Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

I don’t even care what King Zander does to me. I don’t care if he sends me back to the Ocretions to execute. Nothing matters without my mates.

But this will be better for them. I hope to our sweet Mother Earth and to the Zandian Star they will find a new mate. Happiness.

I know I never will.

Jax

I awake abruptly, my mouth dry, my head pounding. Then it floods back: Riya. Her betrayal. Her infertility. Getting drunk with my cousins. Tarren is on a side hoverseat. It’s no surprise he didn’t want to sleep in the usual disk, the one we and Riya typically share. Shared. Ronan is passed out in the corner, not even on a disk or mattress. He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

I lie awake, trying to figure out what’s tugging at my mind. I’m so angry at Riya I can barely think, but there is something I need to do, something important—

The records. It occurs to me that we never read them all. Surely there must be more information there? I can’t sleep, so I head back to the main area and turn on the comms device, reading everything in order, now, not just the first things we saw.

Scans and data flash in front of my eyes, and the burn in my heart intensifies, seeing the woman I loved reduced to a s

et of numbers. Date of birth. Size: height, weight, all measurements, done several times annually. Genetic analysis and psych profiling to determine whether she was worthy of breeding, and if so, with whom, to ensure a stronger slave for future Ocretion usage.

As it turned out, I read, her Ocretion captors determined her unworthy of future breeding, as she had “defects” that made her “unviable” for future slave generations. One of them was her intellect. Human slaves were desired to be smart, but not too smart; this line that the Ocretions were creating was to be a hard-working ag force who took orders well and didn’t question authority. Riya asked too many questions. Sometimes argued too much. Was far too clever.

As such, she was tagged as a “secondary” at a young age. Bile crawls up my throat. Everyone knows that to an Ocretion, a secondary human slave is considered one step above trash. They don’t eliminate secondaries, because they are still valuable workers while they live. But in reality, secondaries are often turned into rape toys for the psychotic, cruel guards, and expected to continue working hard without sympathy, sometimes even harder than their primary peers, who are treated more kindly—at least, until they provide a sufficient number of new slaves to be trained. At that point, once they are past breeding age, the primaries are usually demoted to secondary as well.

The rage at this overtakes me and I curse, slamming my fist onto the table. This is why Zander outlawed slavery. It is simply wrong on every level. Veck, no being deserves to be treated like this. Even if I’m mad at Riya right now, beyond angry—this makes me ill. I wish we had the power to kill every vecking Ocretion right now and free every enslaved being in the galaxy, and I vow to someday be a part of that effort, no matter what it takes. But first, Zandia. We cannot do more to help the galaxy until we first strengthen ourselves into a super power.

Riya. Oh, Riya.

Something catches my eye, and I scroll past more annual reports to something that stands out. Something that has me back in the sleep area, tugging at my cousins.

“Ronan. Tarren. Get the veck up. I need you to see this.”

It’s a slow process, like a towship tugging a disabled galactacarrier, but I persist, and the two of them stagger out, rubbing their eyes, haggard.

“I need you two to read this.” I point at the comms device. They blink, so I paraphrase what I learned. “It says that due to chronic electro-stimulation, Ocretion physicians have determined that structural changes occurred in her uterus, rendering her permanently incapable of achieving fertilization.” When they just look at me, uncomprehending, I scowl. “Don’t you get it? Chronic electro-stimulation is a pretty way of saying torture with their shock sticks.”

“Wait.” Ronan frowns, grabs my arm, his fingers digging in, and stares at the screen. “The reason she can’t get pregnant is because they tortured her?”

“I will kill them all.” Tarren’s voice is so cold that I know he’d do it, if he could.

“It appears so,” I answer Ronan—Tarren’s comment requires no reply. “I knew they used shock sticks on her. She told us. But I had no idea…” my voice cracks. “That it was done like this, or so extensively as to damage her.”

“Let me see the names.” Tarren’s hand darts out and he grabs the comm. “Look at this. Jax, Ronan.” He gets louder. “The two guards who were on her daily duty, they were the ones she killed. And the data doesn’t match. They said she snuck out at night in the judicial report, but here, this report says they died in an altercation in her sleep quarters. The altercation was between her, a younger slave, and the two guards. They were probably torturing her, and she lashed out to protect herself.”

“Or she was protecting the younger slave.” My stomach turns. “How much evil exists in this universe?”

“I don’t know, but maybe… perhaps we were too hasty with our angry words last night.” I bite my lip.

“She left us,” Tarren corrects, but his voice rises, as if on a question. “And she deceived us.”

“She did.” I agree. “But maybe… there was more to it than what it seems.”

“Maybe…” Tarren pauses.

“Maybe what?” I’m eager, snatching at his words. “What?” It will only make sense if someone else thinks it, too.

“Don’t rush me.” He scowls and runs a hand over his face. “Is there water?” He finds a pitcher and drinks to counteract the alcohol. “What if it was more complicated, like you said.”

“How so?” Ronan grabs the water from his hand and splashes some on his face.

“Use a vecking towel!” thunders Tarren, wiping droplets form his arm with a grimace. “Are you a toddler?” He sits down. “What if she’s more broken than we knew?”