Until the curse struck Blayde, they’d thought it was an old legend and put little credence in it, though their elders declared it was all true. According to the legend, Kyle’s great-grandfather, Gunnar, had seen a beautiful human woman on a voyage to Europa, one of the moons of Jupiter, and had kidnapped her. The inhabitants of the moons of Jupiter had long been rumored to practice witchcraft, but Gunnar was wild and more than a little crazy. He wasn’t interested in the woman for himself—his preference was for handsome males, but the female Lycan who was his mate liked other females.
He took the woman to give to his mate as a companion, to help her raise their children. Sometimes Lycans took these “companions” as lovers. In fact, Gunnar lay with the woman at the same time he impregnated his mate, so that both produced sons at around the same time. The human female produced a son, red-haired and handsome, half Lycan and half human. And though she eventually grew to love her Lycan mistress, the human female never made a secret of her utter hatred for Gunnar.
Gunnar made a second trip to Europa and kidnapped the companion’s handsome twin brother to be his own concubine. Not only was Gunnar intrigued by his beauty, but since his mate was now really more interested in her lovely human, he was free to indulge his own needs. He thought he would make an excellent love slave. He had no idea that the man was also a powerful warlock.
The male, whose name was Ivan, was furious with Gunnar, but also fiercely attracted almost against his will. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Gunnar, it was said, though his sister urged him to. He eventually decided to curse all of Gunnar’s descendants, not in a hurtful way, but one that would ensure all of them would be males and all alphas. It was well-known that alphas had great difficulty living together in harmony, so he had, in effect, ensured that all of Gunnar’s offspring would be at each other’s throats. In addition, and maybe because Gunnar left him alone so often to voyage around the galaxies, Ivan cursed them to fall madly, irrevocably in love while still young, and never be able to be without their mates again.
No, Kyle had been lucky so far, and he intended to do everything in his power to keep it that way. He was still young and looked forward to playing the field for many years to come. He glanced down into the by-now blank screen of the compnet at his reflection there. Blayde said he was the prettiest of them, and he was vain enough to wonder if it was true, though the word pretty made him cringe a little. Surely he was far too masculine for such a word. It was true he wore his dark hair a little longer than the rest of his cousins, but mainly because he couldn’t be bothered to have it cut most of the time.
His eyelashes were a bit too long and curled up almost like a female’s, and he’d always hated it. His eyes were the deep red of all the Lycans, though his were so dark as to be almost
black, and this drew a lot of attention to his eyes. He snapped the cover closed and sat back in his chair—attractive, perhaps, but definitely not pretty.
* * * *
Tarr Bonnet saw the Lycans the moment they entered the bar. His usual table was in the corner, tucked away in the shadows, and so far neither of the bastards had so much as glanced his way, but his senses went on high alert immediately. He fucking hated Lycans, and most especially since his twin brother had been captured by them.
His brother, Taz, had been a passenger on board a freighter carrying a shipment of diamonds to one of their Nilanium allies when they were attacked by Alliance ships. The shipment was stolen and his brother taken prisoner. He had been sent to the prison on the planet Lycanus, because it was theorized that only Lycans stood any chance of keeping Tygerians contained without resorting to strong drugs.
Since there had already been fatalities among Tygerian prisoners due to these powerful drugs, the Alliance decided it might be cruel and unusual punishment to drug them constantly to keep them from shifting. Lycan wolves were the only thing that came close to matching them in power and strength.
Tarr had managed to attack the Lycan prison ship as his brother was being moved to a larger facility on Lycanus 2, and freed him after an intense and bloody battle that cost him two of his best men. He retrieved his brother, but he owed the bastards payback, and he thought he might know how to get it for both his brother and himself.
He gaze swept over these Lycans now, assessing whether or not they posed any threat if he went through with his idea. They were both muscular and well built, though one was a bit larger than the other. Both were handsome, too, even if they were Lycan. The larger one might have been a couple of years older, dark-haired, with those strange red eyes all the Lycans had, giving him what Tarr thought of as a devilish look. The Tygerian religion warned of devils who were seductively handsome despite their red hair and eyes.
The other Lycan was almost sinfully good-looking, with plump, luscious lips, high cheekbones and eyelashes as long as any female’s. The idea of what he might do with these Lycans grew in Tarr’s mind—it was outrageous, but rather a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself.
Tarr had just received a message from his brother telling him to be on the lookout for a suitable nobyo for him. He asked him to purchase one right away if he found one he thought he’d like, as his first child was due to arrive soon. One of these Lycans would be eminently suitable to fulfill his request.
There was no appropriate translation for the word nobyo, but to the Tygerians it meant lover, or paramour. It was even used as a term of endearment for their concubines. A nobyo was like a spouse, in a way, though, of course, marriage to an alien species was out of the question—only female Tygerians were accepted as marriage partners. The Tygerian female never lived with the male, but they kept in close contact when they had children together. Even more, though, a nobyo was a life companion, and was in charge of rearing all the children.
The nobyo was even closer to the Tygerian than a wife, because he was well-loved and cared for his entire life. Even if the unlikely happened, and the long-lived Tygerian passed away first, the nobyo was cared for and cherished by the children for as long as they lived.
Tarr wondered how Taz would feel about a Lycan for his nobyo. It would take a lot of training and a strong hand, but the challenge would definitely be fun. And since his capture, Taz hated the Lycans on general principle. To have one as his submissive love slave would be sweet. Tarr let his gaze wander over both Lycans again. He could try for both of them, but his chances would be better to capture at least one if he could separate them—the smaller one, perhaps. He was pretty and looked a bit more malleable too, more open to persuasion than the bigger one.
As he watched and sipped his drink, trying to figure out if he could separate them in some way, he saw the smaller one slip something to the bartender. Interested, he watched as the bartender turned and moved to the other end of the bar, where he appeared to be reading a note. Then he glanced up and caught Tarr’s gaze. Amazingly, he walked directly over to Tarr’s table and handed the note to him.
“The Lycan dog over there slipped this to me for you, sir. The note says he’ll make it worth my while to give this to you. Should I kill him for his insolence in disturbing you?” The bartender was a fiercely loyal slave who had worked with Tarr for years. The bar itself was owned by Tarr, and he used it not only for his amusement, but as a way to meet potential buyers for his collection.
“No, Ozrom, I’ll handle this. You did the right thing to bring the note to me. ”
Ozrom nodded and moved away. He had belonged to Tarr’s family most of his life. His Earthan mother had been captured when he was a small child, and her new owner had allowed her to keep him. As he grew up, and it became apparent he’d never be pretty enough to be a love slave, he’d become a service slave, and Tarr’s father bought him when he was only sixteen cycles. He’d trained him to work in the bar, a much easier life than most service slaves endured. Since Tarr’s father treated all his slaves well, even allowing service slaves to take lovers if they wished, he’d earned the man’s undying gratitude.
Tarr opened the note and quickly read the contents. Written in the Galactic Standard text in a small, neat handwriting, the note was short, asking for a meeting. It said the Lycan had some important, unnamed business to discuss. Tarr scribbled his reply and caught Ozrom’s eye. Ozrom began to work his way over to his master as unobtrusively as possible so he could return the note to the Lycan. This was turning out to be a very interesting evening indeed.
* * * *
Kyle walked back into the bar three hours later, alone. He spotted Tarr at the same table in the corner, and wondered briefly if he’d been there ever since Kyle had left with Blayde earlier in the evening. In the note he’d sent back, Tarr said he would meet with Kyle at midmoon—but only if Kyle came alone. The note said Blayde had to remain on their ship and his men would monitor him to be sure. If Kyle didn’t come alone, then he shouldn’t bother, because as Tarr said in the note, he was ‘familiar with Alliance tricks. ’
Kyle had no doubt he was telling the truth about monitoring the ship, yet he’d had a terrible time trying to convince Blayde to stay onboard.
“You’ll probably be walking right into a trap, damn it!” Blayde yelled at him.
“I know,” Kyle said for seemed like the hundredth time. “But how else can I speak directly to him? Sure, he could take me prisoner, but why settle for taking me when he could take the deal I’m going to offer him? He’s a businessman, after all, so surely he’ll recognize a good deal when he hears it. ”
“You’re assuming he’ll even give you a chance to tell him the deal. What if he grabs you the minute you walk in there?” Blayde continued his pacing back and forth across the comm deck on the ship, occasionally running his hand through his hair, something he often did when he was agitated. “No, it’s too fucking risky. We’ll try something else. ”
“Like what? Look, we’re here—I’ve made contact. I think we should go through with it. ”