Home > Enslaved (Brides of the Kindred #14)

Enslaved (Brides of the Kindred #14)
Evangeline Anderson

Chapter One

Thrace S’ver was in the dark place. The black place. The place where no light could shine. Behind him he heard the slaver shouting out his wares, offering his goods to the highest bidder.

Me. I’m the fucking goods, Thrace thought grimly. Just like I was back when—

No. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it in.

The internal voice sounded like his Sire—the male who had raised him from the ages of six to sixteen cycles. He had been in turns strict and compassionate, loving and stern and he had tried to train Thrace in the honorable and forthright ways of the Havoc. He had been Thrace’s whole world. Until…

Until he fucking died in a place like this.

He tried to clamp down on the thought and the memory that came with it but it was hard…so fucking hard. Especially with the shouts of the slaver ringing in his ears.

“Slaves for sale! Fresh from the Carnal Houses—slaves trained to fulfill your every wish and desire—your every fantasy.”

The slavers had injected his voice box with a paralytic which made it impossible to speak—nonetheless, Thrace gave a silent grunt of derision. Unless whoever bought him desired to die and had fantasies of being ripped apart limb-from-limb that particular claim was going to prove false.

He took a deep breath and then another. Calm. He had to remain calm.

No one looking at Thrace would have known about his homicidal plans. After a grim and completely silent struggle with the armed slavers who had beaten and stunned him into submission, he had retreated into himself. Outwardly he was calm to the point of catatonia—his eyes closed behind the blindfold and his breathing controlled—but inside his mind churned.

Never should have docked on Padge. Never should have taken a drink at that sleazy portside bar. Shouldn’t even be in this part of the galaxy!

None of it mattered. All that mattered now as getting out of here—getting his freedom back. After that he could return to get his ship, The Empress, out of dry dock and mount a hunt for his First Mate, Solar. And then he could spend some time taking the bartender who had spiked his drink and the slavers who had captured him apart piece by leisurely piece.

But none of that would be possible until he got free—and with the pain collar around his neck and the manacles that held his arms behind his back, that was impossible here. Better by far to wait until he was sold. And then…

Then I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch who buys me and get the Seven Hells out of here, he thought grimly. Just like I did before.

* * * * *

Captain Lonarra Trin stopped in front of the platform where a huge male knelt, bound and blindfolded. His sheer size was what caught her eye at first—he had to be six foot eight if he was an inch and his massive bare chest and broad shoulders were ripped with muscle. He had jet black hair, just long enough to run your fingers through, if that was what you were after, with deep blue highlights that only showed if the light shone on it a certain way. His muscular arms were bound behind his back and his eyes were covered with a black blindfold.

Kindred maybe. Or something akin to one. Really quite gorgeous, she thought in a detached way. But not for me. I need something a little smaller—not so ostentatious. Still, she lingered beside the raised round platform where the massive slave knelt, not quite ready to go on for some reason.

She was looking for a body-slave but not for the usual reasons of the rich and indolent Mistresses of Yonnie Six. Trin was from Zetta Prime—a colony that had broken off from the main planet of Yonnie Six years ago. But though they were some light years away, the daughters of Zetta Prime, as they called themselves, still considered the Yonnie Empress their ruler and kept to their ways. Well—mostly.

Zetta Prime, like Yonnie Six, was a matrilineal society with little to no use for male input. It was ruled and peopled exclusively by females who passed on their wealth and privilege to their daughters.

But the daughters of Zetta Prime didn’t hold with the Yonnie practice of keeping a pet male around—a personal body-slave who would act as an errand boy, body guard, and means of sexual gratification. Not that the Yonnites ever allowed a male to penetrate them in any kind of sexual act. A true Yonnie Six mistress much preferred to do the penetrating herself with a strap-on rod which was inserted into the unfortunate male for punishment or pleasure, depending on how you looked at it.

The females of Zetta Prime didn’t practice male slavery or penetration. They simply believed in keeping their distance from males altogether and indeed, most Zettites were lesbians, preferring to love only other females.

Trin wasn’t interested in her own sex and never had been. But neither did she crave a male to scratch her itch. She had her own two hands and a more than adequate clitoral stimulator if that need arose. Unfortunately, as a merchant and a diplomat for the Zetta Prime ruling body, she had to deal with the haughty Yonnie Six society often. And when she showed up to one of the ruling body’s meetings without a body-slave to back her up, she was looked down upon and often as not, completely ignored.

That was the reason she was trolling the rows of slave for sale at the Flesh Bazaar located on Dominus Two—also known as the Hub. It had come to her, after Lady Malroth had snubbed her by refusing to even show up for a diplomatic trade agreement, that she could simply buy a male and train him to do as she wished. Which was mainly to look imposing and pretend to kowtow to her every wish whenever she was on Yonnie Six.

If he did a good job, she would teach him some useful skills—astral navigation perhaps if he was intelligent enough to learn it—and grant him his freedom after a year or two. She hated to condone the practice of slavery but it wasn’t like she actually knew any males she could offer the job of pretend body-slave to. There simply weren’t any on Zetta Prime.

It had seemed like a sound plan, lying in the sleeping chamber in her quarters aboard her ship, The Alacrity. But now, walking up and down the rows and seeing the misery and shame on so many faces, Trin wasn’t so sure. She wanted a willing slave—one who had been raised to it from childhood and had known no other life. Which was one reason the slaver’s cry of “Slavers fresh from the Carnal Houses” had gotten her attention. She’d thought that such a male would be more tractable and easier to train for her purposes.

Well this one doesn’t look a bit tractable, she admitted to herself, still staring at the huge, gorgeous male displayed like a dangerous beast in a menagerie. Like a beast, he was bound and wearing a collar—a pain collar, she saw with some distaste. Such devices connected to the pain centers of the wearer’s brain and forced them to feel agonizing shocks if the remote was pressed or a certain punishment word was spoken. Trin swore to herself never to use such a thing on whatever male she bought. But just the fact that the slaver had decided this particular male needed a collar to keep him in line let her know he wasn’t the one for her.

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