Devarian Uprising Read online

  Devarian Uprising

  Sierra Dafoe

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2006 Sierra Dafoe

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.

  ISBN (10) 1-59596-465-7

  ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-465-6

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  PO Box 1046

  Martinsburg, WV 25402

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Chrissie Henderson

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  Soleyla Devarian opened her eyes, feeling more at peace with herself than she had in months. A gray half-light filled Rolen’s tent, trickling around the leather tent-flap and laying soft shadows across the rugs covering the earthen floor. She listened, letting her mind return slowly to alertness, enjoying the small noises of the cool predawn silence; the twitter of a bird, somewhere in the distance; the gentle flapping of the hide tent under a brief, gusting breeze.

  What a strange path had led her to this moment! It had begun, as so many things had for her, on Porto. Warm, exotic Porto, famous for its sparkling seas, its sandy beaches -- and its pleasure-slaves.

  Intuition, if you will allow an old man his follies, tells me this one might be worth your consideration.

  Merkun, the old trader who had sold her Kantou, had been hesitant, not wishing to offend, but he needn’t have worried -- his intuition had been right. Kantou stirred her as no man ever had.

  Rolling to her right, she curled herself against Kantou, fitting her body tightly against his lithe, lean one. With a light touch, she traced the vicious, interlaced scars that criss-crossed his back. Her smile faded as her finger followed each hard, raised weal, and Soleyla frowned, remembering old Merkun’s words.

  You are not your mother, my lady.

  How had he known? Other than that one day, six years before, when Rachel Devarian had taken her inexperienced young daughter to Merkun’s establishment to purchase her first pleasure-slave, Danel, Soleyla had never met the man. Had Merkun, sensing the rage and rebellion in Soleyla after her mother had wrenched Danel from her, somehow known what would come of her relationship with Kantou?

  Soleyla shook her head. Impossible. No one could have predicted the combination of events that had led her here, to Rolen’s tent. But Merkun had certainly intended for her to discover who had left the scars on Kantou’s back.

  What had he thought she would do then?

  Even in the midst of such ruminations, Soleyla stretched luxuriously, aware of her sense of utter relaxation. Last night’s interlude, she knew, had had much to do with it, easing the sexual frustration that had seethed inside her for the past five weeks -- weeks during which she had ruthlessly kept her desires in check, waiting for Kantou to learn to trust her.

  The image of him as he’d been last night, standing before Rolen, claiming his right to choose to serve her, brought with it a rush of tenderness so deep it was almost painful. As he’d knelt before her, pliant and submissive, Soleyla had felt her breath catch in her throat. He was so beautiful!

  A dozen recollections crowded back -- Kantou’s profile as he bent over the tracker he’d adjusted, increasing the instrument’s range in the mountainous terrain of Antoros; his eyes, smoky with remembered pain as he’d asked if she would ever beat him; his face, softened by arousal, those full, curved lips damp with her juices as he lifted his head to gaze up at her…

  Kantou. Her beautiful, lovely, precious Kantou. He was worth every risk she was about to take.

  Softly, Soleyla traced a finger along one high cheekbone, outlined the taut muscles of his broad, angular shoulder, gathered the gleaming fall of his long, ash brown hair away from the nape of his neck, and kissed it.

  He shifted slightly, sighing, and rolled onto his back. Soleyla let her hand slide over the smooth expanse of his chest, down the slim, tapered plane of his abdomen to where his huge cock lay quiescent against his muscular thigh. Her mouth watered as she stroked it lightly, feeling Kantou respond, even in his sleep, to her touch. His cock stirred, lengthening beneath her fingers, and Soleyla felt a stab of heat between her thighs.

  How she wanted that enormous cock inside her! But she could feel Rolen’s bulk on the other side of the bed, sound asleep. Sighing, she dropped her hand away from Kantou’s hardening shaft. When she finally took Kantou inside her, she wanted it to be private, just the two of them. A joining that no one -- not even Rolen -- would share.

  Soleyla felt her smile returning. Rolen had been so contemptuous of Kantou. Mocking his submissiveness, unwilling -- or unable -- to admit that any man might be subservient to a woman by choice. Soleyla’s lips curved in amusement at how quickly Rolen had changed that tune. And a second, more insistent throb of desire pulsed through her at the memory of the two men, one dark, one fair, fondling each other at her command, teasing themselves -- and her -- into a state where even the massive black-haired Antorean had ached to do her bidding.

  And would do so again. In bed, and out of it.

  Soleyla felt a most uncharacteristic desire to giggle. The rage, which had fueled her from the moment her mother had stripped her of Danel and exiled her to Antoros -- a rage which had simmered, she realized suddenly, for years -- was gone. It was only now, in its absence, that she could identify the deep, enduring emotion which had propelled her through six grueling years of Guardian training, determined to win a commission in their elite ranks and thus escape her mother’s grasp. Or so she’d naively believed. But as a Guardian, she’d been more under her mother’s control than ever.

  Rachel Devarian, First Senator of the Nine-Star League and regent of the League’s capital planet, Argulus, held the authority to command the Guardians when and where she would. And since the appearance of the bellicose V’ranyii, almost twenty years before, Rachel had ruled the Senate -- and the League -- with a cool, inflexible fist.

  Not any longer.

  Last night Soleyla had sworn a new vow. Rashly, no doubt, but it hardly mattered. She lay, looking up at the hide ceiling of Rolen’s tent, knowing that the very act of declaring rebellion against her mother was in large part what had freed her from her silent, seething fury, and felt an unaccustomed giddiness race along her limbs.

  She, Soleyla Devarian, was going to overthrow the Nine-Star League.

  Grinning, Soleyla slid from between the two sleeping men. Crossing to the table, she broke a hunk of sharp, pungent smelling cheese from the wedge that lay there, and washed it down with the remains of last night’s wine as she glanced around the tent.

  It was spacious, containing a chest in addition to the table, hand-carved chairs, and the huge pile of furs that served Rolen as a bed. More comfortable than she would have expected for a rough emergency camp.

  Idly, she picked up Rolen’s sword. She swung it lightly, testing the heft of it -- and then stopped, peering intently at the crossbar.

  “There’s just something about a naked woman with a sword in her hand.”

  Soleyla looked up. Rolen was watching her from the bed, one arm curled lazily behind his neck, his eyes, so deep a blue they were almost black, still heavy with slee
p. The sight of his thick ebony hair, sticking out in odd directions, made her grin. “Oh, really?”

  He sat up, revealing a body that was built on a Herculean scale; broad, powerful shoulders, chest like an ox, with a heavy dusting of black curls tapering to a trail down the center of a stomach that rippled like waves of iron.

  That wasn’t the only thing like iron this morning, Soleyla noted.

  Rolen nodded at the sword. “It was my father’s. And my grandfather’s.”

  “And your grandmother’s before that.”

  “What?” Startled, Rolen rose. Soleyla flipped the sword over and laid it on the table.

  “Look.” As he peered at the pommel, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement, Soleyla laid her own sword beside it. “The lines have changed -- the pommel’s shorter, the balance higher -- but this is a Guardian sword. Here.” She turned her blade over as well, and Rolen’s eyes widened. In the metal of both, just below the crossbar, was etched the same pattern, nine interlocking circles, and below it, a name. Bending close, Soleyla read the worn engraving. “Merrin Trafalgar. Captain. Antoros was settled by Guardians, Rolen.”

  “But… how? Why?”

  For the same reason, Soleyla suspected, that she herself was here. “There was a ship that disappeared, the Star Strider. Two centuries ago.” Her gaze rested on Kantou as she spoke, drinking him in. He’d shifted as Rolen rose, and lay now with one arm thrown over his head, his long legs flung out. He looked so innocent, so vulnerable, sleeping with his head tilted back, exposing the strong, graceful curve of his neck, that Soleyla felt a fierce stab of protectiveness.

  Had Merrin Trafalgar once felt the same way? Soleyla rather suspected she had. “There was no distress signal, no emergency beacon. Nothing. The ship just disappeared.” She looked at Rolen, her eyes bright. “I think Captain Merrin went renegade. She and all her crew.”

  “But…”

  As she had, Rolen turned to study Kantou. She saw him frown slightly, perhaps remembering the unexpected ecstasy he’d discovered in another man’s body. Perhaps thinking of the scars that laced Kantou’s back.

  Soleyla spoke softly. “Not all of us think men should be slaves, Rolen.”

  “I know.” Rolen’s voice was equally quiet, but roughened by complex emotions. It couldn’t be easy, yet, for him to trust her. Not after what he’d seen the Guardians do to his men. The League’s advance team had been given explicit instructions for preparing Antoros for settlement -- subdue the native population, and if they couldn’t, exterminate them. Soleyla still shuddered at Rolen’s tale of the three men who’d survived one of the earliest attacks, only to be raped by the entire advance team.

  No, Soleyla thought, it couldn’t be easy at all.

  “Rolen.”

  He looked at her, and from the haunted expression in his eyes, Soleyla knew she was right. He had agreed to help her, had pledged his life and his men to her cause in return for her help in rescuing Antoros from the League’s encroachment -- but his agreement had been born of desperation, not trust.

  There was only one argument she could make, one reassurance she could give him. Soleyla raised one hand and placed it gently on Rolen’s chest. His skin was warm under her hand, smooth and taut over the hard, curved muscles. “Rolen, I swear to you, by my blood and my life, if there is any way to free your planet, we will do it.”

  For a moment, the emotion that blazed in Rolen’s eyes reminded her sharply of Kantou. The pleasure-slave had looked at her, just like this, the day she’d bought him. Torn between hope and dread, wanting so badly to believe in her, and terrified of the depth of that want.

  Soleyla could think of only one way to assuage that fear. Glancing at the bed, she was glad to see that Kantou was still asleep. Better that way. This was for him, for the sake of his freedom -- but she didn’t particularly want him to see what she was about to do.

  Last night, Rolen had learned an appreciation of her sexuality, her desires, had submitted himself to her every wish and command. Now, the question was, did she have the courage to do the same?

  Dropping her hand back to her side, Soleyla stammered, embarrassed, “I… Rolen, I don’t know how to do this…”

  “How to do what?”

  “This.”

  Naked, uncertain, she stepped into his arms, tilted her head back, and kissed him lightly.

  The feel of his cool, firm lips brushing against her own sent a wholly unexpected quiver through her body. He cupped her chin gently in one hand, trailing the other one through her hair.

  The sensation was utterly unlike any she’d ever felt before. His touch was soft, reassuring, but at the same time determined, like a man soothing a restive horse he has every intention of riding. Something in her fluttered beneath his caress, like a startled bird wanting to fly -- but her very nervousness made her acutely aware of the roughness of his fingertips, so different from Kantou’s, moving delicately over her hypersensitive skin. She shivered, feeling goose bumps rise as Rolen’s hand slid down her spine to the small of her back.

  As he pulled her to him, Soleyla realized she was almost panting. Then he crushed his mouth down upon hers and she was aware of nothing but his tongue sliding between her lips, the rush of saliva in her mouth, the feel of her breasts pressed against his pecs. The tent spun, and a sudden burst of wetness slicked her cunt.

  Then he was lifting her, his biceps bulging as he clasped her to him, scooping one arm under her ass, and lowered her to the floor. Soleyla found herself on her back, grateful for the rugs over the cool earth, staring up at Rolen who bent over her, his erection twitching slightly with each pulse of his heart. It was not so large as Kantou’s, nor as long, but the head was full and firm, brushing against his hard stomach as he looked down at her, his gaze moving over her body with an intensity that made her breath go short.

  “Rolen…”

  “Shh.” Shifting so that he was kneeling between her thighs, he reached out, following with his hands the trail his eyes had marked from shoulder to breast, caressing their large, heavy curves, then sliding his hands down her lithe sides, all the while watching, watching…

  Soleyla lay under his gaze, feeling exposed in a way she never had before, and was not entirely sure she liked it. It was unnerving being scrutinized so slowly, so thoroughly. For the first time in her life, Soleyla Devarian, Guardian captain and daughter of a planetary regent, found herself wondering what a man thought of her.

  Rolen’s eyes glittered, and his cock was rigid with desire. The urge to take him, right then, to shove him onto his back and mount him, riding him till the gnawing hunger inside her was assuaged, was hard to resist, but she did. This was not about pleasure, not hers anyway. Even as they had used and broken his men, the Guardians had also taken something from Rolen -- taken it without ever having touched him. With no more than a dim understanding of what that something was, Soleyla knew there was only one way to repair the damage that had been done. She lay still, letting him touch her, study her as he liked.

  His hands slid down, tracing the curve of her ass. Then he spread her legs, pressing her thighs back and apart. Soleyla braced herself, but he made no move to enter her. Instead, he stared down, rapt, at her cunt, his gaze probing the damp, furred entrance spread wide beneath him. His tongue flicked between his teeth, briefly, moistening his lips. His cock, a hard, erect pillar jutting up from between his thick powerful thighs, throbbed.

  Pinioned beneath his stare, Soleyla shuddered, uneasy and aroused. He was massive, a full foot taller than she. And stronger, Soleyla admitted. Weaponless, she’d have little chance against the huge Antorean. And yet, as his gaze raised again to her face, studying it with a strange, yearning intensity, Soleyla felt, not dread, but a foreign sense of power.

  Suddenly she remembered the fond amusement that had danced in Maris’s voice. Maris, the woman who had fed her while she was bound, captive, in a nearby tent.

  Rolen? It’d take more than I’m up for to be his woman. I’m Jerril’s.

&
nbsp; How strange that had sounded to her, Soleyla, daughter of the League that she was! To speak so casually of belonging to a man… and yet, as she lay beneath him, quivering in anticipation of his touch, it occurred to Soleyla to wonder what it might be like to belong to such a man.

  She arched her back, and saw Rolen’s gaze move back to her full, round breasts, her nipples dark and taut with arousal. That odd sense of power redoubled as she saw his pupils dilate, transfixed by the sight of her twin mounds.

  Was this what Kantou felt when he knelt before her? Pliant, yielding, utterly submissive to her will, did he yet feel this strange rush, this compelling knowledge of his own desirability? Did he know what he did to her, every time she looked at him?

  He must. Surely he must know by now how she felt about him.

  Still, she was glad he was asleep. Soleyla glanced again at the bed. Kantou hadn’t so much as moved.

  Rolen, however, had. Bracing himself on his arms, he lowered himself over her, nuzzling her neck as his cock nudged insistently at her opening. Smiling, Soleyla shifted her hips, and felt him slide into her.

  “Oh, Soleyla,” he breathed, his breath warm against her ear. His shaft felt like liquid iron inside her, hard and yet fluid, slipping easily into her depths. She lifted herself to meet him, and felt him tense, already on the edge. Lifting his head, he grinned down at her.

  “Not so fast, woman. I’ve a mind to ride you all morning.” His eyes sparked with merriment, like sunlight dancing on a deep ocean. “I like you in this mood.”

  A flicker of annoyance tensed her jaw for a moment. Consciously, she relaxed it, forcing herself to remember why she was doing this. Then she gasped as Rolen grabbed her arms, dragging them above her head and pinioning them with his hands about her wrists.

  She struggled, aware even as she did that each movement, every tensing of her muscles, only increased the pressure on Rolen’s cock inside her. His eyes darkened in pleasure, and she could feel his balls against the lips of her cunt, hard and tight. Abruptly, she ceased struggling, and looked up at him soberly.