Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Thee Untamed Soldier ❯ Defiance ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimers: I do not own.

“Your hurting me!” Bulma whimpered out with a cry.

Vegeta had instantly released her. Bulma backed away from him, rubbing her arms. “Did you really think you could take me prisoner without a fight?”

Vegeta was regretting hurting her, but her worlds made him itch to shake her again. Was this child-women determined to fight him?

“For how long?”

“Since this morning.”
Vegeta was incredulous, stunned by her wit, her audacity, and her bravery.

“I have greatly misjudged you,” He said harshly.

Then he shouted, “Napa!”

A tall older, and bald sayain was at his side instantly. “My Prince?”

Vegeta did not remove his furious gaze from his captive. “This shrewd little minx has made fools of us all. She has been leaving a trail. Alert the men; we may have pursuit.”

With in seconds Napa wheeled his Nightmare’ and with seconds he was galloping off, following his leaders orders. No questions, no pause. Just action. Within that second Vegeta reached out and pulled Bulma closer as she began to sidle away. Her body stiffened at the contact; he had to drag her with him.

“So tell me women, just whom were you alerting, hmm? Your lover perhaps, or---your family?”

“Yes!” She cried. “Yes, yes, and yes! And soon, so very soon you shall be skewered by my father’s fists! You heartless bastard! My fathers the greatest warrior on earth! Radditz is nothing compared to the fury of what my fathers capable of. “

She set her mouth defiantly.

“So your father is not this supposed Dr. Briefs of Capsule Corporation as you prettily insist, is he, women? Such an insignificant man would never attack me, and we both know it. So who are you expecting, Bra? Is that even your name?

She said nothing to his question.
He very angrily propelled her towards his awaiting mount. Bulma stumbled, then had to skip to keep ahead of him and out of his reach. Vegeta didn’t care. He abruptly caught her, and heaved her into the saddle as if she were a sack of grain. He leapt onto the nightmare behind her, signaling his men. The cavalcade rode off at a faster canter.

Bulma closed her eyes, giving in to a moment’s despair. She should not be distraught , she knew that; she should be elated. She had outfoxed the Saiyan with her trail of scraps. But she did not feel like gloating; she felt something close to terror. The bastard heir was enraged. Every instinct Bulma had told her that there would be hell to pay for her small victory.

They rode harder now. Bulma found herself frequently looking over her shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of her family, upon the horizon. She saw nothing, and as every mile passed, her hopes sank a little bit more. Where the heck was her father? Now they climbed a long, gradual rise, and when at the summit, Vegeta abruptly drew his mount to a halt, claming her to his powerful, armored body. His words quelled any protest she might have made.

“You’ve lost women,” He stated. “Look.”

Dread rushed over her and she was heedless of how harshly she gripped his thick forearm, cutting her fingertips on his saiyan armor. They had arrived---and she was lost. Ahead lay the main ship, behind it lay the main headquarters for the Saiyan enterprise of the old republic. It was on the eastern slope; and Bardock respected his race; although his rebellion was galactic wide, he’d never dare assault his own countrymen. Even though he despised the Kold Empire, and he assured that his King and Prince knew his true feelings of utter resentment towards the Kold Empire and of course the political standpoint of his own people standing behind everything that was against the Saiyan beliefs.

Bardock, was no saint. His son’s were no saint. They had destroyed and purged just as ruthless as the next dominating race, but even Bardock showed mercy to civilian warfare. If there was no challenge for him, what reason was there to strike the fear of a worlds god upon it’s people and then to kill and price it out to the highest bidder. Money was more easily assessable with resources. Each planet holds it’s own priceless value of what it’s inner core can create. Riches, jewels, oils, things that are required to run and operate. It was common sense…but Lizard lord eliminated countless races, and worlds---all for a single price. Not for gain, but fear. Yes he feared what other races could do; instead of offering help, support and satiability he offered destruction.

What victory was there in countless blood shed. When the blood was tainted. He had honor, and he’d lost his sons to King Vegeta, he’d lost them to the support of a worthless cause. He wanted what was best for his people, he wanted what was right for his people. When Bardock had came to the planet. He had high hopes of protecting the civilians and even if he could, the militant army. Although earth had the heart, they lacked the natural ability to fight in the battle. Alien power wasn’t exactly there specialty.

When he’d come to Earth, he’d been to late, and his son had devastated most of it’s living assets. Although, it wasn’t his son’s fault…it was his programming. Bardock, unfortunately enough had to send his son back to the empire. He had reconstructed most of the damage within a few years, and the shocking suprize was what he found in the ruble of a compound. A baby bundle---a blue eyes baby girl, rapped in a blue bundle; she was all that was left.

Everything was there, research. Information and everything he could possably have wished for. He’d found out much about the baby, and her father and mother. He told her all he could, but she’d taken to him far to much then when he’d like. She was clingy, and she questioned everything---surprising enough she’d became his best scientific adviser…she was much like him and her biological father. She’d taken both family traits. He’d adored her far to much for his own good.

***

They had arrived---and she was lost. Ahead lay there ship, the sun was setting. Partly obscured by the hazy fumes the gigantic ship. The ships metallic form looked unreachable---and impenetrable. Never in her life had she’d seen something so intoxicatingly beautiful, and dangerously amazing. Her mind was already spinning with new ideas, and complex formulas on how it came about. Bulma finally felt an acute dismay.

If she failed t escape---and escape was unlikely---and if she was not set free or ransomed, she would have little hope of ever seeing home and her foster family ever again, because no attack could be sustained for long against, such a ship like this not even an attack by Bardock. They didn’t have the technology like this, nor the ship this size to try anything as a counter attack. Although, Bulma knew that even though Bardock had a itch of the Prince and his father---he’d never assault his prince. He was loyal enough. He had his honor to defend.
They rode across the large docking bridge and through a raised portcullis into the outer bailey of the ship, saluted by a dozen armed guards. There were a dozen corridors within the main outlet access bay. Lined with a couple dozen stables for the horses, shops for the keep’s craftsmen, quarters for excess warriors, and pantries and supply rooms for weapons, amour, and equipment. She was surprised to see Sayain women allied against the side of men, she watched a few of the lower ranking class fighting areas sparring matches were being held, the children were even training, benching---fighting off matches with even some of the elder crew. Everyone was scattered about maintaining there duties.

Her nose lifted, and she took in the sent of something cooking. It smelled surprisingly delicious. But she already knew a lot about saiyan appetite and there appeal for the exotic appeal of different foods. You could hear the grunts of battle, the laughter of a good passing joke running around with some of the men on brakes. Bulma had never been inside such a large fortification before---it was large then any ship she’d even had the honor of working with or seeing. She’d never dream of designing something as big as this---never thought it was physically possible with the short working hands they had now. She was amazed. They reached the main docking doors, and Prince vegeta’s gloved digits pressed firmly with irritation to the green access screen to the side. Within seconds the large heavily armed door zipped forward. Bulma stumbled a little, her legs stiff from the day’s long ride. Vegeta slid to her side and began to guide her firmly through to doors. Within seconds Bulma jerked her arm free.

“Do not fear. There is obviously nowhere for me to run even if I wished to. “

“I am glad you have the sense to think so.”

“You would not be so pleased if you knew what I really think.”

“To the contrary, I would be very pleased if I knew your innermost thoughts.”

Bulma looked away, goose bumps creeping up her arms. She feared his tenacity would be greater then hers. They entered the second level, into the main feasting room. Two large trestle tables dominated the room, at right angles to each other---one elevated and empty, where the King and or Prince would sit with his family and right hand Elites. A number of the royal house elites and men-at-arms sat at the lower tables, partaking of a supper repast, served by kitchen wenches/and slaves who were quick to evade the more amorous men and overseen by the keep’s chamberlain. Others retainers gambled, drank deep within there cups, and diced. Beautiful, vivid tapestries hung from all the walls, and a fire curled in a massive stone fireplace. Fresh rushes, sweetly scented with herbs, littered the floors. Bulma realized with surprise that that there was not a single hound like beast in the place. Two large, carved, cushioned chairs sat in front of the hearth, identical to the two at the head of the elevated table. For a moment Bulma froze, thinking that King of Planet Vegeta was in residence as she spotted the back of spiked aflame hair, much similar to the Princes’ in one of those chairs.

But it was a young man only a year or two older the herself who sat there alone. He rose to his feet with unusual grace when they entered and strolled towards them. He golden hair, not raven like she’d suspected before, and had the greenest of eyes, he was very handsome. His far skin tinged faintly golden from an excess of the summer sons of Vegeta’ from what she suspected. Or a plant they had purged and plagued war upon.

“Greetings brother.”

The handsome man said. But his evergreen gaze was centered wholly on Bulma. The slow mile he finally gave her was devastating.
“Might I assume you presence here is significant?” Vegeta asked dryly. His tone changed. “And Geta, she is mine.”

Geta finally looked at his brother. He swept a mock bow. “Of course. I defer to the heir. And yes, I am an envoy from His Highness, as you have undoubtedly guessed.”

“Bulma stiffed. Protesting Vegeta’s casual statement of possession became irrelevant. It flashed through her mind that she was in a position to learn the enemy’s most secret plan, that she could very well be invaluable to her feather during her forced stay here---if she became the spy her captor had already accused her of being.

“All is well, Geta; relax.” Vegeta placed his large hand on Bulma’s rigid shoulder.

“We will speak later. When must you return?”

“Immediately.” Geta eyed Bulma, again smiling, the curl of his lips almost mocking, with little or no trace of humor in his eyes. “What’s this? No introduction? Are you afraid she will prefer me? And do we not have enough maids here to please you, or have you already sampled them all?”

Vegeta ignored the obvious teasing. “Bra, this is my bigmouthed little brother, Geta, a captain of the guard of the empire. You may disregard his attempts of humor as they are quite dismal. Besides, he is the lover, not I.”

Bulma sincerely doubted Vegeta’s last words. Both brothers were undoubtedly unrepentant predators when it came to the fair sex. Their looks were quite different. One so golden, the other so dark, but they were both striking, and no female would be immune to either one of them. Bulma did not return Geta’s smile as she regarded him warily.

Geta’s bold gaze turned questioning, moving from Bulma to Vegeta.

“She is my guest.” Vegeta said shortly, clearly dismissing any further inquiries.

“How fortunate you are,” Geta murmured. Giving them both another last look, he walked a short distance away, in order to contemplate the fire.

“I am not your guest,” Bulma said angrily, unable to restrain herself and shaking off his hand. “Guest are not mistreated. Guest are free to come and go. Do you not speak the truth even with your brother?”

The gaze Vegeta leveled upon her was cold. “You accuse me of misspeaking the truth?”

Bulma flushed hotly, but recklessly refused to back down.

“Yes, I do.”

He raised his hand. Bulma did not think he intended to strike her, but never the less she flinched. His forefinger slid over the curve of one cheek and lingered by the corner of her mouth. “Come now, women, it’s you who plays a masquerade, am I right?”

“No,” Bulma croaked, pulling away, “I have explained my manner of dress. I have explained all. You must release me, at once.”

“You are appearing desperate, women. State your true identity now, and then we shall discuss your freedom.”

“After you have rapped me!”
Vegeta glowered at her. “As I have previously stated, there will be no rape.”

Her gaze locked with his. Why was it that she was within a hairsbreadth of believing him? Why was it that she was almost disappointed? Surely her dismay was in response to the sum of her predicament and not his avowal. The Prince revealed his teeth in a slow, appealing attempt at a smile.

“When I take you to bed, women, you will enjoy it.”

Bulma could not move, could not respond.

“Yesterday you were fortunate. Today…today I grow tired of this game.”

She found her voice, which was far to husky to please her. “It’s no game.”

His smile was colder then before, but his eyes were far brighter. “If you wish to spar your maidenhead you alien species are so intent on protecting and defending, you will reveal yourself immediately.”

She grasped.

“I have never been able to resist wielding the final blow, women. You best remember that.” He added very softly, “When engaged in battle. The time for surrender has come.”

“No,” Bulma whispered. Heat unfurled like a stream of spoke in her frozen body.

“Yes,” he murmured seductively.

“But…” Her mind was dazed, making coherent thought difficult. “I thought you were going to send spies to Capsule Corporation to learn whether I am telling you the truth or not! Surely that takes time!”

“Obviously if you are of any import, you will tell me before I ruin your worth to another man.”

Her heart was pounding. Their gazes remained interlocked, the one upon the other. Bulma was finding it difficult to breathe, to think. She only knew that she could not, must not, tell him who she was.

“My Patience is at an end. If you are who you say you are, after this night you will be my mistress or if you will my concubine,” Vegeta said flatly.

Silence fell like the blow of a sward between them. Bulma was white. She gripped her hands together tightly, desperately trying to sort out the dilemma he had put her in. If she continued to insist that she was Bra Briefs, he would take her to his bed---very shortly. Images of him naked and aroused filled her, and she wasn’t sure if she felt anticipation or dismay. But she could not reveal her true identity to him, she could not. She spoke through dry stiff lips.

“I am Bra Briefs.”

His response was immediate. “My chamber is on the top level, I dominate the entire section. Go and await my pleasure there.”

Her jaw clenched. Her breasts heaved. She did not move, nor did she remove her gaze from his.

“Go await my pleasure there,” he commanded again, low.

Their gazes clashed, held, locked. It occurred to Bulma that, faced with her doom, she was crazy to war with this man. She could not win. She should give in, surrender as he had insisted she do, reveal herself to him. Hazy, passionate images flooded her mind, of an amorous couple, twisting and entwined. Of her and Prince Vegeta…she could not betray and beggar her father. Son Bardock, whom she loved and worshipped more than anyone.

Bulma squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and slowly she turned her back on him. For an instant Vegeta did not move, watching her as she walked to elevator. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed. One of his men-at-arms materialized from across the hall, to escort Bulma to his chamber. Both brothers watched her go, the hall eerily silent.
Then someone guffawed. Laughter followed and conversation resumed. One of the warriors slapped a slave sharply on her rump as she refilled his wine, causing her to squeal and jump and spill some of the flagon. Dice rolled, bets were wagered.

Geta turned to Vegeta with a raised brow. “What is this? An unwilling slave?” He was quaint. “Is that why she fascinates you so? My oldest brother does not lust, he merely takes when moved to do so.”

Vegeta walked to the dais, climbing it, and sat down at the table. The chamberlain materialized at his elbow with a vessel of dragons blood. Vegeta nodded to him, as he poured his lord a drink. “She is an uncanny women, Geta, and it’s her deception which intrigues me.”

Geta slid into the chair beside him. “Indeed?” He was skeptical. “So your telling me it’s not her exquisite face?”
Vegeta was exasperated. “So I am human after all. What difference does it make? She will reveal herself this very night, and I will not have to make good my threat.”

“If she is as you suspect, a lady of some worth,” Geta said, “She will bend before the deed is done. No lady will give her virginity for nothing.”

“Yes,” Vegeta said as a slave came and laid trenchers of meats, pastries, and cheeses on the table. “Bring food and some passion fruits to the guest who waits in my chamber,” He said to a blushing slave girl.

“And will you spare her your attentions even then?” Geta asked with cool doubt.