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Chapter Two

B east

“Beast? Walk with me?”

Little Aerie’s glancing over her shoulder at me with an odd look in her eye. I hurry to catch up with her, anything’s better than being fawned over. I haven’t enjoyed that since my twenties.

I hope she wants walking and not talking. I’m not good at that.

“Come to my room?” she asks as she stares up at me pointedly.

I know nothing about her race, but if I had to guess, I’d say she doesn’t want talking either.

I don’t respond.

If she wants a good dracking , and it smells like she does, I’m the male for her. If there is anything else expected of me? The answer is no. My recent experience with Emmannee gutted me. There will never be another relationship in my life. Never.

“Here we are,” she says as she stops at her doorway and palms the plate. She steps through and waits for me, her gaze never leaving mine.

I’m instantly hard. It’s been months since I’ve had sex. If that’s what’s on the agenda, I’m not turning it down.

As soon as I walk through the door, she slaps the palm plate and the door shuts behind me. She steps close to me, her tiny feet between mine. Still spearing me with her stare, she presses her palm on my stomach, turns it so her fingers point toward the floor, and slides under my loincloth until she’s gripping my cock.

The corners of her mouth tip upward at her first touch, then her eyes flare in shock when she grasps me fully. Her small hand doesn’t fit around my girth.

“Exceeds expectations,” she says more to herself than to me. As she tries to stroke me in the tight binding of the cloth, she orders, “Take this off.”

I’m happy to comply.

We’re still standing less than a fierto from the doorway. She’s said less than ten words to me. I’ve said none to her. Her species must not desire foreplay, which I’ve always considered a waste of time.

This. This quick coupling is exactly what will take the edge off. The events of the last few lunars have drained me. I deserve this, perhaps I need it. It seems we both do.

I lift the little human off me and try to take off her clothes. They’re like nothing I’ve seen before, and I don’t want to struggle with them. I step away, flicking my eyes from her head to her toes, silently ordering her to strip.

She tosses me a full-on smile and her fingers work the fastenings as if she can’t get naked fast enough.

I lift her, step toward the bed, and toss her onto it. Grasping her ankles, I split her wide, kneel between her legs, and spear her with my tongue.

Aerie

Oh my. The big Pinnacle gladiator is going down on me. That’s a bonus I didn’t expect.

When I get desperate for sex, sometimes I’m not even horny. It’s kind of a compulsion, something to keep my mind occupied. My body never takes long to get with the program, though.

With Beast, I’m already all in. His tongue is lancing into me, his nose bumping my clit with every thrust.

I grab his muscular shoulders and hang on, my head thrown back on the pillows. Just three minutes in and I’m already in my happy place. With Beast, it’s a very happy place. I lie back and let the sexual sparks race through my body.

“Fuck!” It’s half moan, half shout. Then my lids slam shut and I’m fully in the moment of Beast’s sexual attentions.

He’s plucking my nipples with both hands. Go Beast, you’re ambidextrous. I never pegged you for a guy who would be so attentive to my pleasure.

My knees are splayed wide on the bed, my head is thrashing against the pillow. My orgasm is building in my pelvis. I reward him by saying his name. “Beast.” He rewards me by flicking my clit mercilessly with his tongue while his hand snakes between my legs and two fingers slide into my slick channel, pounding in a quick tempo.

He holds nothing back. Doesn’t wait for permission or dally in tentative movements. No. He’s a conqueror, taking what he wants. He’s fucking me with his fingers, and pressing on my bundle of nerves hard enough to make me come right now.

“Fuck!” I scream as I hold onto the top of his head, my fingers grabbing the thick dreads that spill out of his top-knot.

My release flies through me, every muscle both inside and out spasming in pleasure. My core clutches his fingers as he keeps pounding into me until the last aftershock subsides.

I’m panting, floating in bliss. For one blessed moment, I’m relieved of worry. No thoughts of alien abduction, or being a billion miles from Earth, or what the vivisection room in Area 51 looks like are flying through my head. I’m only focused on the boneless pleasure consuming every cell in my body.

Beast, bless him, knows just when my refractory period is over, and begins his assault again. No argument from me, big boy.

His mouth attacks my clit, now almost overly sensitized, as one hand snakes under me and grabs an ass cheek. His fingers are dangerously close to my asshole, which is virgin territory. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to protest. No protest from me. I’ll wait and see if I like what comes next.

My core feels empty, but I barely have time to focus on that as his tongue whips me into a frenzy. When his mouth latches over the entire area of my clit and creates suction, I almost levitate off the bed.

With that not-so-subtle clue, he slides his fingers into my core and I fly over the edge of pleasure into bliss. I’m probably pulling way too hard on his long dreads, but I can’t control anything my body’s doing right now. Not the thrashing of my head, or the gripping of my fingers, or the spasming of every muscle in my body until I’m panting in exhaustion and lost to all thought for long, glorious moments of quiet from the nagging harpies in my mind.

He’s climbed up, even with me at the top of the bed. When I open my eyes it’s hard to miss his hand almost absently stroking his cock from base to tip.

After what he just bestowed on me, I have no reservations about returning the favor. I kneel, my knees straddling his thighs, and am about to slide my mouth onto him.

I stop, stealing a moment to inventory what is not only the first alien cock I’ve ever seen, but certainly the most beautiful. It holds such promise.

It’s a similar shade to his skin, but there are speckles that are luminescent. His cock is thick, with random bulges. A woman can’t look at this . . . work of art . . . without wondering what it will feel like inside her.

The underside is ridged, the top has bumps, almost like those tribes in Africa that insert pebbles under their skin for rituals. But this baby, I grab it in my palm, is all natural.

It’s so thick I’m not certain how I’m going to fit it in my mouth, but I’m resourceful. I’ll figure it out.

Look. At. That. There’s a pearl of pale green liquid beaded on the slit. I dip my head to lick it. The faint scent hits me first, for some reason it reminds me of spring. The taste is reminiscent of the time I tasted a leaf when I was a kid. It’s fresh and clean and earthy.

I surround the head with my mouth and swirl. Glancing up, I see his ripped abs contract as they move under his gorgeous skin. With such visual enticement, let’s see just how far down his cock I can manage.

Even though he just gave me two mind-altering orgasms, when I feel the slight breeze between my thighs it confirms just how drenched I am in readiness for his cock.

His fingers try to fist my hair, but it’s too short for him to gain purchase, so he grabs my shoulders to hang on as I descend onto that magnificent cock.

“Emmannee,” he says on a deep, guttural groan.

I freeze. The translator gave that word no translation. Somehow I know it’s not a word, not an endearment, not a direction to go faster or slower or harder or softer. Somehow I know to the depths of my soul that it’s a name. And it’s not mine.

When I lift my head to gaze at him, his eyes flare wide, then shutter closed. An admission of guilt if I’ve ever seen one.

Out of all the ways this might have played out, this scenario was never on my radar.

“You should leave,” I say as I shimmy off the foot of the bed. I grab a towel that had been draped on the chair and wrap it around myself.

See? My rational side snipes. This is what happens when you tumble into bed with someone who doesn’t talk, someone you barely know. He may be married for all I know. Maybe he’s a hundred alien years old and has fifty children. What was I thinking?

The thought darts through my mind that maybe his come is poisonous. It could very well be. I know nothing about him. Nothing!

Since he’s not making a beeline for the door, I point to it as if he’s feeble-minded. To further elucidate the matter, I repeat, “Leave.”

He has the good manners to look sheepish, then utters the first word of the evening. “Sorry.”

He scoops his discarded loincloth from the floor, palms the plate, and exits the room, naked as the day he was born.

I ’m mumbling to myself in the shower, wondering how I’m going to muster any energy today. I doubt I slept more than two hours last night.

The whole idea of the sex-with-Beast fiasco was to keep my mind off the shitstorm that is my life. I shrug, realizing I accomplished my goal.

Instead of tossing and turning and lamenting about every freaking woe-is-me thing that’s happened in the last day, I was tossing and turning and lamenting about what an ass Beast is. No woman wants the guy she’s going down on to utter another female’s name. Nope. Especially with that hushed, reverent, I-wish-you-were-here sexy rumble.

Now, instead of avoiding him on this relatively small ship because we fucked before we knew more than each other’s first name, I’ll be avoiding him because he called out Emmannee’s name in flagrante delicto. Fucker.

Oh well. I need to wipe that out of my mind and move on to the next crappy thing in my life, which is . . . everything.

I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that I won’t be returning to Earth. I’m here on this ship, and after meeting the pig-faced Urluts and being involved in a spaceship shootout, I should be kissing the ground my rescuers walk on.

I need to figure out a way to fit in. And if I’m smart, I’ll discover a way to be a ‘value add’ to this ragtag band of folks. What was that old saying? ‘Ass, gas, or grass, nobody rides for free’.

Yep, I need to find a way to pull my weight around here before they decide to jettison me into the dark emptiness of space.

The soft knock at the door, more like scratching, pulls me from my reverie. I’m stark naked, in the middle of cleaning my gray business suit with a wet washcloth. Now that I know I’ve been wearing it for three-plus weeks, the not-so-fresh smell emanating from it makes more sense.

“Who is it?”

“Dahlia. I brought you some comfy clothes. I can leave them on the floor outside your door if you’d like.”

I wrap a towel around me, stand next to the wall, and palm the door open. As soon as Dahlia walks through, I close it again.

I didn’t remember who Dahlia was. She’s a pretty redhead with bright blue eyes carrying a stack of clothing.

“I thought you’d appreciate a change of clothes. Most of us wear leggings and t-shirts, so that’s all I brought. It will be a heck of a lot more comfortable than your suit.” She smiles pleasantly at me.

I immediately forgive her assumption that I’d like nothing better than to get out of my Brooks Brothers pinstripe skirt and jacket. Five years ago I never would have believed I’d wear such a thing, much less prefer it over t-shirts and jeans.

That was before I discovered the power of the ‘power suit’. Wearing clothes like this gives people the immediate message that you are someone. That you can afford a thousand dollar outfit that goes well with your thousand dollar shoes. It tells assholes to back away. It keeps me safe. Well, I thought it did.

Here on the Fool’s Errand , it’s nothing more than an albatross. A smelly one at that.

“Thanks. It will certainly be more comfy than this.” I fake a smile and give a genuine shrug of my shoulders.

“Are those . . .” she pauses as she looks at my shoes. “I don’t know the name, but those are fancy-schmancy shoes, right?”

“Louboutins. Yeah. Fancy-schmancy.”

“Sorry. Things are never going to be the same for you.” She looks at me and there’s something about the piercing gleam of her stare that tells me she has an inkling of why I like to wear my ‘uniform’.

“I hear you. I think it’s going to take a while for everything to sink in,” I admit.

“It took me months. It wasn’t until I fell in love with Dax and we were mated that I accepted the reality of the ‘never going home again’ edict. Now I’m deliriously happy.” She spears me with another knowing look. “It helps to look at this as an adventure.”

I pause for a moment, realizing this is good advice.

“I think the road is going to be bumpy, but I’ve got to say, Dahlia, I can’t argue that this is an adventure.”

“I need to get to the ludus ,” she says as she glances at the device on her wrist. “Want to join me?”

“Is that the gym? I’m not in the mood to exercise.” Yeah, not on Earth and definitely not here. Never.

“Zar called a meeting of all the males in about . . .” She glances at her wrist, “Ten minutes. I have a feeling he’s going to ask for volunteers to take Steele’s place at an upcoming gladiator match on Galgon. I want to be there to help remind Dax not to step forward.”

“You don’t like him to fight?”

“No. Trust me, the first time you see a male you know on the sand of an arena, it will clarify exactly how much you care for him. It’s excruciating to watch. But Dax is his own person, I’d never tell him what to do. It’s just that he doesn’t want to fight anymore either. He’s over it. However, he’ll do anything if he thinks the people on this ship need his help. He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know. I want to be right in front of him, my presence reminding him he doesn’t want to pick up a sword anymore.”

She loves her guy, that’s clear. I think I remember him, he was the humongous one with a beard.

All the guys are going to be there? This should be interesting. Let’s see if Beast will be able to look me in the eye after his little verbal blurt last night.

“We’ve got ten minutes? I’ll be ready in five.”

While I’m dressing in the bathroom, Dahlia says, “It’s not too hard to find t-shirts, leggings, and even the occasional pair of jeans in space. Shoes, on the other hand, are another thing altogether. The best we’ve found is flip-flops. I’ve generously provided you with two pairs.”

When I emerge, I see she has a pair dangling in each hand. One pair is almost-neon yellow emblazoned with daisy-like flowers, the other is pink with cute big-eyed alien females pictured not just on the insole, but on the sole and the straps.

“There are many worse choices. I was being generous.” She pointedly looks down at her feet and when I follow her gaze I see her flip-flops are eggplant-colored with chartreuse eyes staring from every surface.

“You’re my new best friend for not asking me to wear those, Dahlia. I’m in your debt,” I tell her earnestly.

On our way to the ludus , we grab Willa as well as her ubiquitous canine companion, WarDog.

“All the guys will be working out in the gym?” Willa asks. “Will they be wearing more than the tiny scraps of nothing they wore last night?”

Sweet. I think the almost-naked guys embarrassed my little friend from Benson, Texas.

“Wearing loincloths is kind of dressing up for most gladiators. Naked is their preferred uniform. Don’t be surprised if, at any time of the day or night, a male streaks by without benefit of clothing.”

“Really?” Willa’s eyes are wide as a child’s on Christmas morning.

“Really. As long as I’m giving you a basic rundown of alien manners, I might as well mention that most of them have enhanced olfactory abilities. To translate, that means they can smell a female’s arousal. It kind of turns dating on its head. There is no such thing as quietly having a crush on someone. Your ability to cruise on stealth mode is history.”

She leads us to the ludus in the bowels of the ship. The equipment is different than on Earth, but the room has the same testosterone-infused vibe as any gym I’ve ever visited. Also the same manly-bordering-on-gross smell.

There are ten almost-naked alien gladiators in the room. They’re all wearing loincloths. The little scraps of cloth are meant, I suppose, to cover the genitals, but they happen to call attention to a male’s junk more than if they were hanging out for the world to see.

Every guy in here is eye candy in his own way, but my eyes are drawn to Beast. Did I think he was hot yesterday? Add a thin sheen of sweat over his muscular, green body, and you have sex personified.

My body reacts like Pavlov’s dog, and I recall that these guys can smell a female’s arousal at fifty paces. All I have to do is replay Beast’s handsome face calling Emmannee’s name, though, and I yank myself tightly under control.

The males are all clanging weights, laughing, and joking with each other until they realize three females have invaded the room. Now, except for the movement of the weights, it’s quiet.

Beast must know I’m here because his eyes are studiously avoiding this quadrant of the room. He calls to Shadow, the cyborg guy, and they spar on a mat in the corner.

I grew up as a civilized person on Earth, glued to my computer screen and cell phone. I thought I was far evolved from the caveman. But put me in a room with a sweaty, hunky alien with the body of a Greek god, albeit green, and I can’t deny I’m a primitive creature capable of functioning on lust and hormones.

My mouth turns dry as I watch the two males go at it. They’re masculinity, strength, power and grace all rolled into one. When their bodies clash, they grunt with the effort. Although the definition of sparring is that it’s more for training than an actual fight, it doesn’t look like either of these guys got the memo.

Shadow is going for broke as he attacks Beast. I get it, it must be like the Old West where every man with something to prove felt the need to go after the guy with the reputation of the fastest gun in town.

Beast, for his part, seems to be trying to let his partner off easy.

Zar pushes through the double doors, and in a minute all activity ceases.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he looks around the room. He sits on a weight bench where he can see everyone and pulls some notes from his pocket. He’s wearing black cargo pants with a hole cut in the back for his tail.

I take a moment to adjust to the fact that although I should be in a boardroom with other people in Brooks Brothers suits, I’m in a gym—no make that a ludus —with gold and silver and green aliens. One of them has an extra appendage!

I shake my head and pull my attention to the task at hand, that being to pretend to listen to the captain of the ship and not sneak peeks at Beast.

“First, an update on Steele. Dr. Drayke told me . . . let me check my notes . . . Steele took laser fire to his abdomen and thigh. He lost a lot of blood. He’s in a great deal of pain, but he’s responding well to treatment and is expected to recover fully.”

The room erupts in a low murmur of approval.

“As most of you know, Steele was scheduled to fight on Galgon in three days. Obviously, that won’t be possible. Steele was to fight Cherodon of Monravia as a Dimachaerus fighter. Cherodon will be equipped as a Hoplomachus.”

I glance at Dahlia who shoots me a confused look along with a shoulder shrug. The translator didn’t even attempt to explain these words. I assume they are some kind of ritualized fighting styles.

“I’ve watched vids of his previous bouts. This male is formidable. I don’t want to downplay his abilities or how difficult this match will be. It won’t necessarily be fought to the death, but as all of you know, anything can happen in the sand of the arena.

“Several of you no longer wish to fight. I’m happy to honor that. I just wanted to give you all the opportunity to have a choice. Do I have any volun—”

A badly-scarred male interrupts as he stands, “I volunteer.”

“Thanks, Stryker. You’re a good male. Any experience fighting as a Dimachaerus? Using two knives in a bout?”

“No, but I’m good with knives, both scimitar and gladius .”

“Any other volunteers?”

“I’m always willing to serve,” a dignified older warrior announces respectfully. He’s almost thin, not broad like the others, but you can see every muscle ripple under his ebony skin. “I briefly coached the strategy of using two knives many years ago, but have never fought in that style other than sparring.”

“Thank you, Doctore.”

“I would like to fight,” Beast announces from where he’s seated on a weight machine.

“Duly noted,” Zar says as he distractedly makes notes on his pad. “Let me consider it and I’ll let you know later.”

“You’ve brought me on board along with three others. And a canine,” he adds as he stands. “I want to fight. The purse will help repay your kindness.”

He must really want to fight in that bout. The way he worded his proposal ensured it would be rude of Captain Zar to turn down his offer.

“And your experience as a Dimachaerus?”

“I’m a Pinnacle fighter. I’ll spar in your ludus until I’m prepared for this type of fight,” he says gravely.

This must mean he has no experience whatsoever with this style of fighting. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Zar nods thoughtfully, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I assume gladiator fights are as dangerous in outer space as they were in ancient Rome. Whichever male he chooses could get killed. I wouldn’t want to have to make this choice.

Beast sits on the bench with faultless posture. If he was a statue, it might be called ‘Proud Warrior’. I only just met him, but all sorts of feelings are swirling inside me.

Lust hits me first, how could it not? He’s freaking beautiful. That shimmery green skin, the sexy rings on his nose. The thick topknot of cascading hair. His flawless body. He’s the perfect package. And don’t get me started on his ‘ package’ .

But I digress, because the next emotion that hits me is anger. The shithead called out another woman’s name when my mouth was on his cock for fuck’s sake. The word ungentlemanly doesn’t begin to describe it.

Then, despite my attempts to ignore it, a tendril of fear swirls in my belly. I’ve watched my share of gladiator movies. It’s not a profession known for the longevity of its participants. When Zar described the fight, the other gladiators looked stone-cold serious. Whatever a dima-thingamajiggy is, it does not sound like a walk in the park.

He said he wanted to fight to pay for our safe passage. It sounds altruistic, but I’m not certain that’s why he’s fighting. Maybe he likes the adrenaline rush. Or the adulation. If he’s really doing it to pay for me and the others, that just increases the tightness in my stomach.

Doctore, the older male who was a trainer, emerges from what must be a small storeroom with two wooden knives. Shorter than a sword, longer than a dagger, they’re curved, like a scimitar.

He hands them to Beast, who stands and immediately begins wielding them as if they’re extensions of his arms.

Dangerous beauty. They’re the only two words pulsing through my brain.

Doctore returns with a sword, spear, helmet, and round concave shield. He must be playing the part of the opponent, a Hoplomachus. What’s immediately apparent is that Beast has no shield, no defense.

I stand, rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes from the spectacle in front of me. It’s like a deadly dance. Beast attacks, Doctore defends, then they switch.

All the blood drains from my face as I imagine this in an arena, in the hot sun, with an opponent equipped with a real sword and a metal-tipped spear.

“Aerie?” Willa softly grips my wrist. “Aerie, should we get some breakfast?” Her voice is hushed, the tone you’d use to wake someone who’s sleeping.

I shake my head to return to the present, sneak one more glance at the two males sparring, and turn to leave. Dahlia is doing bench presses with her huge gladiator mate spotting her. The doting look on his face, like he’d rather be with her than hanging out with his macho buddies, speaks volumes about their relationship.

“What’s with the strange names? They almost sound like Latin,” I ask.

“When you were off in La La Land, Dahlia explained it.” She reaches down and pets WarDog, then tells him in a singsong voice, “I know you’re hungry, big guy. We’re going to get you something to eat right now.”

If you were blind, you’d think she was either talking to a tiny cockapoo or a baby, not a two-hundred-pound walking predator.

“I missed it. I was preoccupied. Give me the re-cap.”

“Are you crushing on the Pinnacle?” she asks with a knowing smile. “He’s handsome, I’ll give him that.” WarDog nudges her hand for a pet, as if he can’t bear to walk the length of the ship without her attention.

“He’s . . . taken,” I respond. “Tell me about the funny names.”

“Shadow, the cyborg guy who isn’t a cyborg at all, just someone with some bionic parts, is convinced that many of the planets in the galaxy were ‘seeded’ by an older, wiser race. That’s why although we may have our differences, most of us are pretty humanoid.

“He thinks maybe the original race, who he calls Gaians, came back to share some of their culture. It sounds like a lot of species’ languages have some Latin roots. The gladiator stuff evidently is common on a lot of planets, too. Dahlia seems to remember that some of the classes of fighters in ancient Rome had similar names to what they were talking about today.

“It’s all just guesses, though. Shadow wants us to go in search of Gaia. It’s cause for debate on the ship.”

Taking a deep breath, I shrug. “I don’t care where we go. If we can’t return to Earth, I just want to remain a free woman.”

“You and me both. I’m afraid they’re going to jettison me.”

I realize we’ve been walking for a long time.

“Are we lost?”

“Totally,” Willa admits.

WarDog shoulders ahead of us, taking the lead. I’ll trust him over either Willa or I. I read once that where humans might smell stew, dogs’ noses are so sensitive they smell beef and carrots and onions and potatoes. I’ll trust the dog to lead us to the food.

“So it’s not just me who’s worried about being dead weight on this ship?” I ask.

“I’m just a girl from rural Texas who was thinking about becoming a vet tech. Other than taking care of the dog I brought on board, I have no skills to bring to the table. I’m just another mouth to feed.”

“I’m thinking they don’t need an entertainment lawyer, either.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly is that?”

“Remember the movie Jerry Maguire ? He was a sports agent?”

“Yes.”

“I work in a firm like that, only I’m in charge of the contracts.”

“Ohhh. That’s how you got the expensive shoes.”

“Kind of. I’ve only been working for ten months. If we do well, I get a huge bonus next year. Wait, what am I saying? I was supposed to get a huge bonus. What I’m walking away with is a used pair of Louboutins.”

“We’re screwed,” Willa says. “I live in fear that WarDog will take a crap somewhere he’s not supposed to and they’re going to push us out at the next stop.” She pauses and looks at him pointedly. “Dax is the nicest guy. Dahlia lucked out with that one. My momma would say, ‘he looks at her like she hung the moon’.”

I look at her, waiting for her to finish her story. I’m not sure my New York and her Texas are going to work so well together. In the time she’s been talking, I could have shopped for my entire Christmas list. Well, that’s not saying a lot. I have no Christmas list.

“Dax offered to build me a little potty area in my cabin. They have some chemical mixture made for having pets in space. We’ll get some at our next stop. In the meantime, Dax said he’d hook me up with some absorbent rags I can use and wash when they’re dirty.”

We arrive at the dining area, which is the only room on the ship that has any character. There’s a large three-dimensional wooden sculpture on one wall. It’s intricately carved, about two inches thick, and depicts a meadow of flowers in full bloom. It’s stained brown except for the merest hint of blue on all the flowers. It’s lovely.

“Dahlia told me Dax made that,” Willa informs me.

“Talent,” I say. “Something I lack.” Frankly, I have no idea why they’d want to keep me.