Wrecked: A Dark Sci-Fi Romance Read online

  Wrecked

  By

  Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Renard, Loki

  Wrecked

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by iStock/Redemption and DepositPhotos/HayDmitriy

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

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  Chapter One

  Isu

  My love. My light. My captive.

  She looks at me with that bright blue rebellious gaze that has been burning in my mind’s eye for a very long time. We have been separated by so much space, so much death, so much disaster. I never thought I would lay hands on her again. But here we are. She is in my grasp, and she will never leave again.

  This little human has much to answer for. She looks so soft and weak, and I know she would protest her innocence if I would let her. She is anything but innocent. She is as guilty as they come, and no amount of soft quivering lower lip or tear haze in her wide blue eyes will change that.

  She is going to pay for what she’s done. Her human sins are going to be absolved before my warriors. I will thrust myself into the soft core of her and she will be made mine all over again.

  Human women are so delicate, so soft. They meet the world with a grace and beauty that belies their inner strength. This female I now hold captive is stronger than any of the warriors around her. She has traveled further, suffered greatly—and now she must suffer again, because there is no pleasure in this universe that does not come with some pain.

  I want her more than I have ever wanted anything. Anyone. She is mine. Her soft human heart beats only for me. But possessing her means destruction. Loving her means the end of everything.

  I do not care. I would see the universe itself destroyed in order to have her for my own. I would see every star burned to nothing. I would crush worlds. My desire for this woman is an endless hunger that has been tormenting me from the moment I gave her up in a futile attempt to save her. Now I understand something I did not then. She cannot be saved. She can only be conquered.

  * * *

  Aspel

  “The human must pay!”

  Master Isu’s alien voice rises in a roar of ferocity, anger, and absolute triumph. I tremble before him as flames leap around us, the heat from them making me sweat, my fear making me shake. There is a beast before me, one who is going to take everything I have to give and more. His alien dominance will be absolute. I know this in my soul. I knew it, I think, when I came here. I could have turned back at any time, but I went on, prodded by conscience and desire. Now I am in his grasp and it is too late to be afraid. It is time to submit.

  “The wyrm requires sacrifice. You will not give up your life, but you will give your body.” His black eyes flick over me. “Every part of it.”

  He and I have been through so much. I have loved him. I have adored him. Now I fear him. He is more than a tormentor or captor. He is the love of my life. But I think I might hate him.

  “Strip,” he intones. “You do not deserve clothes.”

  His kind do not wear clothes. He knows what mine mean to me. That is why he is taking them from me. He will take everything away, bit by bit until there is nothing left but the rampant desire that binds us in spite of the fact we are now enemies.

  “I loved you once.”

  His massive hand closes under my chin, long fingers clasping the sides of my face. “You love me still,” he hisses with that quiet but powerful rage that we now both share.

  His kiss is rough and hot, ripe with the promise of what is to come.

  “The clothes,” he rasps again.

  I can take them off myself, or I can let him rip them from me. I don’t know which would be worse. I know that I don’t get to keep them either way. I know that life and death surround us, the flames giving his people energy.

  I choose not to move. I choose to make him be the one to undo me. His low growl tells me he understands I’m not going to give him anything. He’s going to have to take it.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders, runs them down over the swell of my breasts. His hands are hot like the fire, but they do not burn my skin, even as my clothes are singed away.

  This was in some way inevitable. This was my destiny. I was made to be devoured by an alien, for my flesh to give pleasure. I am about to fulfill that destiny.

  * * *

  A year ago...

  “That one’s not ugly.”

  It’s not a compliment.

  I stare straight ahead, blinking slowly from the sedating gas they’ve pumped into the inspection chamber to make certain that I will remain compliant and stay tender. I can hear everything they say. They said the girl ahead of me had a ripe rump and good white teeth. My assessment is less specific.

  “Huh, she’s not.”

  “She’s not top grade, but she’s not parts material either, is she? Not with that hair. They like the rare hair.”

  “No. Good condition on her.”

  They’re talking about me as a collection of pieces. In the eyes of the aliens who control this facility, I am not a person. The concept of being a person is something I can only vaguely grasp. I am used to being a thing. A useful thing. Now, not an ugly thing.

  “Could probably get ten thousand for her on the Antari Auction House. They’ve been asking for under the table anteparts humans. They like to play with them.” There’s a suggestion to the tone that means play doesn’t mean play. It means something else. Something that makes me shudder even in my sedated state.

  “They’ll check the inventory. They’ll know one’s missing.”

  I can’t see the Vargons. They are standing on the walkway above me. Their job is to push the button that opens the door that ends things.

  “Pull her and we’ll fix the numbers later. The shuttle’s going tonight.”

  “It isn’t, is it? There’s solar storms forecast from here to Orion-V. Ship’ll be ripped apart.”

  I listen to the Vargons bicker over the last little bit of my life. I’m faintly aware that there is a decision being made, that something might be about to happen that is not part of the plan laid out for me since the day I was born.

  “No risk, no reward. They’re paying incredible money at the auction house. Don’t you have debt? I do.”

  There’s a moment of hesitation. Then the first voice, the keen one, urges the uncertain one more.

  “They’ll never know. It’s Zug on duty. He’s slack.”

  The chamber slides open. Instead of going through the dark door, I am pulled out into the light. Unsteady on my feet, and still very much under the effects of the sedation gas, I am cuffed, collared, chained, and taken away.

&nb
sp; * * *

  “Don’t touch her. She’s worth a month of your wages.”

  I come to full consciousness with an annoyed curse coming from the front of what I guess is a transport.

  “I’m not touching her!”

  “I saw you pawing at her, Gex. Cut it out! If she has slime burn, she’s worthless.”

  I stare straight ahead, not looking at anything, not touching anything, especially not the slimy flesh seller to my right, whose acidic skin grease is sloughing into the ridges and valleys in the seat beneath him.

  There are big cuffs around my wrists and ankles, a collar around my neck, an electric chain connecting all three containment points. If I move, I get zapped. If I don’t move, but am jostled by a careless trader, I also get zapped.

  This is a Vargon ship. The Vargons are the primary traders of live humans and human products in the galaxy. There is a shelf opposite me, clear containers marked with various labels.

  Toes

  Teeth

  Eyes

  An eyeball inside its plastic tomb looks straight at me with a you’re fucked expression. As the ship rattles on its course, the eye rotates upward, rolling at me in disgust. I can hear teeth chattering, even though they no longer have any reason to be afraid. The worst is over for them.

  Parts of humanity have been scattered far and wide since the aliens found Earth, contained it, and started farming us. I was born. I have lived. Now I will work until I die.

  Maybe not. Most of the people I knew were separated off six months ago to become parts. We know what happens to us. We don’t care. Fear has been bred out of our lineage. Acceptance of the fate all living beings find in the universal meat grinder has been genetically inserted into the core of our beings. We are livestock.

  I was picked from the line before the sorting gate, plucked from the line by a great clawed machine that lifted me aloft and deposited me in a transport crate. Apparently I am ‘pleasing.’ I do not know what that means. I have light-colored hair and dark-colored eyes, but so did everybody else I lived with. We were all approximately the same size and shape, bred to type. Golden Brown, they called us when they were making reference on their sheets.

  “Be fucking careful,” the Vargon next to me shouts as the ship jolts again. The chains swing against my belly, zapping me painfully, making me recoil from the punishment I did not earn. “She’s going to be burned to bits by the time we get her there!”

  “I’m doing my best, these solar winds are fucking high,” the other Vargon shouts back wetly. “We should turn around.”

  “No way! I am making this delivery!” the one next to me screeches. “I owe Muklog, and if I don’t pay he’s going to take my other toe.”

  “Stop gambling, then.”

  “Wasn’t gambling.”

  “What was it?”

  “I skimmed.” The Vargon reaches over, grabs a container of eyes and reaches his gooey paw inside it, cupping a handful of unseeing orbs into his mouth. The sound he makes as he chews will stay with me for the rest of my short life.

  “Stop eating the stock, you fat fuck!”

  Those are the last words I hear before the ship is thrown sideways hard and fast. The world tumbles. Human parts break free and fly back and forth, vague suggestions of humanity forming patterns in the air. Two eyes and some teeth fly by in a mad grin before something more solid than my head hits it and everything goes black.

  Chapter Two

  Aspel

  Something is poking me. Something pointed and organic.

  I did not expect to wake up. Consciousness is pain and it is light and it is heat. There is crusty dry surface beneath my body. Land. I’m not on the ship anymore. I don’t know where I am. I know that it tastes metallic between my teeth... no, that’s my blood.

  When I lift my head, I see that the ship, such as it was, has been dashed into millions of pieces across an unfamiliar landscape.

  I am outside.

  I’ve never been outside. We talked about it in the farm. We wondered what it would be like outside the high walls that kept us contained. Outside is big. Really big. I can’t see any walls whatsoever in the view I have of what seems like eternity.

  “M’uklahk.”

  Someone says something nearby. The voice makes me freeze instantly, my body locking with the fear of prey.

  “M’uklahk dizlahk vinu vunu sisi,” someone else replies.

  It is language, but not language I can process. I could understand the Vargons because they use standard speech, the tongue we were taught to follow instructions in.

  “M’uklahk dino vavu sisi!”

  “Nec M’uklahk!”

  “Tiz M’uklahk!”

  I think M’uklahk refers to me, somehow. I can’t see the beings speaking, and I don’t want to. Their voices are rough and guttural and full of rage. They do not seem pleased about me. I close my eyes and play dead, hoping that they will go away and leave me alone.

  I am poked again.

  They want me to move. They want to see what I am. I am grateful that they have not begun consuming me where I lie, but I know instinctively that I am not safe. The only place I ever felt safe was inside the white plastic walls of the early juvenile raising chambers. We were fed, tended, had the colorful pictures to watch until we slept and then we would be fed again. I wish so badly that I could return to the raising chamber. But I was removed from that eight years ago and put into the maturation center where we were taught how to work, follow standard speech instructions, and prepare ourselves for a life of servitude, if we were fortunate. One by one, the most pleasing of us were taken away. First draft was for the breeders. The second draft was for the slaves. The third draft, my draft, by far the largest, was for parts.

  I cringe knowing what parts are, and how close I came to being eyeballs and teeth rattling on a shuttle bound for nowhere.

  “Sh’aka!”

  “Uba sh’aka, M’uklahk.”

  Their voices are quieter, but no less intense. I feel the presence of something creeping closer. Toes make sound on sand. I close my eyes even tighter, knowing that I do not want to see what is looming over me. The resonance of the voices tells me that these are large beings.

  I have experienced very little in my farmed life, but my instincts are still intact. I was born with certain abilities, and one of them is to know when I am in the presence of predators. I have no doubt that I am right now, and that playing dead is my only chance to survive.

  Something hand-like touches me. Fingers. They’re clawed and long and strong. Much larger than my own svelte digits and much rougher along the pads. They draw down my back slowly, exploring me with a touch that might be gentle, but is more likely just cautious.

  I was made to be consumed. I am prey. My kind, human, were likely just as wild and strong as whatever is examining me now, but we were selectively bred for a very long time. I know this because it was displayed to us, our fall from grace shown to us on a near daily basis. It was not enough to consume us. They had to humiliate us too.

  The fingers are moving down my spine and have reached the swell of my cheeks. They do not stop moving. They slide over the soft rise and then down again, between my thighs, finding a place where it is almost impossible not to react—but I stay still.

  Motionless, I try to keep my breathing unnoticeable as those big, thick, powerful fingers continue their exploration of my body, running over the seam of my sex, finding the sensitive parts of me where pleasure flowers in spite of everything.

  The human body is incredible. It is used, it is taken advantage of, it is crafted and shaped, and it is traded, but it does not lose the basics of desire and the simple function of survival.

  The fingers find my clitoris with a frighteningly knowing touch. They stop. Pinch. My hips buck and I let out a gasp, which gives the game away entirely. A hand grasps my shoulder and pulls me over onto my back.

  A wail of pain accompanies the sudden movement, jabs and aches flaring to life. I fell from the stars.
I am broken.

  “Shhhhh...” He looks at me with wide dark eyes. There is no white. No iris. No pupil. No way to tell where he is looking, but for the creeping horror that pools in my belly when he stares directly at me.

  “Shhhh ni shaka, M’uklahk.”

  “Please, don’t hurt me...” I whisper the words, not expecting to be understood. I have never seen a creature so alien before. I am accustomed to the Vargons, but not the one I am looking at now.

  He is red. The same color of the rock dust that covers everything. He is lined with many muscles over his torso, arms, shoulders; every part of him seems to comprise a new muscular plane. His shoulders are broad, very broad, like a bull. His hips are narrow in comparison, but still twice the width of my own fragile form. There is thick black hair growing out of his head. It flows over his shoulders in a curtain interspersed by two ridges emerging from the tops of his shoulders. He breathes deep and speaks through a fanged mouth.

  “You... are safe.”

  Standard speech, coming from the mouth of a beast. I must look as shocked as I feel, because he lets out a snort of amusement.

  He turns to the others who wait grunting behind him. These beasts breathe aggressively.

  “Human,” he says. “M’uklahk.”

  “Please, help me.”

  Three words escape me. Three hopeful, desperate, pathetic words.

  He looks at me with those dark eyes and I do not know what to think. I don’t know how to interpret the emotions or intentions of anything this alien. The Vargons were simple enough, they were always going to hurt you if you didn’t follow their instructions, and sometimes, even if you did. This one looks far stronger, much more brutal. I quiver to the very core of me, feeling fire where he has touched, a lingering trace of heat that burns on in the absence of his touch.

  The place between my legs, the one I touch only in secret is humming with heat and new excitement, but fear is the major driving force now, consuming my body with tension.

  “Who are you?”

  “I...” Who am I? That is a question that barely computes. We are not given identities on the farm. We are not individuals. We are products being grown for sale. “I am... meat.” That is what I feel like—frightened, bruised, lost meat.