Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (20 page)

I stare at him unashamedly from underneath the cover of my furry hood, even though the damn thing blocks half my vision.

I can’t
stop
staring at him.

Because he’s pink.

He’s pink all over, with striped purple markings across his cheeks. His eyes are round and golden and huge, and as he takes in Tarak and his grumpy expression, they go a little wider. Me, on the other hand, he barely spares a glance, as if short people in fur coats are a common sight. Tarak’s also made me wear the scarf thing, to conceal my face. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a Human. On Kordolian turf. Apparently, that makes me a walking trophy in these parts, hence the disguise.

As Resha looks up at the General, the purple markings on his face start to glow.

In all my time spent in space, I have never encountered such an exotic looking creature. What kind of a place does this guy come from? In my mind, he must come from a planet made up of rainbows and stardust, where they ride unicorns. I’m totally fascinated by him.

Tarak, on the other hand, is glowering at the poor guy. Resha’s tail starts moving faster, his delicate features highlighted by the glowing purple stripes across his face.

“Gen- ah, Master,” he says, his voice soft and light. “Welcome aboard Lyria 4.”

Universal is such a boring sounding language, but when Resha speaks, it somehow gains a musical quality.

But Tarak’s oblivious to the cuteness. His jaw is stiff, and that little vein on the side of his head is bulging. How can he be annoyed by this pretty little creature? Poor Resha. “You have a cabin prepared for me, Resha?”

“Of course, Master. Will you and your servant be requiring separate quarters?”

Servant?
Servant?
I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to correct Resha. The General has obviously omitted a few rather important details here. I shoot him a venomous glare. He glances back at me, insolently giving me the slow up-and-down, checking me out, even though I’m wearing this ridiculous fur coat.

Is he mentally undressing me right now? It’s not as if he can see what’s underneath all these layers. The bastard. We are going to have words.

“I don’t think separate quarters will be necessary,” he says slowly as he looks at me, his dark red eyes full of heat. Damn him! Underneath that facade of military discipline, he’s such a devious male. “It’s barely a half-phase until we reach Kythia. I assume you’ll be docking at the Trader’s Market?”

“As always, Master. Let me show you the way.”

Tarak turns and starts to walk off, snapping his fingers imperiously. “Come, servant.” And just like that, he’s expecting me to follow. Urgh. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was enjoying this. But Tarak with a sense of humor? No way.

“You just wait,” I mutter darkly under my breath as we pass through the airlock and into a huge storage bay. It’s filled with containers of all shapes and sizes. In the background, robotic arms are moving up and down amongst the cargo, sorting, lifting and scanning.

Some of the containers are open at the top, oversized metal baskets holding fruits I’ve never seen before. There are round blue fruits and pink curved ones. There are oblong stripy ones.
 
Those last ones give off a delicious aroma, causing my stomach to rumble. I resist the urge to pilfer one as I walk further, passing sealed barrels and pallets of brightly colored fabrics. The place smells incredible, a mix of spice and perfume and fresh organic matter.

It reminds me of Earth.

Tarak and Resha have gone ahead of me. Without realizing it, I’ve slowed down, because I can’t help but stare at all the stuff. If this is just one cargo freighter, I can’t imagine what this so-called Trader’s Market looks like.

As I pass by another crate, I see something I recognize.

My jaw drops.

Pineapples. They have freaking pineapples. Unless there’s another planet where they grow pineapples, those have come from Earth.

How did they get pineapples all this way without them ripening?

Oh, how I wish I had access to a bio-lab. I could put those things into a recombinant tissue culture and make a killing over here selling lab-grown pineapples. I snort to myself in amusement. Yeah, right. As if I’m going to hang around this frigid place forever.

I’m going to find a way to get back to Earth, one way or another.

“Are you asleep on your feet, servant?” Tarak’s deep voice echoes across the space, jolting me out of my daydreaming. “Hurry up.” He motions to me with a wave of his hand, acting every bit the impatient master.

I am not amused. The General had better watch his back. I am so going to get him for this.

What’s with the sudden attitude, anyway? Even if it’s all an act, it says a lot about Kordolians. Is this whole master-servant thing considered socially acceptable, then?

These bloody Kordolians think they’re the center of the universe, and they expect every other alien species to step into line. What a bunch of stuck-up pricks. They have no right, even if Sector One
is
the center of the Universe, and all flight paths lead to Kythia.

With an aggravated sigh, I follow Tarak and Resha. Several Veronian workers wearing nondescript grey uniforms pass us along the way. They dip their heads in a respectful little gesture as Tarak passes. They don’t spare me a second glance.

We go through a maze of corridors, some brightly lit, others dim and narrow. We pass offices where Veronians are hard at work under bright lights.

Eventually, we reach a plain looking door. Resha taps a panel and it slides open, revealing a room inside. “Your quarters until we land, Master. There is a separate exit to the outside. You may access it after landing and depressurization.” He gestures towards the inside, his tail waving back and forth. The markings on his face have gone back to normal. Tarak looks down at him, his expression unreadable.

Resha’s tail starts to move faster, becoming a soft, pink blur.

“Resha,” Tarak says, after an uncomfortable silence. It’s uncomfortable because of the way the General is glaring threateningly at the poor Veronian. “If anyone asks, we are from the House of Krel. You won’t under any circumstances reveal that I was on this transport.”

“O-of course not, Master.”

“And Resha?”

“Y-yes Master?”

“If I hear there was illegal Sylerian on this shipment, I’ll have to come back. Do not give me a reason to come back. You would not enjoy it.”

“There is none, I promise.” Resha’s stripes light up again as he steps back without even seeming to realize it. Tarak looms over him like a darkening storm. Resha’s furry ears droop. Tarak’s in full intimidation mode, his red eyes narrowed menacingly.

What the hell was that all about? Illegal Sylerian? Isn’t that the stuff that Zyara dosed me with? That would make Captain Resha a drug smuggler. That can’t be. He’s too cute to be a criminal.

I’m about to step in and say something when Tarak diverts his attention to me.

He’s looking at me and his expression is unreadable. His hard, elegant features are like stone. Only his eyes betray him as they darken with hunger.

Oh, come on. How can he be finding me attractive when I’m wrapped up in this Skaz-thing coat?

“That will be all, Captain.” He dismisses Resha with a glare and beckons to me. He pauses, the silence growing heavy between us.

Don’t say it, General, I’ll freaking kill you.

“Come, Servant.” A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

It’s official. I’m going to kill him.

Resha’s scampering off, his tail between his legs.

Tarak’s giving me that damn look, and I’ve got no choice but to follow him into the room. As the door slides closed behind us, he catches me off-guard, pushing my hood back, pressing me against the wall.

My short brown hair escapes, falling around my face.

His rough hands caress my face, pushing down the scarf that conceals my features. He bends over, pressing his lips to my temple, burying his nose in my hair. He inhales, and a shudder courses through him.

I stiffen, pushing him back. It takes all of my willpower, because my legs have gone weak and wobbly. Pent-up desire is spreads through me, causing a delicious, infuriating sensation in my core.

I’m trying to be outraged here, and he’s ruining it.

Impossible male.

I give him a dark look. “Since when am I your servant?” My voice is low and frosty. I stand with my hands pressed against his chest, holding him back. He inclines his head, and I have no idea whether he’s laughing inside or deadly serious.

Urgh. Someday, I’ll figure him out.

Just as I’m about to unleash all hell on him, he does the most unexpected thing. He drops to his knees, his hands slipping inside the folds of my coat, caressing my hips with an appreciative growl. He shakes his head. “You? No. You are not the subservient type, female.” His fingers are tracing little circles on my thighs, sliding over the smooth fabric of my pants, drifting closer towards my pussy. “But that is what Kythian society expects. For me to act any other way would draw suspicion. But in fact, the opposite is true.”

“What do you mean?” That feeling of need grows, and warmth spreads between my legs in response to his featherlight touch.

“I am
your
servant, am I not, Abbey of Earth?”

Tarak

I pick up where I left off before we docked on Lyria 4. Her scent has been driving me crazy ever since. It calls to me, stirring a deep, primal instinct. I’m guided by my desire.

She thought she could push me away, but what she doesn’t understand is that I am a very persistent male.

She looks down at me, perplexed but aroused.
 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she whispers, as I bring my fingers against the soft mound of her sex, our skin separated only by a thin layer of fabric. Her lips part slightly, revealing her perfect, white teeth. They glisten with a trace of moisture.

She is all female; soft, inviting and impossible to resist.

“You do not need to understand.” I stroke her gently and she leans in, unable to help herself, her hips moving forward. “Just give in.”

What I told her just now, about being her servant, is partly true. When I offered my blood for her nanograft, it could have been considered a blood-gift, a traditional Kordolian symbol of bonding between a male and his female.

It is not practised anymore. Not since the ratio of males to females became imbalanced beyond proportion. Our females see no reason to bond themselves to only one mate.

My species has no reason to exchange blood anymore.

I had offered my blood for the graft in desperation, because Mirkel, that spineless fuck, had told me medical nanites were in short supply.

Of course, it was irradiated first, to kill the virus that has infected my nanites and given it such unique properties. Her delicate physiology would not survive that horror. Even I barely survived my first graft.

But the fact remains that she has received my blood, as a gift. Under ancient Kordolian Law, that constitutes a traditional bond, and the rule of the bond is that the male protects his female, always.

Therefore, I am her servant.

And she belongs to me.

“You’re impossible,” she grumbles, her eyes flashing, caught somewhere between brown and green. Her body sways as I slide my hand under the band of her trousers, brushing against her soft skin. I trace my fingers down to the entrance of her pussy and find her wet.

“Impossible,” she says again, breathlessly.

My erection strains against my trousers as I take her in, watching her from my unique vantage point. She shrugs off the fur coat, letting it drop to the floor. Her cheeks have turned a soft pink color, and they gleam with a faint sheen of moisture.

I watch the rise and fall of her chest, appreciating the rounded swell of her breasts.

I circle the tender jewel at the entrance to her sex with one finger. That part is so sensitive, and she’s so, so responsive.

She lets out a soft, shuddering sigh. I increase the speed of my caress and she runs her fingers through my hair, finding the place where the remnants of my horns are concealed, beneath my skin.

They’ve been cut and sealed, in the modern fashion. In the military, we do it for practical reasons. On Kythia, it’s considered barbaric to grow one’s horns.

The Nobles disapprove of it.

Abbey runs her fingers over the sensitive points, causing a ripple of intense pleasure. Zyara was right. They’ve been growing back. Somehow, the chemical seal has failed. It’s an effect of this ‘Mating Fever’, apparently. At this rate, they will soon break through the skin.

The horns are an extremely erogenous area. Her touch causes a low growl to escape my lips. The sensation becomes more powerful, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to take her. I need to be inside her.

I rise to my feet, sliding two fingers between her silken folds. She whimpers at my touch.

It’s a plea for more; she’s begging for release.

The sound pleases me. Oh, I will give her release.

I push her back against the wall, just as a loud, metallic groan reverberates around us. A great tremor shakes the walls and floor of the cabin.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes meet mine and I’m drawn into their mesmerizing flecked depths. Her irises are as complex and intricate as a Veronian puzzle.

“Entering the atmosphere,” I murmur, as I thrust my fingers deeper.

She squirms in pleasure, her back pressed against the wall.

All around us, the room is shaking.

I tug her pants down, sliding them over the smooth curve of her hips. She fumbles with the clasp of my robes. I help her, tugging the garments free, undoing my trousers. My cock springs free, and she takes it into her hand. I tremble, bringing my lips to her neck, inhaling her essence. The smell of her, earthy and wild, with a hint of something sweet, stokes my lust even further.

I can’t hold on any longer.

The giant Veronian freighter creaks and groans, gaining speed as it breaches the skies of my home planet. I withdraw my hand and she moans with need.