Chapter 3 #4
Rone rewarded Frey’s unexpected neediness by placing his large palm on Frey’s head.
Its heavy warmth was surprisingly comforting.
Frey looked up at Kath from beneath his lashes and found the guy smirking back.
He obviously didn’t think Frey presented much competition.
Then something changed, a subtlety in the boy’s expression that Frey found he could surprisingly read, even though Travians had those weird all-black eyes and facial movements that didn’t quite match humans’.
What he saw was…vulnerability? Yeah, the kid wasn’t nearly as cocky as he tried to convey.
If Frey were fair about it, why would a Travian be any happier to have to resort to whoring than Frey was about his captivity?
As if sensing Frey’s thoughts, Rone spoke up. “I have no doubt you are a talented boy who sets a fair price for your services, but does your mother know you’re here?”
“Does yours?” Kath retorted with a scowl.
Rone huffed out a chuckle and swallowed more of his drink. He stroked his palm down the back of Frey’s head. “I doubt either female would be happy with our choices.”
“Sometimes a choice is made for you.” Now Kath sounded very solemn.
He stared at the floor, running fingers thoughtfully down his braid.
Standing abruptly, he dropped his hand and his demeanor shifted again.
The cocky boy was back. “Well, if you’re not interested in my charms, I’ll just find someone else who is. ”
Rone inclined his head. “I’m sure you won’t want for interested males. Be careful, though, boy. There are rough and dangerous males on this station. I’m sure your sire would say the same if he were here.”
Kath gave Rone a shuttered look and, again, Frey felt bad for the guy. “You’d be wrong about that.” Before he left, the boy leaned in as if to maybe blow Rone a kiss. Instead, he murmured, “Watch your back.”
“Always do,” Rone replied under his breath before draining his glass.
Wait. What just happened? Frey frowned down at the floor, mulling over that last exchange.
Kath had offered up a warning to Rone, which made no sense to Frey.
In his limited experience with Travians, it seemed to him that Rone was the most dangerous one he’d ever encountered.
Not only was he tall and massively muscled, he just exuded a strength and menace that neither Arpell nor any of his cohorts ever had.
Who would be stupid enough to challenge him?
Rone seemed unperturbed, in any event. After ordering up another drink, the alien continued to lean back against the wall, the picture of nonchalance.
His only movement continued to be his petting of Frey’s head.
Frey found himself leaning even more against the male’s thigh and allowing the touch to lull him almost into sleep.
He didn’t know how long they stayed where they were.
Being able to mark Travian time had so far eluded him.
So, he did what he’d mastered in the early days of his captivity and spun memories in his mind’s eye to block out everything around him—everything except Rone’s touch.
That was something that he couldn’t ignore.
Even though he’d become good at blocking out cold and hunger and even low-level pain, this gentle stroking of his head stole his attention to a disturbing degree.
It also calmed him, which meant that he was both hyper-aware of the touch and lulled into a stupor enough to be surprised when his master abruptly stood up.
Frey staggered to his feet, off-kilter as he usually seemed to be in this alien world.
As he had before, Rone caught Frey by his shoulders to steady him.
This time, when he let go, Rone ran his hand along Frey’s spine and patted him on his rump.
Frey stiffened with indignation, then glared up at his master when the guy huffed out a laugh.
“Come, pets. Time to retire. Not much happening here anyway.” Preen made some noise in response, which caused Rone to laugh again. “Patience, my friend.”
Okay, now Frey knew that he wasn’t just reading more into Rone’s and Preen’s relationship than was there.
They were more than master and pet, and they had some kind of agenda on this station that Frey couldn’t perceive.
Whatever they had expected to happen while hanging out in the cantina hadn’t occurred, so that meant heading back to their quarters.
It also meant more fucking. Frey shivered at the thought, although for the first time it was from more than fear and revulsion.
His reaction disturbed him, worried him and tantalized him, all at once.
He needed to get his shit together before they reached their destination.
Otherwise, Rone might play his body the way he had earlier, and while Frey had learned the hard way that he couldn’t stop a Travian from claiming his body, did he really want to allow his body to be complicit in its own rape?
Could he even stop it from doing what nature intended it to do?
And, if he could snatch a bit of pleasure from the experience, would that be so wrong?
Analyzing it took up all of his attention. He paid little heed to where his master led him, so he didn’t see the Travian goons materialize before them until they were right on top of them. His heart lurched to a painful stop before thudding hard at the sight of the dark wall of menace.
Dropping the leashes, Rone shoved Frey against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.
Dazed and confused, Frey froze and watched in horror as his master went up against three males that came at him together.
Far from flinching at the terrible odds, Rone let out a warrior-worthy battle cry and launched himself at his attackers.
Because they all looked so much alike and wore similar black clothing, Frey had trouble keeping track of who was where.
Rone stood just a bit taller than the others and he moved with an impressive grace.
Frey latched his gaze on him at a point at which Rone broke free of the others and, like watching a shell game, tracked the alien’s movement as best he could.
He had an urge to help but knew he’d be more hindrance than anything else, especially when the knives came out.
Flashes of long metal could be seen weaving in and out of the black-clad bodies.
Even Rone pulled one out of God only knew where.
Frey had never seen him carry a weapon. The Travians grunted and growled, punched and kicked each other with animalistic brutality.
Frey had seen fights among them on occasion in the seedy places Arpell had taken him, yet he’d never seen anything as vicious as this.
And, never before had he cared about the outcome, had cared about any of those involved in the fight.
Cared? Shit, yeah. He didn’t want Rone to come out on the losing end and not just because he worried about returning to the kind of master Arpell had been.
There was a deeper concern, and hell if he had the energy to analyze that right at the moment.
The epic battle being waged in front of him demanded his attention.
He cringed at the sight of blood flowing from more than one guy, but took a weird sort of pride in knowing that Rone had drawn it first. How was this still going on?
Rone should have been down for the count by now.
Instead, he laid one of his attackers out cold with a hard kick to the guy’s chest. The victory over one was short-lived, because another loomed up behind Rone, with some sort of serrated knife, poised to strike.
“Rone, behind you!” The warning shot out of Frey’s mouth before his brain even registered that he’d done it.
Rone heard him, though, and swung out of the way of the lethal blow and used the other alien’s momentum to take him down.
Frey couldn’t appreciate the victory, however.
A hard yank on his leash caused him to choke, and he got dragged backward.
A vise-like grip on his arm propelled him once more against the wall.
His mouth opened in an effort to drag in air while his hand reached up to loosen the collar.
He heard a wheezy laugh and his blood froze. Looking up, he faced a leering Arpell.
“There you are. I’ve missed my pet.” The alien leaned down and ran his disgusting tongue up one side of Frey’s face.
Frey tried to avoid the touch, twisting his head away.
Arpell’s grip on the leash tightened, cutting off Frey’s air even more and giving him far more to worry about than being covered in Arpell’s stinky spit.
God, this couldn’t be happening. Any doubts he’d had about why he wanted to stay with Rone and no one else flew out of his brain in the face of this cruelty.
He clawed at his throat, trying desperately to loosen the choke-hold.
His vision grayed and the noises from the fight dimmed to a muffled, tinny echo.
A screech cut through the fog, along with a roar, and suddenly Frey could breathe again.
Arpell stumbled back from him, batting at Preen, who had launched itself onto the Travian’s shoulder.
Shit. With his concern focused first on Rone, then on himself, he’d forgotten about the creature.
Preen’s small yet sharp teeth were sunk into the side of Arpell’s neck.
Blood already welled up past Preen’s mouth.
Arpell whirled around in an effort to dislodge the pet, while tugging at Preen’s hair.
It didn’t take long for the Travian to pull the small being away, even though a chunk of skin came off in the process.
Frey mentally slapped himself into action. He couldn’t allow Arpell to kill the recklessly brave pet. He screamed as he pushed against the wall to gain momentum. “No!”
Frey reached Arpell too late to keep him from throwing Preen to the ground.
Furious, Frey cocked his arm back and swung for the Travian’s face.
He never got a chance to connect. Arpell intercepted the punch and yanked back.
Frey heard his arm break before he felt it—just like he’d read in stories, like a twig snapping in two.
The pain came hot on the heels of the sound, a bright searing sensation that caused the world around him to go completely white.
Another roar surrounded him, drowning out his own scream. Then all the light he saw shrank down to a pinpoint before being snuffed out entirely.