Slavemaster's Woman, The (36 page)

He pushed the drape aside and stretched out
his arm toward the opening. “After you.”

“Fuck,” Bazil murmured again. “I think we’re
royally screwed.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

Mecor sneered at Cushla and she boldly
sneered back. He chortled at her audacity. “You have your mother’s
spirit.”

Cushla’s upper lip quivered at the mention
of her mother but she kept a feral gaze firmly planted on the
king.

“Leave her be Anzer!” Bazil warned from his
kneeling position on the floor. He struggled against the bonds
holding his wrists firmly restrained behind his back, his shoulders
twisting side to side as he pulled against them.

“Leave her be?” Mecor turned and eyed him
disdainfully. “Why Zaviot? Are you afraid I’ll expose to your
daughter just what a coward you are?”

Bazil’s body visibly shook with outrage. “Go
to hades blazes!”

Mecor stomped over toward him, drawing his
hand back during the course of his stride. He backhanded Bazil,
causing the man’s head to snap to one side. He then snickered. “I
think I hit a nerve or two.”

Silently, Tarken stood to one side of the
throne room, struggling to remain calm while trying to plot his
next move at the same time. Upon seeing that the device was still
locked, and with Juliada verifying his story as to why they were in
the bedchamber, the king, though reluctant and after several tense
moments had allowed Juliada to remain free. Unfortunately, he
remained suspicious of Tarken and called on extra guards.

Twenty
…Tarken counted so far, posting
them throughout the chamber, essentially sequestering them within
its walls. Four of those guards, their sizes matching Tarken’s
stature, stood by him, their hands firmly on their stunners, should
he make an unwanted move. He’d been disarmed of his weapon, but at
least for the moment the king allowed him to remain unbound.

The double doors to the throne room creaked
open and all heads turned to the sound.

“Those who aren’t dead have been rounded
up,” Scoac reported as he stomped through the entrance.

“Did you discover who was responsible for
this uprising against me?!” Mecor demanded.

“We’re investigating.” Scoac nonchalantly
examined his fingernails and then brushed them against his shirt.
“After a few severe beatings a few of the thralls choked up some
information.”

“Who then?” Mecor narrowed his eyes.

“We’re still persuading those who are still
conscious to chirp.” Scoac nodded in Bazil’s direction. “Though I
did find out that
he
at least in part…is responsible.”

“Damn you to hades!” The king stalked toward
him and forcefully drove the sole of his boot into Bazil’s
thigh.

Bazil lost his balance and fell to the
floor, grunting in pain when he hit.

“No!” Cushla cried out.

Mecor pressed a crooked finger to his lips
and began to pace. Abruptly, he stopped. “There had to someone in
charge on the inside. He eyed Tarken suspiciously. “Perhaps it was
you, slavemaster?”

“For what purpose?” Tarken shook his head.
“The only thing I’m interested in your Majesty, is the hefty wage
you pay me.”

“Traitor, you liar!” Cushla squawked. “I
thought you—I thought…”

“You thought what, Cushla?” Tarken’s gaze
shifted toward her though he was careful to keep his expression
blank. “That I was your friend? My orders were to train you by any
method I deemed fit.”

“Rot in hades’ muck slavemaster!” Cushla
heaved several heavy breaths, her anger obvious.

Inwardly, Tarken groaned. When Juliada
presented her own version of the tale about being in the bedchamber
with him, and he failed to deny it with his silence, the warm
crystal shimmer he so adored in Cushla’s gaze had grown chillingly
cold, her eyes rounding with loathing. He had no choice but to try
and bid for time, hoping to regain the king’s trust—but
now…
this!

She glared at him with so much repugnance,
believing he’d betrayed her.

Tarken was sure that if she was loose she’d
swoop on him and at the least pluck his eyes out. He’d surely lost
her love forever. The thought had his heart cramping painfully
inside of his chest. “Shall I assist with interrogating the slaves,
your Majesty?” Tarken suggested, though he was doubtful the king
would release him. “I’ve been able to be quite persuasive, with
them…” He glanced at Cushla, knowing he may forever regret his next
remark and then turned back to the king. “Particularly with the
females
.” Again, he glanced at Cushla but other than the
slight flaring of her nostrils, and the blank stare at the empty
space in front of her, she otherwise showed no emotion.

“Hmm…” Mecor’s eyes narrowed on him as he
became pensive, perhaps considering Tarken’s proposition. “I think
releasing you might be rather senseless of me, slavemaster.”

Tarken sighed. If nothing else the king was
no fool. Now what? With the guards watching him carefully, the
rebellion now thwarted and spirits knew how many dead, Tarken gave
Rube a sidelong glance.

The royal subtly pursed his lips in return.
He too seemed befuddled at what either of them could do.

Tarken decided there and then, that he would
need to be patient if he was going to succeed with rescuing his
beloved Cushla. Somehow, he was going to get off this hell hole of
a planet with her, even if he had to carry her away kicking and
screaming, which she most likely would be doing since she clearly
hated his innards at the moment.

“Comply with my bidding Zaviot, convert the
stones, and I just may spare your daughter’s life. Fail to do my
bidding and…” Mecor rubbed his chin. He strolled over to Cushla his
lecherous gaze grazing up and down her body. “I think I’ll fuck you
first.”

“Let my father go,” Cushla snarled at him.
“And I’ll give you the best fucking you’ve ever had.”

“Touch one hair on her head, Mecor…” Bazil
rasped out, the side of his face still planted on the floor as one
of the guards pressed the sole of his boot to the back of his
neck.

“Dare to threaten me, Bazil?” The king
responded without turning around. “You’ve already sacrificed one
woman for your misplaced cause. Are you willing to risk
another?”

“What is he talking about father?” Cushla
narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing with tension.

Still facing her, Mecor answered her, “Your
father didn’t tell you?” He leered at her. “No, I suppose not, but
you saw it. I know you saw it, Cushla. You were watching.” His gaze
dropped lower. “I wonder if your pussy is as tight as your
mother’s. I rather enjoyed watching my juices flow out of her after
I fucked her.” The king roared with a raunchy laugh, throwing his
head back. “Just as I will enjoy watching them flow from you.”

Cushla released a room shattering scream, a
release of utter fury, aimed directly at the king.

Undaunted by her reaction, Mecor looked up
again. Lifting a finger he traced the long, crooked digit along the
crevice between Cushla’s breasts.

She gritted her teeth and growled while
attempting to twist away from him.

At that moment, Tarken thought he saw
something flickering in her eyes, flickering in her physique, a
convulsion of sorts. It was something he’d seen before, on the
king’s star cruiser, when he’d frightened her. There was definitely
something happening to her long, silky hair. It seemed to be
feathering, wisps of it fanning as if blowing in a breeze.

Bazil saw it as well. He was staring at his
daughter wide-eyed, almost fearful.

“All you had to do was agree to reproduce
the formula to convert the muartzin stones. Such a simple request.
Your refusal was a foolish trade for your woman’s life,” Mecor
addressed Bazil though his lecherous eyes remained on Cushla. “But
you’ll agree to it now. Won’t you?”

“Father?” Cushla beseeched him. Her head
began shaking from side to side as if suffering from a tremor.

“At first your mother begged me to stop,”
Mecor continued his ruthless tale. “But the further I pushed my
cock into her, the quieter she got.”

“Your Majesty,” Tarken finally intervened
fighting with all his might to keep his voice calm. His stomach
however was churning in pure disgust at what he was hearing, what
Mecor was forcing Cushla to endure, reliving the horror. “Is this
necessary?”

“I think your mother enjoyed being fucked by
me.” Mecor ignored him and continued, “Just as you will, Cushla
Zaviot. Though, I’m sure your father will crumble into a simpering
wimp, just as he did that same dawning I fucked your mother.”

“No!” Cushla squeezed her eyes shut, a
pained expression crossing her face. She slammed her head back
against the pillar and rolled it to one side. “Father, make him
stop.”

Mecor snickered mockingly. “You beg your
father for help, Cushla? He won’t help you anymore than he did your
mother. You know he just stood by and watched.”

“I was being restrained by three of your
cronies!” Bazil spat angrily.

Turning toward him, Mecor smiled slowly,
menacingly and then with his hand gestured to the guard who held
Bazil down to back off of him. “Rise and face your daughter
squarely. I want to watch you look her in the eyes as you convey
your lies to her.”

“Cushla don’t listen to him.” Bazil
struggled first to raise his chest from the floor, lifting and
raising upright to his knees, he struggled to his feet. “He
lie—”

“I lie?” Mecor interrupted. “Your father
discarded you just as easily as he did your mother.”

“No!” Cushla screamed again, unable to
contain her rising rage. She opened her eyes and glared at the
king. “He loved my mother. My father loves me!”

Mecor pivoted toward her. “Your father sold
you into slavery!” He roared the words in her face.

Tarken’s fists bunched and he felt every
muscle in his body seize. He was infuriated, and it wouldn’t be
long before he reacted, before he lost all restraint and lunged at
the king. He wanted to rip his cold, evil heart out and feed it to
the hatchlings. Instead, he took a quick breath and gazed at
Cushla, noticing that her fair skin was paling even further, and
her entire body was trembling. His heart wrenched at the sight of
her. A profound need to rescue her, hold her in his arms, shelter
her from the pain Mecor was causing. Instead, he was forced to be
patient and it truly was agonizing.

Around them, there was an escalating
vibration pulsing through the throne room. In fact, the entire room
was beginning to shake.

Tarken blinked unsure of what he was seeing
but there it was…Downy fluff began to appear on her body, and now
he could see the flaring in her eyes, a burst of variegated colors
streaming through them.

Mecor however, seemed completely oblivious
to what he was causing, but Tarken knew. “How many men fucked you,
Cushla?” The king looked her up and down with a distasteful
expression on his face. “Who took your virginity? Did it hurt? Did
you scream?” Mecor clapped his hands together and snickered as if
taking pride in his own sadistic musings. “I love it when they
scream.”

“No—stop!” Cushla begged.

“That’s it Cushla, beg for mercy.” The king
sneered.

“No, no!” Cushla thrashed her head from side
to side. Her head then dropped forward and she began to cry.
“Father it hurts!”

“Enough Mecor!” Fury riddled through
Tarken’s bones, his heart being torn from his chest at the sound of
Cushla’s sobs.

She never cried.

He started forward but one of the guards
kicked him behind the knees, causing them to buckle while a second
cuffed him in the jaw with the side of his stunner, resulting in
his head snapping to one side. A third buried a fist into his gut
as he dropped to his knees. They all pulled their stunners, aiming
them at his head effectively staying him—a position that seemed to
be annoyingly habitual of late.

“Cushla! Listen to me!” Bazil’s voice
sounded almost desperate. “Your mother nearly bit her tongue out
trying not to scream. She begged me to stop my threats and be
silent. You were asleep. She didn’t want to wake you Cushla, didn’t
want you to witness his sickening atrocity!”

Mecor pivoted away from her and tucked his
arms behind his back while casually strolling a few paces to where
Bazil stood. He leveled his gaze at the man, a mocking gleam in his
squinted eyes. Though he faced Bazil, he spoke to Cushla, “I wish
your mother had screamed for mercy.”

Cushla fell silent, her sobs halting
abruptly, and she slowly, deliberately lifted her head.

Her eyes were the first thing Tarken saw,
and what he saw in them would’ve frozen a comet.

Mecor however didn’t care, or he failed to
notice, or even still, he was too pompous to even heed the deadly
glare in the eyes of the petite slave girl he dared to menace.
“You know, she never made a sound…” He
snickered.

Cushla’s mouth fell open and her eyes rolled
back into her head. She cawed out a shrilling cry that echoed so
fiercely, the entire room shook. Her neck began to elongate and
feathery wings sprang forth from her back making a whipping sound
as they flapped outward to their full length.

“Holy shit!” Rube bellowed, his eyes
widening.

“You’ve done it now Mecor,” Bazil yelled.
“She’s shifting!”

“Fucking hades fire!” Mecor yelped. “Shoo!
Shoo! Get her away from me!”

“The Libertas!” Juliada screamed and then
ran for cover behind the throne.

Tarken sprang to his feet as the terrified
guards dropped their weapons and they thumped to the ground. He
snatched one of them up, preparing to take aim at the guards.

There was no need however as they were all
scattering, several of them fleeing toward the doors and nearly
falling over each other as they fumbled to get them open.

Cushla screeched again.