None of it made any sense, nor did the way his master quietly urged him to eat and drink his fill, as if the Travian truly cared about Frey’s health. His slightly aching head hurt even more as he turned the day’s events over and over in his mind. He needed to let it go. Even with Rone keeping him close, this station held lots of menace, and it didn’t do to lose track of one’s surroundings. Frey hugged the wall of the corridor as best he could, while Preen waddled on their master’s other side. The creature had remained scarce throughout the marathon of fucking, but Frey could swear it gave Frey the once-over when they’d finally congregated to eat in Rone’s room. His fellow pet seemed to genuinely be worried about Frey, and Frey was oddly touched by the concern, if it were truly there. Truth be told, he was not only warming up to his companion, he was also worried about it, too. He marveled at the way Preen appeared fearless in the face of so many creatures bigger and stronger than it. He worried that one wrong step and Preen would become a big lavender stain on the cold, metal floor.
While Frey couldn’t be sure, he thought they ended up right where they’d been earlier. The dim, seedy watering hole certainly looked the same, although really he’d given up trying to map out the various stations Arpell had dragged him to and through. It hardly mattered in any event. Rone bypassed the areas where Travians sat on the floor playing games, and he went to sit on a drinking bench instead. As before, Preen hopped up beside the master and squatted placidly. Frey knelt beside Rone’s thick legs without being told. He knew the drill by now, and, without the need to braid his hair, there was no reason for him to kneel between those tree trunks encased in leather. Frey shook his head slightly, still feeling weird about his new hairdo. He knew he looked kind of girly, tried to work up resentmentover that, then let it go. In the larger scheme of things, his masculine pride didn’t even rate.
Rone ordered himself a drink then lounged back against the wall behind him. He paid Frey no mind, not offering him any of his drink, not that Frey would have expected him to. If he did show such consideration again, it would likely be in the context of Frey giving his master another public blow job. Frey sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen, and, besides, he didn’t want to drink anything that would impair his thoughts, even mildly. In this dangerous environment, he needed his wits about him, not that anyone else seemed to be paying them any mind. He wondered, not for the first time, exactly what a male like Rone was doing in such a backwater place. Sure, based on the conversation with the lizard man, Rone appeared to want to join in some questionable commerce. It had been the same with Arpell, yet where being an arms runner seemed the obvious job for that miserable creature, somehow Rone held himself like someone above it all.
Fanciful thinking on Frey’s part. All Travians were bastards without an ounce of empathy for others. At least, he’d thought that was the case. Rone was throwing everything out of whack.
“Hail, mighty sire. Looking for company?”
Frey glanced up at the interloper with the silky tongue who’d sidled up to Rone. The boy, and itwasa boy, not a man, stood with one hip cocked, dressed in even more provocative clothing than Frey was. Lots of pale Travian skin showed where the tight, red tunic didn’t come near to meeting the clingy and equally red pants. The boy’s hair was braided away from his face, much like Frey’s was, although the style was more elaborate and the ribbon woven throughout was more like a thin, red string. If all of that weren’t enough to catch a male’s attention, the kid had what looked like kohl rimming his big, expressive eyes. He gave Rone a look loaded with innuendo and invitation.
Frey had no idea who this guy was, but he hated him on sight.
The depth and suddenness of his feelings for the Travian surprised and alarmed him.What the fuck?What possible difference could it make to him? This boy was obviously looking to hook up with Rone, a possibility that should make Frey very happy. If Rone had someone else’s ass to ream, he’d leave Frey’s poor sore one alone. Frey should be rooting for this kid to score, not scowling at him in irritation.
Rone didn’t seem tempted, however. He downed a lazy swallow of his drink before answering. “Go away. I’m not looking for a fuck boy. As you can see, I have a pet for that very purpose.”
The Travian boy didn’t seem fazed by the rebuff. Instead of slinking off, he perched on the bench opposite Rone and leaned back on his hands. “It’s pretty to look at, I’ll give you that. I bet it’s too delicate, though. You probably have to be careful not to rip it in two when you fuck it. You need someone sturdy, like me. I’m Kath, by the way. I can take a pounding all night long and suck you down to your root when you’ve worn yourself out. And,” he added with a swirl of his tongue around his pouty lips, “I’m very reasonably priced.”
Frey wanted to smack the steamy look Kath gave Rone right off the kid’s face. Appalled at his response, Frey made himself look away, down, anywhere but at the slut lounging across from him. In all of his forced travels within the Travian Empire, he’d never seen anyone like this before. He’d assumed the reason why Arpell had kept him alive as a fuck toy was because Travian society didn’t give him any other outlet. If the translator forced inside his head was doing its job right, then obviously the concept of prostitution existed in this world. That meant Frey had simply become a whore for free. For some reason that idea pissed him off more than being forced into sexual slavery. His body was every bit as valuable as this obvious pretty piece.
Okay, now he was just being mental about it. He’d been training as a pilot, not a whore. There was no reason to compare himself with this boy and certainly no reason to resent him—or feel jealous. God, being a Travian captive must be melting his mind to mush. Getting his rocks off for the first time in forever hardly warranted viewing his imprisonment and abuse as anything other than just that. Kath might have the luxury of picking his sex partners, but Frey didn’t. He was stuck with Rone as his master, leading him around by a leash and owning his ass whether Frey wanted him to or not. Let Kath find his own guy.
Shit!He was doing it again. Frey still couldn’t help scooting a little closer to Rone and leaning a bit into the muscular thigh beside him. He was staking a claim or reinforcing in Rone that he had a boy already. His nimble mind came up with a quick and acceptable explanation for his bizarre behavior. If Rone found that he liked the Travian boy’s company better than Frey’s, he might sell Frey to someone horrible, like Arpell. Yes, that was it. Frey’s jealousy was really a manifestation of his fear of further misery. Satisfied that he hadn’t completely lost his sanity, Frey relaxed a bit. And, if that meant resting more fully against his master, then so be it.
Rone rewarded Frey’s unexpected neediness by placing his large palm on Frey’s head. Its heavy warmth was surprisingly comforting. Frey looked up at Kath from beneath his lashes and found the guy smirking back. He obviously didn’t think Frey presented much competition. Then something changed, a subtlety in the boy’s expression that Frey found he could surprisingly read, even though Travians had those weird all-black eyes and facial movements that didn’t quite match humans’. What he saw was…vulnerability? Yeah, the kid wasn’t nearly as cocky as he tried to convey. If Frey were fair about it, why would a Travian be any happier to have to resort to whoring than Frey was about his captivity?
As if sensing Frey’s thoughts, Rone spoke up. “I have no doubt you are a talented boy who sets a fair price for your services, but does your mother know you’re here?”
“Does yours?” Kath retorted with a scowl.
Rone huffed out a chuckle and swallowed more of his drink. He stroked his palm down the back of Frey’s head. “I doubt either female would be happy with our choices.”
“Sometimes a choice is made for you.” Now Kath sounded very solemn. He stared at the floor, running fingers thoughtfully down his braid. Standing abruptly, he dropped his hand and his demeanor shifted again. The cocky boy was back. “Well, if you’re not interested in my charms, I’ll just find someone else who is.”
Rone inclined his head. “I’m sure you won’t want for interested males. Be careful, though, boy. There are rough and dangerous males on this station. I’m sure your sire would say the same if he were here.”
Kath gave Rone a shuttered look and, again, Frey felt bad for the guy. “You’d be wrong about that.” Before he left, the boy leaned in as if to maybe blow Rone a kiss. Instead, he murmured, “Watch your back.”
“Always do,” Rone replied under his breath before draining his glass.
Wait. What just happened?Frey frowned down at the floor, mulling over that last exchange. Kath had offered up a warning to Rone, which made no sense to Frey. In his limited experience with Travians, it seemed to him that Rone was the most dangerous one he’d ever encountered. Not only was he tall and massively muscled, he just exuded a strength and menace that neither Arpell nor any of his cohorts ever had. Who would be stupid enough to challenge him? Rone seemed unperturbed, in any event. After ordering up another drink, the alien continued to lean back against the wall, the picture of nonchalance. His only movement continued to be his petting of Frey’s head. Freyfound himself leaning even more against the male’s thigh and allowing the touch to lull him almost into sleep.
He didn’t know how long they stayed where they were. Being able to mark Travian time had so far eluded him. So, he did what he’d mastered in the early days of his captivity and spun memories in his mind’s eye to block out everything around him—everything except Rone’s touch. That was something that he couldn’t ignore. Even though he’d become good at blocking out cold and hunger and even low-level pain, this gentle stroking of his head stole his attention to a disturbing degree. It also calmed him, which meant that he was both hyper-aware of the touch and lulled into a stupor enough to be surprised when his master abruptly stood up.
Frey staggered to his feet, off-kilter as he usually seemed to be in this alien world. As he had before, Rone caught Frey by his shoulders to steady him. This time, when he let go, Rone ran his hand along Frey’s spine and patted him on his rump. Frey stiffened with indignation, then glared up at his master when the guy huffed out a laugh.
“Come, pets. Time to retire. Not much happening here anyway.” Preen made some noise in response, which caused Rone to laugh again. “Patience, my friend.”
Okay, now Frey knew that he wasn’t just reading more into Rone’s and Preen’s relationship than was there. They were more than master and pet, and they had some kind of agenda on this station that Frey couldn’t perceive. Whatever they had expected to happen while hanging out in the cantina hadn’t occurred, so that meant heading back to their quarters. It also meant more fucking. Frey shivered at the thought, although for the first time it was from more than fear and revulsion. His reaction disturbed him, worried him and tantalized him, all at once. He needed to get his shit together before they reached their destination. Otherwise, Rone might play his body the way he had earlier,and while Frey had learned the hard way that he couldn’t stop a Travian from claiming his body, did he really want to allow his body to be complicit in its own rape? Could he even stop it from doing what nature intended it to do? And, if he could snatch a bit of pleasure from the experience, would that be so wrong?
Analyzing it took up all of his attention. He paid little heed to where his master led him, so he didn’t see the Travian goons materialize before them until they were right on top of them. His heart lurched to a painful stop before thudding hard at the sight of the dark wall of menace.
Dropping the leashes, Rone shoved Frey against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. Dazed and confused, Frey froze and watched in horror as his master went up against three males that came at him together. Far from flinching at the terrible odds, Rone let out a warrior-worthy battle cry and launched himself at his attackers. Because they all looked so much alike and wore similar black clothing, Frey had trouble keeping track of who was where. Rone stood just a bit taller than the others and he moved with an impressive grace. Frey latched his gaze on him at a point at which Rone broke free of the others and, like watching a shell game, tracked the alien’s movement as best he could.
He had an urge to help but knew he’d be more hindrance than anything else, especially when the knives came out. Flashes of long metal could be seen weaving in and out of the black-clad bodies. Even Rone pulled one out of God only knew where. Frey had never seen him carry a weapon. The Travians grunted and growled, punched and kicked each other with animalistic brutality. Frey had seen fights among them on occasion in the seedy places Arpell had taken him, yet he’d never seen anything as vicious as this. And, never before had he cared about the outcome, had cared about any of those involved in the fight.
Cared? Shit, yeah. He didn’t want Rone to come out on the losing end and not just because he worried about returning to the kind of master Arpell had been. There was a deeper concern, and hell if he had the energy to analyzethatright at the moment. The epic battle being waged in front of him demanded his attention. He cringed at the sight of blood flowing from more than one guy, but took a weird sort of pride in knowing that Rone had drawn it first. How was this still going on? Rone should have been down for the count by now. Instead, he laid one of his attackers out cold with a hard kick to the guy’s chest. The victory over one was short-lived, because another loomed up behind Rone, with some sort of serrated knife, poised to strike.
