying than it was. But he was so calm and steady. Perhaps he saved my life that day. If he’d handled things differently, I might not have been able to meet our captors’ demands.
We accomplished our task that time and every morning thereafter under threats from our captors. The sex was mechanical, but we got the job done. In the week we were jammed together in that cell, before the twenty of us revolted, killed our captors, and commandeered the ship, Theos and I developed a friendship.
After our insurrection, we couples didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We’d started relationships but couldn’t determine whether we had true feelings for each other or if it was more like Stockholm Syndrome from our enforced proximity.
After fighting for our freedom, Theos and I chose separate cabins, just as most of the others did. Off and on we’ve tried to make things work, but the sex has been sporadic and lackluster. We only did it twice in the first few months. When we did get together, it was only when I was so desperate for comfort I tapped on his door late at night and requested it.
It’s an awful feeling, begging someone to touch you. It’s guaranteed to dampen even the most raging arousal. After the second time, I buried my desires and needs and occasionally found relief with my hands and the small vibrator I purchased on the pleasure planet of Paragon.
But now Theos is gone. A month ago, our enemies, the MarZan cartel, boarded our ship, gassed all of us into unconsciousness, and stole two of our males before we regained control of our vessel and sped away.
The commander of the ship, Rygel Khour, spirited Theos and Doctoré, two of the ten original gladiators, off our ship to toy with them.
When we thwarted her initial plans and regained control of our vessel, she decided to get even. She broadcast a live vid of her crew dragging the two males into her cargo area and was about to throw Doctoré into a cage with a deadly, blade-covered animal called a K’tar when we cut the vid feed and launched into hyperspace.
Because her crew was in the process of throwing Doctoré into the savage K’tar’s cage, we had to assume he didn’t survive .
Khour is evil and deadly, but she’s not stupid and she’s money-driven. She’d never kill something she could sell. Why let him be slaughtered if we weren’t watching? We believe Theos is still alive.
Because I think he’s still alive, I’ve been trying to figure out how to rescue him. I’ve examined the vid feed from our ship when we were all drugged into comas. There’s a moment where Khour, safe on her own ship, orders the henchmen who’d invaded our vessel, to bring Theos and Doctoré back to her.
There was something about the sound of her voice, her choice of words, that made it clear she wanted to play with them sexually. Killing them both would serve no purpose once we’d cut the vid feed and she couldn’t taunt us anymore.
I’m banking on her avarice and lust. Her father was the most powerful—and psychopathic—male in the galaxy. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She wouldn’t kill what she could use or sell. We’re trying to find her ship so we can rescue Theos. We believe the Diabolus is in this quadrant. I hope in my heart Theos is still alive.
Theos and I were barely lovers and will never be mates, but he’s a good male and my best friend.
I sag in my chair, barely able to breathe. I feel punched in the solar plexus.
I’ve never before had such crystal clarity about Theos and me. I’ve wondered for so long, trying to figure out what didn’t work between us—and how to fix it. But I just distilled it down to the fact that we never should have been lovers. We’re friends. Nothing more.
His friendship means a lot to me. I’ve vowed to find him.
“Savannah,” Captain Zar’s growly voice interrupts over my comm, “can you join us in the dining room?”
The dining room. After dinner, it’s recently become the War Room. The males and I have taken to meeting there to strategize the rescue.
Before the cartel came back into our lives a month ago, I’d taken to wearing what the other women onboard wear: leggings and long t-shirts. They’re comfortable.
I’m a complex woman. I’ve got a military mind and I feel at home in combat boots and fatigues. I also love to be a girly girl when I get a chance. I miss my subscription to Vogue as much as my time on the obstacle course and gun range. I love to design and sew clothes—the dressier the better. I made four pairs of fatigues the day after they took Theos. I consider us at war and want to dress for it.
Wearing my camouflage fatigues and the closest thing I could find to combat boots in this sector of space, I jog to the dining room and join eight males around one of the tables.
Zar is at the head of the long table. After he and Anya led our revolution, we elected him captain. He’s fair and thoughtful and we couldn’t hope for a better leader. He’s the most alien of all of us, with lion-like features, including a mane and tail. I got over his unique appearance within days of my capture. Now he’s simply Captain Zar, my leader and my friend. I must admit, those canine teeth can still be a bit intimidating when he smiles.
I don’t have to worry about that today. He hasn’t smiled since that bitch Khour stole our males.
Shadow is at his side. If we were the mafia, Shadow would be the consigliere—the advisor to the leader. When our little band of revolutionaries was first forming, Shadow was immature and narcissistic. He’s changed a lot since then, much of it due to the calming influence of his human mate, Petra.
Now he’s solid as a rock, someone I can trust with my life. He usually has a wicked sense of humor. That, too, has been absent since Khour invaded our ship and threatened us all.
The other six remaining gladiators have straggled in and are pulling up chairs. I’m the only female. It’s fitting I’m here, though. First, although everyone on board may not know the complexities of our relationship, most of them consider Theos and I almost mated. Second, I’m a warrior and should be here for the war council.
Zar opens his notes in front of him at the head of the table. He’s a deliberate male. Nothing comes out of his mouth by chance.
“I have good news. We just received a vid from Khour. I called this meeting after watching it.” He pauses and scans the expressions on each of our faces before he announces, “The vid showed both males in a cage. Theos and Doctoré are alive.”
The scary feline smile is back on Zar’s face. There is stunned silence for a moment, then I leap to my feet with a cheer as the males stomp their feet in jubilation and clap each other on the back in relief. Now we’ll be planning to rescue not one, but two.
“There’s even more good news. We’ve located the Diabolus .”
He pauses as several of the males talk excitedly.
“She’s docked on Aeon II, buying and selling slaves, and doing some other nefarious business. Our sources tell us she’ll be there five more days.”
“Plenty of time to get there,” Dax says. “Are we on our way?” Every muscle under his scarred, skin is tight, as if he’s ready to attack our enemies right this minute.
“What about my match on Galgon tomorrow?” Steele asks.
His name is fitting. His skin is almost metallic. When we were still locked in our cells and hadn’t yet been introduced, I called him Tin Man in my head. The male is usually calm and steady, the type you want at your back when you’re in a battle.
He fights often in gladiator arenas across the galaxy because it brings in money. He always volunteers when there’s a need. Staunch and courageous, he never backs down.
“We’re on our way to Galgon for Steele’s match,” Zar says. “There’s no way around it. If he doesn’t show up, we’ll be banned from half the arenas in the sector. Don’t worry. We can arrive on Aeon II before the Diabolus leaves. The obstacles are many, though.”
Zar consults his notes, then launches. “First, slaves have already been offloaded from the cartel ship. Our intel says Theos and Doctoré are not among them.
“We’re assuming they’re still alive. Khour’s too greedy to kill something she can sell. And,” his gaze flits abashedly to me, “she has other uses for our males. I believe one of their uses, confirmed by the vid, is simple—bait. She knows we’ll come after her if they’re still aboard. A rescue isn’t going to be easy. Her ship is well-defended. We were fortunate to escape her last time. We can’t count on any more lucky breaks in the future.”
He scrubs his furred face with his palm, smooths his notes, and continues. “You’re all here to brainstorm.” He sighs. “I need your thoughts because from where I’m sitting, there’s no way to rescue our males without additional loss of life. I can’t condone risking one or more to save those two brave males. I don’t see any way around it.” He sighs heavily and folds his paper into a small, neat square.
The nine of us talk well into the night, discussing options and choices. We’re at a distinct disadvantage not knowing the layout of her ship or where our two males are being held inside it. How could our contingent sneak in, and what would they do if they made it that far?
We’ll be outgunned and out-manned, facing off against hardened criminals with no scruples and a big grudge. Still, I believe in “no man left behind.” Besides, if the tables were turned, Theos would risk everything to rescue me.
“I’ll go,” I say, knowing I’m volunteering for a suicide mission.
“No,” Zar says, shaking his shaggy head. His golden gaze cuts to mine, and although I see approval there, his answer is firm. “We are not giving up. We will keep searching for options. If you have better ideas, I want to hear them, but know this, I will not knowingly sacrifice the lives of anyone else on my crew in a misguided quest to rescue Theos and Doctoré.” His voice lowers when he adds, “They wouldn’t want that either.”
I walk to my room, my thoughts spinning, as I wonder if there’s a way to sneak onto the Diabolus and rescue those two males. Theos is my best friend and I am more determined than ever to keep my vow to get him back.