by Webster, K
“Why don’t I get a greeting like that?” Theron complains.
“Don’t worry, Theron. When you find your mate, you’ll get that and more,” Breccan says as he comes to a stop by our side, Aria close beside him as always. Little Sokko is asleep in a sling Oz fashioned for him that Aria wears strapped to her chest. He’s a funny looking little thing now that I can look at him without my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Funny looking, but I’ve grown to love him anyway.
“There are only two women left,” he says with a shrug, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Besides, my lady, the Mayvina, is all the female I need. Speaking of ships, I’d better check on the terrainsters. I’m sure Galen has ridden his near to broken.”
“Will he be all right?” I ask.
Breccan places a hand on my shoulder, but quickly removes it when Draven cracks his neck. “I’ll check in on him later. In the meantime, we need to go over what you found in the caves, and we must train, Draven. With the baby and procuring the rogcows it’s been weeks since we visited the training room.”
Draven only has eyes for me. The heat from them makes me blush. In my head, I start to sing, although it’s more of a croon. “Tomorrow,” he answers. “Tonight is for my mate.”
Breccan begins to speak, but Aria places a quelling hand on his arm. “He just got back from The Graveyard. Let the man rest. Besides, you need to spend some time with your own mate and your son.”
We share a very female look and she leads Breccan away, leaving Draven and me alone. I turn back to him and wrap my arms around his muscular shoulders. “I changed my mind. I don’t want you to leave me again. I’m an independent woman. I can survive on my own. But I like it better when you’re around.”
His eyes gleam with possessive pleasure. “My mate missed me,” he says.
“Very much,” I answer. “Why don’t we go back to your quarters, and I can show you how much?”
He nuzzles my throat. “I would like this very much.” Sniffing my throat, he groans in pleasure. “I’d forgotten how good you smell. With my seed inside you, they said you’d become more and more attractive. I didn’t realize how much.”
“Maybe you missed me, too,” I tease.
“Why don’t I show you?” He lifts me into his arms in one smooth movement, and I squeal in surprise.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Taking you back to our rooms.”
“Sugar, I can walk, you know.” But he’s too busy licking at my throat and trying not to walk into walls to listen. “What’s with you?”
“It’s the baby. When implantation is successful it makes a female smell intoxicating. Irresistible. The longer mates go without mating, the more the attraction grows. The toxica serves as a nutrient to the growing mortling.” His panting breaths puff along my neck as he tries to lick and nibble along my throat.
Giggling, I say, “Watch where you’re going, or we’ll never get there. Why don’t you put me down? We’ll get there faster.”
His hands tremble where they grip my flesh. “I can’t.”
By the time we reach his rooms, the need grips me as tight as he does. “Hurry,” I urge.
We stumble through the doorway and fall to his bed. He’s careful to land in such a way that his arms take all his weight. My hands rake at his suit. “Get this off.”
He’s aware enough to grin at me. Grin. I think back to the man I’d met when I first stumbled out of the cryotube. The one who could barely stomach his own mind. I’m not the only one who’s changed.
Maybe I’m his home, too, is my last sane thought before touch, taste, and desire burn away everything but him.
* * *
“I think we should make training a daily requirement,” I say to Aria, who is idly bouncing a slumbering Sokko in her arms. The combination of rogcow milk and colostrum had fattened his cheeks and thighs. Seeing them together is bittersweet. It reminds me of when Willow was a newborn, and I spent hours cycling between being overwhelmed and luminously happy with new motherhood.
Willow.
I begin to hum in my head as I focus back in on the conversation. “We’d have to spin it about protecting the mates and mortlings,” I suggest. “Breccan seems like he would go for that. I’m not sure if they’d let us watch all the time, though.”
And boy have we been watching them.
Breccan and Draven are evenly matched. Where Breccan is bulkier, Draven is more agile. They’re both relentless. Several times I thought one of them would get hurt. But just as they got to that point, they’d break apart.
Right now, they’re circling the mats, both of their sub-bones cracking loudly. But it’s their outfits—or lack thereof—that have Aria and me so entertained. In an alien version of spandex shorts, our two guys remain topless, and all their yummy muscles are on display. Aria and I giggle like a couple of teenage girls any time we sneak a peek at their giant cocks straining against the fabric. It’s so inappropriate, but neither of us is keen on leaving this show. In fact, all we need is for Galen to figure out how to make us popcorn. The mort version, whatever that may be.
Draven and I had spent the night wrapped up in each other. It wasn’t until dawn that the cravings abated, and not long after that, Breccan was pounding at our door demanding that Draven join him for training. I tagged along because 1. I missed him, dammit, and 2. Who wouldn’t want to watch two half-naked, ripped aliens wrestle?
I sigh. “We’ll think of something.”
Aria is practically drooling. “It’s indecent, really. Maybe I’ll talk to Emery once we can tear her away from Galen’s greenhouses. She’d really enjoy watching Calix participate.”
I’m agreeing to this when Sayer sprints through the door, looking alarmed. He spots Aria and me on the sidelines and comes straight to our side.
“What’s wrong?” Aria asks.
Sayer’s eyes are on me. “You have to come with me. It’s urgent. Come now.”
I share a panicked look with Aria. “Dammit, Sayer, if Jareth or Theron made a meal out of one of my herd, I’m going to be pissed. I told Draven that I was going to breed some rogcows for meat, but these things take time.”
Sayer shakes his head, the top-knot he’s tied all his inky black hair in bobbing with the movement. “It’s not that. Come, quickly.” His nervous energy propels me to my feet, and I bolt after him, leaving Aria and the baby behind.
He leads me down the halls to his office. There’s a disembodied voice playing the same transmission over and over on the radio, and it takes a minute for the somewhat familiar voice to penetrate my panicked thoughts.
“My name is Willow Franklin, from Earth II. My mother, Molly, was sentenced to life at the Exilium Penitentiary after killing my father in self-defense. I’ve been searching for her for twenty years. There are several reformatory planets in our galaxy, but I’m looking for planet Mortuus, formerly known as planet Earth. If you can hear me, please respond.”
The message plays again. And again. And again.
Willow.
I can’t make sense of it. It’s only been a short time, at least for me, but she says she’s been looking for me for twenty years. Had I been asleep that long? Had I missed everything?
I crumple to my knees as the transmission repeats. Hope and despair war inside me. Tears of triumph and frustration well up and streak down my cheeks. How is this happening?
Vaguely, I can hear voices behind me, but I strain to listen to the message again, even though I’ve heard it several times. Willow.
“We received the transmission about an hour ago,” I can hear Sayer telling the others. “It took me that long to decode it. I remembered Molly saying her daughter’s name was Willow. I came to her as soon as I understood.”
I sense Draven behind me. He wraps his soothing arms around my waist and lifts me up. Turning to him, I press my face into his chest. “She’s here. She’s looking for me,” I manage.
“We’ll find her,” he promises. “We’re going to find our
girl, Molly. This I vow to you.”
Epilogue
Sayer
Everyone is talking all at once, giving me a rekking nog-ache. I would ask Avrell for some ghan-dust tablets, but he’s in a heated discussion with Calix. Both are growling and baring their fangs, seconds from ripping into each other. Calix has his reasons for not wanting to wake the remaining females, which I completely understand, but we also have Willow to think about.
They may be the key to unlocking everything.
“Enough,” Breccan growls, effectively silencing all morts and the two alien females in the room. Even little Sokko grows quiet. The only sound he makes is suckling on his mother’s nipple. “I’ve heard your argument, Calix, and your worry is valid. Emery nearly lost her life when she was pulled from the cryotube.”
Calix wraps a protective arm around his mate. She’s come a long way since then, when Aria foolishly yanked her out of cryosleep before she was ready. However, Emery came with health issues. It wasn’t all Aria’s fault. I think he fails to remember that part.
“But it must be done. We cannot keep those two alien humans the way they are forever. We morts are just, good, and kind. We are not Kevins, which is why we cannot keep them caged and asleep any longer.” He frowns and gives Avrell a nod. “Check their vitals then wake them. Emery and Calix will assist. Their discovery with the toxica agents could be useful if these aliens also have health issues.” The three of them leave without further argument.
Then, he points to me. “Sayer, I want you to continue attempting to reach Willow. I’m sure Molly will want to assist, as will Draven. It’s imperative that you make contact with her.”
Of course I will. As our faction’s linguistics specialist, communication and language is my job. If there’s a way to speak to her, I’ll find it. “On it,” I affirm. “Right, Uvie?” I tug my hair out of its knot, and it cascades down my front. With a quick twist, I affix it to the top of my head again—like Aria taught me—which is purposeful for keeping it out of my way while I work.
“Correct,” Uvie chirps from the overhead speakers. “I’m scanning the transmission for locator pings.”
“The Mayvina is purring like a baby sabrevipe, Brec,” Theron says, bouncing with his usual energy. “You’ve been wanting Hadrian to learn to pilot, and we should patrol from the skies. This knocks two items off our list.”
Breccan grumbles but gives a nod that has Hadrian flinging up his rogstud horns and hooting with excitement.
Jareth catches my stare from across the table and smirks. He’s been fiddling with his piece of metal for weeks now. A piece that has Draven practically running at the mere sight of it. I lift my brow at him as though to ask, What are you going to do with that thing?
He rolls it across the table to me, and I catch it in the palm of my hand just as it rolls off the table. I shake my head at him. Rekk no. I know what this ring is for, and that’s his thing, not mine. My cock is too nice to willingly run a thick, metal hoop through the tip of it.
“Jareth and Oz,” Breccan says, causing Jareth to straighten to attention. “Help Aria make sure the sub-faction is ready for our new aliens. See to it that my mate has what she needs to welcome them properly.”
He shouts out more orders to the other morts, and soon, we’re off on our missions. Jareth bumps his shoulder to mine as we walk down the corridor, grabbing my attention.
“You think the last two females will know more than Molly and the other awoken aliens?” he asks, his brows furrowing together. His choppy black hair is wrecked today, and I have the urge to help smooth it out some.
I shrug and let out a sigh. “Not sure. Each alien has known more than the last. If there’s any information they can offer, we could rekking use it. We have to find Willow.”
Jareth scowls. “So Breccan can force one of us to mate with her, too?”
Screeching to a halt, I poke him in the chest, but the giant mort doesn’t move. “He won’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. There are plenty of other morts around here desperate for a chance to mate with one of the alien females.”
He seems to calm with my reassurance.
“You never gave me my ring back,” he says, his lips lifting up on one side.
I pat my pockets and feign confusion. “Must have lost it.”
“I could pierce you,” he offers, his black eyes gleaming wickedly.
“You could rekking try,” I growl, giving him a shove.
He laughs and walks backward, making sure to make horrifying gestures pretending to do said piercing that have me shuddering. “I want my ring back later. Find it, Say.”
Ignoring him, I storm over to my comms room where Molly sits in Draven’s lap. They’re sitting there tense as can be while they listen to the same transmission over and over again.
“Anything new?” I ask.
“No,” Draven grumbles.
“How many times have you listened to the same transmission?” My eyes dart between them. Molly’s shoulders slump, and Draven won’t make eye contact with me. Clearly the entire time I’ve been in my meeting.
“Fifty-seven times,” Uvie chirps.
My brows lift, and Draven grumbles.
“Tattletale,” Molly huffs.
I let out a heavy sigh. “You look exhausted, Molly. Why don’t you let Draven take you back to your quarters, and get some rest? I promise I will notify you the moment I know anything.”
She frowns and opens her mouth like she might argue, but Draven must agree with me because he’s already standing with her in his arms. “Thank you,” she utters a moment before Draven stalks away with her.
Once the door closes behind them, I relax. It’s difficult to work with them staring at me. I busy myself for the next couple of hours, reading through Uvie’s data on the screen concerning the pings on the transmission as I attempt to triangulate a location. The pings are scattered. At first, it appears as though the vessel Willow is on is moving. But then, I realize it’s a mask covering a location. The pings, I quickly uncover, are in a pattern. I tap away on my computer, trying some different calculations to see if anything begins to make sense. Since there are easily thousands of pings, I run a command for Uvie to work through them using my calculations. If there’s a pattern, we’re going to discover it. Then we’ll be able to pinpoint exactly where she is.
From there, I’m not sure what will happen.
The door slides open and Jareth rushes in, his chest heaving.
“What?” I demand, panic rising up inside of me.
“I don’t know,” he pants. “Avrell said to come get you. It’s an emergency.”
I’m out of my chair and bounding after him in the next moment. We rush down the corridor, our boots pounding on the floor resounding around us. He whips out his keycard, and the door to the Avrell’s lab slides open.
Screaming. All that can be heard is mad, female ranting like she’s got a case of The Rades.
“—hell no! Hell no, freaks. This is not happening!”
Jareth comes to a screeching halt just inside the doorway, and I bump into him. Peering over his shoulder with my palm pressed at his lower back, I take in the scene. On one table, an alien human remains sleeping despite having been pulled from her cryotube. The other one, though…
She’s feral.
Despite wearing one of the medical gowns, she’s anything but weak or sick. This alien is fierce and furious. Despite being two nogs shorter than Avrell, she points up at him with her filed down claw like it has the power to flay him like a magknife. Avrell’s jaw clenches as he bites back words.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Emery tries. “But if—”
“No,” the feral female growls. “I’ve heard this three times already. You want to take me to something called the sub-faction. Everyone is nice. Who cares if they’re big fucking freaks because you all want to have their babies. Yeah, got all that.” She seethes with rage, her long, dark, brown hair swishing back and forth with her movement
. “The part I’m not getting is how this one”—she pokes Avrell in the chest—“says I’m fucking pregnant!”
Jareth stiffens. I meet Calix’s stare, and his jaw clenches.
Pregnant?
“Listen, honey,” Emery starts again.
“Grace. My name isn’t honey or alien,” she snarls, her words directed at Avrell. “It’s Grace Miller. AND I AM A FUCKING VIRGIN! My name isn’t Mary and this guy here isn’t God! This is not happening!”
“She’s pregnant,” Jareth mutters, his voice a mixture of fear and awe.
As though she’s a geostorm chasing the sun from our world, she slowly turns around, darkness burning from eyes the same color as Jareth’s cock ring. Dark silver. Strong. Piercing.
Rekk.
“She is pregnant,” Calix agrees, finding his voice. “And the mortling belongs to you.”
Jareth freezes and shakes his head in disbelief. But Calix isn’t looking at him. His intense stare is on me. I peel my eyes from his to scan down her body. Her stomach isn’t as big as Emery’s, but it’s swollen. Obviously so.
Rekk no.
Rekk no.
Rekk no.
“Yeah, you’ve said that,” Grace hisses. “Three times.”
I wince, realizing I said it out loud.
She walks our way, and her steely eyes burn with fury, melting me with just one look. “You did this to me?”
I blink at her, understanding her meaning. As though I pushed myself on her while she slept. “I, uh—”
She smacks me right across the face, the burn from her hard hit shocking me. Jareth growls at her, his sub-bones snapping out of control. Rekking great. Calix makes a grab for Grace’s arm just as I step in front of Jareth, blocking him from attacking her. His chest bumps my back.
“We ought to toss you in a reform cell,” Jareth bites out at her.
“Toss him in while you’re at it!” she cries out. “Where I come from, we don’t allow rapists to walk free!”
