Page 12 of Warlord's Mate
She blinked and looked away, glancing down the table before staring at the ground.
No, he decided. He’d not have stepped into that ring to fight for her had Allok not wanted her. He’d learned his lesson the first time. Females were not worth the trouble and this one wouldn’t be either.
Zasra’s image filled his head and his mood blackened. She’d given him nothing but coy smiles and a mouth full of bitter lies. The mere thought of her caused the anger to return. He stabbed at another piece of meat and wished it was her traitorous heart he was piercing.
The food turned to ash in his mouth and he barely got it swallowed. He washed it down, draining his cup and got up from the table, not sparing a glance in the girls direction. He’d leave her to her fate. He was beyond caring. Zasra had made sure of that and he’d be damned if he let another in to rip out the rest of his heart.
Chapter Four
Serving food to a group of ungrateful aliens was nothing compared to the backbreaking work of cleaning up after them. Full night had fallen by the time the last of the dishes had been washed and put away.
Marcy followed the other females back to camp, the voices and laughter of the aliens loud in the stillness. The central fire pit had been lit, the light from the dancing flames shining up on the dais the warlord was sitting on. He was leaning to one side on his massive throne, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The flickering light cast shadows around him that hid most of his features but she saw enough to know he was looking at her.
The females walked straight toward him, stepping up onto the dais before sitting near his feet. Marcy met his gaze before sitting down beside his chair and looking out at the camp, wondering what was to happen now.
The men were scattered, sitting in small clusters. A few looked as if they were arm wrestling, of all things, while others were in groups talking and laughing.
Music filled the air a few moments later. Marcy looked for the source of it and saw a silver skinned alien sitting a few feet away, an instrument that reminded her of a flute in his hands. She watched him, the soft melody surprisingly soothing.
The chatter around camp was—odd. If she hadn’t seen the aliens scattered around the fire, she would think she was back home, sitting by a large bonfire in one of her friend’s back yards. This seemed so—domestic. Wasn’t this place a prison? She imagined the people here had to have done something major to end up dumped on a prison planet to rot yet, so far, other than the skirmish earlier, everything seemed so—civilized.
She’d let her mind fill with hundreds of scenarios of what took place on this moon while being held captive in that dank cell and what she was seeing now never entered her mind. As brutal as some of these aliens appeared, their action spoke volumes. Come end of the day, they were just like she was—someone trying to survive on this shit-hole world.
Her eyelids grew heavy as she sat there watching the activity around camp. The day had been long and exhausting and she was ready for it to end. The oblivion of sleep would at least give her a reprieve from what was now her life. She’d woken in a cell filled with the scent of her own waste and ended up the possession of a warlord. At least in her dreams she was still in the mountains of Tennessee, surrounded by trees and clean, fresh mountain air.
She nodded off, her head tilting to one side before coming to rest on the side of the warlords chair when a scream filled the air. She sat up straight, the other females not moving an inch, their gazes drawn down. They weren’t kidding about not watching what was taking place around camp.
Commotion by the trees brought the camp to a stand still. Several aliens stepped into the light of the fire pit, one of which was being held by both arms. When they stopped in front of the dais, the one they were holding was flung to the ground.
“Found sneaking into camp, warlord.”
The warlord didn’t move, just sat there staring down at the alien on the ground. Marcy stared at him too. His legs were long and spindly, his head overly large for his body. His eyes seemed to take up the majority of his face and when he blinked, a thin film covered them before it slid away. It sat up on its knees and held boney arms up. Marcy blinked when what looked like wings appeared. His skin was black and now that she was really looking, he reminded her of a bat.
The warlord sighed. She wondered if this type of thing happened often. “I’ve not the patience for much tonight,” the warlord said, “So get on with whatever it is you are here for.”
To her surprise, the bat-like alien glanced at her. “You know why I am here.”
Marcy stilled when the warlord placed a hand on top of her head, his fingers sliding through the curly strands of her hair. “Are you here for your own reasons or for Allok’s?”
The bat-things mouth was a harsh streak across its face. “My master will have what is his.”
“Is that right?” Jorrick sat up, both hands curling over the arms of his chair. “And what exactly does he think is his?”
It looked at her again. “The master wants her.”
Everyone seemed to look at her at once, even the warlord. She’d never been shy but with so many eyes on her now, she felt herself shrinking back, trying to make herself as small as possible.
“And he sent only you to retrieve her?”
Something in the eyes spoke of the bat-like things confidence. Or maybe it was the set of his shoulders. Surrounded by dozens of aliens in an enemy camp and he—she assumed it was a he—didn’t look the slightest bit afraid. The moment it opened its mouth, a spray of liquid shooting from its mouth to land on the warlords hand, she knew why. Smoke boiled from his skin on contact. The warlord was out of his chair in an instant, the long blade by his side shooting from the scabbard and quicker than she could track, the blade swung, the light from the fire flashing off the metal before something warm splashed across her face.
She blinked and raised her hand to brush across her cheek but paused when the bat-things head rolled off its shoulders and hit the ground. Murmurs started at the edges of camp, multiple voices whispering to fill the air with a constant hiss of noise as the warlord slung his blade, blood splashing onto the ground.
Jityria stepped into her line of sight a moment later and took the blade from him before darting toward the warlords hut. The warlord looked at his hand, his jaw clenching before glancing at the now headless alien. “Toss him in the pits. The others can have what's left of him.” He glanced at her, then the other females. “Go sleep. All of you.”
The other females climbed to their feet. Marcy did the same. When the others started for the edge of the dais, she took a step to follow but stopped when the warlord grabbed her arm. “You will sleep with me.”
Marcy’s heart skipped a beat when he motioned toward his hut with a small nod of his head. She glanced at the other females, watching as one by one, an alien in camp took them by the arm and led them to the surrounding tents and huts. She gave the warlord one last look, then stepped off the dais. At least she knew he would be the only one she had to service tonight. The others she wasn’t so sure about.