His Human Prisoner (Zandian Masters 2)

Zander inclined his head. “How soon will you know?”

“How many do you need, exactly?”

“One hundred and fifty.”

He pursed his lips. If he were a wise male, he’d tell Zander no, thank you, and leave as quickly as he could. The possibility of taking back Zandia seemed slim, even with battleships and financial resources. But Zandia was his home. It still danced in his dreams—the vivid colors, the honor of the species.

“It may take a few months,” he hedged. “I have another job to do first.” They didn’t need to know it was another illegal weapons smuggling job.

Impatience flitted over Zander’s face, but he nodded. “I’ll be awaiting your reply.” He stood and bowed.

Rok barely resisted rolling his eyes at the pomp, but the prince had earned a grudging respect from him. Far from sitting on his cushioned throne, it appeared the male had been amassing his fortune for a reason—he sought to regain his kingdom.

Rok had to appreciate that goal, whether he believed it attainable or not.

Chapter Two

Lily dozed on hard ground, where she’d spent the past forty-eight hours being taken multiple times by each and every one of the eighteen human rebels. She hadn’t resisted—she knew better than that. Instead, her mind had drifted off to her “safe place”—the one with rainbow-hued light beaming through crystals onto her skin, rejuvenating her, healing her. This was how she’d survived since the day she’d been placed into sexual servitude.

The humans who had taken turns on her had smaller cocks than Ocretions, so she hadn’t torn or suffered physically. Not that she’d know if she had—numbness inhabited every limb.

The sound of an airship forced her onto her hands and knees, and she staggered to her feet. One of the rebels grabbed her elbow and propelled her forward, toward the landing craft.

Every man in the camp ran forward, lifting weapons that didn’t match the primitive lifestyle they led in the wild.

The door to the craft lifted, and she blinked several times. Could it be?

No, she was delirious.

But the huge purple-skinned warrior who emerged had to be the same pilot whose ship they’d stolen when she escaped. How many horned purple-hued smugglers could there be?

His eyes swept over the group, and though his expression showed nothing, his gaze bounced over her twice—three times. Of course, it could be the fact that her clothing had been torn off so she stood naked in a crowd of clothed beings.

The smuggler addressed the men’s leader, bringing out several cases of weapons. She couldn’t hear any conversation, but it was obvious the rebels had expected the male and wanted the goods he brought.

He closed up the cases and stacked them on the ground outside the ship then stood directly in front of them and folded his arms. This would be the negotiation stage.

The rebel leader said something.

The smuggler shook his head and answered.

More head shaking and speaking. The smuggler lifted his chin in her direction, and all the men turned.

The rebel holding her dragged her forward.

“No deal,” the rebel leader said. “We’ve only had her for two planet rotations and there are no other human females alive on the planet. We need her to breed.”

The smuggler appeared bored. “So pay the appointed price.”

The rebel leader’s brows slammed down. He bent his head together with one of his friends to consult in low voices.

“Fifty thousand.”

“And the female.”

He was negotiating to buy her? Her idiotic heart gave a leap of excitement, right before she remembered that the smuggler surely didn’t intend to pick up where they’d left off. No, she’d stolen his ship and left him stranded on an uninhabited planet. He intended to exact revenge.

“We keep the female.”