Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (21 page)

I cup my hands around her ripe ass, lifting her. She gets the idea, curling her legs around me as I enter her with a slow, deep thrust.

It is bliss.

She wraps her arms around my neck, her body pressed against mine. I grind my hips, going deeper, pressing her against the wall as need overtakes me. My body is moving of its own accord and she moves with me, her strong legs tightening. We’re melded together, moving as one, lost to the rhythm of our fucking. She’s deliciously tight, and she lets out a low, throaty groan as I increase the speed of my thrusts.

Humans, I realize now, can be exquisitely sexual creatures.

Her fingers dig into the skin at my neck, her soft Human fingernails threatening to break my skin. It’s almost painful, and the sensation adds to my growing pleasure.

Turbulence shakes the freighter, but we’re oblivious to whatever is happening outside. I taste the skin at her neck, grazing it with my sharp canines. She’s fragrant and salty and distinctly Human; distinctly female.

A rare delicacy.

Mine.

I go harder, faster, swept up in a frenzy of lust and pleasure, enjoying her soft cries and the feel of her body against me as I reach the edge of climax.

I slow for a moment, holding us both there, watching her face.

“Please,” she begs. Such a sweet sound. Her eyes are wide, her breathing rapid, her black pupils dilated. The sight of her makes me lose control. I push myself deeper inside her.

I cry out in release as the climax comes, powerful and unstoppable. I’m holding her close to me, consumed by the sensations coursing through me.

Her whole body trembles as she finds her release. And then there’s the sound she makes, innocent and pure, a cry of unbridled pleasure.

Sweet female.

As our lovemaking settles into an afterglow, she curls her arms and legs around me, letting out a satisfied sigh.
 

The turbulence has passed, and once again the freighter is moving smoothly, soundlessly.

From a hidden speaker above, the generic landing announcement sounds.

“It seems we have arrived,” I murmur, before sucking on the delicate flesh of her earlobe.

“It seems we have,” she replies dryly, her voice a perfect mixture of irony and wonder, making me want to do her all over again.

Abbey

We disembark from the massive freighter, going on foot. There’s some sort of secret passageway leading from our room to the outside, ending in a long metal ladder attached to the hull.

As the door slides open, the bitter cold hits me in the face like a vicious slap.

“Whoa.” We’re in some kind of cargo port, where freighters of all sizes and shapes, some as big as the Lyria 4, are parked. Workers, robots and vehicles swarm around the craft, transporting crates and items.

The place is a hive of activity.

Soft blue lights illuminate the way, and above us the sky is cloudless, the stars bright and distinct.

A chill wind whips past, followed by an eerie howling sound.

So this is Kythia, huh?

The wind tugs at my hair, chilling the exposed skin of my face. I can’t feel the tip of my nose anymore, and my fingers have turned to ice.

Standing behind me, Tarak hands me my scarf, pressing it into my palm, his large hand curling around mine.

It’s warm.

The cold doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He’s wearing only his light robes over thin black trousers, surveying the scene below with a hawklike gaze. “Protect your skin,” he orders, as I don the scarf, concealing my numb face.

Kythia’s as cold as it looks. It has to be well below sub-zero right now. I tuck my hands into the Skaz-thing coat, pressing them against my body, trying to get some warmth. At least the Kordolian thermal wear is keeping the rest of me nice and toasty.

I stare at the ladder with trepidation. “Hey Tarak,” I say, eyeing the metal rungs. “We’re going down that thing, right?”

“It’s the standard exit route.”

“I’m not going to have any skin left on my hands by the time we reach the bottom. You got any gloves?”

“Gloves?” He blinks.

“You forgot that little detail, didn’t you?” I can’t fault him too much, though. The thermals and the boots and the Skaz-coat are just perfect. He got my size exactly right, even down to the footwear.

“You are right.” Tarak inclines his head, as if calculating something. Before I can figure out what’s happening, he’s scooped me up into his arms.

And suddenly, Tarak jumps, and we’re in freefall.

I stifle a yelp as he lands on the frosty ground, his knees bending to absorb the impact. He lets me down gently as I stare up at the exit door in amazement. That had to be about a forty-foot drop.

The General really is a freak of nature.

“I will purchase some gloves. I did not think.” He sounds almost apologetic. I’m floored. Is such a thing even possible? Big Bad seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t apologize even if he accidentally ran over your pet dog twice. He beckons to me. “Come.”
 

We turn and trudge off into the howling wind, Tarak setting a fast pace, making a straight path through swarms of workers and passengers.

He doesn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone, because they all take one look at him and get out of the way. Sometimes it pays to be big, tall and Kordolian.

I scurry after him, sticking close, because his large frame blocks the wind a little. I pull the hood over my hair, bracing against the chill.

We leave the docking area and enter a large building with high, vaulted ceilings. It’s huge, seemingly endless. I can’t see where it ends. The roof of the place is completely transparent, revealing the starry sky above. There’s a bustle about this place, and what hits me at first is the sound. It’s the buzz that comes from thousands of voices in conversation. It’s deafening.

This must be the Trader’s Market.

The space is awash with faint blue light, and we pass stalls and shops of all kinds, too numerous to count.

It’s a galactic mega-mall on steroids. If I had credits to spare, I could eat, sleep and die happy here.

Even more fascinating than the enticing shops, with their exotic wares, are the aliens. There are races from all planets here. I spot Veronians, Kordolians, feathered Avein, tentacled Ordoon, and others that I don’t recognize. There are scaly grey and black guys with glowing blue eyes and legless guys that go around on small, single-person hover-transports.

This place is blowing my mind.

But there’s no time to stop and stare, because Tarak is barreling through the crowds at light-speed, and I’m flat out keeping up with him.

All I can do is follow. I try to keep focused, fixating on his broad shoulders to stop from going into sensory overload. The sights, sounds and smells of the Trader’s Market are completely overwhelming.

I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but all I can do right now is trust him, even if he’s a devious, sneaky male who deflects all my questions with his damn sexiness.

Seriously, how did he pull off that little move back there on the freighter? Did he learn that at his fancy Kordolian sex academy?

How to distract a female and get into her pants in less than thirty seconds, 101.

He’s totally shameless.

I try to get annoyed over it, but I can’t help but smile underneath my scarf, because it was so insanely good. Tarak is a dangerous operator, in more ways than one.

But I
am
going to get answers out of him, one way or another.

I have questions he needs to answer. Such as: where are we going? Why the secrecy? And when does he plan on returning me to my home sector?

And there’s a bigger dilemma. What in Jupiter’s name am I going to do about this male? He’s overbearing, obnoxious and he still doesn’t want to tell me anything, much to my irritation. But then he goes and says shit like
I am your servant
, like some gallant knight from ancient times, making me go all weak at the knees.

Dissipating my anger in an instant.

Damn him!

I hate to say it, but I am officially flustered. And that doesn’t happen very often.

Tarak

We pass through the Trader’s Market, making for the Upper Entrance. Abbey is close behind me. In her fur coat and scarf, she’s inconspicuous, just another household servant following her master, the way I’ve instructed her.

She doesn’t like to be cast in that role, even if it’s only for show. Oh, she detests it.
 

From her, I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Perhaps I pushed her a little too far, back on the Veronian freighter. But she needs to understand how things are on Kythia. Kordolians are the masters. All other races are servants.

The reality however, is that I would never force her into that role. Subservience is not something I desire in a mate.

As we pass through the large gates of the Upper Entrance, I spot the type of shop I’m looking for. I turn, motioning for her to follow.

The attendant, a Veronian, leaps up as I approach. As I am Kordolian, he probably considers me a walking source of endless credits.

“Eternal greetings, esteemed Master,” he begins, but I cut him off by making a slicing motion with my hand. I have no time for flowery pleasantries.

“Five finger gloves,” I snap. “Show me your range.”

“C-certainly, Master.” He presses a button and a drawer opens, revealing a range of gloves. Some sparkle with jeweled embroidery. Others have ridiculous frills around the openings. Who would wear such impractical things? Actually, I can think of a few idiots who might. “Would you desire a certain type of embellishment? We have monogrammed varieties of all the Noble Houses if you-”

“I’ll take those.” I point to a pair of small black gloves made from flexible material. They look warm, and they will fit her.

The attendant lifts them out of the display case. He stares at my hands, then looks at the gloves. “Are these a gift, or-”

“Too many questions, Veronian.” I pass him a credit chip. He bows and starts to mutter an apology, but I’m already exiting the shop. “Keep the change,” I tell him, as we disappear back into the crowd.

“Are you always this mean to those little guys?” Abbey mutters the question under her breath, but I’m able to hear her just fine, my ears twitching.
 

Mean? I’m not sure what she means, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I pass the gloves to her, holding them out behind me as we cross the threshold of the Trader’s Market.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, brushing her fingers against my palm as she takes them. They’re cold, like ice.

Humans are fragile, indeed.

We pass into the pleasure sector, an unsanctioned area the High Council turns a blind eye to. It’s probably because so many of their Nobles frequent the area. A muffled sound of disbelief escapes my female as a troupe of barely dressed Kordolian males passes by.

Pleasure workers, or pleasure seekers? It’s hard to tell these days.

The throughway is lined with all types of establishments, both Kordolian and otherwise. There are brightly colored signs and lights above some, while others are discreet, not even bearing a name. Pulsing music surrounds us, and the intoxicating scent of smoked Khafa leaf lingers in the air. At the front of some of the entrances, gaudily dressed males and females of all species stand, their faces painted with bright colors. They call out to passers by, trying to lure them in.

An Ordoon female sidles up to me, her black tentacles flickering in and out of voluminous skirts. “Ye in the market for some tentacle girls, esteemed Master?” She speaks Kordolian with a rough, lisping accent. I wave her away in irritation as we move past.

In the pleasure sector, all tastes and fetishes are catered for.

“And we have come to this place because why?” Abbey’s voice is laced with suspicion. I can almost feel her accusing gaze burning into me from behind. “Don’t tell me your ‘unofficial business’ is to visit a brothel.”

“I know it is strange, but be patient.” I stop as we come to a storefront with a nondescript black door. Amongst the noise and activity and bright colors of the other establishments, I almost missed it. But it’s the place I remember. After pressing my hand to the identification panel, it slides open instantly.

We descend down a steep flight of stairs into darkness. Abbey’s footsteps slow behind me, and I glance back to see her tracing one hand along the wall, supporting herself.

I forgot. Humans don’t see well in the dark.

Like all Kordolians, I can see perfectly in darkness.

I pull the dark-vision goggles from a hidden pocket in my robe. They’re the same ones the Veronians and other light-dwelling species use on Kythia. “These will help you see.”

She takes them in her gloved hand. “You know, I must be awfully trusting or terribly stupid to follow you down a dark, hidden passageway in a red light district. But believe it or not, I trust you. If you wanted to sell me or harm me or do anything dodgy, you would have done so already, right, General?”

She’s babbling again. Talking too much.

Ah. She is nervous.

I take her hand into mine, stealing a moment in the darkness. “Do not worry,” I whisper. “This will be brief. We are here to acquire a means of transportation, as unlikely as that might seem.”

“Okay.” Underneath the hood, her eyes widen in surprise. I am also mildly surprised. Because for once, she doesn’t question me. She pushes her hood back momentarily, putting on the dark-vision goggles. Her pale skin glows in the darkness and I lean in, brushing my lips against her forehead. I can’t wait to tear all those layers off her.

Things of beauty should not be hidden. But on Kythia, there is no choice. She is Human, and vulnerable to the cold.
 

I lead her down the stairs and into a cavernous entrance hall that is surprisingly luxurious. My feet sink into plush carpet underfoot, and there are ornate Jentian multiglass lights hanging from the ceiling, giving off a muted glow that is refracted into thousands of tiny glowing shapes that dance across the walls. Various cushions and soft padded recliners are placed around the space.