Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ What I'm Capable Of ( Chapter 24 )

AN: My honest apologies for the delay. I don't intend on taking so long to update. I'll try to do my best to keep this from happening again.

 

I just needed to feature a song in this installment. You'll understand why as you read on. Needless to say, it'd be a good idea to listen to it as it goes with a very peculiar scene. I honestly believe that's half the experience right there, so if you have a chance, I urge you to check out a song by NIN, called “Me, I'm Not” from the album Year Zero. It was chosen both for the music and the lyrics. You can listen to it at the following address: http://www.goear.com/listen/3cc3728/Me-Im-Not-Nine-Inch-Nails .

 

I realize this story has an AU flavor, as it takes the characters out of the more traditional three year context and thoroughly explores their past and motives. It's distinctly divided into two parts, the first one related to Bulma's territory and the second one to Vegeta's. I find Vegeta's side to be particularly exquisite to explore, which is why we're spending so many chapters in space. I hope its okay with you guys. I also assure you I'm keeping track of all the lose ends and will tie them accordingly. I can clearly map my way to the finish line at this point.

 

Last but not least, I want to thank you all for your loving support (and for the constant nudging to update).

 

Warning: References to child abuse in this chapter plus adult subject matter. Read at your own discretion.

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

 

Chapter 24

 

Step 25 - What I'm Capable Of

 

 

He remembered the ice, white and biting like the fangs of a viper as it covered the ramified cracks of the alien ground. It melted to sludge under the heavy boots of the soldiers and turned crimson with the blood of a thousand deaths. The freezing touch burnt his cheeks to a deeper hue of bronze, turning his hair into an unruly mass that glittered with frost. He remembered seeing everything happen from his place atop the crest of the jagged hilltop, his scarlet cape tossing violently in the wind. The drafts beat upon his body with the same intensity the army he led employed on its victims, and it held no quarter all the same.

 

He appraised the sea of warring creatures, his face austere and his heart unfeeling. His nostrils flared to better scent the carnage, to welcome the certainty it brought of victory and power. It was indelible proof of his universe, of an elaborate food chain where the strong prevailed and the weak perished. He welcomed that reality and let its clammy presence comfort him, regarding it as the only constant in his dangerous life.

 

A siren echoed from afar, the wind faithfully carrying its lament. It sounded like a wounded beast, but it signaled a successful campaign, another victory secured by his iron hand. The long metallic note resounded in his chest, feeding the black void that stood in place of his heart.

 

“Prince Vegeta.” He threw his gaze over his shoulder at the sound of his name. A boy, a lower ranked soldier also outfitted in Ice-jin armor timidly crept into his line of sight. Vegeta shifted to face him, allowing the drizzling landscape of Selari V to become his personal backdrop. Flashes of fire from behind Vegeta reflected on the boy's eyes, but the prince saw more than that in the round shiny pupils. He saw fear.

 

The soldier raised his chin at his commander, drudging up a tenuous kind of courage. “Sir, the entirety of the populated continents has been exterminated in accordance to your instructions. The planet has been rendered lifeless and is now fully secure.” He spoke among the gravid sounds of war and the rustling sound of Vegeta's cape and despite the positive character of his speech, his complexion grew visible pale, almost purplish around his dry, cracked lips.

 

Vegeta lifted an eye up at the Ice-jin battleships that hovered high in the skies and watched down on them. They floated among the parting clouds reassuringly, round luminous cities made of chrome and steel. Vivid lights beckoned them home promising a meal and a bed after endless days of continuous fighting. They'd return carrying a charred armor and a crushing victory, then lay the tally of the dead before Lord Frieza as he regally sat upon his frosty dais.

 

“Regroup and prepare for take off.” He dictated, his voice grave with iron-like authority. He'd already turned in dismissal of the soldier when he noticed the boy wasn't moving, not even under the compelling command of his superior.

 

“My Lord…” He unsteadily began. Vegeta's gaze became chilling, a sudden sense of dread turning his Saiyan bones to lead. That day he hadn't fought as much as he'd directed, but he felt exhausted all the same, tired well beyond his flesh. It'd been the hundredth purge, the millionth order carried out with marvelous precision, all to the glory of his callous master.

 

A moment of hesitation and the boy briskly bowed “….My Lord there were Saiyans among the casualties, an entire colony of about three hundred individuals. We found them in the southern continent and were able to identify their race with our portable scanners. Most died carbonized under the fire of the empire's laser steel-birds, the rest, the women and children, were found huddled by the dozen, asphyxiated in their underground dwellings.” The boy remained bowing, staring fixedly at the wet, frozen ground and offering his neck to Vegeta in utmost resignation.

 

Time stretched on but Vegeta didn't say a word. He merely stared down at the boy, replaying the words over and over in his mind. The soldier waited for death to come and sweep him away, but the merciless blow never came. “Saiyans.” Vegeta echoed, a dull, hollow ring to his baritone voice. His agile mind quickly found a cause for the presence of his people. He pieced the puzzle together with excruciating ease. They must have been the last off-world mission, a group that arrived and settled the place before the extinction of Vegeta-sei. They'd somehow fallen under Frieza's radar, something that wasn't hard to believe considering his extensive network of informants.

 

Vegeta's jet black eyes roved unseeing over the vast horizon, never staying in one single spot for long. He aimlessly traced the craggy outline of the snowy peaks, lost for one infinite moment of blinding darkness. A single breath escaped him, his face as lifeless as the landscape around him.

 

The lizard king had made sure to exterminate them by sending his very best. He'd cast on them his army of elites, led by the best commander. Him. Frieza had sent him upon his own kin like an angel of death, having him cannibalize on the remnants of his race without even knowing.

 

He turned a deaf ear to the thundering storms inside him and tamped down the wrath of his demons. “Prepare for take off.” Vegeta repeated as though he hadn't heard the soldier. There wasn't an inkling of an expression as he spoke, not an emotion etched in the hard lines of his face. He only listened to the war die down on the battlefield below knowing the last of the planet had gotten annihilated.

 

He'd kept quiet about Selaris V for the rest of his life, not mentioning the matter to anyone. He faced Frieza as though nothing had happened but they looked each other in the eye knowing the perverse truth. Vegeta was explosive from birth, but he recognized defeat when he saw it, had learned to gaze into its reptilian eyes since the age of eight. So he carried the truth of having murdered the last of his meager kingdom deep beneath his sternum, sunk into his bones like a rusty blade.

 

And since that faraway day he'd never reached back to the memory. Not until today.

 

Vegeta rolled his red rimmed eyes back in his skull, his heavy breathing echoing on the metal walls of his prison. He was swamped in memories, each one more brutal than the other. His wrists remained locked together behind his back, firmly bound by the red-glowing cuffs that in turn were chained to the wall. That was the main means he had to support his body, as every ounce of energy had left him many breaths ago.

 

His upper body dipped over, skin damp in a blazing fever. His cold breath condensed before his eyes and slowly wafted away, making him confuse the past with the present. He couldn't tell if he'd never actually left that icy peak, if time had somehow ceased that day. He felt every bit as frozen, his bones as though they'd split in half if he only moved. Had he actually died amidst the smoldering ruins of that god-forsaken planet? Had everything from that point on been part of some hellish punishment?

 

How long? How many days, months, years, had the manacles drained the life from his body with unrelenting precision? How many battles was he going to relive before death came forth to release him? He would almost welcome it, but it avoided him entirely, taunting him with promises of freedom and playfully floating beyond his grasp.

 

The tinkling sound of a drop of blood shifted his drifting mind to the present and he looked at his reflection on a dark pool beneath him. His nostrils were clotted with gore that he couldn't wipe, his boots planted on the slippery mess. Thirst maddened him, the coppery flavor of his own blood a poor substitute to the crystalline waters he'd found in Chikyuu. They'd always fascinated him, crisp like untainted rain, pure like a god sent gift, but it was their infinite blue that mostly held him. The oceans reminded him of her eyes, of how they looked when she wakened and the morning sun reflected on them. He remembered the times he held her hair in his fist and buried his nose in it, scenting the freshness of the seas.

 

Vegeta's lungs strained as the manacles sent a nerve-zinging spasm through his muscles, bending him forward. She was gone, irrevocably lost from his life, like the last remnant of Vegeta-sei that day so long ago.

 

He snarled. She was better off without him anyway. He'd been the cruelest victimizer by birth and by decree and the innocence of her heart couldn't possibly allow them to be a match. A day for them would come, in this life or the other. He'd claw his way out from the bowels of hell itself if that's what it took. He'd drag his demonic self up to the very gates of heaven, defy the laws of nature just to see her, to finally have her again.

 

She'd wash away the smell of death with her palms. She'd help him feel clean if only for a moment, the stench of his corpses swept away by her natural fragrance.

 

His musings of her blanketed him, gently sedating him into much needed sleep but the effect was cut short. He felt a second wave of energy ripple forth from the handcuffs and zap through his muscles like a blade of fire. His flesh contracted as the current reached his chest, nearly breaking it in half. His red-stained canines rattled before clenching shut, his body heaving and doubling up. Blood rushed up his throat and dripped down the corner of his mouth, the gummy threads falling to the floor. Gods, he couldn't sleep. Every time he tried he was ruthlessly woken. He was Saiyan. His kind was born to rise from the flames of suffering, but no food or sleep was pushing him close to a humiliating demise. One minute, one single moment of sleep is all he desperately needed. All he'd kill for.

 

It may seem like little, but sleep had been the only thing that'd stopped him from using his fangs against his veins last time he'd been in prison. Countless months of deafening silence, pitch black darkness and perfect isolation had frayed at his mind. So he'd started chewing on his wrists like the troubled cub he'd been, barely avoiding the life-sustaining vein, but mindful about it. One day, though, everything had changed. He'd almost lost it, breath caught in his throat as they opened a trap door above and dumped a squirming load of leeches on him. He couldn't see them but he could feel them, wriggling all over him and searching for a place to sink their fangs in. He hated the worm-like things, couldn't stand anything like them from that day on. He'd avoided yelping, instead choosing to clamp his teeth on his wrist in deep seated panic. One second before slashing, one single breath before the vein ruptured, he'd collapsed. That's how they'd found him several days later, the morning they'd dragged him out of the darkness after Frieza paid the bail.

 

“Do you think he'll die soon?”

 

He heard an eerie whisper and followed the shadows that crawled like living creatures over the four metal walls. They shifted through faint pools of blueish light until they reached a shadowy corner. Two sets of glowing eyes peered at him from the dark and he instinctively knew the fever was making him hallucinate. The side of their faces visible under the light was scarred and deformed, the skin molten against their very bones. The monstrous faces remained unmoving, but the sounds of multiple whispers rose until it filled the room.

 

Vegeta pulled against his restraints by instinct alone, knowing all along it'd be futile. The creatures stretched their bony limbs and crawled over to him, dragging themselves like souls desperate for revenge.

 

“Will he die soon?” The second creature repeated, eying the manacled prince like a hungry scavenger. Vegeta reared his head back in disgust, witnessing them slide on their bellies and badly twisted limbs. Knowing they weren't real wasn't doing much to appease him.

 

“Do you remember us Prince? The unborn children of the pregnant women killed under your command?”

 

Vegeta tensed his jaw in defiance and tugged at his chains, his boots unstable on the gore-splattered floor.

 

“Do you remember the abortions you caused? The cries of your own people when they died by your own hand?” The whispers rose one above the other but the creatures' lips remained fixed in a savage leer.

 

“Disgrace.”

 

“Accursed.”

 

Their hisses elevated into a screech and his knees nearly gave away under the shrillness of the sound. It threatened to break his already flaking sanity, nearly bursting his eardrums. He struggled to remain upright, but the only thing supporting him was his tether to the wall. Fuck, they were only a concoction of his mind, they couldn't touch him, they couldn't hurt him. How could a Saiyan prince die a victim of his very mind?

 

The apparitions diffused into multiple tendrils of fog, the icy ends reaching out to touch and envelope him. He felt a ripple of pure death creep up his spine nearly robbing him of life.

 

“Second best. Prince of nothing. Your every breath is a failure.”

 

The souls begun to wail, their cries long and inconsolable. They wept for the life he'd stolen from them, demanding he save them and spare them another day in penance. But he couldn't, just as he hadn't been able to save himself when he was only a child. He shook his head, stomach doubling when a forbidden door in his mind creaked and opened.

 

As a child he'd looked up to the most powerful man he knew, the emperor of the galaxy. It almost didn't matter that his world had disappeared as long as he got to follow his lead and blow up planets in the process. It didn't register that that same man had seized him from his Saiyan throne, from the tutors, trainers and luxuries he'd been swaddled in since birth. He was the bodily presence of power, something to aspire to. So after everything and everyone was gone, he'd fully accepted Frieza in his life.

 

Many evenings he'd lifted eight year old eyes to him as they sat in privacy, not truly understanding what it was they did while alone, but allowing it to happen all the same. The ice lord wasn't anatomically compatible with Saiyans, and even if he had been, he wouldn't have debased himself to copulate with one. But his perfect androgyny still flourished in Vegeta's presence. He almost comported himself like a woman as he offered pleasure with his hand. Arlian wine and focalized caresses got the young Saiyan body reacting every time, his physiology working like any preteen boy's would. But he wouldn't say a word as Frieza touched him to the point of spasms. He just lied there, covering his burning face with an arm.

 

Vegeta would find himself walking around the vessel, punching walls and striking objects like a violent cub. He was always angry and disturbingly erect but not truly understanding why. His bodyguard turned his face away from the tortured child, ignoring the glaring problem and choosing to bury himself in his own brooding thoughts.

 

“Bitchling.” Soldiers called him. “Gonna grow up to be queer empress of the ice-jin empire.” He memorized the faces of those that verbally attacked him, developing a kill list well before he even knew what sex was. When he turned eleven and hormones wreaked havoc in his brain he made them eat their own words. He cracked their skulls and slashed their jugular with psychopathic glee.

 

Puberty turned him into an uncontrollable adolescent, much too buck wild for his master's private time and patience. The emperor was now content with merely appreciating his enlarging muscles, glad to keep him on an invisible leash like an exotic and beautiful beast. To Frieza, Vegeta was invariably his, a man to tickle his female side, a prisoner for life. No sodomy was ever necessary to prove that point.

 

And so, deeply involved with all sorts of scum, time passed and the teenage prince forwent his royal education to learn the vices of space. He begun killing like a bastard and fucking like one too. Those beautiful whores and morbid sluts he bed had absolutely no problem with it. They didn't seem to care that he was well fucked up. No one had until Bulma. She was far too complicated that woman.

 

His crumbling mind, heavily twisted from the high fever, left the memories of space to return to her. Lately it was always her at the center of it all. She was a rarity in his world, more than enough to sit and contemplate forever. In his mind she was tending roses, basked in the hazy light of Chikyuu's yellow sun. Her hair was an ethereal cloud of gossamer curls, her eyes a pair of sparkling sapphires. She buried hands in the rose garden, parting emerald stems and weeping petals with her gentle touch. He smiled unaware, reliving the memory as his head hung low. She went about her business in slow motion, not knowing she was being watched; watched with single-minded intensity as he leaned against a tree in the shadows.

 

He'd wanted to kill her pussy so badly. He'd wanted to see what good girl tasted like, then found he simply couldn't get enough.

 

****************************************

 

She became aware of the sibilant sounds of women talking well before she'd fully woken. Their voice tinkled in her mind like bells chiming from a distance, the murmur as hushed as a hidden river. She rolled her tongue in her mouth with pained difficulty, eyes drifting open in clear defiance of her instincts. They warned against the pain and agonies of reality, urging her to sink back into the relative safety of unconsciousness. She struggled to do so, to escape the sordid procession her life had become, but the ruthless claws of awareness reached down and shook her like a rag doll. And then the pain made itself present, dull and heavy as it sprung forth from her temple.

 

The almost melodious chatter became clearer, dispelling some of the fog from her mind and firmly anchoring her in the present. Slender figures came into focus in Bulma's parting eyes as she groggily levered herself on an arm. She felt like she was bearing the mother of all hangovers and had to pause in mid motion lest her brain exploded into a splattering spectacle worthy of a horror movie.

 

Several females were gathered around the room, clad in sensually riveting clothes and fully ignoring her as they lounged across the carpet and ample couches. The shimmery gauzes and avant-garde cuts were highly stylizing, and she would have been pleased to linger on the designs if she only didn't feel like a Mack truck had run her over.

 

She purposefully tuned out the alien version of a Vogue editorial spread and timidly reached out to touch her aching temple. The stinging pain that broke at her fingertips kick started her neurons and memories slammed into her head at once, allowing her to relive the details that led to her concussion and apparent loss of consciousness.

 

Zarbon had brought both her and Vegeta to a hidden base in the furthest region of the planet, a place were vast rolling oceans gave way to thirsty desert land. The structure lay nestled between mountains so tall they seemed to hunker over it ominously, no signs of civilization visible in the immediate vicinity.

 

Upon entering, Zarbon and his second had quickly started through a different hallway, dragging Vegeta along with them like a lowlife prisoner. Before she even had a chance to react, a massive guard had seized her by the waist and forcibly hauled her in the opposite direction, no manner of resistance proving useful. She'd pounded the brute with what strength she could muster, clamoring for a chance to talk to Zarbon, but she was merely a girl against the hulking mass of muscle.

 

“If you don't let me go, I'll make sure you end up picking up your own fucking balls from the floor by the time this is over. He's going to kill you, you hear me? He's going to make you sorry you even laid a hand on me.” The guard only snickered in derision, tossing her over his shoulder. “Take me back to Zarbon.” She snapped, swallowing up the fear she prayed didn't show in her eyes.

 

The meaty guard laughed. “I doubt you'll have much luck here, you scrawny creature. You may find someone willing to give you a few crystallite drops for your services if you sell yourself well, but I wouldn't count on it. You've got way too much competition.”

 

Bulma widened her gaze, staring at her captor in astonishment. “What the hell are you saying?”

 

“I'm saying I wouldn't spend a single credit on a bitch as pale, weak and thin as you are. You'd probably break after the first thrust.”

 

Her jaw dropped in utter indignation. She wasn't sure if she was more offended at being so carelessly carried like a sack of potatoes or at the implications that she was there to sell herself to the entire base.

“I'm not a fucking prostitute you asshole. I'm daughter to the president of a multi-billion zeni corporation. I'm a lady.”

 

“Oh yeah, they all think they are.” That's the last thing she remembered before the edge of his hand connected with her head and sent her neck back like it was made out of playdoh. The lights of the ceiling skidded over to black and she drowned into a sea of darkness.

 

Bulma grimaced tiredly, going back to perusing her surroundings and recognizing the place for some sort of public boudoir, a room for girls of every possible taste to stay in while visiting the base. Her mind registered the awfulness of her current situation. She was nothing but another girl here, no money, name or looks to aid her.

 

A glint of metal flashed, catching her attention immediately. She focused on a girl who sat across from her. She was turning a knife in her hand and smiling in admiration, her fingers grazing the length of the blade with a touch so smooth it was almost sexual. After lingering on it for a while she offered it to a second observer, a young brunette who edged closer on the couch to also caress the ornate steel.

 

And it hit her like a cannonball. Bulma's eyes widened as she recognized the object they so intimately admired. It was the exact same dagger she'd found in Vegeta's suite, the charcoal steel of the blade every bit as pure, the gleaming edge just as deadly. Every doubt she could have had promptly disappeared when she noticed the bright red rubies encrusted on the grip. They shone the color of blood, staring menacingly from the eyes of an engraved Ozaru.

 

She instantly and without thought dashed forward, her legs unsteady but moving out of their own accord. The movement had her brain reeling in protest but her eyes focused on the dagger with manic intensity. All she could think of was how the real-life dolls so casually fondled Vegeta's…. Vegeta's lethal, one of a kind, absolutely riveting, powerful knife. They were practically licking it, for crying out loud! Where had they found it anyway? It belonged to her. Well it belonged to her owner. Its. Its owner.

 

She crossed over to the offenders and swung her palm to snatch the dagger away, then stood there glowering at the astonished brunette. The alien pupils erupted to wild fire and raked over Bulma in annoyance, but the heiress valiantly, or stupidly, she didn't really know which, stood her ground.

 

“What the hell do you think you're doing, you whore?” Bulma spat, amazed at how ugly her voice sounded. It was nearly as terrible as the state of her clothes. Lying unconscious had wreaked havoc on her vocal chords and her normally well kept appearance.

 

Who was she kidding. Ever since eloping with the prince she'd walked around looking like a brawler. That line of thought did nothing but kindle her ire, sanity rupturing the seams of her mind. She'd just about had it. She was a tired, hungry, badly beaten, sexually frustrated bitch. She was in such a foul mood, a bad case of PMS was a joy ride by comparison. She couldn't sleep with the man she wanted, she didn't even know where he was, and even if she did she was bound to keep “chaste” by some stupid promise she'd made at her most spoiled. Chaste sounded ridiculous to her, considering how he'd repeatedly fucked her, but she hadn't been ready to admit that back then. Well, if she couldn't have him then no one else could. And for what it was worth, she sure as hell wasn't going to let some other whore touch his dagger.

 

“What do you mean what am I doing, you freak of nature, puny ass, bony backwater planet bitch?” The nymphet answered, clawing at the armrest of the couch and sending Bulma a hateful glare. “Give that back.”

 

Bulma's pounding brain prevented her from resorting to physical violence. “Did you happen to find it and do shit to claim it? Do you always play with stuff that isn't yours? I swear you'll never have it. You can pry it from my lifeless body.” Her blood could just as well have been nitroglycerine, she was so tense. She was on the verge of fully exploding. She'd never felt so overtaken with instinct, in fact, she'd never been involved in a fight, yet here she was, acting street and courting a second blow to the head. If her mother could see her, she'd probably suffer an apoplexy.

 

The girl reclaimed the coveted knife in one swift motion that threw Bulma off balance. “We happened to spot it lying around. The guards went on a looting rampage around two days ago.” She turned big cat eyes to the knife and gave it a devilish smile. “They say it belongs to a prince. I happen to think it's fascinatingly sexy.”

 

Bulma's words got stuck in her throat and she gawked at the woman in contempt. The chocolate-haired girl slid a long reptilian tail out from behind her and started lazily wagging it. “So sexy it almost makes me wet.”

 

Bulma didn't know what happened to her. One minute she was hanging from the fine tether of reason and the next she was bitch slapping the offender with narrow-minded intent. The alien defended herself effortlessly even though Bulma wanted to kill something, claw out its heart and stab it to death. In the end the girl gave Bulma one single lip-splitting slap that sent her tumbling back and bouncing harshly against the chrome wall. Bulma's brain throbbed in agony but her personal misery quickly waned when she noticed the knife in her hand. She'd managed to retrieve it and that to her, was all that truly mattered.

 

She slouched against the wall and pressed knuckles to her heaving stomach. Her hair fell over her face, frizzed up to individual threads that fluttered against her lips. The rest of the women watched the events dispassionately, barely lifting their gaze from their casual activities. They seemed a lot more interested in trying on clothes or gambling.

 

“Why do you want it so much?” Questioned her enemy, and for the first time Bulma had a chance to really look at her. The girl was much younger but infinitely stronger. There was no question she and the rest had the chops to survive in this hellish world. She actually looked like she could turn her to ribbons. But the physical strength and classic beauty they all possessed couldn't disguise the emptiness in their eyes or the absolute absence of a soul in their cold demeanor.

 

“You know him, don't you. The owner.” The girl continued, anger subsiding as a tinge of jealousy crept over her features.

 

Bulma found her chance to diffuse the tension. Instead of answering she posed a rather important question. “How long have I been out?”

 

The girl next to the brunette, a red-hair who'd witnessed the skirmish, curled a finger around a ponytail and smiled. “Three days. Do you honestly know him? It's such a pity he's imprisoned.”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes in exasperation. They were like hounding dogs. They could probably scent Vegeta's musk all the way to here or something. Aliens seemed to have a potent sense of smell. The sooner she got them out of here the better. She couldn't believe she'd been passed out for three days straight but she could surely feel the consequences through her body. She felt like a shower and a bottleful of aspirins, or a long day at a spa attempting to look like a woman and not something the cat dragged in.

 

“Listen…” Bulma made a conscious attempt to soften up her tone and even out her breathing. She wasn't going to find Vegeta if she didn't use every ounce of aplomb she could gather. “I'm sorry we got off on a wrong foot.” She skillfully masked her displeasure at having to befriend them. The image of them smothering Vegeta's family jewels was still fresh in her mind. “I really need to talk to Lord…” Bulma frowned, trying to retrieve Zarbon's demon name from her jumbled mind. “Tallicron. Lord Tallicron. Could you please take me to him?” The girl with the ponytail erupted in laughter but quickly regained her composure when she noticed Bulma's deadpan face.

“Oh, you're not joking.”

 

“Are you insane? We can't talk, to Lord Tallicron. We can't even see him, other than at the base's late night lounge.” The other one chimed in, talking like it was the most obvious thing in the world and making Bulma feel like an idiot. “That's not even on this side of the compound. It's on the main building and we're only allowed in that area of the base during working nights.”

 

“You're forgetting the most important thing.” The first one interrupted. “He's a lot more into boys than girls, and you wouldn't be enough to interest him.”

 

Bulma shifted eyes from one to the other in despondency. Vegeta's high-security containment unit was on that main building, she remembered it well from when they landed. She'd bet her Bugatti he was guarded by high tech and monstrously powerful guards. The base was a high security jail for dangerous criminals, blacklisted individuals who wouldn't work to the benefit of some powerful, cosmic rulers. “Working nights? What do you mean by that?”

 

Deep chocolate eyes blinked at her incredulously. “Who are you and what are you doing here if you don't even know what a working night is? Fucking for crystallite, that is. We're entertainment for men. The guards, spies, friends and soldiers of Tallicron have enough on them to pay a fortune if they happen to want you.” At that Bulma's mind wheeled, trying to concoct a plan. She brought her hand to her bosom, making sure Vegeta's own transact card along with the capsulated ship that contained her clothes and the reactor remained secure in the valley of her breasts.

 

“I know this sounds crazy, but I've got to get to Zarbon. Are you allowed in tonight?” She needed to manipulate Zarbon to her advantage, to twine his brain around her finger whatever it took. She may be lacking the power her heiress title usually provided, but she had her brains to make up for the loss. Kami knew a girl could deceive like no other.

 

Bulma looked at them, waiting on bated breath for an answer. Vegeta could be executed any day now, any minute. She'd been stupid enough to lose valuable time by letting herself get knocked out cold.

She had one chance to see his face again, to try and give him the opportunity to pull free from his confines. She was familiar with the technology they were using against him so there was a chance she could revert it but the clock ticked in her mind like a somber march of death.

 

One of the girls finally spoke in a lackadaisical tone. “You shouldn't bother showing up, but there's a clothes configuring machine at the back of the room. I suppose you're able to use it.” Bulma didn't care about the brunette's derision. She was already busy tiptoeing around the girls on the carpet and making her way to the backrooms.

 

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The lounge bustled with activity, smoke hazing up the pools of light that dappled the area. Customers drank to the night, women in nothing but shimmering rhinestones capturing their attention as they danced atop a sleek platform.

 

Bulma peeked at the lavish area from behind taffeta drapes and bit her glossy red lip. She'd been out in the night to a pretty exclusive location with Vegeta before but this place reeked with a deeper kind of malevolence. She pulled on the hem of her stretch blue mini dress in an attempt to conceal a fraction of her thighs but the shimmering lamé clung to her bottom stubbornly, leaving her legs fully exposed.

 

She stepped out over a central strip that stretched ahead and divided the area, heart racing in her ears and sweat breaking over her body. She waited in the dark, scanning the crowd like a marshal did a battlefield. Somewhere in that dangerous ocean of twisted creatures Zarbon was seated, surrounded by security and ensconced in a halo of power no girl would think to threaten.

 

Her stomach tightened to a knot when the musical piece that was playing trailed off to silence and the rest of the girls rushed past her to the backrooms. The manager of the lounge had agreed to let her on the main platform but not without major persuasion. He'd been adamant about a non-nude act, no matter how exotic her coloring and features. He'd finally acquiesced when she'd untied her coat and revealed how the jewel blue ensemble conformed to her body. There'd been stark appreciation in his eyes and she knew the battle was won.

 

She was by far the most clothed woman on the premise but that didn't make parading herself before a roomful of underworld capos any easier. However the dark rhythm of drums swallowed up her fears as she slowly walked down the platform, one foot gracefully in front of the other. She stepped to the edge of the walkway and a shower of light infused her figure, leaving the rest of the place covered in a mantle of midnight.

 

She could feel the audience's eyes on her, devouring her every contour. Her dress glimmered the way the sea did during nights of full moon, perfectly matching the color of her eyes and the waves of hair that tumbled down her back. She didn't have the talent to sing or to do many other things for that matter, but there was something she'd always been known for. She could really dance.

 

She sensuously swept a strand of her hair away from her dampened forehead, her body moving in a slow torturous way to the cadence of the music.

 

well it's happening
never planned on this
you've got something I need
kind of dangerous
and I'm losing control
I'm not used to this
what you want from me
I'm not used to this

 

A string of gasps unraveled as she bravely stepped down from the platform to the sitting area, something clearly prohibited by the establishment's rules. That's when she met the golden flash of Zarbon's gaze and allowed the subtlest of smiles across her face. She held the crowd in her delicate grasp, her moves rather subdued as she sauntered forward letting the music dictate her pace.

 

She slid unto a table brazenly, swiping drinks to the floor with an arm. Dozens of eyes witnessed enthralled as she knelt on the surface with serpentine grace, their pupils nearly electrifying. She felt like she was dancing for her life, deeply aware that she had one shot to gather Zarbon's attention. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with no effort, her movements so leisurely she could have been dancing in the privacy of her own living room. She moved to sit on her bottom, bracing her weight on her forearms and throwing her head back to offer her neck to the night. Her hair fell to the table like a glimmering waterfall as the potent waves of the song washed over her, caressing her like a lover.

 

I can't shut it off
this thing I've begun
and it's hard to tell
just where it's coming from
and it's hard to see
what I'm capable of
and it's hard to believe
just, what I've become

 

She sparkled in the dark like a fallen goddess, a creature of unmatched grace that walked the mortal plane if only for a night. Her demureness was more enticing than nudity, her eyes fierce as she turned over and slid off the table to step back on the carpet. She flicked her hair as she sauntered forward, relieved to find that Zarbon was every bit as attentive to her as the rest of the men.

 

Not a single inch of her body remained dry of sweat as she continued to slide against the chairs, speaking a fluid language of passion. She lightly grazed a customer's shoulder, not once releasing Zarbon's eyes, then threw her hair over her face as she touched a second man. She advanced almost imperceptibly, knowing Zarbon preferred men, but had an eye for beauty and provocation. There was a glow in his eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips, like he liked to see his suspicions proven. To him she was sellable merchandise, perfectly pretty but utterly harmless.

 

He mistook her passion for greed, but all she could think of was Vegeta. She threw the fears and the consequences of her actions away, remembering him, his burning touch and possessive grab, and how it felt to be loved by him all night long.

He was her unlikely hero, a perfect lover spun out of her darkest fantasies. Strong, and led by honor even if his sense of right and wrong was a product of a twisted past. He was everything everyone else in this room could never be.

 

It was his hands that skimmed her as she smoothed them down the flat plane of her stomach, his lips that tasted her as she swept her tongue over reddened lips. Zarbon's bodyguard's shifted in their seats, scenting the danger she spun with her every move but Zarbon stuck out a hand to stop them.

 

She fell in a bottomless abyss where lust reigned over reason, where both her spirit and Vegeta's united through space and time. She knew she was casting herself away from salvation, but she'd sacrifice her colorless life for a single night in his bed, for a taste of the heaven only he could give her. She'd betray her world, her friends, even herself if he only held her in his arms, if he swept her away to a land of blinding pleasure. She was destined to thirst for him, his lips the sole purveyors of much needed life.

me….I'm not.

I can swallow it down
keep it all inside
I define myself
by how well I hide
I feel it coming apart
well, at least I tried

 

She was right in front of the reptilian turned demon, sifting fingers up through her silken strands before bringing them down. She looked down at Zarbon, no trace of weakness in her eyes. He rose to his feet and slowly came around to meet her, his angular eyes dissecting her in an attempt to decipher her motives. He was thoroughly fascinated by her. She could put his entire security detail to shame in terms of courage and that was enough to garner his attention.

 

I can win this war
by knowing not to fight
if I take it all back
someway, somehow
if I knew back then
what I know right now…

 

A strand of hair fell across her parted lips as the music ebbed away to a heavy silence. She stood before Zarbon, fully expectant like the rest of the crowd.

 

“Vegeta must have paid a fortune for you.” Zarbon commented, the security guards hanging on to his every word and utterly puzzled by the mind-blowing display. “And I guess I can't blame him.”

 

“He no longer owns me, does he?” She artfully smiled, her breathing slowly calming.

 

“What is it you want?” Zarbon stated firmly, rather intrigued by her brazen attitude.

 

Bulma looked him over like the response should be obvious. “He's vowed to blow my world to cinders, enslave me and my kin. I want to make sure he doesn't get a chance to. I want you to let me see him die.”

 

Zarbon held her gaze, imagining the sight himself and experiencing an automatic high. Vegeta had wronged him, taken his life and damned him to the horrors of hell. Everyone knew the prince was a bastard. It wasn't hard to understand her thirst for revenge or pass that aquamarine flame in her eyes as hatred. And all in all, he would pay to see Vegeta's expression as his loyal concubine turned on him like a viper and helped extinguish his miserable Saiyan life. It practically made him giddy.

 

The golden irises of Zarbon's demon eyes slid over Bulma's heavily exposed flesh, flushing it further. He appraised her heavy cleavage and bare legs, a strong arm reaching out to pull her to him by the hair. She went rigid as he spun her around and raked his gaze over the elegant form of her spine. The motion was so brusque it made tears erupt in her eyes and she clenched her eyes as he followed the exposed contours of her body.

 

“You're going to be a huge success among my security guards.” He stated, releasing her at once and pleasantly returning to his seat. “You are to stay in the main building and have a front seat to his death tomorrow.” He smiled and drank from his crystal glass. It was great to see what a vicious little thing the prince's consort had turned out to be.

 

******************************

 

Bulma gazed down at the gasping man as he convulsed on the floor and uttered his final breath. His eyes remained opened, damning her without words to a painful death. She backed down from the body and braced a hand on the wall, breathing heavily and trying to push the horrible image from her mind.

 

After leaving Zarbon she'd deftly worked the network until she located the right guard to seduce. She'd lured him to a secluded area, alluring him with delicate gestures and light touches. The unsuspecting guard had hoped that would lead to an eventful night but she'd used every ounce of womanly deceit she was capable of. She'd plowed for information on the prince's location, satisfaction shining in her eyes as the guard loosened up.

 

There was a reason for her choosing that particular storage room. She'd previously hidden the linen bag that contained her possessions, including the dagger, among the shelves. She'd originally planned on merely wounding and gagging the man, then locking him in, but the situation had gotten out of hand. It'd been easy to entice him but difficult to halt his advances. He'd pressed his hideous snout to her temple promising good pay if she let him hurt her during the act. He claimed she was far older than the minors he was used to having, but she was far too special to let slide. Bulma hadn't thought at all. All she remembered was grabbing the dagger and feeling his yielding flesh as it sunk deep into his belly.

 

She would have lingered around longer, overtaken by the horrors of the night but she was running out of time. She retrieved the Saiyan necklace from the bag and wrapped it around her wrist several times so it fit like a bracelet. She didn't want it jingling in the bag as she raced down the halls. She left the room and turned several corners, her transparent heels barely clicking on the metal lining of the floor.

 

A single drop of sweat trailed down her back when she realized she'd managed to find the maximum security area, the place where Vegeta was being held. A single guard leaned against the wall a hideous insectoid that sprung to an upright position after sensing her approach. His jaws clasped and his wings buzzed in confusion as he examined Bulma.

 

She learned that killing came easier the second time, the motion more fluid, the soul a little more forgiving. She'd been pale with fear all along, but had managed to entice him with the delicate brush of her body. They'd moved to a nearby cell, where she'd consummated the death with a quick move of the knife. The dagger cracked through his exoskeleton with ease, greenish gunk dripping down Bulma's blade to splatter on the floor. She numbed her conscience to her sins and memorized the code to Vegeta's unit from the guard's digital device before leaving him behind.

 

By the time she entered Vegeta's cell, hair bouncing against her shoulders, her heart was racing in anticipation. She focused on him, the rest of the world completely lost to her senses. She pushed the button to lock the gate behind her and crossed over to where he remained tied.

 

His wrists were bound to the wall, boots proudly planted on the floor even though his condition was appalling. He straightened his back at her presence, raising a dampened eyebrow to regard her. A few strands of raven hair were stuck to his forehead, slightly shorter ones clinging to his strong neck. Bulma regarded him struck. His washboard abdomen was exposed, pectorals gleaming with sweat and blood under the dim lights overhead. There were scarlet trails down the corner of his mouth to the point of his chin. He looked every bit a ruthless demon, an unholy creature that feasted on the blood of his enemies and crushed their bones with his monstrous might.

 

Bulma stepped closer and cupped his face. She wiped the blood from his lower lip with her thumb, seeking his eyes and finding them under long raven lashes. Her mouth ached to kiss him, to be the place he found solace in. She pressed petal lips to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks, changing sides to drop kisses all over his face and whisper his name as she did.

 

She continued like she couldn't find her way to his full lips. When she finally did he immediately responded. His velvet tongue came out to taste the sweetness of her lips, sinking into her mouth and sliding sinuously against her tongue. She let him plunder her depths in a rich simulation of sex, of flesh gliding smoothly against flesh and then she sighed into his mouth.

 

Perhaps a kiss was worth a thousand deaths.