“Slow down,” Eivilay whined, trying to catch up with Conor. Her relatively short strides made that task impossible if she was not jogging. That her legs were digitagrade and made for running made no difference. Conor was just too damn fast.
They had left Stitch’s clinic almost an hour ago, and Conor was making no attempt at showing the expected cordiality and care a Champion was supposed to. Why he was acting like this? She had already declared him as her Champion several times. Was the Human genuinely just this uncouth?
Eivilay could tell he had a passing interest in her, at least if the human’s lingering eyes were anything to go by. The entire time she and Brakul were brokering the contract to hire them, Conor might as well have undressed her with his eyes.
Could he not just admit it?
For his part, Conor was well aware of how the alien princess made him feel and would gladly act on it. But here was not the place, and now was not the time. He had to keep her safe, set her up with a kit, and ensure none of the Voodal were around.
“Fine. But hurry up,” Conor replied, turning off the main thoroughfare and into the bustling market complex.
The market they were going to was dead center in neutral territory, and despite many attempts, no one gang or group was capable of capturing and controlling it. Conor knew that no one could muster enough soldiers or enforcers to put the hundred floors of duracrete under their boot.
The building's size was one reason that no gang could claim the complex as their own. The other was that the structure's design offered itself to defense. It rose hundreds of meters into the air, with one path slowly spiraling to heaven as the only thoroughfare.
Off the spirals' right was the main wall, pattered with boutiques and other shops selling any legitimate or bootleg item one could want. Drugs, guns, explosives, armor, fine clothes, and other luxury goods were all on display, and each store owner assured you knew what they had for sale while attempting to upcharge you.
The left side of the path was a short step to a very long fall, especially on the upper levels. If you were foolish enough to take the plunge, you would run out of screams before you hit the duracrete at the bottom.
That this was neutral territory was why Conor was on edge. At least if you were in someone’s territory, you knew who to avoid. Here, every alien was a potential danger, an attack or a death sentence waiting to be handed out. That applied not only to himself but, more importantly, to Eivilay.
“Stay close,” Conor said, squaring the JKL’s grip under his jacket and scanning the floors above and below them. The crowds of aliens squirmed around one another like insects in a hive.
Eivilay did not need to be told twice. This was the first time Conor had treated her like a Champion should, and she jumped at the opportunity to get close. Doing her part in the song and dance all Champions and their ladies do, Evilay slipped tight to him and snaked an arm around Conor's nonmetallic arm.
“That’s not what I meant,” Conor sighed but did not pull away.
With Eivilay that close, there was no chance she would get lost, and he could keep tabs on her. Brakul had also messaged him earlier to remind the Human to keep the princess happy. Having her fat tits rubbing on his arm was just a bonus at this point.
“It’s only proper for a Champion to escort his lady around,” Eivilay said matter-of-factly, wrapping her tail around his waist. That action took her a few attempts because of the gunbelt he wore.
“What in Urla’s name does that mean?” Connor said, holding a hand up to wave away a group of Frentil scamming people with genuine Perkil scales. A mythological creature similar to dragons from Old Earth, not that Coror knew anything about Old Earth beyond what was on the datanet.
Eivilay's tail taped against Conor's chiseled stomach while she thought of how to explain the role of a Champion in a way someone not of her species would understand and, in Conor's case, find acceptable.
It took her a few seconds to start, but as Conor guided her through the ruckus crowds, she explained the role she had decided the human already had.
A Champion was a male chosen by the female of her species, or in some niche cases, a male would make it impossible for the woman to ignore them—like Conor. The man was to fill several roles: guardian, confidant, advisor, stalwart companion, defender, and naturally, their bedkin.
The champion would receive any benefits from being their lady's mate. In the case of Eivilay, the benefits were as vast as an ocean and just as deep: money, status, protection, and access to her anytime he pleased.
That was a far greater deal than most champions received. Most only receive a meager dowry or the promise of a home and children.
“That sounds like a bonded mate,” Conor chuckled, referring to the Jurintik version of marriage.
“It is beyond that,” Eivilay argued. “You would get to live alongside me in the lap of luxury. Servants will wait on us, hand and foot, more credits than you could imagine—and more.” She finished, leaving the and more up to her Chapions imagination.
Conor laughed, not out of cruelty or anything like that; he had just heard enough good-to-be-true deals in his rough-and-tumble life that he could not resist laughing when one presented itself.
“I’m not joking,” Eivilay whined, unable to understand the vast difference between Conor and her life experience.
“That’s a tempting offer, princess, but since I’m already doing most of that, I will pass,” Conor replied, catching his breath.
While Eivilay never expected to be the queen of the Kurlatra, having far too many sisters in front of her to stand a chance of being selected when her mother passed away, she was still a noble, and if her mother was to be believed a crafty one at that.
Eivilay knew what she had to do to sweeten the pot for a lowborn man like Conor. All commoners thought the same, wanting little more than food, sleep, happiness, and pleasure.
Because Conor had all of that covered, save for pleasure, Eivilay loosened her tail's grip on Conor and snaked it into his trousers pocket. She rubbed it up and down his cocks outline while she looked across at the busy walkway, pretending to be unaware of tempting him.
If Conor could feel her heartbeat, that rouse would unravel instantly. Her heart pattered faster with each pass over his member. The sensitive tip of her tail shot electric arcs of pleasure up her spine, making her need to stifle her own quickening breathing.
The sensitivity of her appendage made it impossible to ignore the throbbing in the human's stiffening dick, thusly Eivilay knew she was getting to conor on a physical level.
Conor leaned down without breaking stride and in a calm, base-filled voice that made her scales shiver. “Get your tail off my dick.”
“Oh, I did not realize,” Eivilay gasped, feigning exclamation. But instead of removing her tail as asked, she shoved more into his pocket and wrapped his shaft in warm, writhing scales.
“Eivilay, I said stop,” Conor commanded.
“What are you going to do about it? Stop me?” Eivilay smugly jeered, still not comprehending how little her station meant to Conor.
To him, she was just another Kurlatra, not someone special. Making her do what he wanted was part of his job of protecting her.
Without responding, Coner smirked and jammed his hand into his pocket to fish her tail out, unaware of what he was about to do to Eivilay.
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Kurlatra tails, being as sensitive as they were, were an erogenous zone. Eivilay was also more vulnerable than most Kurlatra, as she could not use her tail for daily tasks without getting turned on.
Conor grabbed Eivilays tail hard in his metallic hand, its cold surface causing her to take in a sharp breath, one that fully loaded the eclectic pleasure and loud moan she made when Conor yanked it out from his pocket.
Her lustful yelp drew quite a few eyeballs from the aliens around them—enough that even Eivilay noticed.
But that was not Eivilay’s concern at the moment. She wondered what the hell that flutter in her heart was. She was not used to being told no as is. But when Conor did and made her do what he was asking—-she felt her womanhood drip. Her surge of titillation was only made worse because Conor started acting like a proper Champion.
“What the fuck are you all looking at!” Conor snarled at the onlookers, pulling Eivilay closer and revealing his loaded pistol while she retracted her tail, holding it tightly to herself. “Quit your gawking if you want to keep your eyes.”
The threat of violence, as usual, was enough to get people to leave Conor alone, with any onlookers quickly looking away. He had threatened them just so they would not get eyes on Eivilay; this woman was worth too much, and having that many eyes on him after she moaned like a bitch in heat was not ideal. One of them might tell the Voodal where they were or might know about her and make a move to whisk her away.
Eivilay looked downright pathetic while clutching her tail like a fresh hatchling. Conor wondered if the way the trail of horns atop the bridge of her nose lay nearly flat was how her species blushed, but thoughts like that could wait; they had places to be right now.
“Come on,” Conor said, pulling his jacket open and tucking her close, keeping unwanted eyes off his client. “We are almost to Fae’s.”
Eivilay nodded, finding solace in the smell of gunsmoke and oil clinging to her champion. She grabbed Conor's belt with one hand, the other still keeping her sensitive tail in place.
—--
Neither spoke as they moved up the spiral further, neither wanting to acknowledge what had just happened. Each had wildly different reasons, but the effect was the same.
Before Eivilay realized it, Conor had pulled her into Fae’s shop.
The area was a complete mess. It looked like a tornado had gone through the shop, randomly spreading military surplus, clothing, and weapons. It took Eivilay a moment to scan the mothball-scented room before finding its almost concealed order.
Everything was organized by species and size, with stacks of crates on the shop's walls. At first, it seemed like junk, but Eivilay could spot several weapons spattered amidst the racks and even a few pieces of clothing she thought would look good.
“What can we get here?” Eivilay asked, breaking the long silence.
“Anything we want,” Conor smiled, gesturing at the racks proudly.
Before Eivilay could question if that was him being hyperbolic or genuine, a booming voice drew both her and Conor's attention. “Conor, you wired up bastard! Where have you been?”
Approaching them with confident strides was a bombshell of a Totrinlein woman. Her muscular physique and commanding height demanded as much attention as the rest of her womanly curves.
Two long shimmering horns swept back and stood proudly atop her amber hair, making her cobalt blue eyes pop. The fabric of the grey and black fatigues she wore screamed, struggling to contain her bulging muscles and the, even for a three-meter tall woman, gravitic cleavage.
Eivilay had no interest in women or any species but her own until she met Conor, but she could not deny that Fae was attractive. It was in a tomboyish, warrior goddess way, but gorgeous nonetheless.
Fae’s attractiveness was made all the more apparent when she stopped before them, popped out a hip, propped a hand on it, and smirked. How she slowly scanned Conor's features exuded the feeling of a goddess looking down at her meager servants.
“Fae, you beast, It’s been a while,” Conor smiled, looking up at the woman he had spent more than a few weeks having fun and working with over the last few decades.
“Far too long. So what does my Human need: ammo, clothes, bombs, guns? Or did you finally realize I'm the only woman in Heavalun who knows how to treat a merc like you?” Fae purred, cupping Connor's metallic jaw and making him look deeply into her ocean-deep eyes. Her hand engulfed the large human's whole jaw and neck with ease.
“If you keep that up. I will bend you over the counter again,” Conor teased, earning him the slightest blush and Fae’s short tail whipping in excitement.
“Oh! Should I close early so we can get started?” Fae gestured to the door, her other hand plucking at her cleavage, threatening her tits popping out.
“Would you kindly not proposition my Chmapion like that? I am right here?” Eivilay chimed in, not wanting to see where this went and tired of being ignored.
“Sorry I did not see you there. My favorite Human is a bit distracting,” Fae licked her lips, looking at Conor lick a piece of candy.
“And stop eating him with your eyes,” Eiviley hissed, rewrapping her tail around Conor's waist and warning her who had him.
Fae leaned down and peered into Conor's jacket, getting a good look at Eivilay. “Oh, I like her. She's a real Luwell when it comes to you, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Conor replied.
“So handsome, what’s with the little spiceball?” Fae asked, standing back up and pointing down at Eivilay. “She some now Simco riding you for the night?”
“I am his lady, and he is my Champion,” Eivilay blurted out, not knowing what a Simco was but understanding the implication of riding.
“No, you aren’t,” Conor replied instantly, already having enough of a bead on the little brat to know what she would have said.
Before Eivilay could make a fuss about Conor rejecting her again, he pushed her out of his jacket and toward Fae. “I need you to set her up: clothes, armor, and washed tech.”
“You two going to ground or something?” Fae asked, catching Eivilay and keeping her from stumbling.
“You know I can’t do that. You would be a loose end,” Conor replied before looking down at Eivilay. “I have to go pick up some things from another shop. Don’t cause any issues for Fae.”
—--
“How could he just leave me here!” Eivilay boiled, stomping her four-toed foot on the ground.
“You said that a dozen times already,” Fae rolled her eyes, watching the red Kurlatra dig through another crate of clothes.
Eivilay had already torn through half of Fae’s stock, having found next to nothing cute, complimenting, or flattering for her. Why did it matter? The little brat likely would only wear it once or twice. It was clear enough that she was a client of Conor and Brakul.
“I’m aware, but still,” Eivilay replied, holding up a blue shirt and modeling it to Fae.
Fae gave the garment a thumbs up, not really caring, but Eivilay had forced the role of final approval onto her and refused to pick anything without input.
At the rate Kurlatra was choosing clothes, Conor would be cold and in the ground by the time she picked pants. Why in Urla’s name was she so picky?
“Do you have anything you think Conor would like to see me wearing?” Eivilay asked.
Fae sighed and hung her head, amazed that no matter how many times she explained that this was a surplus store and not a fancy boutique, Eivilay still could not understand.
“Maybe some lingerie?” Eivilay added, tossing the blue shirt into the small pile she was starting to gather.
“You really are trying to make him your companion, or whatever it was,” Fae said, looking up and disapproving the green military jacket Eivilay was picking up.
“It’s champion, and yes. I will show him how amazing living with me could be, and then he will be my champion forever,” Eivilay explained, putting the jacket into the approved pile despite Fae having said no. “I just have to figure out how to get him to understand.”
“He is not that complicated. You are just going about it wrong.” Fae smirked, using her foot to slide another crate to Eivilay.
Conor was easy enough for Fae to read. The man was just like every other mercenary. He liked booze, a nice night on the town, a good woman, and cracking skulls. She also knew that Conor, over everything, loved a challenge.
Hell, her imposing bulk was a challenge, and her flaunting was how Fae had gotten him into bed.
But Eivilay clearly did not have that grasp on the man she was eager to have bed her, especially on the matter of his appearance. Conor had to keep up the rough-and-tumble mercenary appearance. Making Googoo eyes with anyone in public would crush that and paint her as a target—and he is too kind to put anyone he cares about in danger.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Eivilay replied, dropping the clothes and turning to face Fae, caring far more about unraveling the secrets of the Human than picking clothes.
“That’s easy; you have to get him alone,” Fae stated, recalling how Conor just watched her with interest until they were alone in the shop but never made a move.
“That makes no sense. I had him all to myself on the way here; he would not even let me snuggle up until we were a few minutes away,” Eivilay replied, not explaining that she almost came when he yanked at her tail.
“That’s not alone; the whole city could see you. I mean genuinely alone, just the two of you.” Fae explained, walking over and shutting the main shutters to the store, having decided to help Eivilay get in Conor's pants, both earning her a favor from the merc and giving her an out from the torture hearing Eivilay complain was. “Then you just have to lure him in, set a trap, and whatnot.”
Eivilay had not thought about genuinely luring him in. As far as she understood it, especially virile men like Conor would do anything to bury their balls deep in a woman. That or jump at the chance to live in the lap of luxury in the royal palace. But apparently, she must not have understood that about him.
“Would you care to Elaborate on what you mean by trap?” Evilay asked, stepping closer.
“That is the plan,” Fae said, turning around and opening the door built into the shutters. “But we have to hurry; he will be back soon. So follow me.”