Page 4 of Warlord's Mate
The warlord’s hold around her neck loosened as he slid his hand up to cup her chin, grasping it and turning her head to expose the side of her neck. Just when she started to wonder what he was doing, he lowered his head and bit her. She screamed, pain shooting through her neck as two sharp pinpricks pierced her skin and as the pain intensified, her focus on his teeth inside her flesh shifted as the hand between her legs moved, one slender finger sliding in to press against her clit.
Chapter Two
Marcy’s body jerked as the bite grew deeper and the warlord’s hold on her tightened. The hand between her legs pressed harder against her flesh as he pulled her against him and she’d bet money the hardness against her butt wasn’t her imagination. He was getting off on this.
When he pulled away long moments later, she felt his teeth slide from her skin. Blood dribbled down her neck, the small beads rolling down her chest as the warlord dragged his face up into her hair, his deep intake of breath the only sound he made until he lifted his head and said, “She is mine. Touch her and it will be the last thing you do.”
He waited for no response, instead, pulled his hand from between her legs, running it up the length of her belly and grazing the underside of her right breast before turning her in the opposite direction. With a hand on the back of her neck, he guided her to a large wooden structure nestled under a cluster of trees. A long leather flap over the doorway moved aside before they reached it and he guided her inside before following. When her eyes adjusted to the low light, Marcy scanned the room and saw a female standing beside the doorway.
The alien was about the same height as she herself was, which, to hear the kids she went to school with, was freakishly tall. At six-foot-two, she towered over almost everyone until she’d arrived on Prison Moon One. Aliens were on the tall side and for the first time in her life, she felt short when standing next to most of them.
Marcy flicked a glance at the warlord when he stepped around her. He made her feel the way she assumed those short girls with tall boyfriends must feel. He was huge and had to be close to seven foot. She’d not met many men she had to crane her neck to look up at but him, she did.
He stopped by they wall where several hooks were protruding and pulled the face mask off, then pushed the horned headpiece off his head, letting it fall down his back before removing the furred cape. When he pulled it away from his body, she got her first good look at him—sort of. Impossibly wide shoulders held several wide straps that crossed over his back. His skin appeared golden in the light coming through the open doorway. His hair was straight, nearly black, and fell well past his shoulder blades and when he moved, his hair sliding across his back, she could see several white lines, scarring from old wounds if she had to guess.
Muscles rippled under his skin as he hung the cape on one of the hooks, the end catching on a scabbard attached to his hips by a belt. She assumed it held a blade, the thick leather it was in wide and curved slightly on the end. She let her gaze fall down to his butt when he untangled the cape from the scabbard. It was much more appealing than it should have been.
He turned and looked at her, his gaze traveling down the length of her body before slowly coming back up. She ignored her racing pulse and gave him the same inspection. More scars were dotted across his chest and stomach and a particularly large one ran down the length of his right arm, drawing attention to his biceps, which were huge, like the rest of him.
The criss-crossing straps across his chest reminded her of the Roman gladiators from Earths past, the blades tucked into the straps telling her with a glance he was dangerous. He looked fierce, and she’d bet money he’d earned the title of warlord. Those battle scars he wore the only proof she needed.
Without the mask, she could see his entire face and knew she was in trouble with only a glance. He wasn’t terrible to look at, even with all that facial hair. She’d never been into the whole bearded mountain-man look that was so popular when she’d been abducted but had to admit, this guy made it look good, which meant that major character flaw she had—equating good looks with good intentions—was once again going to blindside her and leave her in a whole mess of trouble.
She didn’t know why she did it, when most people thought the exact opposite. They knew the good-looking ones were usually assholes, but not her. Nope, she saw a hot guy smile at her and instantly thought—he’s the one. And he usually was. The one to rip her heart out, stomp it under his boot, then kick it in the street as he laughed at her tears and she was sure this guy—this alien—the warlord, would shred her to pieces without much effort at all.
He was watching her when she looked back up at him, those unusual amber eyes reminding her of whiskey. What she wouldn’t give for a drink. In her current state, she’d almost be willing to give one of those ugly fuckers outside a hand job for a bottle of Jack Daniels just to calm her frazzled nerves. She’d known what was coming the moment she’d been forced off that spaceship and told to run but she didn’t think it would hit her so hard when she finally—belonged—to one of the aliens here, but it did. She was a prisoner, a captive—nothing more than a slave if you wanted to get right down to it and she was stuck here until she died.
The warlord gave her one more look from head to toe before walking back to the door, pausing to say to the female alien, “take her to bathe,” before leaving without another word. When the alien turned to look at her, Marcy wasn’t sure if her face always looked like that or if she was pissed off because the look she was throwing her way wasn’t friendly at all.
The alien ran her gaze down the length of her, then sneered. “Come. The warlord wants the stink washed off you.” She started for the door. “Your other flaws will no doubt be dealt with.”
Flaws?Marcy raised an eyebrow. The alien woman was just as strange as all the others she’d seen here and if anyone had flaws, it was this chick. Her skin was pea soup green, her hair a shade lighter than her skin. Her eyes were two large round circles on her face and black as night, not a speck of white to be seen. Small pale specks dotted the bridge of her flat nose like wayward freckles and she only had three fingers on both hands. If anyone was flawed, it was definitely her.
Marcy gave the room a quick look as she headed for the door. This structure was the largest of all the buildings in camp but still small if you compared it to houses back on earth and she had no doubt that’s what this was. It was the warlord’s home, primitive as it was, sectioned off with a long table and benches on one side of the room and a bed big enough to sleep three people on the other.
Images of herself butt ass naked in that big bed filled her head, and she pushed the thought aside as the alien woman walked outside and told her to once again, “follow.”
Stepping out of the warlords crude wooden hut, Marcy gave a quick glance around the camp, covering her bare breast, then rolling her eyes at the action. It wasn’t as if everyone in camp hadn’t already seen everything she had to offer.
Most of the aliens who’d been gawking at her were once again doing various tasks and only a few of them looked her way when she started following the alien woman to the trees. When the shadows covered them completely, she stared at the back of the aliens green head. As much as she hated being here, it was worse to be here alone. Having Sara that first day had done more than help save her life, it had saved her from a massive anxiety attack. Having a friend in this camp would help with that.
She quickened her steps and said, “I’m Marcy. What’s your name?” She waited long minutes but never received a reply and wasn’t really surprised. Nothing about this woman said she was the friendly type. Maybe one of the others would be less of a bitch.
The incline grew steeper and the sound of rushing water grew louder as they followed a trail through the woods. The trees grew more sparse, the sun filtering down through the branches to leave the trail in dappled light. Rocks lined the trail in varying sizes and the further they walked, the larger they became. When the trees gave way to a wide, open area, Marcy stopped and sucked in a small breath.
The walk from the arena had been through the forest and had a slight incline but she hadn’t thought much of it. Now she did. There was a mountain in front of her. A mountain spilling water down its side to splash into a large pond at its base.
“Wash and make it quick.”
The green alien wasn’t any friendlier now than she had been. Marcy ignored her hateful stare and hesitantly walked past her.
Black sand edged the pond, the water the brightest turquoise blue she’d ever seen. Sticking a toe into the water told her that waterfall was fed by a mountain stream somewhere. It was bone-chillingly cold. She debated wading in slowly or just running for it but didn’t get time to decide as the alien woman slammed both hands into her back and shoved her in face first.
The cold water felt like tiny daggers piercing her skin and Marcy came up screaming. She pushed her hair from her face and turned to look behind her. “You bitch!”
“Wash. The warlord waits for no one. Follow the trail back to camp.” She smiled suddenly, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture. “Or you can leave.” She nodded to the forest on the opposite side of the trail. “Head that way. It leads deeper into the woods.”
There was a string of words on the tip of Marcy’s tongue but the alien woman walked back into the trees before she had time to utter a single one. Marcy crawled to her feet, the initial shock of the cold water wearing off a bit, even though goosebumps pimpled her skin and made her nipples so hard she was sure she could cut glass with them.