Stud, p.1
Stud, page 1
Copyright
Copyright © 2012 by Cheryl Brooks
Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover illustration by Anne Cain
Cover images © Wrangel/Dreamstime.com
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
An excerpt from Outcast
An excerpt from Fugitive
An excerpt from Hero
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
For my son Sam who, in spite of the naysayers
who maintained that because of his
language-based learning disability and autism
he would never drive a car or graduate high school,
somehow managed to do just that.
Way to go, Sam!
Chapter 1
There was only one thing he was good at…
***
Tarq smelled her before he ever laid eyes on her—a glorious, delectable aroma that curled through his head and shot straight into his bloodstream. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply as the effect of her fragrance hit his cock like a pulse blast, obliterating his every thought with the instantaneous ecstasy of an erection so hard it made his head swim.
He glanced away from his menu, taking in the shape of her legs out of the corner of his eye—what he could see of them, that is. Her baggy trousers and apron concealed everything about her legs except the fact that she had two of them.
“Hi, my name is Lucy, and I’ll be your server,” she said. “Do you already know what you’d like, or do you need more time?”
Tarq smiled to himself as he shook his head. No, he didn’t need more time. He knew exactly what he wanted. “You,” he replied. “I’d like a full order of you.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” she stammered.
He could hear the words catch in her throat and hoped he’d just done the same thing to her that she’d done to him. She was human—he could tell that much from her voice—but a human female who didn’t mask her natural scent with heavy perfumes was rare. Tarq could never understand why they did that, but then, humans weren’t the dedicated scent breeders that Zetithians were. It didn’t matter what a woman looked like; if she didn’t smell right, his cock was going nowhere.
This woman, however, wasn’t hiding her scent and it assailed him full force. His mouth filled with saliva at the thought of tasting her—to the point that Tarq had to swallow before he could speak. With one more deep, satisfying breath, he looked up at her.
No, she wasn’t beautiful, but the way she stared down at him, round-eyed and speechless, was enough to make him want to purr. She was young, but not too young to mate with a man of his age. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, though a few soft tendrils had escaped near her temples, accentuating fair skin and round cheeks that needed no artificial enhancements to put a rosy blush on them—though his words might have been responsible.
The expression in her deep brown eyes intrigued him. It was as if she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly and was somewhere between laughter and astonishment. Tarq drank in her appearance just as he had done with her scent. Her nose was dusted with freckles, her dark eyelashes curled enticingly, and, as he watched, her generous mouth finally smiled.
Actually, it was more of a grin. Then, all at once, her face went blank and she recoiled slightly. Her eyes swept from his chest to the roots of his hair, with a darted glance at his features. He knew what she was seeing—blue eyes with catlike pupils, ears that curved to a pointed tip, eyebrows that slanted upward toward his temples, and blond hair that hung in spiral curls to his waist. She wasn’t going to say it out loud, but the shock of recognition was clear; she knew precisely who he was and why he was there.
A nervous giggle escaped her. “Do you want to hear today’s specials?”
Tarq shook his head and smiled, drawing her attention to his fangs as he slowly licked his lips. “What would you recommend?”
Swallowing hard, she blurted out, “The fish.”
Nodding, Tarq exhaled with a loud purr. “Then I’ll have the fish.” Shifting his weight, he leaned back, shaking the hair back from his face. His dick was starting to hurt and his balls were tingling like crazy. It had been three days since he’d had a woman. One more whiff of her and he’d probably lose all control.
She tapped his order into her notepad. Without looking up, she went on, “Baked, broiled, or grilled?”
“How do you like it, Lucy?” Tarq put as much seductive emphasis into those words as he possibly could—a question he’d asked countless women, but in a far different situation.
Still not taking her eyes off the pad, she said, “Um… grilled.”
“Then I’ll have it grilled.” Tarq let his own eyes roam over her round hips, ample breasts, and capable hands. She looked every bit as luscious as she smelled. A woman like that had to be mated already. Then he remembered the human custom of wearing rings on their left hand. He could see both of her hands clearly; there were no rings on either of them, but they were shaking.
“You get two sides with that.” There was a tremor in her voice; Tarq knew he was making her nervous, which was the very last thing he wanted to do. He wanted her relaxed and receptive.
“Why don’t you choose for me?” he suggested. “I don’t recognize any of them.”
“How about the Greek salad and eggplant with tomatoes and kalamata olives?”
“That sounds good.”
“And to drink?”
Tarq couldn’t say what he really wanted to drink; there were some things you didn’t say to a woman you’d only met a few moments before—unless she was a client, of course. “Water.”
“Anything else?”
Tarq had to bite his lip to keep from saying what was on the tip of his tongue, opting to reply with a shake of his head.
“I’ll be right back with your drink.”
Tarq smiled as he watched her go, her soft moccasins making no sound as she walked away. No wonder she had been able to sneak up on him like that. Tarq had excellent hearing—though his sense of smell was better—and there was nothing wrong with his eyesight, either. He’d lied when he said he didn’t recognize the side dishes; the truth was he couldn’t read the menu.
Not very well, anyway. If he sat and stared at it long enough, a few words would make sense eventually, but he couldn’t just glance at a word and know what it meant—no matter what language it was written in. He had to figure it out every time, or use his pocket scanner. The device was useful and could translate almost any language, but, viewing its use as a sign of weakness, he only used it as a last resort. His memory was excellent when it came to remembering other things—images, faces, locations—just not printed words.
The navigation system on his speeder kept him from getting lost on the planets he visited; without that, he could never have left Rhylos. Dax had been a big help; not only did he shuttle Tarq from planet to planet on his starship, the Valorcry, but his navigator, Waroun, set up the speeder to tell him everything he needed to know. It was good to have smart friends; otherwise, Tarq wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere—at least not by himself.
Places like this, he thought, glancing about the room. Like the rest of the town of Reltan, the decor of the café was more rustic than elegant. Patrons were served at tables made of rough-hewn wood, and the food arrived on handmade ceramic plates. Paintings of fishing boats from a bygone era hung on stuccoed walls above a floor of cobbled stone. According to the video history he’d watched while en route to Talus Five, this region had been settled by Terran immigrants of primarily Mediterranean descent who wanted to return to a simpler lifestyle than that found on present-day Earth. The style of architecture was based on old-world fishing villages, and though the buildings weren’t without modern conveniences, the ambiance was decidedly historic.
Fortunately, they hadn’t taken it a step further and revived an ancient language. The Standard Tongue—or Stantongue as it was often called—had been difficult enough for Tarq to learn. He would never have been able to communicate with people who spoke anything else, and Zetithian was, for all practical purposes, a dead language.
Waroun’s information had also told him that the food at this café was quite good, which was something his nose confirmed. Though they served a variety of foods from Earth’s North American and European regions, the emphasis was on Greek and Italian. Now that Lucy wasn’t nearby, other aromas drifted back into his awareness and he picked up the pungent scent of garlic in the air, along with the essence of olive oil and herbs like fennel, oregano, basil, and sage… smells as clear to him as written words were to everyone else.
He was studying the head of a great beast mounted high up on the wall when Lucy returned with a tray. “What is that?” he asked, pointing a finger.
“It’s a vrelnot,” she replied as she set his salad in front of him. “At least that’s what everyone around here calls them. They live in the Eradic Mountains. Very dangerous.”
Nothing by that name was on his planned route, fortunately. Waroun obviously didn’t know everything about every planet; this was one thing he hadn’t mentioned. “Have you ever seen a live one?”
Lucy shook her head as she set out a small loaf of freshly baked bread on a cutting board. “Only sport hunters ever go there, and sometimes they don’t come back.” Placing a small dish of balsamic vinegar mixed with herbed olive oil beside his plate, she topped it with freshly ground pepper. “It’s the one place everyone else learned to avoid when this region was settled.”
Tarq nodded. “Stay out of the mountains.”
“Right.”
Despite the salad sitting right under his nose with its medley of aromas and the steam rising from the bread, he could still find the essence of Lucy tucked in along with the others. His penis, which had softened slightly while she was gone, sprang back to attention with that first whiff. Tarq was trying to figure out how to keep her there, short of pulling her onto his lap, when an irate male called out, “Lucy! Quit yakking and get your ass over here. The next order is up.”
Tarq was looking right at her face, ignoring the food despite his growling stomach, and saw the spasm of embarrassment cross her features, followed closely by one of irritation. “Is that your mate?”
“No,” she replied. “He’s my father. I don’t have a ‘mate’ and probably never will.” Lucy set his glass of water on the table, knocking over the saltshaker in her haste, but righted it in an instant and was gone before Tarq could draw another breath. He watched as she collected the steaming plates from the kitchen and delivered them to another table, smiling at the customers as though nothing had happened.
Lucy was obviously used to being yelled at, but Tarq thought it was horrible. He didn’t understand why she put up with it, nor could he imagine a father treating his daughter that way. He certainly never would, though he’d never actually met any of his daughters—or his sons, for that matter. At last count, he had over five hundred offspring, and though very few were female, he sincerely hoped that none of their surrogate fathers were as nasty as Lucy’s, though he had no way of knowing for sure. Some things were best left unknown, but the not knowing bothered him at times. Where were they? Were they growing up strong and happy? He could get reports through the registry, but there was nothing quite like firsthand knowledge. He’d never been present at their births, only their conceptions.
Her father’s outburst was completely forgotten as Loucinda Force cornered Jublansk by the stasis unit. “Oh, God,” she exclaimed. “Did you see who that is sitting out there? It’s him!”
“What do you mean, him?” Jublansk demanded as she pulled out a bag of onions. Shutting the door with her broad hip, she carried the onions over to the processor and dumped them in.
“It’s the guy in the commercial,” Lucy said, raising her voice enough to be heard over the noise from the processor. There were quieter models available, but Lucy’s father considered it an unnecessary upgrade. “The Zetithian guy. You know, the one who says he’ll give you joy unlike any you have ever known?”
“Girl, are you shittin’ me?” Jublansk’s colorful robes swirled as she spun around, nearly hitting Lucy in the head with her tusk. “It can’t be.”
“Why not? He’s supposed to be around here for the next few weeks, and he’s got to eat, doesn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but why here?”
“Why not here?” Lucy shot back. “My father may be an asshole, but he can cook.”
“But are you sure it’s him?”
“Sure? Of course I’m sure. How could anyone possibly forget him?”
Lucy remembered the precise moment she’d first seen him. Passing through where her younger sister, Reba, had been lounging as she watched television, Lucy had spotted his face filling the screen and had been instantly mesmerized. Blond, blue-eyed, and very handsome—though definitely not human—his hair fell to his waist in thick, shining curls, and though his fang-like canines drew the eye, it was the seductive curl of his full lips and the purring note in his voice that was so arresting. A straight nose and strong square jaw spoke clearly of a man unwise to cross, but the twinkle in his feline eyes promised untold delights, pleasures, and secrets the likes of which Lucy had never even allowed herself to dream.
He had introduced himself as Tarquinian Zulveidinoe and reported that he would be in the Har-al-kaq region of Talus Five over the next several weeks.
“The planet Zetith was destroyed in the year twenty-nine eighty-four, and our species is nearly extinct, therefore it is up to those of us who are left to continue our race as best we can. We are genetically compatible with many species but seem to cross best with humans of Terran origin. Our children are nearly always born in litters of three, and our genes are dominant. Unfortunately, our females are less receptive to males of other species, and since I tend to sire male children, I am making myself available to any ladies wishing to conceive and bear my young. There is no charge for my services, but all offspring must be registered with the Zetithian Birth Registry.” A soft smile played across his sensuous lips. “Call me, and I will give you joy unlike any you have ever known.”
His name and call number were displayed at the bottom of the screen as the list of compatible species scrolled by. Lucy had glanced at it briefly, knowing she would be able to recall any of it effortlessly at any time. His face, however, was burned into her memory like a brand.
No, she couldn’t forget him. Ever.
“Humph,” Jublansk snorted. “You thinkin’ of callin’ him?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Your father would hang you up to dry if you went anywhere near that beast.”
Lucy bit back a laugh. “You’re calling him a beast?” Her father had more “beastly” qualifications than anyone she could think of. This “Tarquinian” was more like a house cat than a beast—he purred like one, anyway.
“You know what I mean,” Jublansk said with a meaningful look. She picked up the bowl of freshly chopped onions and headed toward the grill.
Lucy felt her eyes stinging with tears but wasn’t entirely sure the onions were to blame. “Yeah, I know.”
Lucy knew her father needed her help, though he never put it that way. Getting involved with a man might mean she would leave home, and her father had done his best to discourage that—though Lucy wasn’t sure just who he’d had to discourage. With plenty of other—and far more accessible—girls from which to choose, the boys she’d known in school hadn’t considered her worth the trouble of dealing with her notoriously ill-tempered parent. As a result, at the age of twenty-nine, Lucy was as chaste as she had been on the day of her birth.
It rankled with her, however. She was no less attractive than many of her schoolmates, but, thanks to her father, the boys had given her a wide berth, despite the fact that she could have at least helped to improve their grades. None of that mattered, though; even if a boy had asked her out, her father would have seen to it that she didn’t have the time to spare.
Natasha, one of Lucy’s best friends, had married and moved to Yalka, a town that lay to the north of the Malturn wilderness, and had repeatedly urged Lucy to leave her home and stay with her until she found a job. Thus far, Lucy had seen no reason to do so. It had been drummed into her head that she was made for work, not romance, for so long that she didn’t believe her life would be measurably improved by the change. She could always find work but no one to love, so why bother? Though her present situation wasn’t paradise, at least it was familiar.
