Space Invaders (15 page)
“Bleine isn’t gay.”
He looked down at the two men kissing then back at Vohne. “Looks like he’s doing fine to me. Want me to give him some pointers?”
“No! He is mine. I’ll kill you!” Niafe’s voice cut through the room.
Kres looked over in time to see Niafe slide a knife out of her boot and stab one of the distracted guards. The second guard grabbed at her as she ran for Bleine.
Instinct took over.
Snatching up his weapon, Kres threw it at her. The blade spun in the air with a soft whistling noise before embedding in the centre of her throat.
With a strangled gasp, Niafe fell to the ground, fingers scrabbling at the dagger. Before she could pull it out, her movements stilled. Blood poured from the wound, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
Kres was sick of people trying to kill him. Damn it, he’d come here to have a peaceful life with his lover, and he was going to have peace if he had to stab every one of the fuckers.
A medic shoved through the crowd, falling to his knees beside her.
“About time you got here,” Kres growled. “She’s dead. Check the prince.”
The man paled beneath Kres’ glare. With shaking hands, he pulled an instrument out of his bag then waved a long glowing wand over the two men. “Prince Bleine and his mate will be fine.” He pulled a syringe out of his bag then quickly injected Bleine. “This will help his body adapt.”
The human tore himself away from Bleine. “I can’t be his mate.”
“Why not?” Bleine asked.
“Neither of us are lovers of men.”
Kres shook his head. “You people are too much drama for me. I’m going to bed. I’ve had a long day.” Turning on his heel, he marched out of the room.
He hid his smile as he heard Vohne’s footsteps follow him. He’d know the sound of his mate anywhere.
“Would you like company?”
He gave his mate a careful once-over. “You might as well come along and pound me into the mattress. I mean, other than ruling a planet, you’ve got nothing to do.”
Vohne gave a choked laugh. “True.”
“Maybe we should get you a hobby, like flower arranging,” Kres said, warming to his theme.
“Why would I need to arrange flowers?”
Kres flashed him an innocent look. “Well, they’re not going to arrange themselves.”
“True. Or I could just be your boy toy,” Vohne offered.
“Hmmm.” Kres gave the idea the serious attention the proposal deserved. “You’re certainly pretty enough, but can you practise saying important things like yes, sir, whatever you say, sir? Because I really get off on the power thing.”
Vohne’s rich laugh filled the corridor. “Yes, I’ve heard you’re a power hungry bastard.”
“Yep, that’s me.” Switching thoughts, he turned serious. “We’ll need to figure out who Niafe was working with.”
Vohne nodded. “But not today. Today we’ll enjoy each other. We’ll have time after our mating ceremony to hunt down the betrayers.”
“Maybe your brother will have better insight.”
“Maybe,” Vohne agreed.
“I think that was supposed to be maybe,
sir.
” Reaching over, Kres pinched Vohne’s ass before fleeing down the hall, laughing as he heard his mate chasing after him. So much for kings never running.
Tonight, they would enjoy their bond. Tomorrow, he had to be fitted with formal robes for the mating ceremony and do the million and one things a king-mate was required to do. Glancing back at his quickly gaining lover, he decided, despite all the drama, he would do anything for the man-cat he loved.
About the Author
Amber is one of those quiet people they always tell you to watch out for. She lives in Seattle with her husband, two sons, two cats and one extremely stupid dog.
Email:
[email protected]
Amber loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.
Also by Amber Kell
Supernatural Mates: From Pack to Pride
Supernatural Mates: A Prideful Mate
Supernatural Mates: A Prideless Man
Supernatural Mates: Nothing To Do With Pride
Supernatural Mates: Talan’s Treasure
Supernatural Mates: More Than Pride
Supernatural Mates: Protecting His Pride
Cowboy Lovin’: Robert’s Rancher
Dangerous Lovers: Catching Mr Right
Dangerous Lovers: Accounting for Luke
Yearning Love: Taking Care of Charlie
Yearning Love: Protecting Francis
Planetary Submissives: Chalice
Planetary Submissives: Orlin’s Fall
Planetary Submissives: Zall’s Captain
The Under Wolves: A Gamma’s Choice
Mercenary Love: Testing Arthur
Mercenary Love: Teasing Jonathan
The Thresl Chronicles: Soldier Mine
The Thresl Chronicles: Prince Claimed
The Thresl Chronicles: Politician Won
The Thresl Chronicles: Bonded Broken
The Thresl Chronicles: Duke Betrayed
A Wizard’s Touch: Jaynell’s Wolf
Heart Attack: My Subby Valentine
Scared Stiff: Protecting His Soul
Unconventional at Best: Convention Confusion
Unconventional in Atlanta: Blown Away
Lightning Strikes
THE VIKING IN MY BED
Jan Irving
Dedication
Be your own light—Buddha.
This one’s for T.A. Chase.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Conan the Barbarian: Robert E Howard; Wildside Press
The Lord of the Rings: JRR Tolkein
Gundar the Invincible: Marvel Worldwide, Inc.
Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation
Dark Hunter: Sherrilyn Kenyon
Queer Eye: Bravo Cable Television Network
BlackBerry: Research In Motion
Smart Car: Daimler AG
Campbell’s: Campbell’s Soup Company
Norwegian Wood
: Lennon/McCartney
Monopoly: Parker Brothers
A Natural Woman
: King/Goffin
Darth Vader: George Lucas; 20
th
Century Fox
Hallmark: Hallmark Cards, Inc.
Goodreads: Goodreads Inc
Buffy: Mutant Enemy Productions
Dodge: Chrysler Group LLC
Royal Doulton: WWRD United Kingdom Ltd
X-Files: Chris Carter; 20
th
Century Fox
Star Wars: George Lucas; 20
th
Century Fox
Mork and Mindy: Henderson Productions
Chapter One
Oh. That felt just toooo good.
Warm lips on my sweet spot. A lot of guys had made the mistake of thinking my sweet spot was in the obvious location, but I have a thing for having my right armpit licked and suckled, right over this little mole.
A soft beard scraped my skin with just the right amount of pressure. I shivered, arching my body.
I was aware I was close to waking up, like a boat about to bump onto a beach, but the hand stroking my bare chest felt so good I didn’t want to. What was good about Thursday? Thursday was rain, midterms, coffee with Candy, and maybe I’d be able to squeeze in an hour boarding. Maybe.
Thursday was not vivid blue eyes staring into mine. A wide, delighted smile, like a kid’s smile. Plump ribbons of braided blond hair that framed a tanned face. Miles of muscle that I was…stroking?
I sat up.
“Good. This will be better when you’re awake, yes,
seiðmaðr
?” a heavily accented voice boomed.
He was so loud I covered my ears. The guy on top of me had a chest like a fog horn.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked.
I was naked. Since I’d moved into college residence, I could sleep naked, which saved a lot of time on laundry. My two other roommates were guys, so it’s not like I was going to offend their tender sensibilities.
“I am making love to you, of course,” the gigantic blond bellowed.
“Stop shouting!” I yelled.
He frowned, looking like a puzzled golden retriever. “
You
shouted.”
“I live here!” I said with, I have to admit, very little logic. “Listen, Conan, can you get off me?”
He was built like Arnie and he was squishing my legs into my bed. This had to be a set up. I wondered who wanted to yank my, uh, tail—which was hard enough to wag right now.
But so was Conan’s.
“I am not called Conan,” he told me stiffly.
“Uh huh. So how much did my friends pay you?” He pushed back the blankets. His name might not be Conan, but if they made a rubber to fit his dick, it would be Conan-sized. I stared, my mouth watering.
Focus,
I scolded myself. Just because he has the kind of cock I’d love to suck, I mean
love
, going down as far as I could on the monster and holding those big rocks and squeezing them…
Right, focus. I got out of bed and grabbed some briefs off the back of a chair.
Conan got out of bed and stood there, hands on his hips, as naked as Michelangelo’s David.
“Where’d you put your clothes?” I looked around, then sniffed. “Do you smell smoke?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he noted.
“Is that a new kind of weed? What
is
that smell?” Had I left the boiler plate on again? Geez. It smelt like scorched earth in here. It hadn’t been that long since I’d done the laundry.
“It is the mark of my passage to this world,” Conan said.
Mark. I saw the hardwood floor was scuffed up. There was a burn on my fake wood wall and a seared heap of cloth that was a weird red colour. I stared at the wool, trying to figure out why it looked both familiar and strange. Oh, it had been dyed with raw madder. I’d helped Mom mix that natural dye for her weaving projects. I picked up the cloth, seeing fragments of a round neckline and cuffs with metal links featuring a snarling animal face. Wow. Mom would be really into this. I was about to ask Conan where he got the shirt when I noticed something else…
“Oh no, my graphic!” The new knot design I’d finished the night before was scorched, the paper curled. Damn. I stuffed it carefully in my messenger bag. Maybe I could photocopy the design. I wanted to show it to my prof later today.
I looked at the guy I’d woken up with.
He was very tall, towering over me. He wore a neatly trimmed dark blond beard. On either side of his face were golden braids, though the rest of his hair was long and free.
He was gorgeous, but obviously obsessed with some kind of role-playing. Figures there’d be something wrong with him since I’d woken up with him. I’d always picked the lemons in the barrel.
But he had a sweet smile.
And I had class in less than an hour.
I tossed more of my clothing, looking for a clean T-shirt. I found one with palm trees and camels my Mom had snagged for me on a trip to Cairo. It was clean. Now I needed my favourite pair of stonewashed jeans.
Conan was still standing there, glowering at me like I was a servant boy who’d forgotten to dress his royal highness.
“Okay,” I said. “I gotta get to class. It was real funny.” I swallowed. How he got me so hard, so excited. How he felt covering me. “Ha ha. Now go, your Lordship.”
“I am Freyr Grímsson,” he continued, in a language I didn’t understand. Maybe it was Middle-earth. I found my jeans.
“There’s coffee and, I think, some left over pizza in the fridge,” I told him. “Bye.”
I sneaked one last look at him over my shoulder as I snagged my backpack.
He took my breath away. Glowing golden skin, glowering at me out of electric-blue eyes, hands on his corded hips, the kind of hips with dimples created by muscles. He had scars on his body too. Probably some kind of makeup to go with his persona. His cock hung long from a thatch of blond hair almost as bright as the gold on his head. Holy geez. I gave it a wistful glance and then slammed the door behind me.
