Kept by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 5)

The guard looks over again. “Is there a problem?” His voice is gravelly and grating.

“No, Master,” I respond. “Merely ensuring I have the right information that my master requested.”

He narrows his eyes, then steps closer. “Is that so?”

The woman steps back, pulls her garment closer around herself, as if dissolving into the shelving unit.

“I will be on my way.” I nod to her.

“Let me see those.” The guard’s voice is firm.

I swallow hard. “These are for Master Ock-Len. May I contact him for permission to share these?”

“Even better. I will accompany you to him.” He smirks at me, flicks my hood. “Perhaps I will ask to breed you. I’ve never seen a lovelier slave.”

My body screams out to run, but he’s got a shock stick, too, and a comm unit: One call, and he could have the cavalry upon me.

So I merely jerk my head in acquiescence.

“I’m sure you know where your master is at the moment?” The guard eyes me. I can’t tell if he’s suspicious of me, wants to rut, or both.

“He’s…” I think frantically. “He is ah, surveying some land in the wooded area near the outer city.”

“Why would he be there?” The guard stops and stares at me. “That is an unpopulated area.”

I make up the first thing I can. “He, ah, my master is crafty. He is thinking of building a new slave training and storage system there to take advantage of the space. He’s assessing the land for suitability.” I look down again, as if I’m not supposed to say this, but had to, because this Ocretion is above me as well. “I’m not supposed to speak of this, but I am sure that Master would trust you.”

The guard grunts. “A new compound, eh?” His eyes gleam. “He will want investors who can keep it a secret, I am sure, so the price of the land does not go up in a bidding war.”

I incline my head.

I don’t know what in Mother Earth I’m doing. I only hope that if I can lead this ugly Ocretion back to the ship where the Zandians are waiting, cloaked, they will see and understand what I’m doing. Will kill him before he can sound the alarm.

But I’m going to have to play this right.

“My Master says that this is a project that must be secret,” I say.

“Then perhaps we should see him immediately.” The guard grabs my arm and digs in, his sharp nails nearly puncturing my skin.

I hold back a whimper. “I will do as you request.”

He grunts again. “Come with me.” He runs his other hand over my breast, a gross, blatant gesture, then laughs. “I am sure your master is a reasonable Ocretion. He will be willing to trade something of value for my silence on this matter.”

I’m dizzy and cold as we walk through the baking streets. No beings seem to take notice—it’s mostly Ocretions on the move, and slaves going here and there, heads down, walking at a serene pace.

As we near the tree line, the activity dies down, and soon we’re the only beings there. You’d think the woods would be inviting, but the trees are rotting at the outskirts, poisoned by chemicals that leach out of Ocretion factories which ring the city. Deeper into the forest, where the greenery is healthier, is a clearing where our Zandian ship waits, masked.

The Ocretion sniffs the air. “Not a pleasant place to build a slave barracks.” He scans the area. “Where’s his retinue? His hover craft?” A small note of something enters his voice. “Answer.”

He shakes my arm.

Do they see me? Surely they are watching on their system, yes? Maybe the blind navigator can find me, small speck of humanity that I am in this vast sea of shit?

“He said he’d be back in here, where it is clear.” I swallow bile.

The guard takes out his shock stick. “Show me.”

I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I nod. “Yes, of course.”