Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

He sighed, blowing out his breath. “All right, I’ll bite. Who is she? What species?”

Daneth projected an image from his wrist band. The image of a slight, tawny-haired young female appeared. “Human. Lamira Taniaka. She’s an Ocretion slave working in agrifarming.”

A human breeder. A slave.

Veck.

Zander didn’t have time for this excrement. “There’s been a miscalculation.” He waved his hand at the hologram.

“No, no mistake. I ran the program several times. This female bested every other candidate by at least a thousand metapoints. This female will produce the most suitable offspring for you.”

“Impossible. Not a hu

man. No.” Humans were the lowest of the social strata on Ocretia, the planet where his palatial pod had been granted airspace.

“I realize it seems an unlikely match, my lord, but there must be some reason her genes mix best with yours. The program is flawless.”

“I thought you might suggest someone worthy of formal mating—an arranged marriage with royalty of another species. Not a breeder. Not a pet.” Humans were not mates, they were slaves to the Ocretions. An inferior species. He hadn’t had much to do with them, but from what he understood, they were weak, fragile. Their lifespan was short, they did not recover from injuries quickly. They spread disease and died quickly. They lacked honor and fortitude. They lied.

Zandians—his species—never lied.

“I was not seeking a lifemate for you, I found the best female for producing your offspring. If you wish to find a mate, I will search the databases for the female most compatible to your personality and lifestyle preferences after you have bred. But this is the one you must breed. And now, during the traditional Zandian breeding season.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. The breeding season didn’t matter. For one thing, they weren’t on Zandia—weren’t affected by her moons, or her atmosphere. For another, he wouldn’t be breeding with a Zandian female coming into cycle.

But Daneth was like a sharkhound on a hunt—he wouldn’t stop until the stated goal had been reached. He’d been his father’s physician and had served on Zander’s council as a trusted advisor since the day they’d evacuated Zandia during the Finn’s takeover. He’d been only fourteen sun-cycles then. He’d spent the last fifteen sun-cycles working every day on his plan to retake his planet. He’d settled in Ocretia where he’d amassed a small fortune through business and trade, making connections and preparing resources, training for war.

“I will take care of everything. I will purchase her and bring her here until you impregnate her. Once it’s done, you can send her away. I’m certain you’ll be satisfied with the results. The program is never wrong.”

“She’s human. And a slave. You know I don’t believe in keeping slaves.”

“So set her free when she’s served you.” Lium, his tactical engineer spoke.

“A slave will have to be imprisoned. Guarded. Disciplined.”

“She’s beautiful. Would it be such a hardship to have this woman chained in your bedroom?” This from Erick, his trade and business advisor.

Beautiful? He looked again at the holograph. The female looked filthy, with dirt covering her hands and cheeks, her unkempt hair pulled back and secured at her nape. But upon closer inspection, it seemed Erick was right. She was pretty—for a human. Her tangled hair was an unusual copper color and wide-set green eyes blinked at the imager that had captured her likeness. A smattering of light freckles dusted her golden skin. She wore drab shapeless work garments, but when Daneth hit a command to remove the clothing and predict the shape of her naked body, it appeared to be in perfect proportion—round, firm breasts, wide hips, long, muscular legs. His horns and cock stiffened in unison.

Veck.

He hadn’t had that reaction to a female of another species before. He’d only grown hard looking at old holograms of naked or scantily clad Zandian females from the archives.

For the love of Zandia.

He didn’t want a human. He wanted the impossible—one of his own species, or if not, then a female of a species that was superior to his own, not inferior.

“Why do you suppose her genes are best? What else do you know about her?”

“Well, there’s this.” Daneth flashed up a holograph of a human man, dressed in combat gear, a lightray gun in his hand, blood dripping from his forehead. “He was her father, a rebel warrior who fought in the last human uprising before her birth. He may have even led it.”

“Hmm.” He made a noncommittal sound. His species were warriors, why would he need the human genome for that? “What about her mother?”

“Not much to be found. She’s still alive—they’re together now, working on Earth-based plant and food growth production. Keeping their heads down, is my guess. The data about her father isn’t in the Ocretion database file. My program gene-matched to give me that information. I’m surprised the Ocretions don’t do more gene study.”

“I’ll probably split her in two the first time I use her. Humans aren’t not built for Zandian cocks.”

“The program can’t be wrong.”