As I’d quoted Sun Tzu saying earlier – you need to know your enemy if you want to conquer them. If you have any intention of surviving out here in the cold, cruel universe – while you’re being hounded at all sides by people who want you.
People who want your body. Your credits.
Or, in the case of these three Aurelians – your everything.
Because the ship is outfitted for up to five separate prisoners, the Reaver is equipped with considerably more extensive hospitality functions than regular warships. This includes a large dining hall, where the AI can produce food from a dispenser, or somebody can cook using burners and stoves if they’re so inclined.
This mess hall has a large wood-look table bolted down in the middle of the room. The chairs are built to Aurelian dimensions – larger than thrones to a human like me. I know none of this furniture is actually made from real wood – I know the chairs and table were fabricated artificially, from fire and combustion-resistant material – but there’s still something about the wood-look of nature that will always call to me. I think it’s a human thing. We see ourselves living among wood and plants, not in the rock and marble more typical of Aurelian design.
I shake my head. No time for philosophy. I’ve got a warrior to trick.
I sit down in one of the huge wooden chairs. Because of its huge size, it makes me feel like a child again – my feet dangling above the floor.
Daccia walks to the kitchen area.
“Are you hungry, Allie?”
My belly answers his question with an embarrassingly loud rumble. Daccia grins, and I feel an instant surge of attraction for him – one that’s more than physical. There’s a boyish side to him – one I’d never would have guessed existed beneath that stern exterior.
Sadly, that emotional attraction makes me feel a twinge of guilt for what I’m about to do to him – to Daccia and his triad.
Stay strong, Allie, I tell myself.
I force myself to laugh. “I’ll eat anything.”
Daccia chuckles. “That’s good.” He barks at the computer: “AI - two rations.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck! Aurelian rations? When I said I’d eat anything, I didn’t mean anything.”
“Your little stunt of blowing out our Orb-Drive fucked with some of the other functions of our ship,” Daccia laughs. “That includes food service.” His smile widens. “I lived off these rations for a hundred years, little human. They aren’t pretty, but you’ll survive off them.”
The AI spits out two rations from a slit in the wall. Daccia grabs one and tosses it to me. It lands on the table with a loud thump, like he’d just tossed a brick. I’m so hungry I tear open the foil wrapper and dig in with a huge bite.
It’s plain, but not entirely unappetizing.
Daccia sits down opposite me, holding two glasses of water. I grab the one he offers me eagerly. The dry ration makes my mouth feel like I’ve been chewing sand. I take a big sip and watch my Bonded partner – no, wait, my adversary – out of the corner of my eye.
As long as Daccia thinks I’m on his side – it will make betraying him all the easier. Except emotionally, perhaps.
Oh, Daccia. I look at him and think: The bastard is handsome; I’ll give him that. Even for an Aurelian, and that’s really saying something.
All Aurelians are all blessed with gorgeous, obscenely muscled bodies. I’ve never seen one of them who wasn’t in seemingly perfect shape. Part of that seems to be their obsessive training routines. The other part, though, is the result of their alien genetics. They’re born to fight and to fuck – and a lean, well-muscled body is essential for both activities.
I swallow the last of the rations, and ask: “Tell me everything about the Bond.”
The dining room is huge, but it suddenly feels small with Daccia sitting across from me at this table. The sudden mental image of him – reaching over, grabbing me by the root of my hair, and dragging me over to him – flashes through my mind.
I bite my lip, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I hate knowing that Daccia can sense my emotions – my lust. I wish the Bond would leave me alone for just one-fucking-minute!
Why? Because the thought of being pulled roughly across this table – of being forced to pleasure this enormous, alien beast… Well, it’s turning me on.
Daccia nods slowly, studying my reaction – perhaps tasting my arousal.
“The Bond,” he explains, “almost faded to legend. For thousands of years, it lay dormant. For thousands of years, my species were dying out. Do you know how we reproduced during that period?”
“Let me guess. Sticking it into each other didn’t work?”
For a second, I think Daccia is going to be offended. Instead, he suddenly gives me a small, triumphant smile. I guess this hyper-masculine alien species doesn’t suffer from the fake machismo of some human guys, when their sexuality is questioned.
The truth is, I barely have any idea how the all-male species stays alive. Aurelians are secretive about many things. They don’t give information to potential rivals – and they never fully trust humans, even the ones under their control.
“We live,” Daccia explains, “and we die – but our resting places are not under the green grass. Our bodies are not cremated and placed in urns, like you humans do with yours. If we can make it to them in time, we die in cryo-chambers. One Aurelian leaves this life, and another takes his life. Our DNA is replicated. A clone is created. That clone might be a perfect match – or he may have defects. The priests say that when our species was young, we were eight-feet-tall. However,
