Prologue
Diarvet
The slice of the blade didn’t hurt, not anymore. The feel of blood streaming down my chest was so common a sensation that I no longer gave it much heed. After endless days of torture, I should be used to it by now. But really, did anyone ever get used to having the skin peeled from their flesh? At least I knew what to expect. Beatings... flaying... being healed by a medi-unit only for it to start all over again.
When she started peeling the scales from my flesh, especially the sensitive scales along my ribs, I nearly bit my tongue in two to keep from screaming.
She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. The queen of Zarpazia was vicious.
I’d been in her royal guard since graduating from warrior training—a nephew of the king. She’d had the king exiled, though, so no favor there. Still, I’d been loyal. Loyal when it meant watching her do unspeakable things to my own people that turned my stomach and haunted my dreams.
I was a fool to expect any concession, but pain tended to rattle one’s brain. Unlike the queen, I could not perform the shifting of my scales, which in her mind made me lesser, expendable.
She smiled, her lips curling as the razor-sharp blade rent a strip of flesh. The blue and gold scales shimmering in the light before being tossed away like garbage.
“Tell me where they are and I will kill you quickly,” the queen purred, her voice honey over poison. Lies.
“I don’t know,” I grunted through gritted teeth, as another strip of scales tore away from my raw flesh. Lies, but this time in pursuit of something good and pure. Protection of the innocent. A stance against the queen’s merciless brutality.
Vraxxan had finally stood against his mother to protect an innocent human female from her wrath. The queen would not let this betrayal stand. Vraxxan would forfeit his life if she found him. I would rather forfeit mine than give him away.
She found him anyway. Somehow, the queen discovered Vraxxan and the human female Lucy hiding on the jungle planet where she had exiled King Vysar years before.
Even then, she didn’t stop—beating, flaying, healing, repeat. The endless days aboard her warship blurred with pain and blood.
She didn’t stop until she dragged me down the metal ramp, broken and bleeding, to witness Lucy’s execution. To watch as she used the ceremonial dagger and slit Lucy’s throat. To hear Vraxxan’s anguished screams until she stole his life as well with a flick of her blade.
I awoke to my own screaming, the feel of cold sweat pouring over my body reminiscent of the flow of blood from all those days the queen tortured me. I threw myself out of bed, tripping and stumbling until I made it to the bathing area, vomiting violently in the lavatory.
My whole body shook like a leaf in a storm, despite the fact that I knew the horror I’d witnessed in my nightmare hadn’t come to pass.
The queen was dead. I’d pulled a dagger from my own body to assist Lucy in killing her. Vraxxan was king, and he, Lucy, and Vysar were safe and happy on Zarpazia.
I rinsed my mouth and took a shower—the water as scalding hot as I could stand—rinsing the residue of the nightmare from my skin.
Pulling on my uniform made me feel somewhat normal, or as normal as I pretended to be. The corridors were empty. It was still deep in the sleep cycle, and most of the crew were asleep in their quarters. Only the night pilot and communications officer were on the bridge when I entered. While both glanced up from their stations, neither seemed surprised to see him. Although my crew respected me enough not to mention the nightmares, I knew they’d heard my screams echoing through the hallways. Sleep was not a refuge. It was where the darkness waited to remind me of torture and pain. Most nights, I roamed the ship like a ghost, trying to keep the memories at bay.
I settled in the captain’s chair and pulled up the duty roster. We were a rotation out from the Ardeese Valout space station, en route to drop off the humans we’d rescued from the hellish Dufalie mines.
I thought the vastness of space, the fulfilling duty of rescuing abducted humans, might give my soul some peace.
It didn’t.
Nothing did.
I doubted anything ever would again.
Chapter 1
Jolie
I honestly didn’t know if I’d qualify what went on between Prince Qurbaga and me as sex. Especially since I’d never truly felt his cock enter me—not surprising since the appendage was no larger than my little finger.
He’d never know it, though. Meryl Streep didn’t have shit on me. The way I squirmed and bucked and moaned and screamed—like the deli scene fromWhen Harry Met Sallyon steroids—one would think Qurbaga was fucking my brains out. Really, if one had to be a sex slave in space, it wasn’t too bad a gig. The prince liked beautiful things, so he didn’t allow me to be mistreated, and he fed me well. In exchange, all I had to do was be at his beck and call—which for Qurbaga and his well-stocked harem only amounted to a couple of times a month—and give an Oscar-worthy performance. Thankfully, Kwado didn’t kiss, and since his species had apparently descended from frogs, I was immensely grateful for that small mercy.
Qurbaga stood nearly seven feet tall, his mottled green-yellow skin glistening with a thin layer of protective mucus that caught the light like oil on water. Large, bulbous eyes, each the size of a human fist and a sickly yellow color, protruded from the sides of his broad skull.
His mouth stretched impossibly wide across the lower half of his face, lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth designedfor catching prey whole rather than chewing. And when he spoke, a deep resonant croak emerged from the inflatable vocal sac beneath his chin, which pulsed rhythmically with each word like a grotesque heartbeat. Four-fingered hands ended in webbed digits tipped with retractable claws, while his feet were massive, padded things that made no sound when he walked, allowing him to move with an unsettling silence.
