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  War Prize

  Vonna Harper

  The warlike Malar have won. The Zebede are vanquished. The Zebede prince has no choice but to hand his youngest daughter Saarah over to the Warrior-God Dagen.

  Dagen, weary from years of fighting, takes possession of Saarah’s lush young body. He will not abuse his captive, no Warrior-God would do such a thing. But he knows how to reach through her defenses and will teach her to revere and honor him. Saarah, however, is no passive prisoner. Passionate and strong-willed, she has needs that won’t be denied.

  As lust turns to passion and passion turns to intimacy, Dagen and Saarah begin the tentative steps of a journey neither expected to travel, sharing parts of themselves they’d never expected to reveal.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  War Prize

  ISBN 9781419924248

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  War Prize Copyright © 2009 Vonna Harper

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley

  Electronic book publication October 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  War Prize

  Vonna Harper

  Chapter One

  “The Malar have proven themselves as foes worthy of the greatest respect. Perhaps we should have known how difficult defeating them would prove to be when they first arrived. If we’d had the wisdom of hindsight, I truly believe we would not have raised our weapons against them. However, the past cannot be changed. We can only look into tomorrow.”

  Grateful for the oversized wooden chair that had been provided him for the surrender ceremony, Malar Warrior-God Dagen studied the Zebede prince who stood before the assembled fighters from both nations. The prince, second-in-command, appeared to be in his early sixties, making Dagen wonder whether he had the fire necessary to rule once the ancient king died. One thing about being a Warrior-God, Dagen would never be required to assume responsibility for an entire people.

  Hardly, he reassured himself behind tight lips. Instead, his value lay in his willingness to put his life on the line, a willingness that was about to be rewarded.

  “The Zebede bow before superior strength,” the prince went on. “We surrender to it. And as proof of that surrender, we turn our most valuable citizens over to the Malar. For the seasons they intend to remain on what was once our land alone, ownership of those possessions belongs to the Malars.”

  The prince’s voice had rung strong throughout the ceremony that had begun with the laying down of all Zebede weapons, but now the older man faltered, and even from this distance, Dagen saw his eyes darken.

  “The Malar have three Warrior-Gods. I now invite each of them to step forward and accept their reward.”

  Although he’d known this moment would come, Dagen wished he could stay where he was. Instead, he positioned his battered body on weary legs and joined his fellow fighters in the short walk to the platform where the prince stood. As befitted his station, he took his position to the right of the others, closest to the prince.

  “As we were preparing for this part of the ceremony,” the prince continued, “the other Zebede leaders and I gave considerable thought to what we would say, but in the end we realized action would speak more firmly than words. Thus I will simply present your rewards to you.”

  After briefly lowering his head, the prince clapped his hands. All talking stopped. Cognizant of the attention now focused on him, Dagen threw back his shoulders and rested a hand on the knife at his side. No matter his reaction, he wouldn’t show any emotion. Still, in deference to the seriousness of what was happening, he turned in the direction everyone was looking.

  Three young women were walking toward the platform. All wore loose, light garments that flowed over their bodies from neck to ankles. Despite the abundance of fabric, the pale yellow material did nearly nothing to hide the forms beneath. Their eyes were downcast, their steps slow, feet dragging over the dirt. When he’d first learned what was going to happen, Dagen had assumed the women would be bound as symbolic of their humbled status, but they wore no restraints.

  By turning his attention to the ache at the small of his back, he managed a disinterested air, but as the trio drew closer, he took careful note of the creatures. All three were in their prime with high breasts and taut thighs. As was true of all Zebede, they had dark, nearly black hair, but unlike the men who kept theirs close-cut, the females’ straight, thick masses were so long they nearly reached their waists. They were slender but not scrawny, long limbed although the tallest couldn’t be more than three inches over five feet. Flat, smooth bellies led him to conclude they hadn’t given birth. Could they be virgins? From what he’d learned about the Zebede, they were a lusty race. It was the norm for the young and unmarried to experiment with a variety of sex partners before the mate claiming ceremony. He wasn’t sure how he felt knowing he wouldn’t be his gift’s first.

  “This,” the prince pointed at the woman who’d led the way, “is my youngest daughter. Our governing body agreed that offering her would leave no doubt of our commitment to ending the hostilities between our people.”

  The woman had clenched her fists as her father spoke. Although her arms remained at her sides, Dagen sensed she was close to losing self-control. If the prince hadn’t just said what he had, he would have taken her as the old man’s granddaughter.

  “Like her companions, she has benefited from an education and can both read and write. I had hoped she would show an affinity for the arts as our most feminine females do, but she has proven to be of an independent mind.” The prince cleared his throat. “I tell you this because I do not want any of you to assume ownership of her believing she blindly embraces her new role in life.”

  Equal parts impatience and discomfort had Dagen wishing he could order the prince to complete the ceremony, but he didn’t want anyone thinking he was anything except patiently accepting his reward.

  “I am not certain how to handle this part,” the prince said, looking uncomfortable. “I suppose I could simply assign a possession to each of you, but perhaps you have your own preferences.”

  “These are sex slaves?” Dagen asked, his tone slightly condescending as befitted a conqueror. “They present themselves as free women. As such, they are in need of a great deal of work before they can be of service.”

  “You disapprove?” the prince asked. “We, ah, we indeed have sex slaves, but those creatures have been handled by many men. Our intention was to gift you with unspoiled flesh, the finest the Zebede has.”

  “Relatively unspoiled,” Dagen muttered. “Have they at least been instructed
to treat us as we are, their lords and owners?”

  Clearing his throat, the prince looked over at the assembled Zebede officials. “They have. You need have no concern that they will object to, ah, whatever you want them to do.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps…perhaps not. It remains to be seen whether they know the consequences if they offer any opposition.”

  Blinking rapidly, the prince worked at closing his mouth. Without looking at the other Zebede, Dagen guessed they too had gotten the point. Despite today’s polite formality, this gathering was designed to leave no doubt of who the winners and losers were. The Zebede had been defeated, and in that defeat, they’d turned control of a vital waterway over to the Malar. As victors, the Malar could deny river access to the Zebede if anything a Zebede did displeased them.

  “I’m assuming by your silence,” Dagen continued, “that the answer is yes. Given that, I want a public display by these creatures of their acceptance as sex slaves.”

  He’d said sex slave with an eye on the trio of women so he could judge their reaction. He was both pleased and disconcerted to note a mix of disbelief and resignation in their dark eyes. Shaking off any regret he might feel over the abrupt change in the females’ lives, including the loss of their freedom, he planted himself in front of the prince’s daughter. Feeling like a giant next to her petite body, he noted her sweet, clean scent and gleaming hair.

  “What am I?” he asked her in a tone designed to carry.

  “A-a Malar warrior.” She kept her attention on the ground.

  “A Warrior-God, bravest of the brave and strongest of the strong.” Unless I’ve been sleeping on the ground too long and my back is in misery. “And your master. Say it, what am I to you?”

  She was silent just long enough for him to grow impatient. “My master,” she finally muttered.

  “And that makes you my what?”

  “Your…possession.”

  “No!” he corrected. “Say it. What have you become?”

  She sucked in a long breath. “Your sex slave.”

  Her voice reminded him of something half forgotten, a light breeze whispering through spring leaves perhaps. And with that joke of a garment leaving little to the imagination, how could he not stare at those full breasts with their dark, erect nipples? Damn her body for speaking so arrogantly to his!

  “That’s right,” he belatedly said. “And what does such a creature do when presented with her master’s body?”

  Once again her fingers knotted, turning her knuckles white. He’d had sex slaves before, mindless souls passed among the warriors only to be left behind when the warriors moved on. He didn’t think of them as his personal possessions but then what did he want with a piece of flesh he had total and unrelenting responsibility for when his role as Warrior-God was never-ending? This gift, however, was going to be different because the Malar would remain on Zebede-land until winter and both Malar and Zebede would watch his every move.

  Good thing he’d been raised and trained to take control.

  “I asked you a question.” Grabbing a handful of her hair, he forced her to look up at him. “What has your primary responsibility in life become?”

  Tears he guessed were born of discomfort filmed her eyes. “I-I am certain you will tell me, Master.”

  “Indeed I will. Listen to me. From now on whenever you see me, you will drop to your knees and await my command.”

  Instead of doing what he’d in essence ordered her to do, her tears died to be replaced by a blaze of fury.

  “What is this—defiance?” he thundered. Then, remembering where he was, he released her hair but remained in her space. “Indeed,” he said to her father, “she has been allowed to run free. As a result, she hasn’t learned to respect her superiors. Never mind.” He waved off the older man’s attempt to speak. “I appreciate a challenge. And in preparation for that challenge—Namid, do you have the slave collars?”

  Giving Dagen a quick smile, senior warrior Namid dug into the pouch he carried and pulled out three leather straps. More than two inches wide with a lock and a D ring imbedded in them, they’d long been considered the essential and often only adornment for a sex slave.

  Dagen held up the collars for everyone to see. “Ceremony and symbolism is a vital part of what today is about,” he announced. “As such, I want everyone to see and understand. Now, slave, kneel.”

  Instead, she became so tense he thought she might shatter. For the first time, he wondered what she was thinking and how much fear warred with anger. She was a little thing, maybe weighing half what he did, and yet he didn’t anticipate her immediately surrendering to him. Wondering about the reservoir of strength in that slight body blunted some of his displeasure. He also pondered what her body against his would feel like, her soft skin contrasting with his rough flesh. Was her woman-place large enough to accommodate his cock, and how long would it take him to teach or force her to accept it?

  “Kneel,” he repeated in a tone designed for just her ears. “Before I make you regret it.”

  Something, maybe a nod, disturbed her sleek hair. Then, graceful beyond graceful, she lowered herself to the ground with her hands resting on her thighs. She didn’t look up at him.

  Mindful of the audience, he selected one of the collars and slipped the leather over the back of her neck. He paused a moment before bringing the two ends together at the base of her throat.

  “Listen to the sound,” he told her. “And when you hear the click, understand that it won’t come off for as long as I have use for you. I will control you with the ring worked into it. Rope or chain, maybe more leather, the means won’t matter. You are my pet, my dog, my slave.”

  Ah yes, her fingers were digging into her thighs, and her breathing had quickened. Studying her reaction, he remembered the day he’d captured the wild dog that had eventually become the first bitch in his dog pack. Instead of wildly fighting the ropes he’d thrown over her, the bitch had watched him with wary eyes and exposed fangs.

  This sex-slave-in-the-making might have fangs of her own.

  Not bothering to further explain what he was doing, he pushed the metal together. A quick snap and it claimed her. She immediately straightened, her body looking as if it would break if he tried to bend it. Her nails were now caught on the worthless fabric, snagging it. If anything, her nipples looked harder than before. A wave of power crashed into him to erase all awareness of his aching body. His cock came to life, but because it was hidden beneath his thick, knee-length garment, only he knew.

  Or did he?

  Leaving the question to try to answer later, he turned the collar around so the D ring was in front. He considered looping a finger through it and dragging her to her feet, but he’d just informed her that her usual position was now on her knees.

  “Are you finished?” Namid asked. “Perhaps you want—”

  “Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “These people need to understand what it means to be defeated.”

  Namid again rummaged in his pouch and pulled out more leather straps. These were narrower and more pliable with an adjustable buckle. Dagen held up the one he’d chosen. The prince’s mouth thinned, but he wisely said nothing. Then Dagen dangled the strap in front of his new slave.

  “I do not yet have a reason to trust you,” he informed her. “Granted, so far you have obeyed, but you are a wild animal unaccustomed to being dominated. And a wild animal often bolts. This is to ensure that won’t happen.”

  Leaving her to consider what he’d just said, he stepped behind her. He draped the leather over his shoulder before taking hold of her wrists and drawing her arms back. He didn’t let up the pressure until her elbows nearly touched. His intention had been to bind her wrists together, but seeing her elbows kiss gave him another idea. Gripping both wrists in a single hand, he held them in place while taking hold of the strap. Not giving her time to react, he quickly looped the strap over her elbows and drew it tight, stopping short of risking a disjointed shoulder. After securing the
buckle, he stepped back and walked around to her front.

  She was staring up at him, glaring really, with her breasts thrusting toward him and her arms hidden behind her. He hadn’t just handcuffed her, he’d imprisoned her from shoulders to wrists.

  “Get used to that,” he said, relying on his public voice again. “Slavery is a matter of restraint, restraint in whatever form your master desires. Just as the Malar are taking control of the river, I, Warrior-God Dagen, have taken control of you.”

  Something that might be fear entered her eyes, but before he could be sure, the expression slipped away to be replaced by anger. Yes, she’d fight if she could.

  And in the fighting, she’d learn.

  Learn to worship him.

  Chapter Two

  A sensation she’d never experienced before stole over the base of Saarah’s throat and flooded her bloodstream, but she forced herself to concentrate on the man standing over her. Although she’d often seen the Malar warriors from a distance, that hadn’t prepared her for being this close to one of the enemy. No matter how fervently she’d promised her father that she’d accept her new role in life, could she?

  The arrogant beast who called himself a Warrior-God was staring at her breasts. Studying them as if he had every right to them.

  He does, she reminded herself. The thought weakened her, and for a moment she thought she was going to collapse. But she was royalty’s youngest daughter. She wouldn’t shame her family, she wouldn’t! Straightening her spine, she glared at her new master with his thick, unruly red hair and harsh jaw until he lifted his gaze from her breasts to her eyes. Remaining silent took most of her self-control. Why had he come to the surrender ceremony wearing only a leather garment that covered him from belly to thighs? His chest was too broad and sun-darkened, his arms the most muscular she’d ever seen.