Red Planet: The Slave Queen (Tamarians Book 1)

  Red Planet

  The Slave Queen

  Jessica Snow

  Illustrated by

  Kellie Dennis

  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Also by Jessica Snow

  Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Snow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Introduction

  He wants me to be his queen. And he won’t stop until I am.

  I’ve been hailed leader of the Human Rebellion because I’m stuck with his royal highness, Alien Prince Tauren. As his jailor, I’m tasked with preventing his escape, but that might prove difficult.

  Standing nearly seven feet tall, he’s massive, with hulking biceps, broad shoulders and packing a huge bulge beneath his loin cloth.

  I should be repulsed by him, after all, he’s the prince of my oppressors and an alien beast. But strangely, I’m attracted to him. Every time I’m near him, all I can think about are those powerful hands roaming my body. I can’t resist. And if my kind knew how I lusted over him, they’d have me executed.

  I’m conflicted and torn between my desire for his touch and the need for war. But worse than that, I’m hiding a terrible secret. A secret that could get us both killed.

  I’m pregnant with his alien baby.

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  Chapter One

  Audra

  The violet silk dress is huge, easily swallowing my legs and everything south of my belly button to the point that even walking, all you can see is my body moving, creating an effect that, when combined with the soft slippers that I'm wearing that make almost no sound at all, is almost like I'm floating along on anti-gravity pads. Not that I could, there's no way that I would ever be given that much luxury, but it is the latest fashion amongst the nobility that they make their servants, even their slaves, at least try to look like they are as wealthy as Plutarian trade barons. And Lady Neyilla, out of Victrina by Neyton, trusted advisor to Queen Tauria, the Flower of the Throne of all Tamaria, insists on being on the cutting edge of fashion. Which leaves me, her bodyguard, body servant, and slave, trying to walk in a belled skirt that is nearly as wide across at the bottom as I am tall, and I'm tall for a 'mere' human woman at nearly a hundred and eighty-five centimeters. Thankfully, the current fashion trend does not include high heeled shoes or boots like was popular five years ago.

  “No, no, no, you stupid beast!” Lady Neyilla cries shrilly when the edge of my dress brushes against a column in the grand hall and the column flutters in color from ivory white to purple before swimming through the rainbow back to white. All of the columns can do that, it's part of the paint on them, but I'm not supposed to trigger the effect. “How many times have I told you not to call attention to yourself?”

  “Apologies, my lady,” I immediately reply, bowing my head and crossing my arms behind my back, the proper position for a slave to be chastised by their owner in the planet-wide kingdom of Tamaria. “I shall strive to do better.”

  I honestly don't care about Neyilla's feelings. Two years older than me, Neyilla has been my owner since I can remember, and until she turned ten she was usually nice. We would play together sometimes, and while I was always her slave, she would rarely have me punished. Of course, it's been sixteen years since then, a lot of things have changed between us.

  Neyilla gets out of her chair and stands directly in front of me, the muddy hazel eyes that she never allows to be seen in public flaring with a sneering anger. She's as tall as I am, about average height for a Tamarian woman, although she's skinnier than most Tamarians. I sometimes think the whole reason she keeps me as her body servant is because she and I can actually wear the exact same clothing, and it's cheaper for her to just pass down her out of fashion underthings or private clothes to me instead of having to buy two sets.

  Neyilla's hand flashes out, smacking me hard across the cheek, rocking my head back enough to make my ears ring. I've had enough martial arts training that I could have avoided the slap easily. Heaven and stars, there is a part of my mind that insists that I could have intercepted Neyilla's hand in half a dozen different ways. Not that I'd ever do it; the consequences would be fatal.

  “You are a worthless, incompetent waste of flesh, even for a human!” Neyilla screams in my face, her warm spit raining on my forehead. “Look at me!”

  I look up into Neyilla's eyes, and she smacks me again, her normally pink skin flashing to an almost dusky salmon because she's so pissed off. At least she smacks me on the left cheek this time, it'll balance out the right side some. I take it without flinching, although I know that's what Neyilla wants. I might be well disciplined enough to not strike back at her, but I don't have to cower in front of her like a common dog.

  Neyilla shakes her head, looking me up and down. “Audra, how long have I owned you?”

  “At least twenty-two years, my lady,” I answer. We both know I have no clear recollection of when exactly I came into her house, I was far too young. “I have served for you at least that long.”

  “Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years, and yet you still make stupid, basic mistakes like touching the rainbow columns!” Neyilla screams again. “And don't give me some stupid, pathetic human excuse. Homo sapiens... what a crock of dog shit! Homo idiotus is more like it!”

  “Yes lady,” I reply, my face stone. Neyilla isn't all that angry yet, she's still using some of the ancient human languages. They say that, centuries and centuries ago, humans were brought to Tamaria by the Tamarians, that we evolved on another world, which is why there are some human languages that Tamarians don't speak. Neyilla is very highly educated, like you'd expect any Tamarian noble lady to be, and can speak some of the human dead languages. Not when she's angry though, when she's really angry she sticks to just Basic or sometimes Tamarian, which every human can understand, but we are not allowed to speak.

  “Tomorrow is the Blood Moon Gladiatorial Games, Audra,” Neyilla hisses, stepping back and sitting back down on her chair, her casual, day gown molding to her long legs. “You know that this is a very, very important day for me, don't you?”

  “Yes, my lady. You hope to gain the Crown Prince's attentions,” I reply dutifully. As Neyilla's bodyguard, I have many duties, and often have been at her side during the difficulties she's faced over the past year in her attempts at gaining Crown Prince Tauren's affections.

  “I hope to gain his cock and his jewels for my forehead,” Neyilla laughs, her fingers unconsciously coming up to touch the groove she had lasered in ten months ago to hold the Neyla Crystal that she had expected Tauren to offer her.
Only the royal family may wear Neyla Crystals in their heads, and the obvious sight of a socket with no stone has caused more than one noble person to laugh at Neyilla. She hides the groove in public with her hair. She doesn't worry about my ridicule, a slave's opinion means little to her, even if I dared to voice it. “So as you obviously know, tomorrow's games mean much to me. Not only do I have two fighters entered in the Games themselves, but afterward this house will be hosting the royal family for the Blood Moon Reception. There will be a ball, and at that Queen Tauria will once again impress upon her son the wisdom of joining with me.”

  And how many times do you think you can put up with the Prince saying no? I think but don't say. Tomorrow will be the umpteenth time since you got that damn socket lasered into your skull.

  Instead of saying the thoughts that are on my mind, I fall back on a standard bit of ass kissing that Neyilla enjoys. “I am sure that your beauty and your charm will bring you the position you deserve, my lady.”

  Neyilla chuckles and waves with her hand. I've figured out in the past couple of years that she's a sucker for flattery. Actually, maybe that's why she was so nice to me when we were children, all I did naturally was suck up to her. I admired her so much, I thought she was so pretty and she had the best toys, much better than what I had in the slave quarters. I didn't realize until later what a viper she actually is. “All right, Audra. Enough of that, you're going to make me blush. Instead, I want you to practice your movement in the dress again. Do it until you can move silently and perfectly through the grand hall. Tomorrow night, the colors must only be triggered by those who wish to see them lit up. I must get ready for this evening's Pre-Games celebration.”

  Neyilla leaves the hall, and I watch her go, trying to keep my face impassive. Once I am alone, I can't help it any longer, and I let a curse out from between clenched teeth. “Fucking bubblegum pain in my ass,” I hiss, knowing I'm taking a risk. Sure, Neyilla might be gone, but that doesn't mean that I'm alone. The household is never quite one hundred percent private, that I know for sure. Unfortunately, not all the spies are Tamarian or mechanical. The number of human slaves who for various reasons are little more than spies for the Tamarians is quite high.

  It's the only reason why I go back to practicing, walking the large empty floor until I can maneuver around each of the dozen posts in a swirling, silent glide. Neyilla is foolish in my opinion, as tomorrow the pillars will be touched by Tamarians on a regular basis, both intentionally and inadvertently.

  “Like watching a bird in flight,” a voice says from the shadows, and I stop my practicing to watch as Lord Neyton, Neyilla's father, walks towards me. His eyes, the same muddy hazel that his daughter has, gleam with a shine that I've come to both distrust and hate. He wants to fuck me, plainly. Ever since his wife died in giving birth to Neyilla, Neyton's sexual appetites have reached further and further into the extreme and the perverse. He's used the conditioning drugs that he's developed in ways that...well, let's just say that I'm glad that I seem to be someone who the drugs don't work on. My training as a slave had to be done the old fashioned way, although I'm smart enough to not let Neyton know that I am immune to his poisons.

  “Lord Neyton, I did not see you,” I reply, lowering my eyes again. I watch as the shadow caused by Neyton's pudgy frame comes closer and closer, until I can see the ornate robe that he wears. It’s the typical scholar's robe put through garish treatments so gaudy that even the trashiest streetwalker in the poorest hovel of the Tamarian capital wouldn't approve.

  “Look at me, my dear child,” Neyton says, and I raise my eyes. Unlike most Tamarians, who have a reddish skin tone that earned them quite a few nicknames among us humans, Neyton's skin tone is almost orangey sallow, like he suffers from some sort of dietary issue. Perhaps it's an overabundance of the libido enhancers that he takes to keep up with his harem of human female sex slaves. How a man who spends so much of his day fucking his sex slaves can still have a stomach that large is amazing in some ways. Still, I can't let him know I'm not caught up in his web, and I look him in the eyes. “Ah, Audra. Such a beautiful flower, grown in my very own garden. It is said that from one's own garden the sweetest nectars can be found.”

  Heaven and stars above, he's a terrible poet, even if he is a mad genius when it comes to science. Thankfully, he's also racist as any Tamarian on the planet, and while he has no problems with sinking his cock into any female human hole that catches his fancy, he thinks that we're all pretty much idiots, and I can play him with that act. “Lord, my apologies. I have not had time to check on the gardens today, your daughter has had me practicing for tomorrow's Blood Moon Ball.”

  Neyton smiles indulgently, shaking his head. “It is of no concern, my girl. I will let you return to your practicing. Tell me, what are your duties for the rest of the day?”

  “Lady Neyilla has commanded my presence later to help her prepare for the Pre-Moon festivities. I will be helping her with her hair, I think.” It is the one and only annoyance that Neyton permits himself with his daughter. Doting and spoiling her from birth, he fails to realize just how much of a sociopathic monster he's raised.

  “And your own hair?” Neyton asks. Neyilla's fetish for long, ornate hair started long before her forehead was marked, and in fact, I have been unable to cut my hair since, ironically, my first 'blood moon.' Fifteen years of not being allowed more than an evening trim, combined with the low-level life extender drugs that do little to extend my lifespan but seem to do a lot to my hair, and when I let it hang it goes all the way to my knees. Right now I have it in a long single twisted flame-red cable down the middle of my back, but who knows what Neyilla will want me to wear it this evening.

  “I will have it as Lady Neyilla commands,” I answer dutifully. “My Lord, if I may, I must obey your daughter's orders and finish my practice.”

  As you were, Audra,” Neyton says, turning and moving off. I blink, somewhat surprised. Neyton's usually not this easy to put off, he must have gotten his balls drained by one of his harem within the past few hours. He nods with a creepy half-smile, and I know that he's imagining what I'm wearing underneath the skirt of the dress. I'm wearing utility leggings that I wear for my private exercise that Neyilla insists that I do as part of my bodyguard duties, the only time I'm allowed to wear pants actually. Sorry Neyton, not the lacy lingerie or nothing at all like what I know is running through your mind.

  I check the tiny little chronometer on my wrist and see that my lie isn't that far from the truth. It is nearly four o'clock, and it takes Neyilla, even with the assistance of all of her retinue of slaves, nearly two hours sometimes to get ready for events. And I still have my own preparations to do. Thank the heaven and stars I'm not her hair stylist.

  * * *

  The night glows the faint lilac of the tens of thousands of stars that fill the sky, but I'm too tired to worry about that right now. Even the Pre-Moon festivities meant that I've been shadowing and helping Neyilla for the past five hours, always on call. It is only now, with the primary moon halfway across the sky and midnight approaching, that I'm finally able to retreat to my room. Thankfully, tomorrow's Gladiatorial Games main events don't start until after late afternoon, and people of Neyilla's position are not expected to make their appearances until closer to sun set. In fact, for Neyilla at least, arriving too early would be a social faux pas, as it would make her seem too bloodthirsty. Tamarians might like the sight of human blood being spilled for their entertainment, but they can't be seen liking it too much.

  Which means that I have at least seven hours to rest before I have to get up and start attending Neyilla again. Not that she'll be awake then, she'll sleep at least ten hours after tonight's activities in order to be fully rested for the Games and the Ball afterward. Depending on how the ball goes, she might be up until dawn the next day.

  There's a peculiar, four beat knock at my window, and I have to grin, I haven't heard that knock in a long time. Going over I unlock the sash and step back, happiness
and sadness mixing in a strange blend as Mathias of Neyilla, my fellow slave, former lover, and friend vaults his muscular frame through the gap and rolls to his feet. “Audie, has it been so long since I've been here that you've started locking your window again?”

  I chuckle, and brush a little bit of dust out of Mathias' coal black hair, feeling a familiar surge of desire inside me. Stars above, he's handsome with a face that stirs the loins of even the most racist of Tamarian women, deep green eyes, and a voice that belongs on a singer or a troubadour, and seems out of place in such a frame. “Hardly, Mattie. But shouldn't you be sleeping? You've got a busy day tomorrow.”

  Mathias' shakes his head, grimacing. “I'd rather be out there in the arena tomorrow bleeding instead of the “special” duties that I'll be most likely be performing tomorrow, but our lady has decided to send someone else. I won't even need to be all that dressed to do so. Just my sandals and loin cloth, just in case Neyilla needs a mid-match fucking.”

  The bitterness in his voice stirs the embers of feeling that I still have for him, and I cup his cheek. “Oh sweet Mattie, I am sorry. I know you were training hard for a chance to compete again. Neyilla is sending someone else?”

  Mathias nods, his grimace growing. I know part of it is actual physical pain, one of the side effects of all the hypnotic drugs that he's been fed is that even thinking or speaking poorly of Neyilla or Neyton causes his stomach to churn. Still, after all that Mathias has been through, he's willing to blow his dinner into my toilet in order to purge the poison in his mind. “She's entered Barbarossa. Fucking sparring partner, he's going to get his ass handed to him!”

  “Perhaps. Ross is good,” I reply, not wanting to talk down about any of my fellow humans. And Ross is a nice guy, he does try hard in nearly everything he does. “You never know.”