Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (18 page)

But a few things have become clear.

One, the General doesn’t want me to go anywhere.

Two, these Kordolians are scary motherfuckers.

Three, I’m not a fighter. The nanograft thing has made me into a fast runner, but I don’t know my way around a weapon to save my life. I don’t know if I can even kill someone, even if that someone is an evil alien.

And I seem to be under the protection of the one Kordolian who can keep the wolves at bay. The General is one tough bastard.

I grab the sheets from the bed-pod thing and move over to the door, pressing my ear against it. But the stupid thing is soundproof. I can’t hear what’s going on out there. And even if I could, they’d probably be speaking Kordolian, so what’s the point?

I sigh, trying not to let the dark walls and dim lights of the windowless pod bother me. Instead, I grab the box of delectable Veronian treats. I pop another into my mouth and get a different flavor. Like the other one, it’s complex and fragrant. The closest thing I can think of is rosewater and spice.

These Veronians, whoever they are, sure know what’s up. It kind of makes me want to go there, wherever their planet is.

If I ever get back to Earth, I’ll sure have a story to tell. I could go to one of those celebrity gossip networks and get a big payout. I can just see the headlines now:

My Forbidden Adventure: Encounter with a Kordolian Sex God

I snort. It sounds like a good title for a smut novel. But I’m still coming to grips with the fact that Tarak was a virgin before he made love to me. And there he was answering all my questions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
 

There’s one little detail I didn’t reveal to him. I’m no saint. I’ve been with guys before. I’ve had my share of flings, pyrrhic break-ups and one-night stands. At one point or another, they all said the same thing about me. Apparently, I’m a commitment-phobe, whatever that means.

So I’ve had sex before. Lots of it. But he’s the first one to ever make me come.

He had me dancing at his fingertips, playing me like an instrument. And boy did I orgasm. It felt so fucking good.

There’s no way I’m going to tell him that. I don’t want him to get all big-headed over it.

He’s arrogant enough as it is.

Urgh. What am I going to do? I pop another bliss-cube in my mouth and settle into the bed, my head full of conflicting thoughts as a riot of flavors blossoms in my mouth.

My limbs grow heavy, and the food settles in my belly, making me feel relaxed.

Those bite-sized sweets are deceptive. They’re surprisingly filling.

I close my eyes, just for a moment, enjoying being warm and safe in this sealed little room. It’s strangely reassuring, knowing that he’s just outside the door.
 

I must have fallen asleep for a while, because I open my eyes to the sound of faint rustling.

Tarak is standing before me, watching me.
 

“Hey.” I stretch, luxuriating in the soft, warm sheets that carry his scent. How long was I out for?

“You slept,” he remarks, going into his little wardrobe. He’s carrying some large packages. Curious, I let the bedsheets slip and follow him, deciding to do the Kordolian thing and walk around in my birthday suit.

His gaze roams over my body appreciatively as I approach, his crimson eyes darkening with hunger. That look sends a funny little thrill through me. Big Bad can’t take his eyes off me. It’s strangely empowering.

He’s pulling something out of one of the packages. It’s a big, white, furry, er, thing.

He thrusts it at me. “Try it.”

“This?” I take the thing into my arms and realize it’s a coat. A huge, furry coat. It’s impossibly soft and warm. It’s like those ridiculous old-fashioned fur coats we Humans used to wear back in the twentieth century.

Of course, using animal fur for clothing is unheard of these days.

I slip my arms into the sleeves, pulling it around me. It fits perfectly, even down to the length, sitting at about mid-calf. It’s more decadent than any garment I’ve ever owned. It has a hood attached. Tarak lifts the hood over my short hair.

It flops over my face. I’m sure it conceals my features.

I push it back, astonished. “What’s this?”

“
Szkazajik
fur. I had it altered for your height.”

“O-okay.” I don’t know what the hell a Skaz-whatever is, but this coat sure feels nice to wear. It’s cosy and warm. “Are we going somewhere?”

“I have business on Kythia.” He passes me a few other things. There are stretchy black garments that seem to be made of some kind of thermal fabric. There’s a pair of long boots that go up to my knees. They’re made from some leathery or synthetic type of material. They look flexible but durable at the same time. “These are custom made,” he growls. “It’s hard to find anything in your size.”

There’s a pair of goggles and a scarf-like thing for my face. “These will help you see in the dark.”

A little pile of stuff is forming in my arms. I stare at it for a moment, bemused. It’s enough for an Antarctic expedition.

“Kythia is cold,” Tarak continues, “and Humans are vulnerable to cold.”

“So I take it I’m going with you?”

“Of course. After what happened, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Oh.” I’m dismayed, yet at the same time thrilled. There’s been no mention of returning to Earth yet. Instead we’re traveling to the surface of a harsh, hostile planet, where they don’t even have the equivalent of a sun. I have no idea what lies in store for me there. Great. Talk about getting sidetracked from the goal.

But as dark and scary as Kythia looks, I’m curious. As long as Tarak sticks to his word and keeps the other nasty Kordolians away, I should be safe, right?

“Promise you’ll keep the mad scientists away?”

“Any who dares touch you is dead,” he growls, with a flash of his fangs.

Ooh.

I guess we’re going to Kythia, then.
 

Abbey

I squirm in my seat, becoming restless. We’ve been waiting here for what seems like hours, suspended in orbit just above Kythia.

The river-like network of blue lights stretching across the surface of the Dark Planet winks back at us, mysterious and seductive.

I still don’t really understand what the General’s objective is. Since we left the Fleet Station, we’ve done nothing except sit in this small two-person sized transport, watching a stream of traffic through the navigation window. It’s been fascinating, actually. I feel as if the entire universe wants to get to Kythia. There are all kinds of craft drifting past; space vehicles of the like I’ve never seen before are heading for the planet. There are large cargo freighters and small, private transports. Some of the craft look sleek and modern, while others look as if they’re barely holding together. Some are oddly shaped and don’t even look like spacecraft at all.

They’re all entering Kythia’s atmosphere, heading for the blue lights below.

“So let me get this straight.” I turn to face him, swiveling my seat around. “You don’t want to enter Kythia using a military vessel, because this is some sort of unofficial business, and you don’t want to be noticed.”

Tarak wears his usual expression of mild irritation. “We are waiting for the right moment,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. I roll my eyes. As if that tells me anything.

All he’s told me is that he needs to go to Kythia for something important. And because I’m a rare being in these parts; the only Human this side of the galaxy, every Kordolian wants a piece of me. Literally. So Tarak is refusing to let me out of his sight.

Hence why I’m stuck here in this tiny cruiser, watching the Kordolian version of rush hour.

Still, I could think of worse places to be.

Say, strapped to a dissection table, or imprisoned somewhere.

Tarak’s reclining in the pilot’s seat, sharpening a small blade of some sort. It’s black, like just about everything he owns. The obsidian blade gleams wickedly in the pale starlight. He’s sharpening it on a small metal object with slow, methodical strokes.

The way he does it is almost reverent, as if the blade is somehow sacred.

He inspects it for imperfections, then pops it back in its sheath. It’s all a little bit obsessive-compulsive.

Tarak turns to me, holding out the blade, hilt first. “Take it,” he says.

“You want me to have this?” I stare at the sheathed weapon. It’s compact and deadly looking. Ooh, a strange, alien dagger. Just what I’ve always wanted. How sweet of him.

“One should always carry a weapon. What happened to you on the Fleet Station was unacceptable. You need to be able to defend yourself. When we reach Kythia, I will teach you how to use a plasma gun.”

My first instinct is to wave the knife away. I’m not a fighter. I’m good at running away from things, and climbing, and jumping, and perhaps kicking a guy in the nuts if he steps out of line, but I’ve never seriously hurt anyone in my life.

I don’t know if I could stab someone.

But I’ve landed in the midst of an evil alien Empire, and I’m surrounded by potential enemies. Common sense prevails. I take the knife. Even though I’ve got the General backing me up, you just never know when such a thing might come in handy.

It’s surprisingly light. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, testing its weight. It feels good in my hand.

Tarak grunts in approval, reaching over to adjust my fingers. “Hold it like this.” His large, rough hand wraps around mine, moving my hand so I hold the knife in a more solid grip. “When you use it, move your arm like this, and twist.”

He goes through the motion with me, gripping my forearm. His touch is firm but gentle. It feels good. Familiar. A warm little shiver courses through me, and I let out a small sigh.

Only Tarak could make the act of teaching a person how to stab someone seem romantic.

When I think about it, the intent behind the move is quite chilling. I don’t know whether I could twist the knife, once it’s in.

“Now, try it on your own.”

“Like this?” I copy the movement half-heartedly.

“Put some force behind it,” he urges.

I do it again, with a bit more effort. I try to imagine there’s a bad guy in front of me, visualizing that creepy Kordolian scientist who had me strapped to a table. I bet he was going to harvest my organs. He seemed the type. He had that psycho-stalker look about him.

Asshole.

“Good,” Tarak murmurs. “That is the correct way.” Despite myself, I feel a little rush of satisfaction at his nod of approval.

I stash the sheathed knife away in a little pocket at my thigh. I’m wearing the clothes Tarak got for me; warm, black, stretchy garments that seem to fit perfectly, moulding to my curves. They’ve got pockets hidden at strategic spots all over them. There’s also a light silver jacket that goes over the top. It’s got a strange closure at the front; when I put it together the whole thing just magically zips up and becomes seamless.
 

The decadent, white Skaz-whatever fur coat he got me is draped over the back of my seat.

It’s a lot of layers. I feel warm and toasty for once, in contrast to the bone-chilling cold I’ve had to deal with ever since Tarak and Zyara stuck me in that horrible stasis tank.

Looking down at the impenetrable, dark mass of Kythia, I get the feeling it will be even colder once we reach the surface. That’s one of the consequences of not having a sun. I can’t imagine what’s in store for me down there. Funny, the cold never seems to bother the Kordolians. Especially the General, who’s more than happy to walk around without a scrap of clothing on his body.

Not that it bothers me, really. There are worse sights than a completely naked, muscular Kordolian male.

Heat surges between my thighs. The sheer thought of him is turning me on. I try to keep a straight face. I can’t let Big Bad know of the effect he has on me, especially when he’s right beside me.

Outside the window, the stream of space-traffic continues on, endless and inevitable. Occasionally, a bit of space-junk floats by. There are scraps of metal and bits of machinery and things that look like communication devices, flashing with an array of colorful lights.

And we’re just parked here, waiting.

What the hell is he up to?

“So remind me again,” I probe, trying to put a lid on my growing arousal. “What exactly are we waiting for?”

Tarak stares back at me with a hooded gaze, his dark red eyes like burning embers. His face is expressionless, aside from a tiny quirk at the corners of his lips.

“A way into Kythia. It’s coming. But do not worry about that now. There are better ways to pass the time.” He turns his chair to face me, and I’m torn between irritation and desire. Tarak’s ditched his usual exo-armor in favor of a nondescript outfit that consists of black robes. The clothes are worn; almost tattered looking. They’re at complete odds with his hard features and sharp haircut.

They don’t suit him at all.

Is this part of the whole staying incognito business?

Is it supposed to be some kind of disguise? It’s definitely not his usual style.

Before I can piece it all together, he moves so fast I don’t have time to react. The big guy can be lightning quick when he wants. His recent displays of uh, affection have almost made me forget that he’s actually a lethal fighter. A predator.

He kneels before me, looking up. I’m sitting in the passenger seat and he’s running his hands up my thighs, his fingers warm and insistent through the thin, stretchy fabric of my pants.

I grab his hands, stopping him as he reaches the waistband of my pants, just as he tucks his fingers under it, brushing against my bare skin.

“Oh no you don’t,” I growl, pushing his hands away. “Not until you tell me what you’re up to. What’s with all the subterfuge? Where are we going?” I roll my eyes in frustration. “You have to be the most cryptic male I’ve ever met.”

Tarak snorts. Is that amusement flickering across his face? He doesn’t resist me when I push his hands away.

“Don’t just ignore the question,” I snap, but what comes out of my mouth is at odds with what I’m feeling. Because his touch leaves my skin tingling; leaves me wanting more.