Marked for Surrender (13 page)

Christophe shouted, his hips moving frantically, his hands gripped on her thighs. Zevon's grunts were punctuated by his hard slams into her ass, the pain and pleasure rumbling through her until she couldn't tell which was which.

All three of them breathed in short gasps, and finally it seemed to be done. She glanced down as Christophe backed away, then saw the mark on his inner thigh.

Trebois Comete. The three-tailed comet that came through the Nyral system every twenty years. Three bodies, bound together by ice and heat, careened millions of miles, its trajectory mostly through black space. But every twenty years, it streaked across the Nylar sky, leaving a blazing golden trail.

The elaborate mark stunned Andia, her attention drawn to the way it glimmered like the gold of the real comet. The tail swept down Christophe's inner thigh and curled up in a cloud at his knee.

Christophe pressed a button on the wall and leaned on it, his head bent. Andia was lowered slowly, and the restraints clicked open.

She tried to take a step but stumbled. Zevon caught her before her knees hit the floor of the shuttle. And then, she saw it.

On Zevon's inner thigh was the same mark, the same color, the same exact detail that was burned onto her arm and Christophe's leg.

Her head snapped up, and she met the gaze of this enigmatic dom who could both kneel at her feet and dominate her. “Impossible."

Zevon's smile was pained. “I must have wanted to belong to you very much."

She gripped his arm. “This makes no sense."

His hand crept along her neck to cup her face. The sensual perusal of his survey made her whole body heat and the new mark on her arm throb. “On the contrary, it makes perfect sense.” His focus shifted to Christophe. “We are bound together as inexplicably as those three large bodies in the comet."

Hadn't she always wanted to be marked? Not owned, like a slave, but wanted so much that a man's semen triggered the biological change that created the marks on Nyral females.

She couldn't be marked by those prisoners she'd fucked. They wanted to subdue her, steal away her power. But Zevon wanted...to belong to her. Tears stung her eyes, and she brushed away a dark strand of his hair. “I don't understand it, but I don't care."

The evidence was there. Three marks, all identical, unique. Two dominants, one female, one male, and a secret male submissive bound together forever by some strange biological process. It was incredible, humbling.

She turned to Christophe. “Are you disappointed?"

The blaze from his blue eyes reinforced his next words. “I'm...overwhelmed. I knew Z wanted you, Mistress. I knew he would mark you, not me. Instead he marked us both.” He shook his head. “It's amazing."

Alarms blared in the shuttle. “What—"

They broke away from each other, scrambling for clothes. Zevon was first to reach the controls. On the viewscreen was a huge Primarian warship.

"Well, well, well,” a smooth, oily voice came over their com. “Look what the gate dragged in."

Primarians. Christophe had heard rumors about them. From Zevon he'd had a firsthand account of the brutality and sexual hostility these men practiced. They abused women, regardless of race. They hated submission in anyone but demanded it from every creature they came in contact with.

What chance did the three of them have now? He met Zevon's dark gaze briefly. Christophe knew he'd have to play a role, a part to fool the Primarian soldiers. But did Andia understand what he was going to have to do?

Her fingers dug into his arm. “I have to be your submissive, Christophe. Otherwise they will kill you. You know they have absolutely no tolerance for dominant women."

Grateful she knew what they faced, he relaxed and focused on his part. Dominance had never come naturally, but he knew how to play the part, blend in, pretend. Zevon hated it when he did it, but they had no choice.

"We are vacationing,” Zevon answered the faceless voice.

"On a deserted moon near a planet unfit for humans?” The oily voice expressed skepticism.

"Haven't you ever had to stop to...take care of an itch?” Zevon asked in a low, sexy tone. Christophe's cock responded mindlessly. Would he always be helpless to his lover's voice?

"If you have a woman, she's ours by right,” the Primarian snapped.

"She is my marked mate. We are from Nylar,” Zevon said in a hard tone. “Must I call the council to intervene?"

"Of course not,” the soldier said mildly. “But we will require proof of this marking."

Zevon's nostrils flared, and Christophe knew the same frustration rolled within him. They were going to have to deal with this. “As you wish,” Zevon said, his lips tight.

He cut off the com and whirled around to Christophe. “We don't have much time. You have to hide. Once they see I've marked you—"

"They must know there are three of us by now and wonder why I'm here while you two are ‘scratching an itch,'” Christophe interrupted. Zevon's hostile expression reminded him that punishment lay in store for a male sub who defied his master. Hopefully Z would have a chance to follow through with his silent threat.

"Cover it,” Andia ordered.

"Nothing will keep it covered for long,” Zevon said, exasperation clear in his voice.

"We have to try.” Andia rose and rifled through her bag. She pulled out a small vial and poured some beige liquid into her hand. “My makeup is designed to adhere to the skin for forty-eight hours. That's all the time we have."

Christophe tried to remain unaffected as her fingers slid over the mark, covering it, stroking it. But he couldn't stop the rise of his cock or the heat that radiated from his skin.

"I don't like it,” Zevon muttered.

Andia raised an eyebrow. “What? That he has to pretend to be a male dominant or that I'm covering up his mark?"

"He's
mine
,” Zevon snapped and then seemed surprised at his own vehemence. “I mean—” He frowned.

Andia smiled. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said in a seductive tone. She squeezed Christophe's thigh, and the mark throbbed and ached. Christophe groaned.

"He belongs to us, and we have to pretend he doesn't.” She glanced at Zevon. “But if we don't, the Primarians will kill both of you. They'll look for any excuse to do it, and a third mark will give them one. You know that."

Christophe could see Zevon's jaw muscles clench. “I know it."

Andia held Christophe's attention. “You must dominate me as you would want your master to dominate you. I will obey. The Primarians will accept two men sharing me as a submissive.” Then her hand twined in the strands of his hair and tugged hard. “But I will take every single moment out on that perfect ass of yours when we're free."

His breath stopped, and he couldn't look away, mesmerized by her dark eyes, her luscious mouth, her taut muscles. She owned him, heart and soul, just as Zevon owned him.

The shuttle lurched. The Primarians pulled them into their shuttle bay. Andia dug her nails into his scalp. “I know you hate this, but I will reward you for being a good dominant.” She grinned. “How often will you hear those words from me?"

"Mistress,” he whispered. His mark throbbed. His cock strained. “Please."

"You will not come until Zevon tells you that you may.” She glanced at Z. “What word?"

Zevon's dark gaze, as compelling as Andia's, held his when he answered. “First. I will say the word ‘first,’ and you'll spew your cum wherever you are."

Christophe longed to let go right that moment, but he was held by these two dominants. Whatever they faced, they would do as a unit, bound together by a mark that was burned in his heart and soul as well as his flesh. Andia's smile was wicked as she pulled his pants back up, silently demanding he remain still while she dressed.

Just in time.

The door to the shuttle opened, and six Primarian soldiers rushed in, weapons drawn. Zevon stepped forward in front of Andia and met them with a calm that Christophe admired. “What is your commander's name? I don't wish to be rude."

One of the soldiers grinned, a twisted smile that made unease slither up Christophe's spine. “Commander Adawan is waiting for you.” The man perused Andia like she was a piece of meat. “And your pretty little fuck partner."

The only sign that Zevon was angry was the slight flare of his nostrils. “Lead the way, then."

"We want to see the mark,” one of them said and shouldered past Zevon.

One of the soldiers gripped Andia by the arm. A red haze dropped over Christophe's vision. He attacked, only seconds ahead of Zevon.

The soldier never had a chance. Zevon snapped the man's neck while Christophe tossed him back to his fellow Primarians. The other five moved toward them, and Zevon plowed into the fray. When one of them got a lucky punch and bloodied Zevon's nose, Christophe went insane and tore the soldier's arm out of his body.

Andia was right behind him, her fists flying. Two men went down, and she caught another one around the throat and he fell like a log. Blood was everywhere.

Six dead men lay at their feet. He exchanged a shocked glance with Andia and Zevon before a Primarian commander stepped into the shuttle and surveyed the massacre.

"Well, well, well. I had heard the rumor about the rage.” The Primarian commander, recognizable by the starburst on his shoulders, was well over six feet tall. Pox marks dotted his forehead and cheeks. The man was hideous and frightening. His intense blue eyes focused on Andia. “I didn't realize a woman would have it."

"Live and learn,” Zevon said. All three of them were tense, ready to kill if the commander threatened them.

The man's smile was as oily as his voice had been. “Surprises have never been my thing."

The hairs on the back of Christophe's neck stood up. Something wasn't right. He peered behind the commander, but no one was there.

The hiss warned him, but by the time he heard it, it was too late. “Z—"

The drug slammed into him, and then he noticed the commander had a nose plug on so the gas wouldn't affect him. Shit.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed, watching helplessly as Andia and Zevon also fell to the floor.

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Fuck, her mouth was dry. Andia wanted to lick her lips, but something prevented it. A ball gag. Shit. Her hands were restrained too and she was naked. When she lifted her head, there wasn't much to see.

A gray metal room with no furniture, no windows, and a black door with no controls on the inside. Embedded in the ceiling and floor were small, round lenses. Cameras. Everywhere.

On her left, Zevon hung unconscious, and on her right, Christophe groaned. They were both naked as well, captured and tied up like a Christmas dinner.

The door slid open, and the commander stepped into the room. “Merry Christmas to me,” he said in an amused tone. “You're very lucky to be my present.” He crossed the room to stand in front of Andia. “My scientists wanted to dissect all three of you to determine how the markings were made."

His long, bony finger touched Andia's arm, stroking the lines of the blazing star. “Such color. Such detail. You truly are a unique gift."

"Don't touch her,” Christophe growled, his eyes red and glowing.

Andia stared. She'd heard of the rage and its effects. Some hormonal change in Nyral physiology caused the connection between marked mates and created a superhuman rage in the male. She'd always believed it to be a myth, some story told by men to excuse their shitty behavior. But to see it, to feel it emanating from Christophe, was a shock she couldn't hide.

The commander continued to stroke her skin, his fingers skimming her breasts and down her belly. She resisted the urge to shrink away from him, which would only amuse him anyway.

A loud creak of metal shrieked in the room, and Zevon roared as he plowed into the commander. His wrists were still encased in metal, but he'd mangled the restraints to free himself to attack.

Quick as lightning, the commander jammed a shockstick into Zevon's dick. The roar was cut off abruptly.

A red haze dropped over her, and she yanked on her restraints. To her surprise, they gave way, and she was across the room a split second after Christophe, who had also freed himself.

They tackled the commander. Christophe jerked the shockstick from the man's hands while Andia wrapped her hands around the man's throat and squeezed.

Men poured into the room, and it took ten of them to subdue all three of them. Bastards. She snarled curse words at them. It never occurred to her until the men were gone and she and her mates were in ten-point restraints that their attack had signed their death warrant.

"Zevon,” she called. “We have to get out of here."

"I can't clear my head. Shit,” he muttered. “I couldn't stop it."

"I know.” She racked her brain. How the hell were they going to get out of this?

Before they could form a plan, more armed soldiers marched into the room. They released her restraints, and she fell to the floor. “Get up,” one of the snapped. But none of them touched her.

"No."

Finally the soldier who had spoken gritted his teeth and stepped forward. Viciously he backhanded her, sending her flying against the wall. “Get up."

On shaky legs, she rose. Christophe and Zevon had red eyes, and their muscles strained. This time, though, the restraints held. She would have to do what they wanted.

But she wouldn't go down easy. She crouched and glared at the lead soldier. He was blond, a scar down his left cheek, and a bleak expression in his blue eyes. Handsome? She guessed so, except for the shockstick on his hip and the laser gun in his hand.

"This way,” the soldier ordered and waved his laser gun toward the door. All his men stepped back and allowed her to pass. She glanced over her shoulder at Zevon and Christophe.

In their eyes, she saw that no matter what, they would come for her. But she was a dominant. She sent them a confident smile. Chances were she'd come for them.

She was led through several corridors and shoved into a small room. The blond soldier jerked his head, and the other men left, leaving her alone with this monster.