Mastered by the Zandians (Zandian Brides 3)

Chapter 1

Mirelle

* * *

“Hurry, hurry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with urgency. “Faster.” I nudge the taller female with my hand. “Come on.”

Her wide eyes, glazed with anxiety and stress, are uncomprehending.

“Do you speak Ocretion?” I swipe sweat from my brow and cough. It’s the most common language in the galaxy, and these are human slaves—surely they understand my words. “If you want to leave, we do it now.”

The smaller one lurches into motion. “Mama, come on!” she wails, and tugs at her mother’s hand. “Please.” Then she coughs; the air here is inhospitable for human lungs. But the woman stands frozen and starts to tremble.

Fuck.

I’ve rescued over fifty humans, and this isn’t anything new, but it’s awful timing. Because out of the corner of my eye, I spy a being across the galactic ship lot look over with more than a passing glance. I’ve been noticed.

I don’t need any being watching me, figuring out who I am and what I do. It’s dangerous enough to even be here on this planet. I shouldn’t have come, but I can’t resist humans in need. I have to save my own kind.

I assess him the way I was taught, scanning quickly: Muscles. Horns. Purple skin. Daggers at the waist. He’s a Zandian, a nearly extinct but powerful species of warriors who recently took back their planet. Double fuck—he was with the Zandian who outbid me at the auction.

“My ship is just 800 paces away.” I take the woman’s hand. “What’s your name? I’m Mirelle.” The Zandian eyes us. Even across the tarmac, which sends up heat ripples, I see his dark eyes flash in the brutal sunlight.

She blinks at me and I curse. “Mother Earth. You come with me, it’s safe passage to Jesel, where humans are free. You wait around here? They’ll take you back to that auction, punish you for leaving, and sell you off to a sadistic monster.” I’m not sure that’s true: The Zandian, who won her purchase, surely plans to take her to his planet, Zandia. But there she’ll still be a slave. I’m offering her something far better.

The woman finally moves, jerking her neck. “I don’t know what to do. Help me.”

I scoop up the child, even though the mother probably needs assistance more, but this spurs her into action—she follows me as I jog to the ship. But just as I set down the child and unlock the portal, allowing the entrance steps to descend, I see motion.

It’s the Zandian. Mother Earth, he’s fast and graceful, like a wild predator on the Jeselian plain. Intent. Something warm and slithery slips through my body at the sight of him.

My two rescues sense the urgency and scamper onto my well-worn craft. It’s too late for me to follow, though, because he’s here. In front of me.

He backs me up against my ship, the one I constructed with my own hands back on Jesel from old parts scavenged from galactic trash. His large, muscled body towers over mine, the heat of his masculine flesh seeps through my worn tunic.

He pins me with a dark brown, purple-rimmed gaze. His horns are alert. “You took something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Mother Earth, that voice! Deep and resonant, it vibrates in my chest.

I don’t speak. I assess him, watching as he leans forward, his quad muscles tensing, ready to attack, although his arms are loose. And I sense his adrenaline in the air, his odor. Masculine. Powerful. He must assume I’m weak, because I’m so small. Fool.

“I am from Zandia,” he continues. “And you absconded with two females that Captain Archer bought. Turn them over or there will be consequences.”

I take a slow breath in. Out. Transfer weight to the balls of my feet. But I don’t say a word. I’ve learned silence is an advantage; it confuses opponents. Plus, my voice would give me away. I dress like a male and play my role flawlessly, but it’s hard to disguise myself when I speak.

His gaze shifts to the entry of my craft, and I make my move. I dart forward and jump, twisting in the air as I do, my left metal-toed boot connecting hard with his jaw.

He grunts, I think from surprise and anger more than pain. Still in my aerial twist, I whip around and land, crouching low, then shoot out my leg and wrap it round his, going into the tumble I practiced for a year straight back on Jesel. The move is automatic, all the bruises and breaks merely preparing me for this. Life or death struggle against stronger opponents.

When I tug my leg forward, he topples, as expected. But what I didn’t anticipate was for him to catch his balance so quickly! While I’m still on the ground, he somehow manages to right him

self and grab at me.

“Surrender,” he commands. His strong hands press into my shoulders, push me down into the baked ground. It burns through my camo gear. I kick out automatically, but he straddles me, one strong thigh on either side of my lean torso. His body heat affects me as intently as the radiated sun on my back.

I pant and look up into his eyes, letting him see mine are green—that always confuses an opponent. I’ll know when to move. One moment. Two. Mother Earth, his eyes are so clear, so intelligent. The curve of his lip—is he smiling? How cocky. I’ll show him who’s in charge.

I swallow and watch his eyes dart to my lips, my neck. His smile fades; his expression turns to one of consideration. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

That’s it. I harness all of my energy into my buttocks and legs, then twist and turn.

He grunts and shouts but I’m away from his hands, those powerful hands.

Back on my feet, I crouch, bounce, staring at him.