The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

5. The Conqueror's Pet (Monster Smut)

Contains: hardcore scenes with bdsm elements and non-con

Hordes of Hexan titans cut through Crotanian army with ease, a sea of red bodies in their archaic, heavy steel armour. Phaemina covered her ears so she wouldn't hear the screams.

"Priestess," came Sall's worried voice as hurried hands grabbed her, guiding her blindly through the maze of long halls. Her robes tangled up at her feet but she was yanked and pulled, up the stairs and toward the aircrafts.

Wind blew through the white desert dunes and she cast one last look of despair at Crotan, the white dune planet that had been home to humans for millenia.

"Phae?" Came a gentler voice and she looked at Sall's weathered face.

"I failed them," she said but her voice was drowned by the aircraft's whirring blades. Sall put a gentle hand on her back, urging her to step inside.

The aircraft started to lift, but only for a moment before it was dragged back down with such force she felt the jarring pain all through her body. The women screamed, huddling to the back as the side of the aircraft was ripped off.

One lunged forward but she was slain by the Hexan who stood with the door caught in his claws. He tossed the metal as if it weighed nothing. Obsidian black eyes roved around from beneath a heavily ridged brow, then he stilled and pointed one thick finger in her direction and spat, "A'Gahk"

She felt desperate hands cling to her robes in an attempt to pull her back, but the Hexan ignored them, reaching forward he pulled her out by her arm, shoving her ahead he jerked his chin toward the temple. She glanced over her shoulder to find half a dozen forlorn eyes staring back. Up until that moment she'd had hope, but she felt it leave her then, like a well ran dry she felt herself become hollow.

The throne stood on the dais as it had before, in an empty, vast room where her father never ventured. It was an outdated practice to sit upon the Holy Throne, but it was not above the Hexan who lounged with an almost disdainful manner, the Rise of Alhemin sculpture behind the throne felt too mocking.

The Hexan, like others of his race bore skin the colour of blood, but even sat on the throne he appeared taller, bigger. He wore less of their bulky armour and had a line of spiky, black hair running from the centre of his ridged skull all down his spine. To think that they once shared a common ancestor... they had very little in common now.

Trying to be brave she stood tall in her sage robes and cried, "You will answer for your crimes, Hexan. You will-"

In a second he was upon her. He grabbed her by her throat and lifted her off her feet. Teeth gritted, he spat in his heavy accent, "I watched Crotanian's eradicate the people of Regha until none remained. Theirs was a brief chapter in history, but I am not so cruel as you." His hold on her throat tightened, his thumb deliberately pressing down on her pulse. Painful pressure built in her skull, desperately she held onto his wrist in silent appeal but he did not relent. "You will see me as your One Lord, and you will be grateful for lives spared. Or die."

Suddenly he let go and she fell in a heap to the ground. She sputtered, coughing, wishing her father was alive so he could guide her, tell her what to do.

How do I protect Crotan?

"At my feet, Crotanian," he pointed one clawed hand to the ground, then looked toward the Hexan who had brought her in, speaking in his rough tongue.

She stood, her legs trembling.

A moment's later the gates opened to usher in a man. It took her a moment to realize it was none other than the Overseer named Keel. Seeing a familiar face she took a step forward, her heart lifting with tiniest flare of hope, only to stop when the Overseer spat in the Hexan's face.