The Alien's Captive (15 page)

“Fire at me again, friend,” GilAman said. “Go on. Draw the guard! Then you and your little slave can both go in the pit!”

Bron knew he was right. He could not fire. He had to weaken GilAman, keep him on the run. He waited. The alien was raging, trying to sneak up from different angles. Phaedra screamed when he once appeared and nearly touched her. But Bron grabbed for him and he retreated, more slowly this time.

“Wait,” she whispered, taking Bron’s arm. “The only way you’ll be able to catch him is to let him catch me.”

“No…”

“Yes! You have to! Please! When he takes hold of me, you grab him.”

It had gone quiet. When Phaedra spoke again, her voice was intentionally louder. “I think he’s gone. Or tired. Perhaps he’s too weak now, or too afraid of you, my dear Bron, or too…”

She screamed then. The alien had her hair, and this time when he flashed into view, Bron grabbed him, his grip so forceful on the alien’s arm that the bones within crushed. A high thin wail filled the cavern as GilAman cried out in pain, and the damned souls in the pit responded, howling and snarling in excitement.

In Bron’s grasp, GilAman’s camouflage faded as pain and fatigue robbed him of the ability to hide, and Bron found himself face to face with the Savusian who had betrayed him.

“GilAman,” he said, holding the alien aloft by the front of his robe. Pulling a knife from the harness on his leg, he pushed it against the Savusian’s throat. “So you wanted to mate with my pet, did you? Wanted to be her lord and master? Sought her submission?” He shook his head. “What you don’t realize is that a female like my Phaedra, a strong female, would die before giving that to a male who did not earn it. Yes, you could have taken her body, but you’d never touch her spirit.” He paused. “Because
you
are the unworthy one.”

GilAman was flashing red, although it was more muted. But his eyes burned with a steady hatred.

“Do it, then,” he said. “Kill me, Bron. I’ll be the last Savusian you kill.”

“Kill you?” Bron lowered the knife. “I’m not going to kill you. I intend to watch you face justice.”

“Is that so?” GilAman sneered. “You plan to get off of Savusia with me
and
a human?” He laughed.

“No,” Bron said. “I plan to watch you face justice now.”

Only after GilAman realized Bron’s intention did he scream. Bron turned to Phaedra then.

“Don’t look,” he said, but she was on her feet, walking to the edge of the pit where Bron was standing, holding a shrieking GilAman over its lip.

“I want to watch,” she said. “I want to know he’s dead. I want to see.”

And he knew then that she needed this, needed to witness his death to move on.

Bron dropped GilAman, and reached for Phaedra as the Savusian landed in the midst of the teeming mass of mad captives. He had not lied to Phaedra, or exaggerated the horrors.

It was over quickly for GilAman. His horror had been brief compared to what he’d intended for her or inflicted on others.

“Are you sorry you watched?” Bron took her into his arms.

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorrier for them,” she said. “His pain is over. He deserved worse. This whole planet does….” She stopped then and looked up. “Oh, Bron,” she said. “There is more.” And the eyes he looked into held great fear. “Your planet—our planet—is in great danger.”

Chapter Nineteen

Because Savusians expected GilAman and his mate to remain locked together during mating, no one thought to look for either. Nothing remained of the alien doctor by the time Bron and Phaedra left the punishment room.

The way off the planet required an abundance of caution. A slave in the company of a trader was one thing, but priests were never in the company of women. Bron was forced to hide Phaedra in a supply room as he went back to fetch the slave trader robes he’d secreted behind a pillar after killing the priest.

He also picked up other elements of disguise—this time for her. In the arena he found a discarded shift, and this—coupled with a handful of grime from the holding pen floor—was sufficient to transform the beautiful intended mate of a Savusian regent into a grimy slave with filthy hair.

“This is the last time you’ll wear a chain,” Bron promised as he snapped a heavy collar around her neck. “But for now, my pet, it is necessary.”

She nodded in understanding, and Bron could see the concern he felt reflected in her eyes. He had to get back to the bay and get a ship. Only then could he contact his planet and inform them of the destruction set to take place within hours, if it hadn’t happened already.

Another slave shipment was arriving. A blessing, Bron realized. If anything, the holding pens and bays were more crowded and disorganized than ever. Fights broke out between traders seeking to move their catch into available pens. Slaves were handled roughly, and Bron followed suit, jerking Phaedra along as she struggled and cried as part of the charade.

“The ship we brought is the best bet,” Bron said. “But leading you will be too conspicuous.”

He found a crate, shoved her inside, and now joined a group of traders heading to load purchased slaves on visiting ships or transport ships for delivery. It seemed a small miracle that they got on board, but Bron wasn’t ready to release Phaedra from her crate, which he strapped in the back before settling into the seat and switching the fuel tank to the full reserve one before starting the engine.

He knew that any minute he could be discovered. Any minute a random hold check could be conducted. He held his breath, waiting for the worst to happen, one hand on his weapon so he could fight to the death if he had to. But there were no hitches, no problems, and soon he’d joined a convoy of traffic leaving Savusia. He stayed with them until the ships dispersed, and he, too, turned and headed for home.

Only when he had set the coordinates for Trao X39 did he radio home, relieved to hear a voice return his transmission. He knew calling any of the politicians who’d betrayed him would be a mistake, so instead, he used the tool they’d so effectively used against him. The media. Bron impressed the urgency of the situation on the reporter he spoke with, gave him the name of an explosives expert, and then asked to speak to an officer of the Iron Guard. To him, he gave orders to take over and hold the capitol by force until he returned, knowing that news of the device would invoke first panic and then suspicion as to whether he had a role in it. He could understand this; it would be easy for his enemies to concoct a story in which he’d planted a bomb, left the planet, and then ‘saved’ it at the last minute. But he knew with the military retrieving and analyzing the bomb, they’d find it made of Savusian components traceable to GilAman’s travels. Not that any of that mattered. While he wanted to save his planet, he was no longer sure he wanted a role in leading it. But then he thought of the corruption and wondered,
If not me, who?

So much uncertainty. He sighed, undoing the restraint and leaving his seat. He desired certainty now, and the one thing he could count on was sleeping in a crate in the hold of the ship.

He walked back and crouched down, looking through the bars at Phaedra’s sleeping form. Even smeared in grime, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

“Wake up, my love.” He clicked the latch on the crate, opening the door. She sat up and moved into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” She suddenly looked up at him. “Trao…?”

“Is safe.” He smoothed a strand of hair away from her upturned face. “And so are you.”

He stood, lifting her. Was it wrong to want to take her now? She’d been through so much, but Bron was seized by a sudden, urgent need to possess her, to drive away all vestiges of stain left on her psyche by GilAman. And she seemed to know this, judging by the way she turned when he sat down to wrap her legs around his waist.

He reached between them, his large fingers finding her pussy slick with need.

“Take me,” she said softly. “Take me, my master, my love, my savior…”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. Bron released his cock, lifted her, drove her down on it. She screamed, stretched and impaled, and then moaned as her pussy began gripping the length of him, clutching him desperately as her arms did the dame. Her sharp nails dug into his broad shoulders as he nibbled the skin of her neck, his hips driving up and up as he fucked her to one screaming release. Then two. Then he ordered her to stop, to wait, as his fingers found her clit and their eyes locked. He could see she was climbing again, biting her lip as she sought to obey.

“Wait,” he growled, teasing the hard little bud. He’d stopped moving but held her there, feeling her starting to pulse around him, but not fully as she controlled herself.

“Now!” he cried, and she came, her screams echoing through the interior of the cabin as she leaned back, her hands on his thighs, her hair hanging behind her like a curtain as his hips drove up and up until he released into her.

After long moments, she straightened and looked down at him. And Bron could see the eyes of his pet held more strength and courage than she’d left with. She was, he decided, amazing.

“Will you still be senator?” she asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“It does not matter,” she said. “I want what you want.”

He pondered this. “I have a duty,” he said. “I have a duty to see this through. But before I do, I will return to Savusia.”

“To Savusia? Why?”

“To make them pay,” he said. “And to do what you would have me do.”

She stared at him, her face registering gratitude. “You’re going to free the slaves, aren’t you?”

“Every one,” he said. “There will be no more torture. No more forced beatings. I’ll salvage the ones I can. The ones who are too far gone will be freed in a different way.”

She nodded, and he knew she realized he was speaking of the tortured beasts in the dark of the pit.

“And what of your slave?” she asked. “And the others.”

“I believe it is time for us to give Earth women the chance to come here by choice, to live the life of a pet or a mate. Traoian women are not jealous. They will not balk if we take some of you as mates.” He put the back of his hand gently against her face. “I would have a child with you, if you so desire.”

Tears came to her eyes. “When I thought… when GilAman…” She struggled to speak. “I thought I would end this day swelling with his baby. It was like a death, thinking I’d never see you again. To know I have you, that you would honor me in this way…”

“You honor me,” he said, and kissed her then. “I can think of no other I would choose to bear my sons.”

She suddenly looked concerned.

“What?” he asked.

“And if they are daughters?”

Bron smiled. “Then may they be as fair and strong as their mother.”

Epilogue

“Who’s a lovely fellow? Who’s a big, strong fellow?”

The baby, with chubby legs and a thick thatch of unruly black hair, excitedly waved his arms and legs as he cooed back at his father.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to talk,” Senator Augustus Bron chuckled to his mate as they smiled down at their son.

“That’s silly!” Nearby their precocious four-year-old daughter, Araylya, rolled her eyes. “Sindarus is too little to have proper words.”

“Give him time,” Phaedra said, rising from the bed where they were spending a lazy morning.

“I am sure nurse can teach him words.” Bron nodded toward the young matron who was entering to take the children to play in the garden dome. “And you can help, Araylya.”

The little girl hopped off the bed. “If I must.”

“You must.” Phaedra smiled and kissed her daughter, then picked up her son and handed him to the nurse. “Have them back for lunch,” she instructed. “Their father and I will be here to receive them.”

The couple watched as the nurse left with their children.

“She’s good to tend to them,” Phaedra said.

“Little ones need tending,” Bron said, and pulled her to the bed with him. “And I see a little one who needs tending now.”

“Oh, do I?” Phaedra asked. “And how so, my lord senator? Am I not a good wife? Did I not hold back my smile with proper decorum the day Senator Primus was banished? Did I not hold my tongue during the debate on the liberation of slaves, even though I myself was first brought to this world as a slave?”

She fell silent, knowing he remembered how he’d spanked her. She remembered it, too, even though it was so long ago. Phaedra leaned into him. “Perhaps I’m so good because I know the price I’ll pay if I disobey, mate or not.”

Bron sat up, pulling her over his lap. “Perhaps you need a reminder of that price, lest you forget.”

Phaedra looked back, watching through heavily lidded eyes as her master and husband worked the shift she wore up over her hips. She wore no undergarment, and her bottom was smooth and unmarked by his hand. But he would change that now, and she was glad for the occasional reminders he offered of his power over her.

“Owww.” She lifted her bottom as the sting of the first slap filled one upturned cheek with heat. “Owww…” Again. And again. Soon she was mewling as the blows went from playful to serious, for this was half game, half reminder that Bron, while a loving and indulgent husband, was still her ruler. It was what he wanted, what she wanted.

After the vanquishing of Savusia and the liberation of the slaves, Bron had ordered the Iron Guard to ferret out the corrupt officials who’d participated in the scheme to remove Phaedra from the planet and destroy his political career. Senator Primus, Senator Rue, Matron Sharad, and several others determined to have been involved with the plot were brought before a tribunal and found guilty of corruption. They were all banished to one of the prison moons for life.

Despite the Iron Guard holding the city, Bron had insisted on free and fair elections to form a new government after the banishment of the conspirators. There was some question in his mind as to whether he should run, but by then talk of what he’d done to save the planet had made him a hero. He easily won the election along with a slate of reform candidates committed to returning power to Traoians.