Bought By The Zandians (Zandian Brides 2)

“Where did you get her?” he asks. He has a square, hairless jaw and a cleft chin that probably makes every female in the galaxy drool when he goes by.

The trader lifts his chin. “It doesn’t matter where.”

“So you don’t have her file? She’s not legally yours?” the leaner one asks.

Oh fuck. They’re asking way too many questions. The next thing you know, they’ll be checking my barcode. I twist my neck to the side and lean forward, catching the “V” of skin showing above the Zandian’s tunic with my tongue. I flick once. Twice.

He catches me by the hair and pulls my head back, gazing down at me with amusement.

“I think she likes you,” his friend observes with a chuckle.

He holds my hair in a fist too tight, but I don’t think he means to hurt me. He’s just too strong, or unaware of how much weaker my species is. He leans down and brushes his lips across mine. At the same time, his free hand cups my mons.

I jerk, more from surprise than anything. And because every other time a male has grabbed me there has been unpleasant.

But it isn’t this time. He rubs the pad of his finger lightly through my folds and I’m stunned at how wet I am.

His horns stiffen and lean in my direction while he watches my face, his nose almost touching mine, amethyst eyes burning.

I pant, heat curling like smoke through my belly.

“One hundred fifty stein,” he says. He removes his finger from my pussy. I’m itchy and hot. Needy for his touch to return.

“Three hundred,” the vendor counters.

“One seventy-five. Final offer.” He releases my hair and takes a step back.

“Two fifty.”

His friend scoffs. He shrugs and walks away.

The fucking vendor lets them go. Three steps away. Four. Five. “Two hundred,” he calls to their backs.

They stop but don’t turn. They seem to be in conversation with each other.

“One ninety.” The vendor tries again.

It takes the broad one two long strides to return. His friend pulls out a burlap bag full of coins while he digs his fingers under the strap around my chest. He rips it off, as if thick animal hide is easy to snap.

I wince as the blood rushes down my arms like a million insect stings. He rips off the strap around my thighs and I crumple, unable to hold myself up. In a flash, I’m swooped up over a broad shoulder.

The Zandian claps a large hand down on my ass. “Come on, little slave. We know just the place for humans who like to escape their masters.”

Chapter 2

Benn

Gorde carries the human over his shoulder to our ship, drawing a few curious looks from the intergalactic traders who choke the market. I knew the second we saw her Gorde was going to want her. Who wouldn’t?

She’s incredibly beautiful, even with the ridiculous mud-job she did to disguise her hair. It’s pale blonde—the color of moonlight, which makes her exceedingly valuable. Humans have interbred so long there are few humans with anything but brown color hair. Red-haired and blonde human females sell for at least three times as much. So do particularly dark-skinned or light-skinned females—any unusual trait sells for more.

Her eyes, too, are a striking color. Pale blue-green. The color of the crystal lakes on Zandia. The ones I’ve only seen on old holos.

Soon, we’ll be back home. We were hoping to find a Zandian female to mate, as unlikely as that may be.

Gorde and I were sent to search for any remaining Zandians scattered throughout the galaxy. King Zander wishes to extend a personal invitation for all to return. The demands of repopulation require we have as many in the gene pool as possible.

Somewhere along the line, Gorde and I got it in our heads we might be lucky enough to find one last female of our own species. Tomis and Erick were fortunate enough. Why not us?