Creations 4: Caging the Beast (11 page)

“What does that mean?”

“It means servant.” It actually meant
warrior’s heart
, but no reason to let Zachem know, not yet.

“Great,” Zachem rumbled and grabbed his loincloth off the table. “I want to know how the hell I’m supposed to wrap this around you with that massive cock in my way.” At that moment, Pyrgo barged into the cell without warning and closed the door behind him. “Time to get back to reality. Zachem, Tarn, Master Furon wants a word.” He stopped at the sight of both men naked and aroused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“Give me a minute, here,”
Tarn sent him.

“Just a minute? I’m disappointed, Destroyer. No staying power?”
Pyrgo answered. Aloud, he said, “You two plan on getting dressed? Or are you hoping to tempt the guards by waving around those huge cocks? Beast, no wonder you’re so popular with the slaves.” He paused and sniffed. “And what’s with that perfume? How the hell did you get your hands on something that fine in The Pit?”

Tarn grinned at Zachem’s pretended innocence. That scent was Zachem’s way of holding onto him. A Creation’s pheromones had been designed as a defence mechanism. To hold an enemy in thrall while taking the offence, though it could also be used with bedsport.

Tarn had watched his nephew and mate play around time and time again with their scents, attracting and holding the other’s attention before darting away to make love. He dared hope Zachem wanted him as badly. That Pyrgo had no idea what to make of it told Tarn Zachem hadn’t used it around him.

Zachem’s skin sparkled with gold. His red eyes flashed with heat. He tossed Tarn’s loincloth at him and put his own on awkwardly around his erection. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Not quite.” Anticipation surged. Time to test his new mate. “A moment more, Pyrgo?

It won’t take long.”

“Shit. Don’t play around, not in front of me, Tarn. Don’t you know how long I had to fuck to
will away this hard-on? And now you’re going to make me watch? You have a mean streak, Destroyer.

Very cruel.”
Pyrgo coughed and subtly shifted his stance as the bulge between his legs twitched. “Fine, Slave Six. Just hurry up.”

Tarn pulled Zachem close and shoved the loincloth back in his hand. “I told you to put this on me. If you can’t wrap it around me the way I am, take care of it. Make me smaller…with your mouth,” Tarn ordered, eager to feel his mate’s lips around him once more.

Stars, he couldn’t get enough. And to have Pyrgo watch, to show the Ebrellion how well his mate responded, made him even harder.

Zachem glanced from Tarn to Pyrgo and back again. He lowered his voice and leant closer, “But Pyrgo’s here. You don’t really want me to—”

“Yes, I fucking do.” Tarn grabbed Zachem by the hair and twisted it, yanking him hard enough to hurt. The sweet smell around them intensified. His beast definitely liked a bit of pain.

Pyrgo let out a small moan. “Damn, that smells good.”

“Now, Beast, make me smaller.” He forced Zachem to his knees and waited. The tip of his cock was wet. He ached to spill inside his mate, inside the warm
honet
that contained such energy—Zachem’s core. But he had little time. His mate’s mouth would do as well.

Zachem tentatively stroked the tip of his shaft with his tongue. Then hearing Tarn’s heady groan, began sucking him off. The rasp of Zachem’s tongue, the hot warmth of his mouth, the light graze of his teeth as he lovingly applied the right pressure to his glans… The blowjob aroused him all too quickly. The sound of sucking, Pyrgo’s harsh breathing, and the sweet smell of desire had Tarn spilling before he’d wanted to.

His knees trembled as he unloaded into his mate’s mouth. “Good boy. Swallow it all, that’s it,” he praised, stroking Zachem’s shiny hair. He caressed his cheeks and neck, loving the feel of subservience in the powerful male. “Now put the loincloth on me,” he rasped and withdrew. Catching his breath, he stepped into the
rak
hide Zachem held.

When he turned to Pyrgo, he saw angry desire in the Ebrellion’s eyes and tense frame.

Under normal circumstances, he might have shared his mate’s skilled mouth. But until Zachem fully committed to him, he wouldn’t chance his mate going into another’s arms.

“Come on.” Pyrgo turned on his heel and swore the whole way to Furon’s chambers.

They followed close behind.

“Better now?” Zachem drew close to ask, sarcasm in his deep voice.

“Much.” Tarn wanted to laugh. Talk about feeling free. A glance over his shoulder showed him Zachem’s frustration. Shaking his head, he admonished, “Will that arousal away. Later, Beast, I’ll see to my new slave. No one fucks you but me, do you understand?” Zachem grimaced. “Easier said than done in this place.” 

“Trust me. No one will touch you.” Anger pushed Tarn’s inner sight to the forefront.

He looked at his mate and saw heat patterns and
shei
outlines. He saw his other half. “No one will touch you…and live.”

Three days later, Zachem still had no idea what Tarn really wanted. Now that the big fight had ended, Master Furon put the two of them back together in Zachem’s cell. They spent their days training to get stronger, as well as helping the weaker fighters to get better.

Tarn clearly wasn’t cut out for instruction, as he had little patience with anyone who failed to meet his standards. Zachem, however, liked helping the others. It gave him something to focus on besides his enigmatic new master.

He stifled a groan at the thought, wishing he could control these newfound sexual responses to his lover.
Lover, not master.
By the stars, Tarn had some kind of hold on him he couldn’t break. Zachem stood a head taller and clearly had more brawn, but Tarn’s strength went bone deep. Zachem still couldn’t discount Tarn’s strange inner eyelid, nor the male’s ability to score him with nails that never looked sharp enough to do so much damage. And what about Tarn’s teeth?

He couldn’t count the number of times he’d bled after a sexual encounter with the insatiable male.

“Beast, like this?” one of the new fighters asked. He stood with his balance all wrong and his hands too low to do him any good.

Zachem shook free of his distracting thoughts and corrected the slave. Like the others, the slave had the mistaken perception he could win his way to freedom. But the more he won, the more valuable he’d be to Furon, who’d never part with anyone who could bring in currency to this shithole.

After another few hours spent working with the fighters, some experienced, others not, Zachem headed back to his cell. There he happened upon Tarn and Pyrgo talking quietly.

Tarn didn’t stop his part in the discussion, but his eyes turned that vibrant green-gold and his pupil changed shape when he glanced at Zachem.

“Remember, don’t be late.” Pyrgo scowled, but Tarn didn’t pay enough attention to mind. “Don’t fuck this up,” Pyrgo barked, turned on his heel, and left without another word.

“What have you been up to?” Zachem asked, wondering how the hell Tarn planned on leaving this place. Pyrgo was involved, that he knew, but he didn’t sense an attraction between the pair, which was another thing saving Pyrgo from a massive beating. That and running interference for them from Furon. He didn’t like the attention Furon had been giving

‘the beast’ lately. Zachem tried to chalk up Furon’s interest as related to The Slave Trade.

The Slave Trade took place deep underground, beneath The Pit, which made the auction Furon’s ideal currency maker. He purchased and sold slaves, stolen goods, and anything else he wanted for his small slaver colony. In comparison, he made the other slaving efforts on Colony6 look amateur.

Though he wasn’t looking forward to tonight, Zachem knew what to expect. Master Furon would drag him below and use him to advertise the lucrative gambling at The Pit. The whole damned planet consisted of brawlers and impoverished people, to whom fighting was a way of life. The ability to make currency off fighting and/or betting on it struck the natives as an ideal source of income.

Zachem had a real interest in the night’s events because Tarn had promised an escape from this place. But Zachem didn’t know if Tarn was doing the right thing by trusting a slaver. Pyrgo didn’t act like a normal guard. He seemed much more dangerous because he bowed to Furon’s every whim and was normally seen in Furon’s company.

The other thing bothering Zachem of late—he hadn’t seen Six in days. He could only hope the
threll
still lived. He’d mentioned the creature to Tarn a few times, but from Tarn’s lack of interest, figured the male didn’t have time for
thrells
or more mundane matters.

Zachem didn’t want to distract him. He wanted Tarn to work his magic and take them away from this place. The sooner the better.

His agitation must have shown, because Tarn approached him with a look of concern.

And that was another thing. For someone supposed to be his ‘master’, Tarn often spent his time taking care of Zachem. He never took his pleasure unless Zachem had his first. He made sure Zachem had enough to eat before he touched his food, and he constantly made note of his moods. The man had accurately figured out how to read his skin patterns and the fluctuating intensity of red in his eyes.

For all that Master Caegon had treated him with decency, he’d never taken so much care to learn about Zachem’s needs and wants. Tarn’s attitude frustrated him, because he couldn’t understand what the man truly wanted from him. A slave, or something more?

The arrogant ass called him all kinds of names that sounded suspiciously like endearments. Never ‘slave’, but ‘pet’, ‘Beast’, and that aggravating ‘
czeva
’— names said with a raspy seduction that never failed to make Zachem hard.

“Are you all right?” Tarn cupped Zachem’s cheek and ran his thumb over his lips.

Repressing a shiver and ignoring the way his dick spiked, Zachem took a step back and glared. “I’m fine. When are we leaving?”

“Why? Has Furon been bothering you?” Tarn asked in a sharp voice. He’d noticed the slave master’s attentions as well and had warned Zachem to let him know if Furon bothered him. What Tarn thought he could do to Furon was anyone’s guess.

“He watches me constantly. I can’t tell if it has something to do with the crystal or if he’s trying to figure out why I let you fuck me day after day,” Zachem growled. “I know the guards have been talking about it. Pyrgo probably ran to him with the news after he watched me suck you off.”

Tarn cocked his head, his gaze thoughtful. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? I thought you didn’t care who watched you? You told me you’d accepted your appetites a long time ago.

Was that a lie?”

Zachem flushed. When Pyrgo had watched him pleasing Tarn, it just felt different, as if Pyrgo intruded on something private, something intimate. He didn’t know how to explain that without sounding like an oversensitive
drun
, and he didn’t like feeling so weak and vulnerable in front of Tarn.

He closed the small space between them and tried his best to intimidate the man. “It wasn’t a lie, but I’m not here to amuse the guards. You want sex? Fine. But don’t parade me around like a fuck toy.” He released his scent, trying to show Tarn just who was in charge.

But the stubborn
drun
failed to respond with anything other than a sigh.

“When you do that, it only makes me hard. Zachem, if something bothers you, you need to tell me. I took you in front of Pyrgo for a reason.” His voice thickened. “I wanted him to know who you belonged to. That you’re mine.”

Tarn didn’t succumb to the oblivion of Zachem’s scent, and he didn’t show fear in the presence of a Creation. His fortitude and control over his emotions spoke to Zachem on another level, and Zachem fought the need to submit to someone centred, someone so powerfully in command despite his present circumstances.

Tarn ran a hand down his front, over his clenching abdomen, and cradled his cock in a large palm. “Easy pet. Remember, you’re mine from now until a month after we take that crystal.”

“You said we’d take it tonight.” Zachem tried not to react to Tarn’s questing fingers.

The bastard was now cupping and caressing his balls with enough pressure to stir him to orgasm.
Damn it.

Without meaning to, he released more scent, enough to ensure Tarn wouldn’t let him go.

“What’s wrong? Need something from your master?” Tarn whispered, his fingers making magic.

Zachem grunted.

“Is that a yes?” Tarn let him go, and Zachem moaned in denial. “Tell your master what you want.”

The urge to give in made him dizzy. “I want to come all over you. Right now.” Hell, let Tarn deal with
that
. Warmth spread through his groin, limbs and heart. He ached to release all over Tarn, to connect with this male he felt closer to each day.

“Right now, what?”

Zachem panted as Tarn began teasing him again, pushing his hand beneath Zachem’s trousers to feel him skin to skin. “Right now,
Master
,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.

Tarn jerked him up and down, the pressure of his fingers perfection over the sensitised shaft growing harder and longer as he played. “Come for me then,
czeva
. Come hard, all over my hand.”

Zachem closed his eyes, leaving himself open to Tarn’s touch.

“That’s it. You feel so good,” Tarn whispered. He quickened his hand and increased the friction under Zachem’s crown, hitting that spot that drove Zachem wild.

It took nothing more than the scrape of Tarn’s suddenly sharp nails over him to make him come. He shook as he spilled over Tarn’s hand, sliding up and down his shaft, milking him dry. Breathing hard, Zachem wasn’t aware of Tarn stroking his hair with his free hand until Tarn nudged him to step back.

Tarn removed his hand from Zachem’s trousers and licked a drop of cum from his fingers. His eyes changed, turning Zachem on all over again. “Mine.”

Zachem stood there, staring at his lover. He wanted to say something, to tell Tarn how much he’d needed this, to serve not just another, but Tarn himself. But the words stuck in his throat because he didn’t
want
to serve again. Fulfilling the needs of others had brought him nothing but pain his entire life. The few years spent with Master Caegon had ultimately made the return to the lab even worse.