Enslaved

  For now.

  * * * * *

  Rivin Tragar of the Verrak stared at his target through narrowed eyes.

  She appeared to be crying.

  Why—he had no idea. It wasn’t really his business. His business was to kill her. And that had been his business since he had first agreed to take this contract from the strange Dark Kindred who called himself “Two.”

  So why hadn’t he done it yet?

  Tragar had no answer to the question.

  Well no—that wasn’t exactly true, he corrected himself. He hadn’t killed her yet because he wanted to know what she was capable of. When Two have convinced him to take the contract, he had hinted darkly of a female with hidden depths—a monster buried just below the surface that might burst through her mild exterior and leave a trail of blood and destruction in her path at any moment.

  A monster like that was right up Tragar’s alley. He preferred to take targets who were dangerous and could give him a good fight. Even better if innocent lives might be at stake. In fact, when he’d seen that this female—this Emily Brooks—worked with younglings, he’d almost taken her out from a distance at once, even though it wasn’t his usual way. Better to break his personal protocol that than risk young, innocent lives.

  But he’d delayed—stilling the itchy trigger finger on his sonic rifle for two reasons. The first was he preferred a fair fight. Unlike some of the other Verrak, he didn’t take targets at a distance. He took them somewhere safe and secure and let them choose their weapon and fight him face to face—let them die with honor. No matter what heinous crimes they had committed, everyone deserved dignity in death. That was Tragar’s belief, anyway.

  The second reason he didn’t shoot, was that he saw the way Emily interacted with the younglings. During his first observation one of them had fallen, scraping a chubby knee on the hard walkway that ran between the school buildings. The young one had run crying to Emily, her knee seeping blood, her eyes awash with tears.

  Here we go… Tragar’s finger had tightened on the trigger. Surely the sight of blood would bring out the ravening monster Two had sworn lurked in the innocent looking girl’s breast. He was ready to shoot her down the moment she went for the youngling’s throat.

  But instead of going feral—becoming a thing of teeth and claws and appetite—the girl he had been sent to kill gathered the youngling into her arms. She dried the little female’s tears and said some words of consolation—too low for Tragar to understand though he had been studying her language for days now.

  The little female had quieted, obviously feeling safe and comforted in the arms of Tragar’s target, who still showed no signs of attacking. Gradually, his finger had loosened on the trigger and then he had put down the rifle altogether and just watched.

  Gods, it reminded him of Kallah…the way she was with Jalex when he hurt himself…

  No! Tragar had pushed the memory away. He took a deep breath. I do not allow my past to dictate my present or my future. There is no then. There is only here and now. There is only the target.

  It a Verrak saying—a necessary reminder since most of those in his elite brotherhood came from a background of loss and sorrow. But though he repeated it to himself over and over, he still hadn’t been able to kill Emily Brooks. Not then and not now, ten days later.

  He studied her—watching her wipe at her eyes with a hand that trembled. Why was she crying? What had agitated her so? For a moment he imagined holding her against him and asking her what was wrong. It was foolish of course—a fantasy that could never come true. But there was no denying she would be pleasant to hold.

  She had a lush body hidden beneath her shapeless garments—he could tell. It was a shame she didn’t wear clothing that showed her shape but just the outline of her curves was tantalizing. Not that he was supposed to be looking at her that way—she was only another target, after all. Still, those full breasts and rounded hips…

  A burning sensation in his left arm brought him back to reality. It was the narsh—the mark of the Verrak—given to him when he first passed the trials and took the oath. Tragar looked down at the thick black lines criss-crossing his muscular arm from shoulder to wrist. The narsh burned to remind him that he had a job outstanding—a commission as yet undone.

  Tragar ignored it. He was used to doing so. He never took jobs with time limits on them, preferring to take his time and get every detail exactly right.

  I just need to know her, he argued with himself. Need to find out what’s so special—what makes her dangerous before I pull the trigger.

  And so he watched…and waited. Soon, he would kill her soon.

  But not…just…yet.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Mastering the Mistress , available for preorder here.

  Kaylee looked at her new body slave with more than a little trepidation. She hadn’t planned on getting such a large male—or such a wild looking one. Despite the slaver’s reassurance that he was tamed and trained, the look in those pale green, gold-ringed eyes made her think otherwise. But he didn’t say a word of protest as the lumpish security Crangs led him out to the fancy space flyer her Aunt Jamelda had left her, along with everything else in her will.

  Kaylee had wanted to let him ride in the front, strapped into one of the passenger chairs but Lyra had put her foot down. Slaves belonged in the cargo hold until they were properly broken, she said, and she was determined to be certain this Havoc male was perfectly trained before she trusted him out in public.

  The whole training ritual made Kaylee nearly as nervous as owning a slave in the first place. Lyra claimed he had to be broken to her will, whatever that meant. Kaylee wasn’t looking forward to the process of trying to “break” such a large male in any way.

  She sighed as she thought back to her life just a month ago. She’d been living in relative obscurity on the other side of Yonnie Six, working as a shop girl in Tulga, a little town without much to recommend it. Still, Kaylee had been raised there and she’d been perfectly happy until her mother died about a year ago from an incurable wasting disease. She’d grieved a long time, missing the kind and gentle woman who raised her. Then she’d taken stock of her life and realized she wanted more—more of what, exactly, she didn’t know. But she did know she wasn’t content to live the rest of her life in Tulga.

  Luckily, just at that moment fate took a hand. She got word that her great Aunt Jamelda, her mother’s only living relative, had just passed away in a freak cliff jumping accident. Jamelda had been seventy-six at the time and well past her prime but in all her pictures, she didn’t appear much older than Kaylee’s own age of twenty-three. Either she had wonderful genetics or she was addicted to enhancement surgery. Whatever the cause, it seemed she liked living life to the fullest and when Kaylee had learned that she had inherited a fortune, and a mansion in Opulex—the capital city of Yonnie Six—she had decided to follow her great aunt’s example.

  Unfortunately, living up to her great aunt included keeping up appearances. Kaylee had felt completely lost the first time she came to a society function. It hadn’t helped that everyone there had ignored her entirely, even after the head body-slave had announced her as the heir of the great Jamelda.

  Kaylee had wandered around feeling lost until Lyra had come up to her. Since she was the only one who was kind enough to speak to her, Kaylee had latched onto her quickly. Her new friend had kindly explained that her clothing was all wrong and her lack of a body slave was a social faux pas which couldn’t be excused under any circumstances.

  Kaylee had invited Lyra back to the mansion her great aunt had left her and led her from room to room as Lyra’s eyes grew wider and wider. She had decided on the spot to make Kaylee her new “project” and together they were changing her image from that of a poor, timid girl who didn’t know which way was up to a sophisticated woman with the world at her fingertips.

  The first step had been clothes. Looking down at the too-short skirt she was wearing, which barel
y covered her panties, Kaylee felt a twinge of unease. In boring little Tulga, the tiny skirt and low-cut top that nearly showed her nipples would have been considered obscene. But in Opulex, where the most wealthy and powerful mistresses made their homes, it was everyday wear. Indeed, Lyra had assured her that her outfit was positively frumpy. She’d already picked out some gowns for the next society fling that made Kaylee blush just to look at them.

  But I won’t be going to any society function if I don’t get this slave trained correctly, Kaylee reminded herself uneasily. She thought of him sitting back in the cargo hold and felt a surge of concern. Was he all right back there? Like all Yonnites, she didn't consider males equals, but she didn’t like having one as a slave either. There were a few free males living on the fringes of Tulga and everyone had been content to leave them alone. Then again, those had been shy, quiet specimens, most of them no larger than any of the women in town and some were quite a bit smaller. None of them were anything like the huge, imposing male Lyra had talked her into buying.

  “Well, get ready, we’re almost here!” Lyra chirped, pulling Kaylee away from her worried musings. She was driving and she handled the fast little ship Great Aunt Jamelda had left Kaylee like she’d been born to do it. Her own family was proud but not nearly as wealthy as some of the mistresses in Opulex. Also, Lyra was a second daughter which meant her older sister would inherit everything once their mother died. Still, she didn’t seem to let this fact bother her—she was unfailingly cheerful and if she was a little pushy sometimes, Kaylee was willing to forgive her. After all, Lyra was her only friend in the sprawling, impersonal city and she was happy to have her.

  Lyra steered the ship into a small, private entrance at the bottom of the towering building Great Aunt Jamelda had left Kaylee. When she’d learned that the entire huge skyscraper was now hers, she’d been astounded. Most of the floors were rented out to other, lesser mistresses but Aunt J, as Kaylee affectionately thought of her, had kept the top three for herself.

  The little ship settled into the private lift and was carried right up to the top of the huge building. There the lift opened into the parking area of the vast suite of rooms which now belonged to Kaylee. In the first two floors there were several living areas, three kitchens, multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, and bathing areas, a private spa and sauna with an attached bubble-water pool, and a massive entertainment theater with dream-gas capabilities.

  But despite the wonders of the first two floors, the third floor was what had really caught Kaylee’s attention. It was entirely given over to a massive dungeon complex filled with training and punishment equipment for wayward body-slaves. She hadn’t had time to fully explore the dungeon yet but Lyra had promised they would be making use of all its equipment when they were training the huge Havoc slave.

  Kaylee wondered what Aunt J would have made of her purchase. She had kept a whole stable of such slaves herself but they had not been passed on to Kaylee. In her will, she had set the lot of them free and settled them on different worlds where males weren’t looked down on as they were on Yonnie Six. Kaylee thought that was nice. Though she had never gotten to know her aunt before she died, she was developing an affection for the relative whose life had been filled with so much adventure and excitement.

  “All right,” Lyra said briskly, popping the doors of the little ship open with a press of her finger. “Let’s take your new slave up to the dungeon where he belongs and get started with his training.”

  “Right away?” Kaylee’s stomach gave a nervous little flip. She’d assumed the hard part was over for today. Her plans for the evening had included a relaxing soak in the bubble pool and maybe a few entertainment vids along with some of Aunt J’s excellent stock of Kiper 12 Star wine. But now Lyra seemed to be saying they had to start “breaking” the new slave at once—a process Kaylee was not looking forward to.

  “The sooner he acknowledges you as his mistress, the better,” Lyra said, nodding at the back of the ship where the slave was still stowed in the cargo hold. “We have to break him to your will and make him obey.”

  “But do we have to start tonight?” Kaylee pleaded. “Honestly, Lyra, I’m worn out from that long trip to the slave market already. Can’t we just…I don’t know, lock him up and start tomorrow?”

  “No, it has to be tonight.” Lyra’s bossiness was in full force. “Come on, Kaylee—I’ll show you exactly what to do. Just follow my lead.”

  Kaylee had no wish to do any such thing but there was no saying "no" to her new friend. With a sigh, she got out of the ship and walked around to the back. She was just about to pop open the hatch to the cargo hold when Lyra put a hand on her arm.

  “No—you can’t just let him out! Not until you’re prepared!” She reached into her elaborately styled gold-cloth Shirazz handbag and pulled out the small, black, evil looking remote to the pain collar the slave still wore. “Now we’re ready,” she announced. “Pop the hatch and then jump back quickly—he’s bound to have a long reach.”

  Kaylee wondered nervously why all this precaution was necessary. Hadn’t the slaver promised this slave was well trained and perfectly docile? So why was Lyra handling him like he was a wild animal in a menagerie that might get loose and maul his new owners at any minute?

  She opened her mouth to ask the question but Lyra was nodding at her to open the hatch.

  “Go on—do it,” she said in a low, tense voice, the remote pointed steadily at the hatch.

  Heart in her throat, Kaylee stepped forward and yanked quickly on the hatch release level. Then she sprang backwards, nearly tripping over the new Doli-laRon heels Lyra had insisted she buy to go with the too-short skirt.

  From the way Lyra had been acting, she half expected the huge Havoc slave to spring out, snarling and try to attack them both though his hands were still bound behind his back. So it was rather anticlimactic when the hatch swung upward, revealing him lying passively on his side, simply staring at them with a look of irritation in those jewel-like eyes.

  “Oh…” Kaylee put a hand to her chest, trying to still her pounding heart. “He seems quiet enough.”

  “Yes, he does.” For some reason Lyra didn’t seem pleased about this at all. She frowned and made a threatening gesture at the slave with the remote. “Well, come on, what are you waiting for? Get out here, slave.”

  The slave just glared at them for a moment but then he began to extricate himself from the cramped space. Apparently he wasn’t going fast enough for Lyra because when he was only halfway out, she pushed a button on the remote that made his back arch and his teeth clench in apparent agony.

  “Lyra!” Kaylee protested. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s not moving fast enough to suit me,” Lyra had an ugly look on her snub-nosed face. “This’ll put a little spring in his step. There’s nothing worse than an insolent male.”

  “He’s been cramped up in there for ages—he probably can’t move any faster.” Kaylee tried to grab the remote from her but Lyra pulled away, keeping a firm grip on it.

  “Relax—this is only the medium setting. He won’t have any permanent damage.”

  “Turn it off,” Kaylee insisted. “He’s my slave and I say stop hurting him!”

  “Oh, all right,” Lyra muttered sulkily. “But only because he’s too heavy to drag to the dungeon ourselves if he passes out.” She clicked another button on the remote and the huge slave abruptly went limp. Kaylee bit her lip as she watched him slump against the side of the ship, head hanging down, panting heavily.

  “Is…is he all right?” she ventured uncertainly.

  As if to answer her, the slave looked up. Kaylee recoiled from the look in his green and gold eyes. Before, when they’d first opened the hatch, he’d had am expression of bored irritation on his face. Now he was glaring at them with unmitigated hatred.

  For some reason, this seemed to please Lyra immensely.

  “Now he’s ready to train,” she announced. “Come on, slave—on your feet.”
>
  Slowly, the slave righted himself until he was standing tall. And tall was really the word—even in her designer spike-heeled footwear, Kaylee could feel him looming over her like a mountain of muscle. A mountain of angry, malevolent muscle, she thought. Oh dear…

  But Lyra didn’t seem to notice the murderous glare in the slave’s jewel-like eyes. She had a look of smirking satisfaction on her face as she motioned for the prisoner to precede them from the parking area.

  “C’mon, big boy, let’s get you trained,” she told him. “Walk straight ahead and no funny business unless you want another taste of the collar.”

  She stalked behind the bound and collared slave like a sadistic prison guard and Kaylee trailed reluctantly after them. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach a bad feeling was beginning to grow. A very bad feeling indeed…

  Brides of the Kindred

  Glossary

  AllFather—the evil head of the Scourge, a race that are the byproduct of a failed genetic trade. The AllFather is one of the Old Ones and has the power to reach into a person’s mind to harvest emotional pain and trauma. He lives for the fulfillment of the Scourge Prophesy.

  Ancient Ones—beings which live in the Deep Blue—the darkest and most inaccessible part of the Rageron jungles. They are sentient but not related in any way to the Kindred. Each Ancient One has two forms—a bipedal form which resembles a human or Kindred and a beast form which can be deadly and they can change between forms at will. The Ancient Ones predate even the First Kindred and revere the skrillix plant, which they guard jealously.

  Bespeak—to contact someone mentally using a Think-me device. It is considered rude to bespeak someone you don’t know intimately.

  Beast/Rager Kindred—come from Rageron—a jungle planet full of beautiful but deadly flora and fauna. They have dark hair, golden eyes, and hot tempers but their most defining characteristic is the mating fist. The mating fist is an area at the base of the Beast Kindred’s shaft which engages fully only during bonding sex with his chosen mate. When engorged it swells to keep the Beast Kindred and his bride locked together until she is completely bonded to him. This ensures sex that is both extremely long lasting and multiorgasmic for both partners.