Page 37

This guy is enormous, although it’s hard to tell how tall he is because he’s in a crumpled heap.

He’s facing away from me, but it’s impossible not to notice his massively wide, furred shoulders, slender waist, muscular thighs, and limp tail.

Tail! He’s got a tail! He’s wearing only a primitive fabric loincloth covering little more than his sex.

I scoot over between him and the back wall so I can see his face.

I involuntarily gasp in shock. Although his facial shape is human, his features are feline.

His nose is wider and flatter than a human’s, and there is a groove slashing from nose to upper lip.

His body fur is golden, his mane and the tuft at the tip of his tail are dark mahogany.

He has a tiny white dot where each of his short whiskers emerges from around his flattened nose.

Even though he’s unconscious, his slightly parted lips reveal canines which are frighteningly long and sharp.

His hands and feet are more humanoid than feline, with fingers and toes rather than paws.

I see no fingernails under the close-cropped fur, but I wonder if he has some sharp retractable claws hiding under there.

He looks like power and grace, even as he lies on the floor, unmoving.

It’s obvious he’s been through a lot. There are raised, discolored remnants of deep cuts all over, but his back is badly scarred in a pattern that could only come from a whip—many whippings.

I don’t think this creature’s had an easy life .

I’ll probably never get another chance to give him such a close inspection, so I reach out with one finger and gently touch his shoulder, wondering what his fur feels like.

As swift as lightning, he opens his eyes and grabs my arm.

He lithely sits up on his haunches, squeezes my forearm so hard it takes my breath away, and growls.

His grip is like steel. I yelp and try to pull back.

His fingers tighten and I immediately decide there is no reason to resist. I’m completely overpowered.

His golden feline eyes bore into mine as he squeezes my arm, and a low growl escapes the back of his throat. I have no idea if he even possesses receptive speech, so I use body language to acquiesce. Gazing at the floor, I slump my shoulders in submission.

“Never. Touch. Me. Again,” he snarls.

“Absolutely.” I’m still looking downward, making myself as small and non-threatening as possible.

He probably outweighs me by double and is strong enough to throw me twenty feet.

I’ve seen enough jailhouse movies to realize we’ve just established dominance in this cell and he’s definitely in charge.

He flings my arm away as if I have leprosy, gets to his feet in one agile move, stalks to the bed, and sits. Okay, I get it. One bed—it’s yours. I’ll figure out how to manage on the hard, cold floor. He lays down, taking up the entire width of the bunk, which seems narrower than a twin bed.

I wonder if he’s going to sleep, but when I finally work up the courage to glance at him, I see he’s still piercing me with a predatory stare. In his culture, staring must not be rude, because he’s not even pretending to be sly about it. His animalistic “don’t fuck with me” look speaks volumes.

I crab-walk backward until my back is tucked against the corner of the rear wall.

It’s as safe as I’m going to get. No one can sneak up behind me.

I’ll be ready for a frontal attack, although I have no idea how I’d protect myself from him.

Between his sharp teeth and all those muscles, I might as well kiss my ass goodbye.

He’s lying on the bed and seems content with that position for right now.

I pull my knees up under my chin and try to figure out what to do.

In the span of an hour, I’ve been kidnapped by aliens, collared, chipped, and thrown into a tiny cell with a lion-man.

An angry, feral, alpha lion-man who’s still staring me down.

At this moment, I can see no escape, no pathway to safety, no way home.

As I inspect where he grabbed my arm to see if I have a bruise, I notice my hands are trembling. I’m blinking rapidly to keep tears from sliding down my cheeks, and my chin is quivering so hard I tuck my head down behind my knees to hide my fear.

I’ve always been a glass half full kind of girl, so I try hard to find the silver lining—any silver lining. The best I can do is to be thankful that I went to sleep last night wearing more than a pair of boxer shorts.

Zar

Propping my torso against the wall behind the length of the bed, I put my hands behind my head, elbows out, and stare at this new female. I’ve never seen this species before. She must have adequate intelligence since she was smart enough to back off and has the sense not to challenge me.

It’s kind of shocking a species like hers evolved on any planet. She has very little muscle mass, no visible claws or talons, no barbed tail, not even sharp teeth that I can see. Perhaps her planet has no natural predators? She wouldn’t last a minima in the gladiator ring.

Her face seems bland, with no distinguishing features. Perhaps they make good breeders because I can’t see any other attraction.

I’m caught off guard as a pang of concern for her flashes through my mind.

I shouldn’t care. It’s everyone for themselves in my world.

But it must be shocking for an unprotected female to wake up aboard a slave ship on its way to a gladiator breeding planet.

I wonder if her species has evolved enough to even comprehend space travel. She looks completely petrified.

We both seem startled when an announcement interrupts from overhead speakers.

“You have one hoara to breed with your cellmate. If you do not complete the act, we will execute both occupants of the cell.”

I sigh heavily, my jaw tensing. I am sick to death of being forced to breed.

Anya

Oh no! Hell no! Just no! Can I please catch a break? They want me to breed? With angry lion-man?

I glance over, expecting him to be sprouting a raging hard-on in his loincloth, ready to pounce. Interesting. He looks even less enthused than I am. His face went slack and his eyes dulled.

The loudspeaker repeats the announcement, this time with more urgency.

Clearly, they mean business. My mind is spinning and I’m a jumble of emotions, from disbelief to fear to a hell of a lot of anger at this whole situation.

I briefly consider refusing the order, but a picture of that unfortunate alien’s head exploding flashes through my mind.

“Take your pants off. Get in bed,” he urges softly, sounding more resigned than horny.

I’m still in a tight ball in the corner. Pulling a shaky hand across my forehead, I wipe the beads of cold sweat off my brow. Afraid of what this huge alien will do to my body, I’m paralyzed.

“They’ll kill you if you don’t follow orders. Get up,” his tone sounds urgent and… concerned? I guess so. His head will explode as well as my own if we don’t comply .

A guard stalks to the front of our cell and points to the collar controller on his wrist. When I don’t immediately leap to my feet, his fingers mimic his head exploding, complete with gruesome sound effects. This propels me out of my paralysis and toward the bed.

There’s no reason to balk or argue. We’re both invested in making this happen.

I’m sure neither one of us wants to earn their punishment.

I slip under the thin blanket, then shimmy out of pants and panties and toss them to the floor.

My heart is hammering now, not in sexual excitement but in all-out abject fear.

Do I remember something about cats back on Earth having barbed penises?

Lion guy has untied his loincloth and, although his cock is flaccid, it looks enormous. Even if his equipment doesn’t stab or sting, I’m not sure that’s going to fit. Thankfully, it looks pretty human, albeit humongous, and I don’t see any barbs.

“Get yourself ready,” he announces almost robotically, then takes himself in hand.

His powerful right hand strokes his length from base to tip and back.

He appears as emotionally engaged as when I’m making tuna salad.

He seems to be using a practiced stroke from a time-worn formula to get down to business.

As I watch, I catch his deep, feline frown as he notices I’m not getting busy.

Before he can scold me, I cover my face with the blanket, slam my eyes shut, and slip my fingers toward my happy spot.

I have a time-worn formula, too. Even with this awful situation, between my efforts and a little spit, I think I’m ready.

I peek out from the covers to see lion guy is steel hard and ready for action.

“I’m… I’m ready,” my voice is whisper-soft and shy. I slip back under the covers like a prairie dog hurrying to hide in its den.

“Turn over.” This is an order. I do as I’m told and get on all fours.

This entire day, this entire process, is so surreal.

I’ ll pretend I’m in a dream. I can’t afford to tune in to my panic right now.

I just have to go through the motions and get this over with.

The picture of that alien’s head exploding is a strong incentive to do what I must in this tiny bed.

He slips the covers up, and then I feel his weight on the bed.

He gently lifts my middle, fits himself behind me, then dispassionately slips a finger inside me.

Satisfied I’m ready, he presses his cock against my entrance and waits, giving me time to adjust. He eases in gently, then pulls back, then presses in slightly more.

If I’m not mistaken, he’s trying hard to give my body time to accommodate his enormous equipment.