Bocc ran into the village, his heart pounding, his body
covered with perspiration. The explosion had been seen clear
across the valley. A starship. Not hers. It can't be hers.
It's a day early. It can't be.
"Were there any survivors?" he asked, not expecting a
response from the Lokans milling around him. Although the
males resembled him with their blue–black hair tied
back in braids, their faces tanned from years spent in the
sun and their eyes an identical silver, they belonged to the
tribe and he didn't.
"One survivor." Minarb braved the chief's disapproval by
answering him. The young woman stood in the concealing
shadows of her family's stone hut, her high forehead
furrowed with lines and her eyes dark with emotion. She
plucked at the bodice of her white leather dress.
"A female." She carelessly offered him, the outcast, more
information. "We thought there were two, but the other is a
machine and he is broken. They're gathering the parts for you."
A female. My female. "Where is she?" Bocc glanced around
them, eager to finally meet his mate. Minarb stared back at
him, her pretty face blank. "Where is the female?" he clarified.
"She's in the claiming ring." The young woman crossed her
arms, the action lifting the large breasts Tukbar found so
appealing. "All of the unmated males will fight for her,
including your brother." She scowled.
The claiming ring. Bocc placed a hand on his sword as he
strode toward the center of the village, the flattened stone
path crowded with people.
"I wish you well," Minarb recklessly called after him. "If
you mean to fight, I hope you're the one to win her."
I will be the one to win her. "Let me through." Bocc pushed
past the rowdy mated males and the cheering youngsters. The
ale flowed freely, every raised hand carrying a tankard, and
bets were called out, his brother Tukbar's name mentioned
frequently as the favorite.
This is one contest I won't allow him to win. Bocc hopped
over the wooden barrier separating the spectators from the
contestants.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the far end of the ring.
By the gods. Bocc stared. Starla was restrained to the
claiming pole, her hands drawn behind her dainty physique
and attached to the intricately carved wood, the restrictive
position thrusting her small chest upward.
I will feast on those breasts tonight. Savage desire slammed
into Bocc and his body hardened. She appeared fit and
healthy and mercifully unharmed by her ordeal. An animal
skin clung to his mate's lithe form, dirt and grease smeared
across the leather in a pattern as exotic as she was. Brown
curls tumbled over her slight shoulders, sunrays tipping the
tendrils with fire.
Needing to feel her heat, Bocc moved closer. His brother's
tribesmen, not daring to publicly acknowledge their private
friendship, turned their backs as he passed. Bocc ignored
their snubs, strengthened by the knowledge that he was no
longer alone.
Starla raised her head, met his gaze, and Bocc's breath
caught. The Federation had sent him images of her as an
incentive to work harder and to sacrifice more and those
images hadn't lied. Her brown eyes were as rich and dark as
newly tilled soil.
She was worth every sacrifice. "Mine."
© 2003-2026