Bane: A SciFi Alien Romance (The Ladyships Book 2) Read online

  Bane

  A SciFi Alien Romance

  The Ladyships Book Two

  Bex McLynn

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Ne’er-Do-Well

  Dearest Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Other Titles

  About Bex

  Copyright © 2019 by Bex McLynn

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons

  Copyediting and Proofreading by Lindsay York at LY Publishing Services

  Developmental Editing by Chris Westwater

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To WB

  Let’s never do crazy shit like this again.

  Or, at least, schedule it well in advance.

  Chapter One

  “Do you think we’re going to be sex slaves?” Therion asked Gummy, the old fart chained up next to him. He let his excitement run rampant and jangled the shackles around his wrists. “Think about it. Being all oiled up and lounging on silk pillows. Gods, I hope we’re gonna be sex slaves.”

  “They best be dousing us, then.” Gummy grumped. “Got sand up my turd shooter.”

  Sure, they were sitting on burning sand as they roasted beneath the twin suns of Radost, but Therion refused to be as sour as Gummy.

  He turned to the big bastard sitting to his left. “What about you? You’re hoping sex slave too, aren’t you?”

  The man was Teras, like Therion and Gummy, with golden skin and turquoise praal covering him in spidery veins. Where all the Teras had straight, black hair, this arse had shaved himself bald, his pate covered with praal and tattoos. Even sitting on the sands amongst the chain gang of newly acquired slaves, he towered over everyone, and the shackles around his wrists looked dainty and inadequate.

  The big bastard growled a low vibrating rumble and then cracked his thick clade-inked neck. The man bore the markings of a notorious marauder clade, the Unholy Unholdes, prominently tattooed onto his hands. Therion might have clade ink on his own neck, but he stayed clear of the UUs. Well, he usually did. If he wasn’t fucking with them.

  “We’s just arena fodder.” A sorry, scrawny soul wailed. “Gonna be sliced and diced ‘til they’s can’t stick us no more.”

  Days ago, the slavers had spoken openly amongst themselves while they had loaded the captured Teras onto a dingy ground transport. Their destination was Chieftain Lider’s desert compound, where the Gwyretti crime lord housed and trained his gladiators.

  “You’re getting worked up over nothing.” Therion waved his hand, dismissing the dissenting grumbles around him. “No arena for us. We’re prime clutch stock.”

  The scrawny wailer sniffled. “I’m missin’ half my anthers to crotch rot.”

  “Well, that’s… unfortunate.” Therion grimaced. A cock wasn’t much good without its anthers circling its base. How was Crotch Rotter supposed to stimulate a woman without a full flange of anthers?

  “Hey, shit talker,” someone in the crowded, overheated gaggle called out. “Who do you think you’ll be sex slavin’ for? You gonna let them Gwyretti gladiators poke their swords up your ass?”

  Since that scenario didn’t line up with Therion’s plans, he ignored that as well.

  Besides, he already had everything in-hand. A few weeks back, he’d gotten lucky and purchased Seph—a Human—in Radost’s Lassie market, thinking her to be an exotic sexbot. The ruse had been foolish on her part, but Therion acknowledged her desperate situation—a lone, never-before-encountered alien race lost in the Tendex. Thank gods he’d purchased her for his kid nephew who only wanted to study Lassie logic gates.

  Unfortunately, word had spread that Seph had rare technopathic abilities—she could mentally interact with Athelasan technology. Those rumors had blazed a trail back to Radost. Within days, Unsworn Teras marauders had raided the planet’s Lassie market, stripping it bare as they searched for other masquerading Humans. Not even sexbot scrap parts had been left behind.

  So, if Radost no longer had any sexbots, then why had Therion come back to this abysmal planet?

  Because Lider, that bastard of a crime lord, was auctioning a rare, exotic model Lassie on the UnderNet.

  Was it bullshit? Aye. Probably.

  Statistically, the odds predicted that Lider planned to sell, for an indecent amount of creds, a cosmetically upgraded base-model Lassie. The classic bait-and-switch never left Therion’s repertoire, therefore he admired the brilliant plan. However, he wasn’t wearing shackles and sweating his anthers off for a dressed-up clutch clunker. His mission covered the odds against—that Lider was selling another Human.

  “Hoy, shit talker,” his critic called out. “Run outta shit to say?”

  Not at all. In fact, that was his sole role on this mission. He had an Inside Man, an Outside Man, and a Mystery Man. Therion, as always, was the Squeaky Man. The attention-grabbing shill with nothing but shit to say.

  “Wait and see, fellas!” he cheerily announced to the chained-up men as Radost’s suns seared them. “It’s gonna be fine.”

  One of the Gwyretti guards, who had been lazily circling the bound Teras, jabbed the butt of his wooden staff between Therion’s shoulder blades.

  “No talk,” the guard bit out in passable Tender, the trade language spoken throughout the Tendex.

  Therion did his best to shake off the blow, humming a shanty as the Gwyretti training master—notable by his leather gear and weaponry—made his way down the line of acquisitions.

  The training master’s frill rested in a half-mast position—not clasped tight about his head or snapped open—and his tail dragged languidly through the sand, broadcasting his ease as he perused the shackled men. Therion saw the nasty gleam in the training master’s eyes. This man enjoyed terrorizing the Unsworn outcasts, the only Teras that the Gwyretti could dominate without repercussions.

  “Fodder.” The training master swept his hand to indicate a portion of the Unsworn Teras.

  Therion winced and glanced over at Crotch Rotter, who had been included in that unfortunate grouping.

  Crotch Rotter turned panicked eyes to Therion. “What? What did he say?”

  “Fodder,” Therion translated for him into Terish, the Teras language.

  “What?” The man scooted backward on his bum. “No. Not the arena.”

  “Just duck and weave,” Therion told Crotch Rotter as if that solved everything.

  Too bad that was truly the best advice that Therion could give. After all, the Gwyretti called them ‘fodder’ and not ‘trainees’ for a damned good reason.

  The training
master stopped before the big bastard, who had the Unholy Unholdes inked onto his hands, and asked in Tender, “You a brawler?”

  “Culler,” came the giant’s grumbled response.

  The training master did a double-take, and Therion, greatly amused, watched as the Gwyretti’s frill snapped closed, only to spring back open and quiver. Aye, the training master just played his hand. A closed frill signaled submission, fear, or general distress. The man paled as all three probably roiled through him.

  “Shit. Culler,” the training master said softly, his eyes dropping to the man’s cuffed wrists and clade-inked hands. “As in, The Culler?”

  “Aye,” mumbled the big bastard—The Culler.

  Thanks to the Teras’s phenomenal hearing, Therion caught every harsh curse uttered under the training master’s breath as he dragged the lead slaver aside. “The Culler, you arse licker! Why the hell did you sell me The Culler? All I’ve got is stunners. How’m I supposed to contain him?”

  Therion scanned the guards mulling about in the yard. The only weapons he saw were decades-old stunners and an occasional staff. No firearms.

  The slaver’s wavering voice reached him. “Um, you don’t?”

  “You’re right. I fucking don’t.” The training master unclipped a clunky device from his belt—hell, it looked like an antique comm—and shoved it into the slaver’s hands. “You get to tell Lider that you just dropped Unholde’s mongrel into his lap.”

  Therion chuckled and bumped Gummy with his elbow. “This oughtta be good.”

  “Ech,” Gummy said with a frown. “I’ve seen better.”

  The training master unsnapped a key ring—another outdated artifact—from his belt and began searching for a key. An actual fucking key.

  Then again, Therion shouldn’t have been surprised. No one wore magnetic restraints. The Gwyretti shackled them in low tech manacles, with the exception of Gummy. They didn’t have a pair small enough for the old arse’s boney hands and wrists.

  As the training master walked back over to The Culler, he held his frill so rigid it quaked. “So, um, The Culler, sir—”

  “Just Culler.”

  “See, there's been a mistake.”

  Culler shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Got a debt to pay.”

  The keys clattered in the Gwyretti’s hands. “So, you’re voluntarily indentured?”

  Again, Culler shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Culler’s reply was common enough. If the big bastard had been scraping by outside of a Teras house and somehow got booted from the UUs, he could have stacked up debts with the Gwyretti crime lords on Radost.

  The training master settled on a single key. “Can I… would you like your shackles off, sir?”

  Culler rose to his feet, casting a dark shadow over the training master. He thrust his hands out.

  The man’s hands shook as he inserted the key into the lock. “A set number of fights, is it?”

  “Three.”

  “Good. We'll get those scheduled right quick.”

  Culler’s shackles dropped heavily to the sand. “I'll wait.”

  Then he strode off.

  The training master called out, “Sure you’d rather not…? Know what, you head on over to the barracks. Get settled in.” He turned back to another guard. “Fuck me. We need the damn compound back online.”

  Therion perked up at hearing that. Now the things he’d been seeing began to make sense. The lock and key cuffs. The guards, armed with staffs and stunners, lulling about the bailey of the compound giving their WristCunes aggravated looks. He even saw an electrified net spread across the compound’s high walls—a defensive measure—yet his sensitive ears heard no buzz of power coursing through the netting.

  “You,” the training master barked out, appearing to have regained his bluster now that Culler had moved on.

  Gummy’s chin jutted out. “Aye, me.”

  The training master flickered his eyes over the wrinkled arse. “Can you handle a shit bucket, old man?”

  “Be better if there’s piss in it. Shit don’t stick to the sides that way.”

  “Scullery with this one. And get a collar on him.”

  Therion gazed at Gummy in sympathy. “Too bad. I really thought you had a shot in the boudoir.”

  Gummy cackled. “Bet your bucket’s gonna have blood in your turds.”

  Therion gasped. “What a terrible thing to say, Gummy! What if this is the last time you ever see me?”

  Gummy stood there and laughed.

  The training master frowned. “Shove off to the scullery, you old git.”

  “Ech.” Gummy waved him off. “Wanna see where you place ‘em.”

  “In the boudoir, Gummy,” Therion said loud and slow. “I already told you. The boudoir.”

  The training master glared at him. “I know you, don't I? Thanebanger.”

  Therion grinned at the Gwyretti. “That’s me.”

  Gummy chuckled. “This oughtta be good.”

  The training master beamed at Therion. “You’re fucking fodder, Banger.”

  Therion jolted. “Wait? What?”

  Gummy simply shuffled away with a sharp bark of laughter.

  Maude jolted awake and yelped.

  “Girly,” a surly voice said much too close to her ear. “You got any shit for me?”

  She scrambled off her cot. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she cast her eyes around the room.

  Mud bricks. Flickering, pungent oil lamps. Oppressive heat.

  Well, hell. She was still on an alien planet, wasn’t she?

  She beat back the rising panic that she’d been wrestling for the past two weeks. Waking on an alien planet wasn’t new or shocking. However, being caught off guard? That hadn’t happened in quite some time.

  She turned to see who had managed to get so close to her without ending up unconscious on the floor.

  In the dim lamplight, Maude locked eyes with an alien man who wasn’t one of her hosts. He wasn’t even a Gwyretti, and the panic that she’d been reining in threatened to stampede her.

  The stranger next to her cot didn’t have scales all over his body, a head frill, and a tail. He had vivid turquoise veins covering his golden skin. Even though he matched Maude’s six-foot height, he wore baggy clothes that hung on his scrawny frame and a decorative metal band that gaped around his neck. By the roll of his slight shoulders and the deep furrows around his eyes and mouth, she guessed that he would be considered elderly.

  The old man narrowed his eyes at her. Their strident, green-gold tones that reminded her of a cat’s eye marble flashed with an ornery glint.

  “I’m sorry for yelling.” Maude pressed her hand to her pounding chest. “I didn’t mean to scream so loud.”

  The alien made a scoffing ‘ech’ noise, then asked, “What’s that all over you, girly?”

  All over her?

  Her gaze drifted downward, seeing nothing but her naked body and the spider covering her skin.

  “Oh, good lord!” She spun around, looking for her cloak. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  Maude had taken to sleeping naked because the persistent heat from the planet’s twin suns followed her into her underground room. Also, whenever someone would approach, the spider—the metal vines covering her skin—would rattle, giving her time to snatch her cloak.

  She silently berated herself as she settled the worn garment over her shoulders and slowly backed away from the old man. Scurrying around wildly, hunting for her cloak, had endangered everyone’s safety. She knew the spider responded poorly to quick movements. That it would rattle and change its shape from web-like vines to tiny armor-like scales that would cover her from neck to ankles. Then the spider would attack, darting victims with thin slivers of metal and knocking them unconscious. Whenever she crossed paths with anyone who had previously been darted, the spider would always rattle threateningly. Her complacency could have injured this new man.

  The stranger jutted his chin out, pulling Maude’
s attention back to him. “You got shit for me or not?”

  “I really don’t—” Her words died.

  The man hadn’t spoken in Gwyr, yet she understood him. She’d even responded using the same new language.

  She gaped another moment before she shook off her shock. Never-before encounters had become a regular occurrence for her since waking from stasis. Freaking out over each new thing only threatened to lock her in perpetual catatonia. If that happened, then how would she get the baby back home to Nicole?

  Maude’s eyes flicked to her cloak-covered stomach. She was several weeks into her surrogacy, and her sister’s baby had already given her a slight belly bump. With a deep breath, Maude ballooned her abs, and the spider shifted its metal vines a bit. Only tiny, frighteningly little bit. If the spider didn’t expand considerably within the upcoming weeks, then Maude wasn’t sure how the baby would survive.

  She exhaled long and slow. More new things. Fine. She could handle this.

  Maude swallowed, then let strange words tumbled out of her mouth. “It’s not necessary. I can do it.”

  The man waved his hand, dismissing her. “Ech. That does me no favors. I don’t haul shit, then I ain’t worth shit.”

  Maude watched, helpless to intercept because of the temperamental spider, as the man shuffled to the curtained area where the Gwyretti had set up lavatory essentials for her.

  “Really, there’s no need.” She’d always taken her waste bucket out immediately, especially when she’d been vomiting upon waking each night.

  Her morning sickness had alarmed the Gwyretti, so she blamed it on the heat, and that lie tore at her. The Gwyretti had been working diligently to understand the spider, yet they didn’t know about the baby. Every time she began to tell them, a sharp image of her sister shaking her head ‘no’ would silence her. Maude listened to that phantom image of Nicole because her sister was the baby’s true mother. Besides, the baby really didn’t impact anything that the Gwyretti were doing for her. They would continue their efforts to remove the spider and send her home.