Heroic Abduction (15 page)

Meanwhile, Dyre did his best. While he’d easily dispatched his previous opponents, he wasn’t having as easy of a time with this overly large reptile. For one, his sword blows glanced off the dragon’s armored scales, and two, he kept having to dodge the dual-barbed tails constantly weaving his way. Add in some projectile flame vomit and a pair of snapping heads, and yeah, he could use some help—say in the form of a tank with a missile launcher.

Betty finally managed to clear the door of the cage enough to wiggle her body through. Freedom. Yay. Attention of demonic red eyes on two sets of horned heads? Bad!

With barely time to squeak, Betty ran and dove just as the dragon let loose a burst of liquid fire.

She hit the sand and covered her head. The mob in the stands roared. She smelled something burning. Given nothing on her body sizzled, she assumed it meant it had missed her delicate flesh, but her cage didn’t fare as well. Rolling to her knees, she peeked back. Her cell smoldered and collapsed in on itself.

That was close.
Too close. She scrambled to her feet.
I need to get out of here.

Words Dyre echoed aloud. “Find an exit and leave.”

Easier said than done. Portcullises covered the openings at this level of the coliseum she noted, and behind them were armed guards, avidly watching the unfolding battle.

Somehow, she doubted they’d open one for her, even if she said please.

Apparently, Zista came to the same conclusion because at an archway about a hundred yards away, two helmeted heads went flying and stocky bodies toppled as Betty’s Zonian friend commandeered a portal.

“Run, little sister.” Zista gestured for her to come, and Betty started to, but a triumphant roar stopped her. She turned back to look. Dyre had stumbled on the body part of an opponent from a previous match. Flat on his back, he held the dragon’s gaze, sword held out in one hand, the other beckoning.

Idiot. Didn’t he know being a hero wouldn’t do her any good if he was dead?

Before she could reflect on the dumbness of her actions, she waved her arms and shouted. “You hoo! Oh Mr. and Mrs. Dragon Thing. Over here. Plump and tasty human available.”

She got what she wanted. The dragon veered its gaze her way, giving Dyre a chance to regain his feet. But Betty realized something. Now that she had the monster’s undivided attention, what the hell was she going to do about it?

When in doubt, draw on what you know. She ran, zigzagging across the sand, her plump frame not meaning she lacked stamina, just willpower when it came to food. Besides, when running for your life, it wasn’t hard to find that extra burst of speed and adrenaline needed to stay out of danger’s reach. Of course, that worked better with people chasing her, like cops and other two-legged people. Against a dragon who breathed fire?

She squeaked as a fireball hit the ground to her left, spraying her with hot grit.

A loud roar echoed in the coliseum. A peek over her shoulder confirmed the source. It came from a purple menace who, with his eyes alight and a snarl stretching his black lips, took a run at the dragon. “You dare to try and harm my mate!” he shouted.

Stupid, lovable dumbass.

The dual-horned heads pecked at him. Missed! Dyre jumped and landed atop the cranium of one. Surfing the heaving head, Dyre jabbed at an enormous slitted eye and burst it. The result?

An extremely pissed off monster whose thrashing sent her knight flying. Betty meant to run to his prone body on the sand, stupid or not, when she heard Zista shout, “Incoming.”

Say what? Glancing up, she saw it. A dark sphere came soaring through the air, lobbed by her Zonian sister. Betty’s eyes widened.
Crazy freaking bitch!

Running toward the ball, Betty had to leap to catch it. Then she cursed as she realized the damned bomb was already active. Whirling, she had only a moment to plan her aim, ticking seconds that contributed to the sweat already rolling down her spine. Wouldn’t it figure the monster wasn’t cooperating? Given the choice between a tasty human treat and a purple alien hunk, what did it choose?

It lumbered towards her fallen defender, smoke curling from its nostrils, death in its eyes. Poor Dyre was shaking off the effects of his flight and hadn’t yet realized the danger.

Why was it everyone always ignored the Earthling girl and treated her as a non-threat? Even the crowd seemed to have forgotten she was there.

“Too-stupid-to-live heroine take two, or is it three?” she muttered as she jammed two fingers in her mouth and blew a strident whistle. Only one head swiveled her way.

That was fine. She just needed one. “Open wide,” she coaxed.

As if hearing her, the monster did just that, inhaling a breath, probably to cough something toxic and molten at her.
Not today.

With an arm honed during her younger years breaking out windows in the derelict part of town she grew up in, she let loose the bomb. It arced through the air, a mere speck that … was going to fall short.

Or would have if the dumb dragon hadn’t flicked out a tongue and snagged it.

No time for a fist pump. “Dyre, duck!” she yelled before hitting the sand and covering her head.

The rumble of indigestion was deceivingly soft. The explosion of dragon bits was disgustingly wet and warm.

The silence in the coliseum was abrupt.

The irritation of one Elcoche wasn’t as quiet.

“Argh, you’ve killed my priceless beast. You stupid barbarian female. Bring me her head.”

How his voice carried, she didn’t know, but Betty heard Dyre’s reply. “I don’t think so.” Pulling forth a gun from who knew where, Dyre took aim and pulverized the head of the trader. He also took out his flanking guards. The crowd went wild!

Not that they stayed to watch. Dyre dashed toward her, and given the look in his eye, Betty took off running too toward the door Zista manned. She didn’t make it, her bare feet sinking and sliding on the sandy surface. A brawny arm scooped her up and tossed her over a shoulder. Dangling upside down, she got an interesting view of his ass as he jogged.

“Where did you find the gun?” she yelled.

“In my boot of course, where I always keep it,” was his nonchalant reply as he used said weapon to shoot the idiots who thought to get in their way.

“You had a gun this entire time and didn’t think to use it?”

“It wouldn’t have been sporting.”

“Sporting?” she screeched. “We almost died.”

“I was doing fine until you interfered,” he remarked, letting her slide from his shoulder. But he didn’t loosen his grip on her as he dragged her through the tunnels after Zista, who cawed raucously at her opponents and flapped her stubby wings as she fought to clear them a safe path.

Speech became impossible after that as the strident screams of attacking aliens, the explosions as things blew up, and sirens made hearing anything impossible.

It wasn’t until they hit the ship, dirty, bloody, and victorious, leaving the black market behind them in chaos and flames, that Betty managed to say, “You seem angry. Was it something I did?”

“When in doubt, kill it.” –
A Mercenary’s Guide to Prosperity

“Always show mercy.” –
The Unofficial Guide to Heroism

Something she did? Did she seriously have to ask?

Dyre didn’t reply right away. Given their level of filth, a cleansing was their first priority. He activated the decontamination chamber as soon as they boarded his ship. The sudden spray and mist that enveloped them meant he could hold on to his answer and, hopefully, contain his ire.

The signs of battle sluiced from their skin. But still his anger simmered.

Betty shot him a tremulous smile. “We made it.”

He scowled.

Glancing between them, Zista announced, “I’m going to check on the automated controls of the ship and see if there are signs of pursuit. Unlikely given the chaos we left behind, but I think you both need a moment to yourselves.”

Only once the door closed did Dyre, holding tight to his temper, speak in a low tone. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Do what?” She batted her lashes, but while the innocent look was adorable—and cock hardening—it didn’t dispel the emotions raging in him.

“Why must you do everything in your power to make me forget my vows!” Forget control, he shouted.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Really? Then he’d remind her. “You left the ship.”

“If it’s any consolation, I regret that now. I promise to listen to you in the future.”

“I doubt that.”

“I promise to try?” she amended with a winsome smile.

Cute, but he wasn’t done. “I had the situation with the monster under control.”

“It was about to eat you.”

“I was lulling it into coming closer.”

“You were shaking off the effects of a concussion.”

“You were supposed to flee to safety.”

“You were in danger. I was given an opportunity to save your life, and I took it.” Her expression brightened. “Hey, does that make me your hero?”

He almost died on the spot. Thank the galactic stars his father didn’t hear her claim. He’d never live it down. “No!”

“Heroine?”

“No. I mean yes, but not in the way you think,” he grumbled. Blasted female. Why wouldn’t she play the role assigned to her? It was up to the male to save her. He’d been given the perfect opportunity. Victory had been moments away, and she just had to ruin it. “It was my task to save you, not the other way around

“Oh, get over it. I thought I told you I didn’t need a protector.”

“I say you do, or have you not noticed trouble follows you around?”

“Trouble I get out of,” she retorted, throwing her shoulders back. She still wore the pink gown. Tattered, stained, and translucent from the decontamination procedure. It all too clearly outlined her nipples and the vee of her sex.

“You are testing my noble patience.”
And the limits of my control
.

“I never asked you to be my hero.”

But didn’t she grasp how much he wanted the role? “If you won’t let me be your champion, then how am I supposed to collect my prize?”

She arched a brow at him. “What prize?”

“If you would have let me save you, as is proper, I would have carried you off after vanquishing the danger threatening you. You would have proven so thankful, you would have flung your arms around my neck and thanked me with a kiss, whereupon I would have seduced you.” Because that was how it was done.

He waited for her dawning understanding. Her excuses and embarrassment at having not fulfilled her proper role. Instead, she laughed.

And the mercenary hidden within snapped.

“A job well done means money in the bank.” –
A Mercenary’s Guide to Prosperity

“A successful quest means a happily ever after.” –
The Unofficial Guide to Heroism

Okay, so maybe Betty shouldn’t have laughed. But, really, when Dyre explained his notions on the whole proper hero and heroine thing, she couldn’t help herself.

Did he really believe that was how real life worked? Would it kill him to admit that he didn’t always need to be the white knight?

Then again, there wasn’t much of her white knight in the man striding toward her with intent in his eyes. There was none of the gentle hero in the hand that clasped her head and brought her forcefully up on tiptoe so he could murmur against her lips. “If you don’t want the hero, then say hello to the mercenary. By the way. He doesn’t ask. He takes.”

A shiver went through her at his words and then pure lust as he acted, slanting his mouth hard against hers. Taking. Claiming. Branding.
Owning …

It seemed she’d unintentionally unleashed the wild man in Dyre. The anti-hero who plundered her mouth with a fierce passion.

Gosh, if she’d thought she loved the gallant Dyre, she absolutely adored the mercenary one. He wasn’t kidding about taking. Forget gentle seduction. He tore the wet gown from her trembling body.

Forget soft kisses. He ravaged her mouth, his tongue seeking hers out, drawing it into his mouth so he could suck it, hard.

His hands grasped hers and yanked them overhead before he spun her to face the wall. He pushed her against it, her cheek flat against the cold surface.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Punishing you, mercenary style.”

Really?

Apparently, it involved him nudging her legs apart. With one of his hands holding hers prisoner above her head, the other delved between her thighs, a calloused finger stroking her already moist folds.

He thrust the rough digit in. She moaned. He shoved another, seesawing them. She wiggled her bottom. He withdrew them.

She complained. “More.”

Instead of him putting them back, he slapped her ass!

A yell escaped her. “What the hell?”

“You were disobedient and put yourself in harm’s way.” He smacked her bottom again, the stinging heat radiating through her flesh, but before she could complain, his finger returned to stroke her clit.

Oh my. This is different.

Rub. Circle. Rub. Slap. In went a finger. Out. In. Smack.

He alternated his spanks with caresses. He punctuated his punishment with words about keeping herself safe and not taking foolish risks. He drove her insane.

When he finally ran out of admonishments, he drove his cock into her. Not expecting it, she clenched, oh how she tightened around his shaft, and he hissed against her ear, his whole body pressing against her back.

“Betty,” he groaned.

She relaxed, enough that he could slide the rest of the way in, inches and inches of pulsing, hard cock. He still held her arms pinned over her head while his other arm curled around her waist, guiding his motions as he pumped into her from behind. Each thrust made her cry out, squeeze, and climb closer to her peak. His body slapped up against her hot ass, the skin of her cheeks blazing, but the pain only added to the fever running through her body. Added to the excitement.

Faster and faster he thrust, and when his fingers pressed against her clit? She lost it. The scream she let loose was loud and satisfying but not as satisfying as the orgasmic waves shuddering through her body. The clenching and milking of her sex drew his own climax, a spurting that triggered a second round of blissful shudders.