His conscience pointed out that he’d felt that same calm after his euphoric orgasm with Tarn.
Again, Tarn. Always,
Tarn
.
Zachem’s thoughts revolved around an infuriating male whose contribution to life was to enslave unwilling men and women. Terrific.
Calling on the meditation that oftentimes kept his hungers at bay, Zachem built a small fantasy for himself in his mind—one that
didn’t
include his slave master cellmate. Some time later, when Tarn exited the lav, Zachem had successfully ensconced himself in a tropical paradise where he ruled the land.
“Tired?” Tarn asked.
A pack of wild
thrells
neared his territory, but sensing his dominance, backed away. Then a
group of Creations approached, beings like him seeking acceptance. Zachem welcomed them, promising
a place where one and all could be free to do as they liked, under an indigo sky dotted with wisps of
lavender clouds. He imagined the heat warming his skin, the cool caress of wind blowing over his sun-kissed face…
Tarn muttered something before stomping to the door and banging on it, distracting him from paradise. “Guards,” Tarn shouted. “I need to talk to Pyrgo.” Curious but unwilling to show it, Zachem concentrated on the stone ceiling, keeping a hold of his precious fantasy while he pondered Tarn with both annoyance and an unsettling jealousy. He knew Tarn and Pyrgo were up to something. When Tarn had returned to the cell earlier in the day, he’d seemed excited, keyed up and trying to hide it.
Though Zachem often used his heightened senses to exploit the weaknesses of others, with Tarn, he could immediately sense the male’s arousal, anger and frustration, the same frustration Tarn felt right now. The emotion danced off his skin like a swarm of fireflies.
Pyrgo responded to Tarn’s request in less time than Zachem might have expected. The guard entered the cell and listened to Tarn’s ridiculous requests for better food, a larger pallet, and a better reward for his win than a stubborn
drun
of a cellmate. Yet something was wrong about the exchange. The stilted moments of silence between them didn’t sound right.
“Come on,” Pyrgo grumbled. He shot Zachem a strange look before preceding Tarn out the door.
Dying of curiosity to know what the hell Tarn was up to, Zachem shored away that need to know and focused once again on his dream of freedom. It took him a while to re-enter that amazing place, where he no longer wore a collar and had actual friends. He succumbed to slumber a few hours later.
A wet, raspy lick across his leg startled him from sleep. At first he laid still, wondering what Tarn meant by disturbing him. But after another lick of that rough, wet tongue, he knew it didn’t belong to Tarn. He made ready to pound his assailant and turned to stare into the slitted green-gold eyes of the monstrous
threll
who’d visited a few days ago.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, nonplussed.
The creature sat back on his haunches. He scratched behind his ear with one leg, used the other three for balance and pawed at Zachem with the other two.
“By the stars, you’re huge.”
Even in the dim crystal light of the cave, Zachem sensed a largeness to the
threll
that had nothing to do with size and everything to do with power, which made him think of Tarn, who, to his surprise, had yet to return. Jealousy seethed. If he smelled so much as a hint of Pyrgo’s seed anywhere on Tarn, he’d kill both of them. Red hazed over everything. The rage balled and built with speed…until the
threll
nuzzled his leg again.
To Zachem’s surprise, the need to kill vanished as suddenly as it had come. Settling back onto his pallet with his back to the wall, he studied his visitor and tried to take his mind off Tarn’s absence.
“Damn.”
The
threll
cocked its head.
“Asshole isn’t here. Probably sucking off Pyrgo somewhere,” he muttered, not sure why he found the thought so infuriating. What Tarn did or didn’t do shouldn’t matter at all.
The
threll
stared at him, and Zachem wondered again at the creature. The door to his room remained closed. He would have wakened had it opened, so how the hell had
this
beast entered?
“Where did you come from?” he asked the thing, puzzled. Without realising he did so, he reached out a hand and rubbed its head. The coarse fur over its scalp felt softer than it looked, and it seemed to like him rubbing around its many ears. He wouldn’t chance petting its back, where green and gold scales promised a sharp cut and glittered with menace. By rights, Zachem should have called the guards to take the
threll
away. They were known to be vicious, their bites and claws toxic. But he couldn’t make himself turn the creature away. The novelty of its affection captivated him.
The creature rumbled and didn’t stop, nuzzling under Zachem’s hand. Then it crawled onto his pallet and laid its head on Zachem’s belly.
Startled, Zachem didn’t move. But he didn’t sense any aggression in the
threll
, just a need for comfort. He sighed and stroked its head, feeling a strange peace. “I can’t say why, but I like you. You need a name.”
The
threll
regarded him with what looked like pleasure. Its rumbling grew louder, and Zachem thought it might be purring, something only felines did. The mystery behind his visitor grew more curious.
He thought for a moment. “Let’s call you Six, like my absent roommate.” He grinned, thinking of Tarn’s reaction to that. “You have six legs, and you’re much more pleasant than his sorry ass.” He shook his head and unwillingly corrected, “
Sexy
ass.” The creature stopped purring, and Zachem stopped petting it. Then Six rubbed its face under Zachem’s hand, demanding more affection.
He chuckled. “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you? Well-fed, strong, lethal. Bet you have a mate somewhere out there. But you can’t be that happy if you’re stuck in this shithole.
First chance I get, I’m gone.” He swore the creature nodded, and taken with the need to confide in someone, hell,
anyone
, he continued. “The only reason I’m even here is because I trusted the wrong person. Yorum conned me into believing he’d fly me out of the Vrail. I was heading for the Third Quadrant on the Edge of the System, away from System law. You know what they do to my kind? They kill us.” The bitterness over his situation burned like poison.
“Yorum suckered me into hiring him to pilot me out of the System. I had a band of peacemakers on my ass at the time. I was desperate, not thinking straight, and trusted a pirate to do what he promised. Instead, he sold me to fucking Furon. Now here I am, in The Pit.” Zachem snorted. “I try to tell myself I’ve been in worse places, because I have. The dickheads down here at least feed me and give me a place to sleep. Because I win for them, they even give me slaves to fulfil all my needs. But it’s not enough,” he admitted, Tarn’s troubling face in his mind’s eye. “It’s never enough.” Six licked his hand.
“I don’t like it here, but at least I’m respected for my fists. The guards fear me.” A heady sense of power warmed him. “The fuckers can’t kill me, not with all the currency I bring to The Pit. Never been beaten, not since the first day I stepped in the ring. I don’t think they know what I am. That or they don’t care.”
The
threll
cocked its head, as if curious.
“But you know what? One day I’m going to be free. Away from scientists and slavers and people who would kill me because of some stupid law forbidding my kind to live. I’ll find a perfect place and stay far from people.”
So I won’t hurt what I can’t have—love, and a
stable relationship with someone special, someone who will see me and not a monster to destroy or a
tool to be used.
The
threll
startled him by trying to sit in his lap. It licked his chin and neck, nosing too close to his jugular for comfort. No matter that Six acted tame, Zachem couldn’t ignore the creature’s wild nature.
“Easy, Six. You’re no lap-cat, you great beast.”
Six growled, but to his surprise, he knew it meant no harm, that it understood him.
Though most
thrells
had an uncanny intelligence, this one was special. Six barked at him, and he hushed it so the guards wouldn’t investigate.
“Shut it, Six, before the guards come in. And get off my lap. You’re crushing my balls.” He tried to push Six off, careful of the creature’s claws.
Six didn’t seem to care. When the
threll
did move, it didn’t leave the pallet. Instead, it ambled off him, lowered its head to Zachem’s crotch and sniffed. To his shock, Zachem grew aroused.
“Okay, off the bed,” he growled, embarrassed at his inability to control his dick. “Time I got back to sleep. You can have the floor. And don’t argue,” he said when Six growled back at him.
As he lay down to sleep, Zachem considered what a strange night he’d had. He still missed Tarn, though he’d bite off his own tongue before admitting the truth. Six’s presence helped tremendously, allowing him to ease into that sense of calm only his dreams gave him.
He rolled onto his belly and trailed his hand off the bed, resting it on Six’s neck as he drifted into sleep.
Tarn slowly slid out from under Zachem’s warm palm, battling lust and a growing affection for the Creation who liked a wild
threll
more than his own cellmate. Irritated that he couldn’t do anything right now about Zachem’s ‘sexy ass’ comment, Tarn ‘ported back into Pyrgo’s cell.
Pyrgo wasn’t alone. He sat upright in his bed, apparently naked, his legs splayed wide.
Thankfully, the women in his bed had their backs to Tarn, their faces buried between Pyrgo’s thighs. Pyrgo glared at him before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He clutched the women by their hair as they alternately licked and sucked his cock. His abdomen tensed, showcasing the rippled muscle of a man used to combat.
Though Pyrgo refused to comment on his background, the male’s scent and face reminded Tarn too much of a truth he was hard pressed to deny. Yet another surprise on this pain the ass mission.
Pyrgo groaned. “That’s it, Shazza. Suck it harder. Stars yes. Beeta, roll my balls. Good girl. Now which of you wants to swallow first?” he asked, his voice thick. “Here it comes.
And I’ve enough for the both of you,” he promised as he jetted into the blonde’s mouth.
It wasn’t long before she coughed, unable to swallow any more. Tarn watched as Pyrgo continued to come, and then the other woman lowered her pouty lips to his cock and swallowed more. But even she couldn’t handle all of him. She raised her head and milked the rest of it from him, watching with her friend as if mesmerised.
The copious amount of seed indicated Pyrgo’s Time, that the male had entered an Ebrellion heat. During the next few days, unless Pyrgo took the steps necessary to manage his arousal, he’d be desperate to impregnate anything near, day and night. So long as Pyrgo was unmated, Ebrellion herbs and rituals would enable him to control his fertility and the next Wave—that craving for his intended. That Pyrgo seemed in control of himself told Tarn he had no mate. Mated males, during their Time, went crazy for sex, but only with their bonded other.
Tarn had no mate. He too had been able to withstand his Time when the cycles hit.
Thankfully, he had weeks before his next heat. He could only imagine what a nightmare that would have been to add to this already problematic mission. Zachem was enough to deal with.
At the thought of his new fixation, he hardened like stone.
The scene on the bed didn’t help matters. Pyrgo had finally finished climaxing and raised both of his partners to their knees. He began kissing their breasts, fondling them everywhere with his hands. “So good,” he murmured as he toyed with them. By the scents and sounds of his playmates, Pyrgo had satisfied them and was well on the way to arousing them again.
Unfortunately, he showed no sign of stopping.
Tarn twitched, trying to put a stopper on his own arousal, no closer to relief due to Zachem’s resistance. Though he fully understood Zachem’s disgust with his crafted occupation as a slaver, their conflict was hell on his libido. He wondered if he should slake his need with one of the females or with Pyrgo instead. The younger male had a warrior’s
shei
, which Tarn found acceptable for a male he considered fucking. But Pyrgo didn’t arouse him the way that damned Creation did. In fact, lately, Tarn didn’t want anyone but Zachem, and he found the notion not only annoying, but disturbing.
Tarn growled, and Pyrgo reluctantly eased from his partners. “My
threll
needs to go out. Don’t leave this bed,” he rasped, thrumming with power.
“No, Master,” the females responded, as if drugged on his taste, further solidifying Tarn’s suspicions of Pyrgo’s identity.
“Come on, Beast.” Pyrgo donned a pair of loose fitting trousers and pulled them up over his semi-erect cock. He didn’t bother with a shirt and grabbed Tarn’s collar and loincloth off the table. They left the room and quickly walked down several corridors, ducking into an alcove where Tarn could shift back into a man’s form.
As he dressed, Pyrgo muttered under his breath about bad timing and unnecessary interruptions.
“Would you shut up?”Tarn snarled, struggling to put the loincloth on over his own arousal. Fuck if he couldn’t stop thinking about Zachem.
“Like you couldn’t have waited until I came again. I hurt.” Pyrgo rubbed himself. “My Time is coming harder and harder lately.”
Tarn eyed him with concern as he put his collar back on. “You shouldn’t be outside the palace. How many guards are with you here?”
Pyrgo blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Please. I served with your father years ago during the Dexi War. Emperor Nhajir’s a friend of mine.”
“Damn.”
“Your resemblance to him isn’t your only tell. You do a good job hiding it with Furon and the guards, but you’re a little too imperious when we’re together. And there’s no missing that drugging effect your cum had on your partners. Watch yourself, or you’ll end up getting some foreign slave pregnant. Not something you want to bring home to Nhajir, let alone your mother.”