87. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
T wo Days Later…
Tarrex
Sadjoy. It’s a word from my planet that I never experienced except through others’ feelings. I understand it now to the depths of my being.
To have discovered the profound affection and intimacy I’ve found with Savannah over the last three days is the greatest pinnacle of joy I could have ever aspired to. And to know we might both be dead before tomorrow brings me utter sadness.
Before I decided I no longer wanted to live, I ensured I slept well the night before my gladiatorial matches so I was well rested for my bouts. After I longed to die, I’d stay up until the wee hours, giving directions to the little rodents in the barracks and watching them scurry to do my bidding.
Because I now want to live, I should still be sleeping, but I woke up early to do just what I’m doing now.
My body is nestled next to Savannah, my arm curled around her middle, her ass snuggled against my cock, which is hard—that’s nothing new. It’s been ready to mount her at the slightest provocation since almost the moment I met her. But that’s not what my mind wants.
I just want to kiss her a few more times. I want to breathe in her scent. It’s delicious and smells like sweet red berries from Coronis. Dipping my head, I nuzzle the back of her neck and gently lip her skin.
While I was on my home planet, I never allowed myself to dream of a female. It wasn’t even forbidden, it simply wasn’t done. I was raised to not want it, and the Serentine Technique helped control the urges every young male has.
As a gladiator, hearing the coarse males around me bragging about their conquests during the day and relieving their lust at night, I admit, my mind wandered to imagining the pleasures of sharing sex with a female.
I discarded any urge to use the Serentine Technique and didn’t need any instruction on how to palm myself. I’m glad I left the old prohibitions behind; the moments I gave myself pleasure were the only bright spots in my existence.
I never let myself dream of this, though. The joy of having a female who smiles every time she lays eyes on me? I didn’t imagine such a thing was possible. And the connection we have through our mind link. How could I have ever dreamed that instead of driving a wedge between my female and me, it would bring us closer?
I nip her nape harder, knowing she’ll need to rise soon and wanting to pull her slow and sweet from the depths of slumber.
I care for her, yet I’m angry at her. No, furious. More than furious. I’ve argued with her several times over the last three days. Without the mind link, my ire would have broken things between us, perhaps ruined them entirely.
But I can read her thoughts and emotions. I understand why she feels the need to risk her life. And she can read me, so she understands why I’m equally adamant she stay onboard.
Our argument has ended in a stalemate. We care about each other and understand each other enough that we’ve stopped discussing it. Captain Zar has come to our room every day encouraging us to give up the quest, but we’ve decided to board the Diabolus and try to rescue the two males.
Savannah turns in my arms and kisses my chest where her lips land. Being together is as natural as breathing—for both of us. As she climbs up from sleep, her need flows to the surface. It’s always there, even when she’s sleeping. But when she’s awake, she wants me. It’s primitive and elemental and as ever-present as the air we breathe.
“My Tarrex,” she cups my cheek with her palm, then traces the frown lines between my brows. “You’re worried. We’ve done all the worrying already. Now we just have to get up, get dressed, and walk aboard the Diabolus . We either complete our mission or we don’t. The time for fear is over. We could make better use of our time.” She gives me a flirty grin and runs her palm from my nape to the swell of my ass.
“There’s time for this.” She cups my ass cheek and tugs me closer. “There are so many reasons that telepathy between mates is a bad idea. One of them is that I don’t have to see the status of your cock to know how much you want me. You can’t hide your desire from me.” Then she whispers, “Although I don’t know why you’d want to.” She nudges me closer.
“This,” she grips my cock as if she owns it, “isn’t exactly subtle.”
I don’t mention that I read her thoughts and emotions too well not to notice her own anxiety. If she wants to pretend she’s not afraid to walk into the belly of the beast, that’s fine with me. She’ll never have to beg me to make love to her.
She uses the words, “make love” although she doesn’t want the word love to cross my lips. I tried to share the depth of my feelings three days ago, right after the war council. She put a vertical finger across my lips, hushed me, and told me it was too soon to speak of such things.
“Let me make love to you,” I husk into her ear.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She rolls onto her back and pulls me closer.
Our lovemaking that first time was explosive and unfettered. I was like a wild animal with her, and even though I wondered if I should hold back, she urged me to let go with her in every way.
Since then, we’ve copulated to exhaustion several times a day. I’ve discovered how to make love at several speeds—not just the frantic excitement of our first time. This morning it will be sweet, beautiful even. If this is the last time I join with her, I will make it exquisite.
Savannah
Sublime, I tell him as he enters me in the slowest slide imaginable. It feels as if he’s kissed me for hours, coaxing feelings from me I’ve vowed to keep hidden. He’s playing with fire, but who am I to scold him?
I’ve pretended I haven’t heard his thoughts, the sweet compliments that flow from his mind without thought or censorship. I ignore his frequent use of the ‘L’ word, reminding myself that no one can have a true love connection when they’ve only known someone for three days.
In the back of my mind, I wonder less about the depth of his feelings than my own. It certainly seems like the real deal to me, because I’ve never felt this attached to anyone before.
I use a grounding technique to pull myself back into the moment and tune in to the pleasure he’s bestowing with every brush of his lips or caress of his palm. His mouth on me, mine on him, we’re speaking volumes to each other without saying a word—especially the ‘L’ word.
Although he’s already given me several releases with his mouth, it’s this, the entry of his body into mine, the obliteration of any barriers between us, that is the most sublime ecstasy I’ve ever felt. The connection, the joining of every aspect of ourselves, is even better than the physical release.
Our fingers entwine as if the melding of our flesh isn’t enough until every aspect of ourselves is linked. And when we come, we spiral together to the heights of physical pleasure. It’s boundless and perfect as our bodies dance together in a rhythm of their own.
When I come back to myself on my bed in my little cabin, I try to ignore the frisson of grief that threatens to burst through the barrier I’ve erected around it.
“Sadjoy, Savannah,” his voice is a deep rumble close to my ear. “To have a connection this intimate? A love like this? And then have to walk into hell? We shouldn’t have to do it.” He kisses my lips once—hard. “But we will. Together.”
“ I wish I could wear my fatigues,” I say to no one in particular as we wait near the teleporter. Glancing at my reflection in the shiny metallic walls, I see what must look like a well-to-do Morganian female who’s trying to make a good impression.
Since humans are illegal in space, although it seems there are thousands of us abductees roaming around up here, we all claim to be Morganian when we might encounter trouble. Humans and Morganians can’t be told apart except by DNA testing.
I’m in a slim-fitting pantsuit in what I know are the colors of the season—burnt orange and sunshine yellow. Just because they don’t have Vogue in space doesn’t mean they don’t have fashion. I crawled all over the Intergalactic Database, chose an outfit, found the perfect material in a storage closet I keep well-stocked, and enlisted my lady friends to help me sew it.
While the women and I have been sewing fabric, Dax and Tarrex have sewn his leather outfit. It’s what all the self-important ludus owners are wearing these days: tight-fitting black leather pants, a white shirt, and a black leather suit jacket that falls to mid-thigh. Maybe I should have been a motorcycle mama in another lifetime, because there’s something about all that black leather that makes me want to jump his bones. Well, more than usual, that is.
We discussed ad nauseam whether we should wear undetectable blades hidden in our clothes, but we’re dealing with the MarZan cartel. They’re not some bush-league organization. Whatever polymers we make our weapons out of, the cartel will have scanners that can detect them.
We go in unarmed.
We’ve practiced our telepathy in every possible way under every possible circumstance. We’ve communicated from opposite ends of the ship, through multiple layers of metal. I’ve sent him thoughts, feelings, and information, and he’s sent them to me. Unfortunately, there are no pets aboard our ship, so Tarrex’s ability to communicate with the K’tar is still a wild card.
“It’s not too late,” Zar says as he stalks down the hallway to meet us in the gangway. “Other than forbidding two grown people to do what they want, there’s nothing I can do to dissuade you from this?”
We shake our heads.
“How about guilt? You know if you… don’t return I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again, right?”
He doesn’t even wait for us to refuse, he just pulls us in for a three-way hug. I don’t know what’s going to happen on the Diabolus , but this right here? This affectionate hug with my fierce captain? Just might be the most surprising thing we’ll experience all day.
“We’re teleporting you down and trying to keep the ship as low profile as possible,” Zar says, his hand on the controls. “Your wrist-comms are rigged to send a rescue signal at the touch of a button, but if that bitch decides you’re her enemy, the first thing she’ll do is rip them off you. There is also a sensor on the back of them, so if they’re removed from your wrists, or destroyed, we will know.”
He looks sad for a minute. Well, not sad so much as tormented. “We’ve discussed this. I can’t authorize a rescue mission. I can’t lose any more of the crew. You understand this, right?”
Tarrex and I nod as he says, “Good luck,” and presses the switch to beam us down.
We arrive in a busy hub of space transports and hover rentals. There are hundreds of people from dozens of species filing around us. We figured it would be the perfect place to arrive with so many people milling about we’ll escape notice.
I’d much prefer the Fool’s Errand to land on solid ground so I can walk down the ramp, but using the teleporter was a strategic move. I clutch Tarrex’s muscular shoulders for a moment while I get my land-legs after transport.
You okay? he asks.
I never like to be transported. Besides being afraid I’ll get my DNA spliced with a fly, I always feel a bit off-balance after .
“Aye.”
We comm the Diabolus and twenty minutes later, five of her crew greet us at the front door of the facility to escort us to their docked vessel.
Five henchmen? I ask. Does that seem like overkill?
Yes.
Aeon II is a filthy place, with a thriving slave trade and lots of whorehouses. Itinerant miners make this a destination for their time off. And don’t forget the gambling dens, bars, and so-called “Dreamhouses” where a person can rent a bunk and spend the day in a Synth-induced haze.
It’s the perfect place for the MarZan cartel to offload slaves, perhaps buy more at a bargain price, and conduct other nefarious deals. Including the one Tarrex and I are about to enter into.
There is no attempt at small talk as we’re flanked on all sides on a quick march to their ship.
I was originally abducted to a battle-class ship. It’s the vessel where we staged our insurrection, and the one we flew for months before we were so close to being caught, we sold it and bought a different vessel. Our research indicates this is a sister ship and will have the same layout as the vessel I was abducted to.
When Tarrex and I board the Diabolus , it’s clear our intel was correct. The floor plan looks the same as the vessel I learned like the back of my hand during our first few days of freedom.
So far, the floor plan looks exactly as I remember on the Warbird , I tell Tarrex.
Good. Now all we need is one hundred other moving parts to fall into place.
We’re met at the gangway by none other than Commander Khour herself. I never had the dubious pleasure of meeting her father, Daneur Khour. He was the head of the cartel for years and the person indirectly responsible for my abduction. He’s dead now, may he not rest in peace, but I’ve seen pictures of him on the Database.
This bitch is his spawn alright. Lavender skin and purple hair. She even wears it in the three-inch mohawk that was her father’s trademark.
“I don’t like guests,” she says, her face pinched. “Too much exposure. Follow.”
She does an about-face and hurries down a hallway.
“There’s no other way to sell a deadly, outlawed species, though,” she calls over her shoulder.
What were we thinking? I ask Tarrex as we move deeper into the bowels of the ship. This is madness.
I know he’s trying not to project his thoughts to me, but I receive a muffled, I tried to tell you this a hundred times, Savannah. I wish to the Gods you weren’t here.
We take the elevator down to the cargo area and arrive at a cellblock. This looks very familiar. A month ago, we watched vids of Khour threatening to feed our males to the K’tar . Those vids were taken from where we’re standing.
“Here we are,” she gestures toward the animal like an amateur Vanna White.
The cellblock consists of a straight line of ten cells, with the K’tar at the far end.
“Who was supposed to clean that demon’s cage?” her voice is imperious. “I want the slacker housed in the cell next to it for a day.”
Glancing at her, I don’t think she’s joking.
We all reflexively put our hands over our noses before we step any farther down the adjoining hallway.
“Go ahead,” she waves us on. “I’ll wait here.”
I’m not as interested in the K’tar as I am in the inhabitants of the nine other cells. There are four empty cells, five are filled with males, mostly insectoid Frains and Xelkets—Khour’s race.
Are Theos and Doctoré here? Tarrex asks.
No.
We’re in a cellblock with only one way out. The exit is blocked by Khour and five of her males.
I’m not getting a good feeling about this, Tarrex says.
“We’ve carried on this charade long enough,” Khour says. “Did you really think we didn’t perform our due diligence and vet you? I knew something was amiss even before the Manjibs contacted me to tell me their suspicions about your plan.
“Did you believe the sword of Aristhenese was enough of an incentive to make a smart business person back out of a deal with the mighty MarZan cartel? Now he has the sword he’s coveted for annums and once I’ve had my fun with you, we’ll meet up to deliver him the K’tar as a reward for his loyalty.
“I’ve been expecting something like this. I knew you’d be driven by some weak, misguided emotions like compassion and loyalty to make a rescue attempt for your two males.” She says it with a whole-body shudder, like these emotions were some horrible disease.
Her males’ weapons, initially slung on their backs, are already pointed at us. My hands clench into tight fists. I have to fight back the urge to rip the smug look off her purple face. Five loaded laser rifles against one unarmed gladiator and a blackbelt in jiu-jitsu? Not a match. We’ve walked right into her baited trap.
We’re forced at gunpoint into adjoining cells. There’s the K’tar at the end of the hallway, pacing angrily, then an empty cell for the slacking zookeeper—if she makes good on her threat—then Tarrex, then me.
When Tarrex is pushed into his cell, the K’tar snarls and I get a front-row view of his long and deadly teeth. If I live past this experience, I’ll have nightmares about those fangs and the accompanying warning growl for as long as I live.
“Our intel has it that there are twenty of you onboard your vessel. Along with the first two we snatched, we now have 20% of you on our ship. At some point, you’re all either going to wind up in these holding cells as you try to effect a rescue, or you’ll be easier to capture with your numbers reduced. Either way, the cartel gets its revenge and recoups some of its losses.”
She pulls her spotless white shirt over her mouth and nose, then stalks down the corridor toward us. Standing in front of my cell, she inspects me for a moment. While she does that, I take her measure.
With fabric covering most of her face, all I can see are her eyes. It’s interesting that her race, Xelkets, tends to be monochromatic. Between the purple hair and skin, only her slitted yellow eyes stand out. What’s more striking, though, is the fact that her yellow eyes are dead. I’ve seen reptiles with more emotion in their expression.
Ince backward , Tarrex whispers. I don’t trust her. She could slide her hand between the bars and choke you.
Let her try. I show him a move I was already planning: Grab the bitch’s wrists, step backward until her head rams into the bars, then a maneuver I learned in hand-to-hand training where I can break both forearms.
I hope you’d feel good for the two modicums you’d have before her henchmen kill you for that. The straightforward approach isn’t going to work, Savannah. We’ll have to use some of our other tricks to get out of here alive.
Hating that he’s right, I take a step back.
“Looking for the two males I helped myself to when I took over your ship? I thought they made such a pretty pair—one light and one dark. One built tall and muscular and one wiry. They’re an odd pair of bookends.
“You should see the things I made them do together. The play of light and dark was almost artistic. I could show you vids…”
I wish I could kill her, I seethe to Tarrex.
We’re lucky we’re still alive. Let’s wait until we’re alone and regroup.
“I’m surprised you let them go if you enjoyed them so much,” I taunt, hoping to gain some information.
“Who said I let them go?” Without skipping a beat, she holds out her hand, palm up. “I’ll need both your comms.”
All five henchmen step closer and brandish their weapons. If I were watching this on TV, I’d be hooting at how fake and overly dramatic their behavior is. These males are serious, though.
“I assume they’re rigged with a beacon to tell your friends when they’re removed from your wrists. Don’t fear for our safety. We’re ready for them.” Her eyes crinkle at the first hint of a smile I’ve seen since we met.
She wants our comrades to risk their lives to rescue us. She’ll have to wait a while for that. Like forever. I saw the look on Zar’s face in that gangway. He was serious when he told us he wouldn’t send a rescue team. Nor should he.
We remove our comms and toss them through the bars onto the floor.
She takes a step toward the exit, then returns to stand directly in front of the bars that separate Tarrex and me. Her gaze flicks between us as she appears thoughtful.
“Lovers?” she asks indifferently.
Before we came on this mission, we agreed not to reveal our affection. Even when we were supposed to be married as our cover story, we decided not to hold hands or display affection. We assumed it might give us an edge if she didn’t know we’d do anything for each other.
I neither confirm nor deny her suspicion that we’re lovers. I’ll give nothing away.
“Well, it’s of no matter. I like to watch. I have many little quirks. My penchant for voyeurism is only one of them. You might wind up being lovers before I tire of you two.” She shrugs, then saunters down the hallway and out the door.
I assume the cellblock is bugged , I say.
Aye, she’d be stupid not to. That female may be cold as ice, but she’s not stupid.
We are so fucked, I say. What was I thinking?
You were thinking about rescuing your friends. Self-recriminations won’t help. I suggest we find out what the other prisoners might know, then let me cast my mind through the ship and see if your males are onboard.
Of the six males in the cellblock, there are two Xelkets in one cell. Since they’re of Khour’s race, I assume they used to be on the cartel payroll and are now being punished. Most of these guys look emaciated. Her father liked to keep rations to a minimum. I remember how he starved the eight gladiators we rescued on planet Fairea a few months back.
The four other cells each contain an insectoid Frain. I can’t tell if she bought these as gladiators, or if they’re crew members who have pissed her off.
Each cell has a metal bed frame bolted to the floor along the left wall, and a toilet and sink along the back wall. The rear is solid metal, the other three sides of the cell are barred.
I’m about to ask the prisoners questions when the K’tar’s feline panting invades my thoughts. The cells are maybe ten by ten, so only ten feet and two sets of bars separate Tarrex from the beast, and I’m right next to him.
The animal is equal parts stomach-churningly creepy and fascinatingly beautiful. Its body, about the size of a lion, has distinctively feline grace and an expressive tail. It pins me with its red-eyed gaze and makes a sound from the back of its throat that’s somewhere between a purr and a growl.
Instead of plush, soft fur, the K’tar’s skeleton is covered by metallic-looking triangular plates that have sharp edges on the two sides that aren’t attached to the body. The tail is segmented and knifelike. It looks like one harsh swish could slice a person in half. I’ve gone up against crazed car bombers in Syria. I’d rather be in a room alone with a trio of them than with the K’tar .
I turn my attention to the males on my other side. Pointed inquiries net me nothing, nor do open-ended questions. Several of them glance at the ceiling. I assume it’s their way of informing us we’re being surveilled.
I sit on the bed and stare at Tarrex as he appears deep in thought. A spark of optimism flies through me as I realize he’s getting some info. I don’t charge into his thoughts, though. We discovered that too much information from too many sources can confuse him, so I purposely keep my thoughts as far from him as possible while maintaining the bubble around his mind that keeps out unwanted thoughts and emotions.
The bubble was a technique I developed over the last few days when we worked on our communication. I picture a clear, impermeable bubble around him that protects him from anyone’s thoughts and feelings. This allows him to extend his telepathy without interference. He said it worked better than anything he and Maleen used.
When his thought-traveling stops and he looks at me, I say, They’ll get suspicious if we don’t say anything to each other at all.
“I’m terrified of that beast,” I whine in my most girly, least Marine voice.
“Let’s just hope our friends get here in time to save us,” Tarrex replies.
Disinformation. Nice , I tell him.
“I’m sure you’ll feel better when your mate comes to save you,” he says.
Nice try, Tarrex, but if she’s going to force us to have sex for her enjoyment, I don’t think the fact that I’m mated to someone else is going to stop her. What did you find out?
His gaze darts to the floor. He doesn’t have to hide the truth from me. I didn’t expect to discover any rainbows or unicorns on a cartel ship.
The very excellent news is that I found both males. I spoke to them both.
A wave of relief washes over me. It’s so strong my hands tremble and I have to fight back tears by repeatedly swallowing. Theos was my lifeline for a long time. At first, when they threw us together and forced us to mate, and afterward when we fought for and won our freedom.
I was a stranger in a strange world, as all the females were, but I’ve never had an easy time relating to women. I’ve always felt more at home with men. I held onto my friendship with Theos for the first several months, until I developed a true camaraderie with the women on board. Theos and I have maintained our platonic bond despite the fact that I’ve found comfort with everyone on the Fool.
They’re in her cabin, Tarrex says. From the thought-pictures they gave me, her cabin has been constructed out of what would normally be three cabins. She’s got them in a cage in between her private dining area and her bed.
Just go ahead and give me the picture, Tarrex. I’ve been to war. I’ve seen carnage and destruction.
But you care for these males, Savannah. Trust me when I say you’d be happier not to see what they’ve shown me.
I try to appreciate him wanting to shield me, but I’ve seen more than one of my comrades blown apart. If Theos and Doctoré are alive, I can handle whatever else has been done to them.
Tarrex holds firm, though, choosing to tell me they’ve been fed sporadically, are weak, have lost weight, and have been forced into unwanted bed-play.
I have to admit that although I can handle the truth, I’m relieved not to know all the details the males may have shared with Tarrex. If we ever get out of here, I’m going to have to meet these males’ gazes as we pass each other in the hallway every day. Some things are best left unsaid.
So, it’s great that we found our males and both of them are alive. One small problem, though. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy and the odds of succeeding weren’t great, but we grossly underestimated our enemy. Big mistake. How the hell do any of us get out of here? I ask.
I have no clue. But don’t lose hope. The K’tar might be our wild card.