Jes­sica’s jaw dropped. “Wow, that is a ter­ri­ble thing to say. I’m sorry I called you that.”

  Cla­jak leaned down to kiss her on the lips. “It is for­given, my sweet. Why don’t you learn some less of­fen­sive Kalquo­rian for ar­gu­ments with your fu­ture clan?”

  “I’m not go­ing to take a clan. Will you tell Egilka I’m sorry for call­ing him a gurluck too?”

  He laughed, shak­ing his head. “Yes, Jes­sica. I will give him your most sin­cere apolo­gies. No doubt he’ll feel much bet­ter know­ing you in­tended no real in­sult.”

  Cla­jak left her suite still laugh­ing.

  Chap­ter 8

  Jes­sica and Michaela peeked be­tween the cur­tains block­ing the en­closed back­stage area. The Com­ing of Age Fes­ti­val was in full swing, and the crowds were huge. With all the mer­ry­mak­ing, a ca­sual ob­server would never know a block­ade of war­ships sur­rounded the planet.

  The stage sat across from the ob­ject that the city had been built around. The cen­ter of Pla­sius’ un­named cap­i­tal was a great stone al­tar that had been carved so long ago no one knew who its maker had been. Over the al­tar loomed a for­got­ten de­ity carved from the same kind of stone. The fig­ure looked like a cross be­tween a gnarled tree and a wil­lowy Plasian with skele­tal wings. The pit­ted, worn crea­ture re­sem­bled the fos­sil of some hor­rific de­mon. It was grotesque in the Earth­ers’ opin­ions.

  The al­tar con­sisted of a slab carved with in­tri­cate swirled de­signs. It stretched about nine feet long and six feet across. Flow­ers banked in piles around the al­tar as well as the stage, and the en­tic­ing scent car­ried to the Earth­ers on the breeze. More than once Jes­sica caught her­self un­con­sciously rub­bing her sex un­der the in­flu­ence of the blooms.

  Hooks stud­ded the edges of the al­tar. In spite of the brightly col­ored flow­ers sur­round­ing it, it was easy to imag­ine sac­ri­fi­cial vic­tims chained onto the sur­face while black-cloaked priests cut their still beat­ing hearts out.

  Cur­rently the slab sup­ported two naked Plasians, but nei­ther was dy­ing. A young girl lay on her back with a male hov­er­ing over her. Four other males ranged around the al­tar, each hold­ing a wrist or an an­kle of the girl, keep­ing her spread-ea­gled.

  The girl, so young her tiny breasts had barely formed, looked at the man over her with wide eyes. Her lips were parted, and Jes­sica saw her im­ma­ture chest heav­ing. All around the tableau a large crowd of Plasians gath­ered to watch. Jes­sica knew most of them were the girl’s fam­ily.

  The male crouched over her nod­ded to the men hold­ing the girl’s an­kles. They lifted her legs, tilt­ing her pelvis up. Then the man read­ied him­self, touch­ing the lips of her small, foam­ing sex with the tip of his pe­nis. Her trem­bling fin­gers clenched into fists.

  He en­tered her in a smooth, quick glide, and the girl cried out in a high bird­like voice. The sur­round­ing crowd cheered.

  Michaela’s eyes drank in the sight. “Can you imag­ine do­ing that in front of so many peo­ple? And with five men! Right in front of her fam­ily!”

  Jes­sica also stared. In a won­der­ing voice, she said, “It’s the norm for them, a cause for cel­e­bra­tion. Is­rala says the orig­i­nal rit­ual called for the girl to have sex with all the men of her tribe within one day. Only then could she be con­sid­ered a woman. One tribe had over fifty men be­fore they changed the cus­tom.”

  “And Earth thinks bed­ding three Kalquo­ri­ans is per­verted!”

  The alien girl moaned over and over, her smile pure de­light as her part­ner plunged in and out. She writhed in the grasp of the other men, her hips buck­ing to greet the slen­der pe­nis claim­ing her virtue.

  “That’s a hell of a way to lose your vir­gin­ity,” Michaela breathed. “She’s the last one, right?”

  “Num­ber one hun­dred forty-four,” Jes­sica con­firmed. “That’s how many Is­rala said had come of age this year in this city. Un­less you want to make your down­fall of­fi­cial? If this dance doesn’t tempt Ko­rkla’s clan, noth­ing will.”

  Michaela shud­dered. “I’m ready to give my­self to them, but I hope they’ll take me some­where pri­vate.”

  “With the flow­ers ev­ery­where, you won’t care where they claim you. If you’re bit­ten, you re­ally won’t care.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’ll be look­ing to bite. Thanks for the tip about piss­ing off Kalquo­ri­ans and then turn­ing them on. I’m not sure I want to be spanked like you were, but if that’s what it takes…” Michaela shud­dered again, her face torn be­tween de­sire and fear.

  Jes­sica looked at her friend with alarm. “What did you do?”

  Michaela watched the de­flow­er­ing of the young Plasian, suck­ing her lower lip as the sec­ond lover took his turn. “I sent a mes­sage to Ko­rkla’s clan telling them I wanted to check out the other two clans, the ones you refuse to meet with. The boys should have re­ceived it by now.”

  “Michaela, you adore Ko­rkla and the oth­ers!”

  “I’m sick of Govi mak­ing them tip­toe around my ‘trauma’. They need to fuck me al­ready.”

  “Do you think they’ll be mad?”

  Michaela barked hard laugh­ter. “Raxs­tad will be livid. He’s ex­tremely pos­ses­sive. Ko­rkla won’t stand for it ei­ther. Even Govi has to have lim­its to his pa­tience. Look, there they are.”

  Jes­sica saw the mas­sive Kalquo­ri­ans thread­ing their way through the crowd of Plasians to­ward the dance stage. One look into their thun­der­ous faces made her heart stam­mer, es­pe­cially when she saw the fe­ro­cious ex­pres­sion Nobek Raxs­tad wore.

  “You suc­ceeded, dear. They look re­ally up­set.”

  Michaela should have been ter­ri­fied, what with the bes­tial looks worn by Clan Ko­rkla. In­stead, her ex­pres­sion was sav­age in its glee. “If the wind changes di­rec­tion and takes the flow­ers’ scent away, I am go­ing to piss my panties in ter­ror. Right now, I can’t wait to get fucked. God, they look amaz­ing, don’t they?”

  A roar of ap­proval her­alded the Plasian girl’s third part­ner. Jes­sica’s mouth went dry as she saw an­other trio of Kalquo­ri­ans ar­rive. “Oh hell, Cla­jak’s clan is here.”

  Ko­rkla’s group gath­ered at the edge of the stage, and Michaela jerked the cur­tain shut be­fore they could see her spy­ing on them. She snapped shack­les about her own wrists and handed Jes­sica her set. Jes­sica’s stom­ach did a slow roll as she put hers on. The chains were light, but strong. She was mak­ing her­self vul­ner­a­ble. Know­ing Cla­jak, Be­vau, and Egilka were in at­ten­dance height­ened her ner­vous­ness. It also ex­cited her.

  The crowd out­side cheered anew. “Num­ber four,” Jes­sica an­nounced need­lessly. Her stom­ach groaned. Hun­dreds of eyes were about to watch her dance. Would it get back to Sergeant Fiske and his com­rades? At least she was safe from at­tack now.

  Thanks to Jes­sica’s warn­ing, Cla­jak had posted the two Nobeks from the other clans on guard at Is­rala’s prop­erty.

  Michaela said, “With the princes here, it looks like we’ll both be busy af­ter this per­for­mance.”

  Jes­sica snorted dis­dain she didn’t feel. “You can have all six of them. I’ve had plenty of Kalquo­rian sex to last me a life­time.”

  “If it’s as good as you say, I doubt you’re done with them.”

  Jes­sica flexed her arms against the chains bind­ing them close to­gether. “Don’t lose the keys to these cuffs. I’ll kill you if you do.”

  Michaela snuck a peek through the cur­tains. “The lat­est horny Plasian to fuck her­self silly on this planet will soon be up to her fifth part­ner. Let’s get ready.”

  Jes­sica blew out a huge breath and con­cen­trated on warm­ing up for the per­for­mance.

  * * * *

  “Michaela told them what?” Cla­jak gaped at Be­vau.

  The Nobek prince crooked a half-smile at his Dramok. “She wants to in­ter­view other clans. Ko­rkla has or­dered her, um, de­flow­er­ing im­me­di­ately fol­low­ing the dance. He wants us to rec­og­nize her as his clan’s Matara as soon as it’s done, even if it’s co­erced.”

  “What does Govi say?” Egilka asked, un­able to dis­guise his amuse­ment.

  “He whole­heart­edly agrees. I’m sur­prised they’re wait­ing that long. That is one fu­ri­ous clan. I think they’ve ac­tu­ally fallen in love with her.”

  “I take it we shouldn’t get be­tween them and Michaela.”

  Be­vau’s ex­pres­sion was full of warn­ing for his clan. “Don’t even make eye con­tact with her when she comes out. We don’t want to give them any ex­cuse for vi­o­lence. Raxs­tad is itch­ing for a fight. Any face he can put his fist through will do.”

  Egilka shook his head, the mer­ri­ment re­fus­ing to leave. “Those Earth­ers know how to get them­selves into trou­ble. Let’s play it safe and put dis­tance be­tween our clans.”

  Cla­jak’s group si­dled to the far edge of the stage, leav­ing his aide’s clan to glower in si­lence as they waited for Michaela to ap­pear. It was amus­ing, but he un­der­stood the men’s fury with their hes­i­tant Matara-to-be. It had only been three days since his own anger at Jes­sica had spurred him to spank her like a naughty child, which in turn led him to take her vi­o­lently. The mem­ory made his sexes stir.

  The last Plasian male had fin­ished break­ing in the girl ly­ing on the al­tar. Her fam­ily car­ried her off, her naked body held over their heads in tri­umph. She smiled weakly as she was borne away, a woman at last, free to in­dulge in ev­ery plea­sure of the lusty Plasian life. The rit­ual over, the crowd of aroused Plasians moved to­ward the stage to en­joy the start of the night’s fes­tiv­i­ties.

  Egilka fin­gered the bou­quets of flow­ers that lined the edge of the stage. “Didn’t you say these have a pow­er­ful ef­fect on Jes­sica?”

  Be­vau grinned at the hope­ful note in his clan­mate’s voice. “De­sir­ing a bit of Earther warmth?”

  Be­fore the Imdiko could an­swer, mu­sic boomed from the back of the stage. Cla­jak felt his heart quicken in an­tic­i­pa­tion. The dance was be­gin­ning.

  Michaela and Jes­sica swept onto the stage, and there was a col­lec­tive gasp of ap­pre­ci­a­tion among the spec­ta­tors. Their cos­tumes were styl­ized ver­sions of what the sex slaves of Dan­tovon wore. The cups of their bras curved up from the bot­tom just enough to cover their are­o­las. The sil­ver beaded bras held the women’s breasts up like of­fer­ings for hun­gry mouths. Art­fully torn filmy skirts showed the lithe mus­cles of their legs to ad­van­tage. The scant fab­ric also dis­played their taut but­tocks, left bare by the thong panties they wore. Their rounded flanks in­vited ev­ery man to sink his hard flesh into the tight­est of open­ings women could of­fer.

  Most erotic of all were the chains shack­led to the wrists of the Earth­ers. The metal links made tinny clicks as the women moved, let­ting Cla­jak know the binds were real. He licked his dry lips and felt him­self go hard. Help­less, Jes­sica and Michaela vir­tu­ally begged to in­dulge Cla­jak’s most bru­tal lusts. He had a sud­den vi­sion of both Earth­ers bound to his bed, vul­ner­a­ble to his ev­ery whim.

  He watched the pair with stunned eyes, their sup­ple bod­ies a feast to be­hold. To see so much silky skin on dis­play lit ev­ery sense he pos­sessed. He longed to climb onto the stage and throw them down, to fuck them un­til his loins dried as arid as the vast Plasian desert to the west.

  Jes­sica spun to a stop on Cla­jak’s side of the stage; Michaela was close to her own an­gry but ob­vi­ously aroused clan. They per­formed the same dance in uni­son, a sim­u­la­tion of fight­ing a stronger, pos­ses­sive force. Com­par­ing them, Cla­jak no­ticed the steps were the same for both, but the mood of each woman made her dance dif­fer­ent.

  Michaela danced with vi­o­lent pur­pose. She stared at Ko­rkla’s clan, her teeth slightly bared as she dared them to take her down. Ev­ery move, while grace­ful, filled with barely re­strained fe­roc­ity. Her en­tire be­ing said that while she might be con­quered, she would not go down with­out a fight. She would draw blood from those brave enough to claim her.

  Watch­ing the fe­ro­cious dis­play and Ko­rkla’s clan’s re­ac­tion to it, Cla­jak felt a stab of jeal­ousy. Those three men would get the Earther Matara of their choice and the life­time of sen­sual plea­sure that came with her. Cla­jak, fu­ture ruler of Kalquor, had to set­tle for a self-cen­tered woman who tight­ened with dis­gust at the slight­est touch. He scowled with the un­fair­ness of it all.

  In con­trast to the fierce Michaela, Jes­sica’s dance was one of fear, a des­per­ate strug­gle against a forced li­ai­son. Be­hind the ter­ror was an un­der­cur­rent of de­sire, a want­ing that threat­ened her de­ter­mi­na­tion to not suc­cumb. With her wide, blue eyes she begged the de­lighted spec­ta­tors for both mer­ci­ful re­lease and ruth­less con­quest. Jes­sica’s ap­par­ent need to be taken made her ev­ery bit as vul­ner­a­ble as the chains hold­ing her cap­tive.

  Cla­jak swal­lowed, his dry throat click­ing. “She is so beau­ti­ful,” he whis­pered. “There has never been an­other like her.”

  Be­vau’s voice was yearn­ing. “If only we could make her our Matara. I would sur­ren­der fifty years of my life to make her mine.”

  Cla­jak couldn’t mask his bit­ter­ness. “That could set off a civil war. Nar­pok’s fa­ther would never stand for it.”

  The long­ing in Egilka’s tone shocked him. “In­deed, but such plea­sure would al­most be worth it.”

  “You would con­sider an Earther Matara, Egilka?”

  His Imdiko kept his eyes on Jes­sica. “I have been given no choice but to ac­cept the in­ter­breed­ing of Earth­ers and Kalquo­ri­ans. Hav­ing en­joyed the de­light of that body con­sum­ing mine, it is not such a ter­ri­ble fu­ture to con­tem­plate.” Egilka glanced at Cla­jak, his eyes dark. “Have you not com­pared her to Nar­pok? Which do you pre­fer to warm your bed?”

  Cla­jak caught Jes­sica star­ing at him as she danced. The blue of her eyes was nearly swal­lowed by her pupils, and he saw the mois­ture flow­ing from her sex to wet the in­sides of her thighs. The need to pierce her was sav­age.

  “Don’t worry, my sweet,” he whis­pered to him­self. “I will give you what we both crave so des­per­ately.”

  Jes­sica couldn’t have heard him, but she rec­og­nized the in­tent. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly. As if she has a choice, Cla­jak thought.

  The mu­sic ended, and both dancers dropped to the stage, van­quished. Be­fore the first clap of ap­plause could start, Raxs­tad leapt on the stage and seized Michaela. To the roar of Plasian ap­proval, he swung her over his shoul­der and jumped from the stage. She of­fered no re­sis­tance as he bore her to the al­tar, the rest of his clan fol­low­ing. The crowd of Plasians fol­lowed in their wake, ea­ger to see the rarest form of Earther lose her vir­gin­ity.

  Cla­jak snapped his at­ten­tion back to Jes­sica, who had risen to her knees to watch her friend’s ab­duc­tion. As if feel­ing his eyes upon her, she looked at him. With a wicked smile, he raised his hand and beck­oned her to join him.

  Jes­sica got to her feet, shak­ing her head. Her chest heaved from the ex­er­tion of the dance, and the rosy cir­cles of her erect nip­ples slipped out over the top of her bra. She took a step back, her trem­bling mus­cles poised to take flight.

  Be­vau stiff­ened be­side Cla­jak, his at­ten­tion rapt on Jes­sica. A soft growl rose from his throat.

  She broke and ran to the back of the stage, dis­ap­pear­ing be­hind the cur­tains. Be­vau was af­ter her in an in­stant.

  Cla­jak and Egilka ex­changed a grin be­fore join­ing the chase. “I guess no one ever warned Jes­sica it’s a bad idea to run from a Nobek,” Egilka laughed. His eyes were bright with an­tic­i­pa­tion of what would hap­pen when they caught her.

  Cla­jak let his leer an­swer for him. He knew his time to en­joy the Earther’s body was lim­ited. He vowed he would make the most of it while he could.

  * * * *

  Jes­sica shrieked as Be­vau’s fin­ger­tips brushed against her hair. She thought he had her, but the Nobek got tan­gled in the heavy cur­tains, let­ting Jes­sica elude cap­ture. She jumped down from the raised plat­form and merged into the crowd be­hind the stage. Be­vau cursed over the loud purr of rip­ping fab­ric as the Plasian mob swept her away. They stam­peded in their ea­ger­ness to watch the spec­ta­cle on the al­tar, and Jes­sica dashed with them. She looked over her shoul­der to see Be­vau tear free. Cla­jak and Egilka burst through the shred­ded cur­tains to stand be­side him, and the Nobek pointed her out as she rounded the cor­ner and dis­ap­peared from their sight.

  The tide of Plasians car­ried her to the mid­dle of the square be­tween the stage and the al­tar. There they halted, held back by the al­ready as­sem­bled au­di­ence. Know­ing the Kalquo­ri­ans couldn’t be far be­hind, Jes­sica wove through the for­est of Plasians, hold­ing at bay the arousal that wanted her to sur­ren­der to Cla­jak’s clan. It wasn’t easy. The cloy­ing scent of those damned flow­ers was ev­ery­where, al­most thick enough to choke her.

  The dance had been dif­fi­cult to get through, to say the least. Feel­ing the men’s eyes on her, see­ing the naked lust in their faces as Jes­sica per­formed had ex­cited her. Now her senses begged her to run back to them, to sub­mit to their ev­ery crav­ing. Only de­sire-laced ter­ror at what sen­sual de­mands they might make kept her from do­ing so.

  A high-pitched scream filled the air, and the Plasians cheered. Jes­sica knew it had been Michaela who screamed, and she craned her neck to see through the crowd. Find­ing a clear line of sight, she gasped at the tableau on the al­tar.