Prey (Dark Monster Fantasy Book 1) Read online

  Had to get up.

  “She won’t fight. Not after that.” The overmaster sneered at her, the erection in his pants fully in view from her low angle on hands and knees. “I was looking forward to claiming her. I’ll buy her off you, Congan.”

  Though Congan was reluctant, a small bidding war started over by the desk. While they were distracted, she crawled to the heap of her clothes and used the wall to get herself upright. She pulled on, buckled up, clipped things, and wriggled into her boots.

  After stamping her feet to settle the soles, she yelled, “Stop!” The word came out croaky but gained their attention. The overmaster and Congan, as well as the accomplice who’d held her to the wall, swung to look at her.

  “I’m fighting.” She slapped the gun holster so the clips fastened to her suit. Wet tendrils of her black hair swung across her eyes and a bead of sweat dripped. “Can’t stop me. All your arrangements are void.”

  The overmaster was silent for a second, then a grin as wide as his face spread and he roared with laughter, slammed a palm to the desk. “Feisty, feisty, feisty!” He leaned forward. “I like that. You’re wrong though.”

  “I’m not.” Mila made herself ignore the stickiness between her thighs. Hosing herself down was a priority.

  Least she couldn’t get diseases or pregnant from Congan. Species disparity was a great reason for non-human bedmates, if you didn’t mind getting fucked by weird cocks in weird ways. Or so Tiana had once informed her.

  “Yes, yes you are wrong, little human. You going to fight? I claim you when you lose. The audio is saved. Contract implied. Fuck with that and you’ll find out why Dispora is a planet you foreign species avoid if you mean to thieve or cheat.

  “I’ll see you after the fight, in my bed. Or on a wall since you like those so much.”

  Not worth answering him. She went to exit then stalled, teetering on her boot heels as she thought. Damn. She needed to know where to go to and how much time she had. She sorted out the words before she spoke, not wanting to give away how wrecked she felt.

  “Directions. Where do I go? How much time is left before I have to get to the arena entrance?”

  “Congan, give her a brochure with the F1 entrance circled. One other thing, sweetie.” The overmaster zeroed in on her. “You can’t use your fancy gun or any projectile weapons in the arena.”

  Not good.

  “Still fighting my little bed-thing?”

  Bed-thing! She set her mouth in a snarl. Maybe she should just shoot this asshole? She stalked over then reached up and snatched the brochure from Congan’s hand. “I am. See you in...”

  “Thirty spok minutes. You have thirty spokmins to get an allowable edged weapon.” Then he pulled out some antique time device the size of Cogan’s hand, and plonked it onto the desk. He flicked it with a finger, setting it ticking. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Fuck. There must be weapon dealers around the arena. Stood to reason, didn’t it?

  With the double arena doors slowly ratcheting shut behind her, Mila stopped to peruse the busy market area.

  “Must be. Must. Be. Someone must sell a weapon I can use.”

  She’d cleaned up more thoroughly with a towel though there’d been zero time for showering. Hopefully the stink of recent sex wasn’t a trigger for any of the beasts or aliens prowling the market streets.

  Thing was, though she was proficient in most weapons to a high degree due to her profession, the likelihood of her getting something she could afford that’d do the job effectively was slim. Who carried spears or swords when roving about the universe in a spaceship? Zealot assholes who wanted to die, that was who.

  Whatever gods they had on this planet, she needed all their benevolence today.

  Chapter 3

  Noona City

  Mila threaded through the crowd in the streets outside the Arena, passing all manner of aliens. Some of those had enough tentacles, limbs, antennae, or vile odors, that leaning sideways and giving them a wide berth was extremely wise. Others growled at her and sent mean appraisals, their gazes sliding down her body. A few smiled when they reached her groin level.

  She scowled and shoved past. No point starting an argument over sexuality when she had so little time.

  Her suit was a little revealing, well…a lot, but her last client had demanded this attire as her uniform.

  She kept her hand near her gun. In the mood she was in, anyone who actually dared to feel her up would lose a vital part of his...its body.

  The next shop hit the target. The sign was promising even if the clientele sliding out of the shop’s doors were not. Greasy, furtive critters; she resisted holding her nose and eyed the sign again.

  Treeter’s Arsenal of Holistic Weaponry

  – used, new, and items of questionable history.

  She was pretty certain Treeter had no clue as to what Earthers meant by holistic. He probably thought it pertained to putting holes in people.

  This had to be it. She prayed for a cheap but perfect saber.

  On the wall were the expensive items – high-quality pikes, lances, swords, and knives, as well as guns and missiles. The arena might limit what you could use, but clearly Treeter and the rest of the city shot people without compunction. Videos of various weapons being used flickered on overhead screens. She trotted along the aisles, her search growing more desperate. Who shopped here? Even the prices on the sale bins exceeded her bank balance.

  A spot of color drew her eye – a scuffed red sword hilt stuck up from a sales bin. Shreds of yellow confiscation tape still hung from it.

  The price on this cast-off, leftover piece of crap... Hells. She’d have to trade in her gun.

  Worth it? Her fingernails and teeth were not going to be adequate in the arena, sadly.

  She slid a hands-width of the blade from the synthetic scabbard then, unblinking, she slid out more. Only a short blade. The scabbard wasn’t a match. It’d probably been used due to the original scabbard going missing.

  The blade was thicker than normal for a flyssa sword but the etched trademark was Gnersh. Mila peered closer at the company symbol. The streaks of discoloration might’ve been rust but were not. This was highest-quality ebernium-laced steel. You could drop it into a lava lake and pull it out unblemished. The yellow swirls were something else.

  The engravings were exquisite.

  Maybe...

  Blind to anything around her, she pulled up what she knew of Gnersh steel, scanning it across her retina. Nanites were a specialty. Maybe not legal in the arena but if still active, one nick on an opponent and something bad would happen to them. Only the original owner and the manufacturer would know what sort of bad.

  Unless she had a lab do a thorough analysis.

  Very illegal.

  Who the fuck wanted legal when a nanite would save your neck? The owner here had missed the signs. So would anyone without her history. She’d worked on the Gnersh Co home planet. Their loss.

  Swiftly she arranged to buy the sword, ignoring the leers from the rat-faced proprietor. If Boogers only knew how that long-nosed, whisker-twitching face triggered humans, they’d get face lifts ASAP. She traded in her pistol and asked for the option of buying it back within a month. She’d screw the price out of Tiana when she freed her. When.

  The sprint back to the arena took it out of her but she made it to entry F1 on time and lay against the wall, panting. The green light above the door and gesture from the attendant sent her hurrying through. A loud announcement to the audience outside went on for at ages, just as she’d thought it would. Her opponent was some well-known fighter hailing from off-planet. Wopp? Thwop the Magnificent?

  She recognized the moniker.

  Herself, they announced as a paltry human female, ready to die for their amusement. Dying was definitely optional. Most surrendered and were spared in such fights, otherwise the entries would be sparse.

  She didn’t plan on dying or surrendering.

  As the portcullis-style door slid u
pward, Mila sauntered out, blade bared and held low, close to trailing in the dust. An entrance of nonchalance was a good start. Make your opponent worry or think you had little idea as to how to fight.

  The crowd roared and tittered. Thwop charged at her, she sauntered still, gauging the speed of his approach. Her legs were a mite wobbly anyway. Dust scattered, stirred into small storms as he galloped. Underestimating an opponent was a criminal offense. Green armored, his teeth showing in his mouthpiece as he leapt, he twirled and raised his double-ended blade.

  As he descended upon her like the wrath of god xyz, pick your favorite planetary god, she stepped aside and smote him, severely.

  That his head rolled was a pity. That last second, mid-air swivel of Thwop’s had surprised her. Showing off had proved his undoing. Still, her sword had done well. If it had nanites, she hadn’t needed them.

  The second opponent fell also, after a somewhat longer fight. The clash of steel seemed to echo in her ears as she exited to let the next couple try to mutilate each other.

  Five rounds to go. Five, to reach the final.

  The next fighter was an Elluran, a tall male of orange skin, a race with compulsive sexual cycles. Their pheromones were nearly identical to those of the female fraz, a beast of burden she’d spotted outside the arena, and that creature had been dripping with fluids.

  Luckily she had time to scoot off and buy a drink from the market, and collect a little fraz goop on a cloth. The Elluran was a great fighter and she simply could not afford to lose. So she swiped the cloth over a light fitting beside the frame of the portcullis doorway as she walked out. The heat would slowly spread the smell. A small thing but she was already risking disqualification by using the sword. Twenty minutes into that fight, her thighs were shaking from the exertion, from being pounded backward by the swift sword strikes of the Elluran, and she’d lured him into her corner of the arena.

  The smallest flicker of their eyes sideways, the expansion of those orange nostrils, signaled a wavering of attention. She pounced and skewered the man’s leg then dropped back, sliding and leaping.

  “Surrender!” Praying the wound was severe enough, she waited, sword up and ready to parry if he pressed another attack.

  With blood pouring from his leg wound he chose surrender and laid his long blue sword on the gray dirt.

  Four more rounds. She made it through. She made it through by dint of skill, courage, and trickery. Two of those opponents she’d cut slightly and backed after doing so, wondering if anything would happen. Nothing obvious had, except for an air of puzzlement when she closed in again – a vagueness in their manner. Defeating them had seemed easier but not because of anything she could define.

  Well, she’d take the wins.

  Her sister would appreciate this. Win the final fight and she’d win the wish from Zarblu. Anything could be wished for, it was said, within reason. Anything as long as it did not cause harm.

  Did running off with the stoneshifter’s sacrifice count as harm?

  Her walk into the arena for this last fight seemed to take a million years. All eyes were upon her since her opponent was nowhere to be seen. A rumbling roar of discontent bubbled and steamed through the crowd. Tier after tier of the watchers stood up and raised their arms, flailed them about.

  She turned on the spot, circling, making herself dizzy because she was that weakened. Thousands were watching her. If they all wanted their tickets refunded, this could end up as a riot.

  Their shouts were too varied to make sense but she was sure it had to do with where the fuck is the other guy. She wanted to know too. Mila leaned on her sword then thought better of it. Not the best use of the weapon except she was damn tired, exhausted really. A half hour’s rest after a day like this was never going to be enough for her to recover. She needed eight hours’ sleep in a comfy bed. Her ribs hurt when she breathed.

  Her insides must’ve fallen back into place by now but sex with an Andurian was not recommended before dueling half a dozen killers.

  An attendant ran out to her and began explaining the procedure that would follow.

  “I have to fight the lord of this place and do what?”

  “Yes, yes you do. It’s what the final round always is. Now, you must go to one knee then...” He droned on and she listened with half an ear.

  Damn. Well, if she killed him Tiana would certainly be free then, wouldn’t she?

  How did you fight stoneshifters? Somehow it was missing from the universal Wickedopedia. Sticking them with the pointy end had always worked before.

  Chapter 4

  “And so it begins. Your sister comes to free you.”

  When Zarblu retrieved his decorative headpiece from the sofa beside Tiana, his back and shoulder made crunching sounds. She flinched and drew away.

  Small concretions would be forming in his joints. His time to transform into a pure stoneshifter was nigh. He donned the helmet, shuffling and slipping it over his head. It alone was the size of the woman’s upper torso, though in height he only exceeded her by half. The horns on the headpiece were crimson red at the tips and curved up and out to an arm’s-length away.

  If not careful he’d skewer some innocent fleshborn.

  “Yes. I told you she would come.”

  “You did.” He spied caution and fear in her eyes. A poor response for a mate.

  Still, if she were frozen into a statue he’d happily pose her in a hallway to be admired.

  Tempting, so very tempting. He didn’t do that anymore, remember. Not for a few centuries. One moved onward, if slowly. The stoneshifter way.

  “That you know her reactions so well speaks of familiarity and friendship.”

  Tiana feared his strength even though he’d never tried to hurt her. Fears drove her. She was beautiful and could be his mate, yet she willingly brought a sibling to him. That bothered him.

  He preferred to drive his life by way of positives such as joy and lust, and collecting things, off-planet nicenesses.

  “Familiarity, yes. She is my sister.” She smiled.

  “Not friendship?”

  “Perhaps.” Was that remorse in the wavering of her mouth and eyes? “We’ve been distant for many years.”

  He really should see a doctor about these flashes of morality. It wasn’t normal.

  Well, it was for others, maybe not for him.

  Sometimes Tiana reminded him of the small bugs that wove webs and trapped things. Spiders – that was their name. Had he read too many Earth novels? He’d hoped to learn more of her culture but they harped on about death and mysteries, and romance, or how to kill six people in a row. He could already do the latter. The romance had been illuminating.

  “Why are you humans so obsessed with spiders?”

  “Are we?” She raised elegant eyebrows. “I guess because they are dangerous yet hard to see?”

  “Hmmm.” The spider types he knew were bigger and talked back. There were small bugs on Dispora but he barely noticed them. Nothing could poison him. The small ones either put crap on the walls of the fortress or were squashed under his feet. Neither of those endeared them to him.

  He snapped the ornamental helmet onto the neck studs he’d grown, wriggling it to settle it in place. A servant could have done this but he preferred the visceral feel of metal under his hands, as much as he did the soft give of female flesh. There were nuances to not killing or maiming the fleshborn and he loved those nuances. It was a skill and an art to make a such a female become aroused when he could potentially kill her with his cock.

  However, Tiana was an anomaly.

  She had an exquisite figure and luscious hair – hair so dark it seemed to absorb and jealously hoard any light that struck it. Even now the blackness waterfalling over her shoulders and white gown slew him. His cock rose slightly but he commanded it down. No point in getting excited over this one.

  The money she’d stolen from his corporation and her other illegal activities had meant jail for more than seventy years, if she
were prosecuted. The courts on Dispora were rarely lenient, even for races with short lifespans. Three months ago, he’d seen her on the news casts and on documents passing across his desk, and her beauty had lured him.

  He’d offered her the choice of trial or volunteering as his sacrifice. Not his best move. He could think of a hundred better ones. The color of his armor today. The shampoo he’d used on his pet imported llama. His lance.

  He lifted the weapon from the stand beside the wall-long window overlooking the arena, angling it so it didn’t hit either wall or ceiling. Soundproofing rendered the anger of the crowd into a muted rumble but he knew it existed. They wanted the last hero, the last contestant.

  They knew it would be he. He suspected Mila would not have known. Stoneshifters used a large percentage of their resources to prevent information about them from being spread off-planet. It was a wise plan that had kept them safe for millennia.

  “I’m coming,” he muttered before he looked to Tiana. “Wish me success.” A traditional parting phrase.

  “Yes. I do wish you success, my lord, Zarblu.” She slipped from the sofa to her knees, bowed. At least she’d learned the obeisance and words. There were brains in her head, if strangely twisted ones. The soft ones perplexed him, often.

  “Of course you do. You want me to free you from your obligations, your debts. Tell me. Do you want me to make her cower and cry?”

  “Whatever my lord wishes.” Her head rose. Nothing but blankness resided in her eyes, unless he was reading her badly.

  Perhaps she feared him too much to beg him to be merciful?

  So many perhaps and ifs.

  Zarblu shook his head then waved at the window, commanding it to split and slide. He strode out through the widening opening.

  He was both a businessman and a stoneshifter. He always fought this last match and he always won. The wish had not been granted for a decade. Mila would be ignorant of that also, or she’d not be here.