Interplanetary Slave- Arcada of Ecryon

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INTERPLANETARY SLAVE Arcada of Ecryon

Tasha Temple

Published in ebook format by TempleFiction Copyright © 2011 by TempleFiction www.templefiction.com All rights reserved. Cover design by TempleFiction

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INTERPLANETARY SLAVE Arcada of Ecryon Synopsis

In the star system Ecryon, women are kept as slaves as a way of life. Terenth, heir to the Ecryon throne, punishes his own slave, Arcada, by sending her to distant planets to fight for her life whenever she displeases him. Arcada is forced to travel to Earth where she finds herself bound to serve the whims of a demanding prince who insists she take on a dangerous mission. But when it is decreed that Terenth must marry another before Arcada returns, Terenth, realizing his profound love for his slave, travels to Earth to try to convince her to marry him first. To stay together, Arcada must survive her task and Terenth must do more than exert his ownership over her, he must give her his heart.

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INTERPLANETARY SLAVE Arcada of Ecryon CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21

The Game Begins First Blood Terms of Engagement The Abducted Matters in Ecryon The Fight Is On Gladiator Return of the King Dinner of Desire Tryphene The Demands of Zacrius Best Laid Plans A Princess Unleashed From Ecryon to Earth Finding Arcada The City of Rocks Royal Confrontations Escape Return to Pyrme Reclamation An Answer

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CHAPTER 1 The Game Begins Arcada looked around the dusty city, trying to devise a way to escape. They had taken her blade, stripped her of armor and placed a metal collar around her throat which bit into her neck uncomfortably. It was nothing like the soft gel collar she was used to which still lay transparent underneath, invisible to the people on this planet. Now she stood in a line of women chained together by the small ring in the front of each iron collar, forced to walk through the masses of people crowding the narrow street. The links connecting her to the woman behind her weighed heavily on Arcada’s shoulder, the feel of the cold metal a contrast to the heat of the day. She had her hands free and brushed wisps of her long blonde hair aside that had come loose from the two long braids down her back. She silently cursed Terenth for throwing her into this scenario. Arcada looked behind her, with narrowed hazel eyes, at the long line of women, all naked, their eyes downcast, shuffling through the throngs of men. Some of the men were ogling them, others ignoring the group, most simply rushing through the markets to trade, a line of slave women nothing new. The women were of similar build, pale, with wavy dark hair. They must have been captured from the same location. Arcada, being taller, could look over their heads and saw they were heading for an auction. She knew what that entailed. It was Terenth who had singled her out of an interplanetary slave auction so long ago and taken her to Ecryon. He had taught her about sex and lust and his own version of slavery. In the distance, Arcada heard shouts, cheers and cries of excitement. She looked across the stalls. A tall fence blocked most of the colosseum from view, but she knew inside the arena men were facing off with half-starved and goaded lions, coming closer to their inevitable deaths, some with a modicum of dignity, most paralyzed with fear, whimpering and pissing on themselves as they were shredded limb from limb. Hmmm. That gave her an idea. A plan forming in her mind, Arcada was now impatient to reach the auction platform, waiting as the line moved slowly forward, each woman unhooked in turn from the communal chain and led onto the stage. Arcada watched carefully as the auctioneer replaced the chain on each woman’s collar with a leather leash, pulling each slave up to be viewed and haggled over. Groping was allowed if the prospective bidder put forth enough coin for deposit or was well known as a merchant. Otherwise, those hoping to cop a cheap feel by posing as a slave buyer were out of luck. As Arcada reached the shade of the awning covering the platform, there were four women in line ahead of her. She became aware of many eyes resting on her. She was taller and better proportioned than the small women, standing almost a head taller. More, Arcada was athletic, her skin bronzed, her breasts not overly large, but pleasing and firm. She had plenty of curves, hips and buttocks, but they were taut and strong. And she carried herself with confidence. Arcada was not the least bit bothered by her nudity as

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Terenth made her spend much of her time naked serving him. She cursed him again, wishing for a moment she could find a way to be free of the ultimate sexual enslaver who had taken over not only her body, but her heart. She snorted disdainfully. Slave on Earth, indeed. She would figure a way out of this. If this was Terenth’s idea of subjugating her into giving him a favorable answer she had something to teach him when she got back to her world. He had sent her here, to Earth, because he was angry. This was what Terenth did when he wanted to ‘teach her a lesson.’ He would explain to her where she was going beforehand, give her a little background on the planet and then place her mind and body into oblivion until she arrived at her destination at which time she was automatically awoken and deported. The ship remained cloaked in orbit until the parameters of the game were fulfilled and then would transport her back to Ecryon. Terenth never set the rules himself. He wanted them to be dynamic, ever-changing, unknowable, developing after she arrived. It mattered little to him what trials Arcada suffered as long as she faced them well. Which she always did. To end the game, she was required to free herself, honorably, of any restrictions, imprisonment, obligations or service imposed on her while she remained in the different world. Terenth had the means to play such games because of his position of power and wealth on Ecryon, his home planet. And play games he frequently did, sending Arcada to this planet or that planet to perform some series of tasks, never free to return until she completed them successfully. Generally, before Terenth condemned her to a game, he was calm, controlled, relaxed. He would patiently explain the scenario in his firm, comforting demeanor and then send her off. Once she left, he never kept track of, never observed her, never monitored her. He had absolute confidence in her ability to survive, her desire to return to him, the evolution of her submission to him as she faced death knowing it was his will. Some of it was punishment, but most of it was about growth. Both Terenth and Arcada both felt their bond to each other grow stronger, more intense each time she returned. But Arcada wasn’t sure whether it would be the same this time. Terenth hadn’t sent her away for the usual reasons. He had been uncharacteristically angry with her. Angry because she had refused to marry him. ***** “You . . . will . . . marry me,” Terenth had hissed, his eyes violet-black as he tore into Arcada, her body jerking helplessly beneath him, arching into her aggressively as she gasped at the power of his thrusts, her head thrown back, her body flushed with sensation. Terenth had secured the inside of each of Arcada’s wrists to the outside of each of her ankles using a powerful adhesive gel. He had pushed her knees up and outward and held her pinned her under him, defenseless and open to his brutal tempo as he fucked her mercilessly, his body covered in a sheen of perspiration, his eyes focused intently on her. “Say you’ll marry me,” he groaned, his lips inches from hers, as she pulsed around him, her inner warmth rippling, massaging, bathing him in her wetness as he took what he

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wanted from her, still demanding more, never able to get enough of the beautiful, quivering woman lying underneath him, so strong and fearless, yet so unabashedly submissive. It was a combination Terenth had been drawn to since the day he laid eyes on her, the day he had acquired her and made her his slave. He had needed no other since. And never would. He drew his arms up under her shoulders and held her to him, his emotions throbbing through his cock as he pistoned into her fiercely. “Terenth . . . I – I . . . can’t,” Arcada whimpered, trembling, staring up at him, her green eyes luminous, alight with passion, her mind whirling as her body was lost to his voracious dominance, the fire of his control tearing through her like a raging inferno. “Traditions be damned. I want you with me,” he breathed, releasing her shoulders and grasping her bent legs, driving into her harder as she fell back making her gasp and cry out at his ache. “Just say it. Say you’ll be mine.” Terenth’s lip curled, his body tight and tense, as he gave her all of him, his blistering, frenzied hunger, his craving for her, his power, his authority unlimited except for this one answer, this one admission which he could not seem to force from her. He plunged into her impassioned, feeling whole and complete with Arcada, yet starving and wanting at the same time. “I am yours,” she cried as he twisted into her, corkscrewing, whirling, wrenching her breath from her. Then he stopped moving, his hands caressing her thighs, his face momentarily softening. She lay bound beneath him, her eyes wet, glistening with emotion, her long blonde hair damp and sticking to her temples. ”You will marry me!” he suddenly snarled, withdrawing quickly, flipping Arcada like a helpless animal on the spit and entering her from behind, riding her violently, his hands gripping her waist so tightly they were leaving marks, his eyes closed with exertion. All Terenth wanted to do was to possess this stubborn, infuriating woman, the only woman in the known universe who had ever made him feel this way. He thought he had broken her, bent her will to his, believed that she would deny him nothing, despite her spirit, her resilience and strength which he nurtured and left untouched. His very soul hurt, a tormented gash in his dark nature at the rejection by a slave. No, it was more than that. It was rejection by Arcada, the woman who had caused this terrible void. Why would she not have him? He made a guttural sound as her sleeve clutched around him, squeezing, vibrating, distantly hearing Arcada scream her pleasure and release as he hunched into her, falling over his own plateau of passion, spinning out of control as he filled her with his essence, forgetting just for a small moment, her refusal. ***** Arcada knew Terenth had been furious with her. She had been his slave for twelve years and obeyed him in all things. To him, marriage was a demand, another requirement that she should meet without question to fulfill his desires. To Arcada, marriage was another matter altogether and out of the question given the political status of slaves on Ecryon. So Terenth had given her an idea of what to expect on Earth, stripped her of those powers 7

he granted her on Ecryon, and cast her here, leaving her subject to the torments of this world. This sucked. Finally, Arcada reached the stand, her turn for display. The auctioneer, a short, ugly bald man with bulging muscles lumbered down the few steps to the lineup to unsnap Arcada from the communal link. The crowd made hoots and whistles of approval as he descended. Damn, the auctioneer thought – where had they found this one? She would no doubt bring the highest price of the season. His eyes washed over Arcada’s body lustfully, wishing fervently he could take a grope himself but it wasn’t allowed and it might influence his commission. He never did anything to jeopardize his commission. The squat man licked his lips, thinking of how much money she was going to make him. He reached for Arcada’s collar and fitted a small key in the links connecting her to the other women, releasing the chains from the metal band around her throat. He held the leash outstretched in his hand and brought it up to snap to her collar to replace the chain. This was exactly what Arcada had been waiting for. She forced her knee sharply forward into the man’s groin, throwing her entire weight into the assault. He gasped, staggering backwards, completely unprepared for her attack and Arcada grabbed the leather strap from his hands, wrapped it quickly around his neck, and pulled tightly until the man’s eyes bulged and his skin flushed purple. The audience stared at the spectacle, dumbfounded, their mouths agape, unable to react as if their eyes deceived them. Arcada noticed one of the guards across the stage finally pull his sword and start to move, walking toward her as if in slow motion, then gaining momentum as he began to run. She didn’t have time to properly ensure the announcer was dead so she released the leash around his neck and shoved his plump, sagging body hard into the approaching guard, knocking him off balance. Then she sprang from the platform, reaching for the horizontal pole which held up part of the awning and used her momentum to swing out and away from the stage. She released her grip and flew through the air, crashing through a merchant’s tent behind the slave platform, finding herself wrapped in the bright cloth that made up the pavilion. Tearing the colorful fabric away from her body, she ran, overturning a cart of apricots and sliding through the loose fruit as she fought her way through the surprised merchants who all seemed unable to do nothing more than stare at the tall, naked blonde with a collar around her neck running through the market. “Stop her! Stop that slave!” Arcada heard the shouts behind her but didn’t look back. Her mind raced through a slew of options – fighting, hiding, escaping the city on horseback, but she knew her best chance to bring this entire game to a quick end lay ahead of her. She kept running, ducking past carts and behind hanging tapestries, slipping through the crowded streets, eluding her pursuers, turning heads as she streaked. Finally she reached a long, snaking line of well-dressed patrons standing in an open grassy area, waiting to enter the large stone colosseum. Ignoring the line she glimpsed a small, dark opening which she guessed led to the lower levels. She squeezed through a knot of women tittering in conversation who gave squeals of distress and alarm as Arcada

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brushed past them unconcernedly. She headed for the small archway and entered, finding herself in a low, sloping corridor. It was cool inside and no one had seemed to follow her. Arcada stopped to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees, inhaling deeply. Suddenly, she heard shouts again. “The woman. The slave girl. Where did she go?” “That way. She went through that entrance. Over there!” Shit, she thought, and resumed running down the hall until her way was blocked by a heavy door fitted with a set of iron bars. She tugged on the handle. It was locked. Through the bars she saw an open-air passage lined by low walls on either side leading upward. She knew it exited into the colosseum. She could hear the crowd clamoring, yelling encouragement, groaning, then a smattering of applause. There was already a contest in progress. Perfect. She just needed the door open. The pounding of footsteps behind her grew louder. Arcada didn’t know how many men were after her but thought she might not be able to fight them all off. Besides, she had no weapon. She turned around, noticing an open doorway leading from one side of the corridor and thrust her head through. Her eyes fell on a portly guard leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, snoring slightly, with a large metal ring hanging from his belt. Yesss. She slipped quickly into the room and slammed her bare heel into the sleeping guard’s face, breaking his cheekbone and stunning him. She ripped the ring from his belt and raced back to the door, trying the keys one by one. Finally, one clicked and she tugged on the iron handle. The door swung open. She stepped through into the bright corridor and closed it behind her. Arcada looked back. A half dozen men armed with swords skidded to a halt at the bars and stopped, breathing hard, gawking at her in a cluster. One put his hand on the metal bar that would open the door. “Don’t touch that. Are you mad? There are lions in there!” “Crazy bitch. What’s she doing?” “No idea, but don’t touch the door.” “Damn. I really wanted that commission.” “Fuck your commission. She’s insane. You can’t go after her now! She’s a dead slave. You don’t want to be dead too.” One of the men fumbled with the key Arcada had left in the lock and she heard it snap. He leered at her, his expression taunting now that he had just cut off any means of her retreat. Arcada grinned, turned around and bounded up the stone passage, pausing as she reached the arena to look around the enormous colosseum.

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CHAPTER 2 First Blood Arcada stood at the exit from the upwardly sloped passage scanning the vast amphitheater. It was about two-thirds filled with spectators, their faces too distant make out, waving banners and fluttering pennants, people moving through the stands, food and drink vendors climbing up and down the stairs connecting the levels. At the far end of the arena, an elaborate stage was set in the lower part of the stadium covered by a stone awning to protect the occupants from the sun. Arcada’s eyes narrowed. Royalty. That was where she would need to approach. Her eyes swept the rest of the field. It was mostly empty. It seemed that the round was coming to a close. A single lioness, skinny, mangy and unkempt rested in the center of the arena, mouthing the entrails of an unfortunate soul. Across the stadium, closer to the stage, was an enormous door wrought of long iron bars. That would be where they kept the lions. Arcada guessed there would be more than one. Motion caught her eye and she noticed several guards milling around behind a man-size door a short distance away from the lion cage. The door was partially open and a pair of bloodied legs was disappearing inside. That must be where they would drag what was left of the bodies. The crowd was quieting now, a few shouts of encouragement at the beast, the excitement all but over for this bout. That was fine. Her plan would still work to get the attention of whoever was in charge. Arcada walked slowly out into the arena heading toward the lion which was now gnawing languidly on the remainder of a leg. The beast would no longer be starving. This would be easy. She walked directly toward it and it raised its head slightly, working its jaws, chewing, watching her disinterestedly. In the back of her mind, Arcada became aware of a hush falling over the crowd, a few shouts and even shrieks. She knew it was only a matter of time before the guards became aware of her and did something to stop her. But she had another minute. She studied the animal, walking without fear or hesitation, giving it no cause to do anything other than continue eating its victim. The contestant’s sword lay discarded some distance from the lion and Arcada walked over, picked it up and hefted it in her hand. It was short, thank the Diviners. By now the stands had erupted in pandemonium, the wild motions of spectators gesturing and pointing in the corner of her vision, but she ignored it, concentrating only on the creature ahead of her. She took care not to approach the animal too far to one side, to avoid unnerving it, and began to crouch just a bit lower in readiness as she moved in. The lioness lay calmly, using its paws to lift the leg up slightly, grinding its teeth a bit harder now, scraping bone. Arcada stopped as she reached the end of the long leg in the lion’s mouth, her bare toes brushing the sandal still strapped to the dead man’s foot.

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From behind her, Arcada heard the scrape of metal and the barking of orders. She knew without looking back that guards were rushing through the opening, swords and spears extended, heavy nets in their hands, ready to hold off the lion and capture her. She couldn’t let that happen. It was showtime. The lioness raised its scraggly head to look at the commotion behind Arcada. It really was a poor specimen of a cat. Obviously starved, patches of fur missing, deep, barely healed scratches on its sides from fighting with other beasts, and other, cleaner marks, purposely inflicted by the torment of knives and swords meant to stir and incite its vicious nature. The lion released the leg, the fur around its mouth stained red from blood, and rose to all four legs, its eyes primarily on Arcada, but flashing at the blur of the motion of the guards in the distance. Its tail lashed the ground hard. Arcada wasted no time as soon as the lion stood up. She adjusted her grip on the short sword, rolled to the ground and snatched the mostly eaten leg in one hand. She continued moving under the lion’s head as she thrust the leg hard at its jaws. The animal was torn for a partial second between the sudden threat of Arcada rolling under it, the urge to bite down on the half-eaten bone, and the draw of men rushing toward it from the far corner of the arena. Arcada seized that hesitation to drive the sword deeply into the animal’s neck from underneath, stabbing upward through its thick muscles with considerable strength and using her momentum to slice down the animal’s windpipe, laying it open to the air. She tucked and rolled free from the animal’s body, crawling out from under its rear legs. The stunned lion tried to bellow with pain but emitted only strained grunts and wheezes as it staggered sideways, blood pouring from its neck, streaking its matted yellow fur and adding fresh color to the hard dusty ground. Its head crashed to the ground first, its legs still moving, pushing its body forward across the field as the beast shuddered and wheezed heavily in great pain. One front leg twitched and fell out from under the lion and then the other. Finally, its hind legs toppled over and the lion convulsed, its head flush to the ground, its hips oddly swiveled to the side, its tail spasming. Arcada watched as the animal lay dying. The contingent of soldiers racing after her slowed as they neared the lion, finally coming to a stop, lowering their weapons in bewilderment, as if paralyzed with shock. She gave them one final glance and then sprinted for the raised canopy at the end of the colosseum, her sword still dripping with blood of the great beast. As Arcada neared the edge of the field, she saw more soldiers leaping over the low stone walls, guards obviously meant to protect whoever was so important to warrant shade under which to observe the stadium events. Arcada was a fast runner, even stripped of her powers on Earth, and made it almost to the end of the arena before she found her way blocked by a contingent of soldiers, swords held on point, spears and javelins hefted at the ready. Looking up, she saw a row of archers, arrows nocked, all trained on her. Spinning, she took in the men who had been chasing her, finally closing in, one even clutching a large net. She could see the gold lifeless body of the lion in the distance through the dust stirred up by their running.

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She was surrounded.

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CHAPTER 3 Terms of Engagement Arcada held out her sword, rotating slowly, something about the wild, threatening face of the tall, naked woman holding the soldiers at bay even though they encircled her from all directions. Her thoughts turned angrily to Terenth again. If she were to die here, she would truly die. She also knew Terenth wasn’t the least bit afraid he would lose her. He liked subjecting her to the risk of death, believing it kept her skills sharp and her instincts on edge. But he thought her too strong, had too much faith in her, thought her more than capable of whatever trials he put her through. Damn, she wasn’t invincible. “My Lord!” Arcada called out as she came back to face the shelter. “I beg an audience with you!” She watched the fingers of the soldiers twitching on their weapons with anticipation. She couldn’t be captured again or she would lose all bargaining power and have to start over. “My Lord!” she tried again, over the heads of the soldiers, more volume in her voice. She couldn’t make out who was in charge in the sea of faces. She didn’t even know whether there was a lord, a king, queen, or just a lesser magistrate overseeing the festivities. But she was calculating that whoever it was wouldn’t mind being addressed in such a way. It was her best shot. There was a low murmuring and the men in front of Arcada began to draw back much to her relief. An imposing man stepped through the parting soldiers and stood assessing her. He was a head taller than she was with a broad chest, dressed in a full leather uniform, which revealed his heavily corded arms and muscular legs. His dark blond hair hung loosely over piercing green-gold eyes that reminded Arcada of the eyes of a hawk. He was handsome, but in a fearsome way, his expression hard and calculating, his eyes betraying nothing. She watched his eyes flicker over her body as she stood composed, no hint of discomfort at her state. She could not read them, but noticed that they lingered slightly at the apex to her thighs, her breasts and the metal collar around her neck. The man raised his hand, giving it a quick wave, and the circle widened around them. He flicked it impatiently again, his eyes narrowing in displeasure, even though he kept his gaze on Arcada. The soldiers stepped back even further but all weapons were still trained on the woman facing their ruler. “If we are going to discuss anything civilly, you will need to lower your weapon,” he said to her, almost casually.

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Shit, thought Arcada. She should have remembered that. She brought it down, its point facing the ground, but kept a tight grip on it. If she was going to be attacked or killed, she wasn’t going alone. She noticed his eyes flick to her grasp around the sword, taking in her readiness. He was observant, she gave him that. “I am Zacrius,” the man said, resting one hand on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist and looking at her reflectively. “Prince Zacrius . . . of the Kingdom of Pyrme,” he said, with a slight emphasis on his title. Arcada lowered her head slightly in deference and then raised it again, meeting his eyes. She knew the drill. “So,” said Zacrius slowly, making to walk around her, “to what do I owe the honor of a naked slave woman showing up in the middle of my arena and killing one of my valuable – and very expensive – lions?” Zacrius could afford a thousand of the scrappy beasts but liked demonstrating his power. He would make her think she had taken something of great value from him. The truth was he could care less about the lion. He was impressed with the woman. Very impressed. The games had been a bit boring today. The lions had been especially fierce, maiming and killing the contestants with impunity, the victims hardly having a chance to draw their weapons as they ran screaming before the onslaught of the beasts. He had finally ordered a single lion placed in the pit with three men, trying to level the odds to make for an interesting fight. Still – nothing but easy snacks. And then – this naked woman had killed the lion herself within a minute of entering the stadium. True the lion had been absorbed in eating, its belly not entirely empty, but he knew the beasts were never easy to subdue even on a sated stomach. He studied her as he walked around her. She was taller than most of the women in his kingdom. Her long blonde hair had been held in two plaits over her back, much of it now loose and wild after rolling on the ground with the animal. Blood from the lion’s wound had coated her breasts and belly, making it almost appear as if she wore an ochre-red dress. Although her breasts were on the smaller side, her body was well-rounded and tight; she also looked physically strong. Obviously she was, he thought, given what she had just accomplished. She also appeared to be quite unabashed about her nakedness, although he doubted she was truly a slave. Arcada let Zacrius walk behind her, without turning, although every muscle in her body tensed, her fingers gripping and re-gripping the handle of her blade. She was surprised, very surprised, that she had been allowed to keep the sword. But she wasn’t sure she would have relinquished it without killing the guard who tried to take it from her so it was probably a good thing. She continued to face forward, but her eyes swept to the side, watching Zacrius closely as he came back into view. She noticed he had a large tattoo on one of his biceps, a flying dragon entwined around a sword. “Well?” he demanded impatiently. “What made you kill one of my animals? Why are you here?”

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Shit, Arcada thought. That was the second time she had let herself get distracted by this man. What was wrong with her? She inhaled and squared her shoulders. This was where she would find out the framework of the game – how easy – or difficult – it would be to get free from this scenario and back to her world. “I am here because I would like to fight in the arena in exchange for my freedom,” she said, loudly enough for the surrounding soldiers and some of those closest in the crowd to hear her. Zacrius brought one hand up to his chin, stroking absently at the stubble there. His eyes looked amused. “It seems you’ve already made a start at that. What is your name?” “Arcada. Arcada of Ecryon,” she said, not knowing what else to say about where she was from. “Ecryon? Where is that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “It is . . . in another land,” she answered truthfully. “Far from here. It is rather small,” she added. Well, small in the intergalactic sense anyway. “I am sorry that you have not heard of it, my Lord.” Her contriteness seemed to placate Zacrius. He continued to regard her as if she was some strange object of curiosity fallen from the heavens. “And what is it you would fight, Arcada of Ecryon?” he asked indulgently. “I would fight . . .” she hesitated, trying to gauge the right number to balance the best odds and convince the ruler to give her freedom, “three lions. All at once. Alone.” Loud guffaws broke out around her, exaggerated snorts and derisive laughter, as the circle of soldiers elbowed and jabbed at one another. Zacrius held Arcada’s gaze, pulling his hand away from his chin, rubbing his fingers together idly, as he looked at her, his expression impassive. The soldiers shifted uncomfortably, their mirth dying away as they realized their ruler wasn’t laughing at all. “Three lions,” Zacrius said, musingly as the soldiers quieted. “All at one time. In exchange for your freedom?” “Yes,” Arcada replied, challenge in her eyes. He considered her for several more moments, his hawkish eyes glinting, something deeper in them Arcada recognized as hunger. And for more than the game. “No,” he said evenly.

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Arcada gasped audibly and then caught herself, fighting back the surge of emotions and willing herself to calm. How could he refuse her? She steeled herself for an attack, her fingers tightening over the bloodied blade she still held. Zacrius’ mouth twitched slightly at the corners, watching her reaction. He had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of men face his lions, every single one motivated by the specter of death and the tenuous possibility of freedom. But Arcada hadn’t been forced to fight the first lion. She had no basis on which to demand her freedom. “Stand down, warrior,” he said. “Although I am sure you have other excellent . . . uses, I’m always up for a good fight in the arena. You’ve killed one beast and shown us you are a fighter. I will let you face your lions.” Arcada exhaled with relief. He stretched slightly, giving a small yawn, as he considered the arena and his soldiers. “Just not in exchange for what you have asked of me.” Arcada’s eyes hardened into a deep jade as she waited for him to continue. He looked at her. “Kill three lions and I will spare your life. But you will not have your freedom until you have given me another service.” Arcada cringed internally. She knew what Zacrius was going to demand of her. Sexual slavery. Why were all men on all planets, in all times, the same? She would have to go along with it until she could find a way to kill Zacrius and release herself. That was how Terenth always set up each scenario. The ship waiting in orbit would not return her to Ecryon until she worked herself free fairly from each restriction that was imposed on her. And if she tried somehow to return early or twist the rules, she would be instantly suffocated by the translucent collar she had worn around her neck for the past twelve years. Not even Terenth could deprogram it to save her life. “You will serve me as a warrior,” Zacrius said to her. She stared at him as if she did not hear him correctly. As a warrior? Shit, that could last even longer than slavery. She wouldn’t be able to simply kill her commanding officer to relieve herself of that duty. That would go against the nature of a soldier and therefore would not be allowed under the scenario. How long would that last? She mentally cursed Terenth again. Arcada leveled her eyes at him. “And how long would my service be required, my Lord?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Zacrius knew what had been left unspoken. Although he had no idea where this woman was really from, she obviously didn’t want to be bound to serve him any longer than necessary.

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“Something has been stolen from me,” he said, taking a step closer to her and lowering his voice. “Something very important to me. Recover it and I will release you from my service. You will be free to leave then if you so choose.” “One thing?” she clarified. “I would be required to recover only one thing for you?” “Yes. Only one thing.” Arcada thought about this. It was probably an ancient dagger or a family necklace. A chest of gold or some stone with fabled powers. It couldn’t take that long to find and retrieve it, whatever it was, no matter where it was held or how it was guarded. She wouldn’t be in the service of this prince long. And then she would return to her world and find Terenth and . . . oooh, she was getting angry again. She wouldn’t think about that now. “I agree to your terms, Prince Zacrius,” Arcada said confidently. “Release the lions and I will fight them now.” Zacrius snorted. “Like that?” he scoffed, his eyes passing over her disdainfully. “Preposterous! We will equip you with armor. And clothing.” “I am in no need of anything further. I am ready now,” Arcada replied, flexing her hand over the short sword, impatient to begin. “Your state of undress is obscene,” he said flatly. “This is a stadium, not a slave show. There are people of decency here,” he said waving his hands toward the stands. “Expectations to be upheld. You will allow yourself to be outfitted properly.” His eyes hardened. The fact that he had ordered it, made it so. Arcada would be risking what little favor she had with him if she protested despite the fact that she was from another land. She recognized the look in his eyes. Terenth would look at her that way sometimes. Well, most of the time. She knew that the prince would not be dissuaded. She would just have to wait. Zacrius glanced doubtfully at the sword she held at her waist. “The blade – you can keep if you wish. But you will have your choice of weapons as well as shielding.” Arcada nodded. “I will accept that, my Lord.” He gestured to the two soldiers closest to him. “Take her to the pools and get her bathed, clothed and retuned to the arena, quickly. Give her selection in all matters. Do not abuse her – she will need all of her strength to entertain us.” Zacrius turned back to Arcada, taking in the look of anticipation in her eyes. “Your bravado borders on foolishness, Arcada of Ecryon. Facing three lions is no easy task despite the fact you dispatched one while it was distracted. There will be no distractions this time – other than you. You will most likely be dead before all lions even

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make it out of their enclosure. This will hardly be a sporting event. But I have given you my word and will let you try.” “Be prepared to get back what it is you’ve lost, my Lord,” she said, raising her chin to him before she turned to leave with the two soldiers. Zacrius shook his head slightly, watching her go. He knew she would fail – one woman, no matter how seemingly talented – or arrogant – couldn’t possibly overcome three starving lions. But, he shrugged, it was something different and that alone would entertain the masses enormously even if she died quickly. And if she succeeded . . . well, he didn’t need to think about that right now. It was impossible anyway. The circle of soldiers disbursed and Zacrius exited the arena, taking the stairs quickly back up to the covered platform. He stopped momentarily next to an older man with graying hair draped in white robes. The man leaned closer as Zacrius approached. “Make the announcement to the crowd, Thaddius. And stop the gladiating until the woman returns – it will build up the excitement more. Switch to . . . the chariotless racing.” Yes, the crowd would like the chariotless racing. Zacrius had invented it himself. Instead of standing on the small two-wheeled chariots, a large number of contestants were forced to stand on small pieces of wood pulled around the arena at top speed by strong, black horses goaded by whips. The lions were brought to the pens nearest the stadium and poked and prodded with sharp staffs so that they growled, roared and otherwise made the horses extremely nervous. Sometimes he even let the lions out. But he wouldn’t this time. It was almost impossible to remain standing on the small boards and one by one the contestants fell to the ground to be trampled to death by the stampeding horses in the mayhem. “My Lord?” the man asked, breaking into Zacrius’ thoughts. “Yes, Thaddius?” “Which lions shall we use for the young woman’s challenge?” Zacrius thought for a moment. Some of the lions had already fed, having killed various gladiators and eaten parts of their bodies before they could be forced back into their cages. Others would be lethargic or sleeping midday for whatever reason. He looked at the man. “Choose the three hungriest, most restless and agitated animals. Have them provoked and riled even further until the woman returns. And inform the crowd of this.” “Yes, my Lord,” Thaddius replied, nodding, a pleased look in his eyes. He didn’t think the woman stood a chance either, but it was better . . . much better to make sure of it.

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CHAPTER 4 The Abducted The princess looked up as she heard a grating sound on the opposite side of the heavy wooden doors to her chamber. The doors slowly swung open and she glimpsed several armed guards in the hallway beyond. A man, his skin glistening, so dark as to be black, swept through, resplendent in burgundy and gold robes. After he entered, the guards pushed the doors closed behind him and they met each other with a heavy thud. The man was well-built with a cruel, callous air to him, his lips set in a permanent aristocratic sneer, his nose, large and flared, his black eyes haughty and disdainful. A long, ragged scar ran from the edge of one eye down the length of his cheek. His eyes fell on the small woman huddling in the far corner of the room. He swept toward her like a large, graceful cat centering on its prey, stopping before her. She seemed to be quaking with fear. He extended his hand to hers imperiously. “Rise, Lady Seneca. Do not snivel in the corner. It does not become you.” The woman looked up at him. He was tall and frightening and she had no idea what he expected from her. Her eyes drifted over his raven face. She would have thought him handsome but for that scar which made him appear dangerous instead. But there was something undeniably sensual about him. Something erotic and compelling. She almost put her hands to her ears to push the thoughts away. No, she told herself vehemently. She would not be thinking such thoughts about her captor. He shook his hand impatiently, still extended, waiting for her to take it. Choking back her nervousness, she put her hand in his. He immediately drew her up to her full height and then in toward his body, holding her very close. She gasped at the sensation, overwhelmed by his nearness, feeling something she could not describe begin to flutter in her belly. Other than her father and brothers, this was the closest she had ever been to a man, and this ruler – no this King – King Seraph, exuded more maleness than she had ever dreamed possible. Seraph looked at the diminutive woman trembling before him, her dark hair falling loosely around her face, her expression panicky. She was afraid – clearly afraid of him. As well she should be – after all she was a virgin and had been kidnapped only days earlier. She had no idea whether he was about to rape her. His black eyes flashed with appreciation at the innocent beauty in her upturned face. But something else was flickering in the wide, blue eyes of the princess that he could not identify. Was it fear . . . or something more? Well, he would soon find out. Abruptly, Seraph released her hand and turned from her, walking to the small window carved into the sandstone that overlooked the City of Rocks. Heavy slats were set into the window, barred to prevent foolish heroics such as the princess throwing herself a thousand feet to her death to demonstrate her grief at her predicament. He looked idly out across the mountainous terrain of his kingdom.

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Seneca kept her eyes locked to the King, feeling a distinct sense of loss when he had moved away from her. Seraph turned around, leaned against the sill and folded his arms, his eyes appraising. Despite herself, Seneca flushed under his gaze. “You must wonder why you’ve been brought her, Lady Seneca?” the King asked in a deep, almost mesmerizing voice. A dozen things ran through Seneca’s head and some rattled uncontrollably off the tip of her tongue. “You . . . you have a dispute with my father. You’re holding me for ransom. You found out about my promised marriage. You’re using me to get something you want.” Seraph smiled. “Such an imagination. Yes, something along those lines.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over her body. “I hope your experience arriving here was not terribly unpleasant?” It had been terrifying. They had treated her reasonably well, but had placed a hood over her head as they neared the city so she could not see how she was being brought into it. It had been hot and uncomfortable. “I would not wish it on anyone, my Lord,” she said in a small voice. “But you were not harmed?” he pressed, the menacing edge in his voice making her cringe. “N – no. I was not harmed,” she said, tripping over her words. “In any way?” he demanded. “Except for draping a cloak over my face when I came into the city, which I found dreadful, no.” He relaxed somewhat. If one of his soldiers had abused her, more than that one soldier would die. “You have been fed? And allowed to bathe and dress?” His eyes swept appreciatively over the blue gown she wore and her soft black hair cascading to her waist. He could see that although she was small, she looked to have ample padding. Just the way he desired a woman. “Yes,” she squeaked, unnerved by the intimacy of the last question. “I have been able to do those things.” ”Good,” he said shortly. “And how do you find your accommodations?” She glanced around the room. It was spacious with a small four-poster bed, an attractive dark bureau and a sitting area with a table and three chairs. There was no need for a fireplace as the climate was quite warm. The two small windows in the room allowed for

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circulation, even with the bars, and the temperature of the room was pleasant day or night. The accommodations were fine, but . . . she was trying hard to grow a backbone . . .. “I demand you release me, your Highness,” Seneca suddenly blurted out, mustering up all the indignity she could manage. Seraph regarded her, his black eyes entertained. “I’m afraid that I cannot do, my Lady,” he said silkily. “However, if you are in need of anything that will make your stay more pleasant, I could provide that.” Seneca inhaled, her eyes darting back and forth quickly, thinking. “I want to move freely about your fortress,” she finally said. She was surprised at herself for demanding this. It sounded much bolder than she felt. Seraph smiled insincerely. “Again, my Lady, I’m afraid you ask too much of me.” His voice was a bit darker this time and Seneca swallowed. Perhaps she should not have been so bold. Seraph pushed off the wall by the window and approached her again. This time she retreated, stepping away from him as he neared until she felt the warm, sandstone wall at her back. Still Seraph advanced until he was inches from her, invading her personal space, looking down at her, his black eyes glittering. He wasn’t in contact with her, but he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body through his robes, flushing her skin, making her feel faint, a tingling sensation rushing up and down her spine. Little beads of perspiration began to break out on her forehead. Her chest tightened and she felt as if she was having a hard time drawing another breath. Her eyes fell from his deep, penetrating eyes to his dark lips. They looked warm, soft, sensuous. Seraph began to lower his head to hers and something unfamiliar swelled powerfully within Seneca as she felt a surge of warmth and wetness between her legs and a thrilling ache that made her dizzy. She suddenly began to panic at the overwhelming sensations, her breathing become shallower, trying to fight the heat beginning to rise in her and she abruptly pushed up at his broad chest with one small hand. He captured it in his large, black hand and held it pressed firmly against his torso. She gasped at the feel of his flesh on hers. “Why – why are you touching me?” she whispered up at him. “I believe you touched me first,” Seraph replied smoothly, his mouth now inches above hers. Seneca made a little noise in the back of her throat, feeling what she could only describe as a delicious longing, a throbbing pull centered under her belly, forcing ripples of flame through the rest of her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Seraph’s lips, so full, so

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close to her own. What would it be like if he . . . ? She half-closed her eyes, willing him nearer. Seraph caressed the flesh on the top of Seneca’s hand gently with his thumb as he held her hand firmly at his chest. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. He looked down at her, unmistakable hunger in his black eyes. “If there is anything you desire – within reason – my Lady,” he said softly, “I have given the guards instructions to provide it to you. You will be treated well or I will hear about it. Unfortunately, you must remain . . . in your chambers, for now. But food, wine, dress, entertainment – anything else is yours for the asking.” She stared helplessly up at him, her blue eyes glowing with obvious heat, trying not to pant. “I’m afraid I have some business to attend to. I will return to check on you in a few days,” Seraph said, stepping back and drawing her hand to his lips, moving them slightly, pressing them against her pale skin a bit longer than necessary. Seneca leaned forward from the wall, her body following him involuntarily. Wouldn’t he at least kiss her before he left? “A . . . a few days?” she stammered, hardly knowing the words she said. Her disappointment was palpable. “Yes. A few days. Until then, my Lady,” Seraph said richly, releasing her hand and bowing to her slightly. He turned, walked to the doors, easily pushed them open and left without a backwards glance. Seneca watched the guards re-close the doors and heard the bar fall heavily into place. Her knees buckled at the sound and she crumpled to the floor, surrounded by the folds of her gown. She sighed, running her fingers lightly over the back of her hand where Seraph’s lips had brushed her skin. A few days, she thought. She wasn’t sure she could wait that long.

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CHAPTER 5 Matters in Ecryon Terenth strode quickly along the curved arch, expletives falling from his lips as he looked around at the starlit blackness surrounding him. Why his father wouldn’t allow him access to his hold in any other manner was beyond him. The arches were downright creepy. He wished he could use gel transport, a lift, a ship, anything other than walking on a narrow, fragile, twisted path, arcing high into the air, seeming to nearly touch the depths of the galaxy above, the writhing silvery ground an immeasurable distance below his feet. He knew that the walkway was coated with gel and he could not fall off, either to his death below or to drift eternally in space above, but that didn’t make it any less unnerving. He made it to the apex, paused for a moment and then continued, his belly tightening as he began the steep descent, his lip curling with displeasure, certain his boots would slip out from under him as the path intentionally radiated the illusion of slickness. Finally, Terenth reached the convergence of the five arches and stepped out onto flat, level ground, breathing a little easier. He approached the gelatinous main entry doors and stepped through the transparent barrier without hesitation, feeling the familiar surge of the gel pass through his cells as it tested him, oozing through his body, seeking his signature and evaluating his energy as it granted him access. If Terenth had been an intruder he would not have made it through the doors. He would have solidified in place as the gel merged with his cells, coagulating, melting his body until he dissipated into and became a part of the viscous material. He ran his hands through his dark hair as he stepped out from the gel, still unnerved from his walk over the archway. He was always on edge when he went to see his father. It was probably exactly the way Quintus wanted it. Scowling, he walked forward across the wide entry hall, glancing down at the floor to see how his father’s mistress, Eloise, had enchanted it today. It was a sea of pulsing, fluorescent anemones, stunningly orange and pink, in an indigo darkness. Thankfully different from the last time he had been here when she had used swirls of clouds with sudden gaping breaks to simulate the sensation of falling through the sky. The entry was conspicuously absent of slaves leaving Terenth to wonder if Quintus had sent them off to entertain some visiting dignitaries or had them all strung up in some contrived dungeon awaiting punishment of some sort. His father loved slaves, embracing the Ecryon philosophy ingrained in the very cells of all men born on this planet, including Terenth. But due to his position as head of the entire Ecryon system, Quintus was able to keep countless women, using them in every way imaginable, giving them freely as gifts as the mood struck him, sending his merchants to scour the galaxy for the most willing and subservient females. That was one of the differences Terenth had with his father and why Quintus was so scornful of him. Once Terenth acquired Arcada he never kept another slave, consistently

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refusing his father’s attempts to gift him with innumerable beauties which irritated his father to no end. He could not understand his son’s difficulty with his heritage. Terenth had no difficulty with his heritage or his nature. He owned and used a slave. Just the only one he wanted. Terenth mounted the clear steps to his father’s private study, still looking down at the bright moving organisms below. He reached the landing and walked down the wide hallway toward the archway at the end, stepping through its protective gel. He felt it seep through his cells and then was inside a comfortable room dominated by a large desk and chair with several armchairs arranged in front of the desk. A small table with two chairs sat against the opposite wall of the room. His father sat at the small table facing the archway, studying a series of patterns and colors sweeping across the translucent surface of the table. The wall behind Quintus displayed a bright vista of a single yellow sun shining over a colosseum, a large waterfall cascading over gold mountains in the distance. Terenth recognized the scene, his jaw twitching. He knew his father had called up that planetary view to antagonize him. Quintus kept careful track of the dealings in his system and no doubt knew Terenth had sent Arcada to Earth. Terenth caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned quickly, glancing at the wall behind him. It was covered with some sort of dense flowering vines he had never seen before. He then realized within the vines his father had trapped a young slave woman trussed tightly from head to toe in the vines, thorns wrapped her breasts, a tendril wrapped securely around her throat, holding her neck in place against the wall. Her dark eyes were resigned. Terenth’s gaze shifted to one of the white flowers moving rather sensuously next to her. The flower suddenly flew forward several feet on its long vine, sharp black spines appearing from within and snapped shut inches from Terenth’s face. Terenth fought the urge to flinch. “Eloise’s doing,” Quintus said absently, not looking up. “You know how she loves flowers.” Terenth turned, unsettled again, his nostrils widening with disgust. “You summoned me, father,” he said tersely from across the room. Quintus ignored Terenth for a few moments, watching the colors flash across the table before reaching forward and tapping the outline of a circle. It glowed bright blue and then faded. “Terenth,” he finally said, not taking his eyes from the board. “Sit with me.” As Terenth hesitated briefly, he felt the familiar sensation that something was tugging at him as his father’s command infiltrated his cells. He knew that if he resisted, the draw would only increase until his insides burned as if set on fire and he would be forced to move across the room. He hated that feeling, hated being forced to obey. He walked quickly toward Quintus so that he would not have to experience the uncomfortable pull 24

any longer than necessary and sat down irritably in the transparent chair across from his father. Quintus was strikingly similar to Terenth in build and appearance. His hair was slightly darker, almost black, rather than dark brown, but his eyes were a deep indigo-violet, like his son’s. He was exceedingly handsome even with a bit of gray tingeing his hair. “You know why I called you here,” Quintus said, casually watching the circles light, blink, and fill with colors. He tapped another circle and it glowed an incandescent green, swirling for a moment and then winked out. Terenth looked down at the game in which his father was absorbed. He was manipulating planets, worlds, strategizing war and politics with the touch of his fingertips. The inhabitants had no idea they were being toyed with. His father sat relaxed, his legs apart, still physically strong, but each time Terenth met with him he thought Quintus imperceptibly weaker in some manner. One of these days he would rid himself of his father’s influence, permanently. Terenth leaned back in his seat, the chair molding to his change in position, and placed his hands behind his head. “No, father. Why did you summon me?” he asked offhandedly. Quintus looked at him sharply. “Don’t play games with me, son,” he snapped. “I assume you’ve heard about our new alliance with Soyos.” Terenth had heard, but only yesterday. His father had managed to keep it under wraps, no doubt wanting to spring it on him when Arcada wasn’t on Ecryon. Quintus didn’t wait for Terenth to answer but went on. “Eloise has arranged for the girl from Soyos – Lalia, I think her name is – to be brought here next month. You are expected to court her at that time for a period of one week to meet protocol. After that, you will be married, here on Ecryon. The ceremony has already been arranged.” Terenth looked at his father, his expression impassive. “I plan to marry Arcada.” Quintus laughed, a long mirthful expression of amusement that worked its way under Terenth’s skin, eating away at his emotions like a colony of fireroxies, driving him quickly to anger. The older man waved his hand disparagingly, his guffaws turning to chuckling. “My son, my son,” he said, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. His entire body shook with an effort to regain some sense of sobriety. Terenth’s mouth tightened horribly, his eyes now a deep black.

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Quintus peered up at him. “Your eyes always betray you, Terenth,” he scoffed. “Really, you must learn to do something about that. How can you ever expect to rule if you can’t maintain your composure, especially about something as ridiculous as a slave?” Terenth said nothing. “As a sovereign’s son, you of all people, know the natural order of Ecryon. Arcada is a plaything. Nothing more. As a slave, she doesn’t even have the status of Eloise.” Quintus sneered at him disdainfully and then leaned forward. “I’m not asking you to get rid of her, though the Diviners know I would have long ago if I were you. Keep her, Terenth. Keep her as your toy – pretend she’s your mistress if that makes you feel better. Hell, if it’s that important to you, I’ll raise her to the status of a mistress.” Quintus stroked his chin for a moment, his eyes distant, musing. “It’s never been done before but I doubt there’d be any repercussions against Ecryon. Would that placate you, my son?” Terenth looked at him bitterly, his eyes still dark. “I want her as my wife.” Quintus pushed back from the game, his own eyes black, his expression terrible. “Arcada is not marriageable – not to you anyway. For the Diviners’ sake, son, you picked her up at a slave auction. She’s nothing – she can mean nothing to you. It’s not in our nature – not in your nature. You treat her properly – just like a slave – and I wholeheartedly approve. She’s luscious and made for sexual servitude. But marriage is out of the question. Even if you could marry Arcada, I would forbid it. We need,” he searched his memory for the girl’s name, “Lalia. Her mother has powerful connections, many planets under her control. The alliance will do great things for Ecryon.” Quintus took in the stubborn set to Terenth’s jaw and raised one brow, eying his son. “I hear Lalia is rather delicious herself. She’s built similarly to Arcada,” he said temptingly. “Same color hair, similar eyes. But with a better bloodline.” Terenth willed his eyes to return to dark blue lest they betray the depth of hatred he felt right now for his father. Same color hair. What a fucking joke. Quintus could give him a fucking clone of Arcada and he wouldn’t marry her. Fuck his father. He was a prick, plain and simple. “You will marry Lalia,” Quintus said coolly. “Your younger brother is halfway across the galaxy sowing his seed and your sister is . . . well, let’s not discuss her right now or I’ll lose my lunch. This alliance is necessary to cement our growing power in the galaxy.” Quintus looked back down at the table and flicked a yellow circle with his fingers irritably, causing it to race across the board and fall off the edge. “I expect you to meet Lalia’s ship at the main hall one month from tomorrow and act the perfect future husband to her.” He looked up at Terenth, his eyes implacable. “You have no idea of the extent of my wrath if you disobey me.” Terenth tried to stand and felt his father’s power still exerting its draw over his cells, keeping him firmly rooted to his chair. 26

“Is that all father?” Terenth said through gritted teeth. “How is Arcada doing on Earth, anyway?” Quintus asked, rather patronizingly. “I wouldn’t know.” “I like those ‘punishment’ scenarios you dream up, Terenth. Creative, fitting, decent. Look – tie the girl up, beat her, twist her into pretzels, send her to the thousand moons of Zurtek – you’ll always have her, even after you’re properly married.” He waved his hand at his son, dismissing him. Terenth stood up, pure loathing etched on his face. Arcada had better agree to marry him when she returned. He had failed trying to fuck an agreement out of her. She would usually agree to anything when he had his cock in her, pounding her within an inch of her life, her sweet cries washing over him. But she had to say yes now, especially in the face of this idiotic ploy for him to marry her more connected ‘clone.’ Damn his father and damn that infuriating woman he couldn’t get out of his psyche. Quintus narrowed his eyes. “How long did you send Arcada to Earth for anyway?” “If you interfere and try to keep her there, I swear to you father . . . .” “Don’t swear anything you’ll regret,” Quintus snarled, cutting him off, his eyes darkening again. Terenth squeezed his fists tightly at his sides and spun to leave, stalking out of the room, ignoring the slave woman still held motionless in the vines. His father let him go. Terenth did not feel any power pulling on his cells trying to stop him. ***** Terenth went straight to Jaxx after seeing his father and walking back across the damn archway. He sat brooding in the pilot’s quarters, having refused food, drink and drug. “Sure you won’t have a small dose?” Jaxx offered, sliding the small, glowing pink pill across the see-through table at Terenth. “Even a blind man could see you need to relax.” Terenth stared at the pulsating tablet, but made no move to reach for it. Jaxx shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He stretched, unfolded his long legs and crossed them at the ankles in his comfortable chair, throwing his arms behind his head. He was rakishly good-looking, unshaven, easygoing in the bad-boy pilot way. He waved his hand at the wall and a star-filled panorama came into focus. “Earth, huh,” he grunted, looking at the vista. “And you sent her by stasis?” Terenth nodded tersely. He usually sent Arcada to other planets by stasis. It was faster to travel by manipulation but it made one deathly sick and he had no desire to truly torture her. At least not in that sense.

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Jaxx shook his head. Every man kept a slave, or usually several, on Ecryon, but the elaborate games Terenth played with Arcada were unparalleled. Well, Terenth had the resources to do it, given his bloodline. Jaxx’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking him over. Jaxx had known Terenth since he was a boy and Terenth showed no hint of the egotism and arrogance of his father who cared more about power than his own people. Jaxx had been with Terenth when he had picked up Arcada at that auction years ago. They were both seventeen. Jaxx didn’t think Terenth had ever owned or even briefly kept another slave since Arcada. He was right on that score. Terenth and Arcada both engaged other sexual partners – that was normal both in his world and in hers, but as far as slaves – Arcada was all he needed. “So, what now – you regret it? Sending her away? You’ve done this for years to Arcada. Why do you need to get to her so badly now? Why not wait for her to come back? She always does,” Jaxx said casually, reaching in his front pocket for a small silver case. Jaxx placed his palm over the top of the case and it opened. He selected a small orange square and a blue capsule and placed his palm over the top again re-sealing the case and replacing it in his pocket. He dropped the orange square on his tongue where it instantly dissolved and settled the blue capsule in his ear. His breathing became measured and easy as he looked across at Terenth, his eyes yellowed, pulsating slightly. Terenth rubbed his hand across his brow as he debated whether to tell Jaxx why he needed to retrieve Arcada. “Oh for the love of the fucking Diviners man, have some flit!” Jaxx said jerking his chin at the pink circle, still pulsating on the table. Terenth’s eyes flicked up to his friend. He sighed and reached for the tablet, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger, watching as it turned to gel and sank into his fingertips, absorbing into the skin and disappearing. He felt the constricting band that had tightened across his chest since he had visited his father loosen slightly. It was a little better. “You could use three or four of those,” Jaxx snorted, watching him. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows on the transparent table. “So what’s got you so worked up, Tyree?” It was the name he had called Terenth since he was a boy, before he could pronounce his name. Terenth looked at his friend. “Quintus has decided he wants an interplanetary alliance. By marriage. A girl named Lalia from Soyos.” Oho. Jaxx understood. Quintus was forcing Terenth to marry this girl and he wanted Arcada instead. But sovereigns didn’t marry slaves on Ecryon. And once a slave, always a slave. “So, marry the girl,” Jaxx said to him. “Who the fuck cares who you’re married to? Arcada’ll understand.” 28

Terenth’s eyes drifted to the wall of stars. Yes, Arcada would understand, or if not, he would compel her to. It was in her nature to be submissive to him and his to be dominant over her. At least that’s what he told himself. Their relationship worked. He could do anything he wanted, indulge himself, send her away, marry another and Arcada would still want him. They were drawn to each other like yin and yang, light and dark, two sides of the same coin, opposite, but inseparable. And yet . . . . “I asked Arcada to marry me,” Terenth said quietly. Jaxx suddenly straightened. “You did fucking what?” he asked, taken aback. If Terenth’s father found out, he would be livid. Terenth stared at the galactic scene. Meteors streaked in showers of brilliance, novas pulsated in inconceivable colors, vortexes of matter swirled in on themselves before exploding outward only to repeat the cycles. It was a beautiful display. “She said no.” Jaxx was even more stunned. Arcada had turned him down. Why? “I need to get to her, Jaxx. I need to be there when the game is finished. I can’t interrupt it, but I can bring her back myself.” He looked at his friend directly. “I need you to take me to Earth. By manipulation.” Jaxx studied his friend. He knew Arcada was sometimes gone for months at a time, one time almost a year. Terenth was no doubt worried he’d lose her, slave or no, if she returned and he was married. He shook his head. Crazed Diviners, Terenth must really be in love with the woman. “I could lose my license,” Jaxx said. “I know.” Fuck, Jaxx never had a conscience – he didn’t know why he was growing one now, especially for his friend’s twisted version of love, his friend who just happened to be the heir to the entire planetary system. He rubbed at his eyes. “It’ll still take days to get there, even by manip.” “Fine.” “You’re gonna be sick.” “I’ll manage.” “Seriously fucking sick, Tyree. Manip is hard core. Especially somewhere as far as Earth. We’re gonna need a whole shitload of flit to get through it.” “Consider it done,” Terenth said. “Make a list of what you need. Anything.” 29

Jaxx looked over at the wall of stars. He sighed. “Fine. Meet me at my private dock tomorrow morning just before planetbreak. I’ve got my own slaves to fuck tonight if I’m not gonna see them for awhile.” Terenth got up from his chair and turned to go. “Jaxx?” Jaxx turned his head slightly, looking at Terenth out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks.” Jaxx snorted. “The flit, Tyree. Don’t forget the flit.” Terenth wondered as he left if he was going to have to stop sending Arcada to other planets.

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CHAPTER 6 The Fight Is On Arcada looked over the armor piled on the low bench outside the public baths. She stood naked, her hair still damp, picking through the mail, breastplates and leather skirts, as passing soldiers and bath patrons helplessly ogled the shapely woman. The two guards did not want to leave her unattended but were reluctant to enter the female bathhouse so they had stood just outside the door waiting nervously. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long. Arcada had dived into the largest pool, scrubbed the blood off her body with her hands and climbed out. She was in as much a hurry to get back to the arena as Zacrius was to have her return. Her braids had fallen out and she didn’t want to face the lions with her hair in the way so she took the time to braid it in a single plait down her back. In their haste, the guards had ordered the armor and weapons brought to the communal entryway of the bathhouse and now the passersby stared openmouthed at the spectacle. Arcada could care less for their leering, focusing on the choices of garments before her. She didn’t want to be weighed down by heavy armor, although she saw how some could be helpful. She thought about wearing a tiny string of an outfit, just enough to cover herself, to meet Zacrius’ standards of ‘decency,’ but wouldn’t risk her life to spite him. The right equipment could increase her odds of survival. She didn’t think healthy lions would be much of a problem but the animal she had killed had been in extremely poor condition. That was the worst kind of enemy. Arcada noticed, with interest, that the armor was specifically designed for women. Although she doubted women were normally allowed in the arena for any of the violent sports, it was obvious there must be some female warriors or soldiers based on the selection of clothing. She finally selected a midweight leather skirt, two lightly bronzed plates connected by thick steel that covered only her breasts, and bronze bands for her upper arms. She debated about boots, sandals or protective leg gear, but decided to remain barefoot. It would keep her quick and improve her senses to stay connected to the earth. She still wore the metal slave collar and found it constricting. She asked one of the soldiers to remove it and when he hesitated, she demanded it. He quickly ran and found a set of keys and removed the band for her. She donned the gear and rolled her head, stretching and getting used to the feel of the equipment. Then she moved to the pile of weapons the soldiers had collected. She discounted the large swords as too cumbersome. Spears and javelins were powerful, but only as long as the lions were kept at bay. They were useless at close quarters. The same with the bows and arrows. There were a few small daggers and short swords which she hefted thoughtfully and then considered the collection of maces and flails. Finally she settled on the same short sword that she had taken from the slaughtered gladiator. It had proven sharp and served her well once. She was somewhat used to its

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feel. She would keep it. At the last second, she chose two small knives which she strapped to her thighs. She wrapped a scabbard behind her back and sheathed the sword. That would keep her hands free if necessary, either before, during or after the skirmish. She glanced at the shields, dismissing them for the same reason as the other heavier weapons. She needed to be quick and agile. A shield would not provide much protection anyway against a massive, charging lion and would simply slow her down. The entire process took about ten minutes. The guards were most pleased. They had been instructed to return quickly and the woman had not wasted any time getting ready. In fact, it seemed as if she was eager to return, not even afraid. They had escorted hundreds of gladiators to the arena, many trembling and shaking, others trying to appear stoic, strong and confident. But they could always detect the deep-seated aura of fear even in the bravest of men. The guards were wrong about Arcada. She was not unafraid. She knew there was a chance she could die. But Terenth had taught her how to keep her emotions in check – how not to be ruled by them, especially when facing with great risk. Showing fear would not help her. Respect for what she was about to confront would. The soldiers led her back to the colosseum, walking down to the gates opposite the side of the arena from which she had entered the first time. They stopped at an iron door similar to one she had opened herself, but this one was near the cages of the lions. She could hear the animals’ growls and sometimes a whimper followed by a vicious snarl. Arcada knew the beasts were being tortured and goaded in preparation for her fight. Zacrius was apparently going all out. Arcada unsheathed the sword and whirled it in her hand a few times, swinging it over her head in an arc, making a few practiced thrusts and stabs. The guard at the door watched her, his mouth hanging open, his keys in his hand waiting for the announcer’s signal. He had never seen anything like this in his entire life. His mind worked, trying to figure out a way to view the fight, even though he was supposed to maintain his post by the door. He might just abandon it for a few minutes – it would be that worth it. Finally a cornu blew, the sound from the long, curved trumpet carrying over the stands and through the bars to where Arcada, the guard and two soldiers waited. She could hear a loud voice announcing something to the crowd but could not make out the words. Then came two additional short blasts of the cornu and the guard thrust the key in the lock, turned it, swung the door open and pushed Arcada through. She stumbled and caught herself, looking back angrily at the guard, but he only simpered and closed the door, locking it again. Arcada tossed her head and walked into the mostly empty field. There were no lions yet, just two young boys racing around, picking up bits of torn clothing, a small piece of limb here and there, and a broken board or two from the chariotless racing that had just ended. The crowd, which had been talking amongst itself, went deathly silent at the sight of her. Arcada smirked. Apparently, Zacrius had prepared them for what they were going to see.

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She glanced over at the bars to the lion cages. One of the beasts was gnawing at the metal, trying to break through. She doubted they would set the animals upon her until they had primed the drama and given her a chance to mentally prepare, but kept an eye on the gate just in case. Arcada caught sight of a man moving from the covered enclosure at the far end of the field in the bright sun. He walked across an open area in the stands and then quickly mounted the steps up to a platform from which contestants in the arena, as well as the entire crowd in the colosseum, could be addressed. She would bet anything that was Zacrius. She jogged toward him effortlessly, her long braid bouncing against her back and stopped before the edge of the podium, looking up at him. She noticed his contingent of guards watching her suspiciously, their hands on their weapons. “My Lord,” she said, bowing her head and giving him the faintest of curtsies, “I am ready to fight the animals you have chosen. Then I shall perform your service and earn . . . my freedom.” “We shall see, Arcada,” Zacrius said. “First, you must fight.” He looked her over speculatively. “I see you were serious when you suggested you desired little armor,” he said in a voice so low only she could hear him. “You are wearing next to nothing to protect you,” he chided, his gold eyes sweeping over her scantily clad body. “Yes, but I am at least ‘decent’ now, my Lord,” Arcada replied sweetly. Decent enough for the crowd, Zacrius thought. But, still hardly a stitch on. Shit, he was getting an erection. A strong one. He shifted slightly, masking it beneath his heavy leather skirt. “The same sword,” he commented, noting the dried blood still staining the metal. “Your lucky blade?” “You could say that.” “And no shield,” he said reproachfully. Zacrius tried not to feel disappointed, but with the meager armor and single sword she had selected, she would not last as long as the opening cheers of the crowd. “The better to move freely with, my Lord.” He stared at her for a few more seconds, a multitude of confusing thoughts running through his head, and then shook it to clear it. “As you wish, Arcada of Ecryon,” he said, turning to leave.

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Zacrius descended the steps from the platform quickly and returned to the covered shelter. He nodded to Thaddius on the way who climbed up and took Zacrius’ place on the stage. Thaddius drew himself up importantly, looking down at Arcada, a funnelshaped bronze horn in his hands. “Go to the center of the field and await the cornu blast. At that time, the gates will be opened and all three lions will be free to enter the arena with you.” Arcada nodded at Thaddius and set off at a jog toward the center of the field again. Thaddius waited until she reached it and had unsheathed her sword and then he raised the horn to his lips, speaking through it. “I give you Arcada of Ecryon, facing off against three handpicked lions, the most deadly of the beasts of the City of Pyrme.” There were a few hisses and boos mixed with the opening applause. Not so many as to risk the ire of the Prince, but some patrons clearly displeased at the odds. Although the fight might be mildly interesting, some felt it would be less than exciting. Thaddius nodded to the cornu player who raised his lips to the trumpet and gave a great blast. Arcada turned to face the large iron door which was immediately hoisted upward by men drawing on huge pulleys, safely sequestered behind stone walls. The chains squeaked noisily, the sound stopping abruptly as the door clanged against the top of the wall. The first lion sprang immediately from the enclosure running at top speed toward Arcada. Despite the previous jeers, the crowd now erupted in excited cries.

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CHAPTER 7 Gladiator Arcada stood on point, watching the lion charge her viciously. It was a male lion; the first one she had killed had been female. She could not hope to use the same slashing strike to the neck on this one; its fur was far too thick. Nor did she think she could possibly roll underneath it to make an upward stab to its belly. But she had to do something to dispatch it quickly. She could already see the other two lions, both female, exiting the enclosure, not rushing yet, but padding steadily toward her. Coming to a decision, she sheathed her sword over her shoulder and pulled out the two small daggers strapped to her thighs, hefting one in each hand. Despite her confidence, her heart pounded against her chest as the agitated, starving eight hundred pound animal ran toward her with such bloodlust it made her almost dizzy. She had a half-second to calm her racing heart and three movements to get it right. The lion gathered its muscles, coiling to spring, and then launched its enormous body at Arcada. Anticipating its leap she threw herself to the side, waiting until the precise second when the lion would be unable to change its course and then – one – drove a knife hard into each of its eyes, the beast’s momentum tearing them out of her hands, wrenching her wrists painfully as the animal missed her but landed nearby. It roared, whirling to attack again, enraged with pain, the small dagger handles protruding from its sockets, blood pouring from its eyes. Two – Arcada had drawn her sword as soon as the daggers had been jerked out of her hands and spun, avoiding the hard skull and thick skin, instead slicing the beast’s nose clean from its head as it came after her again. It screamed, a horrible agonizing bellow of pain and fury as it faltered for a moment, losing its sense of smell, its eyesight nearly gone, blood splattering wildly across the ground as it shook its head fiercely. And three – she twisted away from the beast and fell to her knees, leaning forward, facing away from the lion, and then closed her eyes, feeling its hot breath as it bore down on her, intuitively waiting until she felt the moment of vulnerability and then rammed her short sword up and behind her with all her strength, plunging it deep through the animal’s missing nose, straight up into its brain, killing it instantly as it plowed into her. The momentum threw her forward into the ground and its heavy, gold body drove her hard across the field. The lion and Arcada finally came to a stop and she jerked her sword free with a huge effort, scrambled to her feet and leapt over the back of the massive dead beast, straddling its body with her bare legs, watching the two other lions approaching. Arcada was vaguely aware of a tremendous outbreak of sound and movement in the stands as she focused on the remaining lionesses. At the death of the first lion, the entire stadium had leapt to its feet, the patrons screaming, cheering, shouting, mouths agape and coin quickly changing hands as bets were placed and odds set. No one – not even

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multiple gladiators working together – had killed a lion in the last six months. And not one person in the history of the arena had ever taken down more than one. Zacrius watched Arcada from his seat under the stone awning, his fingers tapping aimlessly on the stone table before him. Her hair was coming loose from her plait, long blonde strands catching the sunlight, her long legs fluidly straddling the lion, her subtle musculature glistening from perspiration. Never had he let a woman in the arena. He had only done it because Arcada had already killed one lion and proven herself. That and he found her straightforward boldness irresistible although he would never admit it to himself. He caught himself almost regretting sending in his fiercest beasts. What if this woman could survive? One thing was certain in his mind, if she did – he would fuck her for sure before he let her go off on her quest. The commotion in the stands faded into the back of Arcada’s mind as she watched the two lionesses circle her. They seemed to be working in tandem rather than mindlessly racing toward her as the male lion had. She instinctively knew they were going to be much harder to kill. She glanced down at the head of the lion beneath her. Her two small daggers still protruded from its eyes but they were too far away to reach without compromising her position. She would need to rely on her sword alone for now. That and her wits. She swung the blade through the air, the sun glinting off the metal, as the cats continued to circle, the black tips of their tails switching restlessly. Small drops of crimson splashed in the dust, dripping from a gash in the side of one lioness as the animal moved. A shallow wound, intentionally made by a soldier. Not enough to weaken the beast, just enough to enrage it. To kill one of these cats, she would have to act like a cat. She only hoped she could get one down before the other took her out. Arcada unstraddled the male lion and crouched down very low, her head barely above its enormous belly. She tried to make herself appear nonthreatening and very small. She focused her attention on the larger, more aggressive alpha female which she guessed would come in first for the kill. It was the one with the slash across its side. It was disturbed and upset, its tawny eyes fixed on Arcada, its muscles hard and rippling, its movements fluid and menacing. The crowd recognized the danger, holding a collective breath as it watched the beautiful, gold animal closing in for the kill, its large paws padding deliberately closer, readying to crouch. Arcada knew the lioness planned to leap on her back and break her neck with its strong jaws. Instead, she would play the lioness. Timing and anticipation were everything. “I daresay you might get your champion, Zacrius.” Zacrius scowled at the woman sitting next to him who was fanning herself over the lowcut bosom of her gold dress. “I am in no need of a champion, sister,” he said gruffly. “It is you who should be hopeful she succeeds.” 36

Tryphene smiled, not taking her eyes from the events unfolding in the colosseum below her. “Whatever you say, brother,” she replied pleasantly. “I am not afraid of Seraph. But I am touched by your gallantry.” He growled at her and she rolled her eyes, raising her head slightly to get a better view of the action. Tryphene did not usually enjoy watching the games in the colosseum, although she loved to fight. She preferred violence with a purpose, such as war or revenge, to the mindless, gratuitous brutality so enjoyed by those of society. Nevertheless, when her attendants told of what was about to transpire, she had rushed to the arena. Her eyes cut to her brother surreptitiously. She knew what Zacrius was going to ask the woman to collect for him if she survived. Tryphene thought the whole situation somewhat amusing, especially since she was quite sure Arcada was going to succeed. Zacrius and Tryphene watched as the closest lioness sprang at Arcada where she still crouched low against the lion’s back. At the last possible moment, Arcade jumped on top of the dead animal’s body and used it as a springboard to leap as high in the air as possible, twisting and landing astride the snarling lioness’ back. Instantly Arcada plunged her short sword deeply between the vertebrae of the cat’s neck, severing the spinal cord in the same manner as it had intended to do to her. The animal slid to a stop and fell dead, next to the larger lion. Before the crowd could react to this unbelievable turn of events, the third lion was on Arcada in a blur, giving her no time to take offensive or defensive action. She was rolled to the ground in a snarl of claws, fur and jaws, the only indication Arcada was still alive, occasional flashes of movement and fresh clouds of dust boiling up from the struggle. Every single person in the entire crowd was on his or her feet, from small children to distinguished ancient figures wrapped in white robes, some frozen in horror, others screaming encouragement at either the lion or Arcada, depending on which way they had risked their fortunes. Although there was no one to block the view in front of the palatial seats, Tryphene jumped up in her excitement, still fanning her breasts, unable to help herself. Thaddius started to rise as well but realized Zacrius was still seated, his fingers drumming a bit harder on the table. His mouth tightened as he readjusted himself, watching from the edge of his seat, none of the soldiers able to stand when his ruler was not. Despite how it appeared, Arcada had seen the second lioness turn to attack her as soon as the cat realized the alpha lioness had gone down. Arcada was still riding the first animal down to the ground, its body still fluid. She had wrapped her arms around its neck and pulled hard, rolling under it as she went down, using the animal’s body as a shield. But the final lion was infuriated, its body on fire from the bites of scorpions. The guards had dropped the arthropods in her small cage before the fight, agitating them until the animal was repeatedly and painfully stung, poison coursing through its veins. At this 37

point, the lion did not care whether it bit into animal or human flesh as it tore into the dead beast on top of Arcada, a mass of snapping, whirling fangs and growls. Arcada felt a searing pain in her arm and realized the lion had latched around her upper arm and was shaking it, its teeth biting down hard on her bronze armband. Without the band, the bone would have surely broken with the ferocity of its bite. When the beast went to re-grip, Arcada yanked her arm free, ignoring the wracking pain. Terenth would have healed the wound instantly for her on Ecryon, but she had to live with it here on Earth. There was no blood but she guessed it would bruise deeply. Arcada’s sword was lodged in the animal’s neck on top of her and her daggers were still in the male lion’s eyes. She was weaponless and yet the lioness continued to tear and rip away at the bloody carcass above her with ferocious determination. Each time she tried to twist away to grab her sword or dagger, the crazed beast nearly killed her. It was unbearably hot under the heavy, dead lion; she was slick with sweat and tired of rolling around in the dust. She couldn’t stay like this forever. Besides, the lioness would eventually rend the carcass into strips leaving her with no protection. Finally, Arcada had an idea. But by the Diviners, she would never ever speak to Terenth again after this. She wrestled out of her breastplates, folded them against themselves and peered through the clouds of sifting earth, trying to avoid the lion’s snapping jaws. She waited until the animal had turned slightly, reading for another attack and then scrambled into the open, holding the round, bronze plates outstretched with both hands. As the lion opened its jaws, Arcada rammed the plates into its mouth, pushing fiercely as its jaws snapped shut equally hard. The metal embedded itself deeply in the lion’s pink fleshy throat and Arcada released the plates, jumped away and pulled her sword free from the mangled body of the first beast. The lion lashed its head in agony, its jaws held high in the air. As the lion’s head lowered, she rammed her sword behind the plates, thrusting as far down the animal’s throat as she could, twisting and pushing, its jaws forced open by the metal so that it could not crush her arm, until the great beast calmed, its eyes dimming and it fell over twitching, not quite dead yet, but dying. Arcada collapsed with it, relieved, more spent than she had thought she would be, laying her head for a moment on the soft, golden fur, her hand still wrapped around the hilt of the blade, feeling the last gasps and shudders of the animal underneath her as she closed her own eyes, breathing heavily, regaining her strength. Arcada was suddenly aware of an eerie silence. After the sounds of the battle, her own pants and grunts, the roars and snarls of the lion, and the distant screams, cheers and moans of the crowd, she heard nothing. Wondering if Terenth had somehow retrieved her and taken her back to Ecryon, she opened her eyes and saw the hot blue sky overhead filtered through a settling layer of dust. No, she thought, groaning, she was still here on Earth. Then she noticed that the crowd had stilled, the entire amphitheater silent, the spectators staring at three enormous dead lions and the collapsed form of a woman lying against one

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of the animals, coated in blood, looking as if she might also be dead. Arcada grinned to herself as she realized why the masses had gone silent. Time for a surprise. She drew a deep breath and then leaped into a crouching position, wrenched the sword free from the lion’s throat and rose to her full height, her arm outstretched as she held the blade aloft in the universal sign of victory. The stands erupted in chaos, the sounds of stamping feet, cheers and cries and then garlands and flowers were thrown into the arena, showering the edges with color and greenery. Arcada sheathed her sword over her back and then turned and retrieved the daggers from the long-dead eyes of the great lion, replacing them under her skirt. She walked swiftly across the colosseum toward Zacrius, naked from the waist up, still smiling. It was time for him to make good on his word.

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CHAPTER 8 Return of the King Seneca lay on the sofa studying the designs on the ceiling, one arm resting lightly on her belly, the other draped over the edge of the couch, her fingers gracefully brushing the floor. There were images of men and women painted in vivid colors of all races, some in various stages of undress, some without clothes. Most of the images were erotic; some were quite disturbing. Seneca observed that many of the couples seemed to be . . . copulating, some women looking as if they were in pain as the men wrenched their heads back by the hair, tilting their necks back at painful angles while the women fell to their hands and knees. Men stood over them in compromising positions shoving their enormous swollen members between the women’s legs, the faces of the females depicted contorted with either pain or pleasure, Seneca couldn’t tell which. Then there were images of serpents coiled around the bodies of naked women, their forked tongues painted artfully in colors which made them seem to move of their own accord, massaging the area between the women’s legs which was sometimes illustrated with soft downy hair and sometimes bare. The women’s faces in these paintings were clearly portrayed in bliss. Seneca turned her head this way and that, trying to make sense of the angle of the snakes and the acts in which they were engaged. There were other images too involving men occupied with each other, women taking delight in each other’s bodies, entire groups of people doing things to each other Seneca would only describe as terribly naughty, and animals even more bestial than snakes. Seneca didn’t do more than sweep her wide eyes briefly over those. After all, she was a virgin and the basic male-female erotic couplings were more than enough to flush her entire body a deep shade of crimson and keep it like that all day. Were those graphic paintings what sex was like? Was that what sex would be like with him? Seneca suddenly choked, struggling to sit up on the divan, coughing. Him. She wiped her palms on her dress. She knew of whose image she had just thought when she imagined herself in the place of those women, a large imposing dark figure behind her, holding her hair like reins, shoving whatever that was between his legs into her opening, relieving the terrible ache she felt. She spasmed, coughing again. She should not be thinking such impure thoughts! “A goblet of water, perhaps, my Lady?” Seneca almost fainted upon hearing the rich, deep voice behind her. She turned an even darker shade of red. The soldiers had been instructed to treat her well and had taken to allowing the double doors to her chambers to remain open to admit additional crossbreezes and air out her rooms on the uppermost tower of the fortress. They closed them at night and whenever she requested during the day. They still did not permit her to leave, but she was far less claustrophobic being able to see out a bit, even if it was upon an empty hallway. And so she had not heard Seraph quietly enter her room.

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“My . . . my Lord,” she said, in a wheezy voice, trying to stifle her cough. “I didn’t hear you . . . come in.” She felt weak and shaky, her throat parched and closed. Seraph moved around the divan and pressed a marble chalice into her hands filled with fresh springwater from the table outside her chamber. She looked at the cup and then drank from it gratefully, thinking it was by far the best water she had ever tasted. She gave one final little cough and then set the empty vessel on the small table next to the sofa. Her mouth felt much less dry. “Thank you,” she said softly, looking up at the King standing over her. Now the true reality of the situation washed over her. Seraph had returned and was here in the flesh, his black eyes fixed to hers. She realized he was not wearing the luxurious cloaks in which she had last seen him, but a rather dusty set of armor, including a heavy, black skirt. She could see the lower part of his thighs and his heavily muscled calves, every bit the same color as his skirt, their definition standing out clearly. His arms were also bare. He was slightly sweaty and smelled male. Very male. She had seen plenty of warriors, but just hadn’t imagined the King as a warrior. Seraph divined her thoughts. “I apologize, my Lady, for my state of dress,” he said, bowing slightly. “I just returned from reconnaissance and thought to come straight to your chambers, without bathing, to assure myself of your comfort and safety.” Seneca blushed prettily at this declaration. “I assure you I have been well treated, your Highness,” she said, still staring up at him, her blue eyes lucent, her belly all aflutter. His eyes glittered, as Seneca held her breath, waiting for him to speak, the sensations she had felt several days earlier in his presence beginning to spread through her body again like a slow burning wildfire. “I realize this is not your ideal situation, Princess Seneca. You are held here against your will, unable to have your freedom until such time as I have worked out certain . . . details. But while you are here, you are my guest and under my protection. Your stay will be as pleasant as I can make it. And if you would prefer,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping lower, “you may simply call me – Seraph – rather than using my title or accolades.” “Seraph,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. His name sounded so – sexy – when she said it that way. “I, on the other hand, shall continue to call you my Lady, Princess, or Your Highness. It is only fitting for someone of your – stature,” he said silkily, reaching down and capturing her hand and raising it to his lips.

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She stood up as he did so, moving into him, unable to help herself, wanting to feel him against her, despite – or because of – the fact that he wore very little. She gave a little gasp as she brushed against the hard leather of his skirt and armor over his torso, but did not pull back, her lips slightly parted looking up at him. Seraph searched her face, hardly able to believe what he was witnessing. He had never intended to pop the cherry of the little princess when he had abducted her, but here she was nearly begging for it. He still hadn’t decided whether to go through with it. Her virtue gave him greater bargaining power and if it was known he had taken it, it could mean disastrous consequences. But she was a pretty, delicious thing and he was certain from her raw and honest responses to him that she would be – passionate. He was tempted . . . sorely tempted. “I’m sorry, but I must attend to my troops and undress, my Lady,” he said, using her title to calm her down. He noticed that she licked her lips subconsciously when he said ‘undress.’ He needed to leave. His skirt was tented, quite tented. If he pressed any closer to her and she felt what he felt for her, she might run and hide in the corner again. He was working with substantial assets. He pulled his hips back from her slightly and studied her, his mind working. “Would you care to join me for a light meal?” he asked, coming to a decision. “Later. In my private chambers. I assure you, the fare will be . . . unparalleled.” Seneca could do nothing but nod. At least she closed her mouth. “Very well. I will leave instructions with the guards for you to be escorted to me in two hours. I will have something – suitable – sent up for you to wear.” Then unable to stop himself, he bent down and kissed her lightly, tasting her lips for the first time, his tongue moving and savoring her, but not entering her mouth. Seneca felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of fire over her head, her body instantly igniting, her eyes aflame with desire as she tried desperately to deepen the contact. With difficulty Seraph broke the kiss, straightened and said hoarsely, “I will see you in two hours.” He turned abruptly and left the chamber, his short cloak swirling behind him, his heavy sandals clicking on the sandstone as he walked down the hallway and took the long set of winding stairs down to the main part of the fortress, leaving a very breathless young woman behind.

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CHAPTER 9 Dinner of Desire “Your Highness.” Seraph rose from the carved wooden chair at the address of the soldier outside the open door to his expansive chambers. He was dressed in royal blue robes that offset his skin tone, looking the part of King rather than warrior again. He walked slowly to the door and stood autocratically as the guard stepped back from the nervous woman next to him. “As you requested, we have escorted Lady Seneca of Kavalos to your chambers,” the guard informed him, bowing deferentially. Seraph caught his breath. And that was something he did not do very often. Seneca was dressed in the gown he had sent up to her. Shimmering green, strategically sheer in places, fitting her body like a sleeve, open from the breasts to below her navel except for a swirl of fabric on one side, a long slit up her thigh, revealing long wrap-around silvered sandals. Seraph noted that although she had appeared small under her robes, without them, she was curvaceous with rather thick thighs and rounded in all the right places. He much preferred a woman with some substance – the better to bounce off the mattress with. She had pinned her long dark hair high on her head, letting a few wisps curl at the sides. She looked up at him through long dark lashes and smoky blue eyes. She was magnificent. He dismissed the soldier with a flick of his hand and found his powers of speech, holding his hand out to Seneca. The soldier drew the doors closed quietly. “Welcome to my chambers,” he purred, unmistakable desire in his voice. She swallowed and accepted his hand. He led her to a long table set with three covered silver dishes, two matching goblets and a carafe of wine. There were several ornate, comfortable chairs, but Seraph walked her instead to a lectus placed before the table, holding her hand aloft. “Are you ready for dinner or would you rather relax first?” he asked, silk in his voice. “Anything,” she mumbled and then managed, “Um . . . dinner would be fine.” He smiled and sat down on the couch, pulling her down next to him. Seneca was used to eating on a lectus, often the custom in her lands as well, but hadn’t expected Seraph to sit so close to her. He had not yet released her hand. She looked intently at the silver dishes, and not at him, feeling as if her fingers were going to burn to ash and fall from her body. “My Lady,” Seraph said smoothly, releasing her hand, “you look as if I am about to devour you as the main course. I assure you, you will not be mistreated, even in my private chambers. I will do nothing to you that you do not desire.”

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Seneca sat staring straight ahead, painfully aware of his last sentence, twisting it in her mind until the words changed and pulsed through her consciousness, I will do that to you which you do desire. “Would you care for some wine?” Seneca jumped, literally. Her entire body was on fire, all senses on edge, heat flowing through her, much stronger than the last time. It didn’t help that she was dressed in the sexiest gown she had ever laid eyes on. She was used to fine things but the dress took her breath away. When she looked down, she saw her skin through both the sheerness and the exposed areas. She felt beautiful, desirable. Seraph didn’t wait for an answer but poured her goblet half full. He wouldn’t allow her to become drunken, but for the love of the Gods hopefully a bit of liquid courage would calm the poor woman. He still hadn’t decided whether to take her virginity although he had a raging erection. He thought wickedly for a moment about relieving himself orally with her – she did have beautiful, full lips – but that would probably frighten her worse than the actual act of fucking. Seneca accepted the cup and smiled demurely as she raised it to her lips, tilted it high in the air and drained its entire contents. She never really drank wine but this beverage was warmed and the taste was pleasant, sweet, a little spicy, like cloves. Already she could feel its warmth flowing into her belly mixing with the flames already kindling there. “May I have some more?” Seraph raised one eyebrow. “Certainly,” he replied smoothly but filled her glass with even less this time. He would have to keep an eye on how much she drank. He wanted all of her wits about her. “Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject. “I ordered a light meal to be prepared but I think it will be very filling.” Seneca nodded. “That sounds fine,” she said meekly. She was well-treated and not kept hungry but was ready for something light. Actually, anything sounded good. “Then let us begin,” Seraph said, leaning forward and removing the lid from the first dish. Seneca’s eyes widened as she stared at the contents of the platter. On it was an assortment of fresh figs and a small knife, its polished ivory handle glistening in the late afternoon light falling through the open windows. She looked up at Seraph questioningly and he smiled and removed the cover from the second dish exposing another silver platter, this one artfully arranged with long spears of asparagus, bright green and slightly steaming. A small saucer sat next to the platter which contained a soft, white dip.

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Finally Seraph removed the lid from a third dish, this one not a platter, but a round silver bowl on a tall stem. He placed the lid on the table behind it. Seneca sat up slightly to look over the lip of the bowl. It was filled with deep purple grapes. Next to the grapes rested a small ceramic pitcher with a wooden dowel resting in it. Seraph stirred it slightly and lifted the small rod as Seneca watched thick, dark honey drip slowly from it. Seraph released the dowel, letting the end sink back into the honey and then turned to her, waiting for her reaction. “Are there . . . plates . . . er, platters?” she squeaked in a small voice. “I’m afraid not, Lady Seneca,” Seraph said, reaching for the small knife and slicing one of the figs lengthwise. “But I think, in fairness, these are all proper finger foods and no platter is necessary.” He turned the inner portion of the fig that he had cut toward Seneca and then slowly brought it to his mouth. She wondered briefly why he hadn’t offered her anything first, after all, she was used to being served first as a princess and a woman, but then her mouth fell open as she watched Seraph’s tongue snake out and run gently over the inner rich, crimson folds of the fruit. He caressed the succulent redness, dipping his tongue into the center and then laving the outer portions, swirling it softly around the skin and making sounds of enjoyment. Seraph observed Seneca out of the corner of his eye. She was mesmerized, watching his tongue work back and forth, flicking quickly and then moving sensuously, tasting the sweetness and drawing it into his mouth. Seraph nibbled slightly at the moist flesh of the fruit in the middle, sucking bits into his lips where he caught them between his teeth and moved them around slightly before he drew them into his mouth and swallowed, an expression of pure bliss washing over his face. Seneca’s eyes were wide as saucers; she was slightly panting, her small fists clenching, suddenly feeling extremely hot in Seraph’s chambers despite the cooling cross breezes flowing through the wide windows. She thought she might combust if she continued to watch him, the connection between what he was doing and the female anatomy not lost on her, even as innocent as she was. She watched as Seraph stroked the center of the fig with his tongue again, a slight puckery hole exposed now in the softness of the rosecolored fruit, from which he nipped and suckled. She tore her gaze from the sight of him, her luminous blue eyes falling on the platter of asparagus. Tentatively she leaned forward, reaching for the vegetables, and picked one up by its delicate shaft. It was warm, but not hot, to the touch. She took the spear and dipped it into the bowl next to the platter, swirling it around in the thick spread, gathering the gooey whiteness at the tip. Then Seneca scooted back on the divan and rolled the stalk lightly between her fingers, studying the elongated, almost fluted head. She turned slightly to face Seraph and brought the bulb of the shaft slowly to her mouth, parting her lips to accept it.

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Seraph carelessly lowered the remnants of the fig as he watched Seneca bring the swollen end of the spear to her lips, a swirl of velvety cream crowning the top. Good Gods she wasn’t going to – was she? She was, he thought, fighting to keep from groaning as she extended her small pink tongue, taking just a taste of the whiteness, coating the tip of her muscle before she drew it slowly into her mouth, running her tongue over the inside of her lips. Then she licked gently at the tip of the asparagus and pressed her lips lightly to the very top, applying the smallest amount of suction to draw in more of the cream, wiping it erotically from her lips and then swallowing. Seraph thought all of his blood flow had gone straight to his cock. It throbbed painfully, more engorged than he had ever felt it before in his lustful life. What had he done? He didn’t know how he was going to make it through this mockery of a dinner. How could he exercise restraint in the face of this . . . this succubus in the disguise of a virgin? May the Gods have mercy on me, he thought. Seneca’s eyes were aglow with wonder as she watched Seraph, reveling in the contorted, primal expression on his face. He held all of the power – he had kidnapped her, held her against her will, dictated where she could and could not go – but seeing his lust-crazed eyes, his fight for restraint, realizing that she was the one who caused the tumult of emotions in him, the shifting of power, was heady. A little more boldly, Seneca extended her tongue even further, swirling it several times quickly over the head of the asparagus, gathering the creamy whiteness, cleaning it, licking at it and then she looked up at Seraph provocatively and closed her mouth over the flared top. Slowly and sensuously she tightened her exquisite lips, dragging them upwards and swept the last vestiges of the cream from the tip until she let it pop outward from her mouth with a small sucking sound, tiny amounts of pale cream still gracing the green top, the rest on her skin as she moved her mouth delectably, swallowing exaggeratedly, and then ran her tongue over her lips to collect any errant specks. Seraph’s black eyes blazed down on her, blatant lust inscribed in his face, his muscles taut, his cruel but enchanting mouth working of its own accord. Seneca would have fainted at his expression just days before, but the wine, the fig and the asparagus had done their jobs of igniting her own craving, a hunger she had never before felt, the room beginning to recede as she felt herself drawn into the fiery depths of his dark eyes, wanting to be swallowed and consumed by him. Seraph gritted his teeth, forcing his features to calm. They had both stepped too far over the line. There was no return, no going back now. He had set himself up, distilled his own resistance, no one to blame but himself, Seneca’s virtue as good as drowned in the pool at the base of the waterfall protecting his city. But still, she was a virgin and he had no intention of forcing himself on her. He didn’t think she was ready yet, even with her eyes raging with heat, her arousal as evident as if it was tattooed across her forehead. He would like the wine to have worn off completely so that she would feel only him. Feel him she would as his cock was quite exceptional in size and she was rather small, but he would make it good for her, for both of them.

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“I believe we have one more course,” Seraph said to her, his voice rather raw. Seneca let the spear of asparagus fall from her fingertips and drop onto the floor as Seraph leaned across her and drew the bowl of grapes and pitcher of honey closer to him. He brushed her breasts as he gathered the containers and she gasped, her nipples hardening instantly under the sheer green fabric, her skin feeling as if it had been branded by a red-hot iron. She watched, hypnotized, as Seraph took a purple grape between his fingers, rolled it slightly, and then dipped it directly into the small pitcher of honey, swirling it thoroughly in the thick liquid and then lifting it up, gold stickiness coating his fingertips, running over the fruit and dripping in thick globules onto the table. He turned to her. “If you would allow me, my Lady?” Seneca swallowed, nodding slightly, relaxing against the low back of the sofa, her eyes glued to the sweet, round fruit as Seraph brought the grape slowly from the table across her slightly parted thighs to her lips. As he drew it across her body, a large gooey droplet of honey slipped from the fruit and landed on her bare belly above her navel. She flinched and then gazed down at the golden bead, pooling like jelly, and drifting ever so slightly along her skin. “My apologies,” Seraph said in a low undertone, his words jolting Seneca as she looked up suddenly into his dark, glittering eyes. “But I’ll clean up the mess that I’ve made,” he purred, lowering his head to her soft, rounded belly, still holding the grape between his fingers, his tongue touching her lightly, tasting the sweetness staining her skin, before lapping directly at the thick drop of syrup. Seneca mewled like a kitten, grabbing at Seraph’s head with both hands, straining against the back of the couch as he gently licked at the stickiness, running his tongue over her pale, supple skin and then drawing in a small section of flesh into his lips, suckling it and then releasing it. He drew his lips down to her navel and dipped his tongue into the tender depression, swirling gently, as Seneca gasped and cried out, as if he had set a match to her, adding fuel to the fire which raged throughout her body, a sudden manic urgency possessing her to connect with this man, feeling weak all over with heat and excitement. She tugged on him as he kissed her belly and he sat back up, leaning forward over her, his eyes like black crystals. Seneca’s eyes were darkened with need, burning with desire. Seraph could wait no longer and bent his mouth to hers, taking her lips in his, his soft possession quickly turning to a growing hunger, driving him to dip into her mouth and claim her tongue, palate and throat. She pushed against him, wanting more and he gave in fully, bringing one hand up to the base of her neck, pulling her closer, the other entangling with her hair as he plunged into her mouth, his tongue questing, seeking, ravishing as he drove into her sultry, hot, wetness. She accepted his searing intrusion, melting into him, drinking in his kiss, ardently moving her lips against his, excited by the feel of his tongue probing her depths. His hands were in her hair, urgently pulling at the pins, wrapping impatiently in the strands that fell over her neck, his musculature now pressing against her.

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Seneca had been kissed before, several times, all chastely, most when she had been a girl before she had been corralled into the chastity required of all princesses who must save their purity for marriage. But she wasn’t thinking about that now and wouldn’t have been torn from Seraph if she was tied to a team of horses. Her primal brain had taken over, the man before her all she wanted in the world at this moment, her circumstances pushed aside, the only thing consuming her the need to satisfy the fervent, growing ache between her thighs, Seraph both the cause and the cure. Seneca suddenly felt a strange sensation against her mouth and realized Seraph was pressing the sticky, honey-coated grape to her lips while still kissing her. She opened her mouth wider, accepting the fruit, rolling it with her tongue and teeth, feeling Seraph’s intruding muscle reaching for it also, moving against her passionately as they shared their heat. Seneca found the grape between her teeth and bit down, the juices squirting freely, mixing with the taste of Seraph, as she pulled him in, their tongues coiled and twisted together around the moist pulp that was the remainder of the grape, the syrup of the fruit and honey passing between them making their connection even sweeter. Seraph pulled back from her, his lips an inch from hers, his breath heat and fire. “I’m afraid, dinner has come to a premature end,” he breathed at her. “Are you still hungry?” “Yes,” she whimpered, pushing against him, trying to get him to kiss her again. “You want more?” he asked huskily, his eyes dark. “From me?” “Seraph,” she panted. “Yes, I want you. Kiss me again or I’ll die,” she said, climbing into his lap, humping her body against his, trying to unfasten his robes. He stopped, his hands moving to her wrists, wrapping around them and holding her in place. She let out a cry of frustration. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, watching carefully for her reaction. “I have nothing on under my robes.” Her eyes were unfocused; she did nothing except continue grinding against him. He sighed mentally. He was invested now, going all in. “Then, let’s retire somewhere more fitting,” he said, picking Seneca up easily in his arms and carrying her through the open archway in the back of the main chamber into his private bedroom, kissing her as he walked, her legs wrapping tightly around him.

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CHAPTER 10 Tryphene “Congratulations, Arcada of Ecryon.” Arcada stopped under the curved archway in the palace, turning to see a striking woman approaching her. She was close to Arcada’s height, her hair just slightly darker and her eyes a deep gold. It had been three days since she had defeated the lions in the arena. Zacrius had been nowhere to be found although Arcada had been quite free to move about and had occupied herself walking through the market a few times. Dressed differently than a slave no one bothered her or given her a second glance, except to appreciate her beauty. The woman held out her hand to Arcada, a large ring prominent on her finger with a red stone set into an intricately inscribed gilded band. Arcada was intuitive, good at improvising with royalty of all types, on all planets. She bent forward and kissed the woman’s ring. The woman smiled, pleased, and lowered her hand. “I am Princess Tryphene, Zacrius’ sister.” Arcada immediately recognized the resemblance. “Walk with me,” Tryphene said pleasantly, but with command, continuing in the same direction in which Arcada had been heading. Arcada did, falling into step next to the woman. Although Tryphene moved with the air of confidence common to royalty, Arcada sensed that the woman also had some sort of combat training. Tryphene moved fluidly, aware of her surroundings, self-possessed. “Your fighting skills are impressive,” Tryphene said, glancing at Arcada as they walked slowly, her hands clasped behind her back. “Where did you learn them?” Arcada could hardly say that she learned to fight at the side of a man who considered himself her master and her his slave – that together they had canvassed the galaxy, exploiting planets, politics and battles for nothing more than excitement, all without the knowledge of her master’s father who ruled the planetary system in which they lived. They were both young at the time and Arcada had some training but Terenth had the benefit of growing up on Ecryon. Quintus, with his unlimited resources, indulged his son’s interest in fighting and Terenth was already schooled in countless ways of warfare when he acquired her. Nor could Arcada tell Tryphene that much of her skill came from training alone, without Terenth at her side, as he sent her unwilling to various planets, some scenarios more deadly than others. Instead Arcada replied simply, “I learned from necessity and experience.” She hesitated, thinking that hardly answered the princess’ question and added, “Where I come from,

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conflict sometimes comes unexpectedly, catching one unaware. I’ve had to fight all manner of people and . . . creatures to survive.” Arcada was thinking of four-headed dragons, silver gaseous serpents that hid in the eddies behind certain moons, deceptively gentle nymphs oozing poison from their skin. Tryphene thought instead of the colosseum. “Yes, the lions,” Tryphene said thoughtfully. “Remarkable.” After a time, the princess asked, “Did you train with someone?” Arcada was silent for a moment and then replied, “Yes.” “A man?” “Yes.” “He is . . . your lover?” Arcada hesitated. Enslaver, master, potentate. She sighed. She supposed lover as well. “Yes,” she responded, wondering why Tryphene was pursuing this. “But he is not with you?” she persisted. Arcada drew in a breath. No, Terenth wasn’t here. He was likely reluctantly pushing his father’s interests somewhere, waiting for her to return and give him an answer to his ‘proposal.’ It would be the same. “No. He is in a distant land, far from here. Where I came from.” “And where is that, exactly?” Arcada looked at Tryphene. “It’s hard to describe, your Highness. But I grew up in an area similar to this,” she offered, trying to shift the topic. “Do women fight much where you’re from? You do, obviously. But is it accepted? Encouraged?” Tryphene asked. Arcada didn’t know how to answer this. Ecryon was a different planet, oriented primarily toward sexual slavery and political scheming. Fighting wasn’t anything Ecryons disapproved of but in Arcada’s experience, most of the slaves, as well as the general populace, could care less about it. She was glad that Terenth enjoyed fighting and was well-trained. On her home planet, Balinth, being a warrior for both men and women was a way of life. “Where I was born, yes. All men and women are born and bred to be warriors. Where I live now, I guess I’m lucky to be in a position where I must fight a lot.” Lucky wasn’t really the right word. She loved fighting at Terenth’s side, not so much without him.

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Tryphene walked in silence, considering this. “Could I ever visit your lands? Do you need a ship to get there?” “Yes, you need a ship,” Arcada answered truthfully to the second question, hoping Tryphene wouldn’t ask the first question again. “How is it that you speak and understand our language so well if you are from somewhere so far away?” “I’ve traveled many places – been exposed to different languages and cultures,” Arcada said elusively. This was a half-truth. A galactic translation program was embedded in the gel of her transparent collar. “I see,” said Tryphene as she stopped before a large, vaulted hallway leading from the palace courtyard. She felt she wasn’t quite getting the entire truth from Arcada, but couldn’t identify any actual falsehoods. “I understand you are meeting with my brother?” “Yes. Now actually,” Arcada said with some relief. “He is going to tell me what he wants me to retrieve. I’ll recover it and then I’ll be free of my service to him.” Tryphene smiled. “And then you plan to leave? Return home? To your lover?” Arcada tried to return the smile but it came across as more of a grimace. Tryphene pretended not to notice. “Yes, I plan to go back.” “I have no doubt you’ll recover what my brother asks of you but you may be surprised at what he wishes you to retrieve,” Tryphene said, looking hard at Arcada, her gold eyes every bit as piercing as Zacrius’. “You should also know my brother desires you. I have grown up with him and know him as I know myself.” Arcada had expected this. Terenth insisted that she engage others, both with him in Ecryon and during these games. It was a normal part of Ecryon life as well as life on her original home planet. But some encounters were more pleasant than others. “I respect you,” Tryphene continued, her eyes steadily on Arcada. “And I . . . admire you,” she admitted, almost reluctantly. “I wish I had your fearlessness, your confidence, your strength, your training . . . . But I must ask you something, important to the Kingdom of Pyrme. I must ask you not to engage with my brother. It will become clear to you when he gives you your task why I ask this. It is important for the kingdom that he not be distracted by someone like you. My brother has his dalliances. Every man . . . and woman does,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But you are a woman with whom a man falls in love. Do not let it happen to my brother, I beg you.” Arcada’s brow furrowed. “I can assure you, your Highness,” she said without hesitation, “I have no designs on Zacrius for love.”

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Tryphene frowned, recognizing that Arcada did not give her a categorical denial of interest in Zacrius. The women held each other’s gaze for several long seconds as women are wont to do when assessing the strength or character of the other. Finally, Tryphene said, “Zacrius’ chambers are behind you, through the double archway at the end. Do give him my regards.” “I will, your Highness,” Arcada replied, kissing the ring Tryphene offered her again. Zacrius’ sister was shrewd. Arcada guessed it was likely a family trait. She took a step backward before turning and walking toward the end of the elaborate hallway. Tryphene watched her go, hoping for her brother’s sake that Arcada’s ‘lover’ had a strong influence over her. Arcada slowed as she reached the end of the hallway, watching as two armed soldiers moved forward together and pulled the large wooden double doors apart to a resplendent chamber beyond. An older man, his skin weathered and hair thinning but still strong in build, stepped forward, his hand on his sword. Arcada stopped. “His Highness is expecting you, Arcada of Ecryon. You may enter at your will.” She gave him a small smile. Although the soldier was brusque, the smile from the tall, confident woman was enough to redden his cheeks just slightly. “Thank you,” Arcada said, nodding her head politely. The guard swelled, his skirt beginning to tent. Prince Zacrius was one lucky man. Arcada stepped through into the chamber as the doors closed behind her. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the far end of the room with his back to her, dressed in full armor, a white tunic draped over a tan leather skirt wearing dark brown boots. “Welcome Arcada, slayer of lions,” he said, turning slowly to face her.

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CHAPTER 11 The Demands of Zacrius The room in which Arcada found herself was elaborate but sparsely appointed. There was a long, rectangular table in the center of the room with at least eight chairs around it and one very large chair at the end. Other smaller tables were scattered throughout the room. On most of the tables lay rolls of parchment, a few books, an array of metallic instruments and various wood and brass replicas. It looked to be perhaps a working room, a war hall of sorts. It was an interior space with no windows although there was a small archway near the opposite wall of the chamber through which Arcada glimpsed a private courtyard. Zacrius leaned against this doorway, his muscled arms folded over his leather tunic looking at her expectantly. Arcada lowered her eyes and dropped the smallest of curtsies, a bit unenthusiastic about demonstrating any deference. Zacrius had refused her an audience until now and Arcada was more than impatient. The sooner she retrieved this lost item the better so that she could return to Ecryon. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice guarded. “Thank for you the audience.” Arcada was dressed in a simple white wrap, wearing the most basic of gold sandals. She had let her long hair cascade loosely over her back, seeing no reason to do anything else with it. She would pin it out of the way when she set off. The bruise on her arm was dark but healing, the armband likely having saved it from amputation. She wondered what Terenth would have said had she shown up on Ecryon without an arm. He would have regenerated it, but would he have been sorry? She had left her sword in her quarters not wanting to attract attention as she walked through the palace. Actually, she was not completely weaponless. She had strapped one of the small knives to her upper thigh. It was completely covered by her short dress and not one guard had thought to do anything more than look her over visually. Not that she intended to harm the prince unless he gave her a good reason. Zacrius pushed off from the wall and strode across the room, stopping a few paces from her. Arcada raised only her eyes to his, keeping her head level. His gold eyes glinted as he studied her, a strange mixture of esteem, puzzlement and lust in them. “Well, Arcada of Ecryon, you’ve done what no man in the history of my people has been able to do,” he began, his eyes drifting over her. “I have,” she replied. It was less an accomplishment to her than it was to him. His eyes narrowed. “How? How did you do it? Did you use magic of some sort? Witchcraft?” He stepped toward her and took her elbow roughly as if feeling for himself that she was made of flesh.

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She shook him off, staring at him insolently. “I assure you it was by skill alone, my Lord. You saw the entire fight clearly from start to finish. I used nothing but the weapons you offered me.” He had seen it and was sure it had been a fair fight. He just couldn’t understand how she could be so skilled. “Besides, I did not come away unscathed.” His eyes flicked to the purpling on her upper arm. It was nothing, not even a wound to speak of, for someone who had faced four lions. He moved even closer, reaching out and running his hand lightly over the discolored patch, watching the small bumps rise on her skin where he touched her. “No, not completely unscathed,” he acceded, his voice low. Arcada wanted to pull away but felt little tingles on her skin where his fingers traced around the bruising. A small amount of wetness slipped from her and she mentally cursed herself. She took a deep breath, willing the feelings away. “A service, my Lord. A service to retrieve something for you,” she reminded him. “That was all I promised. All you required of me.” “Yes,” Zacrius responded absently, bringing both hands up, caressing her arms to her wrists, then reversing his touch, bringing them up to her shoulders and drawing his knuckles across her throat and jaw. Arcada shuddered, biting her lip, fighting to keep herself from reacting to him. He stepped into her and she backed away as he continued moving forward until he had her pressed against the closed doors at the chamber entrance. She wished she could just kill Zacrius and end the game. But it didn’t work that way. “You gave me your word, Zacrius,” she said, dropping his title in her impatience. “Zacrius, is it?” he snarled, bringing his hands up hard against the wall on either side of Arcada, trapping her in place. “A little familiar, don’t you think?” he asked, beginning to grind himself against her. She let out something between a whimper and a protest. “Oh, you have my word all right. Before you leave my chambers, I will set you your task . . . and release you if you complete it. But there is more I could have – more we could do – now.” He lowered his mouth to her throat, suckling at it for a moment before he pulled away, leaving a mark. Arcada inhaled sharply and turned her head away from him. She knew he was right. She didn’t have to willingly submit because he had not made it a condition of her service but he could take her unwilling. She wondered whether she would be stuck on Earth forever if she killed him right now. She had been raped before on other planets. Terenth had no sympathy, always telling her she needed to be stronger, a better fighter, use her wits more

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to avoid it in the future. She really didn’t know why she felt anything at all for Terenth. She suddenly looked back at Zacrius. “How do you know I’ll do anything for you if you rape me? I may go back on my word. Escape and kill your finest men in the process,” she said defiantly, meeting his eyes. “I’d wager they’d be easier to kill than lions.” Zacrius kept his body pressed into hers and then latched onto her mouth, dipping into her roughly with his tongue, kissing her turbulently, but briefly as Arcada resisted, trying to push him away. “Somehow,” Zacrius breathed, searching her dilated eyes, “I don’t think it would be rape.” Arcada struggled to regain control of herself. Why did she always find herself in these positions? Did Terenth hang a sign around her neck that said “fuck me if you’re able?” She glowered at Zacrius, unmoving. “I’ll be quick,” he whispered, falling to her throat again as she found herself responding powerfully. Zacrius whirled her around, catching Arcada by her bruised arm. She cried out and he quickly released it. He pulled her roughly back by her hips, forcing her legs farther toward him and then pushed her lower back down with the flat of his hand. He flicked up her short dress and ran his hands over her curves appreciatively. “Lovely,” he murmured. Arcada stood with her hands pressed against the heavy wooden doors, resigned, her eyes closed, her pulse ragged, her breathing strained, bracing herself. Zacrius ran his fingers slowly down between the clefts of her buttocks until he came to her core. He massaged it lightly for a moment as Arcada tried not to buckle under his touch and then withdrew his hand. Leaning forward over her, he brought his hand to her face so that she could see and smell her arousal, his fingers glistening with her juices. He whispered harshly in her ear, “Rape? Hardly,” he snorted. He brought his fingers to her lips. “Clean them off.” Arcada sighed and sucked her own emissions from Zacrius’ fingers while he slid his other hand down her back and then raised his own skirt, drawing back his hips and then plunged his cock into her, pillaging her hot sheath, Arcada’s mouth going slack as she stopped licking his digits, gasping at his entry. “Mmmm. Nice and tight. Soft and wet too,” Zacrius said, stroking her fiercely several times. Arcada fingertips whitened against the wood, each thrust driving her body forward. Damn, he was almost as large as Terenth and Ecryon men were extraordinary.

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Zacrius withdrew completely and then slammed into her once more, holding himself still as he grabbed her waist and pinned her against him, helplessly impaled on his strong pole, enjoying the sight of her shuddering flesh as her tight buttocks rippled in front of him. She felt his hands run under the strap on her upper thigh, snapping it back against her skin. “Strategic choice of weapon,” he observed, sliding the knife from its sheath. He laid the cold blade against Arcada’s lower back for a moment and she arched up at its contact. “Good thing for you, I’m not into bloodplay,” he said, tossing the knife across the room. “I’ll give it back to you when we’re done.” Yes, it was a good thing. Terenth sometimes enjoyed bloodplay but he could heal the small marks he made after he had finished with her. Arcada didn’t relish the idea of going back home scarred by a lustful Earth warrior. Zacrius gripped her hips and began to ride her body in earnest, Arcada’s breath hitching as he battered her cervix, pounding her relentlessly and unmercifully for several minutes. Her hands slipped lower against the door the longer her took her, her knees weakening, her body beginning to sag. He reached under her and held her up by her breasts. “Time for a better position,” he growled in her ear, pulling out of her, spinning her around and throwing her up against the wall. “You’re good with weapons,” Zacrius allowed. “But this is my favorite weapon.” He looked meaningfully down at his pulsing, erect organ, swollen and slick with evidence of Arcada’s arousal. She caught her breath as he penetrated her again, his hands under her thighs, her body jerking up and down against the stone. Arcada’s hands were on his shoulders, her eyes closed, small gasps escaping her with each violation, her hair hanging long and limp as Zacrius savagely demonstrated his appreciation of her, fully utilizing his powerful, unsheathed cock as his weapon against the warrior in his arms. “I’ve never had anyone like you, Arcada,” he said passionately as he fucked her for all he was worth against the wall, his damp hair swinging over his face as he made grunts and sighs of pleasure. She was oblivious at this point to anything but the feel of his thick shaft forcing its way repeatedly through her wet, welcoming channel, the brutality of his interest in her, his obvious lust. Zacrius shifted his grip on her, holding her aloft with one strong arm under her ass and with his other pulled insistently at the wraps to her dress, finally loosening the folds and yanking them aside to reveal her breasts bound in a leather bra. He wrenched it up, exposing her rose-tipped areolas, small but perfect, the leather depressing the flesh so that her nipples hardened and stood out fuller, forced out below the fabric. His eyes flashing, he forced her higher on the wall and brought his lips down to her nipples, not missing a stroke, as he began to nip and suckle at her breasts. He was unsparing, pulling and biting at the soft flesh, his teeth and tongue working on one nipple, while his fingers tugged and twisted on the other, the incessant sensations finally too much and Arcada drew in on

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herself, breaking open in a gush, pulses of electricity charging through her, as her pussy contracted hard and she let out a long, low moan. “Yesss,” Zacrius hissed, feeling her heat and fluids soak him, not altering his pace even as her fingernails dug hard into the muscles on his forearms. He took her against the wall for some time, bouncing her head lightly against the facade, her back sliding up and down, her eyes closed as he rhythmically thumped her against it, their bodies slick with perspiration, until he abruptly stopped and pinned her with his hips, her head whirling with the change in sensation, her body humping slightly against his as his hand drew up her belly and came to rest at her throat. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, glazed, registering in the back of her mind that Zacrius’ eyes were still sharp and hawk-like, glittering like bullion, a look of indescribable lust in them. “I know I said I’d be quick, Arcada,” he said hoarsely, “but not only can you fight, you can fuck. You are exquisite.” In the back of her sex-induced mind, Arcada was thinking he had a lot of stamina. She lost the thought as Zacrius whirled her away from the wall and threw her down on the huge table, climbing up and following her onto it, keeping her impaled on him, as he paused, their bodies on the slick wooden surface. “I’ve never fucked any woman on my war table,” he said, his eyes hot. “I want a first with you. I want you to stay – but I know you’ll leave when you’ve completed your task. I want to remember this – remember you.” And then Zacrius began to piston tyrannically into her like a battering ram causing Arcada to shriek and pull at his shoulders, his huge shaft filling her completely, the friction against her walls and the check at the end of his stroke tearing her breath away, his declaration somewhere in the back of her mind, torn between flattery and relief that he would truly release her from his service when it was all done. Zacrius plowed forward and Arcada felt her shoulders brush something hard and unforgiving, bits of metal and wood, gears, pendulums, scale models flying off to the both sides, the cold feel of brass and iron on her skin, sliding down her arms, and then the crinkling of parchment under her head as maps and writings scattered, falling, rolling, wafting to the floor, a blizzard of detritus the calamity of his enthusiasm. “Zacrius!” she suddenly called out, grabbing harder at him. “That’s my name, warrior,” he said lustfully, his strokes unrelenting, his eyes falling to her breasts again, his muscular ass pumping. He reached down to take a nipple in his mouth and Arcada, already close, suddenly tensed and screamed, her pussy clamping down strongly over him, squeezing his shaft, pulling him closer as she was lost to sweet oblivion, shrieking again as wave after wave of pleasure drenched her. “Quiet warrior,” he hissed, raising his mouth to hers and covering it, plundering it with his tongue, quite sure that her screams wouldn’t bring anyone to check on them but not desiring an intrusion into his chamber or an inquiry into his welfare nonetheless. 57

Arcada could not even protest, so lost to bliss and let him enter and scour her mouth mindlessly without complaint, before coming back to herself and slowly becoming aware that the prince was kissing her fervently. She stiffened slightly at the contact, Zacrius’ immersion too intimate, intrusive, too unexpected when his fucking seemed a pure act of lust, hardly preceded by any preliminaries or foreplay. The prince sensed her reluctance and released her lips, looking down at her as he watched her body jerk underneath him, her breath hitching at the end of each shove of his cock. As if realizing that he might have crossed some unwritten boundary, he pulled back from her mouth and closed his own eyes, focusing on the squishy, juiciness of her soft, inner sleeve, how she could take him entirely, the feel of her firm body beneath his. He drove her all the way across the long table, his release coming closer in convergence with the edge until Arcada’s head pressed against the arm of the throne chair and he felt the familiar swelling sensation, warm, sticky fluid rushing suddenly into his shaft, bubbling up uncontrollably, straining to break free until finally he erupted and came, shuddering into Arcada, thrusting his hands under her shoulders through the remains of her dress, pulsing and straining against her as he emptied every last pulse of his hot stream of sperm into her channel. Arcada’s head was firmly pressed against the wood, but it hardly registered as the prince shuddered with his release, a look of contorted bliss over his features, and then she felt him jerk her downward, away from the hard arm of the throne and she relaxed, laying her head back on the table, her eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Zacrius rolled off of her and lay on his back next to her, his chest rising and falling, trying to recover as well. Hell, that had to have been one of the best orgasms he had ever had in his life. When this out-of-place slave woman had walked so calmly into his arena three days ago, he had no idea things would turn out so well. Score one for the Gods. He wasn’t personally a religious man, despite his position of power over the people and his espousing of the beliefs, but if ever there was a woman to get religion over she was here lying beside him. He lay there for another minute and then rolled slowly from the table, standing up, his eyes sweeping briefly over the mess on the floor, scattered parchments, broken equipment. He would call in servants to fix it immediately and discuss the mission with Arcada in his private courtyard. He looked at the long, blonde woman stretched on the table, her eyes still closed. His flaccid cock gave a tiny pulse. Shit, if he wasn’t careful, he would find himself coming to life again. Literally. He had better calm himself or the woman might really make good on her threats and not help him. After seeing her fight the lions and having her sexually, he had to admit if anyone could help him, she could. He wished very much he could have her in his service as an elite guard. As a woman she would go underestimated, unnoticed even, until she was called upon to protect him, murder, assassinate in his name. He caught himself licking his lips, almost salivating at the thought of having her around all the time. But he knew, from her body language, from her words, that she had something . . . or someone . . . she wanted to

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get back to very badly. He would keep his word, release her, and she would be gone. He didn’t think he stood a chance at convincing her to stay with him especially after she found out what it was she was supposed to retrieve. Ah well, at least he had this pleasure with her. And what a pleasure it had been. Zacrius leaned over the table, thinking to kiss her lightly on the lips when she opened her eyes and moved away, rolling off the other side of the table. He frowned as she stood up, pulling her leather bra back over her breasts and arranging the folds of her dress again in front, re-tying it with the belt. Arcada was relieved to see the fabric wasn’t torn, just in disarray. She smoothed her hair down a bit and then met his eyes. “Are you ready to discuss your service?” he asked her. “Yes, but I don’t think my best after an orgasm,” she responded soberly. A slow smile crossed his face and then Zacrius burst out laughing. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes as he reflected on the warrior’s honest declaration. Finally, he calmed himself enough to say, “And you had two of them. My apologies, Arcada of Ecryon.” He bowed to her. Arcada eyed him. She supposed it did sound somewhat amusing. But it was true. Her mind was fuzzy now. Zacrius walked around the end of the table and held his hand out to her. “Come with me to the outdoor terrace. I will send for some light food and drink and tell you of the mission while we relax and recover.” Arcada accepted his hand and followed him under the archway into a warm garden filled with flowering trees, vines and plants The courtyard gave off a humidity in contrast to the dryness of the city outside the palace. He led her to a lectus under the shade of a small fig tree and she sat down gratefully, even reclining as he left to give the orders to the servants, including getting his chambers picked up.

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CHAPTER 12 Best Laid Plans When Zacrius returned to the courtyard, Arcada’s head had already begun to clear. He walked over to the lectus and handed her small knife to her courteously, holding it by its blade. She took it without comment and brought her heel up to the couch, letting the white fabric fall back from her thigh as she resheathed it. He sat down, studying her. “Unlike you, Arcada, I find that climax brings lucidity to my thoughts.” She looked over at him, wishing he would stop playing games. “What is it you want from me Zacrius?” This time, he indulged her address of him without a title. After that little bout of intimacy, he felt he could give her that. He rubbed his hand across his chin and sighed. “I need you to recover a woman for me.” She blinked. “A woman?” “Not just any woman. My bride.” Arcada folded her leg underneath her, fingering the knife under her dress. She pressed her hand to her eyes for a moment and then ran her fingers through her hair. “Your wife?” she asked skeptically. “My betrothed,” Zacrius clarified. “We were to be married this week. Today, actually. Today was to have been my wedding day.” And instead you fucked me across your war table, Arcada thought. This was not at all what she had expected. But she would adjust. “All right,” she said slowly, needing more details. “Who is she?” Zacrius looked up as several servants appeared quietly setting platters of fruit, goat cheese, fresh meats, and warmed, spiced wine before them. He reached over and poured a goblet of wine for Arcada, handing it to her. She rarely drank, but accepted it. He poured a glass for himself and sat back, taking a long drink. “We’ve had trouble with a neighboring kingdom – Kavalos – for centuries. War, unrest, bloodshed, rape, murder, assassinations, you name it. Not a chance for peace until recently, when a man who I respect very much came to power – King Meto. He proposed a way to merge our two kingdoms – to create a permanent alliance – a marriage between our territories both actual and political.” “His daughter,” Arcada interjected. “Yes,” he said solemnly, “his daughter. My intended,” he said, glowering into his goblet. “Marrying her would ease relations between Pyrme and Kavalos, something that has

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always eluded us.” He drained the rest of his wine and fingered the stem of the glass, looking across the courtyard. “Meto’s daughter is Seneca. She’s young, but of age. She was set upon by another of my enemies on her way here from her father’s kingdom to marry me.” Arcada took a small sip of wine. “The lost item that was stolen from you,” she remarked with understanding. Then she asked, “This enemy – who is he?” Zacrius tone shifted. “His name is Seraph. His lands are high in the mountains beyond us,” he said coldly, gesturing across the courtyard. “He lives in what has been described as an impenetrable fortress, carved partially out of the very walls of the mountains. The City of Rocks. Unreachable from above due to the sheer cliffs that extend even beyond the heights of the city. Protected from below by a powerful waterfall flowing into a large pool at the base of the cliffs.” “His troops obviously enter and exit,” Arcada commented. Zacrius shrugged. “His lands are so distant and the terrain guarding the city so imposing, there have been few expeditions forged against him. Generally, Seraph prefers to ride in small bands – on the offensive. His troops are fanatical – they wear hoods, half-masks – they act mad. Rarely have I heard of them destroying possessions or burning structures, but really they don’t need to. Just showing up is enough to strike terror deep into the heart of almost any common villager. There is some murder, some rape, but most of the time the populace simply gives up its riches and finery out of fear.” “But no one has seen how the city fortifies itself?” Arcada pressed. “It must need supplies. It can’t be completely self-contained.” Zacrius set down his empty goblet and reached for a strip of lamb. He chewed unhurriedly and then answered her. “I know of no one with firsthand knowledge of how anyone gets in or out. Centuries ago, the fortress was attacked by Meto’s predecessors. The soldiers reported that men simply materialized out of the cliffs. The effect was so frightening it demoralized them and they were easily defeated. Even today some claim the City of Rocks is inhabited by demons, monsters or supernatural creatures.” He scoffed. “I myself place little faith in those explanations. In my experience, soldiers are always made of flesh.” Arcada agreed with Zacrius on this point. No man materialized out of rock. At least not on this planet. Zacrius took another hunk of meat and spoke around a mouthful. “Seraph’s kingdom, rich as it is from its plundering, has largely been left alone save for the occasional roving bands of horsemen which have been captured and killed from time to time. It would be an expensive and difficult fortress to storm. Seraph hasn’t yet shown any interest in advancing his territory, preferring instead to pilfer the spoils of others. Politically and economically, there’s simply no incentive to lay siege to it.”

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“Until now,” Arcada said quietly, setting down her nearly-full goblet on the stone table next to his empty one. She picked up a small handful of grapes and began eating them. “Until now,” Zacrius agreed. “Although I would rather not take up my army and go to war over Seneca.” “How were you planning to retrieve her then? Surely you had no idea I would show up and you could bind me to do this for you?” Zacrius looked across the lectus at Arcada, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “I haven’t ignored her capture if that’s what you’re insinuating. I’ve already sent ten soldiers after her – six of my best assassins and four highly trained mercenaries.” He paused, his gold eyes catching hers. “I haven’t heard from any since I sent them.” Arcada said nothing, letting her eyes fall to his bicep, watching the dragon inked there shift subtly in the dappled shade of the fig tree. “I’d rather not lose any more of my best men,” Zacrius said. “But you’re right of course, the next step – if you don’t succeed – is to send in my army. It’s simply an action I’d regret having to take.” Arcada raised her eyes to him. “That can’t be your last resort, Zacrius. No king would kidnap a princess without intending to use her in some way as a bargaining chip. What is it that Seraph has demanded in exchange for Seneca?” She could sense Zacrius was not the type to bargain no matter what Seraph had demanded but was curious what it would be. Ransom? Gold, spices, land? “He wants my sister,” Zacrius said tightly. Arcada’s eyes widened. “Your sister? Tryphene?” Seraph would have his hands full with Tryphene no matter what type of man he was. And Arcada was certain Tryphene was no virgin, although maybe that didn’t matter to the King. “Yes. And I don’t want to go to war over her either.” They sat in silence with their own thoughts for a few moments. Then Arcada probed, “This King – Seraph. What type of man is he – personally?” She wanted to know what to expect when she found Seneca. Would the woman be imprisoned in a dungeon, bruised and battered, repeatedly raped, paralyzed with fear? Zacrius leaned forward and refilled his goblet. He held it up and swirled it for a few moments before taking another swig, looking over the top of his glass at Arcada. “Seraph has been described as ruthless, cruel even. But Seneca is . . . innocent – virtuous. If he were to defile her . . . .” His voice trailed off. Then he said forcefully, “I

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have heard he desires Tryphene strongly. He would not defile Seneca. After all, such a calculating King would never squander a thing so strategic simply to indulge himself with a woman.” Arcada thought that was exactly what every ruler had been doing on every planet, since time began. Risking all that had been gained, acquired, fought for and given, simply for the sake of a woman. A thought suddenly crossed Arcada’s mind. “Why are you not a King yourself, Prince Zacrius?” She immediately sensed she had struck a nerve. Zacrius’ lip curled and his eyes darkened, shifting away and then back to her. “My father is the King of Pyrme, Arcada. He is not yet dead.” “Oh,” replied Arcada neutrally, wondering whether he would say more. “He’s mad if you must know,” Zacrius revealed bitterly. “A stark, raving lunatic. He converses with imaginary beings, claims to be descended from either elephants or scorpions; one minute he wants to pray with the servants who bring him food, the next he tries to rape them – man, woman, old, young, it matters little.” “Why don’t you have him killed?” she asked simply. Arcada was familiar with political manipulations of this sort. There was often no loyalty of blood when it came to the succession of kingship, even between father and son. Especially between father and son. Zacrius looked sharply at her. She had just echoed what his advisors had been telling him for the past five years, ever since his father had begun to insist that everyone in his inner Council dance naked in the arena with lions to enhance their favor with the Gods. Any other son by rights would have killed his deranged father long ago to claim the throne. But Zacrius ruled with sufficient power, even if it was not absolute. His legions granted their allegiance to him freely, recognizing him as the rightful leader. His closest advisors continued to circulate enough rumor and innuendo about his father’s condition so that the people clearly understood Zacrius was the better choice. And occasionally, when his father had a very good day, he would make an appearance before the people and pledge his support to his son. Zacrius sighed to himself. Those days were becoming less and less frequent. The truth was, he didn’t kill his father because . . . he loved him. “That has nothing to do with your mission,” Zacrius snarled at her, suddenly agitated. “Of course not, your Highness. I apologize,” Arcada said softly, wisely letting the matter of his father drop. She changed the subject. “I am confident I can retrieve the princess unscathed for you.” At least as unscathed as she is when I find her, she thought. “How far of a ride is it by horseback? I ride swiftly. I need a mount fast and light but strong enough to carry Seneca with me when I return.”

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A smile returned to Zacrius’ face as he sat back with his goblet in his hand. “All of our horses are bred the way you require – for strength and speed. They pull chariots, of course. If you ride as fast as you say you do, it shouldn’t take longer than four days, five at the most.” “Good. I’ll set off immediately. I assume it won’t take long to provision?” “Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough,” he said, taking another drink of wine. Arcada opened her mouth to protest. He looked at her blackly. “I’ve said you’ll leave tomorrow and my word is final. After we finish here, I’ll have Tryphene show you to my personal armory. You may choose anything you like for weaponry. You may also select from Tryphene’s armor. She’ll have suitable equipment that will fit you. That is, if you care to use weapons or armor. Perhaps you’ll just storm the fortress naked and take down the lot of them.” Arcada let the taunt slide. “Besides,” Zacrius said, a hint of darkness in his voice. “I want you here tonight. I have not yet had my fill of you.” Arcada groaned inwardly. Zacrius was a good lover, but she wanted to finish this game and get back to Terenth. She was beginning to miss him though the Diviners knew it didn’t seem as if he ever missed her. “Arcada,” Zacrius said, leaning back and turning only his head to look over at her. “You don’t seem to have any ties to our lands.” “No,” she agreed. He got up and moved closer on the lectus until his muscled thigh was touching her white dress. He took her blonde hair and swept it back over her shoulder. “You’re like no other woman I’ve ever met. Perhaps you might consider, staying here . . . with me, after your service is finished.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to her throat gently, rewarded by hearing her sigh. “I’d be good to you.” Zacrius slid his lips higher on her throat, kissing her again, moving upward until he stopped at her hairline, his breath hot and sweet against her ear. He gently nipped at her ear and Arcada’s eyes half-closed. “You’re . . . about to be married,” she protested. “I’m . . . to retrieve your wife.” Zacrius planted gentle kisses from her ear to her jaw, dragging his lips across her chin until his mouth rested above hers. He looked into her eyes, his gold eyes blazing. “Such a thing doesn’t matter here. Surely it doesn’t matter where you come from.”

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Actually, Arcada didn’t know. She didn’t know whether marriage would change any sense of fidelity an Ecryon man or woman felt to each other. She knew that without marriage, Ecryons liberally indulged with sexual partners with no remorse or regret on the part of either man or woman, but she had never known anyone personally to be married except Terenth’s father who had been widowed for many years. Marriage was rare on Ecryon. She had no idea why Terenth wanted to marry her. Thinking of Terenth sobered her and she said gently, “My Lord, as much as I find you desirable and your offer enticing, I have obligations I must meet in my own land.” Zacrius looked disappointed but had expected her answer. He didn’t force a kiss on her. Instead, he fell back several inches and drew his hands through her hair, watching it fall around her arms. “I would very much like to look over your weapons now,” Arcada said respectfully. He considered her for a moment and then said, “Of course.” He rose to his feet and took her hand, drawing her up as well. “I’ll have you shown there immediately.”

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CHAPTER 13 A Princess Unleashed “Ooooh!” Seneca shrieked as her taut sleeve clamped down again. She ground her hips viciously into the dark loins of the man underneath her, his thrusts slowing as she whirled and strained against him, her arms raised above her head, her fingers wrapped in her own hair. She was riding his body, getting herself off with her wanton movements as he gripped her hips and plowed upward, her impossibly tight wetness squeezing and caressing him. In the name of the Fates, thought Seraph as he watched the curvaceous, undulating woman writhe in ecstasy astride his body, her face a mask of pleasure, her eyes halfclosed, her fists squeezing together tightly as she arched up and then let her fingers slide through the soft strands of her dark hair. She slowly lowered her hands until they came to rest on his broad chest and then looked down on him, panting, holding her weight up with her arms, still impaled on his pole as her blue eyes glowed with fulfillment and adoration. That was Seneca’s third orgasm of the evening. They had engaged every single night since Seraph first took her to bed after their ‘dinner.’ He had undressed her then, sliding her sequined gown up over her full hips and over her head before dropping to her breasts, laving her beautiful dark nipples until she was so heated by passion she had pleaded with him to deflower her, to take her virginity, her demands becoming more and more insistent until she finally outright begged Seraph to fuck her. And fuck her he did, sitting up and lifting her body over his until she straddled his thighs, his black eyes locked to her blue eyes, whispering to her about the gift she was about to give him, before thrusting upward with his hips at the same time he pulled her hard to him by the waist, plunging deeply into her in one ruthless slide, breaking through her hymen as she screamed. Seraph had found himself inside the most exquisitely tight sheath he could have ever imagined, heat pulsing and coursing over his shaft, unbearable earthy, fleshly sensations. It was all he could do not to move inside her as he caressed her shoulders and back until her sobs died away, telling her that it would get better. As her cries turned to whimpers, he began to stroke into her, easily at first, but by the end of the night, with a fervency that was matched only by Seneca’s own entreaties. His promise that it would get better was proven to her a thousand times over, as he took her several times that night, indulging in her body hungrily, laying claim to her delicious virgin tunnel, marveling at the abandon with which she gave herself to him. Now Seneca had been driving him for all she was worth, whispering passion-filled declarations which Seraph would have preferred not to hear. After all, she was abducted for a purpose. He could not just suddenly decide to keep her. “My turn,” Seraph growled, rolling her over onto her back on the smooth, silken sheets. Seneca didn’t protest, still buoyed by blissfulness, still connected physically to this dark, strong man who took her places she had never imagined existed. She looked up into his

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heated eyes as he flexed over her, beginning to stroke into her lustfully. Her eyes drifted over his heavily muscled chest as she brought her fingers up to trace several long scars running the length of his torso, rocking rhythmically under his body. He had many scars. She could tell he was a warrior first, before a King, but had no way of knowing that Seraph often personally led the pillaging bands of soldiers from the City of Rocks. Seraph grunted at her touch, increasing his tempo, closing his own eyes as he took his pleasure of her, her soft tunnel massaging his shaft as the delicious friction shot through his loins and straight up his spine. Seneca was an extraordinary woman. He only hoped Zacrius would appreciate her. He had long had his eye on that warrior sister of his, Tryphene, thinking that he needed a powerful woman to slake his lust but after having Seneca, her sensuality, her delicateness, her ardor, and yes, her passion, he was definitely expanding his range of potential mates. She was no warrior but it mattered little to him now. He just might have to ride down to Pyrme on occasion to see her. He looked down on her, her wide blue eyes full of longing, as he bent lower, covering her body with his, taking some of his weight on his forearms, his hips flexing, pelvis thrusting rapidly, their bodies merging and flowing. Seraph studied her, his black eyes hot and hungry. “Seneca,” he had finally taken to calling her by her first name after the second night, “I don’t know how long you will be mine.” She made a noise of displeasure and tried to pull him down to kiss her, but he continued to stroke her, not moving an inch lower. Finally, she wrapped her arms around his corded neck. “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, pulling on his neck harder, her eyes dark and shining. She twisted and revolved her hips harshly against Seraph even as he possessed her and was rewarded with a long, sibilant hiss from him. “So . . . passionate,” he breathed. “I had no idea how I would feel after I took you. I didn’t even intend to have you . . . at first.” She moved her hands from his neck, drawing them over his rippling biceps and slipped her hands over his deep brown pectorals, moving lower over his rippled abdomen until she reached their interconnected bodies, reaching as far as she could and wrapping her fingers partly around his beautiful, dark girth, a slight check to his strokes as he pumped into her. He felt the friction of her sleeve and the gentle resistance of her hand. He hissed again, collapsing on her, capturing both of her hands and forcing them up, pinning them to the bed next to her head as he jerked her hard, a small whimper escaping her lips. “You are so wanton. I never would have believed it,” he said hoarsely. “I have no regrets having you. But . . . we are both royalty, Seneca. And as much as that would seem to allow us our choice of partners, instead we are both severely constrained by it.”

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Seneca said nothing, closing her eyes, not wanting to think about losing him. “If I would not have you forever, I would have you take all of me. The way I want to take you. At least once,” Seraph said. Seneca opened her eyes and looked into his dark eyes, heated, lustful, deeply black. His look was thrilling, sending ripples of desire up and down her spine, flushing her body with perspiration. She felt herself gush around him again. “If you have been holding back with me, I want you Seraph. All of you. I don’t need you to be gentle. I want everything you can give me,” she said sincerely, her eyes liquid. He abruptly stopped stroking into her. “You are a small woman, Seneca, but I believe you can take all of me. I believe you can handle me. I am more than I have been with you. I need to have this with you. To connect with you. In case . . .” Seraph broke off. His voice was raw and throaty. He had been about to say in case we do not have much more time together. Instead he fell to her lips and gave her a searing kiss, his tongue seeking, familiarizing, memorizing her heat. She kissed him back, equally hungry, beginning to struggle, trying to get him to move inside her. Seraph pulled back and rammed his length into her fully, stopping again, causing Seneca to cry out, her head falling back, her hair damp with perspiration. “Feel me,” he said, tense with desire. “Seraph,” she said brokenly. “I do feel you. I want to feel you. Fuck me. Any way you want. By the Gods, I just need you.” Her pleas ignited him going directly to his loins, his abdomen clenching with expectation. He pulled out of Seneca and rolled her swiftly to her side, entering her from behind, quickly thrusting into her as he held her by her breasts, his head locked over the top of hers, listening to her hitched breaths. He drew one of her legs over his, draping her calf over his long leg so that her thigh was resting high on his, opening her more fully. Seneca gasped as she felt the soft lips of her labia stretched apart, but did not resist or move away. Holding her leg locked over his, Seraph began to pummel the beautiful, lusty little princess, their bodies a tangle of dark and light, plunging into her with greater force, riveted by her cries of passion as he hammered at her vigorously, burying himself deeply in her, scouring her hot, pink tunnel, removing any last vestiges of innocence. Seneca was lost to Seraph’s blistering power, this possession so much more full and fervent anything he had previously shown her. She felt as if her body was no longer her own, each stroke hitting her cervix, causing her to cry and moan until she became so absorbed in his demands that she began babbling, trying to vocalize her arousal, pleasure and emotions, but simply releasing an unintelligible stream of sounds which sounded sweet in Seraph’s ears. 68

Seraph continued to drive into her relentlessly for several minutes, giving her every inch of his enormous, pulsing stiff cock and then slid across the bed, sitting up on the very edge, pulling Seneca’s arms behind her back and holding her small wrists together with one hand, locking her in place as she leaned forward away from him. He wrapped one arm over her breasts, soft and full, topped with large, beautiful brown nipples. Perfect. He played with her nipples as he fucked her roughly, listening to her shriek when he had thought her breathless, pouring his power into her at a fierce pace. Her wrists trapped, Seneca could do nothing but feel Seraph, his filling tool, the flames he stoked with each stroke, burning her, heating her, melting her into nothingness, his hard and unrestrained cadence more than she had been used to, but welcome delirious sensations of fire rippling from her thighs outward through her. Seneca felt herself drawing up again, her breathing deepening as she gasped for air. She pulled on her arms, trying to free them from Seraph’s grip as she started to keen. He was sure her voice would carry through the open windows of his private chambers across his kingdom all the way to the edge of the sea where Zacrius and Tryphene dwelled. “You are amazing,” he whispered in her ear. He released her wrists and pushed her long hair away from her neck, biting down, tasting her sweaty, salty skin, one hand still playing with her breasts, not missing a stroke or slowing his pace. Seraph’s words, his breath in her ear, and the feel of his teeth on her sensitive flesh, sent Seneca flying off the edge of the precipice again, her teeth almost rattling with her release, wetness drenching her thighs, as she shuddered and gurgled and then shrieked again as an aftershock hit her and she was whirled in an updraft, soaring high again. Seraph rose from the bed and spun around to face it, keeping Seneca speared on him, even as she quivered and rippled over his cock. He slid her face first into the soft sheets, releasing her breasts and grabbing her waist, heading for the home stretch now, ruthlessly pulling on her hips, jerking her over his shaft, his head thrown back, his eyes closed as he tore into her luscious body, his hips thrusting fiercely, hammering the woman lying on the bed, her face pressed to the cool sheets, her hands grasping small fistfuls of fabric, as Seraph pounded away to his own miracle. Seneca felt as if he had never driven this deeply into her; he was hitting bottom with each stroke, the luscious feeling of this strong, beautiful man who desired her flowing powerfully through her. She wondered whether she would have known what sex could really be like had Seraph not kidnapped her and she married Zacrius as planned. Seneca didn’t know that the answer was most likely a resounding yes, given Zacrius’ tastes. But Seraph was her first, imprinted deeply in her psyche, and he was all she needed and wanted now, his pounding all that mattered, the pain and pleasure of his ferocious thrusting, exactly the way it had been pictured on the ceiling in her room. She would never look at those paintings the same way again. Seraph felt intense pleasure swell from behind his cock, radiating through his body, feeding the growing need to climax inside Seneca. His organ swelled massively, even larger than normal, and then the urge to release continuous loads of sweet, hot semen

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overtook him and with a great roar he pushed forward into Seneca’s body, his hands slipping to her buttocks, squeezing them as he thrust his hips forward reflexively several times, his arms wrapping around Seneca’s soft waist, as he pulled at her and pushed into her at the same time, pumping his hips as beads of sweat fell from his dark face onto the fair skin of Seneca’s plump buttocks. His roar faded to a growl as he finally relaxed, his head dropping forward, his mouth open slightly, a distant droning in his ears from the intensity of his release. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath, and then pulled out of Seneca reluctantly. Seraph lifted her legs onto the bed, reaching under her shoulders and pulling her up to the top of his enormous bed, tucking the pillows under her head. She looked relaxed, her eyes half-closed, as if she was almost asleep. He lay down next to her, resting his arm on one elbow and caressing her shoulder lightly, watching her breathing level out. He sighed, wishing he could allow her to spend the night with him. But he had to put her back in her rooms. She was still a prisoner and as delightful as he found her, he wasn’t planning to risk his kingdom by claiming her from Zacrius.

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CHAPTER 14 From Ecryon to Earth Jaxx sauntered down the small path from his pilot’s apartment to his private dock in the blackness. He knew the way by heart. As head pilot in the Ecryon system one of the perks was being able to fly anytime without using the commercial jetties. He was qualified to fly any tub in the Ecryon system but kept only two small ships at his personal landing. One was a joyrider, the newest and best ship in the galaxy, unsurpassed in speed and technology, no expense spared in its making. Quintus had given the ship to him as a gift for his ten-year service mark as a pilot. Jaxx was twenty-nine but with a two-hundred year life span, he was the youngest pilot to ever head the Ecryon fleet. He was not only the best technical pilot; he had a charisma which he used to smooth relations within his ranks as well as moderate interplanetary disputes over passengers, cargo, and diplomatic missions. As soon as Quintus had discovered Jaxx’s skills, he had lured him into the service of the realm with exceedingly generous compensation at the tender age of nineteen. When Jaxx had gone down to accept his new ship at the overlord’s dock, he had found a luscious, naked redhead trussed tightly into his pilot’s chair. Another gift from Quintus and one he unwrapped and partook of freely before he flew the ship out of port. He had kept her for three months before he traded her at the last auction for another redhead. A man couldn’t switch slaves too often. Jaxx walked past that ship without giving it a second glance. He used it to shuttle guests, for quick fly-bys and demonstrations of skill. It was fun to fly and responsive as hell. But it wasn’t his baby. The only bucket he trusted to get him and Terenth to Earth by manip was Omega. None of the new ships would even handle manipulation unless one overrode its innate encoding which required both a strong working knowledge of programming language and experience with actual manip. Manipulation of space and time was an old practice, now seriously frowned on. It was dangerous, risky, and more than one passenger had vomited their entrails in transit, arriving at their destination dead in their seats. The last time manip was allowed commercially, a visiting dignitary had been in a hurry to return to his home planet. When he arrived, they found he had seizured so hard during the trip that every bone in his body had disintegrated, every blood vessel burst and he had oozed out of his seat like jelly. They had to scrape him off the floor. But Jaxx was confident he could get himself and Terenth there intact. It just would be one hell of a ride. Maybe after they had picked up Arcada, Terenth would agree to take the slow boat back. Just regular old slipstream travel. He walked to the end of the port, Ecryon’s sister planet, Icryon, still sleeping beneath the horizon. When it rose, the planets were arranged so that their small star hit Icryon fully, illuminating it a deep green which were the first rays of light Ecryon would see. But now it was dark. Jaxx had even turned off the small gold lights illuminating the walkway by voice command. He didn’t want anyone watching him this morning.

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Finally he reached his small ship, running his hands over the sleek, soft hull. All ships were now coded to be green on the outside. It was deemed more elegant, better for transporting notables, but Omega was the original silver. She had been built as a cargo ship but Terenth had commandeered her as a young, fifteen-year old pirate and reprogrammed her himself. He had added features to her throughout the years and would trust her before the most elegant, sophisticated, complicated ship in the galaxy. “Hello, Omega,” he said quietly. The ship purred, a vibration Jaxx could feel through his skin, not a single hint of illumination on her. She knew things were supposed to be clandestine this morning. “Good morning, Jaxx. You’re up early.” Her voice was pleasant and soothing. “That I am.” Jaxx noticed the outline of a stack of small boxes next to the ship and knelt, raising the lid of the box on top. He pressed a spot on his wrist and held it for a few seconds before releasing it. Six years ago, Jaxx had been attacked while trying to lift off with a load of rare Kovali liqueform from a remote star, that he’d essentially stolen on Quintus’ orders. In the ensuing battle, he’d nearly lost his ship and one hand was so badly burned it was left hanging by only a few scraps of flesh. He’d been rescued eventually by some primitive culture that crudely repaired his hand by weaving fiber optics into the nerves. After the surgery, he realized he had ended up with his own built-in flashlight, something he loved to put to use when fucking. A disembodied, phosphorescent hand in the dark was always fun. He never gave a second thought to having it fixed permanently on Ecryon. Jaxx sifted through the contents of the carton for a few moments, let out a low whistle and then closed the lid and pressed on his wrist, turning out the light. “Terenth did good, Omega,” he said, shaking his head. He lifted the entire stack of boxes and stepped through Omega’s hull, feeling her gel warm his cells welcomingly, almost a caress she gave him as he entered. She lit the inside with a faint violet glow although Jaxx didn’t need it. He knew the inside of the ship like the back of his hand. “Yes,” the ship agreed, scanning the contents of the containers as Jaxx brought them aboard. “Terenth will be joining us on our manipulation,” she commented. Jaxx glanced behind him reflexively, but knew Omega wouldn’t have spoken that word aloud if they had not been alone. She was a good ship. “Yeah, Omega. We’re going to Earth to get something for Terenth,” he said, setting the first box on a table in the main deck and walking with the rest to the back hold. “Long story.”

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“Arcada,” she said pleasantly. “We are going to retrieve Arcada of Ecryon, formerly of Balinth, the seventh planet in the ternary star system of Yarcron.” Jaxx looked up from cabinet where he was securing the boxes, the room fully illuminated now. “Terenth acquired Arcada at a slave auction twelve years ago, across the galaxy on the aqueous planet of Nabul, star system Romanoid,” she continued pleasantly. Jaxx snorted. “Omega, you always amaze me. All right, so you know who we’re gonna get. Do you know why Terenth wants Arcada?” “Quintus, Overlord of Ecryon, has decreed that his firstborn son, Terenth, shall marry a young woman named Lalia, from the planet of Soyos. The marriage is imminent. Terenth is in love with Arcada and desires to marry her. We are going to retrieve Arcada so that she and Terenth can marry.” Omega sounded a little miffed at being asked. Jaxx gave another low whistle and leaned against the lockers. He really didn’t know what to say. “What?” Omega inquired innocently. “Cruisers gossip. I deduced Terenth’s motivations on my own,” she said, somewhat proudly. Terenth sighed and walked back to the main deck. He opened the box he had left there, pulling out several large silver tins and placing them carefully in a row on the table. “I don’t know if Terenth loves Arcada or if she loves him, but I don’t see how they’re gonna marry. Better to just keep a slave a slave if you ask me.” Omega rumbled again, her translucent interior walls pulsing with the vibrations. “Terenth’s here,” she said, preparing the gel for his entrance. Jaxx leaned one elbow against the rail of the bridge, waiting. No transparent chairs, tables and barriers inside his ship. Just good old-fashioned Movalium alloy. Terenth walked in from the entrance hall and stopped, his eyes drifting around the deck of the small ship. “Jaxx,” he said, nodding. “Hello, Omega,” he said in a throaty voice. “You look lovely, as always.” “Hello, Terenth,” Omega purred, her lights rippling with pleasure. “Thank you.” “Down girl,” Jaxx said to Omega and then looked at Terenth. “Welcome aboard. Hope you’re ready for the ride of your life.” “I am,” he said striding to the front wall of the bridge where planetbreak was just beginning, the first hues of green painting the sky. “All right then. Take us out to launch point,” Jaxx said to his ship.

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Terenth watched through Omega’s clear walls as the dock receded. The ship was perfectly silent and their launch would not be visibly detected in the near darkness. There was no motion yet, the ride smooth as glass, no need to even sit down. “Must be some benefit to being the overlord’s son,” Jaxx grunted from behind him. Terenth turned, eyeing the small silver cases spread out on the table. Jaxx had opened one and was tilting it back and forth in his hands. “You brought enough flit to carry my entire fleet through manip for weeks.” “You seemed so worried the other night. I didn’t want to leave you hanging,” Terenth said with mock concern. Jaxx snorted. Then Terenth’s expression sobered. “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me, Jaxx. I realize my father –” Jaxx waved his hand, cutting him off. “Quintus has given me money, ships, power, my position as lead pilot. But even I recognize he’s a pompous asshole who thinks more of himself than of his own people. If he ever finds out – I’ll deal with it.” “No, I’ll deal with it. I’ll take all of the blame. I’ll make sure there won’t be any repercussions for you, Jaxx.” “Look – just forget about talking about ‘what ifs.’ Quintus isn’t going to find out shit about this little flight or who took you. But I don’t care if he does. You’re going to take him out some day.” Terenth looked at him, startled. He had never spoken to anyone, not even Arcada, about his unspoken desire to unseat his father. “And when that time comes, let’s just say friendship runs thicker than status,” Jaxx mumbled. He looked Terenth in the eye. “It’s a good thing too because the time for revolt may come sooner, rather than later. Your father’s gonna be furious if you don’t marry Lalia. You know how he feels about Arcada.” Terenth said nothing, his jaw tightening, thinking that Jaxx was right. If anything would force his hand early against his father it would be Arcada. Jaxx watched Terenth’s eyes darken to black. The eyes of all Ecryons changed colors depending on their mood. Terenth was a master of control over his emotions in battle, deceit, politics, trade, everything except his father. Jaxx knew the problem ran deep from childhood, having nothing to do really with Arcada. But she just may end up being the catalyst that burst the gel. He didn’t understand Terenth’s deep attraction to Arcada – it was supposed to be against Ecryon nature to ever fall for a slave, but there was no question Terenth had fallen and fallen hard.

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“Approaching launch point,” Omega said sweetly. She had adjusted their trajectory on her own, waiting for an appropriate lapse in the men’s conversation to interrupt them. Omega was a very considerate ship. “Thanks, Omega. Are we out of detection range?” asked Jaxx. “The chosen launch point is within a shielding convergence of three planets and five moons. They are aligned in such a way that we can remain at the coordinates for five hours undetected.” “Five hours? We only need five minutes. You’re too good, Omega,” Jaxx complimented her. Omega’s skin rippled happily, distorting the view of the stars somewhat. “You’re gonna have to turn up the opacity on those walls when we manip, baby. That’s something I don’t think we wanna watch.” “Of course,” she replied. “Would you like me to now?” “No. We’ll look at the stars a bit longer while we load up.” Jaxx reflected on the contents in the box and then added one tin to the pile on the table. He replaced the lid on the box and carried it back to the lockers. When he returned, he swept the silver cases into his hands from the table and walked around to the large pilot’s seat. He piled the small containers on the console between his chair and the co-pilot’s seat. “Come join me, Tyree,” he said, settling back into the chair. Terenth stared for a moment longer through Omega’s gelatinous walls at the living canvas of the galaxy and then turned, walked to the chair next to Jaxx and took a seat, relaxing into it. It was extremely comfortable. Terenth had never been through manipulation before although his childhood friend had told him about it many times. He knew he would be strapped into his chair to avoid killing himself as his muscles seized and body contorted, the seat rotating automatically to keep him from choking on his own vomit. He also knew Omega was the best ship in the galaxy for this type of travel. Jaxx had originally programmed her for that purpose when he was young and impetuous. Not that Jaxx wasn’t still young and impetuous, but he didn’t manip the way he used to. Most of the manipulation accidents had occurred with pilots who were trying to take shortcuts, carry more cargo than they should, or heed the demands of dignitaries who wanted to get somewhere faster. Jaxx had never had an accident. He knew what he was doing more than any pilot in the galaxy and so did Omega. “Fuck!”

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Terenth turned his head at Jaxx’s sudden outburst. Each tin was open and row after row of gleaming, pulsing spheres, gels, rods and pellets lay exposed, some glowing incandescent, others swirling multi-colored, some pulsing like lava or glittering like stars. “You brought so many drugs we won’t even feel the trip. This is some high quality shit!” Terenth grinned. “Just trying to be helpful.” “Helpful? Fucking right it’s helpful. I’m serious, Terenth. Where were you back in my manip days? I’d never have gotten sick.” “I think I was in interplanetary training as a diplomat,” Terenth said leaning back and bringing his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. Jaxx chuckled. “Diplomat, my pale ass, Tyree. You and Arcada were running around the galaxy using your ‘diplomacy skills’ to wreak havoc.” At the mention of Arcada, Terenth stiffened and sighed. “This time Jaxx, I’ll take whatever drugs you recommend. Without protest,” he promised. Jaxx studied the drugs, hardly knowing where to begin. Then he reached for one of the small silver cases. “All right, let’s get started. Flit first.” Terenth extended his palm, his eyes still closed. Jaxx counted five pulsing pink gels into Terenth’s palm and took five for himself. The gels were larger than the ones he had done the other night. Extra strength. Damn, Jaxx thought. There were certainly advantages to having the resources of a multi-planetary system at your disposal. Terenth must have brought a fortune worth of drugs onboard, enough to buy a new ship several times over. The men held each gel in turn between their thumbs and forefingers, feeling them heat up, sink and disappear into their skin. After the last one, Jaxx took a deep breath and said slowly, “This ride’ll be nothing.” They both sat breathing deeply for a minute and then Jaxx said again, “Omega, switch to mind control.” He didn’t know how long he would keep his coherent powers of speech after he started in on the next round, but his pilot’s training allowed him to keep a logical thought process open in his mind which could be connected to a ship. He was always connected to Omega. “I already have, Jaxx,” she said soothingly, out loud. Jaxx leaned forward and went through the rest of the cases methodically, the special silver alloy designed to prevent the drugs from interacting with each other and the air, neutralizing them until such time as they were consumed.

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First up were scarlet orbs which were rubbed to a powder against the wrists, designed to give the user an exhilarating sense of distorted vision, but which also effectively quelled nausea. Next, black pellets which when placed under tongue turned to a licorice-flavored thick liquid. When swallowed, it gave the sensation that time and motion were stilled. They were generally used to enhance meditation but were enormously useful if one wanted to travel in a violent, manipulated flow of space and time. Jaxx continued apportioning the drugs until only two small discs remained in one of the cases. “This is it,” he said to Terenth, his voice slow and thick. “This one’ll put you under and then it’s bye bye Ecryon and hello Earth.” Terenth turned his head slowly to Jaxx, his violet eyes glazed. He worked his mouth for a few moments and then said heavily, “Let’s do it.” Jaxx took the case weakly and shook the discs into his hand. Dice – the most sought after sedative in the galaxy. Depending on the strength, it would knock you out for hours to days or even weeks, cradled by the most erotic of dreams, the body able to go without food or drink or elimination for as long as the sedative worked. It was an effective stasis, but much more pleasant. Its only side effect was that one awoke hungry and . . . generally remembered the dreams. Jaxx handed a disc to Terenth who brought it to his neck, pressing it against the strong pulse of his carotid artery. It dissolved directly into the bloodstream, disappearing from Terenth’s fingers. Jaxx watched Terenth’s eyes close heavily and his body relax, his breathing almost imperceptible. “I’m going under now,” Jaxx said to Omega, in his mind. “I’m watching over both of you,” the ship said reassuringly. Jaxx pressed the glittered circle to his warm pulse and was soon far, far under, immediately dreaming about a woman he had never seen before, similar in build to Arcada, but shorter, dressed in a white gown, wrapped with a leather belt from which hung a sword. She shook back her dark blonde hair from her face and looked at him challengingly with gold eyes until he reached behind her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against him, his eyes dark and hungry, feeling her strength against him, sensing her desire. Omega set the course for Earth, consulting with the lucid portion of Jaxx’s mind whenever necessary and then the ship departed, entering the twisted flow of space and time, the cruiser whirling furiously, its gelatinous walls pulsing and squeezing into different shapes and sizes, becoming impossibly small one moment, warped and deformed the next. Omega reclined the two pilots’ chairs fully and extended strong gel straps around the occupants, protecting them from the violent motions of the ship as they catapulted to Earth, much faster than even the most advanced ship could possibly travel. Omega dimmed her walls from the interior, although she realized for the first time that it was completely unnecessary. Her pilot was not going to see or feel the torturous 77

distortion and blending of dimensions that so sickened humans. Omega settled in for the course. She did not find it particularly enjoyable to travel by manipulation, but enjoyed pleasing her pilot. She would do what she could to make the trip fast and uncomplicated. ***** “Jaxx,” Omega said gently. “Jaxx, we’ve arrived.” Even though she was in his mind, she spoke directly to his auditory cortex rather than the small collection of motor neurons which enabled Jaxx to act as a pilot while in stasis . . . or a drug-induced state. Omega wanted to wake him fully. The trip had not been completely uneventful and both men had seizured hard at one point, Terenth even breaking one of his straps before Omega could replace it, but they were alive and in one piece. Jaxx groaned, stirring in his seat. Omega released the straps and very slowly raised the incline of the chair until her pilot was mostly upright, only semi-reclining. “Omega?” he said, out loud. “Yes, Jaxx, I’m here,” she purred. Her walls were still opaque. She wanted to make sure their queasiness was dispelled before she opened up to the vista of the planet beneath them. “We’re here?” he confirmed. “Yes, at Earth.” Jaxx looked over at Terenth. His eyes were still closed. Omega released the straps binding Terenth in place and raised his seat as well. Terenth stirred and then looked over at Jaxx with clear, violet eyes. “Earth,” Terenth said, suddenly realizing the import of it, and rising quickly to a full sitting position. He groaned and fell back against the chair. “Eating cures it,” grinned Jaxx. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t make it a habit to do dice,” Terenth responded. “Maybe you should. Those dreams I had. Wow! Hell, that was the best manip ever!” Jaxx declared. He felt himself. His arms were tender. “Looks like I got a little bruised, but that’s about it. I’ll grab some grub and healing gel.” He got out of his seat a little gingerly and disappeared in the back hold, still muttering to himself about how incredible the trip was. “Omega?” Terenth asked, looking up at the silvered ceiling as he waited for Jaxx. “Yes, your Highness?”

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Terenth made a sound of disdain. “Knock it off, Omega. You’ve known me for too long.” “I’m sorry . . . Terenth,” she said, emphasizing his name sexily, her lights rippling with what seemed to Terenth to be chuckling. “I just wanted to say, thanks. You got us here safely. You and Jaxx. It means a lot to me.” “You’re welcome, Terenth. Arcada’s stasis ship is still in orbit. She’s on the planet. And she’s safe.” “What? How do you know?” he demanded, thanking the Diviners in his mind. “I have sensors, Terenth,” she said lightly, trying not to sound condescending. “And I know why you’ve come for her.” Terenth didn’t respond to this statement. The ship was a little too perceptive for his tastes. Just then, Jaxx strolled back out carrying an armload of what could only be described as munchies – steamed shrimp-like hallions, crisp stonyl crackers, fried caraco seeds, onx cheese. “Omega’s got a good kitchen,” Jaxx said modestly, setting the food down on the console and popping one of the hallions in his mouth, chewing blissfully. Terenth wholeheartedly agreed, feeling much better the more he ate. “I still don’t see why you have to actually go down there. To Earth,” Jaxx said, mumbling around his food. “Omega can monitor Arcada from here. “I need to talk to her personally, see how much she has left to do before she can leave,” Terenth said. “You can’t just end it? These . . . little games you play with her? Can’t you just cheat or something?” Jaxx took a cracker and spread a huge amount of cheese over it, burying it, and then stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. “I built it into her collar,” Terenth said tersely. Jaxx understood now. A slave’s collar could be ‘programmed’ to require her to do anything. Generally slaves acted of ther own accord, the risk of their master’s displeasure more than enough incentive to not disobey. But most collars came with simple programs – pain or injury if the slave didn’t perform a task which could be specified by her master. Terenth, with his unlimited wealth and perverse needs for subjugating Arcada, had her collar designed with special instructions for each game. She would die of suffocation if any rule was violated, even if he did the violating.

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“You really should’ve added some safeguards to it, man. A way to stop it, even,” Jaxx said. Terenth shook his head. “If Arcada knew I could change it or end it, it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be real.” Jaxx sighed. Everyone was entitled to his kinks, he supposed.

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CHAPTER 15 Finding Arcada Arcada had been riding hard for two days. The terrain was beginning to rise which slowed the horse slightly, but not much. It was as strong an animal as Zacrius had promised. True to his word he had taken her again before she left, finding her in the main courtyard after dinner, pulling up her skirt and fucking her from behind as the servants went about lighting the lamps. This time Arcada did not cry out when she orgasmed, biting her lip and shuddering through her release. Zacrius did not try to kiss her again but he had held her and stroked her hair when he finished, telling her that she was good, very good. Arcada had finally made it away from him and to her rooms to sleep. She set out early and had ridden hard without stopping except to let her horse drink. She had spent last night in the open and only planned to spend one more – tonight. She would be at Seraph’s fortress by tomorrow morning, two days earlier than Zacrius had estimated. Then again, Arcada was used to being underestimated. The nearly full moon made for easy riding well after dark. The modest orb was unlike the bright blue and pink double moons Arcada was used to on Ecryon, although beautiful in its own right, glowing silver with a smattering of granite brushstrokes across its surface. But then the clouds edged in and the horse began to stumble whenever the moon winked out. It gave Arcada little trouble. One the few powers Terenth couldn’t take away from her was her enhanced vision from her homeworld which allowed her to see in shades of blues in darkness. When the moon next emerged she sought a campsite, settling on a dry bed of sand next to a small river with a few scattered trees. She retrieved her pack and turned the horse out, shaking out her bedroll and eating a small amount of dried food. Despite riding hard for two days, Arcada felt eager and rested. She was close, very close to the City of Rocks. Close to ending the game. The night was warm and she removed her leather skirt, bra and boots and walked down to the water, taking a quick dip and washing out her hair. She wanted to get an early start the next morning. She walked back up the small rise, just beginning to braid her damp hair, when she gasped. Terenth was standing in her camp, watching her, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes impossibly dark. Arcada stumbled, her knees beginning to buckle, her skin flushing with the familiar feeling of arousal whenever she saw him, her stomach clenching with something far beyond desire. She made it, barely, to the level, sandy area where she had left her belongings and stopped in front of Terenth, her long, blonde hair hanging damp over her back, her body glistening from the swim. She sank slowly to her knees before him, resting on her heels, placing her hands on her thighs and lowering her eyes to the ground, feeling weak. Her mind whirled at the speed of manipulation, wondering why Terenth had come and what he could possibly be doing

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on Earth. But even as hard as it was to believe this was happening, Arcada’s body was on fire. She trembled with anticipation, burning voraciously with a need for him that she fought time and time again but which she could never deny. Terenth was a part of her, the next breath she wanted to take, his ownership her foundation, his dominance her wings. All the anger she felt over the game drained from her instantly, turning instead to heat which spread through her like an inferno. Terenth’s eyes washed over Arcada, the top of her head silvered in the moonlight, her body shaking visibly at his presence. All of his frustration at his father, worry over losing Arcada and the difficulty of the trip to Earth merged into his intense desire for this slave – the one woman who had ever captured his imagination, his soul, his heart even, if he would admit it. His eyes were heated, darkened to black with a lust he did not even try to control. He would make Arcada remember him here on Earth, not that she needed a reminder, but he could not help himself with the beautiful creature before him. “You may rise, slave.” His words caused a gush of slickness to burst from her, an almost irresistible sensation to reach between her thighs and touch herself, to rub her legs together, which Arcada resisted with a great effort. She gathered her legs under her and rose to her feet gracefully, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. Terenth had not yet given her permission to do otherwise. It was not in the nature of the women of Balinth to be submissive to men. Arcada felt it was something in her nature instead. Something twisted and dark that Terenth nurtured and coaxed from her until she would have fought to the death not to be released from him . . . and if he willingly let her go she would have withered and died. Arcada didn’t have to worry about Terenth letting her go. Although it wasn’t in the nature of Ecryon men to covet their slaves as anything more than mere possessions – possessions that could and should be bartered or traded should the opportunity arise – nothing in the galaxy could force Terenth to release Arcada. She was his forever, at least by ownership. Against his own nature, he wanted more than that. “Look at me,” Terenth commanded, his customary, authoritative tone causing butterflies to wing up and tumble about in Arcada’s belly. She met his dark violet eyes, feeling as if she was about to plummet into their violently smoldering depths. Terenth was dressed in a shirt that hung open to his chest, revealing his lean, muscled torso, and loose pants which fell mid-calf. Her body tingled just looking at him, shocks of desire coursing through her. “You may speak, my little pixus,” Terenth said, his normally controlled voice taut with emotion. Pixus was his pet name for Arcada, meaning slave in the language of some distant planet. Terenth had taken a liking to the term. She searched his face, her green eyes glistening in the pale light, her heart stuttering in her chest. Finally, she whispered, “Are you real, Terenth?” She wondered if he had sent 82

a spatial replica to torture her further but knew with every nerve ending in her body that he would not have had this effect on her unless he was truly standing before her in the flesh. In response, Terenth’s arm snaked out and grabbed her damp hair, twisting it at the nape of her neck and bringing her face very close to his. “Do I feel real?” he snarled. Arcada creamed herself, her belly turning to fire, an almost painful throbbing sensation at her core. She stared at him, unable to speak, no thought except the man who had been her entire world for the past twelve years, cruel and demanding, yet hot and passionate, like ice and fire. She wanted nothing more than to give herself to him, to burn up in his arms, to surrender her body, mind and soul to his whims and desires, tears leaking from her eyes at the depth of her feelings. Terenth saw her tears and pulled her mouth to his, crushing her lips, pressing his hard, lean body against hers as his heat poured over her, fire driving down her spine. She was seduced by his raw animalism, overwhelmed by his passion. He abruptly drew back watching Arcada’s eyes darken – they were desperate and full of need. He saw her struggle to regain her breath, her lips parted with desire, her expression yearning. He could easily see she wanted more from him, but knew with satisfaction, that she would not ask – she would take only what he would give her. He stroked her hair, suddenly overcome by tenderness toward her. “Such a good slave,” he said, his voice full of affection. When Terenth had pulled away, Arcada thought her world had ended. Her vision had receded, the night now only in shadows. It was a few moments before she regained enough of her senses to speak again. “Why are you here?” she asked him tremulously. Terenth had never once interrupted a game, not even when it took her eight months to return from the planet Kazra, the closest she had ever come to death. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said darkly, his eyes practically glowing with magnetism. “After I get reacquainted with your body.” Arcada almost protested, wanting to know more, but bit her lip and said nothing. Terenth watched her tremble with worry, saw the distress in her green eyes. “Shhhh, little one,” he said placing one finger to her lips and running the fingertips of his other hand lightly up and down her spine. “Trust me. My presence here does not disrupt the game. We’ll talk after I’m finished with you.” She relaxed at his words and he studied her, the flush over her entire body, the heated look in her eyes, her breasts rising and falling heavily with her arousal. Diviners, how he had missed her. He forgot briefly about restraint and brought his lips to hers again, kissing her tempestuously before falling to her throat, suckling, pulling, his lips and mouth caressing and tasting her neck, chin, face and lips. 83

Arcada gasped at his intensity, his kisses raining like fire over her, drowning in his need for her, melting under him and turning to liquid fire, having no idea why he was here but almost beyond caring as he spilled his passion, his hands moving over her shoulders, falling to her lower back and drawing her firmly against him, his muscles tense with urgency. He saw the purpling on her arm in the moonlight and bent his lips to it. “I could heal this for you,” he said gently, tracing the bruise lightly with his mouth. “Don’t,” she whimpered, reveling in his closeness, aching at the softness of his touch. “It might affect the game. I need to get through it. I need to get back to you.” “Yes. You need to get back to me,” he said, his voice low. His words shot straight to her clit, now throbbing and tingling excruciatingly with a life of its own. Dominance and control permeated Terenth; it was as if he was steeped in it, as if he was predestined to hold power over her rather than Ecryon. Helplessly, Arcada moved her hands under his open shirt, feeling his hard, ribbed muscles as she tugged on his shirt, trying to pull it free from his trousers, a torrent of need flowing through her, wanting him, his possession, his strength. “Did I say you could do that?” he breathed harshly, his fingers tightening over her arms. Shit, no he hadn’t and that was grounds for immediate punishment, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. Terenth had never shown up in the middle of a game. His eyes were severe and then they softened. “I realize I’ve never interrupted you on another planet, but that doesn’t give you license to forget what you are, slave. I am not someone you’ve just met on Earth. I might overlook some of your transgressions, but not all of them.” He grabbed her chin and forced him to look at her. “Never forget what you are to me,” he said, his eyes blazing into hers. Arcada gushed again and swallowed reflexively, tremors coursing through her. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, contritely and sincerely. He stared at her hard for another few moments and then released her jaw and stroked her hair gently, his touch implying forgiveness. She sighed deeply with relief, closing her eyes and inclined her head toward his caresses. Her heart beating wildly with her next thought, she waited a few seconds and then opened her eyes, looking up at him questioningly, still holding his shirt. He nodded, his eyes dark. She pulled it free from his waistband and then over his head, Terenth helping her. It fell to the ground and she stared at him, wide-eyed. The clouds had rolled in again and his chest was dusky and shadowed. She ran her hands over his torso reverently, feeling the ridges of his abdomen, his flesh hot and alive under her fingertips and then bent to kiss his body. Terenth hissed, throwing his head back at Arcada’s touch, and moved his hands around to cup her breasts as she tasted him. He kneaded them, running his thumbs over her nipples, 84

sensitive and engorged, as she cried out with pleasure, still brushing his skin with her lips. She looked up at him, her eyes hot and sank slowly to her knees, reaching for his waistband, watching to see if his indulgence extended to her undressing him completely. He simply stared at her, his jaw set, an unfathomable look in his black eyes, impossible to read but exuding a deep carnality. In the back of her mind, it occurred to Arcada that Terenth was allowing her much more freedom than was his custom, but her lust-soaked mind was almost incapable of rational thought and so she simply continued when he did not stop her, tugging loose the small tie and then drawing his pants over his hips and down his legs until he stepped out of them. As soon as she had lowered the fabric over the huge tent at his loins, his cock had sprung out at her in all its Ecryon glory, pulsing gold with heavy arousal, fully erect, engorged with Terenth’s rapacious hunger, longer and thicker than any she had ever seen on any planet, save the dragonmen of Carisia. She pushed that thought out of her mind – that had not been the most pleasant of experiences. She looked up at Terenth, her eyes shining, deeply excited and grateful for his lenience. Arcada kissed the tip of his shaft with her soft, warm lips, its honeyed color tempered by the luster of the moon, and then she swirled her tongue around its girth, corkscrewing, coiling, laving at him while she reached up gently to cup and fondle his supple balls, her hands entwining in and running through the thick dark hair surrounding his throbbing spear, as hard now as if it had been forged from steel. Arcada opened her lips wide and drew his pulsing head into her mouth, sucking gently for a moment, licking at the bit of pre-cum and then inserted her tongue into the tiny slit at the tip of his organ and wriggled it. Terenth groaned with pleasure at the unexpected sensation as electricity surged up through his cock, sending animalistic thrills flickering through him. “How I’ve missed you,” she whispered up at him, her mouth slipping from his beautiful rod for a moment. “Shhhhh,” he admonished, reaching behind her head, gathering her hair and driving into her mouth, letting her hot, moist flesh envelop him, her lips tightening, dragging them erotically over his golden shaft. “Yessss,” he growled as Arcada willingly accepted him, relaxing her throat as he had taught her, letting him plunge deeply into her, taking all of him, stretching her lips almost to their limit. Terenth abruptly threw his entire body into fucking Arcada’s mouth, his back taut, his hips thrusting forward, his hands locked in her hair as it fell wild over his organ. He released one hand and brushed her locks aside so he could watch her worship him, her mouth stretched impossibly wide to accommodate him, his pole glistening with endless amounts of pale lubrication as her sweet, inviting mouth took him in repeatedly, sucking gently as he liked it and then softening her throat and pulling him in farther as he repeatedly surged into her, indescribable sensations gusting through him like a hurricane of raw lust. Arcada lapped, tasted, swirled and licked at Terenth’s hot pole of iron as if she was starving and it was the nourishment that would feed her. And she was starving for him,

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whirling her tongue, compressing her lips, sucking hard and then soft, feeling as if she could swallow him completely. She tickled the sensitive area at the base of his shaft with her fingers as he growled, thrusting faster into her, pumping between her lips, dipping into her throat, drawing her within the penumbra of his hunger. Terenth groaned her name, immersed in the endless pleasure she gave him, pressure and tension building almost painfully until Arcada could feel his balls tightening, drawing up into hard stones, readying to pitch fiery pleasure through his shaft and deliver his nectar into her body. Arcada desperately resisted the ecstasy rising within her, finding herself on a plateau of euphoria and struggling to stay on it, willing herself not to go over the edge until Terenth allowed her release even as she brought him closer to his. She stroked his cock with her hands in tandem with her mouth, drenched by the feel and taste of his blistering organ, perspiring as she fought back pitching over her own peak with ever fiber of her being, her eyes squeezed tightly shut with effort. Terenth sensed Arcada’s need, her unspoken pleas, taking immense satisfaction in her restraint and her overriding desire to obey him. He knew that if did not allow it she would not climax no matter how far he pushed her, even if he reduced her to tears and she screamed, begged and pleaded for release. And he enjoyed that very much. But tonight he would not be cruel. He looked down at Arcada, her warm lips dragging over his glistening organ as he submerged in and out of her mouth. The sight and friction of her spicy, sultry lips suddenly yanked him to the edge and threw him over wildly, exhilaration crackling down his spine and rushing through his cock as he detonated, spouting white-hot sperm, shoving himself forward and pulling Arcada hard against his loins, releasing pulse after pulse of creamy ambrosia into her mouth. “Come for me, pixus. Now!” Terenth growled in a voice that would not, could not be disobeyed. Arcada exploded without touching herself, in the far distance feeling Terenth pressing himself into her while she writhed and spasmed on her knees, bathed in her own rapture, drinking down and swallowing every last drop of miraculous essence that Terenth poured down her throat, still massaging his balls gently, sucking, sipping, claiming the last vestiges of his essence from his deflating shaft, even as she quaked and spiraled herself, feeling that she might pass out from bliss. She vaguely felt Terenth’s foreskin slip through her lips as he reached down and yanked her roughly to her feet, wrapping his strong arms around her as she swayed weakly in his embrace. He kissed her deeply tasting how sweet and slick her mouth was from her saliva and his seed. Arcada was hardly able to stand, dizzy from her orgasm and lustdrunk from his. Terenth backed her up to a large boulder behind them, his breathing harsh, stopping at the smooth rock, pressing hard against her and running his hands over her arms and up under her sides, pushing her thighs apart with his knees as he stepped into her. He rolled her

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nipples between each thumb and forefinger as jolts of pleasure shot through her, panting, the sensations almost too much while she was still coming down from her release. “Hold out your wrists,” Terenth said with a growl in his voice, still standing between her thighs, but pulling back from her waist. Arcada did not comply immediately, almost incoherent with need and lust, trying to wrap her mind around logic and action. Terenth’s hand flew to her throat and pressed against the soft flesh firmly, her head falling back against the stone. Arcada’s eyes went wet and wild at his touch. “Do I have to repeat myself?” he asked, his tone dangerous, his eyes hard. It was like a river gushing out of her, more lubrication coating her thighs, mixing with the fluids of her climax, perspiration and dampness from her swim. Arcada was unable to move or speak as Terenth gradually increased the pressure until her vision began to swim and suddenly rational thought rushed back into her mind like a flood and her eyes unclouded, her lids flying open widely. A flicker of a smile crossed Terenth’s face as he loosened his grip, still holding his fingers at her neck, watching as she meekly held out her wrists for him, her palms facing each other. “Good girl,” he said, lowering his hand from her throat and running it roughly over her breasts, flicking at her nipples a few times as she whimpered and moaned, flurries of flame swirling through her body. “I’m sorry,” Arcada whispered, trembling, her shoulders beginning to shake. She was doing very poorly at obeying him. She didn’t know what had come over her but guessed there would be consequences when they returned to Ecryon, if not now. “Shhhhh,” he said soothing her, caressing her skin and sifting his hands through her hair. “But I’ve displeased you,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes the color of the sea, mirrorlike. “Yes, you have. But I’ll overlook it, temporarily, under the circumstances.” Terenth bent down to retrieve something and then straightened, unhappy to find her still emotional. “Stop crying. Now,” he hissed angrily. Arcada did immediately, swallowing hard and forcing the tears back, bringing her wrists up to her chest and watching as he laid a loop of gel over the top of each of her wrists which snaked of their own accord around them and merged, twisting so that her wrists were brought together and then tightening just to the point of discomfort. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with surrender, glowing with affection and desire. She wanted to press against him, to lift her bound hands over his head and feel him kiss her again, but she waited patiently instead, her hands at her breasts, her body ablaze. “Put your hands behind your head,” he breathed at her, his black eyes locking to hers.

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This time she raised them at once and held them at the base of her neck. Terenth reached behind her and squeezed both her collar and the gel at her wrists, binding them together instantly. He held one hand to her throat again and gently pressed against her neck until her head rested flush against the rock. He then drew the gel out further until it sunk into the stone and melded to its composition, fixed and immovable, locking her arms and neck firmly against the stone. Arcada looked up at him submissively, her eyes glistening in the pale light, her body bent slightly backwards over the boulder, her hands bound behind her head. She hungered for Terenth, his body, his pulsing organ, his touch, his words. She arched up, trying to get him to touch her, desperate to feel him against her, her breathing ragged, her eyes heated. Terenth pressed his hands on either side of her, his obsidian eyes burning dark with lust, hovering his body inches above hers but not touching her flesh. “So you want me, do you, slave?” he challenged, steam wafting between their bodies, his heat overpowering her. Arcada looked at him, powerless and vulnerable, squirming with craving, lust rolling over her. “Yes, Master,” she panted. “I need you. Please – touch me.” Terenth abruptly pushed his taut, lean body into hers as Arcada gasped and cried out. She could feel his shaft, hot and throbbing against her belly. She had learned a long time ago that the men of Ecryon could harden immediately after ejaculation. Although climax was mentally and physically satisfying, if a man wanted to keep going, no recovery time was necessary. “Is this what you want?” he demanded, rubbing harder against her, his cock pulsing almost painfully, strong and hungry, searing her skin. “Yes. I want that – I want you,” she whispered, her core aching, her eyes glowing with desire. “Then have me you shall, Arcada,” he hissed, drawing his hips back and thrusting up into her in one thick, brutal slide, splitting her apart with his enormous golden pole of velvetwrapped iron. Arcada screamed as he ripped her open, a blazing, blistering torch plunging into her, welcoming his sting, his fierceness, his power all-consuming, basic, primitive, suffocating and overwhelming. She cried out at the pain, the pleasure, how she had missed him, her need to be possessed by him as Terenth settled into a frenzied pace, thudding her body into the soft stone, his gaze set, intently focused on fucking her hard and without remorse. She began to whimper with his ferality, each stroke meeting her need, easing the ache she felt deep within, but so engulfed by a whirlwind of fire she let out a long, broken sob. “No crying yet, slave. Not until I’m finished with you,” Terenth breathed, pulling back and slamming into her again and again, as she jabbered and moaned, her words garbled, with his passion, his handling of her, his primeval craving, his unslakable greed. Arcada felt as if she was caught in a tempest of flames, her body nothing more than a sphere of erogenous sensations, dimly aware of Terenth’s strong hands moving over her, pressing 88

against her throat and then squeezing her breasts and pulling on, sucking and then biting her nipples, as she strained and wrenched under him, her arms locked helplessly behind her. Arcada wrapped her legs around his waist and he bent his knees, driving into her with even more power, hitting harder and harder, her body trying to check him, but his stroke so unrestrained that she found herself brought to an unbearable pinnacle of pleasure, screaming and begging for release, knowing she needed his permission, but feeling she was going to die unless he gave it to her and then she began to slump, dragged under by a current of unrequited lust. Terenth let her drift there for a few moments and then whispered, “You may come, my love,” his breath hot and searing against her ear. Arcada instantly let loose a torturous shriek, rendering the night air like some mortally wounded animal, melting like lava around Terenth, gushing and spurting, her senses blurred, all light in her world eclipsed, extinguished, nothing but bright red sparks whirling through before her eyes. She was so far gone she would not remember the words that Terenth had just spoken to her and did not notice Terenth looking at her with something like shock, his own eyes flickering between blue and black. She writhed against him, reverberations coursing through her, the feel of the stone on her back melding into the warm flesh of Terenth’s body against her, his pulsing, living, throbbing organ now invading her narrow walls gently, sending her into sensory meltdown. Finally she quieted, one leg sliding from Terenth’s sweat-soaked body until her foot rested lightly on the sand. He gave her a sharp, upward thrust. “I’m not done with you, yet.” She gasped, feeling her pussy tighten reflexively, ready to receive him again – she was always ready for him, despite any sense of fulfillment. He reached one hand lightly behind her neck and touched the gel, releasing it from the rock, but keeping her hands locked behind her head and pulled her away from the boulder, pressing one hand to the small of her back so she didn’t stumble. The position of her arms forced her head down and Terenth stroked her skin lightly. “Let’s change positions for you,” he said, reaching behind her, separating her wrists and bringing them in front of her. There were no ligature marks from the gel but Arcada felt the painful sensation of blood rushing into her starved limbs. He looked down at her thoughtfully, massaging her hands and arms, running his thumbs around her wrists as she moaned at his touch and compassion. Then he captured her hands, bringing them gently behind her where he melded the gel together once again. He brushed his fingertips up and down her arms lightly as she stood before him, her wrists now locked behind her back. “Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her lightly, his lips sliding to her throat and then skimming to her breasts, taking pleasure of them with his mouth, as Arcada whimpered with need, pulses of longing overtaking her again, his hands feathering her skin,

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electrifying her until he had her worked up into a jumbled mass of lust and sensation, begging and pleading with him to take her again. He struck her hard across the breasts sharply as she cried out. “Begging sometimes becomes you little pixus, but not now. Get down. On your knees.” Arcada fell to her knees quickly, her pussy swollen, her body alight with desire. “Lean forward,” he said, stepping out of the way. Her breathing was labored as she tried to figure out how to obey Terenth’s order. She bent forward slowly, as well as she could until she felt her forehead touch the cool sand. She couldn’t use her hands to support her so she adjusted her legs apart and widened her stance. She turned her head slightly so that her cheek rested on the sand and waited, her breasts mashed into the ground, her ass high in the air. “Don’t move,” Terenth warned, an edge to his voice. Then Arcada heard soft footsteps receding and she lay in the cool night air, feeling a small breeze wash over her glistening core, as she rested submissively, open and receptive in the sands, waiting for her master’s return. Arcada had almost fallen asleep although she had faithfully maintained her position, when she felt Terenth pull her up by her wrists and press something hard to her lips. She resisted for a second until she realized what it was – a cup of clear, cool water and she was desperately thirsty. She drank gratefully, draining the goblet and then he searched her eyes, a hint of a dark smile on his face. She looked up at him. “Terenth,” she pleaded. “Are you begging?” “No,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “Good,” he said, dropping her as if he had been burned, her head falling loosely to the sand again. She felt a sudden surge of scorching, thick cock inside and then a raging firestorm breaking over her as Terenth set a blistering rhythm, pounding into her, claiming her, hitting her cervix again and again, ripping screams from her body as he scoured every inch of her soft, moist internal flesh. He changed angles, adjusting his stroke viciously with his hips, causing her to howl into the sand. He heard her muffled cries and lifted her helpless body into the air, holding her by the breasts as she rested over his arms while he strained and surged into her, unbearable pleasure streaming through her, pitching under his stroke; sparks seeming to fly around them as the air became indistinct, hazy and hot. Terenth’s eyes washed over Arcada. She was so strong, so full of fire, strength and passion, a vicious, deadly fighter, nearly fearless, but eternally submissive to him,

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obeying his cruelest commands without question, accepting his retribution and vengeance, turning herself, body and mind, over to him. He would never find anyone like her, never be satisfied with any other. She completed him and without her, he knew, he would be only a weak shell of himself. Terenth suddenly stiffened, recalling that Arcada had not given herself fully to him. He had been so caught up with traveling from Ecryon and relieved to find her unharmed on Earth, that he had uncharacteristically forgotten about his anger, the one thing she would not agree to, the one thing he wanted more than anything except Arcada herself. He dropped her body onto the sand and began to plunge into her even harder, pushing her flat against the ground, leaning over her and pressing the side of her face into the sand. He would not ask her tonight again to marry him. It was not the right time, but her refusal twisted into him cruelly like a sword in his belly. He closed his eyes, his power almost bestial now, trying subconsciously to break the stubborn woman under him with vengeful strokes. “Give me everything, Arcada,” he demanded, his voice raw with emotion. He wasn’t certain himself what he meant by his command – whether he was ordering Arcada to give herself over wholly to him as his slave, give him an answer to his demands of marriage, or whether he was just allowing her to release. But release she did and as her tight sleeve squeezed him he went over with her, grabbing at her hips, dropping flush to her body, clenching his ass and stabbing his hips into her as he spurted gush after creamy gush of his seed, pumping, spewing, and spurting as pleasure drenched him. He became aware that Arcada was with him in his climax, they were vibrating, whirling together, merging as one, not just as master-slave but as lovers, and then the storm began to subside and he slowly came back to himself, feeling her drift away to her separate self. Breathing heavily, Terenth rolled to the side, reaching for Arcada and gathered her in his arms. He carried her to the boulder and sat down against it, leaning back and resting her in his lap, caressing her arms and wrists, still bound, feeling the hammering of her slowing heart through his chest. She relaxed against him, fully spent, sated, exhausted, her breathing quieting, her hair a tangled mess, basking in the afterglow of his fire. He looked up at the sprinkling of stars overlaid by jumbles of clouds as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I could take you all night long,” he whispered into her ear. His cock throbbed at the thought. “But you need to sleep so you can finish your task and come back to me.” Arcada shifted slightly in his arms and groaned softly, knowing she would feel Terenth’s possession in the morning. Terenth looked down at her. “I could heal your aches, bring you relief, give you energy, if not for the game. Will you be all right?” Diviners, he hoped he hadn’t done anything to affect the outcome. “I can’t say you didn’t give me a workout, Terenth,” Arcada said softly, twisting her head to look up at him and seeing genuine concern in his violet eyes. She exhaled and sighed. 91

“But you can’t heal me. You know I can’t think at my best right now, but I’ll be fine by morning.” He leaned down and met her lips, giving her a light, soft kiss. He needed to know what the parameters of this particular game were. “What tasks have you been set here, Arcada? How much more must you do?” Arcada told him what Zacrius had bound her to retrieve and how close she was to completion. Terenth considered what she said. He had no doubt Arcada could rescue Seneca, but refrained from offering his insight as to how to accomplish it. Instead, he asked, “When do you think you’ll return to Pyrme?” “Assuming everything goes as I plan, four days. It will be slower riding back with the princess,” Arcada replied. She tried to turn to him, but he locked his arms around her like a vise, holding her firmly in place. She sighed and stopped struggling, leaning into him again and looking up at the night, catching glimpse of a bright comet streaking across the black sky. “Terenth, why did you come to Earth?” she asked, the question weighing heavily on her. He was silent for a few moments and then he said. “That I will tell you when you get to Pyrme.” Arcada let out a small sound of frustration at his cryptic answer. “I’d like to know now.” He wrapped one hand in her hair, a bit menacingly, and shook her just slightly. “I said I’d explain it to you then, slave. Not before,” he said, reservedly. Then he released her hair abruptly, kissed her temple and brought something in front of her so she could see it. “I want you to take this and use it if necessary.” She looked at it. “Healing gel? No – Terenth – I can’t. It might interfere with things. I can complete this game – I know I can. And you’re here . . . waiting for me . . . I’ll be fine –” He growled. “I went over the programming before I left Ecryon. A small amount of healing gel doesn’t alter the game. It’s enough for one application of even a fatal wound.” He hesitated and then chuckled softly. “Maybe it’s a loophole that was in all of our games,” he said, shrugging. “No matter. I want you to have it now.” He pressed the small, transparent capsule to the front of her collar, binding it to her. Arcada didn’t protest – she had no choice – but wriggled a bit in his lap. She turned her head to look up at him again, her eyes soft. “Can’t you stay at least tonight? Do you have to go back now?”

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He looked into her green eyes, almost auroral in the shadows of the night, kissed her gently and then wrapped both arms around her possessively. “I can’t stay. But I’ll see you in just four days, my little pixus.” She felt his hand move to the Hovarian gel at her neck. Her collar was so different from the crude metal and leather versions on Earth. It could become translucent so that it was unnoticeable. It was comfortable without being restrictive, tightening of its own accord only at Terenth’s displeasure or his will, so much so that it could choke off her breath if he desired. Right now, it was not uncomfortable, simply noticeable. A tangible reminder of his ownership. She would not go without it and he would not have it so. “You belong to me – always,” he whispered, his fingers at her collar, tracing the gel, watching her closely. “Always,” she said to him from the heart, her eyes shining. He released her wrists with a touch and gathered her in his arms, turning her toward him and kissing her with emotion and a great burning passion as she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss, feeling as if she were a vessel filled to overflowing that drained to emptiness every time she was without him.

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CHAPTER 16 The City of Rocks Arcada left the horse in a stand of trees and crept to a rock outcropping where she could study the waterfall and cliffs that guarded the entrance to Seraph’s City of Rocks. The cascade was magnificent, falling in a long, thin stream over a gold sandstone precipice. After hearing Zacrius describe the city, she had suspected the way in was behind the waterfall, but watching it carefully it appeared that no ledge connected the open valley to the wide pool. She could see parts of the fortress above and beyond the falls, tall, imposing, splendid in the early morning light. It was big, as Zacrius had said. It must encompass a small city. She was sure a settlement of that size must be accessed at least daily. She settled in, deciding to give it an hour, quickly becoming mesmerized by the rhythmic flow of water when she heard the sound of riders behind her. Quietly she slipped from the rock, concealing herself in the brush as she watched. The group rode some distance from her, skirting the edge of the wide valley before dipping into the trees and then disappearing. So the main entrance was on the far side of the falls across the valley. But that didn’t explain the legend of warriors simply materializing from rock. Could it be the result of the overactive imagination of frightened soldiers? Arcada studied the cliff face carefully near the waterfall and thought she detected subtle differences in the shading of rocks near the base. Arcada knew that sandstone was often riddled with caves. Her mind working, she wondered whether Seraph’s predecessors could have invented a disguise of some sort. A canvas draped over the opening of a cave blended to look like rock. Certainly that could explain horses or men manifesting from stone. Arcada mused. It would take over an hour to walk to where the horse party had entered and she didn’t dare ride. The main entrance would likely be heavily guarded. Her best bet would be the caves – if there were any. The imperfections in the stone were close to the falls but it was too risky to simply cross the open ground. It was unlikely Seraph expected an attack on his well-buttressed fortress, but there was sure to be some sort of watch. Arcada decided to follow the watercourse into which the falls emptied using the vegetation to conceal her approach. Terenth had left her last night, promising to be in Pyrme when she returned with Seneca. He had told her that he had come to Earth by manipulation with Jaxx. She couldn’t imagine what had brought him and he refused to tell her, but it must have been something urgent. Jaxx could lose his position as head pilot for that. But he probably didn’t care, she thought to herself. He would just go back to pirating. She liked Jaxx. Despite the fact that Terenth and Jaxx were here, she knew things were no less dangerous for her. Should an archer shoot her from the sandstone cliffs, she would still die. But she had no intention of dying. Arcada made it to the cliffs without incident knowing she would have to somehow smuggle Seneca back to the horse. She would figure out how to do that later depending on where they escaped the city. Hopefully, something would come to her. She now

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stood staring at the magnificent flow of water, turquoise and cerulean, its mist washing over her like cool steam, condensing on her body, leaving her skin glossy and her hair damp. The flow plunged from a thousand feet from above into a smooth pool unbroken by rocks, the energy of a small meteoric collision bound up in its crushing volume. She studied the pool looking for some indication of a way behind the churning water but saw nothing. Perhaps there really was no connection to the city through the falls although Arcada could not say why she felt something instinctive about it. She slipped from the bank, hugging the sandstone crags to avoid detection by any sentries. Her eyes swept critically over the lower portions of the rock. Then she saw it. Masterful, she thought appreciatively. And creative. Arcada walked up to the first discrepancy and ran her hands from the gritty soft stone to the canvas next to it, noticing the tight adhesion holding it flush to the cliff. It must be kept in place by a frame on the inside. She stepped back a bit and studied the seamless transition from rock to textile, the drawings on the heavy fabric a perfect continuation in color and style of the rock, masking the cave behind it. Looking down the cliff, she could detect at least three more canvases. An approaching army would face soldiers ‘materializing’ out of the sandstone. It would be frightening. And a neat trick. She drew her knife from her thigh strap, knelt, and made a small vertical slit near the ground at the edge of the fabric, barely large enough for her body. She took a deep breath and wriggled through, hoping the tunnel was empty. It was. And oppressively black as she expected. She moved forward, her vision providing faint shades of blue, enough for her to navigate the long, twisting passageway leading up into the heart of the city at a fast jog. The floor was natural rock but worn and smooth almost like polished stone. The cave was wide enough for several horsemen to ride abreast. She imagined it would be very difficult to attack Seraph’s stronghold given the multitude of hidden caves and the element of surprise. But she would not share this information with Zacrius, interesting as it was. He had bound her to retrieve Seneca not to give a report on his enemy’s weaknesses. Let him figure it out for himself. Soon Arcada noticed that the natural light was increasing. She blinked as she rounded a corner and faced full sun streaming through the high exit of the cave. She had made it into the City of Rocks. She edged to the opening and looked out. It was breathtaking, the entire city carved out of the towering yellow sandstone cliffs, the main fortress a magnificent rectangular structure with parapets soaring into the air, open windows gracing the turrets. The city was set on a long upsloping table that extended far beyond the caves in the cliff system. She started as a horse and cart moved past just outside the opening and shrank back into the shadows as it passed. Her eyes swept back over the parapets. If she were Seraph, where would she keep Seneca? She knew the answer to that as her eyes fell upon the highest tower at the far end of the plateau, making out bars over the uppermost windows where none appeared below. It was a giveaway. A place of imprisonment. It was a bit

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daunting to consider just how high the tower was, but studying it Arcada knew exactly how she would gain access. She just needed to get to the base. The next cart that passed by the mouth of the cave was pulled by an elderly woman who quickly found herself unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, slumped gently against the interior rock wall. Arcada retrieved the cart, pulled it inside too, and left it in the shadows. She planned to be in and out of the fortress before the old woman woke or anyone missed the cart. She carefully removed the woman’s dusty gray robes and wrapped them around her own shoulders, drew her long, blonde hair back at the nape of her neck, tied it with a strip of leather and then pulled the hood over her head, making sure her hair was tucked inside. Then she slipped onto the cartway heading uphill to the base of the tower. Arcada made it through the busiest part of the city unnoticed and unharrassed. She was deep within the cliffs now, square sandstone buildings rising above the fareways, much of the city in shadow at this time of day from the towering precipices. She continued heading upward through the maze of narrow streets until she reached the base of the tallest tower she had selected. She pulled back her hood from her eyes slightly, her gaze running up the towering rock wall. She could not see the barred window high above, but knew she was directly below it. “You there. State your business,” came a gruff male voice from behind her. Arcada did not turn immediately at the command, sensing two people out of the corner of her eye. She was above the hustle of the markets and streets, unusual enough she supposed, so that someone would naturally ask about her business as she stared up into the sky. She lowered her head, stooped over and began coughing furiously, letting the hood shake farther over her face. “Wha--? Are you all right?” Arcada clutched at her stomach and gave a horrible, retching sound, doubling forward as if in mortal agony. She heard the sound of a sword sliding into a leather sheath and footsteps crunching up to her. “Careful, Janno. You don’t know what’s about,” said a second man’s voice a short distance away. Arcada gave several more violent coughs and fell to her knees. “Don’t be so bloody worried, Gioral. Just an old lady. Probably confused about what she’s doing over here by the tower. Nothin’ to be afraid of,” Janno said confidently, stopping above Arcada’s hooded form. “Come on, woman. Time to get back to your apartment.” Arcada rasped something unintelligible in a voice clearly belonging to an elderly person. “What? What’s that? Come along now,” Janno said, leaning down to take Arcada’s arm through her robes.

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As he touched her she turned her head to him, reached for the hilt of his sword, withdrew it in one fluid motion and thrust it forward into his belly, twisting hard as it went in. Janno’s voice burbled in agony as he pitched forward into her, blood spurting over Arcada’s gray robes. Before he hit the ground, Arcada reached under her robes, unsheathed the knife at her thigh and pulled it free. She threw back her hood, checked the location of the second man and threw the blade quickly so that it lodged directly in his trachea, cutting off his ability to scream or call for help. He clawed at the knife, pulling it free, looking at the red-soaked blade in his fingers with astonishment as his color faded. He fell to his knees, disbelief still etched on his face and then pitched forward landing hard on the stone causeway, dead. Arcada looked around quickly for somewhere to hide the bodies and finally dragged them between the tower and a large chipped block of conglomerate which looked as if it had been left over from the original construction and no one had bothered to remove it. The soldiers were concealed enough she thought approvingly, at least for as long as she intended to be in the tower. Janno was still twitching so she took the knife she had pried from Gioral’s dead fingers and mercifully slit his throat. She wiped the blade on her robes and then re-sheathed it. Then she shrugged out of the garments and left them in a heap next to the bodies. Looking up at the stone, she considered for another moment and then unlaced her boots, removed them, and stood barefoot. She wiped her hands thoroughly on the cleanest part of the old woman’s robes, drying the blood and sweat from them as well as she could. Finally, she took a deep breath and walked to the base of the wall. Without hesitation, Arcada began climbing. From a distance the tower face appeared sheer, but in fact it was stippled with small sills and niches, a product of the positioning of various blocks of stone. Where the tower had been carved directly from the face, there were nubs, protrusions and overhangs. Arcada climbed swiftly, alternating between the natural cliffs and hand-hewn blocks, a mixture of conglomerate rock and pure golden sandstone. Arcada had climbed rock frequently on her home world before she was abducted and sold into slavery. Her world was similar in many ways to this part of Earth. She had confidence in her ability to scale the wall which made all the difference. Any self-doubt, anxiety, nervousness and she would likely slip, falling to her death. But she had none. She had faced worse and there were plenty of holds and ledges even if they were small and sparse in places. Within half an hour Arcada had climbed most of the way up the sandstone tower, passing several open-air windows which she ignored. She reached the extended shelf of a rather large window and balanced on it, resting, squinting up at her final destination. She was startled by sounds coming from inside the window. She listened, thankful she couldn’t be seen.

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It was a woman’s voice. “Oooh. You’re wonderful. Harder. More. Yesss. Yesss!” Various mewls and shrieks followed this outburst. Arcada shook her head. She had paused at the window of someone in the fortress fucking in the middle of the day. What were the odds? She looked up again, scanning for her next handhold when she heard something that made her blood chill. “Seraph!” the woman screamed, sounding in pain, but from the context Arcada concluded it was more like pleasure. Seraph. She had no idea who the King was engaging, but shit, she was standing on the ledge to his very chambers. Should she continue up to the room where she suspected Seneca was kept or dispatch the King? She hesitated, feeling her pulse race a bit faster and decided to continue up the wall. She reached for the handhold again. She would take Seneca out from under Seraph’s nose without him the wiser. “Seneca,” came a long, low passionate groan and then a series of grunts, shouts and obscenities. At the shock of hearing the princess’ name, Arcada slipped, having just placed her weight on the hold and taken her bare feet from the ledge. She fell completely from the tower and caught herself with her hands on the window ledge as she passed it. She clung to it, hundreds of feet above the ground, her legs swinging freely in the air, willing her heart pounding wildly in her chest to slow. She hung from the sill for almost a minute until she calmed and then swung her legs up effortlessly, standing on the shelf once more and wiping her hands on her dusty leather skirt. She was off her game. She needed to focus. Her mind sifted through the possibilities. Perhaps there was more than one Seneca? More than one Seraph? No, that was ridiculous. She knew instinctively that the King and the princess were engaging and from the sound of things, more than willingly on both their parts. Damn, that complicated matters. How was she supposed to rescue Zacrius’ bride when she was getting the shit fucked out of her by her abductor and by all accounts, loving it?

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CHAPTER 17 Royal Confrontations Arcada considered her options. She could wait until Seraph and Seneca completed their little interlude. Perhaps Seneca would return to her rooms after they finished fucking. But what if she didn’t? Or what if they kept going? Or Seraph brought her somewhere else? And she might be under guard in her own rooms. Clearly, there would be no guard in the King’s private chambers. Outside the doors, yes, but not in his bedroom. By the Diviners, this was her best chance. Jump through the open window and take them both unaware. Besides, Seraph would be naked, or at least unarmed, and unsuspecting of an assault. It was as perfect a set-up as she could have asked for. She edged closer to the open window, took a deep breath, reached over her shoulder and drew her sword, holding on to the rock with her other hand. She had chosen a longer blade this time than the one with which she fought the lions. She moved into the opening and crouched low on her heels, looking into the room. After the bright sunlight, the chamber seemed dim and it took a moment for Arcada’s eyes to adjust. She scanned the enormous room quickly. In the center was the largest four-poster bed she had ever seen, draped in rich green silks. There was a large table and chairs, several sofas and reclining chaises, tall plants and trees in large pots, and various small tables and mirrors. The room was richly decorated and she briefly registered a number of erotic paintings. There were closed double doors at one end. In the oversized bed she could see the dark back of a large, muscled man resting on one elbow turned away from her, talking in low tones to someone she could not see. Arcada saw small pale feet entwining about the King’s calves and assumed it must be Seneca. She controlled her reaction but wanted to laugh out loud at Zacrius expecting to marry a naïve little virgin. From the sounds she had heard from outside the window, Seneca was thoroughly enjoying her stay with Seraph. But royalty often had to sacrifice, love being the most common forfeiture. In her betrothal to Zacrius, Seneca had been used as a pawn to merge two hostile kingdoms. She could not have her choice of mate now. She would simply have to get past her ‘relationship’ with the King who kidnapped her. It would make Arcada’s job more difficult if Seneca was unwilling to leave, pining for her new lover, but she would drag Seneca back to Zacrius by the hair if she had to. Arcada was going to be free of this wretched game and return to Terenth. Besides, Arcada suspected Seraph would not risk his kingdom to keep Seneca as a plaything, despite what she thought he felt for her. Men were like that. Soundlessly, she lowered herself from the sill until she stood barefoot on the cool stone floor of Seraph’s personal chambers. She hefted her long sword, holding it in both hands and advanced, stepping carefully and quietly. She had no intention of killing Seraph – that would incite a war between kingdoms and leave one realm leaderless – but she would stun him into unconsciousness.

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As she moved closer, she could hear them talking. “I’ve never had anyone as magnificent as you,” Seraph said in a deep voice. “Please let me stay with you, Seraph. I don’t want to marry Zacrius – I want you. I love you.” Silly, stupid girl, Arcada thought. “You think you love me, but you don’t know me, Lady Seneca. I am not a man easily given to love. Zacrius’ kingdom is close to your own. You have family there.” “I don’t want to be with my family – I want to be with you,” Seneca said petulantly, as only the infatuated young can. Arcada could see Seraph caressing Seneca’s hair as she crept closer and paused to study the King’s large, corded neck, fully exposed to her. “We will always have this,” Seraph replied smoothly. “My beautiful, passionate little virgin. Nothing will ever compare to the gift you have given me. No one will ever replace you.” “No one will have to replace me if you will just agree to keep me,” Seneca insisted, running her hands over the muscles in his arms. “I can make you happy. You’ll grow to love me. I know you will.” Arcada slowly extended her sword toward the side of Seraph’s neck, steadying the blade with her arms, readying for a quick, glancing blow that would render him instantly unconscious for several hours. More than enough time to escape with the princess. “Oh, Seneca,” Seraph groaned, stretching his neck slightly. “We’ll have to content ourselves with this.” Seneca abruptly sat up in the luxurious bed and shook her long dark hair over her shoulders away from her soft breasts. She put her hands on her rounded hips and pouted. “It’s not fair, Seraph! Why does everyone think they can dictate what I do? I love you and I want to stay . . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes suddenly widened with shock. Arcada had reacted as soon as Seneca sat up, crouching low and quickly crossing the remaining distance to the bed. But she needed to raise her blade slightly and Seneca caught the small movement. Arcada drove the flat end of the blade down hard, but it hit nothing but soft, silk sheet. In a flash, Seraph had leapt from the bed, quick as a cat, drawing Seneca with him so that they both stood naked, opposite from the woman holding a sword to the visible indentation in the bed where Seraph’s weight had been. Arcada raised her eyes to Seraph’s black ones as she pulled her sword slowly back from the bed and adjusted her grip on the hilt. Seneca raised her hands to her mouth, her blue

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eyes fluttering, moving into Seraph who instead took her by the shoulders and pushed her away. “Go sit down, Lady Seneca,” Seraph commanded, his eyes still locked to Arcada’s. “I don’t think this woman is here to do you any harm. I think she’s after me.” Seneca made a little noise of protest at this dismissal but walked to the nearest sofa and sat down. Arcada studied Seraph, her eyes drifting over his dark, muscled body. He was completely nude and she focused longer than necessary on his flaccid cock, his endowment obvious, despite his sated state. He flexed slightly, tilting his head to look at Arcada, his expression amused. “Do you like what you see?” he asked her suggestively. Arcada swallowed, flicking her eyes upward quickly to meet his gaze. “I’m not here for that,” she said evenly. He smiled, his cock throbbing slightly as he watched her. “Then why are you here? To what . . . or perhaps I should say, to whom . . . do I owe the honor of such a violent and hostile intrusion into my private chambers during my most private of moments?” Arcada took a deep breath. “I’ve come to retrieve the princess who you abducted against her will and the will of her people. Her fiancé expects her safe return. And I am here to guarantee it.” Well, Zacrius might be getting the princess back safe, but certainly not ‘intact.’ Seraph grunted. So Zacrius sent this woman. He had already dispatched nearly a dozen men who had been sent for the same purpose. Seraph appraised Arcada. He never underestimated an enemy and could tell from the woman’s stance that she was experienced with the sword. She was also tall and athletic. Most impressive of all was that she had been able to enter his rooms in the fortress tower through the window. His eyes narrowed slightly. But despite all of this she was no match for him even though he was nude and weaponless. Seraph was the consummate fighter, strong, quick and deadly. He had yet to meet anyone personally his match, certainly not a scrawny woman. “Zacrius knows my terms.” “There are no terms, Seraph. You kidnapped her. I’m here to bring her back. It’s that simple,” Arcada said, deliberately omitting his title to goad him. He looked at her. Did she just call him Seraph? “You’re wasting your time,” Seneca called shrilly, rising from the sofa. “I won’t come with you.”

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“Be quiet, Lady Seneca,” Seraph said darkly, not looking at her. “Sit down and let me deal with your would-be savior.” Seneca gave a small harrumph and seated herself again. She folded her arms over her belly, making no attempt to cover her nudity. Arcada understood Seraph was strong and an accomplished warrior. She couldn’t let him get to a weapon. She was sure he would have more than one, likely hidden in several places around his bedroom. She had to keep on the offensive. She still planned only to stun him, but wasn’t above killing if necessary to save her own life or Seneca’s. She whirled the sword threateningly and moved deliberately around the head of the bed advancing on him. Seraph watched her approach. He felt no need to call for his guards. He was confident he could take on Zacrius’ latest choice of warrior, despite her creativity in somehow getting into his rooms. “Do you have a name? How did you get in here, anyway?” Arcada knew Seraph’s questions were designed to distract her but stayed calm and focused. “Arcada. Arcada of Ecryon,” she replied coolly. “And I climbed.” He arched an eyebrow at her, taking in her scant clothing and bare legs. “You have no ropes or equipment. The wall is sheer.” “It only appears to be so. I assure you it is quite scaleable in nothing but what I have on.” She almost laughed, thinking of how Seraph would likely never sleep well again with his open windows, even so high up the impossibly steep tower. “And so now your plan is to kill me?” he asked dubiously, eyeing her sword. Arcada had reached the head of the bed. There was almost nothing between them now. “I had rather hoped to avoid that. But I wouldn’t provoke me, if I were you,” she said, her expression deadly serious. Seraph threw back his head and laughed deeply, momentarily forgetting his cardinal rule never to underestimate an opponent. At this opportunity Arcada rushed him, catching him off balance, almost skewering his abdomen in a non-deadly thrust designed to generate blood loss and weaken, but not kill, the victim. Seraph caught himself at the last instant and threw himself away from her stroke, diving to the floor and pulling a long blade from a scabbard tied under the mattress. Arcada recovered from his feint which she had fully expected and followed him down to the floor, slicing at him unrelentingly as he ducked to one side and then the other to avoid her blows, finally scrambling away ungracefully on his hands and knees until he leapt to his feet, his sword clutched before him. Seraph was capable of wielding a much larger

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and heavier blade than Arcada, but the spare blade he kept hidden under his bed was the equal of Arcada’s choice of sword. She continued after him aggressively, not letting up, giving no quarter, as he parried her blows, blocking and twisting, spinning and dodging, not short of breath at all, but needing to use his wits and ability to avoid her attacks. She was quick. Very quick. He was much stronger than she was but her strikes were powerful and not blocked without some effort on his part. In the background, they could both hear Seneca scream and then begin begging them to stop, weeping openly at the viciousness of their struggle. Outside Seraph’s rooms, the guards looked at each other. “Never heard anything like it,” one soldier said, shaking his head. “She’s a screamer all right,” said the other. They both chuckled to themselves. Inside the chambers, Seraph and Arcada were engaged in a lightning-quick swordfight, Seraph’s strength and agility matched by Arcada’s quickness, experience and motivation. Seraph had never fought completely in the nude before and his full ‘exposure’ was causing him to be a bit defensive in his maneuvers. He decided he needed to change tactics if he didn’t want to lose a limb or something even more precious. “You fight well, Lady Arcada,” he said, as he blocked another slash, their swords meeting as he pushed hard, throwing her backwards. She landed lightly on her feet and spun, rushing in again, thrusting under him as he whirled and parried her. “Arcada,” she said. “Just Arcada.” She leaped aside to avoid a crushing blow intended for her skull. “Arcada, then. I’ve never heard of you,” Seraph said, grunting as he avoided yet another stab. “You are unattached to a kingdom. Zacrius paid you . . . or blackmailed you to do this for him.” “Yes,” she said, not bothering to explain which as she circled Seraph, trying to press another advantage. “I can pay you more,” Seraph said, swiveling his sword and slicing through a large potted tree which fell and crashed to the floor taking a small table with it. Arcada leaped over the table, slashing at Seraph as he swung his head wildly away, feeling the whistle of her blade next to his ear. “We can keep this up until we both drop from exhaustion,” he said, “or you can join me on whatever terms you name. I will provide you with wealth and comfort. I have never met anyone more evenly matched to me. You will not be a common soldier – you may

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have your choice of assignments – reconnaissance, plundering, special assassinations – anything you desire.” Not to mention, Seraph thought, he would do anything to bed this wild, strong woman. What if she were to indulge him? She was a bit thinner than he preferred, but he could manage. Despite the desperate struggle, he could feel his cock pulsing slightly, threatening to come to life. Don’t you dare, he told it. The last thing he needed was another target for Arcada. “I’m afraid, your Highness,” Arcada said, turning away from him and drawing her sword up and behind her, causing Seraph to stumble backwards in surprise to avoid her thrust, falling into a painting which crashed to the floor, “that I must decline your offer. I am otherwise engaged.” Arcada was vaguely aware of Seneca sobbing on the floor in a heap. Seneca was terrified for Seraph, unable to watch the violence play out. At first Seneca had thought Seraph would crush the woman easily. After all, she was less than half his size. But now, after the battle going on and on and Seraph ducking and falling into paintings, she wasn’t so sure who was going to win. She couldn’t let this horrible woman kill her lover. Seneca raised her head and her face darkened. Perhaps she could help. She rose unsteadily to her feet and turned to the carafe of wine she and Seraph had shared before their lovemaking. She reached for it and guzzled the remainder of the contents, swallowing hard several times, feeling its warmth infuse her with audacity. She set the flask down with a thump on the table and rushed forward, already drunk with conviction. “Get away from him,” Seneca called out, her long dark hair falling wildly over her shoulders, her eyes flashing. “Seneca, sit down!” Seraph thundered, ducking his head to avoid one of Arcada’s decapitating swings. “No. I’m going to fight by your side!” she exclaimed, puffing up her chest which really only inflated her breasts. She scampered closer and stood swaying nearby, her small fists clenched, murder in her eyes as she looked at Arcada, the wine already affecting her. Both Seraph and Arcada tried to ignore Seneca. But just as Arcada picked her way through the debris on the floor dancing forward with a tricky counterthrust movement Terenth had taught her, Seneca threw herself before the advancing blade, her chin held high, her blue eyes wide and noble with the thought of her sacrifice. Arcada quickly adjusted her attack and Seraph twisted around Seneca, both trying to spare the princess, but in the confusion Arcada struck Seraph off-guard, her sword impaling him full under the ribs, thrusting through to the back of his ribcage, catching on bone. She jerked the sword free, staring at the blood. Seraph staggered under the blow and fell back, reeling, knocking down tables and plants and then sinking down against the wall, his legs drawn up slightly. Seneca screamed and fell to her knees next to him, draping herself around him, his blood coating her nude 104

body. She frantically pressed at the wound on his abdomen with both hands but the spurting of blood did not slow. Seraph’s legs slipped slowly down and he sat motionless, his head against the wall, his eyes open, his breathing shallow. Arcada backed up, holding her sword on Seraph, watching him carefully. She had no reason or desire to move in for the kill but had been tricked before and wanted to be ready if Seraph was bluffing. Seneca got up and ran frantically through the chamber, looking for something to use to staunch the flow of blood, finally jerking and tearing at the sheets on the bed until she had them bunched in her hands. She threw herself back down next to Seraph and pressed the soft emerald fabric to her lover’s body, her tears spilling hot and wet over his chest. “Do not weep for me, Lady Seneca,” Seraph said weakly. Seneca raised her head. “What? What did you say?” she cried, her eyes searching his face, her hand caressing his cheek. “She bested me. It is a good death. A warrior’s death,” he said. Seneca’s face contorted terribly at the word death. He couldn’t be . . . She couldn’t have . . . She looked up at Arcada, an unholy light coming into her eyes, an animalistic expression over her features. “No!” she cried and leapt from Seraph’s side suddenly flying at Arcada in a flash of pale arms, legs, teeth and nails. “Oww!” Arcada yelled as Seneca sank her teeth into Arcada’s forearm with such force she tore a small piece of flesh away. “Stop! Stop it! I’m here to save you! Stop attacking me!” But Seneca wasn’t listening, her rage and despair over Seraph so overwhelming that she continued lashing at Arcada with the fury of a wildcat, yanking at Arcada’s long hair until Arcada cried out, trying to wrench her locks free from Seneca’s grip, finally pulling away and gasping as she saw that Seneca held a large handful of blonde strands. This seemed to serve only to further empower the woman and she jumped on Arcada’s back, kicking at her and pummeling her with her hands, trying to bring her fingers up to Arcada’s eyes to press into their sockets. Arcada was almost at a loss as to how to deal with the madwoman attacking her who she was supposed to save. She couldn’t sheathe her weapon because Seneca was clinging to the sheath. She spun around with Seneca still beating on her and glanced at Seraph. Blood had soaked the sheets thickly and was still running onto the floor. She couldn’t see his chest rising or falling. With a tinge of regret she understood the King to be dying. But that meant she could safely divest herself of her sword. Arcada glimpsed a potted tree through Seneca’s flailing arms and thrust her sword into the dirt, watching it for a half-second as the blade swayed back and forth. Then she grabbed Seneca’s legs with both of her arms and lifted the crazed woman up and over her head, holding her upside down and then flipping her right side up again, forcing Seneca’s back against her body and wrapping the woman in a chokehold. Arcada increased the 105

pressure until Seneca calmed in her arms, finally going limp and sobbing uncontrollably, begging in whispers to be allowed to go to Seraph. Arcada released her after warning Seneca that she would tie her up if she gave her any more trouble. Seneca nodded and as soon as Arcada released the chokehold, she ran to Seraph’s still form and prostrated herself over him, crying and holding him, stroking his shoulders. Arcada watched, troubled by the outcome, regretful of Seraph’s mortal injury, thinking she was going to have to stun Seneca and carry her over her shoulder to get her back to Zacrius when suddenly she had an idea. She walked quickly to the sobbing woman, grabbed her and pulled her up to her feet. Seneca fought, trying to return to Seraph, but Arcada took her firmly by the shoulders and shook her. “Seneca. Listen to me,” Arcada said harshly. Seneca stopped, looking at her listlessly. “I can save Seraph’s life.” A tiny bit of light came into Seneca’s eyes. Her lower lip quivered but she didn’t believe Arcada. After all this warrior woman had just killed him. “Why? How?” “He’s not dead, yet.” Arcada was sure of this. She would have felt it had Seraph’s life force left his body. She could always sense those things. Seneca trembled, still not sure what Arcada was offering or why. “I can heal him, but I need a promise from you first. Your word. You must swear to me,” Arcada said fiercely. “What? What must I do?” cried Seneca, hope creeping into her voice. “Promise to come with me. Promise to return peacefully to Zacrius and I will spare and save Seraph’s life.” Arcada saw indecision in Seneca’s eyes. She gave her another violent shake. “Seneca, you are a princess. Act like one. You know you must wed Zacrius.” Arcada hesitated. “You don’t have to stop seeing Seraph. Seraph is clever and cunning. He’ll seek you out – you can meet with him while you are with Zacrius. If necessary, I’ll even tell you how to return to the City of Rocks so you can be with him occasionally. But surely you understand you can’t stay here and marry him.” Seneca began crying again. Yes, she understood. She knew in the depths of her heart that she couldn’t stay and live with Seraph. He had all but told her that himself. But the chance to see him again? Even clandestinely, they could have trysts and secret meetings and lovers’ affairs? She hadn’t thought of that.

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“I agree,” she said plaintively. “I agree to go with you.” Seneca looked behind her at Seraph resting quietly against the wall, his dark skin stained red. Then she looked back at Arcada. “Just please, save him,” she begged. Arcada nodded, walked to Seraph and knelt next to him. She felt for the transparent collar at her neck and removed the tiny gel pouch attached to it. This was crazy, absolutely crazy, using the healing gel Terenth had given her to revive her enemy – the man she just had just fought so furiously. But it would help in completing her task so she could get back to Terenth. She sighed, taking the small pouch and pressing it between her fingers. Not everything made perfect sense in the galaxy. Seneca watched curiously, holding her breath, as Arcada squeezed a small amount of what looked like sticky clear honey from an equally clear bubble. Arcada took the substance on the tip of her finger and looked at the jagged rip made by her sword. She ran her finger gently over the ragged outline. Seneca gasped as the seeping of blood slowed and then stopped, the flesh bubbled lightly and sealed itself and the pink edges turned a rich, dark color again. Arcada massaged the wound until the gel was absorbed and then Seraph took a huge deep, gasping breath and began breathing steadily, his eyes still closed. Arcada rose, allowing Seneca to sit in her place and the young woman ran her hands over the King’s chest. She looked up at Arcada, tears of relief and gratitude filling her eyes. “Will he . . . wake up?” “Not right away. The wound was close to fatal – very serious. He’ll need time to recover, even with the healing gel I gave him. We’ll have to leave before he regains consciousness,” Arcada said gently. Seneca turned back to look at Seraph. “Thank you for saving him,” she said sincerely, tears starting to roll down her face, already puffy from the strain and emotion. Arcada nodded as Seneca looked up again at her hopefully. “Can I at least . . . clean him up . . . before we leave?” Arcada snorted to herself. The princess certainly had a soft spot for the King. Actually it was probably a good idea so that Seraph and his guards were less alarmed when he revived and their deception was discovered. Arcada didn’t think anything would escape Seraph. He was shrewd and would likely understand exactly what had happened – that Arcada had healed him in exchange for Seneca’s promise to leave – even if he didn’t understand how it could be done. “Yes,” Arcada answered. “Just do it quickly.” Seneca practically leapt up, gathering towels and a pitcher of spring water. Arcada watched, thinking Seneca certainly knew her way well around Seraph’s chambers. They must have been engaging for some time.

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Within ten minutes Seneca had the blood cleaned from Seraph’s body and her own and had redressed in her clothes which she picked up from around the chamber where they had flown before she and Seraph had made love. Then Arcada and Seneca moved Seraph to the bed. Arcada was strong but it took a great effort, with Seneca trying to help, to heft Seraph’s body from the floor onto the bed. Seneca shoved the bloodied sheets under the platform and pulled the top cover partly over the King. Then Seneca climbed up next to Seraph. She studied his face for a moment, memorizing every detail, and bent forward, kissing him with all the love she could muster. He stirred slightly and she could feel the warmth of his lips against hers even though they did not move. She would be eternally grateful to Arcada. Giving Seraph one last, lingering kiss, Seneca crawled from the bed and stood up. “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go back.” Arcada smiled at the young woman. “It’s not quite that easy. Be ready for the escape of your lifetime.”

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CHAPTER 18 Escape First things first, Arcada thought, her mind orchestrating their escape from the City of Rocks. She turned to Seneca. “I’m holding you to your word, Seneca. I need to get rid of the guards outside the door. Call them in.” Arcada’s eyes darkened as she looked down on the woman. “Don’t let them suspect anything,” she said warningly. Seneca lifted her chin, her expression offended. “I gave you my word. Even as a woman, I meet Kavalos standards. We never go back on our word. I can help get us back to the coast. I won’t be dead weight.” Arcada resisted rolling her eyes and instead said, “I’ll be behind the door and ready.” Seneca nodded and stepped closer to the door. “Tarpiiiiiiin,” she called in her most seductive voice. “My Lady, what is it?” came a man’s voice from the other side of the door. “The King has fallen asleep and I’m ready to leave.” She paused, speaking very suggestively. “He seems sooooo exhausted and I just dooon’t want to bother him.” Outside the chambers, Tarpin looked at his fellow soldier and grinned. “I’ll bet the King is exhausted. That’s one hellcat he’s got in there. I’ll take her back.” “All right, Lady Seneca. I’ll escort you back to your rooms,” Tarpin called. The doors gave a slight clank and began to swing out. Seneca stood in the doorway, one hand resting on her breasts, the other on the limestone frame. She was dressed in an alluring small bra and skirt, glistening with dark red sequins. Seraph had taken to providing her with very sexy outfits which she wore enthusiastically at every opportunity. Tarpin swallowed as he looked at her, his leather skirt beginning to tent. He could hardly believe this was the same scared woman who had been brought here a fortnight ago, whimpering and afraid, dressed in a heavy, conservative cloak. His eyes fell on the bed, noting Seraph’s sleeping form and then swept across the chamber, taking in the broken trees, tables and paintings. Seneca watched where his gaze fell and said to him “The King and I got a little . . . um, excited. You understand how things can get . . . out of hand sometimes,” she purred, giving him a small, innocent smile and drawing her hand across the top of her breasts. Tarpin swallowed, nodding involuntarily, his face reddening slightly. He did know what she meant.

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“I’m ready to go to my rooms now. I just need to gather a small gift Seraph told me I could take with me. It’s a little statue I liked.” She walked over to the corner of the room where there was a small screen and bent over at the waist, giving Tarpin an eyeful of her buttocks. She looked up behind her, still bent over. “Tarpin, could you help me? It’s rather heavy.” Tarpin made a strangled sound and rushed over to help her. “Of course, my Lady.” As he neared the edge of the screen, a hand shot out, catching him hard in the side of his throat and he buckled instantly, falling silently to his knees. Arcada and Seneca lowered him all the way to the stone floor. “One down . . . one to go,” Seneca grinned at Arcada. Before Arcada could say anything further, the young woman had sauntered out the door and was speaking seductively to the second guard who was completely engrossed in her charms. What Seneca said to him, Arcada didn’t know as she walked silently up behind the man, intending on striking him hard in the neck with the heel of her hand. As Arcada readied, the man shifted by chance and caught the quick movement behind him. He whirled and she shifted her attack, bringing her knee up hard in his gut instead, completely knocking the wind from the man. She heard something crack and knew she had likely broken several of his ribs. She jabbed her fingers to his neck, sending him into unconsciousness as she dragged his body inside and laid it next to Tarpin. “Are they . . . ?” Seneca looked at the two soldiers on the floor, an unspoken question in her voice. “No. They’re both alive. But you may see death before the day is over, Princess.” “I’ve seen death before,” she said, as if daring Arcada to doubt her. Arcada didn’t reply, looking down at the two soldiers. This was her last act of deference to Seraph, allowing his personal guards to live. The next person who crossed her path could count on death. She considered briefly giving one of the soldier’s weapons to Seneca, but wisely decided that would likely be worse than having the woman unarmed. “Let’s go,” she said, catching Seneca’s arm and pulling her out of the chambers. Arcada pushed the doors shut as Seneca gave one last wistful glance at Seraph’s form lying on the bed on which she had shared so much with him. “We need disguises. Do you have robes in your rooms?” Arcada asked her as the doors closed tightly against each other. “Yes. I have a number of outfits. Seraph made sure I lacked for nothing.” “Good. Are your rooms far?”

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“Somewhat. Across the walkway and up the stairs.” At the top of the tower, just as Arcada had suspected. “Lead the way. Quickly,” she said. They both ran, Seneca breathless by the time they arrived. They saw no one and there were no guards posted at her doors because she had been in the King’s chambers. Arcada rifled through Seneca’s garments selecting the plainest set of robes with a hood she could find. She ripped the fabric in several places. “Here, put this on,” she said to Seneca, thrusting it at her. Seneca did as she told, looking at Arcada when she finished. Arcada had donned a similar set of robes. “Now what?” “Now, we walk out of the City of Rocks. Calmly.” Seneca looked down at her tattered robes. “What are we supposed to be?” “Old women,” replied Arcada. It worked getting in. Never change a good plan unless you have to. “All right,” Seneca agreed. They left Seneca’s rooms, Arcada pulling the hood over Seneca’s head and instructing her to walk slowly and bent over. Seneca was not very good at it, having been coddled as royalty her entire life. She was used to walking upright with her head held high. Arcada had to constantly admonish her to shuffle and stoop. Arcada knew the most difficult part would be getting out of the fortress. Once they were in the main city streets and markets they would be much less noticeable in their disguises. They ran down the twisting stairs to the rectangular tower, Arcada dragging Seneca past the exit that lead to Seraph’s chambers. Arcada was quite certain the steps would wind all the way down to ground level and they did, ending at a small archway which led to a broad arcade. Here there were fortress guards, various soldiers milling about, and servants scurrying to various destinations. “Keep your head lowered,” Arcada reminded Seneca as they began to shuffle together across the colonnade, heading for the main steps which led down into the city. No one gave them a second glance and they emerged into the sunshine, hobbling down the enormous flight of stairs carved from stone. “Slower,” Arcada hissed, as Seneca took the steps lightly and easily. Seneca did, trying hard to maintain the demeanor of an old woman.

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“Now where?” Seneca asked when they reached ground level. Arcada looked quickly around from under her hood. They were still high on the plateau which rose above the cave system in the cliffs. Next to the caves, on the far right side of the city, a river rushed downhill, eventually forming the falls which crashed over the imposing rock face a substantial distance below. “This way,” Arcada said, setting off for the largest, most crowded avenue. They wound through the city arteries, losing elevation steadily, threading their way toward the cave through which Arcada had first entered. The crowds were thinning as they neared the lower edge of the city, fewer reasons to be about, and Arcada knew they were close, only two streets away, when she heard a shout behind them. “You ladies there. Where are you going?” Arcada turned slowly, almost painfully, her back hunched pronouncedly, having a readymade story on the tip of her tongue when she glanced at Seneca. She was holding her robes away from the dirt of the street disdainfully by her fingertips, her graceful feet in expensive sandals clearly visible from the ankles down. “Drop your robes,” Arcada hissed at her. “What?” Seneca asked, turning the opening of her hood to Arcada to hear her better. “For the love of the galactic Diviners!” Arcada groaned. “Lower. Your. Robes. Now,” she said through gritted teeth. “Oh!” Seneca squeaked quietly, dropping them instantly. Arcada looked up. One man had approached them from a contingent of a half dozen soldiers who stood conversing among themselves higher up on the street. “We left our cart down there,” said Arcada in a perfect imitation of an old woman. She raised an arm weakly to indicate the direction. The man eyed them both. “What’s in your cart?” Arcada thought back to what she had seen the old woman she had knocked unconscious earlier in the morning carrying. “Trash,” she replied, without hesitation. The man grunted. The elderly were put to work in the city picking up garbage and bringing it to the ravine which served as the city’s landfill. The story checked out. “What about her?” he asked, jerking her head at Seneca. “My daughter,” croaked Arcada. “She helps me,” she said feebly. 112

The man studied the cloaked figure next to the old woman. Even under the robes, he could tell she looked younger than the hag did. She carried herself taller and he had a glimpse of her shapely legs. He wondered how young a daughter the old crone could have. “Fine then,” he grunted. “Go back to your garbage hunting.” Arcada expelled her breath silently in relief, turning to go. “But before you do . . . .” Arcada caught her breath again, stopping her motion. “I want a peek at the girl.” He stepped closer to Seneca. “Lower your hood girl. Let me get a look at you.” Arcada knew Seneca would never pass for a commoner. She was too beautiful, too refined, and still dressed under her robes in the fine shimmery garments Seraph had given her. One look at her and the guard would sound the alarm. Seneca froze, unsure what to do, turning slightly to Arcada for guidance. “All right, soldier,” Arcada said creakily, stepping forward quickly, placing herself between Seneca and the foot patrol. “But she’s a fine specimen, I tell you. Maybe later you could come by our apartment. Our doors are always open for the brave sentries that protect our great city.” She stressed the word ‘open.’ The solider licked his lips at this, wondering if the girl was indeed as pretty as her old mother was making her out to be. Hell, the woman was practically inviting him into her house to have sex with her daughter. It probably wouldn’t matter whether the girl was ugly as a dog, he’d show up if he had an open invitation. “Let me tell you what she likes,” Arcada continued, teetering closer to him, making to adjust her robes as she moved. He leaned down, anxious to hear this. The old woman was placing her arm around his shoulders, but he didn’t care as he bent lower. Suddenly, his eyes went blank, his body stiffening as Arcada slipped her small knife into the base of his neck, paralyzing him instantly. She let his body drop to the ground. “Go,” she prodded Seneca who was staring, wide-eyed, at the downed soldier. “Walk quickly, but don’t run. And don’t look back.” They moved together, reaching the end of the street and made to turn the corner when they heard yelling behind them and the sound of sandals slapping on rock. “Stop! You there! Hey! Stop them!”

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Arcada gripped Seneca’s elbow, taking a quick look down the street which led to the cave. There was another patrol there, blocking their path, starting to react to the noise. “The two women there – in the robes. Stop them!” The second set of soldiers responded, beginning to jog toward Arcada and Seneca, some drawing weapons. Arcada threw a glance behind her and saw the first guards bending over their fallen companion, a few beginning to rush forward also. Arcada grabbed Seneca’s hand and reluctantly began running away from the road leading to the cave, pulling the girl around carts and weaving through passersby, both of their hoods falling back over their heads. Seneca tripped and stumbled on her robes and Arcada tightened her grip and jerked the woman to her feet. Arcada stopped briefly and ripped Seneca’s robes from her, tossing them on the street and then pulled her own off as well. “Run!” Arcada urged, taking Seneca’s hand again. The eyes of the street vendors and customers widened at the sight of the two women rushing through the narrow streets, Arcada barefoot, clad in a leather skirt and bra, her sword sheathed over her back and Seneca in her red sandals and skimpy, glittery outfit. As soon as the two women passed, their eyes widened again at the growing contingent of soldiers shouting and yelling as they laid chase. Arcada came to a wide crossway at the edge of the city. In one direction it led back to the fortress, up into the hills. In the other, it led down toward the coast, the direction they wanted to go, but Arcada knew they were already too far past the cliffs riddled with caves which Seraph used to ambush unsuspecting attackers. There were no more places to hide along the route, only the long downsloping plateau followed by the huge waterfall guarding the City of Rocks. She noticed that next to the lower causeway, an open aqueduct flowed from the hills above. Ahead, the small canal seemed to vanish into the earth, undoubtedly on its way into the smooth pool far below, making a long, snaking journey through the wide stretch of cliffs between the city and the falls. Arcada turned to Seneca. “Can you swim?” she asked hurriedly. “What?” “Answer me,” Arcada demanded, looking back over her shoulder. “Can you swim? We don’t have time for me to ask twice.” “Yes. I can swim. I grew up by the ocean.” What Arcada had in mind could mean their deaths. But if they didn’t act it would mean her death. She had no doubt Seraph would not be as kind to her as she had been to him. After all she had only healed him so that Seneca would go with her willingly. Otherwise

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she would have let him die even though she had never intended to kill him. Seraph might spare Seneca, but then again, maybe not. Arcada had to make a choice. “Come with me,” she said, pulling Seneca by the hand, taking off at a run again, turning down the street toward the falls in the distance. Arcada heard the soldiers running behind them. They reached the point where the aqueduct disappeared into the earth, the water flowing swiftly into a dark hole. She scanned the horizon. The waterfall was still a long distance ahead. Arcada was familiar with sandstone cliffs, growing up with similar topography in her world. And she had an intuitive ability for finding unusual ways of out difficult situations. She realized she would be wholly relying on her instincts this time. She drew Seneca to the side of the road, balancing both of them on the edge of the aqueduct as they watched the soldiers approach. There were now at least thirty, all heavily armed, all with weapons drawn, some archers with them. Arcada could see more groups descending from the upper causeway drawn by the commotion. She was a good fighter, but these odds were not to her liking. “We surrender,” she called, raising her arms slightly, nudging Seneca to do the same. Neither woman had any weapon drawn so the soldiers stopped advancing, gaping at them for a long moment. “Jump when I tell you,” Arcada said out of the corner of her mouth to Seneca. “Take a deep breath before we drop through the hole.” The young woman’s eyes widened but she nodded imperceptibly. The ranks of the guards parted as a commanding officer began to step forward. “Now!” Arcada cried. Both women stepped backward off the lip, dropping into the flowing aqueduct with separate splashes as the soldiers stared, dumbstruck. “Take a breath!” Arcada reminded Seneca, as they were quickly sucked under the earth with the rushing water, into an inky blackness.

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CHAPTER 19 Return to Pyrme At first the aqueduct was terrifying, the water a smothering blanket of darkness cutting off all light, sound and breath. Arcada could tell they were losing elevation as the tunnel banked slightly and then steepened, flowing downward, the walls thankfully smooth but the water filling the chute to capacity, no air to be had. Abruptly Arcada’s stomach felt as if it had dropped out of her body as the tunnel took a sudden plunge, descending almost in freefall. It widened as it pitched down, finally admitting air into the tube and Arcada sucked in lungfuls of oxygen as she plummeted, gasping at the falling sensation. Seneca had been forced into the aqueduct ahead of her and Arcada glimpsed the top of the woman’s dark hair below her as they both hurtled downward. Just as Arcada thought she might be sick, the angle eased and the tunnel lurched to the side, continuing its maddening twisting descent, making its way quickly to the waiting pool beneath the falls They had dropped so far, so fast, that Arcada was relieved that her instincts had been correct – that they were not going to plunge over the top of the waterfall but somewhere beneath it. Hopefully not very high above the pool. The chute gave another sudden lurching dip and Arcada heard Seneca screech with fright. The tunnel was perpetually wider now and both women could breathe, although their breath was often stolen from them, ripped from their lungs by countless sickening drops and rolls. Occasionally, they caught glimpses of light as long shafts broke through from the surface to the underground passage. At one point, they found themselves slowing as the rushing stream became an underground river, joined by other jets of water, their bodies no longer in contact with the smooth rock. The water was warm, not uncomfortable, as they halffloated, half-swam in the fast current through an enormous open cavern filled with stalactites, indirect sunlight bathing the chamber in soft yellow-greens. They floated by a large, gently rounded area of rock. “Should we climb out?” called Seneca over her shoulder. “No,” Arcada called back. They were both in relatively good shape and there was no reason to rest. And no way out but down. “We need to get out of the cliffs and into the pool.” Seneca didn’t respond as she swept by the flat area, the river emptying into a series of tunnels bored into the rock ahead, a labyrinth of chutes. “Which way?” Seneca shouted in a panic. “Take the largest one!” Arcada called to Seneca. “Always choose the largest if you can!” The last thing she wanted was to have the woman she was trying to save become lodged deep in a small crevice, the water able to rush past, but her body wedged against rock as if caught in a sieve. She breathed a sigh of relief as Seneca swam strongly for the largest, 116

center passage and disappeared, swinging her feet forward at the last second. Then Arcada was swept into the same tunnel and there was another, longer, even more sickening drop, Seneca emitting the highest-pitched scream Arcada had ever heard, as they seemed to hang in space, waiting to be caught by the water again. They entered a section where the water which had carved the tunnels seemed as if it couldn’t make up its mind which way to go, the chutes twisting, coiling, even doubling back on themselves, the stomach-turning spinning almost worse than the drops. Then came a full corkscrew where they both found themselves spiraling again and again in a steep, tight circle, the bottom finally dropping out from underneath them as they splashed deeply into a dark pool, their stomachs sick. There was now a loud roaring where before the tunnels had been relatively quiet. They were gently being swept forward toward the almost deafening noise. Arcada realized they must be very near the waterfall. She desperately hoped they weren’t too high above the pool. She could make out Seneca in shades of blue using her natural vision in the darkness. Seneca was flailing, looking about her almost wildly, before Arcada realized that the blackness and the clamor of the falls must be overwhelming for her. “Over here!” Arcada called and watched Seneca begin swimming toward the sound of her voice. She kept calling and swam herself to meet the woman, finally connecting with her. They held on to each other. “What’s going on? Where are we?” Seneca was shivering with fear as she treaded water next to Arcada. “We’re behind the waterfall,” Arcada shouted over the noise. “There are several tunnels ahead. We need to pick one. It will drop us into the pool behind the falls.” Seneca didn’t say anything as she looked toward the sound of the falls, trying to make out the openings in the dark. “I can see the tunnels, Seneca,” Arcada said reassuringly. “I’ll guide you to the best one.” Arcada assessed the woman. Seneca was calmer than Arcada thought she would be under the intense pressure, although clearly afraid. “We’re going to be fine. Here’s what I need you to do.” They were being drawn toward the tunnels and Arcada swam backwards, pulling Seneca gently with her so they did not fall through prematurely. “I don’t know how high we are on the cliff face,” Arcada said loudly. “When you exit the tunnel take a deep breath before you hit the water. Don’t thrash or flail – and keep your feet pointed down. The pool is relatively calm behind the falls. I don’t think there are many rocks. As soon as you hit the water, start swimming upward as hard as you can. Meet me where the vegetation begins at the entrance to the pool. If you can, pull yourself into the brush so you won’t be spotted from above. There may be archers on the cliffs who would sooner kill you than recapture you.”

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Arcada squeezed Seneca’s hand. “Are you ready?” Seneca nodded in the dark. “I’m ready,” she said bravely. “We can do this,” Arcada said convincingly. “Hold onto my hand and swim with me. I’ll let you know when we reach the tunnel. I’m going through a different one so I don’t end up on top of you.” “All right,” Seneca mumbled, her eyes fixed to the apertures she could not see in the dark. They didn’t need to swim much once they began to let themselves drift with the current toward the small holes draining the black lake. Arcada hit the slick rock hard with her side and caught hold of Seneca’s shoulders, hauling the young woman around while bracing herself with her feet, forcing Seneca onto her back until she was able to place her legs forward ahead of her. “I’m going to let you go. I’ll see you at the bottom. Remember – take a breath, fall straight and swim upward. You can do it.” Arcada squeezed Seneca’s shoulders reassuringly and then released her, watching the current drag her into the tunnel and hearing her screams somewhere in the depths of the cliffs. Then Arcada pulled herself to the next tunnel over, positioned herself feet first and let go. The last short section of tunnel was the most terrifying with several sickly turns in quick succession, one large stomach-clenching drop, a final twist and then Arcada was out in the air, catching a glimpse of overwhelming whiteness, a thunderous roar and then true freefall as she looked down and hit the water almost instantly. She submerged, opening her eyes as she sank like a stone. It was blue and surprisingly clear underneath the small lake. The water was quiet and deep and she could see the bottom far below. The pool was calm except where the tremendous deluge pounded it relentlessly, shattering the tranquil surface above her. Arcada immediately swam strongly upward breaking the surface and taking a deep breath. She glanced back at the cliff walls. They were dotted by various dark openings, small streams of water pouring out as if the entire wall was a strainer, some holes only a few feet above the pool, others fifty feet or higher. She had been right – in a way – about there being access behind the waterfall. She forced her head up higher out of the water and scanned the surface of the pool, sighing with relief as she saw Seneca’s dark head making her way around the edge. Arcada swam quickly to join her. ***** Arcada pulled the large horse to a stop on the small rise before the City of Pyrme. She felt Seneca’s arms tighten reflexively around her waist.

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“Are you sure the Prince will still want to marry me?” Seneca asked trembling. The impact of what she had done with Seraph was now hitting her full force. She was no longer a virgin. Arcada looked across the expanse at the huge city below, the prominent colosseum clearly outlined in the gathering light. “Yes, Zacrius will still want to marry you,” Arcada replied. Zacrius would know Seneca was not innocent from the first stroke. Arcada personally thought Zacrius would know as soon as he met the woman. Seneca projected a sexual confidence that only a woman with experience – good experience – could exude. Arcada had asked delicately whether Seneca planned to tell Zacrius that Seraph had taken her by force. Seneca had vehemently denied that she would ever claim such a thing, refusing to even consider making it up as a story. Arcada was secretly relieved. Although it would absolve Seneca from all responsibility, it would likely have ignited a war. The situation still might. “Seneca, I think the scenario we discussed about your ‘virtue’ is probably best,” Arcada said, watching the sunrise play across the horizon. There was only one sun here but it dawned in shades of pink, orange and gold. She never tired of watching the rises and sets of suns, moons, and planets in different parts of the galaxy. They were all enchanting. Arcada felt Seneca nodding into her back. She had moved her sword to her waist so that they could ride together more easily. “I’ll tell the Prince I wasn’t a virgin when I went to Seraph. That I was raped as a young girl and I never recognized who it was or told anyone about it. I’ll tell him Seraph never touched me and treated me like a Queen. That much is true anyway.” “Just remember to call him King Seraph and not just Seraph, Seneca. You sound much too familiar with him.” Seneca giggled at the truth of this statement. “You’re right. I’ll remember.” Arcada moved the horse forward at a fast walk. She was sensitive to Seneca’s nervousness, but it was all she could do not to fly in at a gallop, throw Seneca at Zacrius feet and lift off for Ecryon with Terenth. Finally, a release from the game. And she wouldn’t have to wait out the long trip alone in stasis. Terenth was here, she thought, her heart pounding with anticipation. ***** “A toast!” declared Zacrius, a little drunkenly, standing up before the crowds of people gathered in the public courtyard of his palace, partaking freely of his generosity of food and drink in the fading evening light. “Hear, hear!” came answering cries.

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“A toast to a brave warrior! Arcada of Ecryon! She who fought and killed four lions and rescued our kingdom’s most precious gift. My future bride, the lovely Princess Seneca!” He had his arm draped possessively around Seneca who was dressed in a beautiful blue gown, looking all the part of Princess of Pyrme. She leaned into Zacrius, smiling coquettishly. Arcada wouldn’t be surprised if Seneca shared her little secret with Zacrius before the wedding night and allowed him to engage her. Seneca exuded sensuality and Zacrius seemed to be quite taken with her. Seraph had really done Zacrius quite a favor. Seneca raised a glass in Arcada’s direction. “Arcada of Ecryon acted bravely to rescue me, although I was not mistreated in any way by King Seraph,” she said firmly. Seneca couldn’t help adding this last part even as Zacrius frowned slightly at her. “Arcada is an amazing woman and warrior and our two kingdoms honor her tonight.” Seneca’s voice carried strongly in a very commanding and noble way. Already it was obvious she would rule well at Zacrius’ side. Arcada had reluctantly stayed for the feast that had been quickly arranged to honor her and celebrate Seneca’s safe return. Both Zacrius and Seneca had insisted even though it was obvious Arcada was desperate to return home, wherever that was for the woman. Now Arcada felt it hadn’t really mattered that she had agreed to stay because she hadn’t seen Terenth or Jaxx anywhere and had no idea how to find them. She suddenly realized that all eyes in the courtyard were upon her. Arcada raised her opaque blue goblet, filled with water rather than wine, high in the air. “To your future King and Queen,” she offered. “May their rule be both peaceful and prosperous.” Shouts of approval met Arcada’s response to the toast and several patrons broke out in song, the band of minstrels picking up the tune as the guests resumed their unbridled indulgence in food and drink, especially drink. Arcada was wondering how much longer she would have to remain at the feast when she caught sight of someone across the courtyard dressed similarly to those in attendance wearing a traditional armored tunic and boots in the style of a soldier. His deep indigo eyes met hers and she felt the blood instantly drain from her, her legs turning flimsy, weak, almost unable to support her. The entire crowd faded into the background as the man walked slowly, sensuously, purposefully toward her, his movements strong and deliberate, an aura of danger and possessiveness in his attitude. Her mouth parted and her lips worked as she tried to swallow, frozen to the spot, her heart starting to pound, feeling as if she were in some sensate dream in which there were only two people. Finally Terenth stood before her, his eyes darkening as he reached up and drew the back of his hand slowly down her cheek, Arcada shuddering at his touch as he lightly grazed her skin.

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“You look the part, slave” he said admiringly, letting his eyes wash over the long, flowing cream-colored gown, Seneca had convinced Arcada to wear. “Almost as if you were made for Earth.” Arcada could not respond, she was so turned on just by his presence, staring up at him, her eyes falling to his mouth before flicking back up to his eyes, brimming with desire for her. He looked at her intently for what seemed like an eternity, her body aflame with anticipation and then stepped into her. She gasped as his body touched hers, an instant combustion, fire racing through her body, the heat passing between them almost unbearable. He studied her, a smile forming on his lips and then leaned down and kissed her lightly, but demandingly, before pulling back. Arcada thought she would burst apart at his gentle touch, the feel of his lips hot on hers, as if her mouth had been singed, flames crackling through her body. He touched his fingers to the translucent collar around her throat. “Still there,” he said, his voice silk over iron. “Forever,” she responded softly. He dropped his head to her neck, snaking his tongue over and around her collar as she gasped at the electric shocks coursing through her body. He pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat and then kissed up to her jawline, leaving a trail of liquid fire across her skin as she panted, heating up, pressing herself against him. “Terenth,” she whimpered brokenly, feeling the outline of his cock straining against her belly, not wanting to wait. “Please,” she said. She held onto his arms, thinking that if they didn’t get back to the ship, she was going to beg Terenth to fuck her across the tables of food in front of all of Zacrius’ guests, her Master’s displeasure be damned. He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes burning with lust and something deeper she could not identify. “My beautiful little pixus,” he said, running his hands over her shoulders as she caught her breath, her eyes half-lidded, leaning into him. “All right, let’s go,” he whispered as Arcada sighed audibly with relief. “Jaxx is here somewhere,” he said looking over her head, his eyes scanning the crowd. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her down the main walkway. Seneca watched the two of them leave but said nothing, even knowing it might be the last time she ever saw Arcada. Arcada had sacrificed enough for her and her husband-to-be. Seneca turned back to the magistrate addressing her, smiled brightly and continued to make small talk. Terenth and Arcada exited the courtyard silently, heading for the outer gates of the city where Omega waited, cloaked and invisible. As they turned down the wide, vegetated causeway leading out of the palace, they heard strained grunts and whispers punctuated by several high-pitched noises. Arcada’s hand went instinctively to the knife strapped to the belt on her thigh. Terenth, who retained Ecryon powers and needed no earthly 121

weapon, went on point but continued walking calmly. The sounds were ahead of them in a rather thick area of plants and bushes. As they passed, they glimpsed movement against the far wall, mostly obscured by the foliage. Curious, Terenth and Arcada stepped off the main path moving silently closer, Arcada’s mouth falling open as they came upon the source of the commotion. “Jaxx?” she couldn’t help herself asking. Jaxx didn’t respond, his body arching up and forward into the woman he had pinned up against the wall, her dark blonde hair falling over her features, her white dress bunched at her hips with a sword still hanging from her waist, making little mewling sounds of delight as she tried to keep quiet. “Tryphene!” Arcada exclaimed, stunned, recognition washing over her. Tryphene opened her glazed gold eyes at Arcada’s address, but said nothing as Jaxx refused to slow his possession of her body, pistoning into her strenuously, briefly pausing to wind his hips in a big circle, causing Tryphene to bite her lip and cry out softly. Then, he pulled his hips back and continued diving into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, her body sliding up and down in ecstasy. Her hands were wrapped tightly in Jaxx’s wavy hair, her fingers curling and uncurling with pleasure. “Jaxx, Arcada and I need to get into Omega,” Terenth said casually. “She’ll . . . recognize . . . you,” Jaxx said breathlessly as he continued to lay into the beauty in his arms, more absorbed than Terenth had ever seen him. Terenth continued to stare at him, watching the two go at it, both fully immersed, jerking, jouncing and lost to everything but each other. “We can just go in then?” Getting no response, he said, “Ok, we’ll just go.” “Come,” he said softly to Arcada. “But –” “Leave them,” Terenth said reprovingly. “Yeah. You can . . . just . . . go in,” Jaxx grunted belatedly as they walked away.

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CHAPTER 20 Reclamation Terenth and Arcada found Omega at the edge of the city, her lights rippling a soft green in welcome and extinguishing after they noticed her. As soon as they stepped through the gel of the ship’s hull, Terenth pulled Arcada against him, kissing her passionately, his hands roaming hungrily over her body, leaving her breathless with his ardor. “You’re done,” he said, his lips hungrily claiming hers. “The Earth game is over. “You’re mine now,” he breathed into her mouth, plundering it again, drowning her with his need as she gasped at the intensity and fire in his kiss. Arcada didn’t know what to think. She was always his. Usually when she returned from a game Terenth was deathly serious, lecturing and demanding to know whether she had learned her lesson, rather than reaffirming his affection for her. This time he had sent her to Earth because she wouldn’t marry him. Did he think she had changed her mind? Terenth lifted her in his arms, pushed her dress up to her hips and entered her immediately in a long, delicious slide while she was still in the air, Arcada crying out as he climbed the stairs, thrusting into her as he walked around the main deck. Arcada wrapped her arms and legs around him, his huge gold pole overfilling her, each plunge more ravishing than the last, her eyes instantly hot with passion, glowing emerald with excitement. “I intended to head to my quarters, but I have a sudden urge to break in the pilot’s seat,” Terenth growled. “I’m sure Jaxx has already broken it in. Many times,” Arcada smiled as he continued to drive into her, stirring the flames in belly, heat rolling through her. He thought for a minute as he continued to partake of her sweet body. “You’re right. Let’s do the co-pilot’s seat. It’ll be a first.” “It’s not a first,” she reminded him softly. “You fucked me here, in Omega, when we were nineteen.” Terenth looked at her intensely in his arms, his black eyes smoldering, glittering like dark pearls in the low light on the main deck. He remembered. And now it was ten years later and he was still just as in love with her as he was then. Shit, did he just think that? He suddenly shook his head, as if trying to force something away which disturbed him. He pulled out of Arcada and threw her down on the seat, glancing out through Omega’s transparent hull at the lights of the city. He wondered if he would be able to tell when Jaxx approached. Well, he didn’t care if Jaxx sat in the pilot’s seat watching them. They had fucked in front of Jaxx before.

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He looked down at Arcada, writhing on the chair, her body pulsating with need, missing his intrusion, her eyes luminescent in Omega’s soft light. Her long dress, while alluring had slipped down and covered most of her body. That body belonged to him. “Hmm, that will never do,” he said musingly, climbing between her legs, forcing them apart and then sliding his hand under her dress, up her smooth leg until he felt the sheath around her thigh. He removed the small knife and turned it over in his hands as she watched him, silent, holding her breath, her heart pounding intensely. Terenth smiled wickedly. First, he slit the sheath and flung it away. Then he took the blade and brought it to the dress stretched over Arcada’s thighs and sliced the fabric with an audible rip until he came to her core. He laid the flat blade of the knife against her soft triangle of blonde hair. Arcada moaned with the feel of the cold metal against her hot skin, still impatient for him. He stared at her, his eyes dark and hungry as he turned the blade and slit the rest of the fabric in one long stroke up to her breasts. He tore the dress from under her and tossed it aside. She wore nothing under it. His black eyes drifted appreciatively over her body as drew the blade carefully over her collarbone, running the flat part over her throat sensually several times and then brought the point under her chin, applying pressure and indenting the flesh. Arcada gasped, her eyes wide, throwing her head against the chair, pressing it back as far as she could, her mind subsumed by Terenth, her body a hot, writhing mass of need but not daring to move even a small amount in any direction. Terenth studied her, savoring her response, relishing her labored breathing, approval clearly evident on his face at her submission. “Such a good girl, Arcada,” he said as she purred under him, still unmoving. “But not this game tonight.” He released the pressure from her flesh and threw the knife across the floor of the ship, not watching where it landed. “Spread your legs,” he said to her darkly. She did, a thick gush of wetness sliding from her as she looked up at Terenth with heated eyes. “Lower your knees over the side of the chair.” Arcada shuddered at his commands. His voice was so dark and sexy and so demanding. She slid her calves over the edge, her soft, pink orifice exposed and ready for him. “Lean back and raise your hands next to your head.” Arcada’s eyes were clouded with lust as she complied, her body arching slightly, longing for him to enter her again. “Omega?” “Yes, Terenth?”

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“Activate the straps on the co-pilot’s chair.” “Right away, Terenth.” The wide gel straps suddenly flew from the sides of the chair, locking Arcada in place, binding her legs wide open and restraining her hands and arms. Terenth stood up and slowly removed the armor and leather from his torso. He pulled the leather skirt from his waist and tossed it aside, his golden cock leaping to attention, thick, straining and erect, a curling black nest surrounding it, a soft trail of dark hair leading up and dusting his abdomen. She looked longingly at his lean, powerful body, every muscle outlined by his arousal. Terenth straddled the chair again, his eyes dark and lust-filled. “I have unfinished business with you, slave,” he said, his eyes searching hers. He leaned forward and gave her a brutal kiss as she cried out with pleasure into his mouth, her body begging for his touch, her lips craving his, her eyes pleading for him. He positioned the thick golden head of his shaft at her entrance. “Is this what you want?” he asked, his expression harsh. “Yes,” she pleaded. “Yes, what?” he admonished as he pulled back, his eyes harder than iron. “Yes, Master,” she whispered, her pussy throbbing, tightening, lust driving through her body as his gaze stoked the flames of her desire. She closed her eyes fully, hoping she had not displeased him too much. They had both been acting uncharacteristically and neither could verbalize why. Terenth let her infraction pass, drawing back his hips and diving into her welcoming portal, her warmth enveloping him, losing himself to pleasure, as the friction from her narrow sheath gripped him over and over. Arcada cried out with passion, her eyes fluttering open as he tore into her body, grinding into her with his turbulent stroke. She felt every ridge of his thick, throbbing organ throttling into her, relieved to finally be with Terenth, the man she adored, the master she needed, finally safe from the game, but some of her aggravation with being sent to Earth flitting unknowingly across her features. “So you’re angry with me, little one?” he asked as he saw frustration reflected in her eyes. “Yes,” Arcada whispered, struggling a little against the straps. Terenth gave her a series of particularly savage strokes as she bucked and cried out. “No!” she amended.

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He changed angles, using his hungry, bestial rod of velvet-draped iron to make his point. Her mouth went slack, strangled noises escaping her throat. “You know why I sent you here!” “Yes,” she answered brokenly, her body breaking apart under his vindictive hunger. “Tonight, we are going to resolve it. I promise you that,” he hissed, continuing his relentless, vengeful, penetration, sending her senses whirling. Arcada tried to verbalize her bliss, but it came out jumbled and incoherent, a lust-driven rant, babbling things that sounded to Terenth as if she was answering favorably, but his mouth tightened as he knew she was not. He lowered the chair manually until it flattened and then even further until Arcada was tilted slightly upside down as he fell over her, his hips rolling, scouring her inner walls, taking her nipples in his mouth and working them with his tongue and teeth as he ravished her body, his hunger unappeasable, his desire unslakable, claiming his territory, staking his claim to her, trying to fracture her resistance. She writhed and screamed, tortured to her limits. “Please,” she gasped, her eyes wet with passion and need. “No,” he said, his eyes dark, ruthlessly using her, unsympathetic to her pleas. “Not yet.” She used her inner muscles to massage him, trying to coax him to allow her climax. “Stop it,” he hissed, his lust-filled charcoal-violet eyes washing over her. “You’ll pay for that later, I assure you.” His voice was truly angry. Molten lava washed over her, a living, breathing, roaring life force, the pressure impossibly great, the stimulation overwhelming, as Arcada stilled her need to come, darkness stealing over her, her vision graying out, beginning to float somewhere in between worlds, a place she could reach only with Terenth and a place from which only Terenth could retrieve her. “Now,” Terenth whispered harshly, dragging her out of her space. Arcada threw her head forward and then it snapped back, her body straining against the straps so hard they would have left marks had they not been made of Omega’s soft gel, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, screaming soundlessly with her climax. Terenth slowed his strokes as he watched her, mesmerized. She was completely lost. He could come with her and recover instantly, but instead savored the feel of her tight tunnel suddenly clamping down powerfully, her pussy throbbing and rippling over his shaft, forceful vibrations coursing around his cock. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations, feeling suddenly that he needed more. “Release the straps,” Terenth ordered Omega. The gel softened and retracted, Arcada oblivious. He picked her up in his arms and laid her on her back on the floor of the ship. She looked up at him in surprise, almost wondering how she ended up there, her eyes glowing, her body still undulating slightly.

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“Roll over on your hands, slave. We’re retiring to my quarters. You know how we’re going to walk back there.” Arcada obediently turned over, rising to her hands and knees, waiting for Terenth. He hefted most of her body into the air, holding onto her legs, leaving her weight supported by her hands and entered her. “Now move,” he ordered, as Arcada walked forward on her hands like a cart, Terenth guiding her to their rooms, pistoning into her across the main floor, down the hallway and into the co-pilot’s room. “Lights,” he said to Omega and their room was instantly turned into a pulsing aurora of colors, dark with intricate starbursts, neon swirls of incandescence and psychedelic intrigue. Terenth reached down and grabbed two large handfuls of breasts, raising Arcada’s upper body, rotating with her, and letting her fall to her stomach on the bed. “Up. In the bitch position, Arcada.” She scrambled quickly to her hands and knees again as he climbed on the bed and leaned over her. He intended to take her all night, over and over again, and told her so, but they needed to talk before Jaxx returned, before they lifted off. He slipped slowly into her, so deliciously that she purred and arched her back like a cat. Terenth began to stroke her in prolonged slides, softly filling thrusts, gentle breaches in comparison to his former viciousness. She whimpered, wanting more and he stopped completely. “We will discuss our marriage before we leave Earth. You will give me the answer I want to hear,” he said, growling in her ear, “or you will wish desperately you were free of me.” He began to drive brutally into her and this time his stroke was unrestrained, Arcada wishing she could check him, seeing stars as he rammed her with more power than she had anticipated. She collapsed to the bed and he dragged her shoulders back up. “No you don’t, little one. You’ll take all of me.” Arcada was inflamed by passion, his complete domination, his desire for her, feeling completely powerless, but yet powerful as she took pain for his pleasure and for her own. And then her voice turned hoarse, her cries weakening, losing the feel of her body, her senses staggering under his power, her breathing shallow and hitching, caught under his thrashing, until Arcada drifted again somewhere outside of herself, blissfully lost to oblivion. Terenth was intoxicated by Arcada, her hot, sweet, gates welcoming his siege, accepting his assault with a sweet wet pleasure as he partook of her orifice over and over, wanting her more than he had wanted anything in his life. He felt pressure building, like a dam holding back a waterfall of tremendous proportions which shattered under the strain and he released with a blistering urgency, ordering Arcada to come with him, his command breaking through to the distant space in which she floated. Both felt as though they had been sucked into a vortex, as they clung to each other, their bodies and minds merging, feeling as if they were being sucked into and tossed out of a warp in space, pulsing with 127

never-ending pleasure, until finally they drifted together, coming to rest in Omega’s lustrous, welcoming walls. He collapsed behind her, pulling her down with him, his hand tracing her glistening skin, erotically oiled from their exertion. “Turn over,” he said softly. Exhausted, Arcada twisted over to face Terenth, her hair plastered to her temples, her eyes still unfocused, barely registering the beautiful display of color behind him. She looked into his eyes, intense violet again. “The Earth game is over, Arcada. I’m going to restore your powers of stamina.” She nodded gratefully as he leaned over her and opened a drawer next to the bed. He retrieved a small gel pod, closed the drawer and turned back to face her. She tilted her head back, giving him better access to her collar and he pressed the casing to the band, watching it absorb. Arcada felt immediately better, refreshed, not sore from his possession, her voice restored, hardly tired. “Better?” he asked. “Much,” she agreed, wriggling up to him. “Thank you.” “And one more thing.” She looked up at him quizzically and he traced her collar until it glowed a soft orange, no longer transparent, visible once more. She felt the slight increase in heat at her skin as the color changed and settled back, happily.

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CHAPTER 21 An Answer Terenth stroked Arcada’s back absently, knowing there was more, much more, he needed to do besides fuck the voice from his slave. He looked down at Arcada, her body glowing, her hair a beautiful, wild tangle, stretched next to him on the firm bed. “It’s time, Arcada. We need to talk.” She looked up. His eyes were hard as diamonds, unsmiling and humorless. “Terenth –” “Shhh. Let me start.” She fell silent, waiting for him. “I’m going to explain to you why I came to Earth, why Jaxx and I manipped here.” He removed his hand from her back and met her eyes. She held her breath at the intensity in them. “Arcada, my beautiful slave, my most precious possession, I asked you to marry me long before I sent you to Earth.” She nodded subconsciously, her hands gathered at her breasts. Terenth reached down and traced the top of one hand, entwining his fingers over hers, deciding to simply state it. “Quintus has decreed that I am to marry a girl named Lalia, from Soyos, a planetary system of great influence.” He hesitated. “The courtship is to occur three weeks from now and the marriage soon after.” Arcada said nothing, watching his fingers moving over hers. He removed his hand and brought his finger to her chin, lifting it gently so that she was forced to look at him. “Speak freely to me. I command it.” She bit her lip and looked away, finally returning to his black eyes, their emotion inscrutable. She took a breath, hoping that her words reflected how she really felt, but knowing in her heart they did not. “It’s all right, Terenth. I always knew you would marry someday. It’s your duty as heir to the Ecryon system. As a slave, I have no right to question this or who you would choose as your wife.” She had long known that Terenth would marry and that it would not and could not be her, no matter how much he might want it to be so. Terenth might be master over her, but he did not control everything. “You know that my desire to marry you has nothing to do with Lalia. I didn’t know of my father’s plans until after I sent you,” he said shortly. She shifted slightly, bringing one hand under her cheek so that she could see him better. “I do know that, Terenth. And I believe you’re not trying to marry me to get out of wedding this girl. But you must marry for political gain on Ecryon. For alliances. Not for love.” Like here on Earth, she thought. “I know Ecryons have occasionally married their slaves, but never a sovereign. You . . . you should marry this Lalia. I just . . . just don’t understand why you want to marry me. It doesn’t make any sense,” she said, shaking her head slightly. 129

“If you marry me before we return, Arcada, my father cannot force me to wed Lalia.” Arcada inhaled sharply. “So, that’s why you came back to Earth. To thwart your father?” “Yes. No!” Terenth groaned with exasperation, rolling to his back. He looked up at the ceiling, still opaque depicting galactic splendor. “A man can’t have two wives – at least not on Ecryon. Quintus can’t force me to marry Lalia if I’m already married to you so yes, it would thwart him.” He turned back to look at her, his expression pained, hostile almost. “But Arcada – I want to marry you. Why will you not you have me?” Arcada clearly caught the anger in his question, an undercurrent of violence in his tone. She reached up to touch his face and he pulled away from her, his expression hard and unreadable. She cringed at his retraction. “Terenth, you are my Master, my owner, my protector, my life. Your torments are sweet, your vengeance what I deserve, your possession what I crave. I belong to you with all of my body, mind and soul. Were you to cast me away, I could never draw another breath. We’re both content with what we have, what we are. But I . . . can’t . . . marry you. It just wouldn’t be right.” He raised up on one elbow. “Why? Why not?” he snarled, truly furious now. “I’m not content with what I have,” he said viciously. “What is the real reason, Arcada?” He took her by the shoulders, having the urge to shake her violently until her teeth chattered in her head, but instead clutching her desperately as if she was going to fly away. “I demand you tell me. You must tell me why,” he insisted, his eyes burning with anger. She closed her eyes, trying to resist telling him the truth. She knew he couldn’t force her to marry him, but if she defied him now and refused to give him a reason after he had directly ordered her to, no amount of punishment could make up for her disobedience, her utter disregard for his ownership of her. She might as well walk away from him. She would sooner be disembodied by four starving lions. “Fine,” she cried. “You want to know the reason? You won’t understand. You’ll find it silly. A stupid, silly reason from an Ecryon standpoint. But if you want to know Terenth, I’ll tell you.” Tears streamed down her face silently, sliding into the hair at her temples. “I was sold to you, taken by you, bound to you. It was supposed to be against my very nature to submit to you. But I do. I can’t help it. There’s nothing else I’d rather do, no one else in the galaxy I’d rather be with. I’d die without you, Terenth. But I’m a Balinthian. Very different from most Balinthians, yes, but I can’t escape everything about my nature. Balinthians only marry for love, Terenth. You . . . you’re an Ecryon through and through. Yes, you also have your differences. After you bought me, you never took another slave. And I know you own me, possess me, teach me . . . even care about me. But you . . . you don’t love me.” She rolled away from him, looking across the small chamber, anguished by her disclosure. “Look at me, Arcada. Now.”

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She was conditioned to do as he commanded and reluctantly turned back to face him. She raised her eyes to his. They were an unfathomable shade of deep purple she had never before seen. He looked at her for a long moment, his chest tightening terribly, feeling as if he were constricted by slave gel bands, wrapping around his torso and squeezing up toward his windpipe. He was born and bred an Ecryon, the relationship between Ecryon males and their female slaves as much a part of his conditioning as it was of his blood. Yet for Arcada . . . for her alone . . . he too would rather die than continue without her. “Arcada, I . . . I . . . do . . . .” he began, and then broke off, unable to continue. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I . . . I . . . .” He stopped, his face contorting horribly, the muscles in his neck standing out, darkening with effort. He was breathing heavily, gritting his teeth, trying to start again when suddenly Arcada was seized with the reality of what she thought he was trying to tell her. Where before she had seen callousness, she now saw a raw vulnerability that could not be masked by Ecryon conditioning. And suddenly Arcada knew – why Terenth had really come to Earth. By manipulation even. And it wasn’t to play games. She brought her fingers to his lips, her eyes wondrous. “You . . . you love me Terenth? Is that what you’re trying to say? Is that how you feel about me?” Terenth swallowed hard, it being almost as difficult to answer in the affirmative as it was to actually say that he loved her, but relief suddenly washed over him at the thought that he might not have to speak the words. He knew what the truthful answer to her question was. If he didn’t give it to her, Arcada would never, ever agree to marry him. His body trembled, every muscle, his very genes vibrating against his concession. “Yes,” Terenth finally said quietly, the admission feeling as if it had been ripped painfully from his body, his cells twisted and torn, a great rupture in his innate composition. Arcada felt exhilaration and peace sweep through her. Terenth had not spoken the actual words, but she realized this was close as Terenth could possibly get as an Ecryon right now. And it was enough. More than enough. She reached up and traced his temple, letting her fingers slide softly into his hair, watching his eyes shift between anxiety and hopefulness. “Terenth,” she said, devotion in her voice. “I won’t ask you to say the words. I believe you. I know you care deeply for me . . . even . . . love me, as difficult or impossible as it may be for you to ever say those actual words. But there is one more thing . . . .” Terenth stiffened, his eyes hardening again. “What,” he said tensely. She searched his eyes. “Terenth, my Master, my owner, you must know this – that I also love you. I’ve never told you, fearful of your reaction. It is not in your nature to accept the love of a slave even if freely given. But . . . I can’t marry you unless you agree to accept my love.” She held her breath, unsure of how he would react to her bold statement and her ultimatum. Arcada at least needed to hear that he accepted her 131

feelings. She sympathized with his difficulty, but marriage, especially under their circumstances, would be a constant trial for both of them. It had happened occasionally, but never with royalty. There would be far-reaching repercussions in their world. He relaxed with relief at this and bent to her lips and kissed them gently and then fiercely, drowning her in momentary passion before he pulled back, his eyes pulsing between blue and violet now. He smirked. She had told him that she loved him many times, just in the throes of passion, pronouncements she obviously didn’t remember. Terenth held her gaze, his nostrils flaring and said, “I accept your love, Arcada of Ecryon, my slave,” his voice gravelly but steady. She opened her mouth to say something more, but he kissed her soundly, silencing her. His kiss wasn’t harsh, but soft, sensuous, his lips warm as she felt liquid honey rolling over her, stirring feelings inside her. He pulled away and she looked at him. He could take her breath away, but . . . . she had one more question. “If we married, Terenth, would what we have together change? Would you change?” He was encouraged now. She was asking specific questions. She would agree to marry him. “Yes, I think things would change, Arcada,” Terenth said honestly. Her eyes fell, clearly disappointed. “But if you’re thinking about this,” he said, running his fingers over her collar and then wrapping his fingers in her hair and tightening them, “some things will never, ever change.” A sense of relief washed over Arcada. She needed and wanted Terenth’s continued possession, his dominance, she couldn’t lose that if she agreed to marry him. She knew some things would change. She just didn’t want one of those things to be his inherent nature. Or hers. She melted into him and he gathered her in his arms, holding her possessively, kissing the top of her hair, soothing her, running his hand wondrously over her back, still unable to believe that this precious creature had actually agreed to marry him. Wait, had she? He pulled back from her suddenly. “Arcada,” he said, searching her liquid green eyes that burned for him alone, “have you agreed to marry me? Will you add to your bond to me as slave by becoming my wife?” A hint of a smile played over Arcada’s lips. “There is a difference in Ecryon between slave and wife. But some things are the same.” “Yes,” he agreed, thinking of the demands he was entitled to make of her body and the absolute submission he would still require of her, “there are similarities. Good ones though,” he said, a bit of heat in his eyes.

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Then he sobered. “Enough,” he said harshly. “Enough wordplay. Will you? Will you marry me, Arcada?” He took her by the shoulders and shook her a little. There was a darkness to his question, a hint of impatience, a need for an answer. She looked into his eyes, quivering somewhat, and said, “Yes, I will marry you Terenth, heir to the Ecryon system.” He suddenly thrust into her again, a thick, deep stroke she had not anticipated, catching her unaware, the sudden bliss shooting like a stream of fire from her thighs up through her body and out her limbs, her body combusting as he pumped into her, merging, connecting, heat, passion and even love driving them as they melded, closer to each other than they had ever been, both of them drowning in the other’s hunger, drawing quickly to climax. Terenth felt her imminent release and looked at Arcada, shaking his head darkly. Her head spun, but more with his continued control over her than the denial of her release. As she looked into his eyes and saw the uncompromising look in them, she knew she was still his and blissfully subject to his power over her. She fought the need back. “My wife – almost –,” he whispered, still plowing into her, “come for me, now, I order it.” Arcada’s mind was instantly obscured by ecstasy, as she burst through the walls of the ship, Terenth with her, both pulsing and flowing with the nebulae, spinning with the stars, falling like entwined comets, burning, pulsing, flaring, a bright brilliant flame, fading slowly to a soft glow as they drifted through the vacuum of space, resting for a moment against Omega’s thick walls and then sinking into themselves where they became reluctantly aware again of their separateness which only served to drive them closer into each other’s arms, still connected by flesh as Terenth softly deflated inside Arcada’s cushioning warmth. Terenth held Arcada for several minutes, his eyes closed and breathing relaxing, listening to their racing hearts slow and beat in soft counterpoint to each other, until he abruptly became aware of Arcada tensing against him. He opened his eyes and saw her green eyes, alarmed, troubled. “What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing a damp strand of light hair from her temple. Indeed, what could possibly be wrong in the entire universe, he thought. “We . . . we can’t marry, Terenth,” she gasped. “WHAT?” he roared, pulling out of her and sitting up, the expression on his face terrible. She sat up next to him, trying to calm him. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you. I do, Terenth,” she said, quaking at the look in his eyes. “It’s just that . . . your kingdom . . . your father . . . he’ll have announced your upcoming marriage to the entire system or at least spread the word to the magistrates. We might have gotten away with it before – traveled to an outpost on one of the moons, perhaps. But no one will marry us now in the Ecryon system. Not legally.”

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His expression blackened. The woman who loved him . . . and who he loved, even if he could not bring himself to say it . . . had agreed to marry him. Nothing was going to stop this. But Arcada was right. His mind raced, trying to think of some way around it. “The system of Balurius is one week away. A slight detour will set your arrival back in Ecryon by only two days.” Arcada and Terenth both looked around, startled. Arcada clutched at the small sheet on the bed in the co-pilot’s quarters, drawing it up to cover her breasts in an unnecessary display of modesty. “Omega, are you spying on us?” she gasped. “I have not been instructed to spy on you,” she replied pleasantly. “But you . . . watch us? Listen to us?” she pressed. “I am a ship. I have no . . . prurient interest . . . as it is,” she purred. “But yes, I am aware of everything that goes on within my hull. It is how I protect you, as passengers.” “Do you share ‘everything’ that goes on in your hull with your pilot?” Terenth asked the air, irritably. There was a small pause and the lights in their room rippled. “No, Terenth. I do not.” “Reassuring,” he grumbled. “Omega,” Arcada said, still clutching the sheet to her chest, “tell us about Balurius.” “Certainly. The third planet in the Balurius system, Ornac, is a political and cultural center of the galaxy. The Ornacians are well-known for their diplomatic ties to nearly all systems and are much sought after for their mediation and negotiation skills. They place their societal values above all others, believing themselves to be the most refined and enlightened of all civilizations. They do not believe in the enslavement of males or females for either labor or sexual purposes. No such slavery has ever occurred in their entire history.” “Ornac,” said Terenth tiredly. “I’ve heard of it. They negotiated the treaty between Ecryon and Piscapo last century. My father was quite pleased and owes a great debt to them. An interesting history lesson, Omega, but what does it have to do with us?” he snapped. Arcada smiled up at Terenth and placed her hand on his cheek. He softened at her touch. “I’m sorry, Omega. Continue,” he said, looking into Arcada’s eyes. The things he wouldn’t do for this woman. He just apologized to a computer. 134

“No apologies necessary, Terenth,” Omega said pleasantly. “I have a thick hull.” She continued. “There is an ancient law in Ornac that allows the ruler to perform weddings for royalty and dignitaries of other planets. As long as one party meets this criterion there are no restrictions on the status of the other party. In fact, the Ornacians would cringe if such a matter was implied.” “So,” finished Arcada, her eyes brightening, “they would marry us and even take offense if we suggested there was some impediment given my legal status as slave?” “Precisely,” Omega said happily. “Did I ever tell you I’m glad Jaxx saved you from being a bucket of gel, Omega?” Terenth asked. Her lights pulsed. “Thank you for the compliment, Terenth,” she purred. ***** “So, you don’t have to ship back in stasis,” Jaxx said to Arcada from the pilot’s seat. Arcada took a relieved breath and nodded. She always had a splitting headache when she woke up from stasis. “We’re gonna send that automated bucket back on its own. We’ll all ride back in Omega. I’d take us back by manip – it’s so much quicker – but Terenth says he doesn’t want to go under on drugs again. I don’t know why – we’ve got enough on board to manip through the whole galaxy several times over.” “Did Terenth tell you about stopping by Ornac on the way back?” Arcada asked Jaxx. He looked at her. “No, but Omega mentioned it. Care to explain?” She told him what Omega had said about the Ornacians. “They can marry you legally,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “You and Tyree?” Jaxx shook his head. “Diviners, maybe we’re gonna have that rebellion now after all,” he muttered under his breath. He winked at her. “Well at least we can celebrate your engagement properly on the way back with all the drugs your fiancé brought on board.” Arcada smiled and turned to watch the lights of Pyrme wink out through the transparent hull as they rose to their launch point. Jaxx shook his head, talking more to himself. “It was the dice that was the best, Arcada. The most amazing experience I’ve ever had. I had such dreams. Dreams of . . . of her,” he said, his eyes half-glazed. The silver Earth moon winked into view as they rose higher, the planet’s darkness shifting to light, the hues of blues and greens brightening.

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“Tryphene,” he breathed. “Oh, what a woman.” Arcada turned. “What?” she rasped. “Tryphene,” Jaxx repeated, almost dreamily. “I dreamt about her all the way from Ecryon here. Then . . . I found her . . . here on Earth . . . in the flesh. Oh and what flesh!” “You dreamt about Tryphene?” Arcada repeated unnecessarily. “Before you met her?” Jaxx sighed, an indescribable look over his normally callous features. Arcada had seen that look before. In Terenth, when he looked at her. Just then Terenth walked out from the back, his arm around the neck of a struggling woman as he forced her to walk in front of him. “Look what I found hiding in storage,” Terenth said. Jaxx’s jaw dropped. Arcada stared dazedly. Terenth released the woman, pushing her forward. Tryphene stumbled as she caught herself on the railing behind the pilot’s chair. “What the fuck?” said Jaxx, spinning around to face her. “How did she –? Omega, why did you –?” He knew no one could ‘hide’ in Omega. It was impossible to simply walk through her hull, especially someone from Earth. “Don’t be upset, Jaxx,” purred Omega. “She followed you here and tried to get in to my hull. I let her. I – monitored your thoughts during manipulation. I concluded she was . . . appropriate for you.” “Appropriate?” Jaxx sputtered. “There’s no space travel on Earth. There are rules about that kind of thing. We can’t just – pick her up!” “Non space-faring citizens are often picked up for the slave trade,” Arcada said casually. “The slave trade!” Tryphene snorted. “And who is that talking?” she demanded, looking around, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword. Terenth and Arcada looked at her. “It’s Omega,” said Jaxx. “And no, I’m not going to release you to the slave trade.” “Good,” Tryphene said. “Because you’d lose something doing it,” she said, looking at Jaxx’s loins pointedly. “Well, I can see this is going to be a fun trip,” Terenth said, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing.

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Arcada elbowed him, still a little stunned. He put one arm around her and drew her close. “Tryphene, do you know what this means? What you’ve done? Where we’re going?” Jaxx spluttered. She shrugged. “I know you’re not from Pyrme. In fact, I think you might not even be from Earth. But I can live anywhere. I’m tired of my brother and his attitude. And Pyrme will be fine now that it’s aligned with Kavalos. Besides, I like the way she fights,” she said jerking her chin at Arcada. “And then there’s you,” she said, her expression softening as she looked at Jaxx. “She’ll be fine,” said Omega, sounding wise. Tryphene looked around suspiciously. “Who did you say that was?” “We’re at launch point,” the ship said. “To Ornac?” she confirmed. “Yeah, Omega. By the way congratulations, Tyree,” Jaxx said, still staring at Tryphene. “Celebration time on the way there. Good thing you and I didn’t use up all the drugs.” Terenth just shook his head. “Please take your seats,” announced Omega. “This isn’t anything like manip, but let’s sit down for launch. After we enter the slipstream, we won’t feel any motion,” said Jaxx. Terenth removed his arm from Arcada, walked over and sat down next to Jaxx in the copilot’s seat. Arcada looked over the other chairs and then smiled at Terenth and crawled up onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her possessively and gave her a deep kiss. “Stay with me here, wife,” he growled. “I’m not your wife, yet,” Arcada said. “Close enough,” he said, running his fingers gently over her collar. “And we’ll be keeping this.” “Always,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes. Jaxx watched them and sighed. “What the hell, warrior woman,” he said to Tryphene. “Come here,” he said patting his lap. Tryphene smiled, arranged herself on Jaxx, and Omega launched them into the slipstream. THE END

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Tasha began writing when she was a child, completing her first screenplay when she was just seven years old. She continued to write profusely throughout her childhood and into her adult years. Spending time in Alaska, Tasha received her bachelor’s degree and went on to obtain a law degree, graduating at the top of her class. While in law school, Tasha continued to develop her writing skills as an editor of the law review and by assisting her professors who sought her writing expertise for their published textbooks. After a successful legal career, Tasha moved to Maui and turned her complete attention to her true love of writing fiction. Tasha now writes solely from her home on Maui and routinely draws inspiration from the beautiful Hawaiian scenery. She lives on Maui’s North Shore with her husband and son. www.templefiction.com

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ALSO BY TASHA TEMPLE

INTERPLANETARY SLAVE: Arcada of Balinth Synopsis Terenth, heir to the Ecryon realm, attends an auction with his childhood friend, Jaxx, to acquire his very first slave without his father’s help. This is a short (1900 word) introduction of how Terenth and Arcada first met and the circumstances of the very beginning of her ownership.

WARLORD Synopsis Sara’s life is boring and predictable. It’s also about to change. A startling use of cruel, inhuman power places Sara in extreme peril giving her only one way to escape. Sara must overcome her deepest fears and resist her most powerful desires to stay alive. In the struggle to conquer herself, Sara encounters a god of a man from a distant land who brings her to the heights of pleasure, beyond what she had ever imagined possible. The fiery passion between Sara and the warlord, Arystan, is the material of legends. As their souls collide and lock in tangle of lust and ardor will Sara resist her deepest

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yearnings and give up everything so that they can remain together forever? Can she break through Arystan’s battle-hardened defenses and reach his heart while helping him defeat the cruel enemy of his past on the battlefield? This steamy novel of love, battle and passion will leave you on the edge of your seat with suspense.

AWAKENINGS Synopsis Lysander, an imprisoned vampire king, begins appearing in Abby Fenton’s dreams from his distant exile, disrupting her happy marriage with forgotten images of their dark and brutal passion. As Abby and her stockbroker husband, Nick, struggle to come to terms with Lysander’s disturbing influence over Abby, Nick is forced to reveal chilling secrets of his own that he has kept hidden from his wife for years. Abby must not only cope with these new revelations but resist the temptations of her former vampire lover. Nick and Abby travel to Egypt to find the vampire and try to free Abby from his torment. There, Abby is confronted with her own sinister, long-forgotten past which beckons to her as she comes closer to Lysander’s power. As Nick and Abby face the dark king’s evil, they hope that not only their marriage survives, but they do as well.

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