Legend Beyond The Stars Page 7

  “Come!” the alien commanded. He gripped her waist and lifted her to her feet.

  Alana brushed at his hands. She’d be damned if she’d admit to the pleasure his touch evoked. “Stop touching me!” she hissed. The temperature in the sleeping chamber appeared to have risen considerably judging by the sudden heat scorching over her skin.

  In the dim light she saw him motion for her to follow. Alana cast a swift glance around the room. The other women slept in peaceful oblivion. She scrubbed her hands over her face fighting back her weariness and nodded. She had no doubt if she dared to disobey he would physically haul her out. Kicking and screaming. She grimaced at the image. No point in all of them losing sleep. Meanwhile here lay a golden opportunity for her to gather some intel. She would use this situation to her advantage.

  They emerged into the harsh light of the corridor. Alana blinked in rapid succession to adjust after the dimness of their quarters. The door shut behind her. To her surprise, the corridor was empty. She had expected at the very least a guard outside their door. The leader stalked ahead with an unconscious arrogance. She huffed out an irritated breath as she lengthened her stride to keep pace. She tried to gauge her location in relation to the shuttle level, but with no success. Normally she had an excellent sense of direction but the similar endless winding passageways defeated her. She glowered at the alien’s armoured back. Was he going round in circles to confuse her?

  The alien leader stopped, punched in a code sequence and a door slid open. He indicated for her to precede him.

  Alana entered the room with her shoulders braced, her hands fisted. Ready for action.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Bad mistake! The thought streaked through Alana’s brain with the velocity of a bullet. She had just innocently strolled into his sleeping quarters. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. She whirled around but the alien leader blocked the exit. He had his head to one side as he considered her.

  She swallowed over a throat as parched as the Sahara Desert. Attempted to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue, aware the alien watched her every move. She saw him tense, clench his hands into fists at his side, roll his shoulders as if to relieve some inner burden. He strode past her to the far side of the room. Turned and faced her, waiting for her to react.

  She knew it was hopeless but she had to try. Alana flew to the entrance, pounded on the metal to no avail. She dithered in front of the control panel, spun round with a frustrated snarl.

  A low irritated growl escaped him. “Still thinking of a way to escape?”

  “Of course. It is a soldier’s duty to escape the enemy.” She sensed the intentness of his gaze.

  “So you are a soldier.” He sounded surprised and she scowled in response. “What is it you do as a soldier?”

  Alana shrugged. “The usual stuff. As a soldier in the United Defence Force I have the right to bear arms and fight for my planet.”

  “A female warrior! You are very small.”

  ”Actually I’m of average height where I come from. Not everyone is some overgrown life form!”

  “You still are small. What is it you do in this … United Defence Force?

  What could it hurt to tell him? “I’m a training officer. As a pilot I also perform tests on new equipment. Mainly shuttles to our space station and our moon.”

  “Mmmm. So you do not fight?”

  Alana gnawed her lower lip. She would not remember! She admitted with obvious reluctance, aware of his intense interest, “Not at the moment.”

  “Have you fought in any battles?”

  Instantly, unwanted memories flashed through her mind. A brief echo of screams and the screech of rending metal surged in their wake. For a second she thought she smelt the sweet cloying scent of fresh blood. Her eyelashes flickered as she battled her roiling stomach. She rubbed her hand down her pant leg, looked everywhere but at the alien in front of her. Latent energy vibrated in the air surrounding him.

  “Aaaah. Do not fear little slave, there will be no more war for you.”

  Her chin jerked up with pride. “I am not a slave nor am I afraid.”

  “You should be.”

  A shudder rippled along her spine. What the hell did it mean by that comment?

  “Are there no male warriors on your planet? Is this why the females are forced to fight?”

  ”No one forced me. I chose to be a soldier. In my world, both sexes can join the forces.”

  He snorted. “In my world it is a male Darkon’s duty to be a warrior and protect females. Females remain out of danger at all times. They rarely leave our home planets. They are useful as providers of offspring. Those few who do travel beyond our home planets are diplomats of peace.”

  ‘Useful!’

  ‘Providers of offspring!’

  Outrage on behalf of those unknown females had her blood surging. Thankfully, her irritation overrode her guilt-ridden memories. She saw red. “In my world both sexes are equal. Women vote, are leaders of entire countries, run corporations; we do everything men do. And sometimes we do it better!”

  Strewth, how Neanderthal are these people?

  “Curious.”

  Alana was certain she heard amusement in his cool detached voice. She clenched her jaw so hard, her bones ached.

  “The males on your planet must be very weak to allow such foolishness,” the alien drawled.

  “They are not weak!” Alana’s voice rose in outrage. She tried to get a grip on her irritation. What was happening to her? Where was her usual calm demeanour? She took a slow deep breath. The next moment it faltered in her throat as the alien’s gaze slid from her face to her chest.

  Rubbish, how can I possibly know what it’s looking at through that helmet?

  Her logic didn’t work.

  It was as if there was a link between them, a connection. An unexpected heat licked a fever over her body. The urge to flee tightened her nerve endings. She shuffled her suddenly restless feet. She licked her dry lips. She could have sworn its gaze fastened on her mouth. The shudder which tingled down her spine and churned through her belly horrified her.

  Desperately she tried to regain control of her rioting emotions. “Our men are not weak. It is just that our women are also strong. We are independent and live fulfilling, useful lives.” Oooh much better, cool, rational, in control; a smug little smile tugged at her lips.

  It’s trying to rattle my confidence. Typical interrogation technique. She uncurled her fists, lifted her chin. She arched her brow as she stared at its helmet with conscious challenge.

  The powerful figure inclined its head.

  Oh, oh. Challenge accepted, be careful, her inner voice prompted.

  “You consider me to be your enemy?” His purring tone sent another unwanted shiver prickling over her skin.

  Alana chose her words with care. “I would hardly call you an ally since you are keeping us here against our will. So yes, you are the enemy.”

  He remained quiet for a few beats. “So be it. You are my prisoner and will do as you are bid.”

  Alana folded her arms across her chest and tilted her chin. “I wouldn’t go banking on that, mate.”

  He lifted his hand and gestured, which Alana took to signify his confusion with her statement, but she chose not to enlighten him. Let him work it out.

  “What are you called?”

  “Alana. Alana Knight.”

  “So Alana Knight, you and the other females are now slaves of the Darkon race and under my power. Mine and my men.”

  Her heart stuttered. She recalled the little information Norman had imparted about this race, their battle prowess.

  Their refusal to surrender.

  The thought again crossed her mind that perhaps Linette was correct. Perhaps she had made the wrong choice, landed them in the power of a very formidable foe. Guilt rose like a Broome tide. Time to worry over her actions later. Now she must discover as much information as possible, starting with something simple.r />
  “And you, what is your name?” Alana forced out the words.

  “Commander Tarak el Rajan, Royal Prince of the Ruling House of Rajan, and the Darkon Warlords.” There was no boast in his tone, rather he stated the facts with a casual self assurance. It irritated her as much as if he had been puffed up with false pride. He inclined his head again. “Welcome to your prison, slave Alana. The battleship, Ark.”

  So no ordinary foot soldier this, Alana thought. Just her luck to come up against what was obviously a major player in this new world. “Let me first enlighten you. We are not slaves but free women from the planet Earth and have no intention of doing anything you ‘bid’ us to do.”

  “You will learn,” the Commander replied, his voice arctic as he turned his back. He slapped his armoured gloves onto a bench which ran the full length of the opposite wall.

  Not a good move, Alana. Remember your training for pity’s sake. Don’t piss off your enemy. She cast a quick look around the compact room, searching for an alternate exit but there was none. For a leader of their people, the compartment was not large but Alana supposed space would be a premium on board a voyager such as this one. There was a cleansing tube in one corner and at the edge of her vision lay a massive bed. And she had no intention of showing any interest in that!

  The shimmering dull grey walls curved inwards giving the curious impression she was inside a rabbit hole. The source of light appeared to be the entire ceiling, an effect Alana had noticed occurred throughout the ship.

  She took a few cautious steps away from the cabin door as she waited to see what he would do next.

  The Commander was removing his armour.

  She bit down hard on the whimper bubbling at the base of her throat. Fascinated, in spite of her rising trepidation, she inched closer, keeping to the periphery of the room, out of his reach. And well away from the huge bed which took up most of the opposite side.

  Curiosity had always been her besetting sin.

  Jessamine had not been the only one wondering what was under all that armour.

  She heard the hissing of escaping gases, the snapping of locks. She watched mesmerised while the alien stripped away his armour, first from his arms and then from his legs. A drawer slid out from the wall into which he tossed his shielding. He unclasped his belt with its assorted lethal attachments, hooked it over a chair. The helmet slid down to where it embedded into the raised ridge of armour along the length of his shoulders. He unclipped his breastplate.

  Transfixed, she continued to watch until he stood clothed only in pants which moulded his tight buttocks and well developed legs to disappear into the tops of his high boots. When he moved to press a panel, she admired the well developed muscles which rippled across the wide expanse of his shoulders.

  He turned to face her.

  Alana forgot to breathe. Her eyes glued to his face.

  Hell. He was humanoid!

  Astonishment kept her immobilised as he strode with measured strides towards her. Her mouth fell open. His hard planed features—the hawk nose, firm determined well-defined mouth, and square jaw framed by long dark brown hair which flowed past his wide shoulders—took her breath away. Her dazed stare met and meshed with hooded black eyes glittering above high dark-skinned cheekbones. He exuded an aura of authority, strength and latent sexuality which Alana found extremely potent.

  She wrenched her gaze free. Her eyes travelled a path over his thick neck, goggled at the gleaming, thickly muscled biceps and pectorals, his flat six pack stomach, the pants lying low on his slim hips and fitting oh so snugly over his bulging crotch.

  All her senses quivered to life.

  Vibrancy hummed in the air between them.

  The precariousness of her situation, the weighty responsibility for others’ lives, her intention to escape. All flew out the window with the velocity of a missile strike as she drew in his faint, musky scent when he halted before her. His eyes, obsidian rock shot with gold, locked on her face. Mortified, her nipples tightened to eager peaks beneath her simple green tank emblazoned with the words ‘Property of the UEC’.

  Alana watched mesmerised as he slowly raised his hand. He whispered his fingertips across her brows, sliding oh so gently over her cheekbone to feather across her mouth. Unconsciously she lifted her chin, her eyes fluttering shut as he bent over her, placing his lips against hers. His touch sliding sensuously through her hair to cradle the back of her head, urged her closer. A sigh of pure pleasure escaped her as his tongue swept over her parted lips. Licking and sucking until they were swollen and moist.

  Her last cohesive thought—Jessamine was right.

  Driven by an uncontrollable impulse, she touched his hairless chest with tentative hands then splayed her fingers over his taut hard muscle. Her whole body shook as his warmth washed over her. He thrust his tongue hungrily into her mouth.

  The strength in her legs dissolved in the force of his passion. Bewildered at her reaction to his touch, Alana could only cling to him. He was all hardness, all sculptured muscle, all heat, all eager male as he ravaged her mouth. He slid his hand possessively down her spine, sending spirals of shivering pleasure radiating from his touch. Alana mewed blissfully when he kneaded then grabbed her buttock pushing her up against his hard body. She was on tiptoes, held effortlessly against him, helpless to escape.

  Even if she wanted to.

  He ground his crotch against her, his engorged need surged against her stomach seeking her entrance. A moan of mingled desire and despair escaped her.

  She was aware of nothing and no one but this stranger who held her so feverishly, his whole being seemingly focussed solely on her.

  Her—Alana Knight.

  She sensed his desperation, sensed he was losing his tenuous hold over his control.

  Never had any man been so hungry for her and his hunger had her melting into a puddle of desire, his skin rough and hot beneath her touch. She ran her greedy hands over his body. She sighed with pleasure. Her usual inhibitions faded away as her rising need rose to meet his. She could feel her answering wetness between her legs, clutched him closer.

  Tarak moaned and his mouth left hers to nibble the contours of her face. He smelt the faint scent of her arousal. What little control he had, dissipated into nothing but a vague misgiving. Her slim, soft body was pressed so close her tight nipples teased his skin. His cock throbbed, surged with painful arousal against his pants. His blood stormed through his veins. Suddenly he was desperate to have nothing between them.

  Her clothing had to go.

  He would assuage his appetite now.

  Tarak swung her up into his arms, crossed the small space of the room. He lowered her onto his bed, following her, carefully easing his weight over her smaller body, positioning himself so she could not wriggle away from him even if she tried.

  With eager hands he roamed her curves, while his mouth devoured hers once more. Her taste filled his senses, fuelling a hunger he had never before experienced.

  His world shrank to encompass her.

  Only her.

  A growl escaped him. He lapped at the graceful line of her throat, sucked over the delicate bones of her shoulders and chest. He filled his hands with her high rounded breasts, shaping, moulding. He couldn’t get enough of her. She writhed under him her breath coming in short pants, her smooth hands gliding eagerly over his shoulders, down his back and drawing such a surge of pleasure from him, his mouth moved back to hers and drank.

  Dimly he knew what this signified.

  This desperate need.

  He would claim her as his mate in the age old tradition of his ancestors.

  From now on until both met their eternal rest, she would be bound only to him.

  He fumbled with her unfamiliar clothing unsuccessfully, yanking with impatient fingers at the cloth. There was a faint ripping sound.

  “No wait.” She gasped. Her blue-green eyes were bright with mischief as she smiled at him. His stomach muscles clenched in response. Something
hard and hot flared to life in his spirit. She pushed at his shoulders and he eased himself back slightly. She grabbed the bottom of her top, pulled it over her head, her arms then encircled his neck to draw him closer and sighed.

  Tarak was lost.

  He lowered his head, eagerly suckled at her swollen breasts, moving from one to the other. Nipping, sucking, licking. She wriggled and squirmed beneath him. Her mews of delight teased, urged him on. He drew in a deep shaky breath. Her skin gleamed pale and fascinating beneath him.

  By the suns of Darkos, this was too much.

  “Say you yield to me,” he growled against her silky skin as he thrust his tongue into the small indentation above her belly. He would have her complete willingness. It was against a Darkon warrior’s code to force a female.

  “Yield?” she repeated her voice a thin thread of wispy sound.

  “Slave Alana, say you yield to me.” He fondled her breasts persuasively then drifted his fingers over her body. He lifted his head to watch her face, as he slipped one hand beneath her covering to tease her soft curls, his hard fingers seeking and finding the source of her pleasure. With intense satisfaction he noted how her brown lashes fluttered shut, the flush on her high cheekbones deepening, her soft mouth parted and moist.

  Enough.

  He turned his attention to the clothing covering her long legs, his hands trembling in their eagerness. By the hem of Cercis’ cloak, how did this contraption work? He scowled and wrestled with the clasp. Dimly he realised her hands now clasped his and were trying to pull them away. Her body tensed, rejecting him. Denial roared through him.

  “I don’t yield to anyone!” she hissed at him. “And, I am no man’s slave.”

  Frustrated, he glared back at her. Her face was pink, her eyes bright, her white breasts rose and fell quickly. His body so heavy and tense he was literally shaking with the force of his passion.