Venomous: Erotic Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 1) (68 page)

A bell climbed a scale of high notes.

“Ah,” Venomous murmured. “Things were about to get interesting.”

Back arching, I gasped, “Busy, babe. Send them away then come play with me.”

Winking at him, I sought and found Fiercely’s panting mouth.

Cobra slinked up to watch our heated clinch in a lustful daze.

Venomous sounded irked. “As you wish. It is nothing but a gift. I thought you might like it, but I shall just–”

“Gift?” I mumbled detaching my lips from Fiercely’s with a wet pop. “I
love
presents.”

I wriggled out from under my mate.

Fiercely fell face first into the mat and groaned, humping the air.

Cobra snickered and helped him up, clapping his back in commiseration.

I hop, skip, jumped to the door.

“Give it.” I bit my lip. Hands behind my back, I added a polite, “Please.”

Dropping a kiss to my nose, Venomous hit the backlit, glass control panel next to the doorway.

The barrier whirled open.

On the other side, stood Commander Éorik, and peeking from behind him an amused Verak King.

Hands flying to press my mouth, I gave a happy shriek.

I hustled forward to hug Éorik’s middle. “
Oh-la! What-are-you-doing-here? It-is-so-great-to-see-you
!” I spoke so fast my words mashed together. I gasped for breath, so forced myself to slow. “I can’t believe it.”

Debonair in black jodhpurs, a white lawn cloth shirt with a starched collar, and glossy thigh high boots, Éorik tossed his hooded cloak over his shoulder.

He put a hand to the hilt of the blaster at his trim waist then gave Venomous, Fiercely and Cobra solemn bows of respect.

A waterfall of silver hair shrouded his body, and his alabaster horns were buffed to shine.

“Good greetings.” He straightened, and his solemn expression lightened. “I too am surprised. I expected your husbands to keep you far from this one,” he bobbed his head toward Beowyn, “for the rest of your life. But Venomous One commed us
,
and asked us to journey here to meet you for last meal. How could we decline such a gracious invitation?”

I turned to the Great Alpha with a giggle at his clothing.

Beowyn ThunderClaw skipped debonair, and went straight to hot-fuck-on-legs with a bare, furred chest delineated with deep cut muscle, over which draped a cape of russet pelt.

A roughly-sewn loincloth covered his groin, and animal hide enclosed his large feet.

His black and silver mane was tamed by two warrior braids at the front to keep the wild mass from his slanted eyes.

Strapped to his back was an ornamented broadsword, the leather belt criss-crossing his lissom torso.

Topping all this off was an imposing crown made of thorny bones that sat on his head like a diadem, crafted to encompass his onyx laurel horns.

“The ancient ceremonial garb of our people,” Éorik mumbled sounding tired of explaining the raiment.

“Lumen,” Beowyn boomed his arms slung wide. “Come, small one. Come to who you fancy best.”

Éorik sighed then murmured apologies as my mates bristled.

“You’re so bad.” My arms encircled Beowyn’s boulder-big shoulders. I near gored myself on the bony, curved spurs tipping his clavicles. “Don’t provoke them. I have no desire to scrape you off the floor.”

“She of little faith.”

He lifted me up to jounce me in his arms then stopped at the shouts of my ‘delicate’ condition.

With a sheepish wince, he enquired, “How is the cub?”

“Healthy. Snug. Loved.”

“And safe?” he questioned his gaze directed over my head.

I tutted. “Of course.”

“What is
that
doing here?” Fiercely demanded with a rude finger stab.

“Jealous?” Cobra teased
.

Fiercely spat, “Yesss,” without shame.

Biting back his amusement, Venomous shrugged. “He is my Lumen’s friend. A visit from him makes her happy, and will cause no harm.” Then he muttered, “And we will not have to invite him planet side for at least another solar.”

Fiercely and Cobra made approving, “Thsst,” noises.

Venomous plucked me from Beowyn to bundle me into a neck to ankle ebony robe with a deep cowl to hide my face.

We summoned then boarded a transport capsule.

Though designed roomy, the space crammed with muscular warriors that smelled of smoke, wood, nuts, dark chocolate and vanilla, and who looked down at me as if I were the most precious body in the world.

Gosh, it ended up a squeeze, but I white-knuckled my way through it.

“I know of a place,” Beowyn confided his thick finger punching in the location code. We zoomed off. “The most exclusive restaurant on Zoi Quay. I have an executive pass.”

Blinking, Éorik winced. “Great One, I do not think-”

The doors peeled open, and the sound of a breathy, screaming orgasm split the air.

It took a while for the writhing fur, twitching skin and ruffled feathers to make sense.

“Here we are,” Beowyn said with a sinful curve of the mouth, stepping out to throw open his arms. “Come for me.”

Éorik sighed again.

Sensing credits, a fawning bevy of courtesans pivoted his direction.

They cooed a welcome, licking lips and plucking nipples.

At my ear Venomous hissed, “Do not even
think
of stepping off this transport.”

I nodded, picking my jaw up off the floor.

Green and blue light illuminated the mass of bodies in a garish blaze.

Humping buttocks and spread legs jostled under, on and above the floating dining tables.

Leashed servers in skimpy uniforms fucked and sucked the patrons who fornicated on any horizontal or sloping surface.

They quenched their thirst by sipping drinks from fleshy hollows, assuaged hunger by nibbling morsels off plump curves.

The live band was reminiscent of trashy Europop.

A percussionist with a jillion tentacles bashed crazily on drums and chimes from a silo of orange gloop.

The lead singer, trussed in what looked like gunmetal duct tape, strummed and plucked an instrument that resembled an electric guitar come harp.

He, or she, I couldn’t work it out as it had a generous cleavage
and
an imposing penis bulge, wailed about dark, wet holes on somewhere called Paniki pleasure station.

Dressed in nothing but hot pants, the coltish female rocking the synthesizer pumped her cloven hoof and shook her bushy tail.

The air was redolent sex and perfume, clashed with the smell of vinegary alien fodder.

Googly-eyed, I mumbled, “Bloody hell, Wyn.”

“This is not a place for eating,” Fiercely snapped.

“Aye, ‘tis,” Beowyn argued. “You can just eat if you do not wish to frolic. Look.” He pointed. “There. What the Hydok is eating smells delicious. No one is bothering him.”

There
was
a sole male in the middle of the orgy eating chunks of browned meat from a greasy platter.

His elephant-sized ears undulated, reaching a foot above his head and stretched down to his portly waist.

Suddenly they went stiff and he trumpeted.

Everything froze.

The tawdry music, gasping moans and cries of ecstasy lulled.

A gaggle of spritely females with gauzy wings, and petite, curving horns giggled as they clambered from under the table at the Hydok’s hind paws.

One wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, winked at the gorging male then staggered off, righting her teeny skirt made of flowering vines.

Éorik yanked Beowyn back into the capsule, ignoring the courtesans’ whines of protest.

Cursing, Cobra slapped at the control panel until the door slid closed.

Stone faced, my mates glared at Beowyn.

“What?” he asked genuine confusion painting his features. “Nay, truth. What did I do?”

With Éorik controlling our course, we exited the elevator into a quiet restaurant with an aristocratic flare.

The blood reds and midnight blues gave it a moody, cosseted edge.

Sultry ambient music and dim light conveyed elegance.

Customers, refined, upper class folk, eyed us, Beowyn in particular, before diverting their attention elsewhere.

Draped in gold and diamonds they clustered together in intimate circles.

My males voiced their satisfaction and ushered me forward.

It suited their need for me to be in a quiet, safe space in the aftermath of Sorkbhal’s threat.

Quarrelsome L’Odo wouldn’t know the existence of it, let alone gain admittance to such an eatery.

Wandering paws, feelers, or claws on the serving staff would likely get you tossed out.

Beowyn swept a critical eye over the décor.

He pouted at the attendants wearing layer upon layer of stiff fabric over their sexless, willowy bodies.

“Pretentious,” he grumbled as we were seated in a circular booth by a deferential maître d' who knew straight away Beowyn was royalty rather than a barbarous primitive who’d gotten turned about.

Come to think of it, the outrageous crown might have given it away.

A curved glass pane made up the back wall, and gave a panoramic view of Zoi Quay’s lawless tourist quadrangle.

As we ordered and received our drinks, I people watched.

I turned my attention to the disordered, alloy jungle of pronged skyscrapers, and cochlear-shaped pod clusters dominating the fuchsia horizon.

Gyratory lights beamed over shuttles haphazardly docking at the spaceport, and hovering planetary transports filled the moonless night sky.

Streaming crowds visiting to purchase exotic slaves, merchandise that was prohibited on their home world, browsed ramshackle stalls and junky emporiums.

Vendors sold hot meat straight from the skillet, and gangs of rough-looking thieves roamed unchecked.

It was hectic, perilous, bright and vibrant.

I understood why Venomous put his foot down, and declared I wasn’t going ‘adventuring’ or ‘gambolling,’ as Beowyn put it, down there.

Just past the brightness of the main jetty was a shadowy ghetto I doubted the lost and innocent came back from.

I let my males have their intense debate over what to order, as I had no clue what I’d like, and used the opportunity to speak to Beowyn and Éorik about my self-appointed mission.

“Do you know why we’re here?” I asked.

They nodded soberly.

I told them what transpired in the Council chambers, Sorkbhal’s threat to my safety, Venomous’ need to find justice, and Cobra and Fiercely’s desire to leave.

I explained why I needed to stay and see it through to the end, no matter how dangerous.

“Well,” I prompted, “what do you think?”

“That you have a death wish,” Éorik replied. He tipped his refreshment bowl at me then took a glug. “If you were one of my concubines, I’d tie you to my lap then pilot the first bucket of bolts I commandeered home.”

Dropping my chin onto my palm, I cupped the stone bowl holding my drink.

I took a sip of creamy fruit nectar, bubbles tickling my tongue.

It wasn’t as good as amrita, but it’d do in a pinch.

“No, please,” I said, “don’t hold back. Tell me what you
really
think.” I licked my lips, frowning. “Do you honestly believe I’m putting myself at risk for nothing? That it’s not the right thing to do?”

Éorik’s lips compressed into a bloodless line of tension.

He and Beowyn shared a look.

The white-maned Verak shook his head, but Beowyn stroked his beard, eyes heating.

“The victims from the slave planet amongst my vassals have been on edge since they returned to Vayhalun,” Beowyn confessed. “Traumatised, our wise ones say. I had not yet decided whether to obliterate the L’Odo scourge as recompense, or sequester my warriors with their harems, so they might get over it and our serfs move on.”

“
Or
,” I said, “you could lodge a complaint with the Intergalactic Alliance, take zillions of L’Odo credits in fines,
and then
sequester your warriors. They’ll have enough funds to retire and heal their emotional wounds.” I clunked my drink down. “What the L’Odo are doing is criminal. They take advantage of helpless creatures, and enslave them when they hold treaties of peace with their worlds.” I tapped my fingernail to the table. “You should consider taking a stand against them too, Wyn. For Obryn. For the others who were stuck in that hell. As ruler of Vayhalun your displeasure would carry considerable weight. Wouldn’t it?”

“My word carries the weight of an empire, but–”

“But? There is right and wrong. What the L’Odo do is wrong.”

“That is too simplistic a way to look at it,” said Éorik. “A wise being sees the world as shaded.” Horned elbow to the polished table, he pointed out the window. “‘Tis the dark season, so we are spared the depravity, but during the summer solstice, there are slave auctions each span for cycles
.
There is no despair stink worse than Zoi Quay during that time. ‘Tis legal, and accepted as part of the universe. Species like the L’Odo thrive on the misery and suffering of others. They thrive on the auctions. Yet this unthinkable atrocity happens a stone’s throw from the assembly elected to keep watch over, and guide us. It happens so close to the seat of a Council that preach fairness and justice ... as long as you follow their Edicts.” He made a sweeping gesture. “The slavers follow the law, accepting the captives raiders like the Dei San sell them, and pretend the people were indentured because of defaulted debt and crime, not because the were stolen from their world, and torn from their families. They peddle their flesh right outside the sanctuary the subjugated, the wronged and the vulnerable flee to for shelter because the Alliance receive a cut of the credits for each auction held.” Lacing his hands, he tapped his index fingers to his lips then pointed them at me like a blaster. “What does that tell you, Lady Lumen?”

I whispered, “That you don’t think complaining will achieve anything.”

“Oh, ‘twill achieve much. ‘Twill anger the ones you stand against.” He peered at me, silver lashed eyes aflame. “What will the Rä do when the L’Odo retaliate? When they come with war machines that make the ground quake. Lodge a complaint as their crystal cities burn? They have no allies. They are a closed world, cut off from those who might help in times of need. Everyone knows it. Including the L’Odo.”