Saved by the Beast (Kindred Tales)

The moment he’d gotten her into his wagon, which had inexplicably changed shape and then blasted into the atmosphere, he had let his 3-D mask slip, revealing a hideous, scaly face with four eyes and a forked tongue.

Makenna had fought and screamed, but she’d been locked in the back seat with nowhere to go but the darkness of space. And then they had landed on Passion Prime and the slaver had dragged her to the Pleasure House and banged on the door, bawling that he had a Florian virgin about to enter her first ripening for sale. After that, Frogu had bought her and called Biter, who came to see her and decided that she was the one he wanted—the female who would carry his heir.

“Spread ‘er out good for Biter,” he’d snarled gleefully, as Makenna was strapped to the wooden table for the first time, her legs open wide to reveal her defenseless sex. “Make sure she can take Biter’s shaft deep in her wet little pussy! I’ve a mind to breed her right here and now!”

“You cannot breed her yet, Sir Biter,” Frogu had used the carefully deferential tone he used with all his Trollox customers. “You’d only kill her without being able to implant your heir.”

“Yes, yes, I know—split her in two, Biter would!” The nasty Trollox had laughed uproariously at the idea. “But soon I’ll fill her with my cock, so I will—she’s the one to bear Biter’s heir!”

Makenna hadn’t understood what they were saying, but their tone had been clear enough. And in her dream, those rough, angry growls were translated into words she could understand—horrible words.

She could see it now, as though she was living it all over again. Biter leaning over her, leering. Hot, stinking drool dripped from his sharpened tusks into Makenna’s face as the owner of the Pleasure House shoved the first spreader into her, the piercing, unbearable pain and the terrible shame changing her life forever…

12

Screaming woke Bard in the middle of the night.

“What the fuck?” He sat bolt upright in bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Had he dreamed that?

But Tiny was up too—his large head lifted alertly and his long, tufted ears swiveled forward. His yellow-green eyes were glowing in the dimness of the darkened room.

Then the scream sounded again—a high, feminine wail of pure terror that plucked at Bard’s nerves and tore at his heart at the same time.

Poor little female’s probably having a nightmare!

And who could blame her after all she’d been through?

“Stay here,” he told Tiny as he got out of bed. The big Ya’greer whined uneasily but stayed obediently.

Bard entered the spare room and saw her small form thrashing in the middle of the big bed. She was crying out in her foreign language that he couldn’t understand, interspersed with broken Standard.

“Not, not!” she wailed, tears seeping from between her tightly clenched eyelids. “Not do that to Makenna! Not hurt Makenna!”

“Hey…hey, baby girl…”

Bard sat on the edge of the bed and tried to wake her gently. He was mindful of the fact that he was nearly twice as big as her and seeing his large frame looming over her in the darkness might terrify her further.

“Makenna,” he murmured, rubbing her arm and shoulder. “Baby girl, wake up! You’re having a nightmare—wake up.”

At last her eyes flew open and she looked up at him. Bard was worried all over again that she would be afraid of him. But instead of screaming and trying to get away, she threw herself into his arms, her tears hot and wet against his bare chest.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he murmured. Gathering her into his lap, he stroked her shaking back and shoulders, trying to calm her down, trying to ease the fear and pain that gripped her. “It’s all right, you’re safe,” he told her over and over, his heart fisting in his chest to see her so afraid. “You’re safe with me. Makenna is safe with Bard.”

She looked up at him at last, her eyes huge and tear-filled in the dim room.

“Bad,” she whispered and tapped the tip of her forefinger against her forehead. “Makenna have bad…bad…”

“Dream?” Bard suggested.

“Makenna have bad dream,” she agreed, nodding. “So scared.”

Bard’s heart fisted again and a strong urge to protect and care for her swept over him.

“It’s all right, baby girl,” he murmured, cradling her gently to his bare chest. “You don’t have to be scared. Bard keep Makenna safe, remember?”

“Safe,” she whispered, and snuggled against him, rubbing her cheek against his chest as though to reassure herself that he was really there. “Bard keep Makenna safe.”

‘That’s right, baby girl,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Look, let’s get more comfortable.”

Still holding her in his lap, he scooted up on the bed, leaned back against the headboard and began to hum softly. It was an old lullaby, one his own mother had sung and hummed to him when he was little, and it came unbidden to his lips—part of his instinct to comfort her, he supposed.