The Corsair's Captive Page 2

  I was caged like an animal. My water was something that looked laughably like the bottle that hooked onto my pet hamster’s cage when I was a kid. My food was a crunchy bar of something tasteless that I got twice a day. Clothes? Nope. Shoes? Nope. Answers? Nope. I was treated like an animal, right down to some sort of weird absorbent plastic-ish sand in my cage that I suppose doubled as a toilet for all the “livestock.” It was humiliating and awful, but I wasn’t the only one kept captive. There were green beings and a bright red one, a creature that looked like a cross between an elephant and an armadillo, and another human female that I saw in passing. It was clear that I was going to be sold as a pet of some kind.

  That cage was my home for a few days, I think. I didn’t have a watch, but the lights on the ship—or space station, or wherever I was—cycled low from time to time, so I counted those as days. Two days in, some awful, bulb-shaped device was implanted in my ear that translates alien languages. Two days after that, I was taken from my cage, then washed and scrubbed by a creature that looked more sea anemone than human. It wasn’t more than a few hours after that that someone arrived at my cage.

  A buyer.

  I barely pay attention to the alien staring at me from the other side of the metal grid. Aliens came and went all the time. Sometimes they fed me, sometimes they stared. None of them ever freed me, so it didn’t matter.

  “If you want her, she’s yours,” one of the zookeepers says, and that makes me pay attention. Two minutes later, I am given a wrap to wear around my thighs and a long, decorative necklace that bounces around my tits and hides nothing. I push my long hair forward to cover them—not that it does any good because a few minutes later, my new “owner” is back with a collar for my neck and cuffs for my wrists. I’m leashed and led out of my cage like a puppy in a pet store.

  It’s so…humiliating.

  When he slides a hand under my skirt and squeezes my butt cheek, I slap his hands away. He only gives a weird croaking laugh and tugs on my collar, dragging me forward.

  I’m pretty sure this guy’s not looking for someone to do laundry, if the costume I’ve been given and the ass-grab are any indication. Duh, Fran.

  The man that bought me jerks on the chain at my neck again. Okay, “man” might be a bit of a stretch. He looks more like a cross between a giant stuffed dinosaur and a bloated frog. His “hands” are stubby feelers tipped with suckers, and his gaping mouth is the most prominent feature he has. He’s at least a foot taller than me, maybe more, and his girth is more “crushing” than petite. I’d wonder what the hell he wants with a human slave since I’m pretty sure our anatomy doesn’t fit, but judging from the enormous codpiece he’s sporting under that gut, “fitting” together isn’t big on his priority list.

  And then I’m shuddering because I’m picturing what’s under that codpiece. God help me.

  I’ve been fighting my terror for the last hour or so, but as the frog-man drags me out of the cage room and down a hall, I realize that there’s no intention of treating me kindly.

  I’ve been sold as an alien sex toy. I’m a trained poodle you can fuck. The thought is disgusting and beyond awful, and between moments of panic and outrage, I’m thinking of how to get out of this. There just has to be a way out. This can’t be my life.

  Every minute that passes, though, the horrors just get worse. He drags me from hall to hall and then out into a pod of some kind that bobs and weaves when we step onto it as if it’s floating on water. The windows show nothing but stars and nebulae, and I get dizzy when the pod sways. Two other frog-men wait at control panels, their oddly beady eyes watching me in the creepiest of ways. I hug my arms over my torso, chilled to the bone despite the swampy, moist heat emanating from inside the ship.

  What do I do now? I glance behind me at the gray metal corridor we just came down. Do I try to make a run for it? Hope someone at the space station will treat me better?

  My owner jerks on my chain again, dragging me forward. I don’t have a choice. I have to follow. Reluctantly, I get into the craft. Froggy straps himself into a seat and barks an order at his equally froggy men. He jerks on my chain again and points at the floor at his feet.

  Is he serious? I’m supposed to kneel like a dog? I’m tempted to pee on his shoes like a misbehaving one.

  He adjusts the straps on his chair and I glance around for mine. “Where do I sit?” I ask in English.

  Froggy burbles something and points at his feet again. The translator makes it clear to me. That’s my spot.

  I open my mouth to protest, but then the ship-pod lurches downward and I’m knocked off my feet. I nearly choke on the chain itself and end up prostrate at my captor’s feet anyhow. Gagging, rubbing my neck, I manage to sit up.

  Froggy pats my head.

  In a way, all the mistreatment’s a good thing. I’m far too pissed to be frightened of rape. I know it’s on the table. I know it’s coming. But right now I’m just so damn angry at being treated like a bad dog that I can’t think past that. No wonder dogs fucking run away from their owners. Right now all I can think of is escaping.

  Sweat pools on my skin, making my hair stick to my neck and shoulders. It’s humid as heck inside this ship, but I seem to be the only one uncomfortable. The others seem just dandy. I guess I should be glad I’m in little more than a diaper or I’d have heatstroke.

  Except I’m not glad. I’d rather have the heatstroke.

  The small pod-ship lurches on and Froggy leans forward in his nice comfy chair. “Vaashnaamh?”

  I stare at him resentfully, waiting for the translator to kick in. It doesn’t, though.

  He points at his chest and burps up something that the translator doesn’t get, and then points at me and repeats himself. “Vaaashnaamh?”

  Oh, is he asking my name? How kind of him. “Fido,” I snap back. “Arf fucking arf.”

  “Fhdo,” he agrees, and then laughs as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. To his men, he calls, “Human language is so stupid. It sounds like they are vomiting.”

  He…does realize I’m wearing a translator and I can understand him? I glare resentfully at him, realizing this conversation isn’t for me. His men just burp froggy laughter and talk about my anatomy in rather horrifying terms as the tiny ship floats through space.

  I’m even more terrified when we dock, imagining a huge frightening bedroom and what the next chapter brings in this book of horrors. To my surprise, we descend from a ramp into…what looks like a bar or a club. And as my owner tugs on my chain, I realize he’s bringing me along with him. Fucking hell. I tear feebly at my chains, but despite his froggy pudginess, my captor is strong and unrelenting.

  As he drags me forward into the crowded club, I see all kinds of aliens of every awful shape and size, and shrink back as they reach out to touch my hair or flick at my skirt. Everyone’s fascinated by the human. They coo with interest as some weird, shrill music plays in the background and a thick haze of scented smoke perfumes the air. Bodies of every shape and color gyrate on the floor, and small tables float in midair at the edges of the room. Aliens nibble on slidey-looking bubbles that pour from the lid of a small container in front of them. It’s like a tripping bananas version of the cantina from Star Wars.

  Into the fray, my alien owner drags me forward. Everyone seems fascinated by my appearance, and my owner puffs up with pride, telling them all about how much I cost. I relax a little. Maybe I am the intergalactic version of an exotic poodle and all he wants to do is show me off.

  But then Froggy grabs my hand and pushes it onto his enormous codpiece and I realize that was a futile hope after all.

  I’m definitely dying tonight, I realize. Because if this guy tries to rape me, I’m going to fight until the bitter end before I let him get under my skirt. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly where he’s planning to go.

  Duh, Fran.

  KIVIAN

  My ooli contact’s brought a slave with him.

  A human slave.

&
nbsp; I try not to stare as Jth’Hnai waddles up to the table, as ungraceful and ungainly as all of his people are on regular gravity space stations. I’m expecting to see him and his slimy face and gaping mouth. I’ve dealt with ooli before, and while they’re not my favorites, I’ve seen stranger things.

  I’ve prepared for this meeting for days. I’ve gone over the plan with my crew. Reloaded weapons, refueled the Fool, and even stashed extra weapons in lockers around the station. I’ve dressed in my fanciest trou and jacket, both made of the embroidered Sashim fabric that says I’ve got money and a foolish way of spending it. I have rings on several fingers and have re-capped my horns with engraved precious metal. I look like a dandy more than a pirate, and that’s intended. I’ve dosed up on my antidotes just in case someone tries to poison my drink.

  I’m prepared for this meeting.

  Nothing’s prepared me to see a human creature trailing behind my ooli contact, one that looks so much like Jutari’s Chloe that I have to do a double-take. The ooli lumbers forward, moving to sit across from me at the table I’ve selected at the back of the bar. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. This is only the second human I’ve seen close up.

  She’s fascinating. For one, she’s very bare. Clearly clothing her was not high on Jth’Hnai’s list of priorities. The scraps she’s been given to cover her body would violate laws on several planets, and others in the seedy club are staring. I don’t blame them. Her skin is a creamy golden color a shade or two darker than Chloe’s whitish-pink, and she’s completely without scales or protective plating. She looks so…smooth. So dainty.

  So touchable. My fingers practically itch to caress her.

  Her hair looks soft and shiny and dark. Her breasts are surprisingly prominent under the decorative necklace she wears that is imprinted with the symbols of the ooli’s clan. It jangles and bounces against them and draws the eye there. She’s aware of it, too, judging by the way she pulls her hair forward over her breasts. Around her neck is a thick collar, with a lead attached to it.

  “Do you see my pet?” Jth’Hnai rumbles at me. He leers at his slave and jerks on her chains, pulling her forward. “She’s new. A fresh shipment just came in and I snatched her up before anyone else could get her. Cost me a pretty credit, too. You see what success can buy you, Kivian?”

  “I do,” I murmur, admiring. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help myself. She’s completely foreign looking and yet hauntingly beautiful. Her features are delicate, her bones fragile, and yet there is an angry ferocity I never noticed in Chloe’s eyes. My brother’s mate seemed sweet and gentle to her core. This one spits fire from her eyes, and when Jth’Hnai pulls on her chains, she lets her expression tell him of her loathing.

  I’m fascinated by her. I also know I can’t let the ooli leave with her.

  She’s mine.

  As a race, mesakkah are a possessive lot. We don’t share well as a culture, and we’re not good with understanding the concept of “open hearts,” a term I’ve heard other species use. We’re selfish when it comes to our females. We recognize our mates on sight most times, and when we decide that a female is ours, we pursue her with dogged determination that will result in death before we give up. Mesakkah mate for life and we’re very, very possessive of a female once we do. It’s not to say that most males haven’t experienced bedsport with a female or another. But it’s different when you recognize your mate. You know in that moment that your life has changed and you’ll never want another female like you want her.

  I feel that way right now.

  This female is mine, not the ooli’s.

  Every time he rips at her chain, it takes everything I have not to reach across the table and wrap my hands around his bloated gullet. I know enough about him—and the seedy place we’re visiting—to know that it’s a bad idea to attack in public. That would draw attention to us, and I might as well paint a target on our backs at that point. The crowd here—armed to the teeth and as mercenary as I am—will turn on me in an instant and neither myself nor Jth’Hnai will make it out alive.

  That would be death for my small, fragile human female.

  I’ve got to play it cool, even though every bone in my body is screaming for me to free her, to grab the ooli by his slimy head and pound it into the nearest wall until he apologizes for even keffing touching her lovely skin. I slide my hands under the table and rub them on my fancy trou, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. This rendezvous was just about lethiul crystal until he walked in with her.

  Now I need to walk away with the female and double the crystal.

  There’s no other choice.

  It’s a good thing for Jth’Hnai that I’m used to charming the hide off of anything I run into, even an ooli fool. I’ll get the female and the crystals, and by the time I’m done, he’ll think it was all his idea. “I see you’ve brought company,” I tell him, smiling and leaning forward so I seem like I’m only interested in a polite sort of way. “Fascinating. Who’s your little friend?”

  He grabs her chain again, jerking her forward, and the female makes a little choking noise, her hands going to the collar around her neck. I clench my hands on my belt, because the urge to murder Jth’Hnai is growing stronger by the moment.

  “She’s mine, you sneaky corsair, so don’t get any ideas.”

  I force myself to raise my hands into the air and chuckle like it’s no big deal. “No ideas. Just curious. It’s not often you see a human female in these parts.”

  “That’s because they’re rare,” the ooli brags. “Very rare. You have to know the right people and have enough credits to spend on such a luxury.”

  “And what do you plan on doing with such a luxury?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Whatever I wish,” he says, and then laughs as if he’s said the funniest thing ever.

  The female just glares at him mutinously. She gives a feeble tug on the chain at her neck, but it’s clear that the ooli, fat and rancid though he is, is far stronger than her. He should be careful with such a treasure. She should be cosseted and protected, not dragged into this nest of thieves and lowlifes and paraded about. Even now I see unsavory creatures from distant planets eyeing her with far too much interest. And why shouldn’t they? She’s barely covered, her skin exposed for all to stroke and pet.

  And there are many, many males that pass by our table and reach out to caress her. She hates all of them, I can tell from the look on her face. I’ve never felt so proud and alternately so helpless in my life.

  She’s not going home with him. Not if I have to die to save her from such a fate.

  “What’s a creature like that run on the black market these days?” I ask lazily as I press a finger to the refreshment bubbler, making it seem as if I’m here just for drinks. I might have to buy the female from him if charm doesn’t work.

  “More than you’d make on a dozen shipments of crystal, corsair.” He smirks at me.

  “Now that sounds like bragging.” I keep my tone light and direct one of the refreshment bubbles toward my mouth, then snatch it from the air with a click of my fangs. The female flinches back, surprised, and I want to reassure her that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Instead, I am forced to ignore her. “Piracy pays very well, my good friend, as long as you know how to handle yourself.”

  “And I suppose you think you do?” The ooli is clearly skeptical.

  I just laugh. “I get by.” I make it a point not to look at the female. “So you are interested in slaves? I’m afraid that’s a market that The Dancing Fool’s never gotten into.”

  “Slaves are a difficult cargo, I imagine. Fragile things, especially humans.” He leans over and pinches the human’s bare arm with his meaty fingers. “Look at this one. She’s a little weak,” Jth’Hnai croaks, then moves his head back and forth in the ooli version of a shrug, since they don’t have shoulders. “But as long as her cunt is wet and tight, I don’t care.”

  My jaw clenches. He’s not getting anywhere near her cun
t as long as I’m breathing.

  The female jerks back. “I can hear you,” she hisses in her crude language, and I realize for the first time that she’s got a cheap translator attached to her ear. I thought it was just more ugly decorations.

  It makes me unreasonably angry. Translator chips are low-cost and can be injected under the skin behind the ear. It’s painless and just about every being that’s ever been to a spaceport has one. A translator bulb like the one hanging from her small ear is the cheapest route, but painful and annoying for the wearer, and shows just how much “care” she’s been given since she was taken. I have to force myself to concentrate on the refreshment bubbles floating near my side of the table or else I’m going to reach across and strangle Jth’Hnai after all.

  You’re here for crystal, I remind myself. You can get the female, but it’s going to cost you a small fortune if you don’t get the crystal to boot. A good pirate is always calm. My father said it often, and I always thought he was lecturing me. Maybe he was reminding himself all that time, considering that both my brother Jutari and I were handfuls.

  I keep the impassive look on my face as the ooli stuffs his face with the refreshment bubbles and talks about how much money he has. How this idiot has managed to stay alive—and succeed—with such a loud mouth is surprising. Even others nearby are starting to pay attention, and that’s making me tense. Time to steer the conversation, and the perfect moment arrives when a second refreshment table winds its way toward us, offering new treats for our consumption.

  He immediately grabs both replenishment packs and begins to suck them both down, not offering either to his slave. It’s difficult to watch her get ignored, but I force myself to keep wearing a smile. “A double?”

  “It was a long journey,” Jth’Hnai says between slurps. “And since you’re paying, why not?”