Securing Sara (The Beast Masters Series) (2 page)

He pumped it faster and gritted his teeth as his balls drew up. Seed shot forth from him, landing in the stream and washing away quickly. He refocused on the yalenise flower and let out a long, shaky breath.

For now his body would be sated from the run in beast form and from the tension being eased in his cock. The relief would be short-lived. It always was anymore.

He rinsed his hand and turned to walk back to the guard tower. He cared not that he was naked. Ralenium was known for its festivals that amounted to nothing more than public orgies. Nudity wasn’t really a factor for shifters. It was outsiders who had the issue with it.

His wrap was near the edge of the woods and he caught its scent. He followed the scent, finding his way through the dense forest with ease. There was still work to be done and his shift was not over for another few hours.

If he did not find a female to bond with soon, nothing would matter.

Chapter Two

Jaston kept an eye on the sky as the tiny dot they already speculated was a trader vessel approached. He’d been back on his shift less than an hour when the issue arose. Thankfully, Malock had disappeared by the time Jaston returned from his beast run.

A craft had been reported on radar, yet none were scheduled for arrival. Suspicions piqued. Planet Ralen had strict protocols in regards to entry to both their orbit and planet, and they weren’t known to go easy on those who disobeyed them. They were a proud, fierce race known to be quick to level an approaching vessel rather than bother making contact with it. A race respected for their fighting skills throughout the galaxy.

Males on Ralen outnumbered females. It was a hard truth. The men had gone to great lengths to try to make venturing to their planet appealing to females. They’d hosted events on various planets. They’d strategically placed ads throughout the galaxy. They’d competed in contests. They’d even offered payment. So far, nothing had really worked. Illegal and frowned-upon methods of obtaining shipments of women were what they’d turned to. A pride-filled race, it saddened them to know they had to go to such extremes. But women were vital to their survival.

Getting his hopes up that the approaching vessel held women wasn’t an option, but if the vessel did not contain females, then Ralen would have many of its males enter The Heat. His gaze flickered downwards only momentarily as he remembered what The Heat had done to his older brother. There wasn’t a day that went by that Jaston didn’t think about Jayton and miss him greatly. Jayton had been a fine warrior and a leader among their people, but The Heat had been too powerful for him to overcome.

Jaston could still vividly remember the day his brother gave in to the beast. The day the horn had sounded, alerting the hunters that another male had fallen into the state of no return. Jaston was a skilled hunter, a Ralenium male trained additionally for situations such as the one with his brother—taught to track those who had lost touch with the man side of themselves. Jaston had led one of the four hunting parties that had gone in search of his brother. For weeks they followed leads, often becoming the hunted instead of the hunters—Jayton was that powerful. In previous hunts, Jaston and the others had found and ended the life of the afflicted. This hunt had gone awry. Many had been injured trying to capture and kill Jayton. In the end Jaston had thrown the spear that pierced his brother’s chest. Though no body was ever found, there was little doubt in Jaston’s mind that he’d delivered the killing blow. That his brother, in beast form, had wandered off, mortally wounded, deeper into the forests to die and become one with the land once more. The outlands of Ralen weren’t kind and the wildlife that resided there was lethal, as were many of the plants that inhabited the area. It wasn’t unheard of for someone to vanish without a trace.

Garon, Jaston’s direct commanding officer, approached and looked to him. Jaston didn’t need to be told to go to the main control tower to oversee the vessel’s entrance to landing platform two and assure the vessel was locked down, its ability to fire weapons rendered useless. Pivoting, he hurried into the main control center and moved aside one of the younger warriors stationed there. Jaston took over initiating lockdown protocols. Security teams were in place should the vessel not have women upon it but rather looters, raiders or salvagers on the run. Ralen was too far out on the edges of the galaxy for the Galactic Guards to much care about enforcing their laws. Plus, the Galactic Guards had healthy fear of the Ralenium males—as they should.

Lorne, a fellow warrior who ranked on the same level as Jaston, entered the control center. He surveyed the situation, on hand to help should Jaston require it. Signal relays from the outer towers beeped in, streaming data to the screens. Jaston permitted the younger warrior to retake his seat and aid in monitoring the chatter.

Jaston glanced at Lorne. “Does Garon have orders? Has he initiated the planet-to-air defense team?”

Lorne was slow to respond. “He does and no, not yet. Be prepared with your men and ready to
greet
our visitors.”

“Of course.” Jaston tapped the shoulder of the young warrior nearest him and the signals were sent to all relay towers. Jaston moved across the main control center room to Lorne.

“Traders with females?” he asked, his voice low.

“Garon thinks perhaps it might be.”

This was good and bad. At the thought of females, The Heat quickened within Jaston, now closer than he wanted to admit. He could harm a female if not careful. But if he didn’t take one as his own, he too could face the same fate as his eldest brother. With a nod, he stepped away from Lorne. Taking up arms, Jaston and Lorne left the center, padded down the stairs and directly to the edge of the landing pads. They were prepared for whatever may come.

Let it be women
, thought Jaston.

Lorne touched his shoulder.
The Gods will see to our needs. They will be just and good.

Jaston flinched. He’d not meant to let his thoughts slip down the mental path all Ralenium males shared. It had been many moon cycles since they’d had a shipment of women. They were in dire need.

Standing at the ready, he watched as the vessel descended. Markings on the underside of it became visible and he knew then the ship belonged to the Voxenites. His loathing of them was well-known but they were a necessary evil, one he had to overcome his hate of in order to ensure females were brought to Ralen. His lip curled in disgust and the guard nearest him cleared his throat.

“Sir,” the young guard said. It was all the warning Jaston needed.

Jaston groaned. “I will not kill any of them—this time.” He paused. “Unless they annoy me again.”

The outer force field retracted fully and the vessel entered its final stage of descent to landing pad two. Jaston never put much interest in the technologies his people possessed. He took what was forced upon him and often retreated to the woods to hunt and survive, even though he had a perfectly acceptable dwelling. It was the envy of many since he was high in the ranks of the guards, but Jaston liked being one with nature. Not one with machines. Their ancestors of old did not rely on technology for day-to-day living and they had become fierce.

Already Jaston’s beast wanted to be free, to run, to be one with the planet. It hated being caged within him as much as he hated keeping it there. Once the women were offloaded and a price negotiated, he’d shift forms and run free and wild once more.

The ship sputtered before coming to a final rest on the landing pad. There was a flash of red, and then the planet’s defense system took hold of the controls. The vessel would not be able to fire upon anyone or leave without their say-so.

Jaston waited with baited breath as the bay doors opened slowly. Smoke billowed out the sides, and he remembered hearing how the Voxenites added certain elements to the breathable air upon their vessels. It made breathing for them easier, but for any humanoids, it tended to cause at least slight discomfort, and in some cases hallucinations or extreme agitation. When the additive met with other, normally oxygen-rich air, it reacted, causing a puff of smoke.

The smoke cleared and Jaston’s heart lodged in his throat. The first sign of life was the legs of lowlife Voxenites. Then Jaston spotted the telltale signs of females. He and the other Ralenium males around him drew in large breaths. One by one the women were offloaded into a large, huddled-together group. They looked scared, underfed, barely clothed and some appeared battered.

The rage he carried already for the Voxenites intensified, and he found himself stepping forward, ready to confront them all. His hands itched for the change. He could feel his beast spring to life within him, wanting free, wanting to tear the gill-breathers to bits and feast upon their entrails.

Lorne shook his head.
Not yet. You will scare the females.

Chapter Three

The ship sputtered and tipped slightly to one side. Sara gasped and fell against the unforgiving wall of her cell. Her fingernails were long since worn to stubs and the scabs on the tips of her fingers had only just started to fall away. She’d had pretty nails once. Well-manicured and even dyed a light pink. That was gone now. So were nearly all traces of the life she’d finally built for herself. It wasn’t plush or anything, but it was hers and she got by on her own. She’d had her own repair shop and she was damn handy when it came to fixes on ships, outrunners or other standard modes of transport. She wasn’t bad with tinkering around with other objects either.

She’d picked up the skills out of necessity and they’d helped her carve a way for herself. A path that didn’t leave her having to spread her legs for coin like many of the women on Panciline were forced to do. It was the oldest and most reliable profession for a reason, and now she was closer to being part of it than ever before.

The smelly, threadbare scraps of clothing her captors had her in were gone, replaced with sheer material that covered very little and emphasized her assets—mainly her ample breasts. The damn smarmy traders had even taken a keen interest in them, squeezing them, talking to each other about how much extra money she’d fetch with them.

Bastards.

Sara was thankful for the decontamination chamber time she’d finally been allotted. Of course, it had been under the strict supervision of two guards who forced her to shave nearly all the hair from her body, excluding the hair on her head. Sara didn’t mind. She liked being clean-shaven. She just didn’t much appreciate an audience. She despised her holders and tried to make nearly every task they set forth before her a challenge.

She’d spent nearly every day of her captivity trying to escape. She’d traveled in space before and had enough training as a pilot to steer a ship if need be. She hated being pinned in. Pain lanced her left shoulder. She’d injured it pitching her body at one of the disgusting creatures holding her prisoner. He’d been much stronger than she expected, and she’d only hurt herself with her failed attempts at freedom.

Her thoughts wandered back to when she was young, when the halfway home for orphaned children she’d been part of had locked her away for each infraction she supposedly committed. Their goal had been to break her spirit. To end her disobedience. They’d nearly been successful. They’d nearly broken her will to live.

She jutted out her chin, proud she’d never given in, never surrendered to them. Just as she’d never made anything easy for the slave traders who now held her prisoner. It had been her own fault she’d ended up in their hands. She was only on the stinking ship thanks to a crooked judge on her planet. She’d been treated with the same lack of respect the damn fish men treated every other woman on board—as if they were merely property to be traded and bargained off.

She righted herself as the ship sputtered to a final stop. One of the guards appeared, a breathing apparatus affixed to his fish-like face. When he spoke, it was garbled and hard to understand.

“Come,” he demanded. He bandied about an electric prod, though the numerous times she’d been shocked with it had yielded anything but the results she was guessing he’d been hoping for. She didn’t like showing pain or weakness.

She’d been raised with enough Earth girls at the orphanage that she’d picked up a number of their customs. Her favorite by far had always been lifting her middle finger in the air in a gesture of
fuck off
. She did so now. While he wore gear similar to the Galactic Guards and had on a badge that appeared legit, she knew better. She lived on the fringe of society long enough to spot fakes and impostors. He didn’t get the thinly veiled respect she would have given an actual Galactic Guard. Instead, he got her middle finger in the air.

The guard’s already narrow eyes moved to the size of slits as he lunged at her. He bounced the back of her head off the wall and then dragged her to the door. He yanked at the shackles around her wrists. The prod was charged with enough electricity to reduce her to pulp should they deem it necessary. She almost wished they would decide to pull the switch.

She snarled at him, her long, unruly auburn hair falling into her face. He shoved her hard and pain shot through her shoulder once more. She couldn’t stop the gasp that fell from her lips.

Bastards.

She hated giving them the satisfaction of knowing they’d caused her pain. If she could have figured out exactly where their genitalia was, she’d have kicked them in it already. The damn fish men seemed to lack reproductive organs. She was fast beginning to suspect they were simply hatched from eggs.

He said something to her that she missed and she glared at him. He caught her around the upper arm and dragged her down the long corridor.

She caught fleeting glimpses of the other women, dressed as she was—like a slave girl—and wondered who was who. They’d spent months talking through vents and the metal walls of their cells. She’d befriended a number of them yet had never seen their faces. They were voices of hope, of something more, of not being alone.