Mercenaries

ZARIA stared up at the Thrall, caught halfway between outrage and a feminine frisson of pleasure. He didn’t seem to notice. A distinct heat grew in his eyes, and she felt something nudge her thighs. Looking down, she realized his cock had risen, growing quickly into a long, thick erection with an intriguing upward curve. Despite her offended dignity, she felt her nipples peak.

Zaria started and looked toward her mother. With all her attention focused on the fascinating Thrall, she hadn’t even noticed the Dominess was in the room.

Ila sprawled on her throne, wrapped in an elegant red silk robe shot with gold, her jeweled coronet glittering against her graying chestnut hair. Though nearly fifty, her long, elegant face still held the beauty that had once brought even dominants to their knees.

Now, as she watched Zaria, her dark, intelligent eyes gleamed with satisfied amusement. “I see the Thralldealer’s merchandise has won your interest.” Her gaze flicked toward the big male. “He’s an arrogant one, isn’t he? Wouldn’t you like to tame him?”

No. The thought flashed across Zaria’s mind. Actually I’d like him to tame me. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at her own wanton thoughts. “He does need discipline,” she managed.

The Thrall’s gaze lifted lazily to hers, and his lips twitched as if suppressing a laugh. His lifted gold brow communicated a silent message: Do you honestly think you’re up to the job?

Stung, she opened her mouth to snap out a reprimand, only to be interrupted by the ring of boots on marble.

Marcelle strode into the room, slapping her quirt against the top of her boot. A tall, powerful woman, she had the same strong features and curling chestnut hair as their mother, yet she lacked Ila’s beauty. Zaria had once been puzzled about that, until she realized the tight lines of cruelty around Marcelle’s mouth poisoned her looks.

“Ten hells!” her sister raged, slinging her quirt across the chamber. “It’s as though he vanished off the very planet!”

Oh, to the contrary, Zaria thought, even as long practice kept her face impassive. You’d broken him quite thoroughly.

For a moment she considered telling her mother what Marcelle had done to the Thrall, perhaps even admitting her own role in his rescue.

No, best not. Her mother wouldn’t believe the extent of the man’s injuries, and the Outworlders had already healed the worst of them with their advanced technology. Marcelle would reclaim her Thrall, and Zaria would be unable to rescue the next man her sister abused to the brink of death.

Zaria looked up in alarm as her sister sauntered over, eyes fixed on the big, naked Thrall.

The blond Thrall, not realizing his danger, gave Marcelle the same lazy smile he’d given Zaria. Before she could step between them, her sister’s hand flashed out, wrapped around his cock, and gave it a vicious twist.

The Thrall roared in startled pain. To Zaria’s shock, he dared to grab Marcelle’s hand and throw it off. Guards lunged toward him, and the Thralldealer made a sound of involuntary protest. The man and woman standing with him took a step forward, probably to beat down their recalcitrant captive.

“No!” Zaria cried, stepping between the Thrall and her sister’s lifted fist. “He’s mine! You will not touch him!”

An unholy light flooded Marcelle’s eyes. She took a step forward as an ugly smile curled her lips. “Oh, won’t I?”

As Zaria looked up at her taller, brawnier sister, something inside her cringed. Then she remembered the bloody back of Marcelle’s last Thrall, and fury stormed in to replace the fear. “No,” she gritted. “Not this one. I saw him first. I want him.”

Marcelle laughed, a disbelieving shout of contempt. She lowered her head until she was nose to nose with Zaria. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with him!”

“I’d know not to leave him a bloody ruin,” Zaria snapped, refusing to back down from the frenzy she could see growing in her sister’s dark eyes.

“That’s enough.” Ila’s voice slashed through the atmosphere of violence swirling over the room. “Marcelle, your sister gets the Thrall.”

Forgetting her fury, Marcelle swung around to gape. “Mother, look at him. She can’t handle—”

“At least she’s never had a Thrall disappear,” Ila said. “How many have you lost this year alone?”

Six, since Zaria had grown sick of watching her sister’s submissives suffer under Marcelle’s brutal hand.

“Dear, when you twist a man’s cock when he’s not expecting it, these things happen.” The Dominess’s eyes flickered. “Besides, it’s past time your sister developed a . . . suitable interest in a man.” She turned to the Thralldealer. “How much?”

As the dealer diffidently named a price that was probably far less than he’d originally intended, Marcelle turned toward her again. The killing light in those black eyes made Zaria step back a pace. “You. Will. Pay.” Whirling, Marcelle stalked out.

“YOU know,” Sebastian commed as Marcelle slammed the door behind her, “I don’t believe I’ve ever wanted to kick a woman’s ass quite that bad.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you controlled yourself,” Nathan replied. He, Trin, Cassidy Vika, and another crewman were posing as the Thralldealer’s assistants. Which meant they, at least, weren’t standing around with their dicks hanging out for any passing lunatic to grab. “We damn near ended up in a battle with the entire palace guard.”

“Bloody hell, we should have gone for it,” Sebastian growled, his abused cock still throbbing. “We could have taken the queen bitch hostage, and I could have given that vicious little lunatic the ass warming she so desperately needs.”

“We still don’t know where the Domince is,” Vika pointed out. “They may be holding him somewhere else altogether. We can’t take the chance.”

“Which means we’re going to have to do this the way we originally planned,” Nathan said, fixing a stern gaze on Sebastian. “And that means you can’t let yourself be taken off guard like that again. These women are sadists—and that includes your new owner. One of them will probably go after you again. Don’t lose your temper next time.”

“Actually, I’m not so sure the other girl is quite that nasty,” Trin said thoughtfully, eyeing the little Domina who still stood protectively at Sebastian’s side. “She was willing to step in front of him and defuse the entire situation. And judging from the look in Bitch Sister’s eyes, she took a chance to do it.”

Of course, he’d hoped to be bought by the mother, which would have simplified things considerably. Still, this girl had all the potential of being a much better alternative, from a personal standpoint if nothing else. She might be short, but she had a luscious little body. He was particularly looking forward to getting his hands—among other things—on those magnificent tits.

Besides, the girl had spine. She had to be a good fifteen centimeters shorter than Bitch Sister, and at least fifteen kilos lighter. She was also curved where the bitch was all wiry muscle. Yet she’d been willing to tackle Marcelle on his behalf.

All of which couldn’t help but give a guy a warm, fuzzy feeling. Especially since there was a chance he’d get to sample her before he had to spring Ferrau. Particularly those galactic-class tits.

AT last Zaria was able to escape back to her quarters with her new prize, Searle at their heels. She was itching to sketch the thrall. . . .

Striding into the wide, airy room that was her studio, Zaria headed straight for the cabinet that held her supplies. Glancing automatically back at the Thrall—he had the unusual name of Sebastian, according to the Thralldealer—she saw he’d stopped to look around. His gaze was distinctly calculating, which might explain why Searle watched every move he made with narrow attention. Her guardsman plainly didn’t trust him.

Perhaps with good reason. Perhaps she should tie the Thrall up, just to be safe. Her mind flashed to the image of Gemma, her body arched into a bow in the rack that morning. She pictured Sebastian’s brawny form curved in the same dramatic pose and licked her lips.

“Lock him in the mounting block,” Zaria ordered Searle over her shoulder as she opened the supply cupboard and contemplated its contents. She decided she’d start out with a charcoal sketch. There’d be time for oils later.

“Mounting block?” she heard Sebastian mutter. “What do I look like, a horse?”

“You look like whatever the Ten Hells the Domina wants you to be,” Searle growled. “Now get into position.”

By the time Zaria had her easel set up with a thick sheet of paper affixed to the clip, Searle had manacled the Thrall to the block. The female superior position had never done that much for her, but when she turned and saw Sebastian bent in a bow over the mounting block’s padded curve, she felt heat spin into her core.

The block was made like a wooden half circle standing on the floor. He lay draped over it on his back with ankles and wrists shackled to either side. Afternoon sunlight poured over his muscled contours, gleaming among the strands of his long hair as it spilled to the floor in a pool of golden silk.

Zaria had never seen a Thrall look more beautiful—or more pissed off. The green of his eyes had gone positively icy, and there was a distinct snarl in the line of his handsome mouth.

And unfortunately, his impressive cock was completely limp. Not at all the effect she was looking for.

Zaria crossed the room to him, barely aware of Searle closing the door behind him now that the Thrall was safely secured.

“Oh, don’t be a nig,” she said, bending over him and taking his cock in hand. “I know you’ve ridden a mounting block before.”

He watched warily as she began to handle him, as though afraid she was going to give his cock the same nasty jerk Marcelle had. “What’s a nig?”

Zaria lifted a brow. It was a common expression. “A Thrall who whines at every little command.” Keeping her touch light and tender, she caressed his cock lovingly.

He swallowed. “You do realize that doesn’t detach? I mean, you can borrow it, but only if the rest of me comes along for the ride.”

Zaria chuckled. “Don’t worry, Sebastian. I have no intention of doing any damage to your magnificent anatomy.”

He gave her a flashing, roguish grin that made his goatee tilt up and something turn over in her chest. “Magnificent, huh?”

She smiled and cupped his balls. They were heavy, deliciously full in her palm. His cock filled, swelling to equally impressive proportions. “Oh, yes. Definitely magnificent.” Releasing him, she turned back toward her easel. “Now hold that pose.”

Zaria grinned at the outrage in his voice. Her sister had never realized that you didn’t need a whip to instill discipline.

“A good Thrall doesn’t ogle the Domina in public, Sebastian,” she purred as she stepped behind her easel and picked up a piece of charcoal.