Legend Beyond The Stars (6 page)

She eyed the building. With its plain facade and primitive construction it resembled the insignificant bolt hole where she had left her friends and which she hoped would prove to be a safe haven for them. All of them were grieving and depressed. Even after consuming the dehydrated space rations salvaged from the shuttles they remained hungry, and they needed to rest after their gruelling day. She had instigated a rotation of watchers, had to trust it would be sufficient to ensure their safety. Before leaving on this mission, Alana had also organised a short memorial service for those they had lost.

The memory of the survivors’ vulnerable faces lingered in her mind. They were fighting a desperate war to survive and they knew it. It seemed each moment brought something new and frightening which had to be assessed and examined for danger. There was so much for them to learn.

And time was running out.

Frustration almost overwhelmed her and she stumbled as fatigue slammed into her.
Remember the mission
. Alana clenched her jaw, focussed and ticked off the points in her head.

First, purchase weapons, next locate a sky pirate (
whatever that was!
) who would be willing to risk his life and ship to get them to some place called ‘
Aurian
’. Norman insisted there they would find members of what he called the old Ruling Council, who would help protect them.

Then, of course there was just a little matter of finding the men and getting everyone home again. She flexed her shoulders and prepared to step out of the shadows.

Paused.

From behind her came the sound of tramping feet. The cadence was military.
Damn! Elite Forces or those overgrown brutes!
Either one was not good.

Alana cast a swift look about the street, reviewing her options. In the hushed quiet of the night she heard the faint clash of metal. Soon they would round the corner and be upon her. She had to move.

Alana left the safety of the shadows, darted through the mist to the dark doorway of her objective. She risked a quick glance behind and spotted the dim outlines of soldiers. The height of the approaching soldiers being similar to her made her believe they were members of the Elite Forces. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or otherwise.

Stones rattled under her boots as she raced across the open space. The slippery dampness sent her sliding sideways amidst another clatter of rocks. With difficulty, she kept her balance. A shout came from behind.

She lengthened her stride, fairly leapt the last few metres, landing with a thump against the hard wooden door of the Jurian’s shop. Ignoring her jarred shoulder, Alana grasped the handle but it was locked. No need for secrecy now as the sound of quickened marching feet assaulted her ears. She pounded on the door. No response. The mist swirled higher. At last some good luck, it should hide her exact location. She pushed against the door but it refused to open.

Annoyed, she stepped back and scanned the small building. There were no lights gleaming behind the cracks of the closed windows. She sucked in a long deep breath, thinking quickly.

Options. I need options
.

Perhaps there was a back door. But how to get around the building? The whole row of buildings on this side appeared to be wedged together with nary a hair’s breadth between them.

A door creaked open in the building next to her. A heavily cloaked figure lurched outside, then staggered down the street. Alana caught a quick glimpse of light, smelt a sour whiff of yeast, heard the subdued roar of jovial voices before the door crashed shut. A pub or inn or whatever they called it here.

There would be revellers inside.

With luck there would be a back door.

Her decision made, she hurried to the inn, pulled her hood over her face, jerked open the door and slipped inside. The pungent smell of stale sweat, unwashed bodies and rotting foodstuffs pervading the room had her reeling on her feet. Taking careful breaths through gritted teeth, she edged further inside.

The room was full.

Full of various alien forms and shapes which gave her pause, made her wish she had time to spare to analyse them for possible threats. Her eyes wide, Alana scanned the area, searching for an exit. Compared to the technology she had experienced on the traders’ ship, the interior was primitive. Lanterns set into crevices carved into the rock wall lit the crowded chamber with a flickering dull light. Fires crackled and hissed in several stone fireplaces and gave out a pitiful warmth.

She wrinkled her nose with distaste as a stench similar to burnt moss mixed with rotting eggs hit her nostrils. Some aliens were standing about in groups swilling tankards of frothing liquid and others were perched on low benches. There were even a few curled up on the floor, huddled under blankets. A metal bar ran down the full side of the building which Alana now saw was larger than she had first thought.

Darkness shrouded the far reaches of the room.

No one paid any attention to her as she slipped between the groups, her head ducked low to hide her face, her fingers grasping the edges of her cloak together over her chest to conceal her flight suit and her sex.

Behind her she heard the door swing open with a thud as it collided with the wall.

One by one the aliens registered the appearance of an Elite Force captain. One by one they fell silent.

Alana tried to peer around the body of a Jurian who hopped about craning his neck to observe the doorway, but he kept blocking her vision. Then, he twisted around and goggled at her in accusation.

Panic rose.

Her heartbeat rocketed into top gear. Any second now, he would give the alarm. She elbowed her way past the aliens. The shadows here were deeper. She must be close to the far end of the room.

The aliens shifted noisily and milled about with shuffling feet. She deduced the solders had now entered the building, pushing their way through the room.

She burst through a group of bodies into a small open space. The back wall loomed in front of her. There were no lanterns or fires to give light here. She could see the outlines of large, misshapen forms propped against the wall and others hunched on benches.

With her heart pounding a deafening beat in her ears, she hurried forward.

Only to trip over some oaf’s outstretched booted foot.

Alana staggered, her arms windmilled as she tried to regain her equilibrium. She would have managed it too, if the idiot hadn’t moved his foot at the same time. Her legs now tangled with his, she tipped slowly forward to land face down in someone’s lap.

In an instant, a hard heavy clasp imprisoned her. Alana squirmed and wriggled, trying to get her face out of its crotch. Large hands grasped her about the waist and lifted her, settling her firmly on his legs. She pushed at the arms now encircling her with the inflexible strength of tempered steel, to no avail. She swallowed the howl of frustration roaring through her throat.

It was him
.

She didn’t need to turn her head to know who held her captive. She had known who it was the instant he had touched her.

Why?
She had no idea nor did she want to know!

The alien tugged back her hood, his stroke gentle and caressing as his hand slid over her hair.

Alana closed her eyes, fighting an insane desire to surrender and press closer to its warmth and strength. She blamed exhaustion for her brief weakness

“Aaaah. My payload,” he purred into her ear.

Chapter Four

Tarak tightened his hold on the female trembling in his arms. Triumph welled inside him. He lowered his head, sniffed at her delicate scent. He drew the sweet smell deep into his lungs and his lower body tightened in response. Excitement blinded him, his blood charged hot through his veins.

So he had not imagined it
.

His eyes closed. For a few sectons he indulged himself in the force of his arousal. Her soft silky hair teased his rough cheek. Her intriguing curves nestled in the cradle of his groin. It had been so long. Too long. And truly he had believed like everyone else, there was no hope for the Darkon males. That never again would they experience the fierce surge of sexual arousal. He revelled in his painfully swollen member which pressed with urgent hunger against her rounded bottom.

Tarak rubbed his face against the skin of her neck. The female jerked away, anger bouncing off her in waves. He grinned. He admired spirit in a female. But there would be time to explore this interesting situation later. Tarak unhooked a set of manacles from his belt and with swift efficiency, locked her hands together. He hauled her upright and straightened, ignoring the indignant glare he sensed the woman directed at him. She tried to kick his armoured shins, then jab him with her elbow, but Tarak evaded her blows. He gestured to his second-in-command, noted with approval his men’s instant alertness, their battle readiness evident as they swept their cloaks aside, their hands flexing near their weapons.

“Delay them,” he ordered.

Magar stepped forward with his squad while Tarak tugged the female into step behind him to blend into the shadows. The exit lay directly ahead. He paused and activated his helmet. Pulling along the reluctant female, he hurried through, a contingent of his men following on his heels.

Outside, the darkness was almost complete. The moon lingered on the far horizon giving off a weak light. Bone aching cold leeched from the ground and the female shivered. Tarak halted to pull the hood over her head before yanking her closer to his side, hoping his bulk would be sufficient to keep her warm until they reached the transport shuttle. She struggled against him, but her efforts were futile.

He recalled the depths of his anger when he realised these puny females had fooled Darkon warriors and made their escape. Ingenious to use the Elite battle cruiser’s attack as a diversion. Such a surprising move from what he had thought an inferior race. Grudgingly, he admitted in his arrogance he had underestimated these alien women.

He would not make the same mistake twice.

The sight of the escape shuttles dodging the Elite Force ship’s weapons had caused a bewildering bombardment of anxiety and relief.
Alien emotions
. He had no time for them and he twitched his shoulders as if to shrug off his unwelcome thoughts.

Even now the way he had raced to his shuttle with little thought to his men’s safety confounded him. He had ignored the opportunity to fully engage with the enemy in favour of ensuring his payload escaped unharmed. His men had followed his lead without question. Although nothing had been spoken, he had sensed his men had shared his urgency in
recapturing the women. Their tactics had worked, with the Elite Forces abandoning their attack on the shuttles to concentrate on evading and returning his men’s fire.

But at the time, he had acted instinctively, driven by the Darkon male’s primitive urge to capture, hold and protect—an urge which had driven out all other considerations. Within the confines of his protective shielding he scowled while they hastened through the streets.

This female would not escape him with such ease again!

She tripped.

Tarak bent to assist her. Quick as a sneaky coda worm, she hooked her boot around his leg, jerked with considerable force. Startled, he stumbled, his hold loosening. In an instant she had wriggled free, broke into a run.

A bellow of thwarted fury roared from his throat as he took off in pursuit. He ground his teeth as he heard one of his men stifle a quick guffaw as they pounded along behind him.

By the hem of Cercis’ cloak this female needed to be taught who was her master
.

Through the thick fog he caught a quick glimpse of his quarry as she darted around a building. Tarak lengthened his stride. He was gaining on her. The infrared night-vision in his helmet pin-pointed her heat signature. A few more strides, she would be within his reach.

Suddenly she turned and raced towards him.

A wild elation filled him as he stopped in his tracks, folded his arms and waited.

But the reason for her quick turnabout became clear. His smugness vanished. A snarl curled his lips and with calculated coolness he assessed the danger tramping towards them.

”To arms,” he ordered and drew his plitza from its holster. The female reached his side, her eyes wide, her breath coming in quick pants. She shot a cocky grin in his direction as she dodged his outstretched hand and darted behind him. An answering smile stretched his lips as he moved into his battle stance.

The mist parted. Through it an Elite Force squad marched towards Tarak and his men.

“Give me a weapon. I can fight,” the female demanded and laid her bound hands on his weapon arm. “And get these damned things off me!”

With a careful touch, Tarak brushed her away, sparing her a brief glance. Her hood had fallen back and she was glaring at him again. The dim light from a nearby lantern washed over her face, causing her hair to glow like red tongues of fire. She stared up at him with eyes which gleamed bright with the light of battle. A female warrior and so small, he marvelled. He swept her behind his back once more.

“Protect her.” There was no need for him to check to see if his men obeyed him. From behind he could hear her indignant splutters as she was propelled further into the centre of his detachment.

He stepped out to face his enemies.

A captain of the Elite Force held up a hand in parlay. “Greetings, warlord. Give us the female and we will let you leave in peace. This time.”

Interesting
.

Tarak assessed the man facing him. His sharp hearing had caught the quiver of apprehension in the captain’s voice. He saw how the facing squad gripped their weapons in a
manner which screamed in equal parts
‘raw recruits’
and
‘fear’
. He swallowed his sigh. This was going to be too easy. “You have one choice, Captain. Lower your weapons and walk away.”

“I have my orders, warlord.” The captain dropped his hand. His men surged forward.