The Melier (Women of Dor Nye Book 1)

THE

MELIER

Erotic Science Fiction Romance

by

Poppy Rhys

J.T. Wynne

Copyright 2015 by Poppy Rhys

Edited by J.T. Wynne

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

WARNING

This story contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence against women, and situations intended for mature readers.

FOREWORD

Many thanks to my husband, who encouraged me to put my thoughts to paper when I complained too much about my need for more books with non-human aliens.

Thus, here you have my first novel. It isn’t perfect, but it’s been fun.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 1

The enormous craft shook with malice as another explosion erupted. Lucia grasped the cold metal railing of the stairs to avoid plummeting fifty feet to the bay below. She winced when her ribs collided with those same bars and dared to look over her shoulder to gauge the distance of her pursuers.

“Don’t shoot it, you beast shit!” a gravelly voice roared in a gurgling, grating language after a blue searing beam sung past Lucia’s shoulder. A little closer and she’d have lost her head. “I need her alive!”

Wheezing loudly at the rib pain, Lucia regained her balance and shot down the stairs two at a time. Twang of metal and bolts rang out around her with the force of her descent and the destabilizing false gravity lifting and pulling in spurts. At any moment she could go hurtling through the bay if the ships gravity really did give out, which only spurred her to move faster and find a damn escape craft.

Gravity lurched again and her feet lifted a foot off the ground before they slammed back down. She heard a scream and crunch as her lead pursuer was tossed from the stairs and splattered on the floor below.
One down, five to go
.

Jumping the remaining four steps, her momentum allowed her to power on into a full run as her feet hit the bay. Eyes scanned as she ran, trying to find a ship with no visible damage which wasn’t an easy task. The smelly, green scaled, drooling Trepnils had height on her and covered much more ground than her shorter stature could. Lucia could hear the large talons of their three toed feet tapping loudly against the hard floor as they gained on her. Trepnils didn’t wear boots.
Come on, come on, come on
, she chanted to herself, head whipping around and eyes searching.
There!

“Hallelujah,” she panted and pushed herself harder. The door to a medium sized craft was open, light shining out into the dim bay. Her lungs cried with exertion as she ascended the steep ramp. Crashing through the opening, she turned abruptly, her feet almost sliding from under her and then pounded on the sensor panel. The door whirred to a close while the ugly, long snouted bastards chasing her were still a good length away.

“Captain here, respond,” she yelled out to whatever artificial intelligence the ship had.

“Responding, captain,” a smooth, male computerized voice filtered through as the ship sealed itself, engaging airlock and false gravity. Lucia ripped her breathing mask from her face and flung it.

“Your name?” she questioned and hurried into the command chair, strapping herself in. Cursing under her breath, her head whipped around to make sure she was alone in the room as an afterthought.

“I am Wade, captain.”

“Great, Wade, nice to meet you. Now get me the hell out of here!”

“Yes captain,” Wade responded and fired up the engines. The roar filled her ears and her fingers strained on the chairs arms, just waiting,
waiting
for shit to hit the fan and the Trepnils to fire on her. Her nerves shivered and bunched as the craft pivoted and the view of the open bay doors continued to loom closer. The ship dipped as another explosion burst from somewhere inside the larger craft she was escaping. “Where to, captain?”

“Just get us off this ship first, Wade!” she yelled, unable to keep her voice level. Pushing a hand against her forehead, she ground her teeth in frustration. When she looked up again, they were breaching the bay doors and her held breath blew out in a gust as she sagged against the seat. She knew she wasn’t safe just yet, but at least she wasn’t going to die in a fiery burning ship or by the hands of those disgusting beasts. If they even killed her, that is. Trepnils were known for their torture. They loved to play with their food, and sometimes fuck it. An involuntary quiver slithered its way over Lucia’s skin and she tried to keep from retching.
Breathe, girl, breathe.

Once they were a good distance from the ship, she spoke again. “Wade, what galaxy are we in?”

“We are in Mozla Freet Galaxy, captain.”

Mozla Freet. No wonder nothing looks familiar.
The Trepnils must’ve warped while her crew had been aboard their ship. “Set course for Dor Nye, Wade.”

“Yes captain,” Wade faithfully responded. “Course set; arrival in seven days, five hours and twenty-three minutes.”

Lucia exhaled once more, chanting a calming mantra until her nerves were stepping off the edge of bouncing from her skin. She gazed up at the large expanse of the glass shield and let the streaking stars in the black infinity of space calm her. She always did love warp and how everything blurred into oblivion; could stare at it for hours and hours.

Pulling her comm out of her pants pocket, she set it in the socket of the command chair, letting it connect into the system. “Call Trey, Mima and Raz,” Lucia ordered Wade while she attempted to brush her unruly chocolate curls from her brow. It was hopeless.

“Failed; comms not connecting to Trey, Mima or Raz, captain.”

“Try again, Wade.” Fear trickled up her spine. She knew splitting up was a terrible idea!
We’ll cover more ground
, Raz said.
Trust me
, he said. Not even fifteen minutes later, the Trepnil’s ship was going to shit. She’d tried her comm multiple times while in the ships belly, but the Treps were shielding everything except their own network.
Fucking animals!
Her lips curled back on her teeth.

Woosahhh.

“Comms are down, captain. They cannot be reached.”

A heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach and her throat tightened. The thought of her friends being captured nearly sprung tears to her eyes before she forced them back down.
No, they’re most likely dead.
It would be mercy, compared to capture by Treps. A shaky sigh escaped her lips. “Thanks anyway, Wade. Please continue trying and alert me if communications are reached.”

“Of course, captain.”

Unstrapping herself, Lucia pulled her bulk from the chair and struggled to her aching legs. The adrenaline from moments ago slowly eked from her body and left weakness in its wake. She was
tired
. Her feet carried her slowly through the galley from the command room, where she entered a wide, long hallway that held sleeping quarters, a cleaning enclosure, an office and a door to the cargo hold at the end. Pursing her lips, she slipped inside to the cargo hold, clunking down the short set of stairs. The hold was already lit, which was strange since most of the newer ships were sensor laden.

“Oooh,” she gushed, her clear amber eyes lighting up. They swept the part of the hold she was facing, taking in the crates marked
fragile
and the barrels of food.
Treps must’ve stolen this ship.
Made her wonder who the original owner was and how long ago. Ambling over to the food barrels, she lifted the lid on one. A fruity aroma wafted to her nostrils and her stomach groaned loudly with need. To her surprise, the fleshy rare
ular
fruit gleaned in the light. The fruits sold for one hundred credits a piece and there was an entire barrel of them for the taking! She grabbed one, lifting the pink fruit the size of her fist to the light and examining it. Again, her stomach lurched in protest at her procrastination. Putting it to her mouth she bit down, and the tangy, tart juice spilled over her taste buds and dribbled over her chin. A moan of pleasure just couldn’t be helped. The flesh was nice and juicy, not too firm.
Mmm, perfectly ripe
. She’d need to sell it as soon as she reached Dor Nye to make the best profit. Old
ular
fruit could be dehydrated, but it sold better fresh.

Moving along the other barrels, she took stock of what was down there. She just couldn’t believe her luck at all the rare and novelty produce she was discovering. The only downside was how time sensitive everything was. So long as no stops were made, she could make plenty of credits.

Maybe hopping the Treps ship wasn’t a waste after all.

She mentally chastised herself for thinking that. Considering she was the only one that made it out, or so she assumed, there wasn’t much to celebrate about.

Lucia shook the thoughts from her head and finished the fruit, tossing the pit into a receptacle and licking her fingers clean of the excess juice. She lifted the fabric of her dirty black tank to wipe the sticky liquid from her chin. Approaching a crate that was extremely large, compared to the others, she ran her fingers over the cold metal and craned her neck. “Hmmm,” she mused aloud. “Wonder what’s in here…”

“Quan crystal, to be sold to crafting merchants.”

Lucia jumped and screeched, reaching for her blaster and grasping at air. She looked down, swore and looked back up.
Must’ve lost it during the gravity fluctuations
. Lifting her chin in a hopeful display of her lack of intimidation, she took in the intruder across the hold.

Massive.

An involuntary quake skirted the base of her spine. The creatures head was tilted forward slightly, as he was nearly too tall for the hold.
Has to be at least eight feet in height, if that’s the case
. Aside from his size, the first thing Lucia noticed was the extra set of arms he sported and the black tipped fingers extending into curved claws that flexed repeatedly as she eyed them. His skin was dusty cobalt blue,
–and yes it was definitely male-
and it shone in certain spots that glinted in colorful reflections from the lights.
Scales.
But they only seemed to be in certain patches in various places; his neck, shoulders, around his wrists. The rest seemed smooth like skin, from her distance. His eyes were completely golden, no white at all. A slit of black pupil commanded their centers and was slightly dilated, reminding her of a large feline stalking prey. They devoured her, and such concentrated focus made her slightly uncomfortable. His round skull was perfectly bald, no hair at all and his ears were almost flush against the sides. Broad, impossibly broad shoulders raised and dropped with his breathing as her gaze traveled further south. His chest was lean and she couldn’t make out any nipples, or a belly button. Lucia’s eyebrow quirked, finding that very strange.

It’s strange that you’re assessing a big blue baboon
.

I’m doing it for a reason
, she argued with herself.
No blaster, no weapons, seven days to Dor Nye, and there’s no way I can best this giant beast.

By the way, he looks nothing like a baboon.

Ehh, it has a nice ring to it.

Lucia’s eyes dipped to his waist. His bulging
everything
was outlined by the tight black spacesuit he wore. It was half zipped, the top half hanging loosely behind him as if she interrupted his redressing.

“Would you like me to further disrobe?” his velvety voice assaulted her. The eerie mechanical way he’d asked was a little too spooky, as if they were talking about something mundane as ship specs.

Lucia visibly startled. “Excuse me? What? Why would I want that?” She could feel the blood rising under her caramel skin and flooding the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. “Who are you?”

“I am slave 892 and my species is Melier.” He tilted his head forward in a clipped greeting.

A slave
. Now it made sense. “Don’t you have a name?”

“I am slave 892, and that is what I am called.” His pupils narrowed and dilated again in confusion.

“Who is your master?” Lucia tilted her head slightly, taking a step closer to where he stood. There were still crates separating them and she feigned her continued perusal, keeping her main focus on him in her peripherals. She felt slightly less alarmed with a slave, since they possessed very minimal free will. If he tried approaching or touching her without command, it was punishable by death under galactic law.

“Commander Ta’Ra’Enn of the Sak’Mer Two is my master.” Again he bowed his head, eerie, consuming gaze never leaving her.

Lucia’s lips curved in a slight smirk.
Not only did I take your stolen property, but I took your slave, you reeking bastard
, she touted. Not that she would
enjoy
having a slave or anything. What would she even do with one? “I see. Why are you on this craft and not on Sak’Mer Two?”

“I was doing routine maintenance. The sensors were damaged when this craft was confiscated by Commander Ta’Ra’Enn.”

Lucia pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she assessed the slave once more. “Well Sak’Mer Two is floating in pieces across the Mozla Freet galaxy, Ta’Ra’Enn with it. He is no longer your master,” she took a shallow breath at the slight embellishment, since she really wasn’t sure if Ta’Ra’Enn was alive or dead. “I am.” Silence. “Do you have a problem with that, slave 892?”

“I do not,” he replied, dipping from the waist down in submission. “How does my new owner wish me to address her?”

For a moment, Lucia felt a sweeping pity for the giant blue baboon. Most slaves were cybernetically enhanced with nanotech and their minds wiped of their home planets for easier control.
Can’t miss what you can’t remember.
“You can call me Lucia.”

“Loo-Sha,” he sounded out in accented English, much different from his lyrical native tongue. His voice sounded gruffer with the harsher English language. The contrast sent a small tingle through the palms of her hands. She nodded at the correct, if stilted, pronunciation and rubbed her palms on her thighs.