Marked for Surrender (4 page)

She met this woman's hostile expression calmly. “As you wish. Shall I send them to you personally? Or to the council?"

The woman blinked. Had she expected Andia to protest? Surely she didn't underestimate Andia's ability to play politics. Pavlik had chosen some poor spokeswomen for his power play. “To the council, Mistress Andia. We want results."

Any other time, Andia would have gently corrected the council member that her job was less about results and more about the process. But she wasn't stupid. Some massive political upheaval had occurred, and she needed more information before she stepped in shit.

"As you wish.” She bowed her head. For a moment, her glance met Falia's, and again the councilwoman's attention flicked to the shadows. Pavlik lingered in the council chambers.

Andia ended the transmission and noted her hands shook. This was going to be a challenge.

Her earpiece beeped. She lifted her shaking fingers to press to answer.

"The prisoners have arrived.” Her guard's voice was blessedly familiar.

"Thank you, Mya."

"They are unconscious.” Mya sounded angry, her voice harsh.

"What happened?” Usually prisoners waited to challenge the enhanced Mistresses’ Guard.

"Dina slapped the mean one. The other one interfered.” Mya sounded extremely displeased. “It was my fault. I lost my grip."

"I take it you were dealing with Christophe Onnis. You underestimated him.” Andia rose from her computer and checked the last touches on her makeup. She planned to make an impression when she finally began to break these men.

"What is going on with these two?” Mya demanded. “He acts like a brother or—” The woman's voice stopped.

"Or what?"

"Or a lover.” The older woman had amazing instincts. Andia rolled the words around. A lover. Could the men be lovers?

She shook her head. Every indication said both men were dominants. How the hell did that work? “Are they restrained?"

"Dina and I stripped them and put them in the dungeon room,” Mya said briskly. “Something isn't right about these two."

Andia froze. “Because one of them defended the other?"

"No,” Mya mused almost as if she was speaking to herself. “Because the angry one never moved after Dina jammed his dick with a shockstick. Not until we tried to subdue his partner in crime. Because neither of them acted like any prisoner I've ever seen."

Suddenly Andia's mouth was dry with fear. “We'll proceed cautiously. The council has ordered a level nine, but we'll start with a level four."

"Stars! Level nine? What the fuck did they do?"

"The information they sold infected and killed an entire colony. Blame has been traced back to Nylar, and these two men are the ones who sold the virus."

"Fucking traitors,” Mya snapped. “Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do."

Andia took one last look at the men's file. According to the evidence, both men had profited from the horrific sale, and Zevon Maco had known exactly what he sold the Brotherhood. He'd written a report for the council warning against the virulence of the virus Vezera had created.

The fact that Christophe's father had died from a similar incurable disease spread by the Brotherhood could be viewed as his inspiration. How the hell could anyone sell death when he'd seen it firsthand?

Andia geared herself up for their first encounter. She'd chosen to wear her blonde hair curly and long. Black eye shadow and black lipstick emphasized her pale skin. A black silk dress that resembled a club outfit accompanied by knee-high black leather boots drew any man's gaze to the hidden treasure beneath the hem. A treasure few sampled.

The general never had. She'd broken him and never had to fuck him, thank the Stars. But some were rewarded, but only after they were broken, controlled.

It would be difficult not to rush these two men so that she could get laid. Well, that was her right. Part of her job was to gain their surrender. Fucking them might work. She squashed the doubts that surfaced. Her instincts had always served her well, letting her know the best way to access a man's soul. This time would be no different. She gathered energy around her and took slow, deep breaths.

They belonged to her, were her slaves. Their resistance would only make surrender sweeter. Anticipation slid along her nerves, and her skin heated. Yes, they would surrender, their will bending to hers.

Her boot heels echoed in the empty hallway as she negotiated the twisted corridors to the dungeon room. Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, making her conclave seem like an ancient edifice to Old Earth. In reality, vid streams, cams, and weapon caches were dotted behind the artwork. Like her dominance, it was violence with a velvet glove beneath pleasure.

When she reached the dungeon room, she opened the console hidden beside every room's door. The rooms in the conclave served one purpose: the punishment of prisoners. Only the staff rooms were free of constant surveillance and programming. Every room, even Mya's and Dina's, were set to Andia's voice commands.

The program she chose was the usual first encounter, a promise of punishment and control. The room was her blank canvas, and she was the artist. It was her stage and she was the performer. The two men who would surrender to her were merely players. She was the star.

The door slid open, and she stepped into the dungeon room. For a full minute, she studied the two men restrained against the wall. Her assertion of being the star was premature.

They were polar opposites, one dark, one light. On the left, one man glanced up as she entered, his black eyes dark and filled with rage. His hair hung in his face. Stubble darkened his jaw. Dangerous. Every muscle of his body tensed, and his arms were tight against the metal cuffs. Lean and broad, the man had all the right angles and shadows to draw in a woman.

Yet the other man compelled her attention as well. Light brown hair ruffled by his experience with her guards but laid flat against his scalp created an intense need within her to stroke his head. His eyes were closed, apparently still unconscious. His body, though less muscled than his partner's, was a work of art. Dips and valleys of his form would make any woman's mouth water. His face was sharply angled, his lips firm, and his jaw smooth.

She'd programmed light to focus only on her prisoners, her entrance hidden in the shadows. The dark one must be Zevon Maco, and the handsome Adonis must be Christophe Onnis. They were like light and darkness, forgiveness and anger, heaven and hell.

Zevon continued to squint at her, even though Andia was well aware he couldn't see her. Twice he peeked at Christophe, concern tightening his mouth.

Christophe stirred and blinked his eyes open. His eyes were sky blue, beautiful and soft. So different from Zevon's harsh, dark look.

Andia stepped closer, her heels clicking against the bare metal floor. As the bright light shone on the men, she noted several things. Zevon had been beaten recently. Bruises dotted his abdomen and his left eye and cheek. Three long cuts surrounded his dick, one where his hairline began below his stomach and two down the length of his upper thigh. Apparently someone had decided to punish Zevon before her.

What was it about Zevon that had pissed off his prison guards?

Christophe, in contrast, seemed to have been cared for. He was clean shaven, and his hair didn't look as if it had grown out for the two months he'd been in custody. His skin was unmarred, clean.

Awake, Christophe had not met her gaze directly. His eyes remained down, focused on the toes of her boots, which were just in the circle of light. There was no fear or anger on his face. Unusual. His emotion seemed to be one of waiting, almost anticipation. A moment of doubt stole through her.

Both men were silent, another difference. Fear, anger, arrogance, whichever emotion dominated her prisoners usually led them to speak, either to defy her or to taunt her. These men did neither.

She stepped into the light and focused on her angry man. Zevon's reaction was both fascinating and gratifying. All the prisoners had lusted after her body, their cocks always showing instant interest.

Zevon also revealed that she appealed to him, but something else fired his gaze. Fear? No, that wasn't it. It wasn't just desire. The men she'd always dealt with wanted to subjugate her, take away her power. She sensed none of this from Zevon.

What stunned her was when he met her stare for a brief second and then dropped his eyes to the floor, only to raise it again in defiance.

If she didn't know better, she'd think he was reluctantly drawn to her dominance, not her body. She had to hide her shock. Nothing in the files mentioned any submissive tendencies in Zevon at all.

She glanced at Christophe and found he was still focused on her boots. He was completely under her spell, and she hadn't even cast it yet. This was new.

But Andia adjusted to this new behavior. They were criminals, weren't they? Yalani's words intruded on her thoughts. Damn the council.

"You know who I am,” she said, keeping her voice hard and clear.

Zevon, of course, was the one who answered. “We know."

Time to teach this one a lesson. Carefully, drawing his gaze to her, she stepped closer until her mouth was a breath away from his. He pressed his lips together, and he scrutinized her moist mouth so close she knew her hot breath caressed his skin.

His cock brushed her hip. She had him right where she wanted him. “You don't know, slave."

His breath hitched, a sound she usually didn't hear from a prisoner for a long time. So fast. His eyelids drooped, and his hands flexed in the cuffs. Interesting. His body was in conflict, revealing a mind in conflict.

Zevon Maco was no simple dominant. She wanted to test it. “Do you know what I am, slave?” she asked in a low purr.

He didn't answer but licked his lips. She slid her hands up the sides of his chest and moved until her fingers rested on his nipples. His eyes were still half-closed, glittering with something more powerful than lust.

Abruptly and without warning, she twisted his erect nipples, using controlled strength to create pain. His response was...arousing. He hissed, but his hips bucked against hers.

"Answer me, slave,” she snapped and continued to twist his flesh.

"N-n-no,” he stuttered.

She dug her fingernails into his skin. “No, what?"

His gaze jerked to hers. “No...Mistress,” he said finally.

"I am your whole world,” she said quietly. His harsh gasps made his chest rise and fall rapidly. Under her hands, his heart beat fast, and his skin flushed.

She released him, and he shuddered, his expression volcanic with suppressed emotion. Pain. The key to Zevon was pain. He loved it. Andia shot a look at Christophe and stopped to stare.

The other man was focused on her and Zevon, his hungry expression making his features tight. His cock strained away from his belly, and his whole body was still, anticipating, watching.

When she stepped back from Zevon, he jerked against his restraints. Andia tried to cover her disturbed mental state.

This had been her job for twenty years, but she'd never experienced such a heady sensation of power. Never. The men she'd dealt with had resisted and fought her, just as Zevon did now. But none of them had inspired the arousal that both men caused within her.

Christophe's clear, immediate surrender mixed with Zevon's struggle to resist her when he obviously didn't want to was a powerful elixir. Her pussy throbbed, wanting and needing what they seemed to offer.

Guilty men didn't act this way. The men convicted by the council didn't respond to her demands like this. Her thoughts whirled even as she picked up her favorite toy of choice for initiation.

Most Mistresses, she knew, used pain, a cat-o'-nine-tails or a shockstick to gain the capitulation of their subjects. Andia believed that pleasure—and the withdrawal of it—was the key.

Her cherished item was a cock harness, specially made for her use. Black leather with metal spikes, it not only kept a man from release, it dug into his tender flesh, combining the pain and the pleasure she allowed.

When she stepped closer to Christophe, she noted Zevon tensed. Her hands were sure and efficient, strapping Christophe's leaking cock inside the harness. She tightened it, the straps and spikes digging into his flesh.

To her surprise, he moaned and dropped his chin. She lifted his chin to study his face. He kept his eyes averted, and Andia began to suspect the truth about the two men.

Christophe was a male submissive.

Like lightning, the thought electrified her. Her infrequent time off had been spent in some of Nylar's hottest clubs. Male subs were rare and ostracized. Christophe had fallen into subspace just from her work with Zevon. His eyes were glazed over and stayed lowered. His breathing was slow and steady, even with the stimulation and pain of the harness.

She glanced at Zevon. His intense focus, his parted lips, his evident arousal both confused and fascinated her. Andia gave her attention back to Christophe. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice echoing in the room.

"I am yours,” he said simply.

Andia almost stepped back in shock. Christophe's declaration was given without hesitation. “Do you want me?” she demanded. Why was she pushing this? The ritual of acceptance by a submissive to a dominant was old-fashioned, but she still used it to test her prisoners. She usually waited, built up to this.

Christophe blinked and stared down at the floor. “Yes, Mistress."

Zevon struggled against his restraints. “No, Christophe,” he shouted. “You can't trust her. She'll hurt you."

Christophe turned his head, and Zevon froze. Whatever he saw in Christophe's expression affected him deeply. “No. Don't do this. You don't deserve it."

"It was my fault,” Christophe said calmly.

Zevon seemed to lose his mind, fighting the restraints and heaving his body against the metal cuffs. Andia lifted one brow at his frantic efforts. Clearly he could see it was pointless to struggle, yet he strained against his captivity. Such a passionate response.

In the midst of Zevon's frenzy, Christophe whispered, “Mistress, please. He'll hurt himself."