Creations 4: Caging the Beast (6 page)

After several moment of silence passed, Tarn released him. Zachem sensed in him a reluctance to do so, though he couldn’t have said why he knew what Tarn felt. Though a Creation, Zachem had enhanced
physical
senses, not psychic senses.

“I suppose we’d better clean off,” Tarn said with a sigh.

“Yeah.”

They stood there staring at one another. Unmoving.

Tarn grinned. “After you, handsome.”

To Zachem’s astonishment, he felt his cheeks heat. His body shimmered with a blush, and Tarn laughed.

“Damn, you’re fine.” He slapped his ass. “Now into the water. Go on. I’ll wait and watch.”

Zachem opened his mouth to retort when Tarn fingered his collar.
Slave master. The same
man who tortured Pyrgo just commanded me with ease. Fuck.
Turning his back, Zachem quickly lathered and rinsed off evidence of their union. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed a slaver to take what he’d sworn to never give again. His obedience.

The gift seemed like an obscenity. And for the first time in a long time, Zachem felt ashamed of his heritage. He turned and tried to mask his disquiet, but he didn’t succeed because Tarn asked, “What’s wrong?”

Tarn didn’t smile, and the concern in his eyes made it all worse.

“Nothing.” Zachem strode from the room wet, annoyed, and on the verge of breaking something. Namely, Tarn’s very handsome head.

Tarn stayed in the lav long enough for Zachem to grow into a simmering rage.

Then Pyrgo barged into the cell and looked around. “Beast.”

“What the fuck do you want?” He glared at Pyrgo, secretly relieved the male looked fit and hearty. Of all the guards in The Pit, Pyrgo had been the only one to make him feel like a man. He treated all the slaves like humans and not as ‘beasts’, the way the others regarded them. Then again, he was new. Perhaps in time Pyrgo would grow to abuse those under his power.

Pyrgo’s eyes widened as he stared over Zachem’s shoulder. Zachem didn’t have to look to know Tarn stood behind him. He could feel the male, like a living pulse inside him now.

“Destroy—ah, Slave Six. Come with me.” Pyrgo raised his brows at Zachem and looked again at Tarn, as if some unspoken communication passed between the two.

Interesting.

Zachem turned…and scowled at Tarn. The bastard stood stark naked in front of another male. No matter that most slaves weren’t granted clothing, or that Tarn hadn’t had anything to change into in the lav. Annoyance darkened the patterns on Zachem’s skin as he reached the table, grabbed the loincloth, and threw it at his new cell mate.

He deliberately stepped between them to block Pyrgo’s view. “Put that on,” he rumbled, the urge to challenge Pyrgo strong.
But challenge him for what?

To his further surprise, Tarn didn’t argue. He caught the loincloth and dressed. Which made him look even more desirable, were that possible. The small areas hidden by the
rak
hide made Zachem want to strip Tarn down and learn everything about him.
He’s a slaver,
get him out of your head!

“Pyrgo, you wanted a word?” Tarn asked in a soft voice. He approached but stopped just behind Zachem.

Pyrgo’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Slave Six, come with me.” He turned on his heel and left the room without waiting.

“I’ll be right back,” Tarn murmured. As he moved past Zachem, he caught him on the shoulder with an impossibly long, black fingernail and scratched him.

Tarn lifted his bloodied nail to his mouth and sucked the digit clean. “Addicting. Like I said before.” He gave a breathless moan, confusing the shit out of Zachem. “Be good while I’m gone, Beast. And maybe I’ll give you a treat when I get back.” Tarn’s eyes smouldered.

“Fuck you.” Why did wanting Tarn sear him to his bones?

“Not if I fuck you first.” Tarn chuckled and left.

The door slammed shut after him and the lock hammered home.

The silence was deafening. A sudden loneliness scared Zachem, more than anything had in a long time. He didn’t understand how he could hunger for the one male he shouldn’t have. It made no sense. He told himself he wouldn’t count the minutes until Tarn returned.

He did anyway.

* * * *

The minute Tarn and Pyrgo walked around the bend in the rocky corridor, Pyrgo disappeared. Tarn tried to follow his energy signature through the void, what Ebrellions knew to be the small holes in space they used to ‘port, but couldn’t push past the stored energy in his collar. He sank to the ground as the damned collar absorbed the energy he’d tried to use to access the void.

Pyrgo returned, took one look at Tarn on his knees, and pulled him to his feet. “Hold onto me.”

They moved through thick black space into a room that smelled familiar. Master Furon’s room. Pyrgo helped him stand and rolled his shoulders.

“Sorry. I should have warned you that the collar blocks teleportation. It blocks the actual void, affecting artificial teleporters and our natural abilities. It’s a real peace of work.” Pyrgo sagged into a plush red chair. “You probably recognise this from your foray in shifted form. Master Furon is busy at the moment. This is the safest place to talk and it’s not recorded,” Pyrgo explained. “Now what the hell is the Destroyer doing here in The Pit, if I might ask?”

Tarn sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Trust me, I’ve got nothing but time. Nine more days, in fact,” Pyrgo muttered.

A coincidence? “Don’t tell me you’re here for the Dorvian crystal.”

“I am.” Pyrgo swore. “You too?”

“My nephew is a peacemaker on Mardu. He—”

Pyrgo sat up. “Of course. Your nephew, Drekk. The Creation.”

“Someone’s well informed.” Tarn didn’t know if he liked anyone with so much information about his family. The Ebrellion race wasn’t discerning about interracial lineage, but even they kept a wary eye on the Creations who had wandered into their star system several centuries ago.

“I’m Ebrellion intelligence. I usually know everything about everything. But I admit, I hadn’t known you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be. Drekk was supposed to recover the crystal for his boss.

Something about dignitaries from another world and an interplanetary incident.”

“Yeah, well, I’m representing the Dorvians on this. Their king wants the crystal back, like yesterday. And the homeworld is all about extending our reign of
peace
,” Pyrgo said with disgust.

Tarn snorted. “Why do you think I left Brel for the Vrail System? A year ago I was ass-deep in Ebrellion rebels and loving it. Now the scared bastards won’t come near me. I’ve been stuck on Mardu working as a bar owner to keep an eye on our horny brethren. They’ve apparently given up kidnapping brides from the Vrail System, near as I can figure. ” Pyrgo didn’t smother his laugh fast enough.

“Trust me, I find little humour in this situation,” he growled. He pulled at the metallic band around his throat.

“I don’t know. Our greatest warrior, a slave?” Pyrgo chuckled. “The band won’t hold you, but it will stop you from becoming a
threll
or ‘porting. Hey, at least you’re in the mix again. Can’t claim The Pit isn’t an exciting place.”

“If I didn’t need you to get me back to that cell, I’d choke you right now.” Pyrgo grinned and his inner lids blinked to reveal Ebrellion pupils. To Tarn’s surprise, he found himself liking the male, despite his sense of humour.

“Destroyer, be glad you volunteered to leave home. It’s become a boring place, full of harmony and childbearing females. The warriors grow soft with happiness.” Pyrgo grimaced. “Thankfully, there are still plenty of worlds out there needing serious help. The Dorvians are a barbaric race. I love them. I think you’d like them, too.” 

“Perhaps.” He remembered something he’d heard Pyrgo say. “Why would their crystal light up around the beast?”

“I’m not sure. I only know that I have to be here for The Slave Trade when it goes down. Rumour has it that crystal is going to sell for a fortune. There are important people from a lot of planets coming down for this auction.”

“But if the crystal is that powerful, why is it here, in The Pit? Why sell it at The Slave Trade?”

Pyrgo shrugged. “A lot of people believe the rock gives its owner immense power when handled by its rightful holder.”

“By a man that turns the stone red, maybe?”His mind whirred with possibilities.

“Could be.” Pyrgo cleared his throat. “Ah, I have to know. The Beast—”

“His name is Zachem.”

“
Zachem
smells like you.
A lot
like you.” Tarn tried not to let his pleasure show. “He’s a distraction while I’m stuck here. A nice way to pass the time.”
And if that’s all he is, why can’t you stop thinking about him?
Damn his conscience for annoying him with the truth.

“Better not let Furon know that. He’ll use Zachem to get to you. The slave master’s not right. His
shei
is seriously fucked up.”

“Fucked up?” Tarn smiled. “You sound native, Pyrgo. Tell me something. You don’t look familiar to me. Why is that?”

“Furon will return soon. We’d better get you back.” So Pyrgo didn’t want to talk about his past. That only made Tarn that much more interested in knowing the truth. “Pyrgo?”

“Yes?” he asked, his tone wary.

“Call me Tarn.
Destroyer
is a little formal.”

“Sure. And you can call me Pyrgo. Or Guard. Or Master, if you like.” Pyrgo grinned at the obscene gesture Tarn shot him. “Or not.” His gaze sobered as he looked at Tarn’s collar.

“Hold on a minute.”

Pyrgo picked carefully through one of Furon’s drawers. He found a small device and gave it to Tarn.

“The key?”

Pyrgo nodded. “He has a few spares. Use this to release the collar.” He showed Tarn how to take it off. “You’re going to have to put it back on if you stay.”

“I figured.”

“But at least you can take it off and ‘port or shift if need be. It’s actually a good thing you’re here. You can help me take back the crystal, which I’d planned to deliver to the Dorvians on Mardu anyway. I’ll help you get off the planet. Colony6 has a decent fleet policing the atmosphere. Furon pays his slaver dues, so he’s covered by the planet’s militia.”

“I wasn’t told that.” Interference from Colony6’s militia would jeopardise his rescue from the planet.

“I wasn’t either. I learned it a few days ago and had to plan around it. Furon likes to keep secrets.”

A distant noise outside alerted them to move.

Tarn held his collar and the key in hand. “Thanks, Pyrgo. I owe you one.”

“Don’t think I won’t collect. Just do me a favour. Don’t tell your ‘distraction’ about me.

I’m not sure where his loyalties lie.”

“I know.” Unfortunately, Tarn couldn’t trust Zachem yet either. His body couldn’t get enough of the Creation, but he needed to know more about him before he allowed lust to compromise the mission.

Pyrgo vanished, and Tarn followed him into an empty alcove. Pyrgo nodded at him to reattach his collar. He did and palmed the key.

Taking him by the arm, Pyrgo dragged him into the corridor and around the bend towards Zachem’s cell, where the guards and their
threll
remained on watch.

“Remember, there’s a lot of currency riding on tonight’s fight. You’re expected to win in no more than three rounds,” Pyrgo said. “Understand, slave?” Tarn scowled at him, staying in character.

Pyrgo stopped, drawing the guards’ attention. “Again, I ask, do you understand, slave?

I’d hate for your disobedience to earn you some harsh discipline at Master Furon’s hands.” Tarn had to admit the man had talent. By keeping his voice soft yet firm, he sounded more threatening than the others with all their yelling. “I understand.”

“Back to your cell.” Pyrgo shoved him towards the guards, and Tarn made a mental note to remind Pyrgo not to be so enthusiastic about pushing him around. “You have another hour before the fight. Use it well.”

After being locked back in the cell, Tarn expected to answer some questions. Instead, Zachem pointedly ignored him and sat at a nearby table contemplating a tray of food.

Definitely have to deal with that slaver issue.

Since he needed to decide what to do about everything he’d learned, he laid back on Zachem’s bed. Enveloped in the male’s scent, Tarn spent a surprisingly comfortable, quiet hour, mired in plans.

The door banged open, startling him.

Yorum entered with a large grin. “Okay Beast, Six. Time to earn your keep.” Zachem left the cell without a word. Tarn sighed. He had a feeling he had more than one battle tonight. And the hardest one would be fought outside the ring.

Zachem returned to his cell with a twinge in his shoulder. It wasn’t enough Furon demanded he fight armed opponents. Now he had to battle two and three at a time, several fights a night. Tonight’s battles had been invigorating all the same. One of the Raggas was the strongest he’d encountered yet, and the Zeiren moved with both skill and stamina.

They’d lasted longer than any of the others, and the skirmishes had kept his mind off Tarn.

He walked into his cell with the object of his obsession following a step behind. Tarn walked easily, no injuries on his muscular frame. His damned loincloth played hell on Zachem’s nerves. Every time Tarn shifted, the thin fabric moulded to his groin, and that tempting bulge seemed to grow whenever Tarn saw him looking at it.

“Nice fight,” Tarn murmured and brushed against him as he passed by to the lav.

Zachem forced himself not to flinch. Only when Tarn had left the room did he give in to the tension bothering him. He clenched his fists and deliberately relaxed them, then took a long, deep breath. No matter what Tarn had done or who he was, Zachem desired him.

Hell, he hadn’t felt this much arousal since Master Caegon, and most of that had been from the desire to submit.
The way I submitted to Tarn yesterday
. Zachem swore under his breath and threw himself onto his bed. He locked his hands behind his head and contemplated his screwed up life. If only he could fall into a deep sleep and ignore the mess of The Pit and his unnatural desires. Only in dreams did he ever feel a sense of anything resembling peace.