Legend Beyond The Stars (14 page)

“Some kinda magic? Surely not drugs in our food? Maybe, mind control?”

“God, I hope not!” She added, speaking her troubled thoughts out loud, “I think it’s something to do with their eyes. So who are the poor blokes you have in your sights?”

Jessamine rolled her eyes and smiled with relish. “There are these two cousins, officers I think and they are so seriously built. I just could not choose between them.” She sighed, her dark hazelnut eyes glowing with pleasure.

Alana snorted, “I thought the aliens were supposed to do the choosing.”

“As if! No guy has that much control over me,” declared Jessamine, her eyes shooting sparks of golden brown fire. “But as I sure am drawn to both of them, maybe I don’t have as much choice as I think I have?”

“Don’t worry, you’re a strong and independent woman. I can’t believe anyone could make you do something you don’t want to do.”

“Uh huh, that is so true.” Jessamine’s eyes brightened. The worry left her face. “I’m gonna run with the mutual attraction idea. Release my stress. As I’m surely not into threesomes, one will just have to wait his turn.”

“Oh boy!” Alana whistled. “You do know how to keep life interesting. It’s not for me to judge you, Jess. You have to do what you feel is important for yourself. If you think it’ll help then go for it. I’d suggest you tread carefully though, this situation might get rather awkward.”

Confidence surged in the other woman’s voice. “Trust me, honey, they are not gonna know what hit them. There they are.” Jessamine gestured towards the entrance.

Unease prickled at the nape of her neck as Alana noted their purposeful auras. She raised her brows.

”Here now, you just sit back girlfriend and enjoy the show.” Jessamine wiggled her fingers in farewell and strolled off.

Alana, amused at her antics despite her misgivings, leaned against the wall. Her friend linked arms with both warriors and lead them from the room. Shaking her head, Alana banished her worry and located Tina. They spent the next few hours assisting Norman and the medic, reviewing the information gathered by the shayote. The other women were pleased to have her attendance; with the majority eager to be analysed and informed of their overall health.

An atmosphere of optimism prevailed through the room. The knowledge the alien warriors were humanoid had miraculously lifted everyone’s mood. The air hummed with excitement. The buzz of female voices with laughter mingling within the chatter was contagious. For a while Alana forgot her cares. Together with Tina and Norman she immersed herself in the fascination of this new technology.

Warmth crept into her lonely heart. Their dire situation had made Alana reach out for the first time in many years. The comfort of being surrounded by supportive friends was a consolation she had not expected to find. Something she had shunned for a long time.

If they never found their way home?

They would need to make a new life for themselves.

They would need to integrate into this alien world in order to survive.

She paused in her work and scrutinised the other occupants. This realisation had already occurred to a lot of these women. Women were good at compromising, at learning to overcome insurmountable odds. If necessary, they would adapt and survive.

Her chest tightened with pride at their cheerful resilience.
Somehow, I’ll find a way to get them home
.

They had almost completed reviewing the reports, when the air was rent by shrill screaming.

Alana dropped her data stick. Heart pounding, she quickly located the direction of the shrieks. She raced off to investigate. The noise came from a small room which led off from the right of the Analysing Chamber.

When she burst into the cabin she found it empty. Frustrated she whirled around. She could still hear the screaming but had no idea where it was coming from.

A noisy clattering heralded the arrival of Norman, as his boots skidded on the metal floor.

“The noise is coming from the monitor.” He panted and hurried over to the far wall.

In her agitation, Alana had not noticed the screen. A few quick strides later, she stood at his side. She stared at the display being manipulated by Norman from a panel inset into the wall. Soon he had flickering images flashing by on the screen, too fast for her to interpret.

“This is a small security viewer. I am locating the source now. It is good someone has inadvertently left on the automatic sensor. Ahhh. Here, in sector 5 level 3.” He stabbed a finger at the diagram now displayed.

”Can you find it?”

The corners of his mouth drooped and he took on a wounded air. “Of course I can do this. You wish to go now?”

“Yes please, Norman. Now would be really good.” The screaming had stopped but Alana had no intention of ignoring the cry for help.

Norman strutted out the small ante chamber and through the now quiet Analysing Chamber. Alana nodded at the watchful women, followed as he led the way along the long curved corridor to a large chute. The door slid soundlessly closed and she shut her eyes, clamping her lips together as they hurtled to the next level.

Along another corridor she hurried, Norman trotting beside her. Her concern had infected him too, she realised as he flapped his hands about giving a good impression of an agitated chicken.

“This cabin.” He wheezed and gestured.

Alana surveyed the secure metal entry with a narrow glare. “Get me inside. I don’t care how you do it, Norman. Just make it happen.”

“Of course.” Norman bobbed his head. He craned his head side to side, surreptitiously checking the corridor but they were alone. From one of his pockets, he produced a small shiny implement which Alana thought resembled a fork. He pointed it at the door and a thin bright light shot from the end. With a soft rumble the door slid open.

Not knowing what to expect, Alana shoved Norman behind her, sank into a crouch and entered keeping to one side of the door.

She straightened, heaved a sigh of relief.

“It’s okay, Norman. You can come in,” she reassured the alien who hesitated in the corridor. Once inside, he kept close to her side. Alana cast an all encompassing stare around the small sleeping quarters, checking for danger. “It’s Helena, isn’t it?”

The woman facing her nodded. She was of Mediterranean origin, a short, buxom young woman with black shiny hair cut into a bob. Fury radiated off her in palpable waves. Clothed in a long white dress, she sat cross legged on the floor of the small cabin. Her arms were folded across her chest, her frowning face set in a mask of angry determination. A Darkon warrior paced with quick strides up and down behind her, casting the woman frequent baffled glances.

Thank God, no blood
. Alana breathed with relief. She essayed a smile at the other woman and asked, “What’s the problem?”

Tarak was evaluating data on a holo screen in the Central Command Centre when Alana, a whirlwind of fury, interrupted him. With difficulty he controlled his first impulse to rush to her side, check her for damage. Instead he stayed where he was sprawled in the command chair, slowly closed his hands over the side supports with its banks of multiple keys and buttons. They gripped hard until his bones angled out in sharp white relief.

His intent gaze surveyed her from under half closed lids. It was obvious she was unhurt. She moved in perfect rhythm, her sweet body intact as she stormed further into the room. He noticed her belligerent expression and her battle bright eyes. His concern eased.
Tarak stifled his grin, as a different tension took hold. Something had excited her and she had immediately sought him out to engage in a confrontation.

He would soothe her anxiety, channel her passion into a more agreeable direction, he decided. He loosened his death grip on the armrest. Mischievously he turned away and pretended to be immersed once more in his work.

As he had anticipated, she darted across the room, skirting the benches, dais and seated men, until she stood beside him. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, catching her scent.

Her spirit called to him.

Her energy shimmered and pulsed in the air around him. His body responded as savagely as a lightning bolt to metal.

The pleasure which erupted through his veins disturbed him.

What was it about this female which caused such havoc to his senses?

Though ordinarily a warrior with a strong definite protective nature, this female aroused a depth of feeling which astounded him.

He would die for her
.

The words fell into the well of his being, with the force of the hammer strikes of the dresser of the dead as he counted out the life cycle of the fallen.

Making his face blank, effectively shielding his thoughts from the curious eyes of his warriors who manned their posts and watched the scene with intense interest, he turned his
attention to the female vibrating with outrage at his side. It would not do for a Royal Prince to show such favour to a mere slave, even one so beguiling and appealing as his Alana.

“Enough!” He raised one hand, knowing how much such an action would infuriate her. Silence reigned.

“Begin again, if you will,” he said in cool tones.

“What I said was,” his Alana gritted out, “why is it necessary to take all of our personal possessions away? It is inhumane. We have barely anything to our names, save the clothes we were wearing and one small holdall each when we escaped in the shuttles. It is too cruel.”

“This is what is done with slaves. New clothes of our choosing will be issued to you. As Darkon slaves you will own nothing, as we possess you and everything that was previously yours,” he stated calmly. With fascination, he watched her small hands curl into fists. He wondered when he would anger her so much she would lose her formidable control and strike him. The thought did not dismay, rather he imagined he would enjoy a tussle. He imagined them rolling together on the ground and clenched his teeth at the surge of hunger in his groin.

His little slave gasped at his words. He registered shock and hurt in the blue-green depths of her eyes.

Their sparkle diminished.

He shifted in his chair.

By the stars of Darkos, why did he now feel so guilty? This was the way it was always done
. There was no reason for him to feel as if he had failed her. If she disapproved of their
way of life, then that was too bad. She and the others would learn to accept the Darkon way. He would not apologise or change his laws just to please one slave.

Tarak folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

His jaw jutted out.

“I think you should think carefully about this before you make a very big mistake.” Her measured tones cut through the tense air like sharp asteroid stones slicing the outer layer of a flyer. “We will be seriously pissed off. You won’t believe how much trouble we can and will cause if you continue with this idiotic idea.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw how his warriors were hanging on every word, marvelling at her temerity. Tarak clenched his teeth. Even though his men performed their duties at their consols, the way they leant slightly to the side and avoided eye contact with each other informed him of their fascination.

He remembered his mother with her mild, gentle personality. She had never intruded into the domain of the warriors. Never raised her voice to a male. Never demanded her needs and concerns be heard.

She had died as silently as she had lived.

He frowned.

Although the Darkon women were renown as peacemakers and diplomats, their place in his world had always been a subservient one. To meet a female who showed no fear, who was prepared to fight and protect those under her care, was a phenomenon for all of them. A
female of such slight stature, too. A single blow from a Darkon warrior would fell her to the ground.

This picture did not sit well with him. He drummed his fingers rapidly against the metal support, then stood feet braced apart, took his time looking at her. Her breasts rose and fell in agitation as she glared back. He recalled how they had filled his hands, so plump and ripe and soft. A low growl escaped him. The female stared at him startled and took a hurried step back.

Tarak noted how her hands came together and quickly clasped and unclasped to fall loosely to her sides. She stood tense. His fingertips drifted across her face, even such faint contact sent his blood charging with urgent demand stiffening his cock. He watched her jewel blue-green eyes dilate, how her lashes fluttered and the pink colour wash warmly across her cheekbones.

Truly, he found his slave very delectable.

Why was he wasting precious time arguing about some ancient practice when he could be indulging himself in the pleasure of her body? What did it matter if these women kept their simple possessions? If he agreed, they were bound to be grateful.

His Alana would be grateful.

The thought of how grateful she might be had Tarak abandoning any more thoughts of his duties.

He waved a hand in royal acquiescence. “Agreed.” Tarak clasped her arm and led her from the room. He rolled his eyes, naturally his Alana was digging in her boots and not co-operating. He tugged her arm, eager to gain the privacy of his chambers.

“What do you mean agreed? Just like that?” She was staring at him, baffled.

“Yes. All of you may keep your belongings. They are worth nothing to us.”

“Honestly? And you won’t change your mind?”

“Have I not said I agreed?” His voice rose in outrage.

How dare she question his honour?
He glared around the room. His men hunched their backs as they ducked for cover.

“Senior Ops Officer,” he snapped and a soldier jumped to his feet, coming to battle attention. “Send out the directive to all Darkon warriors. From now on, all slaves will have the right to own chattels. Darkon warriors are not to remove their slaves’ possessions. Now, have done with this matter.”

He swung around, directed his glare at his slave.

She smiled at him. Her lips parted over small white teeth and creased a tiny dimple in one satiny cheek. At the warmth in her eyes, the tempting curve of her mouth, his heart expanded until it filled his chest. His. All his. This beautiful, stubborn, strong woman. He had to possess her.