Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (3 page)

As the other beauty droids finished, the prospective brides began to slowly make their way back to their personal quarters to dress. Nervous excitement infectiously buzzed through the air as they tried their best to look nonchalant. Ignoring them all, Morrigan slipped her ID card from her pocket and slid it past the laser sensor to open her door.

Once alone, she sighed as she made her way past the array of machines and blinking sensors that illuminated different parts of the room as her presence registered. With a small, absentminded command from Morrigan, music played softly in the background. She retrieved a glass of New Earth scotch from the simulator, her customary drink before landing on a new planet. It helped to steady her nerves so she could keep her wits about her.

Slowly, she went to an oval window full of sparkling stars. In the distance she could see the reddish-brown surface of the small planet of Qurilixen. Lifting the glass to the orb, she muttered, “Cheers.”

She sighed against the slow burn of the drink sliding down her throat. Simulator drinks never tasted as good as the bottle of real liquor in Gus’ office, but she couldn’t get the real thing in space. Reaching behind the curling lip of the window’s metal ledge, Morrigan pulled out a hidden container. She pushed the oval button on top, causing the lid to glide open.

Glancing around to make sure her droid wasn’t in the room, she tapped a moist disc onto her finger and stuck the clear recording device into her eye. She blinked several times to get it into place before slipping a ring onto her pinkie finger. The emerald twinkled in the mock firelight coming from the quarters’ fake fireplace.

It was hard to remain optimistic. The journey was nearly over and no one had said anything about the virginity conspiracy. There might not be a story at all. The rumors were vague at best. But Morrigan knew from living with the other women for a month, which ones would be experienced in the way of men. She would just have to wait for the marriages to be complete before seeing who was proclaimed pure. Then she would have her article and, hopefully, she would be able to prove it. Already the good assignments were going to other field reporters. If she didn’t come up with a real story soon, she would be doomed to writing about noble weddings and alien social events until the end of time.

T
he closed door
hid the Qurilixian men from view, but the brides could hear the music and laughter just beyond the docking hatch. Dusk settled over the normally sunny planet, marking the beginning of the one dark night of festival. Usually, a soft green haze of light plagued the planet’s surface. Morrigan had seen a glimpse of the landscape through her oval window as the ship touched down on the surface. Qurilixen had three suns—two yellow and one blue—and one moon, which made for a markedly bright planet. The green leaves of the planet’s foliage were overlarge due to the excessive sunlight and moisture they received. The trees towered high above the surface, like overgrown Old Earth redwoods near where she’d been born. Some of the trunks were as large around as the houses she remembered from her childhood, before her parents moved her to a thriving colony on New Earth when she was seven.

The brides waited, single file, in the corridor leading out of the ship’s port. Their bodies were covered in the fine gauze and silk of the traditional Qurilixian gowns. The slinky material stirred against their skin when they moved, hugging tight over their hips and flaring out around their legs in thin strips. Soft silk shoes encased their feet.

Qurilixian women were rare due to the blue radiation the planet suffered from. Over the generations it had altered the men’s genes to produce only strong, large, male warriors. Maybe once in a thousand births was a Qurilixian female born. In the old days, they had used portals to snatch brides from their homes, bringing them back to their planet. There were even rumors that their species originated on Old Earth, but there was no proof.

At least that was what the uploads said.

Morrigan looked down over her nearly exposed body and gave a wry smile. Since this was undoubtedly a male planet, men had assuredly designed these outfits. The gowns fell low over the breasts to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. A belt of sorts went across their backs. But, instead of looping in the front, they continued to the sides, holding the wrists low like silken chains, and winding half way up the arm to lock over the elbows. The women couldn’t lift their arms over their heads.

The fact that these barbarians had no women of their own was why the services of bridal procurement corporations like Galaxy Brides were so invaluable to them. In return, the locals would mine the precious ore found in their caves.
Galaxa-promethium
was a great power source for long-voyaging starships, all but useless to the Qurilixian who preferred living as simply as possible. They were not known as explorers.

Sensing the line was about to move, Morrigan looked forward and pressed the emerald on her finger two times to take a quick picture of the waiting women for her article. The recorder lens in her eye blinked black, signifying it was working. Later, she would be able to download the images and transmit them to Gus.

Vibrations grew along the metal at her feet, signifying the slide of the metal docking hatch before it even moved. The luxury craft’s door opened to reveal first the soft glow of crackling firelight from a giant bonfire pit, then the smell of burning wood mingling with nature’s exotic perfume. The sudden contrast from the sterilized ship air caused her to breathe deeply and adjust.

Outside the ship, the Qurilixian moon was large and bright, the biggest she had ever seen from a planet’s surface. The bonfire flames lapped at the starry night, sending sparks of ash into the cool air. In the distance, moonlight revealed the vague impression of mountains over the festival valley where the locals had set up the celebration. When she stepped forward the cheers of rowdy men washed over her. Morrigan blushed despite herself, feeling almost naked in her sacrificial-like attire. This wasn’t the first time she’d participated in the events she reported on, but it was the first time she was the center of attention during one.

The grounds were adorned with large pyramid tents that had small fluttering tokens fastened to them. Fire torches lit dim earthen pathways. Ribbons and banners floated on the breeze in many brilliant colors. Near the back, a couple presided over the area from throne-like chairs with presumably married couples seated directly in front of them. The wives sat firmly upon their husbands’ laps. Morrigan was happy to discover that her information so far seemed correct. Uploads tended to only be as good as the researchers writing them.

By their long hair and tunic style clothing, the local men appeared very much like the Old Earth Viking Era. Her father had insisted she learn about Old Earth history, convinced as they left their home world that the environmental problems would soon kill it. The old planet lingered on though. The married women could be heard laughing at the spectacle of those barbarians too young to participate in this year’s festival, as they shouted and posed for the prospective brides.

Morrigan swallowed nervously. Some of the bridal candidates in front of her modeled before the watching crowd, twisting and preening for attention. She had the sudden urge to walk around them in an attempt to avoid the stage the docking platform had become. Normally she was on the sidelines watching, blending into the crowd to take her notes. Here, she was the one being watched. Dealing with slime-dwelling slugs was one thing—but humanoids? And not just any humanoids—strong, virile, women-starved, healthy, male humanoids. At the last minute, she remembered to snap a picture of the married couples and of the campgrounds.

“Oh, my!” Gena exclaimed breathlessly, leaning forward to peer over Morrigan’s shoulder. “Do you see them, Rigan? With men like that, who cares if you marry the gardener?”

Morrigan followed the woman’s eyes, curiously looking down the docking plank to the ground. The men standing below them were indeed handsome. Although those behind the grooms laughed and continued to pose their muscles, the true bachelors held perfectly still. Their bronzed bodies were like statues, with only their lungs expanding and contracting to show they lived. Morrigan likened their breathing to that of a wild beast in a cage, just waiting to pounce on their captor the minute the door was opened.

She was supposed to walk down the aisle framed by predator flesh?

Morrigan wanted to run back inside and hide. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet refused to move. The men were looking up at them. Black leather masks covered the grooms’ faces, hiding them from forehead to upper lip. Their lustful eyes shone bright from the eye slits, like liquid metal.

Or was that her overactive writer’s imagination? Morrigan wasn’t sure.

“Go.” Gena gave her an irritated shove, forcing her to descend down the plank. The crush of brides behind her kept her from stopping, though her feet tried. There was nowhere to run.

The closer she walked to them, the worse her heartbeat thundered. The Draig males were every inch the proud warrior class they were rumored to be, some even towering nearly seven feet in height. Fur loincloths wrapped around their fit waists to leave bare their muscular legs and chests. The fire glistened off their smooth, oiled skin. Golden bands of intricate design clasped around sinewy biceps as if to draw attention to their brute strength. All the self-defense moves in the universe wouldn’t stop one of these warriors if they wanted to spring forward and grab her. Crystals bound with leather straps hung from their solid necks. A few of them started to glow and the moment they did their owners would smile.

Morrigan’s heart pounded harder, partly in fear and partly in excitement. The sexual frustration on the ship had been potent for the last month as the women talked about nothing but men and weddings. Until that moment, Morrigan had been able to resist its lurid pull. But there was something to being at the campground—something erotic in its smell of burning wood and its rustic, yet colorful, sights. Primitives would not have cameras recording their deeds, not like more civilized places. If one of these men were to grab her hand and lead her away to the nearby trees no one beyond this festival would ever know.

Music played primal and earthy in the background, hypnotic, enticing, gyrating in its rhythms. Captured by its spell, she suddenly realized she was walking down the aisle of hot flesh. The heat had to be coming from the grooms. How else could she explain the sudden rise in her temperature and the dizziness in her head? They were so tall that the crowd behind them disappeared from view, except for peeks of movement between arms and waists. She glanced to one side and then the other. Her heart continued to race. Blood rushed inside her ears, deafening her.

Somehow, her feet managed to keep moving, propelling her forward in line as if following the woman in front of her was her only option. The watching crowd had quieted as the bachelors studied their choices, concentrating on them with their serious eyes and harshly pressed lips. Only when and if the glow started around their necks did the men relax.

Morrigan was halfway through and no one had yet to seize hold of a bride. She started to sigh with relief. Then her heart—and time—stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes held a solid blue gaze beneath a mask. The crystal around the man’s neck began to pulse and glow with a white light, illuminating his face. His eyes narrowed and a slow, leisurely smile commanded her attention to his lips.

The cool night breeze caressed the tops of her breasts, as real as a hand against her skin. Chills worked their way over her bare throat and face. Her hand lifted without her commanding it to, as if to reach out. It was held back by the silk shackles of her belt.

Blinking slowly, the man nodded at her in greeting. She turned her head to watch as she passed by him. His smile dropped from his features, replaced by passionate intent and electrifying promises. Morrigan shivered as her heart began to race anew.

As she moved forward through the remaining line of men, she looked around. She wondered at the curious feeling in her veins as she thought of the connection she’d shared with the blue-eyed barbarian. She wanted to look back once more, but her neck refused to turn. He was like all the other grooms and yet somehow different.

The others were handsome, but none caught her notice or returned her gaze for very long. Making her way to a raised platform laden with a gigantic feast, Morrigan forgot all about the emerald on her finger and her newspaper chip assignment. Male servants greeted them, their faces open and kind and a little curious. But none were as spellbinding as the man with the radiant blue eyes had been.

U
alan of Draig
smiled as the human woman walked past him. She was clad in his people’s traditional garb. The short, blue veil fluttered over her dark locks. His bride had hair the color of night and wide eyes that he would gladly spend the rest of his life gazing into. The material of the dress wrapped around her body, hugging her curves in a way that made a man ache when watching it.

Whichever ancestor had conceived this wedding tradition had been sadistic. To have his destiny right there within arm’s reach and unable to hold her was torment. Already he was tortured, his shaft tight with longing beneath the loincloth. Slowly, he felt a change beginning inside of him as the crystal around his neck glowed with untold promises. Ualan smiled. The gods had indeed been kind to him. Why wouldn’t they be? He did his duty and lived a good life and she was to be his reward.

As her hand lifted to him, he was surprised. The brides rarely moved, except to walk, while inside the Procession of Finding. If they did, it was ultimately considered a good omen, though some of the elders believed it meant for a hard beginning. Ualan was optimistic. His marriage would surely be blessed. His body had instantly felt the fiery bond between them when she looked at him. She felt it, too. How could she not? It was so strong she must have experienced it.

When the last bride passed, the Draig bachelors turned to walk in the other direction. They were abnormally quiet, as was tradition. Those who had been blessed needed to go to the temple and give thanks. Those who were not so fortunate needed to regroup, most would probably even shift into their dragon forms and run into the forest to be rid of their heartache. Besides, it was good to let the travel-weary women rest and eat. For those who were chosen by the crystals, it would be a long and pleasurable night.