Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker

CHAPTER THREE

ELLA

IT TAKES MY eyes a second to adjust to the dim light inside the entryway, but as I get used to the darkness, I realize I’m in a giant stone room. The stone isn’t like anything I’ve seen before, shiny like marble with crystals of gold and gemstones embedded within. A massive spiral staircase curls around the room’s edges, winding to the second floor, while a doorway opposite us opens into another room, this one with glowing blue windows far beyond it.

And in the doorway, blocking out the light, is a giant of a man.

Well, not quite a man.

He almost looks human, but his skin shimmers like it’s made of a deep, reddish bronze. Tattoos coat every inch of his bare shoulders, and I can see the rippling muscle well as he’s clad only in trousers and boots, his chest entirely exposed. A black cloak drapes from his shoulders, brushing the floor, his long hair tumbling over a grey fur mantle. At first I think he’s wearing some kind of tiara with antlers attached, but I quickly realize the horns are in fact part of his body, emerging from his mane of blond hair. The guy looks like a viking from the comic books my brother used to read as a kid, complete with a beard, braided at the end.

His eyes, though, blaze with a crystal blue fire, strikingly cold in the middle of all that heat.

In any other circumstances, I’d say he was gorgeous. As it is, I’m petrified.

“You must be the warden,” I blurt out, and Lucien nudges me.

The man’s eyes grow harder, like I’m committed some kind of slight.

“Bring her to me,” he says, and turns to stride into the room beyond us, his cloak billowing behind him.

I feel like I’m going to lose my footing again, but as I start to wilt I feel another hand on my right elbow. When I turn, I see a purple alien with long tentacles all over her head, like a Medusa dressed in the kind of outfit I might expect from an Oktoberfest barmaid. She’s got a total beer wench look, fitting in with the whole weird aesthetic of this place.

But she’s smiling, and the look sets me at ease.

“Let’s get through this part, and I’ll get you something to eat,” she says, patting me on the back.

I nod, grateful that there’s at least one kind person here.

The new alien and the little green man take me by either elbow, and I get my bearings enough to walk forward with their help. The room beyond the entryway is a large banquet hall, carved from the same crystal as the last. A massive chunk of obsidian sits at the back, in front of a window overlooking the misty expanse beyond the city, and it’s there that the warden sits, his blue eyes glowing like nebulas in the dim light.

“Come forward,” he growls.

His voice is deep and gravelly, and I’m helpless but to do as he commands. The other aliens try to help me, but he raises a hand to stop them.

“Alone,” he says.

I gulp.

My feet take me forward until I can see him more closely. At this proximity, I realize that the tattoos are in fact scars, deep grooves in his flesh. He actually looks hideously mangled, and the wounds still look fresh, with scorched black edges against his rust-colored skin.

But his eyes? They’re even more beautiful up close, like they’re made of stardust.

“What is your name?” he says.

I can barely find my voice in this strange room, with this beast of a man. I haven’t felt meek and uncertain like this in years, and it frustrates me when I can’t seem to get my words out.

“Ella McKenna,” I rasp.

“Speak up!”

“Ella!” I repeat, louder this time.

He narrows his eyes at my tone and I blanch, certain I’ve done something wrong.

“Ella,” he murmurs, leaning back and stroking his beard, “And how did you find yourself liberated by the Hyperboreans?”

I frown.

“Liberated?”

He shakes his head like I’ve said something stupid.

“Where were you when they took you from your primitive planet?”

They think that’s what happened?

“Look, I didn’t ask to be taken,” I start, “Those aliens never tried to figure out if I wanted to leave Earth—”

“Enough!” he shouts, and my knees buckle before I fall to the floor.

He stands, and at first I think he’s going to help me up as he descends the stairs from his throne. But instead, he begins to circle me like a predator, leaving me to try to struggle to my feet.

“You gave the impression of strength at the market, but I fail to see how you will measure up in my household,” he rumbles, “I hope I haven’t acquired a faulty product.”

The words cut me, reminding me that here on this planet, I’m a commodity. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.

This man frightens me.

“M’lord, I’m sure she just needs something to eat,” the purple alien says behind me, but his attention is entirely on me. The warden circles me one more time, and then comes to stand before me, within arm’s reach. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel a wave of heat roll off of his body, and I watch the muscles tense in his arms. There’s a raw, sensual energy to this man that I can’t deny, no matter how frightened I am.

I keep my eyes on him, unblinking and bold even if I’m petrified.

“Remove your clothes,” he growls, and I freeze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, “I need to examine you for any defects.”

“Excuse me?” I say, finding my fire again. I drag my gaze up to his, expecting to see a taunting glare.

But all I find is more coldness.

“I’m not going to take off my clothes just because you tell me to.”

“You can do it willingly or I’ll tear them off myself,” he snarls.

With trembling hands, I place my hands at the hem of my sweater and pull it slowly over my head, making sure he can see the open hostility on my face. The warden stares openly at my thin bra as I toss the sweater to the floor, and a blush spreads over my face. I shimmy out of my jeans next, kicking my Birkenstocks to the side.

When I stand almost naked before him, he drags his eyes over me, taking time on every curve. There’s not much to look at—what I’m wearing isn’t exactly lingerie—but it piques his interest regardless.

“Take off the rest,” he says, short and low.

“No,” I defy him.

He steps closer to me, and I stare him down. My legs threaten to buckle again, still weak from my journey, but I can’t back down. He invades my space, gets close enough that I can feel his breath, and the magnetism of his big shoulders. Standing here in my underwear and with him shirtless and just centimeters away, I maintain steady contact with the galaxies in his eyes, willing myself not to tremble—in fear or anticipation, I’m not sure.

I’ve never let a man intimidate me, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now.

The little green man behind me clears his throat, and the warden looks over my shoulder at him.

“M’lord, if I might trouble you with some advice,” he says, “I have heard that Earth’s denizens have far stricter rules of propriety concerning nudity than your people. The indenture might be more amenable to her new duties if we observe her planet’s traditions.”

“Indenture?” I repeat, incredulous, “When I learned it in history class, indentures were something you entered into willingly.”

“The Hyperborean Empire has offered you salvation from your puny planet,” the warden growls. He spins on his heels and stalks back to his throne, taking a heavy seat. “You should be grateful.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. I want to pursue it further, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s done speaking with me.

He sighs deeply and shakes his head.

“I suppose this inspection will suffice. Portia, take her to the servants’ quarters. Get her a change of clothes and show her to her cot. We have preparations to make.”

“Yes m’lord,” the woman behind me says, and comes to gently take my arm.

I release a shuddering breath when she’s at my side.

“Easy,” she says, “I’ve got you.”

Where the hell am I?