Ravik's Mercy (Braxians Book 2)

by Regine Abel

  “The lesser clans don’t have the means to invest in new ventures. Even if they did, they don’t have any plans,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “We have nothing to export that other planets want. Without wars, no one needs to hire our clansmen as warriors. Hagan is chanting to revert to the old ways that got us into this situation to begin with, and now fucking Caldes wants to ally with the Guldans.”

  Anton’s sharp breath intake had me looking at him over my shoulder. He had no love for clan Caldes after Raylor’s son had nearly murdered Anton’s wife and their unborn child.

  “You want to steer clear of the Guldans. They are trouble,” Anton said.

  “I’m well aware. But Hagan and Raylor are right in that Braxia needs new allies, and the Western Quadrant might be a solution. If I don’t find a way to turn around our failing economy, I will have a civil war on my hands.”

  “Hmmm,” Anton said, rubbing his square chin pensively. “Have you considered—”

  The chime of the elevator interrupted him. Its door opened with a swish, quickly buried by Grace’s peals of laughter and the throatier one of the female accompanying her. Their hands were laden with bags from whatever shopping spree they’d just been on.

  “You’re back,” Anton said, heading towards the newcomers.

  My breath caught in my throat, and my brain ceased to function when the head of Grace’s companion suddenly jerked towards me. The finely carved motifs on her black horns shone under the overhead lights. Stomach in knots, skin heating, I stared at the embodiment of pure perfection. Tall and statuesque in her skin-tight leather dress and draped in her knee-length, dark hair, she looked like a vengeful goddess come to pass judgment upon mortals. Her stunning, almond-shaped eyes, black as sin, widened as they stared straight into the depths of my soul. High cheekbones framed a dainty, slightly upturned nose in a delicately sculpted, heart-shaped face. Her plump, sensuous, pink lips parted in shock. The bag in her right hand slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground with a soft thump. She ignored it and rubbed the back of her neck as if something had stung it.

  “No fucking way…” she whispered, bewildered.

  The swear word snapped me out of my stupor.

  “Ravena?” Grace asked, confused. “Is everything okay?”

  Ravena. Beautiful name for a goddess.

  She looked at Grace, disbelieving, before turning back towards me. She shook her head as if to snap out of whatever daze had overtaken her.

  Having somewhat recovered from the shock of her beauty—barely—I realized my brutish appearance must have frightened her. That females cowered before me no longer came as a surprise, but from her, it stung.

  “Do not be afraid, Madam,” I said, attempting to keep my voice and demeanor non-threatening. “I am not as savage as my appearance may suggest.”

  She shivered, and her skin erupted in goosebumps. I couldn’t tell if my words or the sound of my rumbling voice had caused it. But the appreciative way her gaze glided over my massive body had me involuntarily puffing out my chest and flexing my bulging muscles.

  “I’m not,” she whispered in a throaty, sensual voice.

  Her pink tongue peeked between her luscious lips to wet them. Blood rushed to my groin in response. I had seen many beautiful females in my lifetime and never thought one could rival Grace’s beauty. But this Ravena was depriving my brain of its ability to function.

  “Ravena,” Anton said, “please meet our guest, the ruler of Braxia, Magnar Ravik Xeldar. Magnar, please meet our friend, Ravena.”

  I bowed my head and slapped my fist to my chest in the traditional Braxian greeting. A strange smile stretched her lips as she delicately pressed her palm over her heart and then waved her hand towards me in an offering gesture. I’d never seen this form of greeting before and didn’t know what species she belonged to. The markings on her neck, along the side of her arms and legs clearly appeared Veredian. Her light brown skin also matched that species. But the horns threw away that assumption. Could she be a hybrid?

  Ravena picked up the bag she had dropped and walked down the three steps into the living area. Despite Grace’s height of 5’10” and her ridiculously high heels, she appeared dwarfed next to her guest who wore flat, knee-high boots. At a glance, I estimated Ravena to be around 6’4. Still short in comparison to my 7’6” but nice nonetheless.

  Anton approached Ravena and relieved her of her bags. She turned grateful eyes towards him, a most beautiful smile stretching her lips. I barely managed to silence the growl that rose in my throat. Even though her gaze held no covetous glint as she looked upon him, I was the alpha—the apex alpha—in the room. In my presence, the attention of the prime female should be solely focused on me. I blinked at the violence of the primal response she stirred within me.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Magnar,” she said, taking a couple more steps towards me.

  “Please call me Ravik,” I said, hungry to hear the sound of my name on her lips.

  “Ravik,” she said with a smile. “It almost sounds like my own name, Ravena.”

  “Indeed,” I said, stepping away from the window to approach her. “Odd, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “More like fated. The Goddess has a strange sense of humor.”

  The way she said it implied an underlying meaning I didn’t get. Behind her, Anton leaned forward to kiss his mate and free Grace of her own bags.

  “I’ll be right back,” Anton said, preventing me from asking Ravena what she meant by fated.

  “Come have a seat,” Grace said, gesturing towards the living area.

  She flicked her waist-length, reddish-brown hair over her shoulder, a speculative glimmer in her amber eyes as Ravena and I complied. Just like in Anton’s office, dark-brown leather couches occupied the large sitting area with a dark wood coffee table in the middle. A large family portrait of Anton, Grace, and their three children occupied the center of the off-white wall facing us. Pictures of the children in various settings hung on each side of the portrait. Although heartwarming, it was an odd sight. According to Anton, posting family pictures was a common tradition among Terrans and many other species in the Western Quadrant. With Grace being human, she naturally observed that culture.

  Ravena took a seat slightly off the center of the three-cushion couch, then leveled her obsidian eyes on me. Her position guaranteed I’d have no choice but to sit right next to her. Usually, males and females alike sought to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Braxians. Her boldness further fanned the burning attraction I felt towards her.

  I settled by her side as she crossed her legs, the tip of her foot brushing against my calf. Grace perched herself on the arm of the chair across from us where her husband usually sat whenever he entertained me here. She, too, crossed her long, shapely legs made infinite by the short length of her red sarong draped in a halter dress style. Where Grace had pale, creamy skin like freshly fallen snow, Ravena’s was sun-kissed, like golden honey.

  “I hope you’re both hungry,” Grace said, her amber eyes flicking between Ravena and me. “We’re taking you to Risqué, the fanciest restaurant on Venus Hive. I’d have taken you to Sade instead, but I wouldn’t want to shock the Magnar’s sensibilities. He’s a bit of a prude,” Grace added teasingly.

  I frowned at her, and she grinned two rows of perfect, white teeth at me. The heavy weight of Ravena’s stare drew me. I faced her, and she held my gaze, unwaveringly.

  “Are you?” she asked, daringly.

  “I am not,” I said with a bit of a growl.

  She raised a perfectly drawn brow with an expression halfway between dubious and mocking. “Are you sure? There’s no shame in being prim and proper.”

  I leaned forward. “Do I look prim to you?”

  She bit her bottom lip and gave me the most shameless once over. My shaft jerked in response, the blossoming scent of her arousal driving me to distraction. Despite her delicate bone structure, this female held an undeniable inner-
strength that I found oddly appealing. Braxian women were trained from birth to be submissive—correction, to be subservient. I didn’t like the latter, but there was something undeniably erotic when a female, especially a strong-willed one, voluntarily yielded control and power to her man.

  Ravena opened her mouth to answer, but her eye flicked towards Anton returning to the room. I groaned inwardly and straightened under Anton’s overly perceptive stare.

  “What did I miss?” he asked, sitting in his usual chair.

  He wrapped his muscular arm around Grace’s waist who was still seated on the arm of the chair. She leaned against him and kissed his forehead. The love between them always felt bittersweet to me. Grace reminded me of my Lissy, whose blood still stained my hands and ate away at my conscience. Had I been a stronger man, I’d have a hybrid son the same age as Anton. In many ways, Anton now filled that void in my heart.

  “Ravik was trying to convince us that he wasn’t too prudish to go to Sade instead of Risqué,” Ravena said with false innocence.

  Anton’s lips parted in shock as I turned to frown at Ravena. She batted her eyelashes at me. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to lay her across my lap and spank that delicious behind of hers or kiss her senseless. We’d only known each other a few minutes, and yet, she seemed perfectly at ease with me, and I with her. Aside from Grace and her infant daughter, I couldn’t remember the last female that had been playful with me. Besides Lissy…

  I chased away the painful thought.

  “We are not taking you or the Magnar to Sade,” Anton said to me before casting a suspicious look at his wife.

  Grace blushed prettily and fiddled with the hem of her dress.

  “Why?” Ravena asked. “Is that place so terrible?”

  Anton shook his head. “Not terrible at all, quite the contrary. But as implied by its name, it is a fetish club. The most luxurious you’ll ever get to set foot in and guaranteed to satisfy any kink or fantasy one may entertain. But it’s not exactly the type of place one brings distinguished guests such as yourselves. It would get… awkward, especially with my mate being an exhibitionist.”

  “I see,” Ravena said, her eyes widening, although the spark within them seemed to say she wished to see even more.

  “Anton,” Grace said reprovingly, her cheeks taking on a scarlet tinge.

  He stared at her, unrepentant. “You shouldn’t have brought up Sade if you didn’t want to be outed.”

  “I don’t think I like you very much right now,” Grace said, frowning at Anton.

  Anton chuckled. “You don’t like me. You love me.”

  They stared at each other, and Grace’s features softened. She leaned forward and kissed him. My chest tightened again, and I averted my eyes. Thankfully, they kept it brief. Grace hopped off the arm of the chair and affectionately ruffled Anton’s long, black hair.

  “Come on, Ravena,” Grace said, “Let’s go get primped up. I’m getting hungry!”

  Ravena unfolded her legs and rose to her feet, giving me a magnificent view of her perfect behind, tightly hugged by her black, leather dress. The light smirk on her lips when I looked up indicated she knew I’d been admiring the view. My eyes remained glued to her as she strutted away, her hips swaying. Gorgeous though it was, I wished her long hair had been tied up to give me an unobstructed view of her delicious curves.

  The minute she turned the corner, my eyes snapped towards Anton who was staring at me with intensity.

  “Who the fuck is she?” I demanded.

  “Family,” Anton said, with a dead serious look in his eyes.

  “What?”

  “She’s the aunt of that child, Zharina, who communicates telepathically with my son Gavin, and claims they are to be wed when they come of age.”

  “So she is Veredian? But those horns—”

  “She’s a hybrid Guldan-Veredian.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “How is that even possible?”

  “That’s a story for her to tell,” Anton said. “I am sending her to my father on Braxia.”

  My blood froze, and an irrational rage I barely managed to repress had my spine stiffening nearly to the breaking point.

  “What do you mean ‘sending her to your father’?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.

  Anton narrowed his eyes at me. “She has business on Braxia. He will offer her his protection during her stay.”

  “I will protect her,” I said a tone that brooked no argument.

  I had the utmost respect for his father, Krygor Aldriss, but I didn’t want him anywhere near my woman. She became mine the moment she entered the room, and her eyes undressed me with a glimmer of approval. If any man could prove a rival, it was Anton’s father.

  “Ravik, she’s a breathtaking female and one who, oddly enough, likes brutish looking men like you and me—even more so like you. Braxia is on the verge of a civil war. You becoming involved with a half-breed female, not even half-Braxian, will further fan the flames.” Anton leaned forward, his stance somewhat pleading as he tried to reason with me. “Guldans are knocking at your door. Once they realize what she is, they will hunt her down with a vengeance. She’s worth a fortune.”

  “If the war comes, it will do so with or without her. As for the Guldans, I will personally deal with them. They will not dictate what happens on my home world.”

  “Ravik…”

  “Would you have given up Grace over possible threats from your clan?” I asked, interrupting him.

  Anton’s eyes widened. “Grace is my soulmate. Are you saying—?”

  “I’m saying that the last time a female stirred me this strongly dates back thirty-eight years ago with my Lissy. However rotten the timing, the Fates will decide its outcome, not any pressure Braxia would impose on me. I didn’t help you get rid of Braxia’s shackles only to don them myself.”

  Anton cringed then nodded in concession.

  “If anything happens to her, Braxia will have an even greater problem on its hands.”

  “The Tuureans,” I said on a hunch.

  “Yes. But not just because they are protective of the Veredians. The Tuurean leader cares deeply for Ravena. If she comes to harm, the Ancestors help Braxia.”

  My temper flared again. “Admiral Lee?” I asked, my voice taking on a sharp edge. “What does he want with her?”

  Anton smirked, and I clenched my jaw, embarrassed by my primitive display of jealousy.

  “The Admiral is already mated and harbors no romantic interest towards Ravena. But he does love her and will bring down the entire Tuurean fleet on Braxia if she’s not returned safely.”

  I narrowed my eyes, reading between the lines. “You think Guldans might orchestrate a confrontation to force us into an alliance with them.”

  Anton nodded. “Braxia cannot defeat the Tuureans on its own, especially not if their fiercest allies, the Xelixians, join the fray. You’d need the Guldans, and probably the Sarenians as well, for a chance to survive.”

  “Which is exactly where the Guldans want us,” I said, nodding slowly.

  “Yes.”

  I gazed at him affectionately. “For a businessman, you would have made quite the military advisor.”

  Anton chuckled and averted his eyes, looking somewhat embarrassed. “To be successful in business, one needs to recognize what people truly want and what motivates them. And then you either cater to it or thwart it.” He paused, his lips parting and eyes widening as if suddenly struck by an idea. “You know, the Tuureans could become your greatest allies. They are settling a whole new planet for the Veredians since their home world has been destroyed by a solar storm. This could open the door to many trade opportunities for Braxia. You should take advantage of Ravena’s stay to broach the subject with her.”

  I shifted on my seat, perking up at that possibility. Although I’d never admit it, I was growing desperate to find a solution for Braxia. A civil war would end us. If I believed for one minute one of my rivals could turn the tide for us and b
ring my home world back to its former glory, I’d abdicate in a heartbeat. For all its flaws and backward ways, I loved Braxia and would see her rise again.

  “Would she welcome such conversations? You who gauge people so well, what are her motivations? What does she want?” I asked.

  Anton stared me straight in the eyes. “Her motivation is redemption and making amends for the wrongs her father and brother have wrought on the Veredians. But what she truly wants… is you.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Mercy

  The Goddess had one messed up sense of humor. After forty-nine years of existence, she finally puts my soulmate in my path, and he turned out to be the fucking Magnar of Braxia. What was she thinking? Of all the species to mate into, his was worse than Guldans. But the tingle of the Tuning couldn’t be denied. The minute I’d entered the room, needles had pricked my nape, the sensation only growing in strength as I approached Ravik. Too many of my Veredian Sisters had described the phenomenon for me not to recognize it for what it was. This psychic trait manifested whenever one was in the presence of the one other being in the entire universe that had been created for them.

  And the Magnar was the most magnificent beast I had ever laid eyes upon.

  My beast.

  Just thinking of that mountain of a man and his fearsome face had me weak in the knees, and throbbing with need. Despite my height, the top of my head barely reached his shoulders. His biceps were bigger than my head, and his large, callused hands could crush my spine without effort. And yet, it had taken all of my willpower not to throw myself on him and lick, one-by-one, every single bulging vein that criss-crossed his muscular arms.

  Why the fuck did he have to be the Magnar? With my irreverent nature, I was bound to create some kind of diplomatic incident. Thankfully, he hadn’t taken offense to my earlier banter. I couldn’t help my flirty and taunting ways. Sure, I could try to curb those tendencies, but if anything were to work out between us, he needed to know the real me; impertinent, sarcastic, unrepentant, and cocky.

  The question was, did I actually want this to work? I wasn’t, and never would be, the submissive type. No man would ever—could ever—control me. No society would ever enchain me. At forty-nine, I was too old to change; not that I’d want to. From my reading about Braxia, the Magnar would be one year older than I, raised by the most intolerant, backwards thinking man in the Eastern Quadrant. How could we ever possibly have a harmonious relationship? And Braxia? I’d just found my family who lived on the other side of the galaxy. I didn’t want to part from them again.