Owned by Luna Voss
2
Barion
If I’m being really honest, I fucking hate these Vostra get-togethers.
It’s not that I hate being social. Put me around my close friends, put me around the right woman, and I have a social side. Really, I do. Or at least, I have a side that isn’t stuck with resting I’m-going-to-murder-you face.
But Sarizor Dultaz, the new boss of the family that controls the south side of Dalax City, isn’t someone I like being around. And that’s a problem, considering the reason we’re having this gathering in the first place is that he’s promoting me to underboss.
“Brood harder,” says my lieutenant, Korva, next to me. He winks. “I don’t think you’ve quite scared off all the women yet.”
“I don’t care about meeting women,” I growl, even if I feel my mood lifting slightly at this hint of levity. Korva is someone I like being around.
“No shit, you don’t,” chuckles Korva. “But I don’t understand why. You’re about to become underboss of the whole Family, and somehow, you’re still unmated. You could have any woman in there wearing your mark.”
“I don’t want any woman in there wearing my mark. Besides, I’m not in the mood.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll lay off it. But just look at how fucking wound up you are. You seriously need to get laid.”
I give him a drop-it look. “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
I like Korva, but I’m not ready to tell him what’s on my mind right now. In the life we’re in, sharing that kind of thing with the wrong person can get you killed.
What I’m not saying to Korva is that I think Sarizor is dangerous. Not dangerous the way I am, the way Korva is, the way every member of the Vostra is dangerous. Sarizor is dangerous the way a maniac is dangerous. Or an idiot. The kind of person who gets you killed.
In this life, it’s easy to get killed.
Until about a week ago, Sarizor was underboss of the Dultaz Family. The role I’m about to inhabit. Sarizor is part of the old guard, from the same generation as the boss before him. Unlike the boss before him, however, he seems to have acquired none of the wisdom of his years. I’ve managed to maintain a mostly positive relationship with him, but only by knowing when to keep my mouth shut. Sarizor isn’t stupid, but far too sure of himself, and often cruel. He seems to see this life as a vehicle to exercise his worst tendencies.
Hence, why I’m brooding like this. Tonight is supposed to be a celebration. But the responsibility that comes with it feels crushingly heavy.
It will be my job as underboss to rein him in. And to protect the Family as best I can while he’s in power.
That in itself is a hard job.
But if I’m ever perceived to be undermining him, there’s a good chance I’ll be led into an empty room from which I’ll never return.
I’ve led others into such rooms myself. Men who betrayed us, or made the wrong kind of mistakes. Most of them were chatty, nervous, trying to keep the conversation going, trying to calm their nerves that this couldn’t be the way they would die. All the way up until the moment the door opened, and they could see there was no one waiting for them on the other side.
Each of these stories ends the same way: two quick squeezes of my plasma pistol and a body hitting the floor.
Every vostrat fears that end. And yet every one of them walks into that room. Because they’ve been ordered. Because they don’t know for sure what’s behind the door. Because without the Vostra, none of our lives are worth anything, anyway.
“Seriously, Barion, you look stressed as fuck. You’re definitely going to want to take a minute before you go in there and have to play nice with everybody.”
I sigh, and then give my lieutenant a grateful look. We both know that he’s one of the few people who can get away with talking to me like that, but we also both know how important it is that he does. By the time one nears the top of the hierarchy in a Vostra family, there aren’t a lot of people in a social position to be giving constructive criticism. In my opinion, that’s where a lot of leaders fail. I’m determined not to make that mistake.
With a deep breath, I reset myself and force a serviceable smile onto my face. I’m good at that. In the Vostra, appearances matter deeply.
“Thanks, Korva,” I say, turning to walk into the large conference center the Dultaz Family has rented out for the weekend. “Now let’s go eat some expensive fuckin’ food.”
* * *
Melyta
As I rush between the kitchen and the dining area at the conference center, I can tell that my heat is coming soon. Just on the way here, I practically snapped at the lady next to me on the bus when she bumped my shoulder by accident. And then again at my supervisor when I showed up for work. I really need to get it together.
That doesn’t mean I’m in danger of it starting tonight. My pre-heat symptoms often start a solid week in advance, and I get them just as bad as any other girl. But yikes, I need to make sure I don’t lose it and say something rude to one of these Vostra guys, or to one of their mates. They take disrespect really seriously.
I glide through the dining room, eyeing the people eating. There’s one man here who’s clearly the guest of honor. Maybe it’s his birthday or something. But for some reason, he doesn’t seem to be in a good mood. There’s a darkness that hangs thick over him, and I notice it whenever his carefully crafted smile slips.
If the women in the room notice, however, they certainly aren’t letting it show. I’m pretty sure this guy must have the attention of every single woman here who isn’t with a partner. I see them stealing glances at him, or wandering awkwardly into his field of vision to catch his attention. He ignores them, brooding noticeably behind his smile.
I can’t exactly blame them for being interested, in fairness. Most of the men here are attractive in that rich-but-scary way the Vostra so exemplify, but this guy is a step above the rest. Even in a suit, his musculature is clearly visible, with broad shoulders that make it impossible to mistake him for an office worker or a retail clerk. But it’s his face that really surprises. It isn’t the rough, weathered mug one would expect from a hardened criminal. Taken out of context, I might assume he was an actor, or a pop singer. His smooth, high-cheek-boned face is devilishly handsome, quite at odds with the danger lurking behind his eyes.
This man is a picture of contrasts. And as much as I don’t want to, I find him captivating.
For a moment, I feel a crazy urge to get closer to him, to try to get him to notice me somehow. That would be a stupid thing to do, right? Oh god, am I going into heat? That’s not a normal thought. That’s a going-into-heat thought.
No. Stop it. You’re being silly. Your heat isn’t going to start for another couple of days. Just get through this catering event, and you’ll be fine.
I’m startled out of my thoughts as I hear a couple at the table I’m standing next to arguing. The wife looks to be in her early twenties, around my age, and the husband somewhat older.
“We can talk about that later,” the man hisses. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“Stop fucking brushing me off!” she shoots back, her voice getting louder. I see other guests starting to glance at them.
“When. We. Get. Home,” says the man, his own voice lowering. He clearly wants to keep their conversation private. “You need to remember where we are. I’m not going to warn you again.”
I can’t quite make out what the wife says next, but I do hear another swear word. A moment later, her husband stands up from his seat and grabs her by the wrist. She resists for the briefest of seconds, trying to remain seated.
“Melyta,” is all he needs to say, his voice a low, warning growl.
For a split second, I feel a bath of cold ice trickle down my spine. Is he talking to me? And then the woman surrenders to her mate, and I realize that she and I must share the same first name. It is a common one, after all. My heart beats faster as I watch her husband lead her out of the room, and it occurs to me with a jolt that he must be about to give her a spanking.
Seeing that done so brazenly is hard to get out of my mind. It’s traditional for Voorian men to discipline their mates, and I know that many couples still practice it. It's probably not even that rare, at least on a subject planet like Tarsheb 8 with a majority of Voorians. But usually, probably due to the influence of human culture, it’s something that’s done in private. You don’t really see men disciplining their wives in public anymore, or even talking about it. We wouldn’t want to make the humans uncomfortable, you see.
But right now, I’m in a cultural space that is completely, 100% Voorian. And here, as I’ve learned, the usual rules don’t apply.
For some reason, I find myself fascinated by this idea in a way I never have been before. The idea of a world where Voorians can just be Voorians. Where there’s no pressure to take suppressants. Where a man can pull his mate out of the room for a spanking, just like that.
A world where maybe I wouldn’t be so embarrassed that I’m about to go into heat.
If I grew up in a Vostra neighborhood, I might have already been claimed. And then my heats would be very different: instead of isolating myself in my room, alone, shivering, needy, desperate, I would be with my mate. I would tell him at the first sign of my heat, and then he would keep me somewhere private, somewhere he could have me all to himself. I wouldn’t have to spend a week every six months in incredible discomfort, every cell in my body wishing my stupid knotted dildo gave me even a hint of satisfaction. My heats could actually be something I looked forward to, something pleasurable, something intimate.
I realize that I’m staring off into space, and I shake myself out of it. And then, without even meaning to, my eyes wander over to that man again, the man with the darkness behind his eyes.
This time, he looks back at me.
A shiver runs through me, but I can’t turn away. I’m trapped in place, my entire body captive to the intensity of his gaze, to the monumental authority that he emanates.
In that moment, that split second of connection, the darkness around him cracks. He doesn’t even turn his head, just looks at me out of the corner of his eye. But it’s enough. I see his face change ever so slightly.
It’s a fucking smirk. As though he’s looking right through me, and he knows exactly the kind of inappropriate thoughts he’s inspiring, no, forcing me to have.
And then, for the absolute briefest of moments, he flashes his fangs, extending and retracting that secondary pair of teeth all unsuppressed male Voorians have.
Fuck. I’ve had enough male friends over the years to know exactly why men do that. Apparently, when a man extends his secondary fangs, it triggers a release of pheromones. Which, if you’re not genetically compatible with him, won’t do a thing. But if you happen to be a receptive female, however…
Let’s just say those pheromones can have some powerful effects.
I’ve never experienced those effects before. I’ve barely dated, and none of the guys I’ve met have been particularly compatible. I don’t have any reason to believe this situation should be different. I turn away from him, disgusted at myself for letting him catch me looking. I should know better than that, in an environment like this. I need to keep my eyes to myself.
And then it’s like a switch flips inside me, and I realize I don’t have a week before my heat starts.
I don’t even have a day.
Panic sets in as the familiar signs of an impending heat become impossible to ignore. This is a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. This has never happened to me in public before. Usually, I isolate myself in my room a full day early, complete with a week’s worth of snacks and entertainment. It’s far from fun, but at least I know I’m safe.
I’m not safe here. I’m surroundedby Vostra gangsters, and pretty soon, the only thing in the world I’m going to care about is getting one of them inside me. I move quickly toward the kitchen, desperate to remove myself from the company of all these men.
It’ll be okay. I’ll just tell my supervisor I feel sick. Then I can go home.
In my peripheral vision, I see the handsome vostrat get up from his seat. Fuck. Fuck. It must be a coincidence, right? He didn’t get up because of me. He didn’t. He didn’t.
But as I see him pushing through the crowd in my direction, I know that I’m lying to myself. I walk to the kitchen as fast as I can without drawing attention, willing myself to be more graceful, for my legs to move faster. If only I can get there before him…
Nope.
He stops next to the kitchen door and gestures for me to approach him, his eyes drilling into me. He’s not even blocking my path, but his presence is magnetic, and I find myself obeying without even processing what I’m doing. It’s as though I’ve been sucked into his orbit by the gravity of the dark charisma he holds.
The gangster steps closer to me, so close that I can feel his body heat. Unbidden, I feel a warmth spreading between my legs, and a desire for him to touch me. I shiver as he reaches out his hand and then slides it through my hair, creating tingles as his fingers stroke over my sensitive scalp. The gesture is incredibly intimate, and if I wasn’t going into heat, I would never allow it from a stranger.
But I am going into heat, and his fingers feel way, way better than they should. I sigh softly, pressing myself against him, my heart pounding. I don’t even know this man’s name, but I know that he can have me if he wants to. He can do anything to me.
“What a good little girl, going into heat for me just because I flashed my fangs at you,” he whispers, his voice predatory, teasing.
He knows.
Everything feels hot. The world around me is a blur. I can’t bear to look at him and so I stare at my feet, very aware of the fact that my underwear has grown noticeably damp. In the back of my head, a little voice is yelling at me that I need to leave, to avoid this handsome strangerwho turns my legs to jelly.
“Go through the door to the kitchen, then make a right through the other door and wait for me,” he whispers, squeezing my hair at the back of my head. It’s all I can do not to moan at the pleasurable tingle this creates. “Wait for me there in the hallway.”
“Wait for you… why?” I manage to mumble, trying to be responsible despite the state I’m in. That’s responsible, right? Asking questions is responsible.
He just smirks, then pulls me closer to him, sliding his muscular thigh between my legs. I gasp as his leg presses against my crotch, and before I know it I’m grinding myself into him, chasing the sense of pleasure that I need, absolutely need to have.
The man watches me with a maddening sense of satisfaction on his face, then pulls his leg back, chuckling as I try to chase it with my hips. I just look at him, pleading, completely his.
He glances around, as though to check if anyone is watching us. Through my desperate haze, I try to do the same. Everyone is focused on their own meals and conversations. The lights are dim, and no one is paying any attention to what we’re doing in the corner next to the kitchen.
With a look on his face I can’t read, the handsome gangster marches me backward until I’m pressed against the wall. My breath comes in nervous, ragged gasps as I feel his muscular form enveloping me. I don’t protest. Every cell in my body is screaming to let him keep going.
Oh my god. I inhale sharply as his hand slides underneath my dress, tracing the inside of my thigh very close to my crotch. I know I should stop him, but I don’t. It doesn’t matter that we’re in public. I want him to touch me. I need his fingers to keep creeping upward.
They do. His eyes flash as his hand finds my panties, almost soaked through and sticking to my pussy. He slips one finger underneath the wet fabric, and then another, and I let out a whimper as they slide across my aching clit.
“So wet and ready,” he teases, and I feel his fingers sliding lower, searching for my opening. “Did you make a mess in your panties just for me?”
I stare back at him, completely beyond words. Every tiny motion of his fingers makes my world shake, makes me desperate for more.
Slowly, deliberately, the Vostra gangster pushes a finger inside me. I moan out loud, but my voice is muffled by the hand he’s just placed over my mouth. All I can do is writhe against the wall, bucking my hips and trying to take his finger deeper.
Then he steps back, and I’m filled with a sense of loss as he takes his hands away from me entirely. His finger comes out from under my dress, gleaming with wetness, and he pushes it into my mouth, making me taste the musky evidence of my own arousal.
“Go wait for me in the hallway,” he growls, licking his finger clean after me. He gives me a pat on the butt that feels suspiciously like a spank. “Now.”
