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  Brides of the Kindred

Volume 9: Chained

Evangeline Anderson

KINDLE EDITION

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PUBLISHED By:

Evangeline Anderson on Kindle

Brides of the Kindred

Book 9: Chained

Copyright © 2013 by Evangeline Anderson

Kindle Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment just. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you lot would similar to share this volume with another person, delight purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If y'all're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was non purchased for your apply but, then y'all should return to Amazon.com and purchase your ain re-create. Thanks for respecting the writer's work.

Author's Note #1— Showtime of all, please no piracy. It's not a victimless crime—I have a family to support so please, buy your own copy and encourage friends to do the same then I tin can go on writing these books for everyone's pleasure.

Author's note #2—Nearly of you know I'm writing another series too as the Kindred at present—a fix of paranormal books called Born to Darkness. If you haven't checked them out nonetheless, they are on Amazon, Smashwords, and All Romance. The first book is Red Debt and the 2d one is Cherry Heat. I'm still working on Ruby Shadows. I got about 30,000 words in and my muse abruptly demanded to write Chained instead. So here information technology is and I hope to get Ruby Shadows out to you at a later date. Lamentable!

Author'southward Note #three—This is the ninth book in the Brides of the Kindred series and there are at least three more than to come—well, I have ideas for three more, anyway. Anyway, I recommend that you read Claimed, Hunted, Sought, Found, Revealed, Pursued, Exiled, and Shadowed earlier beginning Chained or you lot are going to be completely lost.

Hugs and Happy Reading to yous all!

Evangeline Anderson

Prologue

In the Dungeons of Yonnie 6

Hell. I'm in Hell—1 of the Seven Hells, but which one?

He tried to recollect, concentrating on holding the thought in his head. But the thirst was too great—it drove out everything else. His throat was parched, his mouth dry as a desert and his tongue was swollen in his oral fissure, desperate for even a drib of the life-giving water which was so tantalizingly close.

The soft rippling audio filled his ears, filled his entire consciousness. The piddling brook that ran right in forepart of him was both a torment and a want and then strong he could barely stand it. Sometimes he thought the mocking churr of the crystal clear water every bit it ran over the stones at his feet would bulldoze him mad. Sometimes he was sure he already was mad.

Which Hell? Which of the Seven Hells? He tried to push his mind away from the thirst and the water at his anxiety once more. The Hell reserved for murderers, maybe? For he was a murderer—many times over. And just because well-nigh of his kills had happened within the arenas of the Blood Circuit didn't atone him of his crimes. He had been known simply as Korexiroth—The Demon—in that location and he had enjoyed some of those deaths—peculiarly the last one. The expiry of his former master, Phenras. It had been a pleasance to wrap his fingers effectually that fatty neck and squeeze and clasp until he saw the life fading from his primary'due south tedious brown eyes.

A pleasance that had landed him in Hell.

The Hell of Thirst. Is in that location such a place?

There had to be because he was in it. How many kills did he have? How many years would he exist damned for them? Aside from the ones in the arena and the murder of his master, he'd been told that he had killed two guards assigned to escort him to Yonnie Six. But those kills he barely remembered—they had given him some kind of drug that maddened him. Still, he supposed it made no difference. The guards were still dead and their blood was on his hands.

He changed his position and the chains binding his arms behind his dorsum clinked. The pain collar around his neck shifted with the move, sending an agonizing jolt of electric current through his unabridged body.

The prisoner gave a stifled groan. That bitch, Pope'nose, had fix the damn thing on the virtually sensitive setting then that the slightest motion on his part resulted in a horrific outburst of pain. It was excruciating—unbearable.

Rather than subduing him, however, the painful daze seemed to galvanize him into action. He growled low in his throat—a deep, animalistic sound—and thrashed recklessly against the bondage that leap him.

Jolt later on jolt of agony struck him only withal he thrashed, fighting the thing around his neck. He swore to himself if he ever got information technology off he would brand his new mistress pay. He would give her pain for pain until she regretted her foolish decision to buy him in the first place.

But even a male as big and strong equally he was couldn't keep this upwards forever. At last the prisoner cruel to his knees, panting. He would accept hung his head if the damn neckband would have allowed it. Every bit it was, the best he could do was to close his eyes and permit his shoulders sag. Around his neck he felt the pain collar readying itself for the side by side jolt. Under information technology, every bit always, was the ho-hum burn of another collar—the inhibitor band he had worn since the age of six cycles. Simply that was an onetime pain—one he barely even noticed anymore.

At present that he was down on his knees, the sound of the brook was maddeningly close. How he wished he could have just one mouthful of that cool, articulate water! His unabridged body cried out for moisture and information technology was so shut…so close.

Slowly, ignoring the stabbing shocks delivered by the neckband, the prisoner bent downwardly. His easily were chained behind his back but he had some slack, enough to lower his face up to the surface of the beck. He knew it was no use but he couldn't help himself—he had to try again.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed his face into the clear, cold surface of the water. And he felt information technology—felt the dank wetness caress his cheeks and eyelids, felt the blessed moisture at his parched lips.

But while the water caressed his mouth, information technology could not pass his lips. He stuck out his tongue, attempting to lap at the water like an animal dying of thirst, only not a unmarried molecule of the life saving liquid touched his flesh.

The prisoner gave a low, hoarse moan. He pressed his face deeper into the bubbling, chattering brook simply though he felt the absurd chill of the water caressing his skin, not a drib of information technology really touched him. It was as if at that place was a bulwark—a thin but impenetrable membrane between himself and the moisture he so desperately needed.

The dust. It's the dust.

He knew it was true. The fine, silvery grayness dust that coated his entire torso, even his hair and eyelids, was the culprit. It formed a bulwark between him and the water and until that bulwark was breached, he would get on thirsting forever.

He sat up over again, ignoring the horrible shocks of the pain neckband, and leaned abroad from the beck. It was the worst kind of torture to be right beside the brook, to be able to actually put his face up in the water, without being able to drink whatsoever of information technology.

Hell, he thought again. I'm definitely in Hell.

He airtight his eyes, wishing for release, desperate for a respite, nonetheless cursory, from this horrible agony. Sometimes he managed to sleep, though only in snatches. The moment his caput started to nod the pain neckband activated and jolted him awake. But in those brief moments of peace he had seen something…no, someone. He couldn't see her entire face up—she wore a strange apparatus of glass and metal which covered her eyes. A cyborg then, mayhap, with mechanical oculars. If so, she was a very pretty one. And why anyone would bother to build a cyborg with tousled, beloved-blonde curls and full, curving hips, the prisoner couldn't judge.

Still, the sight of her, however brief, soothed him. When he saw her, he forgot his torment and desperation, forgot even the thirst. He knew she was merely a dream simply even so, perhaps if he kept his eyes

closed he would come across her. He would stare into her face and finally find the undercover color of her eyes…if she had any.

He would—

* * * * *

Run into me. Oh my God, he can come across me!

Maggie Jordan sat straight up in bed—and promptly banged her forehead against the lesser of the bunk directly over her.

"Ouch!" She rubbed at the spot on her forehead which was probably going to corking. Just even the knock on the caput couldn't dispel the awful dream she'd been having.

Information technology was the man over again—the prisoner who was chained in place. He was in terrible agony and thirsty…so thirsty.

If simply I could save him…ease his pain…give him a drink…

She shook her head, trying to articulate the crazy thoughts. But a dream, she reminded herself. But nevertheless, information technology had seemed so real. Peculiarly the prisoner'southward terrible thirst…

Just thinking about information technology made Maggie want a drink of water herself. Well, it was fourth dimension to go up anyway. She fumbled for her glasses and put them on, bringing the world into focus. Her natural language felt swollen in her mouth as she staggered out of the tiny cot, trying not to bump annihilation else as she went.

The room she was in had been designed for two equally evidenced by the bunk cots which took up most of the small infinite. Maggie supposed she could have taken the top bunk instead but then, she just would have hit her head on the low ceiling instead and probably fallen out as well.

Maggie was what nice people termed "blow prone." Her fiancé Donald, just called her impuissant. She'd always been horrible at sports or dancing or anything able-bodied. Luckily, she was very strong academically, having earned a doctorate in both Xenobiology and Xenobotany by the historic period of twenty-5. That was the main reason she found herself here now, cramped up in a tiny space ship and on her way to explore a afar new world.

It was a lot to take in—a lot of stress besides equally a lot of excitement. Which was probably why she kept having the strange, chilling dream about the thirsty, muscular human being with pale blue slitted eyes who stared at her.

Information technology'due south nothing, Maggie, she told herself firmly every bit she fabricated her way to the door. Just an feet dream. Y'all're subconsciously missing Donald, that's all.

Of course, the man in her dream looked nothing similar her fiancé. In fact, they couldn't have looked more different. Donald was tall and thin with narrow shoulders stooped from leaning over a microscope all day. The man in her dream looked like he could have broken her fiancé in half with one hand. He was big and muscular and more often than not naked, which was another weird and disturbing item of her dream.

Still, Maggie couldn't think of any other expert reason why she would keep having the same dream night later night. She told herself information technology was stress related. After all, she was going to be without her fiancé for at least half-dozen months—if not more. Non that Donald would probably miss her, only all the same, she was missing him Right?

Correct, she told herself uneasily. She reached for the door latch… merely every bit the door slid open on its own.

"Ferna?" Maggie stared with surprise at the tall Kindred girl with dark green hair who stood in the doorway. Normally she looked amazing—perfect and beautiful and imperial. But at present her sleeping clothes were a rumpled mess and her face up looked as light-green every bit her hair. "Ferna?" she asked over again.

"M-maggie," the daughter gasped and put a paw over her mouth. "I'm so distressing. I…oh!" She turned away and staggered down the narrow, curt hallway that ran down the length of the ship.

Concerned, Maggie ran afterwards her. She wanted to ask what was going on but but then Ferna practically dove through the bath door and began noisily throwing up in the pocket-size, practical toilet in the far corner of the tiny room.

"Oh dear…" Maggie hung back, uncertain of what to practise. She always felt so bad-mannered in these situations. At last she came forwards, wedging herself into the little bathroom with the Kindred daughter, and helped to pull Ferna's long hair abroad from her face up. There was a washcloth lying by the miniscule sink and Maggie got it damp and pressed it to Ferna's forehead when she finally sat up.

"Thanks…" She looked upwards at Maggie gratefully and wiped her mouth with a trembling hand. "I'm so pitiful…just came to say…to tell y'all…"

Her words were interrupted by the sounds of retching coming from the other side of the ship.

"Oh dear." Maggie peered downwardly the hall, concerned. "Is that Ratner?"

Ratner and Ferna were a mated pair of Kindred—both scientists and both extremely kind, if a little distant. Maggie was happy to be working with them although she did wish the Kindred pair was a little more approachable. Of course, she thought, watching equally Ferna bent before the porcelain throne once more than, this is a little more outgoing than I actually had in heed.

"Yeah, information technology'due south Ratner," Ferna said at final, wiping her mouth again on a swatch of toilet paper. "We're both…indisposed. It must accept been the varla slugs we had for final meal. They've fabricated us both very ill, I'one thousand afraid."

"Yes, I can come across that." Maggie wet the washcloth and rung it out again before wiping the Kindred daughter's sweating face up in one case more. She was glad all over again that she'd turned down the helping of slimy, light-green slugs the Kindred couple had offered her at dinner. If they looked that disgusting going downwardly, she could only imagine what they looked like coming up. "Are yous going to exist okay for what we have to do on Yonnie Six?" she asked, trying non to think about it. "We're well-nigh there, aren't we?"

"Yes." Ferna pressed the damp fabric to her face and took a deep, trembling jiff. "In fact, we're in orbit now. That'due south what I came to tell you—Ratner and I can't go evangelize the Hurkon collar."

"You lot tin can't?" Maggie looked at her in dismay. "I mean, I tin meet that yous can't at present but peradventure in a day or two…"

Ferna shook her head. "The engagement has been made and information technology must be kept. These people—the Yonnites—are strictly punctual. Information technology'southward considered very rude to keep them waiting."

"And then…what are you saying?" Maggie asked warily.

"Y'all'll accept to deliver information technology. I'm sorry, Maggie…" Here Ferna paused to retch some more although Maggie was positive she must have already gotten up everything that she had ever eaten and and so some. "I'm pitiful," she repeated when she finally stopped beingness sick. "Simply it has to be you."

"Me? But…I don't know anything well-nigh the civilisation here. In fact, I was told specifically to stay on the ship and abroad from this planet," Maggie protested. In fact, she had been warned several times and by several people that Yonnie Half-dozen was bad news. To hear Lissa—who had come here on a mission—tell it, the place was a freaking snake pit. Not a proficient surroundings for an blow prone girl similar Maggie at all.

"You lot tin can manage," Ferna told her. "I'grand deplorable, Maggie but you have to. Of course y'all have no male to act every bit your body slave and so we'll have to make up a story virtually that—"

"Await—what?" Maggie frowned. "Body slave? What are you talking about?"

"Yonnie Vi is a world ruled by females. All the females of rank have body slaves—male slaves that wait on their every whim and demand. Ratner was going to pose as mine but unfortunately…" Ferna turned green and started retching once more.

"Oh dearest…" Maggie held her hair again. She didn't know what made her feel worse—seeing the nice Kindred girl so horribly sick or knowing she was going to have to take her place downwardly on the surface of Yonnie Six.

"It'll be fine," Ferna gasped, sitting upwards once more at final. "Just…do exactly what I tell yous and you'll exist off the planet in no time. All correct?"

"I…I guess so," Maggie said doubtfully. "If you're sure it's prophylactic."

Ferna nodded. "As long as you lot follow directions and don't do annihilation you're not supposed to exercise. Also recollect non to mention the Kindred."

"Why?" Maggie frowned.

Ferna ran a trembling hand through her hair. "The Yonnites don't like usa—don't like any club where males penetrate females."

"Um…okay." The whole pen

etration thing made Maggie's cheeks get red—information technology wasn't normally something she'd discuss with a colleague—but she nodded earnestly.

"I was going to pose every bit a buyer and seller of antiquities," Ferna connected. "This female you lot're meeting with—Lady Pope'nose—has a number of historical documents from the Kindred habitation globe which were stolen and sold to her some time ago. They are the early on history of our people and the Kindred would like them back. Lady Pope'olfactory organ has agreed to trade them for the Hurkon neckband you're going to be bringing to her."

"Okay." Maggie nodded again. "And so I just go in, bandy the collar for the documents, and come right dorsum to the ship?"

Ferna looked troubled. "Well, it might not be quite that easy. The Yonnites have unusual ideas about hospitality. You may have to agree to have dinner with her or even spend the dark."

"Spend the night? On a strange planet?" Maggie squeaked. Not that she didn't like to see and experience new things—she was, afterward all, going to a whole new world the Kindred had discovered to study its flora and fauna. But she preferred her alien experiences to be of the scientific variety. And she was much more than comfortable studying new and exotic plants and animals than existence thrust into a whole new culture—particularly a hostile, human-hating i that had views on who should penetrate who. Or was that whom? And if the males didn't do the penetrating then how…Never listen. Maggie didn't know and she didn't really desire to find out.

"You'll be all correct," Ferna assured her. "You got your translation leaner dorsum on the Kindred Mother Ship, right?" Maggie nodded and she continued. "So y'all'll be just fine. All you lot have to practice is nod your head a lot and hold with whatever Lady Pope'nose says. Just avoid giving offense and stay out of problem, all correct?"

"Certain," Maggie said with more conviction than she felt. "Simply stay out of problem—how hard can that be?"

Except problem seemed to follow her everywhere.

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