Captive Wolf

The other Lycan was almost sinfully good-looking, with plump, luscious lips, high cheekbones and eyelashes as long as any female’s. The idea of what he might do with these Lycans grew in Tarr’s mind—it was outrageous, but rather a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself.

Tarr had just received a message from his brother telling him to be on the lookout for a suitable nobyo for him. He asked him to purchase one right away if he found one he thought he’d like, as his first child was due to arrive soon. One of these Lycans would be eminently suitable to fulfill his request.

There was no appropriate translation for the word nobyo, but to the Tygerians it meant lover, or paramour. It was even used as a term of endearment for their concubines. A nobyo was like a spouse, in a way, though, of course, marriage to an alien species was out of the question—only female Tygerians were accepted as marriage partners. The Tygerian female never lived with the male, but they kept in close contact when they had children together. Even more, though, a nobyo was a life companion, and was in charge of rearing all the children.

The nobyo was even closer to the Tygerian than a wife, because he was well-loved and cared for his entire life. Even if the unlikely happened, and the long-lived Tygerian passed away first, the nobyo was cared for and cherished by the children for as long as they lived.

Tarr wondered how Taz would feel about a Lycan for his nobyo. It would take a lot of training and a strong hand, but the challenge would definitely be fun. And since his capture, Taz hated the Lycans on general principle. To have one as his submissive love slave would be sweet. Tarr let his gaze wander over both Lycans again. He could try for both of them, but his chances would be better to capture at least one if he could separate them—the smaller one, perhaps. He was pretty and looked a bit more malleable too, more open to persuasion than the bigger one.

As he watched and sipped his drink, trying to figure out if he could separate them in some way, he saw the smaller one slip something to the bartender. Interested, he watched as the bartender turned and moved to the other end of the bar, where he appeared to be reading a note. Then he glanced up and caught Tarr’s gaze. Amazingly, he walked directly over to Tarr’s table and handed the note to him.

“The Lycan dog over there slipped this to me for you, sir. The note says he’ll make it worth my while to give this to you. Should I kill him for his insolence in disturbing you?” The bartender was a fiercely loyal slave who had worked with Tarr for years. The bar itself was owned by Tarr, and he used it not only for his amusement, but as a way to meet potential buyers for his collection.

“No, Ozrom, I’ll handle this. You did the right thing to bring the note to me.”

Ozrom nodded and moved away. He had belonged to Tarr’s family most of his life. His Earthan mother had been captured when he was a small child, and her new owner had allowed her to keep him. As he grew up, and it became apparent he’d never be pretty enough to be a love slave, he’d become a service slave, and Tarr’s father bought him when he was only sixteen cycles. He’d trained him to work in the bar, a much easier life than most service slaves endured. Since Tarr’s father treated all his slaves well, even allowing service slaves to take lovers if they wished, he’d earned the man’s undying gratitude.

Tarr opened the note and quickly read the contents. Written in the Galactic Standard text in a small, neat handwriting, the note was short, asking for a meeting. It said the Lycan had some important, unnamed business to discuss. Tarr scribbled his reply and caught Ozrom’s eye. Ozrom began to work his way over to his master as unobtrusively as possible so he could return the note to the Lycan. This was turning out to be a very interesting evening indeed.

* * * *

Kyle walked back into the bar three hours later, alone. He spotted Tarr at the same table in the corner, and wondered briefly if he’d been there ever since Kyle had left with Blayde earlier in the evening. In the note he’d sent back, Tarr said he would meet with Kyle at midmoon—but only if Kyle came alone. The note said Blayde had to remain on their ship and his men would monitor him to be sure. If Kyle didn’t come alone, then he shouldn’t bother, because as Tarr said in the note, he was ‘familiar with Alliance tricks.’

Kyle had no doubt he was telling the truth about monitoring the ship, yet he’d had a terrible time trying to convince Blayde to stay onboard.

“You’ll probably be walking right into a trap, damn it!” Blayde yelled at him.

“I know,” Kyle said for seemed like the hundredth time. “But how else can I speak directly to him? Sure, he could take me prisoner, but why settle for taking me when he could take the deal I’m going to offer him? He’s a businessman, after all, so surely he’ll recognize a good deal when he hears it.”

“You’re assuming he’ll even give you a chance to tell him the deal. What if he grabs you the minute you walk in there?” Blayde continued his pacing back and forth across the comm deck on the ship, occasionally running his hand through his hair, something he often did when he was agitated. “No, it’s too fucking risky. We’ll try something else.”

“Like what? Look, we’re here—I’ve made contact. I think we should go through with it.”

“Well, I don’t!” Blayde slammed down his hand on the arm of Kyle’s chair. “And this is my bounty. No, it’s out of the question. I forbid it. We’ll figure out something else, but this is just stupid.”

With that, Blayde had turned his back and left the command deck, going down to his own quarters, leaving Kyle to stare at the closed door in outrage. Blayde wasn’t his alpha, and even his cousin Lucas, his true alpha, would never lay down an order like that to one of the family. He resented the tone Blayde had taken with him. Blayde may have been a few years older and had more experience with bounties, but he’d be damned if he’d let Blayde tell him what to do. Perhaps Blayde had worked with his mate Ryan too long if he thought Kyle would roll over and obey him just because he fucking forbade it.

For a long time, Kyle had questioned whether or not he was truly an alpha. His brother and all his cousins were, and the curse foretold that all descendants of old Gunnar would be alphas, but did that necessarily make it true?

He wasn’t a gamma either—he liked giving orders, but he was also comfortable in not taking the lead. He often found himself as a pilot, ferrying the bauxite around the galaxies, along with one of his cousins, and he was happy to let that cousin do most of the negotiations with the clients. Maybe a strong beta, then—that seemed more likely to Kyle. He liked the role of strong right-hand man, and as a Balanescu, he’d never had to go through the selections like most other Lycans. They chose their own alpha on Lycanus 3 and that was Lucas.

So the issue of his rank had never really come up. Still, he didn’t like the tone Blayde had taken with him. Kyle knew he was capable and strong, and could handle himself. He didn’t appreciate Blayde telling him what to do. Kyle got up, checked to make sure he had the pouch of diamonds he’d need to make the deal, and defiantly left the ship, heading back to Blood in the Water. Blayde might be pissed when he found out, but so be it. He’d be happy enough when he’d made the deal and arranged the sting. Or at least that’s what Kyle kept telling himself.

Chapter Two

From the moment he left the ship, he felt like he was being observed, but it could have only been his imagination, despite Tarr’s threats. Still, he was feeling a little nervous, and wondered if he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

When he walked into the club, nothing seemed to be any different than earlier in the evening. The place was still mostly deserted, with only a few customers standing near the bar, talking quietly. The bartender glanced up as he walked in and nodded shortly, but still frowned at him. Across the room, from the same corner, he saw the Tygerian, Tarr Bonnet, watching him from the shadows.

Kyle glanced around him, but saw no outward sign of any of Tarr’s men. The men at the bar could have been Nilaniums, but they barely glanced at him and didn’t seem to show much interest. He knew they must be around, though, and he’d need to be on his guard if this were to have any chance of working. He walked slowly over to Tarr’s table and stood in front of him, looking him over curiously.

He was as handsome as his picture indicated, though his curly hair looked a little greasy and he was in need of good bath, in Kyle’s opinion. Lycans were scrupulously clean, and he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose a bit at the strong, though not altogether unpleasant body odor coming off the Tygerian. His stripes were exotic and beautiful, and Kyle found himself fascinated by the man.

Tarr smiled up at him and fired something off in a rapid language Kyle didn’t understand. When Kyle simply looked at Tarr blankly in response, Tarr gave a short laugh, showing strong white teeth, and spoke again in heavily accented Lycan. “Sit down, wolf. I won’t bite—not much, anyway.”

He bared his teeth again and indicated a chair across from him. “I must admit I’m interested in what you might have to say to me. It’s been my experience that the Lycans are as bloody-minded as their Alliance cohorts and have little use for Tygerians. I wonder what you could possibly have to say to me that I would be interested in.”

Kyle sank down to the chair across from Bonnet, took the pouch of diamonds from his jacket and laid it on the table between them. “This is yours if you’ll hear me out.”

Tarr glanced over at the pouch, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Lycan.”

“I want to give you a love slave—that’s your business, isn’t it? Well, I’ll give you a valuable one and even pay you to take him if you’ll agree.”

Tarr glanced again at his face and tilted his head a bit to the side. “What sort of love slave? I have very exacting standards.”

“You saw the man I was with earlier, didn’t you? I’m talking about him.”

Bonnet narrowed his gaze. “What’s the catch? You two have the look of each other—is he not some kind of relative of yours?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">