Forbidden: A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Romance (Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors Book 5) Read online

  Forbidden

  Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #5

  Tana Stone

  Broadmoor Books

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Preview of BOUND- Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #6

  Also by Tana Stone

  Free Short Story!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Dakar ran a hand up her long leg, the skin smooth and warm beneath his touch. When he reached the curve of her bare ass, he buried his face in her neck and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. Sliding his fingers down to her wetness, he reveled in her throaty moan.

  She shifted on top of him, arching her back and grinding her hips so that his fingers parted her hot folds.

  “So wet and ready for me,” he whispered, feeling her nipples graze his chest.

  Without saying a word, she moved so that his fingers brushed her swollen nub, and she let out a breathy gasp.

  Dakar’s cock throbbed, but he concentrated on the way her body responded to him—the rapid breathing, the swiveling hips, and the small, keening noises. He knew how to give a female pleasure, and, more than anything, he wanted to feel this beautiful dark-haired woman come just from his touch.

  He swirled his thumb around her bundle of nerves as he drove a thick finger inside her. Clutching his shoulders, she reared back.

  “You’re so tight,” he said, his voice husky. “Can you take more of me?”

  Panting was her only response as he thrust a second finger inside, feeling her tight heat stretch for him. He was desperate to have his cock inside her, but not until he’d made her scream with pleasure. Not until she was crying out his name.

  He pumped his fingers as he continued stroking her slick nub. From her jerky movements and her shallow breaths, he knew she was close. This was what he loved, feeling women abandon themselves in his arms and under his expert touch. He lived for the moans and the cries and the delicious smell of arousal as he touched and licked and fucked them until they screamed his name over and over. Seeing the sated look on their faces made it even sweeter when he finally did bury his cock in them.

  “Dakar!” she cried, her voice high and breathy as she met each of his thrusts with one of her own.

  Her wavy hair was a curtain around his face, so he couldn’t see her expression as she bucked against him, her core clenching around his fingers. She cried his name again before collapsing on him, her sweaty body sliding on his and her soft breasts pressing against his hard chest muscles.

  He let her breathe for a few moments, before grabbing her by the waist and flipping her on her back. She let out a small squeal, but her legs fell open for him. Blood pounded in his ears as he notched his aching cock between her thighs. The raised nodes on his spine were hard and throbbing, as was everything else. This was what he’d wanted since he first laid eyes on her. The need to claim her was all-consuming—it was all he’d thought about in weeks—and now she would finally be his.

  “Dakar!”

  Wait…Her voice was all wrong. It was too low. And what was that pounding noise?

  He blinked a few times and his eyes focused on the faint light illuminating his officers’ quarters. The window that took up one wall looked out onto an array of stars glittering against the blackness of space, and he saw that the lights inset in the ceiling and walls were slowly illuminating. He remembered that he’d set the lights to mimic a sunrise, so this was his gradual wake-up call. He glanced down, and saw that he was in bed alone.

  “Grek,” he cursed. Another dream. He kicked off the sweaty sheets tangled around his legs and sat up. The pounding came from the door.

  He let out a fresh torrent of Drexian curses as he stood, wrapping the gunmetal-gray sheet around his waist and walking to the door. Waving a hand across a flat panel, he frowned as the door opened and revealed his best friend, and fellow Inferno Force warrior, Torven.

  Torven stood slightly taller than him, but both men shared the wild hair and tattoos favored by Inferno Force, not to mention the broad shoulders and muscular physique of all Drexian warriors. Torven looked him up and down and grinned.

  “Normally I’d assume you’d had a busy night with a female, but we aren’t on a pleasure planet, or at a questionable outpost.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Dakar said, scraping a hand through his shaggy, dark hair and pulling it up into his usual topknot.

  They were far from both their Inferno Force battleship, which sat on the outskirts of the galaxy, and the usual places the warriors went for recreation. The Love Boat was neither of these.

  Designed as a holographic enticement for humans, the high-tech space station, tucked away behind one of Saturn’s moons, didn’t have the willing alien females or nonexistent rules Dakar was used to. As a matter of fact, the Boat was all about rules. It had to be, since this was where human women were brought when they were abducted from Earth to be mated to Drexian warriors.

  Dakar had never given much thought to the tribute bride program since, until recently, his chance of being matched was slim. Like all Drexians, he knew it had started when his people had stopped producing females and were in desperate need of a compatible species before their race died out completely. They’d happened upon Earth around the same time a violent race of aliens called the Kronock had attempted to invade it. The Drexians had defended Earth, and then made a bargain with the planet. They would keep Earth safe if they could take a select number of females every Earth year to mate with their warriors and help continue the species.

  The deal had been kept secret from all but a few officials in the Earth’s government, and the Drexians quietly went about taking females who were compatible—only about half of the human women were—and who had no strong social ties. The tribute brides were brought to the Boat, where they were given a holographic, fantasy suite, and assigned a wedding planner and a special liaison. Most women warmed up to idea once they saw the hunky Drexians, whom they seemed to find attractive, and realized there was no option to return to Earth. It didn’t hurt that they were wined and dined and treated like goddesses, which was a significant upgrade for most of the women who were taken.

  Since the Drexians were limited in the number of women they could take at once, there was a waiting list for brides, and priority was given to only sons or warriors from elite families. As a third son, Dakar hadn’t expected his name to come up for years, but his recent assistance in retrieving a tribute bride and, at the same time, revealing a mole in the Drexian High Command had gotten him a bump up the list. Now, he was waiting on the station for the next available tribute.

  Dakar hated waiting, and he’d be
en having second thoughts about taking a tribute bride. Especially after he’d met a particularly striking human at Torven’s wedding, and hadn’t been able to rid his mind of her since. He grunted and turned on his heel.

  Torven followed him back inside the room. “You look like hell, Dak. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Dakar glanced back at his friend. Thick swaths of black ink swirled down his skin from underneath the warrior’s tight, black T-shirt, and a sharp craktow tooth dangled in the hollow of his neck. Dakar had been with Torven when they’d taken down the deadly craktow. The two had been together for most of their greatest battles. And now they were cooling their heels on a sleek space station that looked nothing like their battleship.

  “You know I don’t do well when I’m bored,” Dakar said. No way was he telling his friend about the dreams. Not when he knew how wrong they were.

  Torven grunted in acknowledgment. “Once High Command has determined that the Kronock infiltration didn’t go any further, they’ll resume the transport of tribute brides.”

  “How is High Command investigating, if their council was the thing that was infiltrated?” The news that one of the longstanding, elite families had been working with the Kronock to sabotage the Boat and weaken the Drexian defenses had come as a blow, and the empire was still reeling. The father and son had been taken into custody and awaited trial for treason, a trial and verdict Dakar knew would be swift and final.

  “High Commander Dorn is leading the inquiry, along with his brother, Kax,” Torven said. “Since Dorn is a new member of the council, and his brother recently left the governing body to rejoin military intelligence, they have enough distance from the situation to get to the bottom of it.”

  Dakar nodded. Dorn was also a member of Inferno Force, and had been their commander. He knew there was no warrior more fair.

  “Is this really about being bored?” Torven asked. “We’ve gone through long stretches without battle, although I know it’s been four weeks already, and that’s the longest you’ve gone without some sort of feminine distraction.”

  Dakar tried to muster a grin. He knew his reputation as a ladies’ man had been established long ago, and for good reason. Dakar had always taken great enjoyment in the company of females. Any type of females. He considered it a personal challenge to figure out how to pleasure each species. The pleasure houses had even gone so far as to compete for his visits, as he left their females so happy.

  “I know there aren’t really any options here,” Torven continued. “All the humans are matched to warriors, and there aren’t many other female aliens, except the Vexlings and a few others. If I remember correctly, you aren’t a fan of those bony creatures.”

  Dakar rolled his eyes at Torven. “You make it sound like I can’t survive without bedding a female.”

  Torven cleared his throat. “Some of us burned off energy on the hover ball courts, or in the fighting rings. You burned off your energy in other ways.”

  Dakar didn’t argue with Torven. He supposed his friend was right. He’d been restless since he’d arrived on the Boat. It hadn’t helped that he couldn’t get that human out of his thoughts.

  “What do you know about the other humans? The ones who refuse to become tribute brides?”

  Torven leaned against the ebony dresser and crossed his arms. “Not much. They live together in special quarters. I think some of them work around the station.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is this about that pretty woman who pinned on our flowers at my wedding?”

  Dakar turned from Torven, dropping his sheet and striding naked toward the bathroom. “What woman? I’m just curious.”

  “They may not be tribute brides anymore, but you know they’re off-limits,” his friend called to him.

  Dakar remembered some sort of warning regarding the former tributes. He guessed the theory was, if they don’t want to commit to being a tribute bride they didn’t get to enjoy the benefits—big, muscular warriors being one of those benefits. It was also why they didn’t live in holographic suites that looked like Earth places—overwater South Pacific bungalows or romantic ski chalets in the Alps, whatever those were— or have all their meals delivered. Those perks were saved for the tribute brides who took a Drexian mate.

  He leaned both hands on the ebony-marble sink and stared at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes and the heavier-than-usual stubble on his cheeks made him look less like his charming self, and more like the swarthy and deadly friend waiting for him in his room. His gaze dropped to the tattoos that swirled red across one arm and half of his chest—the marks that represented his eternal loyalty to Inferno Force. What he wouldn’t give to be back on his battleship with his Inferno Force brethren and away from temptation.

  “Get it together,” he told himself. He needed to stop dreaming about the woman he’d met at Torven’s wedding, the dark-haired beauty named Ella who’d rejected the idea of being a tribute bride and now lived on the other side of the station.

  Torven was right. He needed to forget her and the jolt he’d felt when she’d touched him—like nothing he’d ever experienced before. She could never be his, and fantasizing about her was doing nothing but driving him mad. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as an image of her long, wavy hair rushed into his mind. His cock swelled as he imagined the feel of her hair brushing against his nodes and making them heat.

  Easier said than done.

  Chapter Two

  Ella swept her wild mane of dark curls up into a high ponytail, and grabbed her tumbler of coffee before she stepped out of her room. She didn’t expect to see anyone else in the corridor so early in the morning, so the relative quiet didn’t unsettle her. The faint instrumental music that seemed to be piped in everywhere still played in the background, and she paused for a second to listen to the tinny notes until she recognized the theme song from The A Team.

  It was a little game she played with herself, and one she’d gotten pretty good at. That was mostly due to the fact that her mother had insisted on them watching reruns of classic TV together. Who knew that knowing old 80s shows would pay off one day? Not her. She shook her head as she walked quickly down the hall, giving a snort of laughter at the surprising turn her life had taken. The many, surprising turns would be more accurate.

  If she was being honest, her life had never resembled a Norman Rockwell tableau. Her mom had raised her after her father died from a sudden brain aneurism. Ella had been too young to remember him, but her mother had never been able to pull herself together after losing her husband. She’d probably suffered from depression and anxiety before that, but being left to raise a three-year-old alone hadn’t helped. Ella had tried to make the burden easier by being the perfect daughter and her mom’s best friend, but even straight As and eventually a full scholarship to college couldn’t pull her mother out of the darkness.

  Ella took a swig from her insulated tumbler, trying to focus on the comforting taste of the Drexian version of a hot peppermint mocha and push the memories of her mother from her mind. At least, she didn’t have to worry about her anymore. The cancer that had taken her mother had been mercifully quick, even though it had bankrupted them in the precious few months it had ravaged her body. Ella had dropped out of college her freshman year to take care of her mother, and then started working to pay off the massive medical debt. She might still be bartending in Queens, if she hadn’t taken the unusually large talent scout up on his offer of quick cash by entering a modeling contest.

  How was she supposed to know that the talent scout was actually an alien sent to find Earth women who had few people who would miss them, and who were compatible with a race of warriors who needed mates? No one would believe that, but it was exactly what had happened to her. Not only had she been taken to a high-tech space station, it was one that seemed to be designed by a superfan of cheesy reality shows and vintage TV. There were still days she felt like pinching herself because the whole thing seemed so crazy.

  She pause
d at the café at the end of the corridor, and waved at the handful of women sitting on the upholstered chairs and velvet, tufted couch, or around high, wooden bistro tables. Aside from the barista behind the marble-topped counter with pale-pink skin and long, silver hair, the place was a dead-ringer for the coffee shop on the show, Friends.

  “Bagel?” the barista asked.

  “Not unless you’ve been able to make them taste like New York bagels since yesterday, Zenia,” Ella said with a grin.

  The barista rolled her eyes, and they appeared to make a complete loop in her eye sockets. “The other females eat them.”

  “They’re not from New York,” Ella said, casting a glance behind her at the two closest women. “Tania is from Puerto Rico, and Lexi is from Australia, for God’s sake.”

  “You know you’re the only reject who eats Drexian flatbread.” Zenia produced a brown, cellophane packet from behind the counter.

  Ella bristled at the word ‘reject,’ but took the packet of alien bread. “It’s healthy, and it balances out all the sugar I put in my coffee.” She raised her tumbler. “And I prefer the term ‘independent.’”

  Zenia shrugged and flicked a hand through her iridescent, silver hair. Clearly, she couldn’t care less what Ella called herself. She doubted many people did, but the distinction was important to her. She hadn’t been rejected. She’d rejected the entire concept of being forced to marry a total stranger.