Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
The price listed makes me whistle and shake my head–it’s a fortune. One could buy a planet for the stein. It occurs to me that maybe the owners plan to do just that.
The human’s gaze is strong and almost angry. She may be a captive, but there’s something in her expression that speaks to a strength that outlasts captivity–unless I’m imagining what I want to see.
And what I see in her picture is freedom: My freedom as well as hers. Last night, it was a wild idea. This planet rotation, it’s my only chance.
If I can get this human for Zandia and if her body does hold the answers to the epidemic plaguing our new generation, my honor would be restored. Instead of being the veck-up, I’ll be the brave warrior who sought a solution to a dire problem.
We Zandians breed with human females since most of our own females are long dead. If I could bring in this human and give her to Dr. Daneth, he could figure out what was done to make her immune to human diseases.
I hoped to obtain her as a side job; it seemed a good way to satisfy the emptiness deep in my core. It’s absolutely not that my main job isn’t–wasn’t–perfectly satisfactory. As I told Gabin, Zandians are grateful for any job they are given. It’s just…I want to be a contribution to Zandia, and I’ve lost my touch with training.
My wrist holo flickers a third time, and I close the picture on my tablet.
“Rhob.” My voice is gruff as I connect with my peer. “Meet me at the dome in ten minutes. We’ll start the information download.”
I grab my other tablet, the work one that contains flight sim data and training module information.
As I leave my domicile and stride over to the flight area, I keep envisioning the human’s striking blue eyes. The set of her chin. The strength in her shoulders. Those frail human fingers, the ones that are half the size of Zandian hands. And although I know I’d be taking her for the good of Zandia, not as a mate, part of my body can’t help but react to her beauty.
She’s for Zandia, I remind myself. Not for me. Don’t get too excited.
I should petition the king for permission to go off and secure her for Zandia. But considering what happened during this planet rotation, I doubt he would trust me.
So… I could go without leave. Not inform any being of my plan. I can use a borrowed Zandian crystal to attempt to buy the female. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission in this case.
Yes. I have to make this work. It’s the best chance to regain my honor and prove that I’m worthy of serving my planet.
Chapter 2
Kailani
The room swims around me. The scent of sweat—both human and alien—fills my nostrils assaulting my already churning stomach. My nails cut into the heels of my bound hands as I stumble across the polished stone floor of the trade center.
I’ve heard of this place. It’s a high-end epicenter for gambling, auctions—especially of things illegal to trade on other planets—and distribution. The Caretaker and Overseer haven’t given me the medicine to take away the migraine yet. It’s part of controlling me. They’re not going to risk my escape while I’m in transport.
I can barely see—the light feels too harsh. It cuts into my brain like a laser beam. They bring me to a roped off area and put me up on a marble dais.
The caretaker strips off my clothing and pulls my bound wrists over my head, where he attaches them to a hook that’s too high. It pulls me up to my tiptoes.
He squeezes one of my lifted breasts with a grunt of approval. “They’ll like that,” he mutters. The Kraa weren’t interested in me sexually, so this assault is the first of its kind, but if I don’t get out of here, it won’t be the last. But then, I won’t be sold as a sex slave. No, that would be a blessing after the life I’ve had. I’ll be sold as a medical oddity for examination and dissection.
He spins me around to examine my backside. He slaps my ass a few times, not punitively, more like he’s watching it jiggle.
“Please, Master. My medicine,” I beg. I’m not even pretending. I really would grovel at his feet for even a portion of the medicine I need to take away the headache.
He takes out the little vial, uncorks it, and dribbles two drops—half the dosage—into my mouth.
I moan, my body trembling for it. I hang on my bound wrists and close my eyes, waiting for it to take effect.
“How much for the human?” I hear a deep voice ask.
“Oh, she’ll fetch more than all the slaves in here put together,” the overseer boasts. “She’s been genetically modified. She’s stronger and more durable than most humans. Capable of working five times as hard as the average human slave. Immune to illness, too.”