Creations: Vol 2 PRINT

Excerpt from: Creation's Control

“You didn’t complain about the coya fruit last night.” Drekk’s bland tone contrasted with the wicked look in his eyes.

“Asshole,” Ryen muttered as he attacked the plate Drekk set before him. Much as Drekk annoyed him, the jerk also amused him.

“Damn, is that a smile I see?” Drekk stared in mock astonishment.

“Cut it out.” Ryen’s grin grew wider.

“I think I may pass out from the shock.”

“Good. Then I’ll get my hands on that controller and fly out of here.”

“Have fun searching for it.”Drekk rubbed his chest. “I hid it on my body today.”

Ryen wanted to look for it, right now. Shaking free of such thoughts, he tried to focus on his food. But as he ate, he couldn’t stop glancing at Drekk’s sculpted chest through the v-neck of the vest he wore. Nor could he avoid the large arms Drekk flashed as he gesticulated while he ate. The taciturn man he’d once thought Drekk to be never seemed to shut up.

Oddly, Synster’s warnings of perversions and unnatural longings seemed less significant each day Ryen spent in Drekk’s company. What could it hurt to indulge in some human curiosity? Drekk was a hardy male. Ryen wouldn’t break him, as Drekk had said. Which made Ryen wonder what it would be like to lose control during sex, to let it all out...

“Okay. Today we work on your control.” Drekk stood and put his dishes into the wash receptacle. “If you finish that mound on your plate, we’ll get started.”

Ryen finished his meal in record time, eager to see what Drekk had in mind—to hasten his exit out of this place, he reminded himself. “We going to lose the cuffs today?”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re going to need them later.”

Ryen immediately went on alert. “Why?”

“See? That’s why. I’m just screwing with you, and you’re ready to take my head off. I’m trying to teach you a new way to live, Ryen. I can’t be on my guard one hundred percent. Once you ‘hit the wall’, like I know you will, we’ll both be glad for the cuffs.”

“You keep threatening it. Just do it. Push me as hard as you can. Watch me handle it.”

Ryen could taste his excitement. “I’ve been good the past three days, haven’t I?”

Drekk shook his head. “You’re not ready yet. Get over here and assume Petal One hand position.” When Ryen hesitated, Drekk turned mean. “Now.”

The need to obey hit him hard. Off balance, Ryen grumbled as he sat down and crossed his legs, but he had no thought to refuse. He tuned out of his surroundings and followed Drekk’s instruction. Soon basking in the harmony within himself, Ryen came to a sudden realisation, one that both shocked and unnerved him. He wanted to submit to Drekk, to a male who had saved his life, but who hadn’t bested him in combat. Emotionally stable and even-tempered, superior when it came to control, Drekk had yet to prove himself in an all-out fight.

Why do I want to submit now that I’m free? How fucked up am I? Uncomfortable with the truth, Ryen pulled himself from his meditative state.

Drekk sat across from him, his legs crossed and his arms assuming Petal One position above his head, his hands entwined. Drekk’s sluggish pulse and stillness told Ryen he’d entered a similar state of calm.

The strong column of Drekk’s throat rippled when he swallowed. The scent of honeyed citrus lingered on his skin, from the blan juice he’d consumed. Muscles tanned by the harsh sun strained as he held his pose, and Ryen wanted to feel that skin under his palms. To cause the male’s rosy nipples to pebble, to feel the delineated form of Drekk’s abdomen as Ryen worked his way lower.

The temptation Drekk had planted, to see if sex with a male would equal what he imagined, taunted Ryen to take what he wanted. The advantage was his for the moment. With Drekk inwardly focused, Ryen could take him down. Not to harm him, but to test his friend’s—the man’s—reflexes. Now, when Drekk was vulnerable, Ryen could take what he needed, a warrior’s right. It wouldn’t be rape, he knew. Drekk had openly admitted he wanted Ryen. What better way, then, to see if Ryen returned the attraction wholeheartedly? But under Ryen’s direction, not Drekk’s. Ryen pounced.

He pinned Drekk underneath him in two seconds, one hand over the male’s entwined hands, holding him to the ground, the other around Drekk’s neck.

“One word from you and I’ll disable your tongue.” The angle of his fingers under Drekk’s jaw meant business. “Nod if you understand.”

Drekk glared and nodded.

“Good.” Ryen couldn’t help his arousal, nor could he miss the hardening bulge in Drekk’s trousers. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he mimicked. “I just need to confirm something.”

Drekk remained still, curiosity warring with the anger in his gaze. Ryen didn’t care. He’d danced to Drekk’s tune, now it was his turn.

Ryen studied Drekk’s face, lingering on his lips. Wanting more, he slowly lowered his mouth. Drekk started to speak and Ryen tightened his hand.

“I know you feel my hand around your neck. I’m not playing, Drekk. Shut up and let me...do this. I need to know.”

With a sigh, Drekk surrendered. The power crushing through Ryen swamped him. Heady that he’d regained control, he kissed Drekk full on the mouth. Unlike a female’s soft lips, Drekk’s felt firmer. Ryen plundered his mouth with a seeking tongue, tasting the sexual essence of Drekk as his excitement grew.

He ground into Drekk’s belly, rubbing his cock along Drekk’s while he deepened the kiss. Groaning, he loosened his hold on Drekk’s throat and devoured the male. He tasted so damned good, so familiar yet foreign at the same time. Lust built into an all-consuming blaze as Ryen took and took. Drekk moaned under his assault, and it was all Ryen could do to give him some air.

He removed his hands from Drekk’s throat and wrists, caught in his own game. Leaning up on one elbow, he ripped Drekk’s shirt down the middle and pinched his nipples. Harder, with a roughness that made him want to burst.

“Fuck,” Ryen growled and latched onto Drekk’s nipple. So unlike the flesh he normally played with, the feel of solid muscle under the taut nipple aroused Ryen with its difference. No fleshy mound, but a steely plane of strength under such tender skin.

Drekk arched into his mouth and thrust against him, pushing Ryen to take more. In a frenzy, he shoved his hand down Drekk’s trousers and gripped his hot cock. Drekk moaned his name.

“Oh yeah. Better.” Ryen returned his attention to Drekk’s chest. He bit hard. Drekk sucked in a breath and moisture beaded at the tip of his shaft. “Stop,” Drekk breathed when Ryen let go of his shaft to massage his balls.

The feel of another man’s shaft hard and slick for him sent Ryen over the edge. Like an animal, he tore at Drekk’s clothes. He nipped and sucked, laving his way down Drekk’s body, using any and all excuse to rub against his grey-eyed seducer.

“More,” Ryen rasped until he captured Drekk’s cock in his mouth. So fucking good... He let go of the pheromones bursting at the seams.

Excerpt From: Caging the Beast

“This one. He’s huge. I think he might stand a fighting chance against the beast.” Against the din of the bloated guard’s surroundings, his words had to be shouted to be heard.

“Just make sure to put him in a challenging round first. Can’t have him going against the beast until he’s shown his mettle. It’ll drive the bets higher, you’ll see.”

“Good point, Yorum.” A hard punch knocked Tarn to his knees. “You hear that, slave? You want out of this stinkin’ place, win your bouts.”

Inside a fire lit cavern that made the primitive jungles of Mardu look tame, hundreds of grimy and vermin-laced men pressed against one another, hoping for a better look at the latest offerings in pugilistic entertainment. A half dozen vidscreens hovered in the air over the crowd in random spots, allowing a view of the battles ongoing in the three caged rings in the centre of the cavern, but they didn’t showcase the newest group of slaves bound in chains, being led towards the night’s entertainment.

Tarn rose unsteadily to his feet. Blood dripped into his left eye and his ribs hurt. The pain they’d inflicted surprised him, mostly because it took a lot to hurt an Ebrellion. His race primarily existed outside the Vrail System, away from these human slavers and their barbaric practices. Not that his kind could brag about being so much nobler, but Ebrellions didn’t stand for slavery. Enemies met certain death. Those who wouldn’t work to earn their keep suffered harsh imprisonment in hopes of reforming them into worthwhile citizens.

His own presence in the Vrail System on planet Mardu kept the peace between rebellious Ebrellions hunting for mates and the few System lawmakers who knew his kind still existed. Hence his arrival in this godforsaken world. A favour for his newly found relation, his nephew Drekk. Drekk had other pressing business on planet Mardu, where he and his mate worked for lawmen—peacemakers who had no jurisdiction this far into the Outer Rim. The lawless area on the edge of the Vrail System invited chaos and depravity. Tarn glanced around him and imagined this was just a taste of what was to come.

Drekk, you owe me big for this.

“In you go,” one of the slave handlers shoved him into the caged cell and slammed the barred door shut behind him.

The raised platform consisted of a door on each end, metal bars along the walls and ceiling, and a machenite floor, no doubt courtesy of stolen Eyran technology. Machenite had a firmness at odds with its ability to give, which made it the perfect flooring for the fighting realms.

Leave it to the slavers to have an eye for detail.

Tarn wiped his own eyes clear of blood, stood up straight, and stared at the giant male they expected him to battle. A Ragga? Though this man hailed from a planet where the strongest men in the System were found, the brutish slave would fall too easily and too quickly should Tarn fight at full strength. With a sigh, he prepared to engage.

Something to break the doldrums of his recent time on Mardu, at least. With the Ebrellion skirmishes almost nil, Tarn had grown tired of tending that ragged bar in Four Walls. But after a few days in slaver hands, he wasn’t sure this type of excitement was all that much better.

The slave before him screamed out a challenge and rushed him. The fool didn’t even take the time to study his opponent, to measure him for weaknesses or vulnerabilities. Pathetic.

Tarn allowed him one punch. He even pretended to lose his breath from the blow to his stomach. Before the Ragga could hammer him again, he retaliated. A swift punch to the man’s face and a knee to his groin took him to the floor.

The scent of body odour, blood, and stale ale assaulted him all at once, and Tarn shook his head to break free of his need to shift into a more defensive form. No shapeshifting and no teleporting, not until he did what he’d been sent here to do.

The Ragga he’d laid out groaned and rose on wobbly legs to his feet. “You drun. I’m going to kill you for that.” He made a fist and uttered another horrifying battle cry.

Chants of Loen, Loen filled the area around the metal cage.

“Don’t tell me you’re the current champion?” Tarn sneered, disappointed he wouldn’t receive a decent fight. Stars, it had been a year since he’d engaged anyone worthy of respect, and those had been rogue Ebrellions. “You fight like a half blind Melan.” The popular insult had its intended effect.

The Ragga dove at him.

Tarn let him make contact, and they rolled to the ground amidst cheering and shouting from the crowd. Loen landed a few more blows before Tarn had had enough. He caught the male with an elbow to his back. A sharp snap sounded very loud to Tarn’s enhanced hearing.

Loen groaned and lay still, breathing heavily against the pain filling his aura with enough brilliance to blind an Ebrellion.

Tarn glanced away and into the eyes of Yorum through the cage bars.

“Not bad for a first fight. Now try that one.” Yorum grinned through brown, broken teeth and nodded to a spot behind Tarn.

Rolling onto his belly and regaining his feet, Tarn met the next slave. A Zeiren, by the look of him. Tall and lean, with angular features and a decent fighting stance.

Tarn gave this fight twice as much time as the last one before defeating his opponent. When finished, he glanced at Yorum again.

“Not bad.” The guard appeared pleased. “I like you, Tarn. I think we’re going to be real good friends.”

Not in this lifetime. “When do I get a rest and some food?” His metabolism felt off. His ribs remained cracked, his flesh bruised, and his blood continued to flow, now not only from a cut on his forehead, but from his mouth and knuckles as well. Not good. If his wounds continued unabated, he’d be unable to stop his transformation into a stronger, more sustainable form. And blow his cover all to hell.

“One more bout and then a small test. To see what he thinks of you.”

“What who thinks of me?”

Yorum didn’t answer. Guards dragged the unconscious slave from the fight and gave him another. This one carried a knife.

Irritated at having to prove himself, Tarn didn’t hold back. He punched the male full in the face, disarmed him, and stabbed him with his own weapon. To his disappointment, the male didn’t rise again, and the guards quickly threatened Tarn with laser fire if he didn’t turn the knife over immediately. So much for using it on Yorum.

“Very nice.” Yorum grinned and entered the fighting ring. “Don’t worry, you’re done for the night. We just need to let him have a look at you.”

“As if I have a choice in the matter,” Tarn muttered.

Yorum guffawed. “That’s the spirit.” He motioned to the guards outside the ring and yelled, “Bring in the beast.”

The room grew silent except for heavy footsteps drawing nearer. Everyone stilled, waiting for this man they called ‘the beast.’ A strange anticipation lit Tarn from the inside out, and he welcomed this new foe for at least taking his mind from the disturbance in his shei—his life’s energy.

A huge male stepped up to the caged door, opened it, and walked through. Tarn stared in astonishment. He’d been around most every race one could find in the System. From the warring Melans to the political Jaronans to the pleasurable Nebites. Mardu, Ragga, Zeiren, he’d seen them all.

But this male didn’t fit in any category Tarn could identify. Unless…

The beast stood a head taller than Tarn, making him the largest male Tarn had ever seen in this star system. Strength gleamed in the abundance of muscle all over the man’s sparsely clad frame. Golden skin shimmered in a distracting rhythm. The brief loincloth he wore did little to distract from the large bulge underneath, one that seemed to stir as the male studied Tarn. His age seemed indeterminate. Certainly the beast looked like a male in the prime of his life. Other than the rakhide loincloth and wealth of gleaming silver hair on his head, only a slim black band around his neck touched his hardy frame.

Dark red eyes flashed with fire around pupils of gold, no whites to be seen. Like the fabled demons in Four Walls, Tarn thought distantly. The only creatures he’d seen with such inhuman eyes were known as Creations—a species hunted down and exterminated with prejudice when discovered. Hell, his nephew Drekk had been Created, as had Drekk’s mate—Ryen, a formidable fighter in his own right. Most Creations turned out to be crazed killers with a need for destruction. Only those with discipline and integrity resisted that call to needlessly destroy.

Which begged the question: what category did this Creation belong in?

The warrior in Tarn went on full alert, especially when the beast changed his stance, moving from careful to guarded.

Taking a chance, Tarn blinked, allowing his inner lids to shield his eyes while he surveyed his new opponent with Ebrellion sight. Tarn noted the torn strands of alien shei along the beast’s body. Tendrils of pain caught and held around bands of hunger and need. Loneliness covered him like a blanket, matched only by the sheer rage that turned the male’s eyes a brighter red.

Tarn blinked and erased evidence of his alien nature, but not fast enough. The beast took a step forward and growled in a low, threatening tone. His skin flushed and darkened, and called to Tarn like a beacon in the shadows of the cavern; his animosity stirred Tarn’s fighting spirit.

The beast stopped several arm’s lengths away, but his scent drifted over Tarn like a heady perfume, an addicting essence that Tarn drew into his lungs. It pushed everything else away.

After a nod, the beast grunted, turned and left, displaying a tight ass and thick legs that could crush a man to death.

But it was thoughts of what the beast could do with that huge bulge beneath his loincloth that obsessed Tarn as Yorum led him from the platform and into his cell for the night.