Chapter 4
The three of them stand several paces from the hollow, and I can see their massive frames through the roots.
The leader of the triad stands at the front, his thick hair iron-grey, one hand raised.
To his right is the bearded brute, rage in his eyes.
To his left is the scariest one, his eyes a darker shade of grey, the planes of his face severe. A hard man.
Something is wrapped around my arms, my legs, closing in on me, a warm, suffocating mass.
I’ve fallen into their trap.
“Stop!” This time in the Common tongue, as if I don’t speak Aurelian.
I pull myself up, something tightening around my wrists as panic grips me. I wrench myself free and run, tendrils of pale cotton falling from me, surreal and strange, hundreds of fine little tendrils tangled over my skin.
The blanket falls as I dart, and I’m naked in front of them, rushing, running, and two strides later I’m lifted, kicking and screaming.
The leader catches me from behind. One massive arm closes beneath my ribs, trapping my arms against my sides as he hauls me completely off the ground.
His forearms lock around me directly beneath my breasts, pinning my upper arms against my ribs. The soft undersides of my breasts ride against bands of muscle harder than stone each time I kick.
He is so big. I dangle in the air, every movement useless as I panic against his massive strength.
His arm lifts me higher, forcing my naked bottom against his groin. Each kick makes me slide against the enormous length trapped beneath his trousers.
He is painfully, horribly hard.
The heat of him burns through the cloth, his cock trapped upright between my bare body and his own, so long that I can feel the thick ridge pressing against the base of my spine.
His breath strikes the side of my neck, hot but controlled.
His breathing is harsh, but not from exertion.
He’s fighting back the Mating Rage, holding it at bay by only a thread.
His chest heaves against my back. With every breath, his forearms tighten beneath my breasts and press me harder against that throbbing, massive cock.
The huge bearded brute steps forward. The black-haired one puts a hand on his shoulder, his cold eyes searching me.
The bearded one stops. For one taut moment, they stare at each other without speaking, and I know something is passing between them through their Bond.
Then he rolls his shoulder, casting the restraining hand aside, and continues towards me.
The dark wet spot across the front of his trousers has spread. His entire cock is printed against the cloth, pulsing heavily. Another spurt of Aurelian precum darkens the material and makes it cling to every monstrous line beneath.
His eyes are fixed upon my naked body, and I wriggle, but every attempt to wrench myself free only drags my naked bottom along the triad leader’s huge cock.
I pant as a surge of treacherous heat rushes through me, mixed with the fear of knowing how badly it’s going to hurt. Something deep down is affected by their power, their strength, their total, utter dominance.
The bearded one stands in front of me and breathes in. My cheeks burn red with shame through the hate and torturous need, because Aurelians can taste emotion in scent, and I know, with humiliating certainty, that he can smell exactly how my body is reacting.
Up close, the bearded one is even more brutal than he looked from far away.
It’s how wide he is, layered with muscle and brawn, his beard thick and rugged, his jaw set, his flinty-grey eyes burning with intensity.
His neck is as wide as my thigh, with heavy slabs of muscle linking it to his shoulders.
His face is weathered, not old, but not young, the face of a man who has seen centuries of bloodshed and is used to being obeyed instantly.
And he breathes in again as he raises a huge hand towards my breasts.
My nipples are hard little points, and my right one feels so fucking sensitive, like the touch of a feather is teasing it.
I have to fight back a terrified moan, all my fear and shame and heat mixing together in an overwhelming surge of emotion.
I kick. I brace my back against the alien holding me and kick out with both feet. My remaining sandal and both woollen socks must have fallen away during the struggle. My bare heels jam into the bearded alien’s chiselled abdomen.
He doesn’t even grunt. He just forces my legs down as if they are an annoyance. I grab at his hand, but he catches my wrist in one huge hand. With the other, he touches the skin between my tits, his ivory marble skin contrasting against my tan.
Only then do I see what he has reached for. A pale tendril runs between my breasts and curls around my right nipple. As he draws it slowly away, the loop tightens, its cotton-soft tip dragging around the aching point before it finally slips free.
“You just destroyed a harvest that comes once in a decade, girl.” His voice is low and growly, full of barely restrained anger.
I feel so fucking small in front of him, and I go limp in the leader’s arms, shivering and cold.
“I didn’t... I didn’t know,” I say, and I see the tree in full bloom.
It is one of the rare trees that bears the cotton used for the pleasure dresses prized in Aurelian harems. A single dress is worth ten times more than my life.
“You don’t know what you’ve done. Name. Now!”
“Nell,” I answer before I can even think, obeying him instantly. Anger surges through me. Natalie is my full name, but Nell is what the villagers called me, and I don’t know why it came unbidden to my lips.
“Nell,” he says, as if he’s tasting my name. “You’ve been very, very bad.”
The leader readjusts his grip around me. “Scratch me, and I’m going to turn your ass red.”
The threat comes low and directly into my ear, gruff and hot in the leader’s voice.
The image sparks into my mind too easily: my naked body over his shoulder, one huge arm pinning my legs while his other hand slaps my bare bottom until it burns, as my screams and cries echo through the empty forest.
Another shiver racks me so hard my teeth strike together.
“Step back, Arrek.”
The bearded one’s jaw tightens, but he obeys.
The black-haired Aurelian bends at once and retrieves my fallen blanket. There’s a litheness to him, but no wasted movement. Every action is measured.
As he straightens, his black hair contrasts starkly against his marble skin. His clean-shaven face is made of hard, exact planes, with high cheekbones, a straight nose and a wide mouth held in a severe line. His flinty-grey eyes fix upon me with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
His traditional white fighting robe is belted at the waist and leaves the left half of his chest bare. The exposed muscle is leaner than the bearded one’s bulk but packed just as densely, his entire body held ready for war.
I have seen him before at dawn, swimming endless lengths of the estate’s pool, his naked body knifing through the clear water.
I always kept my distance and never lingered too long over the sight of his marble muscles churning beneath the surface.
Even then, I had the feeling that if this one ever caught me, there would be no wild rage.
Only control, the kind I would never escape.
He has the grave bearing of a man others would trust with impossible decisions and the weight of lives, knowing he could carry both without breaking.
His cock tents the white linen as obscenely as the other two. He reaches down and shifts the heavy length beneath the cloth with one curt movement, almost as if his own arousal annoys him.
The leader grunts and lifts me, shifting me over his left shoulder. I hang over his bulk, my naked breasts pressed against his broad back, the rough cloth of his shirt rubbing against my sensitive nipples. His left arm locks around my thighs, holding me easily while his right remains free.
My head hangs, my hair spilling around my face, narrowing my world to the forest floor below.
Two vivid red leaves lie against the dark earth, perfect for one brief moment before they decay and nourish the forest around them.
Between them rests a pale, torn tendril from the ruined bloom.
Its tip reaches out, gently stroking down one of the branching veins before going still.
My cheeks redden as I’m forced to stay still over his shoulder, not daring to make a single movement that could be construed as resistance. He is eager for any justification to bring that huge palm down across my bare ass cheeks and make his threat come true.
The severe one has a clear view of my bare ass and pussy. He can see the little gleam of wetness between my thighs. The ease with which they manhandle me is making something in me react. These aliens can taste it in my scent, and it is only driving them deeper into the urge to rut.
And yet I’m not on the forest floor with my legs spread.
I feel the rough blanket settle over my back. He tucks it around me with a gentleness, never letting his hands linger an instant longer than necessary. He draws it over my exposed hips first, then down across my ass and legs. He folds one edge beneath the leader’s left arm so it cannot slip.
He doesn’t ask, just arranges me until only my feet and head are exposed, but I feel even more confined, trapped against the leader’s huge body.
The white hem of his robe moves out of the narrow view beneath my hair. I follow it without raising my head and see him walking back towards the hollow behind us.
He steps over a root and ducks inside. He carefully extracts my bag from the broken strands.
My climbing spike lies just outside, where it fell during my struggle. He picks it up and examines it for a moment before placing it precisely into the bag.
He crouches to inspect the ruined bloom where I ripped myself free. The threads are snapped and broken.
Then he slowly stands and runs one hand over the ancient bark, caressing it.