Freeker. Copyright © 2015 Ella Drake.
All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Chara. That might be her name.

She clawed through the fuzz and fought back the confusion. It was. It was her name. Chara DuBlie.

Her thoughts muddied and she stopped thinking of it. It was a memory she was supposed to shun, not to dwell on and relish. Her mouth watered and she shook her head.

The cord at the back of her neck tugged and her eyelids fluttered.

The unusually attentive intern had brought her around and after a confusing time, she realized he’d promised not to dose her. Then he’d shoved a needle in her veins and the bright fire of pain had taken her world to oblivion. Still, he was good for his word. The room around her spun but it became clearer. The sounds rushed in on her in sharp detail instead of the muffled world she’d lived in for too long to count.

The intern had said she’d been comatose for three years.

Her sentence was for ten.

She blinked.

Head bowed, a doctor stood over some equipment. She didn’t recognize anything about him but the white lab coat. The room sharpened and her long-forgotten body lay under a sheet but now she noticed it. Inert but coming to life, it was slack, unused, but no stranger to violence. A violence she knew was being sucked out of her brain, through this tube, to the machines that took her memories from her and changed them, copied them, created a freeze-dried hallucinatory snack that the wealthy used to take a stroll down the adrenaline laden path of murder memories.

The murders she’d done.

Freeker. The drug was called freeker and only created on a rehabilitation clinic on one space station. Concentrating, she chased the elusive name. She couldn’t remember where she was.

She wanted to go back under. Or maybe she didn’t. There was peace in not knowing.

Her breathing went erratic and her limbs trembled.

She didn’t want to remember. Or did she? Yes, yes she did, the memories were sweet. Fulfilling.

Wrong. They were wrong.

She shook her head and the cable pulled.

Another man entered. They all looked alike. Men. Always the same.

Until now. She frowned. This one she recognized. He was the intern. He’d whispered to her and then come and gone. Now he spoke to the doctor. “Sorry, Doc. This program is disgusting and was ordered shut down a year ago. It’s over.”

The doctor tried to swing around but the intern had his arm and had injected something in it. The doctor’s body went limp. The intern helped him to the floor while murmuring, “Couldn’t hide behind bribed authorities forever.”

Her liberator shrugged out of his own white lab coat and unhooked the tube at the back of her neck. Her body screamed at the pain of movement. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. A pinch on her arm sent a flood of heat radiating through her.

“Give it time,” he told her and didn’t bother to say much more.

The heat burned. It sent bolts of pain through her muscles. She bowed from the bed as he ignored her and fiddled with the equipment. A faint burning smell came from the comps and then the bed moved.

“I’ve paid for a bunk at a place called Johnson’s. I’ll leave the drugs that will jumpstart your muscles to recovery. You have five days. After that, you’re on your own.”

Then he left her at a whorehouse.

The outer hatch alert buzzed twelve ticks too early. Warrant Bronson slicked back his wet hair and tightened the towel about his hips.

The hookup to station had tempted him to stay under the hot water too long. He wasn’t one to curtail creature comforts when he had them. Clean fatigues hung on the back hook of the door, but he hadn’t had time to get dressed. Claws clicking with each step, he padded barefoot down the corridor. He needed a trim. Shrugging, he didn’t pause. There’d be time for personal maintenance later but not now. There was no need to impress.

Early was good. He only had the ship to himself for the next hour. His brothers and crew were aboard Station Viesel staying the hell out of his way until the assigned time to load up and get the hell out of here.

Punching in the unlock code, he gripped the manual lever—used at station dock to guard against hacked entry—and yanked it down.

The mechanism clanked and the seal between his ship and the docking ring separated.

Pssssht.

The portal opened a crack but before he could pull it open, a rail-thin woman brushed by him. Her purple-streaked black hair was a startling compliment to her brown skin. A strange but tantalizing scent trailed her. A haunted expression etched her features and she turned to glance behind. Then she jerked her face around and up to his, squared her shoulders, and leaned against the door. It slid closed behind her.

She smiled. The momentary reflex toward his knife—which he wasn’t wearing—fled in the face of her clear, open beauty.

The front of his towel shifted.

“Pilot Bronson?” Her voice held a richness to it. From such a tiny woman, it carried a huge sexual punch.

“You can call me Warrant.” The gravelly response he expected but not the giving of his name. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“I’m Chara.” She tilted her head and studied him. It was an invitation. He let his gaze roam, too.

Her glossed lips were plump and inviting. He could stare at them all night as they traveled his body and performed his favorite trick. But then, a blow job wouldn’t take all night and fast gratification had been all he’d indulged in for quite some time.

“Johnson sent you?”

She blushed and her gaze dropped to the floor.

“New?” He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. Usually he didn’t even speak this much and had never had a reason to calm fears. Fifteen minutes in a paid escort’s mouth didn’t leave room for exchanging many words. He frowned. Something was off.

“Does it matter?” That slightly panicked look of hers came back.

“No,” he drawled. He didn’t point out that his tented towel had answered for him as her eyes rounded. Her gaze snagged on that tell-tale bulge on the way up from the decking. For a brief second, he was relieved her attention hadn’t caught on his clawed hands, his fangs, or on any patch of his unusual skin tone. Apparently his purple eyes—sometimes a distraction to others—didn’t bother her either. No. Her full attention was on his cock. His voice came out strained. “Why don’t we talk more after?”

She nodded but didn’t quite meet his gaze, or move. She was skittish. He hesitated. It’s not as if she was being forced. Near as he could tell, Johnson ran a completely aboveboard service. His women—and men—had all their preventatives. All registered. All paid per union regs. Warrant had signed a longer contract to hire a sex worker than he had to buy their ship, the Twelfth Night.

He shrugged and reached for her hand. It was cold. Small. A strange protective thing rose in his chest.

With a gruff command, he tugged her. “Come on.”

She’d loosen up after what he had planned to do to her.

Trailing behind him, her steps were quiet. Her fingers trembled until he threaded his through hers and gripped her gently. He should send her back. He shouldn’t want to take the time to be gentle with her. The wad of credit he’d spent had been intended for shoving a buxom woman against the ship corridor and fucking them both into oblivion before they made it to a bed for something even more rough and feral.

Something soft and soothing hadn’t been a remote possibility, but now, he couldn’t think past his need to run clawed hands over smooth skin.

She didn’t speak. His voice hoarse, he surprised himself by filling the quiet between them. “Chara is a nice name. Did Johnson pick it for you?”

He’d heard that the workers didn’t use real names. They walked through the common area where the Scoriah nest was unusually neat. He and his brothers slept together in the nest but after a while they’d taken their own rooms for such things as sexual visits or to stow their gear. If they spent too long apart, they got even more testy and rambunctious. It was a social quirk that had never mattered before, but now he wondered what Chara would think if she knew he slept in a pile of Scoriah on the floor.

Didn’t matter. He stopped in front of the door to his quarters, opened it with a swipe across the access panel, and led her inside. The door swished closed behind them, soft but nearly drowning her reply. “Chara is my name.”

It almost sounded like a question and he shook his head. There wasn’t a reason to get to know her. Shifting his fingers to grip her gently, he spun her from behind him and into his arms. Her small body collided into his and he wrapped her tight against him.

“Small and soft,” he murmured. He snapped his mouth shut. His fang sliced his lip. Dammit. He hadn’t done that since he was a toddler.

“Big and… big.” Her breath feathered over his chest. His nipples tightened with the warmth of her skin so near. He’d never been sensitive and his response made his mouth go dry.

His towel pooled at his feet. All his skin came alive, brushing against the rich material of her clothes. A nagging thought at the cost of them threatened to intrude but the blush across her delicate face forced all thought away except one. He grumbled, “Kiss me.”

He didn’t usually kiss—couldn’t remember the last time and had never really enjoyed it. That was as much about his not letting himself look for something more as it was about any woman. Her face tilted and her mouth parted. He ached to thrust his tongue between those tempting, full lips. She came up on her toes. A worried expression flitted across her face and was gone. The material of her dress stroked over his hard as hell dick. She stretched her arms and her hands flitted over his shoulders before alighting. She licked her lips. With a groan, he dipped his head and took her mouth.

His tongue invaded her, seeking her taste. She whimpered and melted against him. His arms tightened around her and he fell into the kiss, stroking her tongue and feasting. Like she was a fresh cooked meal after being on rations for a dozen long hauls in a row.

His head spun and he pulled back to nibble on her lips—careful of his fangs in his newfound haze. Nearly giddy with the lust curling around him. He left the heaven of her mouth and stared down. Her eyes were unfocused and her cheeks reddened. The drowsiness of a woman steeped in pleasure stared back at him. He’d never seen that look directed at him before, and all from a kiss.

His dick hurt with the need to plunge inside her, but that look, that drowsy, pleased look of confusion, he wanted to keep it there. He’d done that to her. Satisfaction expanded in his chest. His deep rumble vibrated across the non-existent space between them. “How do you want it?”

His question, that he should ask it, struck him. He chuckled and her eyes cleared and her nose scrunched. Confusion was adorable on her.

“Usually, a woman asks me that instead of other way around. I answer, on your knees, mouth on my cock.”

She gasped. Her body jolted against him and she frowned. “How vulgar.”

“Is it? What if I tell you that’s what I want? Now?” Inexplicably angry, he let his hold go. She dropped and as luck would have it, fell to her knees. Her wide eyes stared directly at his cock and a strange whimper gurgled from her.

“That’s what you want?” She licked her lips and her body seemed so small, shaking at his feet.

Next time, he’d tell Johnson the woman had to be tall. Sturdy. Meat on her bones. Curvy and large. Tits abundant enough to spill from his hands. Chara’s were barely noticeable beneath that dress. And she looked so fragile her shivers rattled her to her bones. A hard fuck against the bulkhead would break her. “Get up. And take off that sack.”

He stumbled back, swiveled his desk chair around, and dropped into it. The metal warmed against his naked backside and he leaned back, ignoring the cock standing straight up from his lap. Gripping the edge of the chair, he held himself still. A nervous panic had flitted across Chara’s face. He might be a roughneck and like it hard, fast, and impersonal, but he’d never been with a woman who didn’t know exactly what she was getting into.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he listened to his gut. Chara wasn’t an experienced sex worker. If this had been his last layover, he’d be pissed. He’d have shown her the outer hatch and used his hand after clearing dock. But he had an hour, and Chara wasn’t his typical order. “Johnson knows I’d never hurt one of his women. That why he sent someone new?”

She swallowed hard, and his gaze caught on her throat. A vein fluttered at her neck and he wanted to trace his tongue right there. She spoke low. “I think so.”

For a moment, the confusion molded her perfection into a look that brought back that strange surge in his chest. It almost felt protective. That couldn’t be. He only felt that way for family.

Whatever had made her tremble seemed to subside because she managed a small quirk of her lips. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No.” His matter-of-factness must have convinced her. She stood and her hands no longer shook as she quickly unsealed the front of her dress. It dropped at her feet and he sucked in a large breath.

He’d seen her when she came aboard, in sort of impressions. Those full lips that inspired his lust. He loved a woman’s mouth. He loved Chara’s mouth. Her short black and purple hair that curved at her jaw. But now. Now he nearly swallowed his tongue as he took the time to indulge. He’d never before sat back and stared at leisure, taking his time to let his gaze linger over every bit of flesh exposed to him. She lifted her chin and her eyes—dark brown, he now noticed—glinted. She fisted her hands and stood there, showing her courage, showing that she needed courage to stand nude in front of him.

Her breasts were small. Smaller than he’d thought he’d like, but they were perfect. Pert. Dark nipples, hard—for him. His mouth, no longer dry, flooded with the need to taste, but he ignored the lust riding him hard. Her waist curved in a bit above her narrow hips. A thatch of hair covered her pussy. He wanted to see that, too. Her thighs inspired him to part them. Her knees knocked together as she stood with her legs locked tight.

Her feet had toes tipped in pink polish.

She couldn’t be a virgin. Nobody with the slight hint of wrinkles at the corner of her eyes could be, and that Johnson had hired her meant it was impossible no matter how shy she looked.

“But you are new.”

“Yes. Very.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“I have.” But doubt flashed in her eyes. That he’d stared at her face instead of lingering on that gorgeous body, made him uncomfortable.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She flinched and her gaze darted around the room. “I’m not what you want.”

“That’s not it.” Panic surged and he bounded to his feet, snatching her nude body against his. Immediately he calmed. Flesh, he understood. Talking, he didn’t seem to know how to do. “I’ve never done something, and your pretty body has me hot to try it.”

She relaxed against him and her hips wiggled. He realized his erection was hot and hard between her legs, wet and tightly clenched to keep him there. All he had to do was cant her hips and shove inside her.

He groaned and damned that urge that had struck him, to taste her. Otherwise he’d even now be inside her slickness, fucking, slamming his hips into her over and over.

A pained grunt wrenched from him as he strode to the bed, gently lifted her away, and set her on the soft sheets he’d never slept on. Her body shook. On his knees, he slid forward into the vee of her legs. Then he put his mouth on her.

First her little tits. They tasted so good. She trembled and her hips bucked against him. She was wet. She slid over his cock but he didn’t want to get to that yet. Not yet. He licked across her chest and found her other hard nipple. He licked it and she whimpered.

He was approximately twenty-three, created and born in a lab. Part human, part Ferrashi creature, and he’d never taken the time to explore a woman’s body beyond the basic sex functions. It was easier that way. Humans from the central planet, Geonate, didn’t know what to think of him. Cultivating a relationship with one of them had proven impossible for him, and he’d long ago found all the release he needed by hiring a professional from the one house in the galaxy that welcomed him and his brothers.

Now, he had the time to taste a woman on his tongue and he wanted it.

His mouth didn’t linger. He thought he could spend all day sucking on that hardened flesh of hers. Could he make a woman come like that, suckling and biting her breasts for hours? He’d never thought to try before. He’d never had the time before. An hour suddenly felt decadent.

Her skin had a pleasant taste. Like she’d showered in something with a light citrus flavor. Her body was lithe and squirmy as he worked down to her belly button. He dipped inside there and she moaned. Her hips wiggled so much he wondered at her sensitivity.

Grumbling purrs came from his chest. He should stifle them but he couldn’t. The space between her belly button and the top of her mound enticed him. He lapped there. The scent of her arousal was strong and he had to hold her hips down.

His nose found that tempting bush covering her sex and he pressed against her. Inhaling, he groaned.

“Smell good,” he muttered.

She made a bunch of unintelligible squeaks.

He rubbed around in her hair. His nose parted her folds and he couldn’t get enough of her scent on him. His control deserted him. His body shook and his claws unsheathed. The sharp ends pressed into her a little. A moment of clarity made him rip his attention from her pussy and to her face. The fresh scent of blood caught at him and her face flushed, but she didn’t appear pained.

“Don’t stop,” she urged.

He’d dug in and he couldn’t unclench his hands, anyway. Somehow, it seemed to send her into a frenzy, and she let go of where she’d clenched the sheet and grabbed her breasts. She pinched at her nipples, and unable to look away, he reveled in his view as he opened his mouth and licked her.

Her taste was incredible. His tongue delved into her opening and sought more. His eyes slammed closed and his cock strained between his legs. His hold on her kept her down as her hips jerked and her body vibrated. She clamped her thighs around his head, as if to keep him where he wasn’t leaving.

His tongue thrust in and out and he ate her up. He didn’t want to stop. He’d gorge on her all day but his balls were tight and high and he didn’t think he could last. Her keening was sending him into a space he’d never been in. So eager to please that he’d get his satisfaction from hers, he thought he could come like this. He licked inside her one last time then slid his tongue out to stroke higher and flick her clit.

he yelled.

He did it again and again. Suckling and lapping over her there, he sensed her gathering tension. He still held her down but when she stiffened and groaned low and long, he slid his tongue back into her opening to feel her pussy clench her climax around him.

His cock hardened and pumped. His seed spilled on the floor in warm gushes that made him tremble and nuzzle into her mound to prolong the moment. He gasped and sucked in air and her smell. It was intense and his eyes closed against the pleasure bombarding him.

For long moments, he couldn’t move. Caught in a space between peak and luxury, he let it linger.

Then, by force of will, he managed to unclench his hands. Blinking, he focused his spaced-out vision on her blood-smeared hips. Blood. Her blood. All his warm, satisfied comfort evaporated in an instant. He scrambled back and landed on his ass. He blurted, “I’ll get the med kit.”

Then he grabbed his fatigues and shoved his legs into them. He slapped the door open and took off toward the mess at a frantic jog.

The mess wasn’t empty. The lone female crewmember, Ursula, sat at a table, her feet up, and drank a coffee. As usual, her lover sat next to her. They were never far apart. Grendel, as mixed a creature as the Scoriah, put his wide nose in the air and gave a loud snuffle. The mottled part-cat, part monster, part human thumped his tail once over the floor. Ursula spoke. “I know. I know. You wanted an hour to yourself so you could show that lady a good time, but Grendel and I got a little frisky, too. Just ignore us.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. Usually, Warrant would take the time to show his dominance over the crew, but he didn’t have the time. He ripped one of the med kits off the wall and proving the frequency of its use, the two didn’t glance at him or question why he needed it as—his gut unusually churning—he bounded back to his room.

The room was empty.

With a roar, he unsheathed one of his knives and threw it. The blade sliced straight through the metal with a thunk.