Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (19 page)

He moves then, all fluid, sinuous grace, and before I know it, I’m lifted up and moved around and I’m not even really sure what happened just now, but I somehow end up in his lap, while he reclines on the passenger seat.

He’s got an arm around my waist.

“No, no, no,” I protest, but I’m secretly enjoying the feel of his hard body, pressed against mine. “You’re not distracting me with
that
.” I can feel his erection through the thin material of our garments.

“Oh?” He leans in close, so that his lips brush against my ear. “Abbey of Earth, why are you saying such things when the scent of your arousal is driving me crazy?”

Be strong, Abbey
.
 

“I’m not going to be distracted by your dirty tricks.” I’m only half serious. Part of me wants him to rip my clothes off and just get on with it. But no. He has to know that I’m not just going to stop asking questions because he’s seduced me.

This overconfident jerk. Who does he think he is?

“Tricks?” Tarak raises an eyebrow as I untangle myself from his arms. “I do not play at tricks, female. When it comes to you, I am deadly serious.”

The way he says it, with a rumble in his deep voice, melts my theoretical panties. Theoretical, because I’m not wearing any under all this fancy Kordolian thermo-wear.

Dammit. Why does he say these things that get under my skin, that make me go all jelly inside?

This silver-skinned alien is dangerous. I need to disengage, now. Otherwise I won’t be able to stop myself. I pull away, leaving him with half-disbelieving look on his face.
 

“You do not want me to give you pleasure?”

I frown. “I do like it, very much. But not when you’re doing it to distract me from your shady little mission.”

“Shady?” His eyebrow twitches, just a little. “You think I would act dishonorably?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t told me anything. Therefore, one can only assume.” I step back, bumping into the control panel. As I make contact, a shrill beep goes off, and the holoscreen starts talking in a robot-voice. It’s all in Kordolian; I don’t understand any of it. A warning, maybe?

“What did I do?” I back away nervously. Tarak mutters softly to himself in Kordolian. It sounds like swearing. I really need to learn me some Kordolian curse-words. He gets to his feet, grabs me at the waist and gently directs me back to my seat.

“The timing is not ideal,” he growls, sounding decidedly grumpy, probably because his little attempt at getting into my pants has been interrupted. “But you wanted to know what we are doing here? You are about to find out.” He jumps back into the pilot’s seat and feeds some power to the thrusters.

The stream of space-traffic outside has slowed. A huge, slow-moving red craft comes into sight. It’s impossibly long, and as it drifts across, it fills our entire view. Hundreds of tiny, brightly lit windows wink along its body. As it gets closer, I realize it’s not in perfect condition. There are cracks in the hull here and there, and various stains and scratches mark the gleaming red body.

Has it been through a few asteroid storms, perhaps?

“What the hell is that?”

“Veronian freighter.” Our little space cruiser starts to move, Tarak guiding it between passing traffic as it joins the slipstream. We come up alongside the hulking freighter. “It’s our ticket onto Kythia, so prepare yourself. We will be boarding shortly.”

As usual, he’s not big on the detail. I’ll have to work on that annoying trait of his. When you’re a badass General who’s used to being obeyed without question, explaining things probably isn’t a big priority.

So it looks as if we’re going to get onto this big red behemoth of a freighter. Veronian, he says? Well, they make those amazing sweets, so they can’t be all that bad, right?

There’s no way the makers of the bliss-cubes could be evil. Right?

I guess I have no choice but to stick with the big guy here and find out.

Tarak

Abbey gives me a strange look. I don’t know what it means, so I ignore it. But I can’t help the soft, dissatisfied growl that escapes me.

I hate being interrupted, especially when presented with such an interesting challenge. I hadn’t expected her to refuse my advances, not with the scent of her arousal wrapping around me, drawing me in so powerfully. She’s full of questions, this Human, wishing to know the reason for our method of entry to Kythia.

What am I supposed to tell her? That the High Council has placed a Kill Order on my head? That I am going to visit an exiled Prince who has hidden deep in the icy wastelands of the Vaal? That she should stay vigilant, in case a dread Silent One, the most deadly of all assassins, appears on our trail?

She would not react well to such news. My intention is to keep her safe and keep her satisfied. She does not need to know the details of Kythian politics.

And no matter how skilled they are, even a Silent One could not take me.

Such things are too complicated to explain. I see little point in it, because we will soon be finished with this business, and I will be able to check on my First Division. They have a difficult task to complete, but I am not concerned about them in the slightest. They are all highly competent and resourceful soldiers, which is why I was able to leave them there in the first place.

I watch Abbey out of the corner of my vision as I navigate our cruiser past a lumbering, ancient looking Soldaran freighter, cutting in front of it. She’s watching everything with bright, curious eyes.
 

The Soldaran freighter is diminutive in size compared to the Veronian ship. It’s probably bringing workers landside.

I come alongside the massive Veronian freighter. I plan for us to hitch a ride on it. Traveling in on such a large craft, we are more likely to pass unnoticed. Abbey cranes her neck, looking up in wonder at the giant ship. She’s probably never seen one of the characteristic red freighters before. They transport exotic goods from Veronia to Kythia in huge volumes to satisfy the demand of the Nobles.

On Kythia, we do not create anything. All we do is consume. Kordolians exist as parasites in the universe. Only Callidum is produced, mined from great scars in the planet’s surface, and that is kept for making the tools of war.

We hold on so tightly to this barren, frozen wasteland of ours only because of its mineral wealth. Callidum is the key to conquering the universe, and the Nobles, obsessed with history and tradition, refuse to leave this place in search of gentler climates.

There are hundreds of planets Kordolians could have settled on.

As my female stares at the scene unfolding outside, I steal a moment to watch her, unnoticed.

She’s wearing the outfit I ordered for her. She doesn’t know it, but I could have chosen looser fitting garments. Even though they’re tight, the thermoprotective clothes I chose for her fit her perfectly. They hug her curves, emphasizing her rounded posterior. Seeing her walk makes me hard. The way her body moves is perfection.

A trace of pink coloring has spread across her cheeks. Humans, I’ve realized, tend to change color a lot. It’s fascinating. It happens when she’s aroused.

Why does she not just give in and let me pleasure her?

Stubborn female.

I turn away from her, concentrating on the comm. The holoscreen lights up as I make contact with the freighter. “Lyria 4,” I address the bridge, speaking in Universal. “Get Captain Resha on the comm.”

A young Veronian female appears, wearing a typical grey Empire-issued uniform. She blinks, startled by my sudden appearance. She clears her throat nervously. “Ah, eternal greetings, distinguished Sir. I do regret to inform you that your craft is straying too close to our markers. I humbly request that you maintain a safe distance.” She’s speaking in that Kaiin-cursed formal manner. On Kythia, it’s the way that servants address their Kordolian masters. It’s another bit of indulgent nonsense perpetuated by the Noble Houses. I’m thankful that she obviously doesn’t recognize me, dressed as I am in simple civilian robes. Otherwise, she’d probably be bowing. Fucking Vionn and her ridiculous formalities. How can she derive satisfaction from such behavior?

“I will speak to Captain Resha only,” I reply, not wanting to waste time. “Tell him to engage, or there will be consequences.”

She turns to seek advice from some unseen source in the background. She turns to me again, the bright lighting of the bridge adding a sheen to her brightly colored skin. Like Humans, Veronians don’t see too well in darkness. They need the light. “Certainly, Sir.”

There’s movement in the background, then a familiar face appears on screen.

“Y-you!” Resha’s expression is one of shock and dismay. The reality of who he’s speaking with hits him, and his golden eyes widen. He tries to gather his composure, doing that stupid, Imperial bow. “Gen-”

“Resha.” I cut him off before he has the chance to announce my presence to his whole fucking bridge. “Clear your navigation center, now.”

Resha issues orders to his subordinates in his soft native tongue. The other Veronians disappear in a blur of movement.

“There is no-one left?”

He nods.

“Show me the bridge.”

He enters a command and the viewpoint shifts to show me a top-down of the entire bridge. There’s not a single Veronian in sight.

“Good. You may remember me from a previous encounter, but your comrades don’t. Be aware that my presence here is off the record.”

“Uh, no problem, Sir.” The Veronian’s distinctive purple markings start to glow, betraying his anxiety. “But I’m afraid I need you to state your business, official or not. This cargo belongs to the House of Krel, and my Masters have expressly forbidden me from accepting any other goods on this shipment.” He pauses. “Or passengers.”

“Resha,” I say mildly, “who are you more worried about upsetting? The House of Krel, or me?”

His long tail flicks back and forth, a pink blur in the background. Veronians tend to do that whey they’re unsettled. They are the worst at hiding inner emotions. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“You
will
allow us passage on board Lyria 4. It’s not an argument, Captain.”

“Yes, Master.” Resha’s pointed ears droop. He’s unhappy, but he has no choice. The last time I caught Resha, he was smuggling in an illegal shipment of Sylerian. Aside from its medical uses, some Kordolian Nobles take it to get high. After a rather pointed conversation and confiscation of his cargo, I let him go.

The Veronian owes me a favor and he knows it.

“Unidentified craft,” he sighs, “the lateral bay will open to admit you. Prepare for transfer and docking.”

At least Resha has enough sense not to argue with me. I wait until the docking bay opens, guiding our craft into the giant airlock.

Abbey is looking at me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow, not liking that look. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

“As if that wasn’t just the most suspicious conversation I’ve ever witnessed.” She rolls her eyes, an action I’ve come to understand is the Human female sign of irritation. “Do you always get your way by threatening others into submission?”

“It’s effective,” I shrug. How else am I supposed to make the slippery Veronian Captain co-operate? And how is it suspicious? For all the other Veronians know, I could be from the House of Krel, coming to inspect my cargo.

I alternate the thrusters, reducing power and balancing the small craft as it descends. The landing gear engages, and the airlock depressurizes.

Veronians start to scurry across the shiny floor of the dock. The place is lit up brightly, and I squint as my eyes adjust to the conditions.

Abbey is looking out across the floor, her eyes, now a soft brown color, going wide. “Who are those little pink and purple guys?”
 

“Veronians.” I get to my feet, holding out a hand. “Come.”

“The guys that make those amazing, melt-in-your-mouth delicacies?” She sounds almost reverent. I have no idea what’s so fascinating. The thought of eating Veronian food makes me queasy. It’s too rich; too sweet. How does she enjoy the stuff?

Humans are strange.

She looks at my hand, shakes her head and stands on her own.

Strange, indeed.

I pick up the Szkazajik coat and offer it to her. She gives me that look again, before reluctantly taking it.

“You will need it,” I warn, although I’d much prefer her without the extra layer concealing her delicious body. “Once we reach Kythia, we’re on foot. I don’t have to remind you that your kind do not do well in the cold. Put it on now and conceal your features. I don’t want the Veronians to realize there’s a human on board.” They will assume she’s a servant of mine. Such garments are popular amongst many of the alien species that live on Kythia. Most habitable planets in the universe are warmer than Kythia, and most of the servant classes despise the cold.

A fine Szkazajik coat is considered a status symbol amongst servants. Kordolians have no use for the things.

She takes the coat with a raise of her eyebrow, wearing an expression that’s equal parts irritation and desire.

Her eyes are full of defiance and unspoken challenges. Her heady, female scent surrounds me.
 

Oh Goddess, how she turns me on.

Abbey

As we disembark from the cruiser, one of the Veronians scampers forward to greet us. I recognize the guy from the holo-link. He’s called Resha, and he’s the Captain of this red monstrosity.

In real life, he’s taller than I expected, about the same height as me. But of course, the General towers over both of us.

Now that I’ve seen a real-live Veronian, the creations Tarak gave me suddenly make sense. How can I forget that box of mysterious, mind-blowing treats, each one a hidden world ready to explore? Not to mention the brightly colored, mystifying packaging; thousands of tiny hexagons that disappeared into each other. I get it.

A race that looks like these guys
would
make incredible things like that.

Resha does a weird little bow as he approaches Tarak, his ears twitching. His furry, pointed ears emerge from his head through a thicket of gleaming caramel colored hair. They remind me of a cat’s ears.