Creations 4: Caging the Beast (12 page)

The more he thought about it, the more he talked himself out of what he thought he’d felt with Tarn. Simply sexual chemistry, nothing more. Truth be told, Tarn had blackmailed him into this bullshit in the first place.

Tarn correctly read the mutinous expression on his face and sighed. “Let me wash up.

Then we need to have a talk.” He left for the lavatory.

Before he returned, four guards entered the room ahead of the slave master. The pompous, overbearing Master Furon.

“Oh good. You’re ready for us.” Furon smirked at the wet spot at the front of his trousers. “Quite a healthy boy, aren’t you, Beast? You’ll make someone very happy tonight, and I don’t mean me, with all the riches you’ll bring.” Riches?

“Yes, I’ve decided to sell you. Along with a certain crystal everyone’s waiting for, you might just net me enough to get out of this place.” Furon sneered. “Fucking Colony6. A waste of my time and considerable skills.” Tarn walked out of the lav and froze, and Furon continued, “Ah, good, you’re here too. The Pit’s new champion.” Before either of them could react, Furon held up the controller with a smirk on his hateful face.

Tarn swore, groaned and slumped to the ground.

Zachem reached out a hand to help him, but the world went black as he toppled into mind-numbing pain, then passed out cold.

He woke to the sound of chaos. The crackle of fire, a war of words, the unmistakable blast of laser fire. He dangled off an uncomfortable…shoulder? Zachem tried to move and something swatted his ass.

“Dammit, stay still.” Tarn yelled at Pyrgo to throw him the ‘fucking key’ while blue lasers fired all over the dark cavern. Zachem lifted his head and saw a fiery blur in the centre of the place.

The Slave Trade. Had to be. Several guards wrestled with a bevy of slaves bent on exacting revenge. Before long, screams, grunts and groans merged. More laser fire, and then the sounds of more troops. Probably the Colony6 militia, who took their fair percentage out of The Slave Trade profits.

“Shit. Hurry up, Tarn. I’ve got it, let’s go.” Pyrgo didn’t sound calm and in control. Not a good sign.

Tarn jerked at his neck, releasing his collar, and proceeded to drop Zachem to the ground.

He landed with a harsh jolt to his side.

“Sorry.” Tarn leaned down, fiddled with his collar, and stood with it clasped in his hand.

“Have to get Six,” he stuttered, trying to regain his wits.

“The damned
threll
is probably halfway out of The Pit by now, with the rest of the slaves. Come on.”

He couldn’t seem to coordinate his movements. Tarn swore and hefted him over his shoulder again. Not sure what the hell had happened, Zachem only knew that the enon pulse wasn’t wearing off, not like it should have.

And then he heard it. The low hum of welcome, a song of homecoming that awakened the true power deep within him. A burst of fire heated him from the inside out, giving him a new sense of purpose.

He pushed off Tarn’s shoulder and slid to his feet. When he glanced around he noted a subtle glow of energy around everyone he could see. Tarn’s, to his dismay, looked wrong, darker, somehow, as if the man was in pain.

“Zachem?” Tarn asked, reaching his hand out. When it landed on Zachem, he froze. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

“Zachem, Tarn,
come on!
” Pyrgo yelled and blasted another group of guards gaining on them.

Tarn snapped out of his trance, wavered on his feet, and then shook himself aware. He grabbed Zachem by the arm and tugged him after Pyrgo.

They followed until they ran into a wall.

“Damn. This wasn’t on my map,” Pyrgo muttered.

Zachem sensed the source of his welcome coming from somewhere very near. He tuned out everything but that low, exciting buzz. Reaching into Pyrgo’s bag, he held the other man back and took out a small red crystal that fit into the palm of his hand. The moment he closed his palm around it, sealing all of its facets within his hand, power thrummed through him.

“Hurry, Zachem.” Tarn’s worry registered, but only vaguely. Until he watched his lover get shot.

Aware he should have been more afraid, more angry, he turned in the direction of Furon and his guards. Sighting in on the one holding the stunner pointed at Tarn, he focused his will and let go.

A blast of red light pierced the guard’s forehead and split him in two with ease. The return fire should have killed him, but he felt safe behind a shield of warmth. He didn’t want anything to happen to Tarn or Pyrgo either and extended the shield around them without knowing how.

The rage he normally felt when in battle refused to come, nor did his vision turn a hazy red. Instead, Zachem watched the confusion unfold through clear, unfettered eyes.

“Holy Hell and Father Sun. Great. The stories are true, just what we don’t need,” Pyrgo muttered. “Well, come on, Zachem. Grab Tarn and let’s fucking ditch this place before your crystal shatters.”

“It won’t.” How he knew that, he couldn’t say. He didn’t know how to utilise all of the crystal’s power, but as he held it, it whispered to him. The minute he touched Tarn, he used the energy within him to heal Tarn’s injured flesh. Though the physical part of his lover mended, the darkness in his energy did not. But Zachem didn’t think the crystal could help with that. Their positions reversed, this time Zachem put Tarn over his shoulder.

“Now, Beast,” Pyrgo shouted and knocked back several slaves who’d managed to penetrate the weakening shield.

Assuming the immediate threat had faded, Zachem saved his energy for the next dangerous challenge they’d face. Thankfully, he and Pyrgo encountered no further trouble as they raced from the central auction area. Pyrgo took them on several twists and turns then stopped in a darkened alcove. Zachem lowered Tarn to his feet, who wavered but shoved his hand away. “I’m good. Thanks,” he said on a cough.

“We need to go. Can you follow me?” Pyrgo asked Tarn.

Not sure how they planned to leave, Zachem watched the two interact, curious that he could see their auras almost mirror one another. And that he didn’t like. He sensed the crystal readying to tear Pyrgo apart and dropped the stone. Like that, the strange power he’d shouldered vanished.

“Hell.”

Tarn quickly took the crystal and put it back in Pyrgo’s bag. “So much for coincidence.” He shot Zachem a look.

“Yeah,” Pyrgo said sourly. “A Dorvian berserker, go figure.” He sighed. “Now Tarn, can you follow me? I’ll bring Zachem—”

“
I’ll
bring him. I’m good now.” Tarn put himself between Pyrgo and Zachem, and Zachem couldn’t help feeling good, that his master—that
Tarn
—felt possessive.

Pyrgo rolled his eyes. “Just follow me, Destroyer.” He muttered under his breath one minute and disappeared the next.

Tarn glanced at Zachem. “Okay,
czeva
. Close your eyes and hold onto me. I won’t let you go.”

Curious, as he’d never teleported before, Zachem looked for the device that would allow them to jump through time and space. “Where is it?” Tarn didn’t answer. He grabbed hold of Zachem’s forearms, and they pushed through something thick and cold. Ignoring his panic as his lungs compressed, Zachem trusted Tarn not to hurt him. After all, Tarn was in here with him.

They dropped into reality right behind Pyrgo, now seated at the helm of a ship.

A ship.

Escape was in reach. Stars and Planets above. A fucking dream come true.

Tarn shoved him towards an empty seat and buckled him in.

“I can do it.”

“Shut up.” Tarn leaned down, gave him a hard kiss then followed Pyrgo’s instructions as they took flight.

Zachem looked out of the main viewport and watched as The Pit became a distant memory.

They flew in silence for a while. Zachem remained content to savour his new freedom.

Though he had an agreement to keep with Tarn, just being away from Furon and the guards, without that damned collar, made him want to shout with joy.

Pyrgo sighed, breaking the companionable silence. “That went, ah, not as expected.”

“No shit. Nice plan, your highness.” Tarn said with disgust.

“Your highness?” Zachem blinked, totally confused.

“Dammit, you weren’t supposed to say anything.”

“Please, Pyrgo. Who’s he going to tell? He’s just happy to have escaped that fuckhead Furon. And speaking of which, when this is done, I’m going back for that
drun
. We’re not finished, he and I, until The Pit is no more.”

“Excuse me. But ‘he’ is sitting right here.” Zachem removed his restraints and stood, enthralled with the ship. “What is this?”

“A star destroyer, for
our
destroyer. Ironic, eh?” Pyrgo said to Tarn. “It fits a four man crew, so we’re good. There are three berthing areas, one communal lav, a galley and an armaments and equipment room we normally use for training purposes.”

“Weapon training?”

“Unarmed combat,” Pyrgo answered with a feral smile, and something in his expression resonated.

“You two,” Zachem said slowly. “You’re the same. From the same place, I mean.” Pyrgo and Tarn exchanged a long silence.

Tarn answered. “We are.”

“And not from this system.” Zachem began to understand. “No wonder you aren’t bothered by who I am. You’re more alien than I am.”

“He’s an alien?” Pyrgo asked.

“He’s completely alien to me,” Tarn said dryly. “I’m not bothered by you because I know more of your kind than you’d believe.”

Pyrgo nodded. “His nephew Drekk, Drekk’s mate, Ryen. Ryen’s sisters, Erin and Anin.

And then of course, there’s you.”

“You knew about him?” Tarn asked, sounding surprised.

So Tarn hadn’t confided in Pyrgo about his identity as a Creation. What did that mean?

“Of course. I’m Intelligence, remember?”

“Why do you call him ‘Destroyer’?” Zachem wanted to know.

“Because on my world, Tarn
is
the Destroyer. Our best warrior, by far. He’s untamed, and he excels in the art of war. Our own berserker, so it’s fitting he’s found you. A Dorvian berserker. Who could have guessed?”

“Talk about fate.” Tarn’s grin faded as he stared at Zachem, and a familiar hunger filled his gaze.

“Tarn, there is one thing.” Pyrgo quieted, and the two made eye contact.

Tarn frowned, and his stare turned darker. “No. Leave it alone.” More silence.

“Fuck off, Pyrgo. Hell, I need a drink.” He turned to Zachem. “I need a break. Don’t let him bother you. He says something you don’t like, beat the scales off him.” An odd turn of phrase, but Zachem appreciated the sentiment.

The moment Tarn left the bridge, he and Pyrgo faced one another.

“So, Beast,” Pyrgo said with a good-natured grin. “I think you and I have a few things to discuss.”

Zachem looked over his shoulder at the empty doorway. “Yes, we do.”

Pyrgo considered him with a knowing grin. “You’re perfect of face and form. A true fighter, a berserker, even, and he finds you. Talk about having all the luck.” Zachem took the compliment as intended. He smiled back. “Yes, isn’t he lucky.” The lout had managed to trick Zachem into forty-five standard days of servitude. The notion thrilled Zachem deep in the places he wanted to deny existed.

“You know, my kind can see the energy patterns in others. Now take you. You’re large, strong, and practically seethe with an aggressive power threaded with health and a strong need for sexual contact. When I look at Tarn, I see exactly the same thing. Except he’s missing a vital part of him he’ll never get back, not on his own.”

“What?”

“I think Tarn’s been injured in some way,” Pyrgo said carefully. “Outwardly, he looks fine. I’ll admit, that trick you pulled with the crystal earlier, when you healed him? It shifted his
shei
for just a moment, but then his energy returned to that lesser stasis.”

“
Shei
?”

“What we call a person’s essence, his soul. What makes us all unique.”

“
Shei
.” Zachem nodded. He’d seen something similar when under the crystal’s influence. And he’d always felt more around others, a sense of potential he summed up in his opponents. Their
shei
, according to Pyrgo.

“Our Destroyer, Tarn, is a powerful warrior. He saved our world more times than he can say. Just his presence on a battlefield could turn the tide in our favour. Our brethren believed they couldn’t fail with Tarn around. Unfortunately, we started to learn diplomacy.” Pyrgo made a face. “Those like Tarn found themselves no longer needed as much.”

“So they pushed him aside after his service?” Zachem’s anger on his lover’s behalf surprised him. So intense, as if
he’d
been wronged.

“Not at all. They tried to mould him into something different, something Tarn isn’t equipped to do.”

Zachem couldn’t imagine Tarn failing at anything. “What was that?”

“Warrior instruction.” Pyrgo grimaced. “He was terrible. No patience at all.”

Zachem grinned. “He was the same way in The Pit. Nearly strangled a few of the new slaves instead of showing them how to work choke holds.”

“That sounds about right.” Pyrgo chuckled, and Zachem saw the guard in a new light.

Somewhat handsome, good natured, but not as overwhelming as ‘the destroyer’.

“So you two really aren’t slavers.”

“We really aren’t. I serve my empire, as does Tarn. But Tarn works in your star system.

I trust you with this knowledge because Tarn trusts you.” He blinked, and then those alien, reptilian eyes blinked at Zachem. Further proof Pyrgo and Tarn were the same. “I’d hate to be wrong about you, Zachem.”

“You aren’t,” he said quietly. “Being a Creation is an automatic death sentence. Why would I wish to harm the men who set me free?” Or at least, one of them had. The other insisted on servitude.

“There is that.”

“So who exactly are you? What are you?” Zachem wanted to know.

“We’re a people who need to adapt to change if we’re to survive, apparently,” Pyrgo said with a sigh. “Since Tarn and I aren’t mated, we’re—”

“To each other?” Zachem asked, incredulous. Just because he hadn’t sensed their attraction didn’t mean it wasn’t there.