Hunter Claimed (Tarron Hunters #1)

Chapter One

Ricka turned from setting a bottle of liquor on the shelf behind the bar in time to see Jimmy, one of the regular patrons, staggering in her direction. His short blonde hair was mussed, his gray jumpsuit, the standard uniform for all mine workers, was wrinkled and smudged with dirt.

The majority of the bar’s customers were employed by the Rivean Mining Corporation and tended to do most of their drinking in the Nexus Pub. It was a good thing the building housing the worker’s quarters was within walking distance. Unless a customer caused problems, Ricka didn’t worry too much about the amount they consumed. Not that it would have done her any good. Orum, her boss and the bar’s owner, had a drink-as-much-as-you-want policy.

“Marry me.” Jimmy slurred his words as he reached across the translucent gray counter separating them. His movements were hindered by the excessive amount of ale he’d imbibed, and she’d easily avoided his grasp.

Unfortunately, his unbalanced efforts caused him to smack his head on the hard surface and spill the remainder of his drink on the counter. Ricka winced and shook her head. The poor guy was going to have one heck of a headache in the morning and maybe even some bruising.

Jimmy wasn’t a threat, and Ricka wasn’t angry. She actually felt bad for him. He’d arrived on Rivean less than four months ago, and the lonely miner’s existence was already getting to him. Even though the mining corporation offered a bride program to its workers, being signed up didn’t automatically guarantee a placement. Not many women wanted to leave the comforts of Earth to live in an isolated colony on another planet.

She wouldn’t be here either if her mother hadn’t died when she was twelve and her father hadn’t decided to pursue an engineering career on another planet. He’d promised Ricka that life on the colony would be different, an adventure. Too bad the adventure had changed a year ago when her father had suffered a heart attack and died.

According to the company’s legal representative, Brad Daniels’s death was six years short of his twenty-year contract, which meant she wouldn’t receive a single payout that would have been due on his retirement. Not unless she wanted to work in the mines and fulfill his commitment. Being claustrophobic, there was no way she could spend five minutes underground, let alone be willing to do it for several years.

She’d politely refused the job and been informed she had two days to vacate the company-owned housing. If her best friend Libby hadn’t taken her in and convinced Orum to give her the bartender’s job, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

Other than a handful of families, the planet was populated predominantly by men. With the scarcity of women, the colony officials had deemed it wise to create establishments catering to the sexual needs of the general populace. The pleasure houses, as the locals called them, had offered the only other jobs available.

As unethical and sleazy as her boss might be, this job beat making a living on her back or doing whatever kind of kinky things a few of the locals liked. She’d leave those exploits to the Ryhlarians, the alien women imported from the planet Ryhlara and schooled in the arts of sexually pleasing a man.

Jimmy didn’t move, so Ricka moved closer and poked his shoulder. “Jimmy, are you okay?” When he didn’t budge, she worried that he’d passed out. “Hank,” she called to his friend who was conversing with several other miners. “I think your friend needs some help.”

Hank glanced at her over his shoulder. “Oh shit,” he said, pushing away from the table and rushing over to the bar. He flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Ricka, it looks like he overdid it on the drinking. Again. ” After grabbing a handful of Jimmy’s shirt, he pulled him to his feet and hooked his limp arm over his shoulder.

Jimmy struggled to lift his head. “Did she say yes?”

“No, bud, she didn’t,” Hank said. “Come on, let’s get your sorry ass home.”

“Do you want me to get the door for you?” Ricka asked.

“No, I’ve got it.” Hank took a few steps back and banged into a table, then stumbled a few times before he managed to get Jimmy out of the building.

If Ricka got paid for every marriage proposal she received in a week, she’d already have enough rivets to buy a one-way ticket back home to Earth. Hopefully, and if everything went according to plan, she only had four more months of working behind the bar before she reached her goal.

Ricka grabbed Jimmy’s discarded glass and swiped a damp cloth over the counter. Business was slow for the middle of the week. Most of the regulars had already returned home for the evening, leaving around ten miners from the late-night shift still occupying a couple of the tables.

Libby, who’d been delivering drinks during Ricka’s latest proposal, sidled up to the bar, setting her serving tray on the counter as she slid onto an empty stool. “I know we need the tips to get off this forsaken planet, but if the new guy on Marty’s crew smacks my rear one more time, I swear I’m going to hit him over the head with my tray.” She scowled at the man over her shoulder.

Most of the guys who came into the place were decent and respectful, but there was still a handful who thought it was fun to ogle and grope the help, which made working in the run-down place more difficult. Ricka smiled at her kindhearted friend, knowing she would never carry out her threat. She, on the other hand, had no problem dealing with men who got out of hand and acted like jerks.

As soon as Ricka had reached the age where guys paid attention, her father had made sure to teach her how to use various weapons and the best ways to cause injury to defend herself. “Would you like me to talk to him?”

“No. They’re done ordering, and I’ll wait until they leave to clear away the glasses.” Libby tapped the counter. “I almost forgot. The guy in the back wants another dreva.”

“Damn, that’s his third one tonight. I’m surprised he hasn’t toppled over yet.” A few sips of the potent ale could strip the lining from a person’s stomach. Since the bar was located in an area away from the main business district, they usually got only local traffic. Occasionally, they’d get nonhuman visitors, and any of them who ordered the drink had problems walking after drinking one shot.

Ricka left the damp cloth on the counter, then grabbed a tall square black bottle off the shelf behind her. After pouring the dark blue liquid into a tall glass, she set it on the tray.

“I know. It doesn’t seem to bother him.” Libby shrugged and pushed a loose blonde curl behind her ear. “Maybe he comes from a planet where they have a higher tolerance.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ricka said, glancing at the man sitting by himself at the back of the bar.

Libby leaned closer and kept her voice low. “Well, wherever he’s from, they sure know how to put a guy together in all the right places. And those unusual eyes, they’re so...”

“Intoxicating,” Ricka said and peered in his direction, then turned back to her friend when she caught him staring at her.

“So you have been looking,” Libby grinned.

Yeah, she’d been watching, all right. From the moment he’d entered the room, she hadn’t been able to stop sneaking glimpses of his physique. He was impressively large, ripped, and extremely handsome. His catlike eyes entranced her and were an extraordinary shade of blue-green. He also had interesting black markings starting along the left side of his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. More than once, she’d wondered how much more of his body was covered with them.

The man had dark hair the color of shiny obsidian draped across a set of broad shoulders, which was a nice contrast to the lighter shade of his snug-fitting pants and boots. To top it off, his long overcoat hit the middle of some thick and well-defined thighs. He reminded her of a badass outlaw from one of the romance novels Libby was always loaning her. “I might be avoiding men at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I don’t take notice when someone so amazingly attractive comes in here.”

Looking at him made Ricka warm in places that hadn’t seen a man’s touch in a very long time. She’d had plenty of offers but didn’t think it was fair to start dating anyone since she had no interest in making the colony her permanent home. She’d be leaving with Libby for good soon, and it was easier to reject all advances than deal with the complications resulting from any kind of relationship.

Libby glanced in the guy’s direction. “There’s definitely some interest there. He hasn’t stopped staring at you since he got here.”

Tell me something I don’t know. The gorgeous stranger had taken a seat far away from everyone else, and Ricka had felt his mesmerizing gaze on her ever since. It was unnerving the way his heated stares sent quivers along her skin.

Libby tapped Ricka’s arm. “I say you go for it. He’s an offworlder, so technically you wouldn’t be breaking any of your rules. One night with him and you’d probably be good for another year. And you got your shots last month, so you don’t have to worry about picking up any strange diseases or getting an unwanted surprise in nine months.”

The colony had a strict “no children unless authorized” policy, and getting the mandatory annual birth control injections was heavily enforced. All women, including those who didn’t work for the pleasure houses, were required to get a shot. Ricka was tired of her life being controlled by others, and the long list of colony regulations was another reason she wanted to get off the planet.

“Heck, I might even be tempted to go for it myself if he showed me any interest.” Libby included wiggling her eyebrows and licking her lips with her teasing.

Ricka laughed at her friend’s antics, then picked up the cloth and snapped it at her. “Jeez. Stop already.”

Ricka wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a loss. Libby had arrived on the planet almost two years ago after volunteering to participate in the colony’s bride program. She’d come here all alone to marry a man she’d spoken to only a few times via virtucom from Earth.

Six months later, she’d ended up a widow when her husband was killed in a freak mining accident. Trey’s death had hit her friend hard, so to hear her joke about having an interest in another man was progress as far as Ricka was concerned.

“I appreciate you intervening on behalf of my sex life, but I’m good,” Ricka said.

Libby shrugged. “Sure you are.”

The heavy wooden door at the front of the building opened and banged against the wall, making both of them jump and drawing their attention to the new arrival. Ricka couldn’t help frowning at the man standing in the doorway. Just when she thought the evening might end without incident, a Klorthon had to show up and ruin it .

Unlike the stranger at the back of the bar, the new arrival’s massive size was intimidating. He was nothing close to handsome—more like scary, with overly defined cheekbones and a narrow chin. His skin was a pale orange, and his long, shoulder-length hair was a dull shade of bleached-out white. He wore a light-brown leather vest across a set of huge abs, and his leather pants barely constrained long, well-muscled legs.

They considered themselves warriors and had to be the most ruthless species she’d ever met. Besides being a place to refuel and obtain supplies, the colony wasn’t a place those traveling in space often set as a primary destination. The outpost had limited entertainment, so visitors who stayed for more than a day usually ended up in one of the pleasure houses.

Ricka was surprised to see a Klorthon arrive alone. She could only remember two other times when some of them had visited the bar, and on both occasions, they’d arrived in a small group.

On nights like tonight, when Orum decided to make an appearance, he sat at the far end of the counter silently nursing a drink. When Ricka caught movement in her periphery, she didn’t have to look to confirm that her boss had slid his short rounded frame off his stool and ducked down the hallway leading to the back of the building. She knew from experience that he’d lock himself in his office, leaving her and Libby to deal with the Klorthon.

The four guys sitting at the table closest to the door shifted in their seats and appeared as if they were ready to make a hasty exit. Libby clutched the edge of the counter, nervously watching the huge man stride into the bar. Ricka wanted her friend as far away from him as possible. “Why don’t you take care of your customer? I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” Libby’s hands shook as she picked up the tray.

“Yeah. Now go.”

Libby nodded and hastened toward the back of the bar. After scanning the room, the Klorthon ignored the empty tables and straddled the stool across from Ricka. He propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. Lust-filled silver eyes raked over her body and stopped when they reached her breasts. Ricka swallowed back the knot of revulsion rising in her throat and forced a fake smile. “What can I get for you?”

Smirking, he swiped a dark-purple tongue across his lower teeth. He slapped a universal scan card on the bar. The amount on the miniature screen was the equivalent of twenty Earth dollars. “I wish to purchase your services for the remainder of the evening.”

The translation implant she’d received when she’d arrived on the colony had a ninety-seven percent accuracy rate for translating most alien languages. She had no doubt she’d heard his insulting request correctly. “Sorry, I only serve drinks. I believe what you’re looking for is at the pleasure house down the street.”

His eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted into a thin line. “I do not make requests,”—he grabbed Ricka’s wrist before she had time to react—“a lesson I look forward to teaching you.” He dug his fingers into her flesh and yanked her forward, slamming her ribs against the edge of the counter.

Showing fear would only make things worse and encourage him more. “There will be no lesson, so let go of me,” she snapped through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain radiating along her side.

Ricka heard a chair scrape the floor and noticed movement behind the warrior. Klorthons scared pretty much everyone, including her, so she was surprised to see Marty, one of the older miners, pushing away from his table. She’d known him a long time. He was a good guy and had been one of her father’s closest friends. The Klorthon easily outmatched him, and there was no way she’d let him risk his life for her.

She met Marty’s gaze before he could say anything, then gave her head a slight shake, warning him not to get involved. After a few tense seconds, he furrowed his brows and pursed his lips, then slowly returned to his seat.

The warrior’s grip tightened, and he pressed his head against her cheek. “You were wise to encourage the male not to interfere.”

She lacked the strength to break free and knew he’d probably break her bones if she continued to struggle. If she had any hope of getting away from him, she needed a distraction. Taking a few deep breaths, she forced her body to relax. She arched her back to expose more of her breasts. As soon as his gaze dropped to her chest, she slipped her free hand underneath the back of her shirt and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of a four-inch dagger hidden inside a leather sheath.

Since the bar wasn’t exactly in a great area of the city, she’d learned a long time ago not to take any chances. Most of the miners knew better than to mess with her, but there was always someone among the new arrivals who liked to push their advances. Mainly after they’d had too much to drink. A few weeks after she’d taken the job, she’d hidden a repeater under the counter. Right now, it was too far away to reach. Otherwise, she’d enjoy blasting the warrior off his seat.

In a move she’d practiced numerous times, Ricka slid out the knife and pressed the blade against his neck. “I said, get your hands off me.”

The Klorthon growled, “You think to threaten me with that tiny piece of metal?”

Ricka twisted her wrist enough for the sharp edge to cause a small amount of blood to trickle down his skin. “It’s not a threat. You can let go of my arm or bleed out on the floor after I slice your throat. Your choice.”

“I would do as she asks.” A deep male voice interrupted.

The Klorthon jerked his head to the left, shock flashing across his angered expression. He made a guttural noise and bared his teeth.

Without taking her eyes off the threat in front of her, Ricka glanced sideways and noticed the mysterious stranger was now standing. One side of his long overcoat was flipped away from his hip, revealing a holstered weapon, which he didn’t hesitate to retrieve.

Ricka could have sworn she’d seen some sort of recognition pass across the warrior’s face as the two men glared at each other. Seconds passed, and neither man moved. The tension in the room seemed to last forever until the Klorthon reluctantly released her wrist, then acquiesced with the tip of his head.

As soon as Ricka was free, she shoved away from the bar and out of his reach. Instead of leaving as she’d expected, the Klorthon straddled the stool again as if nothing had happened and said, “Perhaps I will have that glass of ale after all.”

“Sure.” Ricka reached for a bottle and glass, then poured a drink. She set it on the edge of the bar, careful not to get too close.

Her rescuer returned to his seat and continued to focus on the man in front of her. She wasn’t sure if the danger had passed, so she placed the blade on the shelf behind her. Libby stood about five feet away from the handsome man’s table, clutching her tray to her chest. She hoped her friend had enough sense to stay there until the Klorthon left.

Tilting back his head, the Klorthon downed the amber liquid in a single swallow and smacked the glass on the counter. He slid off the stool, reached into his pocket, and tossed several rivets in her direction. “I will do as you suggest and seek my pleasure elsewhere,” he said, pocketing the card he’d dropped earlier and heading for the exit.

Ricka wasn’t sure if the comment was meant for her or the other man’s benefit—and she didn’t care. His departure was all that mattered. Since the building had no windows, she couldn’t see which direction he’d gone once he was outside. She blew out a relieved sigh and rubbed her sore wrist, noting the already forming bruises.

Libby rushed behind the bar, dropped the tray on the counter, and pulled her into a hug. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ricka lied, gripping the edge of the nearest shelf to steady her nerves.

A few seconds later, Marty moved in next to Libby. Worry etched the wrinkles near his graying temples. “Damn, kiddo. When I bought you the knife, I never thought you’d try to take on a warrior with it.”

“He’s right,” Libby scolded. “What were you thinking? That was either the stupidest or the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

The same thought had already crossed Ricka’s mind. “Definitely not one of my smarter moves,” she said as she grabbed a clean glass and another bottle. Her hand still had a slight tremor, and some of the liquid spilled over the rim. She drained the shot, wincing at the burn in her throat. She’d more than earned the drink, and Orum could go screw himself if he thought she was paying for it.

“It’s a good thing the Tarron was here,” Marty said.

“Tarron?” Ricka asked. “You mean that guy is a hunter?” She’d heard stories about them but had never actually met one before.

Marty nodded. “Yep. Quadrant enforcement. They tend to stay clear of us since the patrol polices the colony. I’ve only seen a few of them over the years. Real tough bastards. Only someone with a death wish would mess with one.”

Ricka tried not to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there.

“You still look pale. You gonna be okay?” Marty asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “We have another long shift tonight, and I need to get these young pups home, but I’ll stay if you need me to.”

Ricka appreciated his concern. “I’m good.”

“If you’re sure.” Marty continued to eye her skeptically.

“Positive. Now go. Stop hovering,” Ricka said, waving her hand in a shooing motion.

As soon as the men had gone and the door closed, Libby asked, her tone fearful, “Do you think he’ll be back?”

“I’m sure he’s already found someone to keep him busy for the night.” Ricka hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. “As long as the hunter is here, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” Ricka peered past her friend to where the hunter sat staring at her from his table, hoping she’d assumed correctly, that he planned to stay a little longer.

“I guess you’re right.” Libby seemed to relax a little.

Ricka glanced at the computerized clock on the wall. Forty more minutes until they could close and go home. “Why don’t you let the other table know it’s the last call for drinks, and I’ll start cleaning up?”

***

After two wasted months patrolling the same area of the quadrant, Synge Varlik was looking forward to a little relaxation and rest. He’d picked up the trail for the slaver’s ship a week ago, only to lose it again near the Rivean colony. If he hadn’t needed to refuel his shuttle, he’d have bypassed the outpost and headed home to Tarron.

Right now, all he wanted was a few drinks and a meal that did not come from a pouch.

Not much for social niceties and not in the mood to deal with the colony locals, he’d taken a seat at one of the small round tables in a shadowed corner of the bar. He sat with his back to the wall and his attention on the door. If he’d learned anything as a hunter, it was to always be alert and wary of his surroundings.

He took a swig of the blue liquid, enjoying the sharp taste and heat burning a path down his throat. The fire coursing through his veins had nothing to do with his drink and everything to do with the woman standing behind the bar. He’d overheard the blonde waitress call her Ricka. The unique name fit the exotically beautiful human female. Her rich auburn hair intrigued him, the lustrous strands reminding him of the early morning skies over his homeworld. She had fastened the long lengths at her nape, and he tried to imagine how they’d appear draped over her shoulders. A few shorter wisps framed her face and enhanced the depths of her dark eyes.

The front of her shirt dipped low enough to expose the curve of full breasts. The sight would make any man’s groin ache. And his had been painfully tight for the entire hour he’d spent observing her. The condition only worsened every time he caught a glimpse of her exceptional backside whenever she bent over to do something under the counter.

His reaction to the woman was unexpected. He’d even caught himself growling when one of the male patrons teased her and tried to coax her into his bed, then been relieved when she’d laughed and politely refused the offer.

Too bad he wasn’t going to be on the planet for more than a few hours; otherwise, he was certain any time spent getting to know the female would be well worth his efforts.

Refueling his ship took time, and he’d initially planned to finish off a few drinks, then stop by one of the dining establishments before heading back to his ship and returning home. Everything changed when he recognized the Klorthon who entered the bar. He’d had run-ins with Molock in the past and had recently heard rumors that the deadly warrior might be involved with the slavers. It disgusted Synge every time he thought about the males who kidnapped females to make a profit.

The Klorthon’s arrival on the colony around the same time Synge had lost track of the slaving ship seemed like too much of a coincidence to overlook. He decided to stay and see if the twinge gnawing at his gut had any substance.

Molock headed straight for the bar, his silvery eyes lit with desire as he raked his gaze over Ricka’s beautiful form. He wasn’t surprised by the other man’s attention, or his assumption that Ricka was most likely his target. What surprised Synge was the way he’d responded. Instead of viewing the situation in the logical and methodical manner of a hunter, he reacted emotionally and had to rein in another snarl. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him or why he had such a possessive reaction every time any man got near her.

His thoughts were interrupted when the petite blonde waitress, the one who’d told him her name was Libby, appeared near his table. Because of his genetics' animalistic side, he was equipped with heightened senses and could smell her fear. A fear no doubt caused by the Klorthon’s arrival.

“Here you go.” Her hand shook, and she nearly spilled the drink when she set it on the table. She took a step back and clutched the tray tightly to her chest, focused on the interaction between Molock and Ricka.

When the Klorthon grabbed Ricka’s wrist and yanked her against the bar, Libby jumped and tugged on his arm. “Do something, please.”

She could have saved her breath. He had no intention of allowing anyone to hurt Ricka. His chair dropped to the floor as he shoved away from the table and reached for the laser repeater holstered against his hip. Before he could retrieve his weapon, Ricka pulled a knife from under her shirt and pressed the edge of the blade against the warrior’s throat.

What did the woman think she was doing? He admired her bravery but wondered if she realized how foolish it was to attack a Klorthon. Molock could easily snap her wrist and kill her with minimal exertion. His kind viewed all women, including those on their own planet, as nothing more than passive beings—objects to do their bidding and provide sexual pleasure, willing or otherwise.

Because of their smaller size, human women were frailer than other females in the quadrant. Their numbers were limited in the outpost regions. They were considered rare gems, thus making them highly coveted. The fact that they were also compatible breeders to many species, including his, made them even more valuable. He had no doubt that if Molock was doing business with the slavers, then he’d want Ricka. Her beauty and spirit would bring a very high price from a wealthy buyer.

The minute he interfered, Molock recognized him and pinned him with an intense glare. Synge kept the weapon aimed at his chest, daring him to make a wrong move. Being an excellent shot, he could shoot from this distance without harming Ricka. He was disappointed, though not surprised, when Molock released her.

The Klorthon might have made a display of publicly relenting, but Synge doubted his intentions. Ricka had unknowingly challenged and humiliated the warrior. Synge had seen the other man’s determined expression and knew he’d staked a claim on her. Klorthon warriors were never forgiving. At some point soon, Molock would retaliate and make her pay. A payment he would more than likely exact by ravaging her body, if not killing her outright.

The atmosphere in the room remained tense. No one moved until the warrior finished his drink and left.

Libby gripped his sleeve. “Oh my God, thank you.” She swiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks and rushed toward the bar.

He slipped his weapon back in its holster, then picked up his chair, and returned to his seat. He tossed down his drink, his attention focused on Ricka. She might want her friends to believe she’d been unaffected by the ordeal, but he’d seen the way her hands trembled. He resisted the temptation to go to her and offer consolation. Instead, he remained seated and regarded her interaction with Libby and the older human male.

Synge’s thoughts returned to Molock. He needed to track him and confirm his suspicions about his real reason for visiting the colony. He dug in his pocket, retrieved some coins, and tossed them on the table.

His curiosity was piqued when Ricka approached him and placed a dreva on the table in front of him. He quirked an eyebrow. “I did not order another drink.”

“On the house. I wanted to say thank you for helping me.” She glanced at the door, then rubbed her wrist.

“Your appreciation is not necessary,” Synge said. “I did not do much.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but thanks anyway. If you hadn’t been here...”

So she did realize the danger of her actions. He took her hand before she could walk away. “Are you hurt?” He gently ran his fingers over the bruises on her wrist, and her hand quivered. His caress had elicited her arousal, teasing and taunting him. The unusual scent was sweet and reminded him of the teirla blossoms growing wild on the land surrounding his property. He fought the impulse to pull her close and sample a taste of her full lips. “You should have someone at medical examine it to be sure.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away when he continued to stroke her skin. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

He’d wanted nothing more than to stay and see her safely home with the prospect of spending more time with her. Too bad his duties came first, and finding Molock was now his priority. He released her hand and got to his feet. “Be careful when you leave. Klorthons are not known to have a forgiving nature.” Taking a step closer, he inhaled deeply, imprinting her amazing smell on his memory. He downed the remaining drink, then turned to leave the bar.