Taken to Nobu: A SciFi Alien Romance (Xiveri Mates Book II)

by Elizabeth Stephens

  The battle is bleak and brutal. Watching Krisxox fight is unlike anything I’ve ever seen and for a moment, I forget where I am and succumb to my emotions — deep, deep envy. I thought Kinan was the most impressive fighter I’d come across — and to be honest, he might still be — but there’s something almost poetic about the way Krisxox moves. He’s not the largest male — though he’s among them — but he moves like a spectre, vanishing and reappearing again like the ghosts my mother is sure haunt the abandoned wreckage of the Antikythera satellite that the colony’s first humans landed in.

  Bre’Okkari steps left, but Krisxox was only feinting. I feel my front teeth clench together as I will Bre’Okkari to move left and out of the way, but he falls into the trap Krisxox set for him and when he dives forward, Krisxox pulls back and sends Bre’Okkari sprawling. He spins and kicks an advancing Tur’Roth in the chest, driving him back in the time it takes for him to return to Bre’Okkari, kick away his sword and draw a thin line of blood from the side of his neck — one of the only places the okami armor does not cover.

  As Bre’Okkari is removed from the plain of battle, the flail spears the air to the left of Krisxox’s head. He sweeps his axe up, flinging the flail out of his path as he charges forward, advancing brutally, but Tur’Roth meets him in the center of the arena first. Axe-on-axe, the duel is short and savage.

  Krisxox’s fighting style changes dramatically — no longer smoke, he’s stone now, and uses raw strength to beat Tur’Roth to the ground. He falls and I feel myself wince. It’s hard to watch, but I can’t look away from the scene. Back shining slick with his own blood, Krisxox’s muscles bunch and flex as he brings one small axe down onto Tur’Roth’s weapon again and again.

  Tur’Roth’s arms shake as he falls first to one knee, then collapses onto his hip. His axe handle splinters and when Krisxox brings both of his own axes together around the handle, he splits it.

  Krisxox kicks Tur’Roth onto his stomach and, pinning one shoulder underfoot, draws his axe blade from Tur’Roth’s right shoulder to his left hip. The implication makes me cringe. Resentful, bloodthirsty bastard. It makes me suddenly nervous for a whole different set of reasons. He might be the most capable person of keeping Svera safe, but he’s also a fucking lunatic. As her protector, he needs to be replaced.

  With Tur’Roth off of the field, it still takes some time before the outcome of the battle is sure. Naimi’Okkari is a master of the flail and it is a tricky weapon to defend against. Krisxox may be belligerent and confident but he is not overconfident. He waits, drawing Naimi’Okkari around the arena until he makes his first mistake.

  Not as surefooted in this new environment, Naimi’Okkari takes one step too quickly and slips, just a half foot, but it’s enough for Krisxox to take advantage of. Spinning onto one knee, he ducks under the advancing flail and cuts a line across Naimi’Okkari’s thigh before rising up to stand in one fluid movement.

  And just like that, Svera’s trial is ended.

  Silence settles over the arena, broken up only when Krisxox tosses his axes down onto the packed white earth, leaving them there for another warrior to pick up and return to Garon. Despite an impressive victory, Krisxox doesn’t look happy about it. He throws a pelt around his shoulders as he resumes his place to Svera’s right, only this time, there’s a bigger space between them than there had been before. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her stare fixed straight ahead and her face, the same brilliant red.

  I might have found it funny — might have even laughed — if my blood hadn’t started to push harder through my veins and sweat started to build between my shoulder blades and under my breasts. I lick my lips, tasting the cold on them despite their heat, and feel the craziest kinetic energy rattle through me as I stare at the droplets of copper blood on the arena floor, reminding me of what my reddish-brown blood had looked like staining the sands of our colony three rotations before. Sand whipped through the air then in place of snow and yet, I can’t help feeling the same thing I felt then — not at the end of the day when I was ruined, but at its start.

  Mama was so optimistic that the male who hunted me would be like the one who claimed her — even Jaxal had been begrudgingly hopeful — and for just a second as I knelt naked on the sands and watched the alien ship touch down onto our planet, I thought that nothing could hurt me. That I’d be forever invincible. It’s because I am. I’m still here, with none of the scars he gave me, and he’s in chains.

  “The trial for advisor Svera is complete. Svera is absolved of her crimes,” Miari sneers the word in a way that casts major shade Raku’s way even though he doesn’t let it rile him.

  Instead, he steps forward slightly, into the circle. “We will now begin the second trial. Va’Rakukanna, step forward and name your champion.”

  The nape of my neck is slick beneath the intricately woven braids I wear, but my palms are totally dry. I flex my fingers, feeling the perfectly tailored hide stretch and flex around my joints. Breathe. I take a step into the arena, the pressure of many, many eyes on my body tracking each and every movement I make, none so aggressive or so distracting as the one behind me. Kinan’s. Breathing becomes easier when I realize that I can still taste the oasis with every breath I take.

  I inhale and when I speak, my voice is even, sure. “I nominate no champion.”

  There is a rumbling throughout the crowd as my edict is passed on to those who stand too far away to hear it, but Raku speaks over them. “As one who nominates no champion, you have the opportunity to choose your opponent. Your opponent may be selected of any warrior present here who has not yet been blooded.”

  I hesitate just a tenth of a breath before making my will known, “For my opponent I choose Pe’ixal, the fallen Bo’Raku.”

  The murmuring grows louder, threatening my composure. What am I doing? Am I going to get myself killed? Is it pride that will kill me? Hate? Both? No. Breathe. Remember…

  I picture familiar faces in my mind, all of them alien — Tre’Hurr, Hurr, Va’El, Ka’Okkari, Kuana and her new mate, the other humans, my mom — and I recall their strength and their love, but I don’t look for them now. I let the murmurs fall away. I let Jaxal’s very audible fuck glide right off of me. I turn and face — not the male I’m about to fight, but the one who’s given me the confidence to fight.

  His gaze is on me and I feel a nervous rush all the way to my toes. Behind me, I hear Bo’Raku — Pe’ixal’s — impish cackle, “Accepted.” But all I see in front of me is Kinan, utterly impassive, but for a small twitch in his neck.

  He tilts his head forward and comes to me. “You will need a weapon,” he says.

  I nod, mouth dry, feeling suddenly shaky. “I will go now to Garon.”

  “Hexa. Follow me.”

  As cold crunches under my feet, I can’t help but feel the need to explain myself to the male I love most. “I hope you know that I don’t mean to shame you. I know that the tsanui is your sacred rite and that you had every intention of acting as my champion, I just…”

  “I was wrong.” We reach Garon who nods at me stoically and makes the warrior’s greeting. So distracted by such a sign of respect from him, it takes me a moment to realize he isn’t opening the werro chest. Instead, he produces a long swatch of black cloth and hands it to Kinan.

  Kinan unwraps one end and very carefully slides the sheathe off of the weapon, which he places in my hands. “I recognized the error of my thinking many solars ago. It was as I watched you fighting Ka’Okkari. It was your first time wielding an axe. It was much too large for you, but you were clever, skillfully finding ways to inflict damage without having to support the bulk of its weight, or even letting that weight work in your favor. It occurred to me then that I was a fool to dare dishonor you by taking your place in this trial. This trial is not mine, just as the right to tsanui against Bo’Raku is not mine. Both are your own.”

  I shake my head, staring down at the weapon now in my hands. Trying to make sense of this. “I remember tha
t day and I remember that fight. But that was also a fight I lost.”

  Kinan’s mouth quirks. His hands fold around my own and I can feel the cold of the helos through my gloves contrasted against the fire of his fingers as they hold mine so steadily, so sure. “Hexa. You have lost many fights and you will lose many more. But you will not lose this one.”

  Air fills me so fully, my toes hardly touch the ground. “You believe that,” I say, voice in awe, half disbelieving. His words cannot be real when I only half believe them myself. But they are and suddenly that half that did not believe I would ever do this or could ever do this, is gone, wiped away cleanly.

  “I would not allow this battle to proceed if I did not.”

  I exhale, fists firming around the staff. He reaches forward and grips my neck as mates sometimes do — one of the only Voraxian signs of affection shown in public. “This staff is the same size and weight as your other helos staff, so it will require no adjustments on your part, but for the one.” He tilts the right end of the staff up and I blink, shocked, as I study the weapon carefully for the first time.

  I grin. “Is it…it can’t be…”

  “Hexa. I supplied the Rakukanna with ideas and she came forward with designs of her own. Together, we made this for you.”

  “It’s a grabar,” I balk, “The same thing I used to fight the khrui, except it’s made of helos.”

  “With the same cutting ends as your practice staff, in addition to the sharpened point of the grabar you already know.”

  “Did you make this specifically for me?”

  “Hexa. Specifically for this purpose. For this trial.”

  “But when? How did you know I’d choose to fight myself and wouldn’t ask you to be my champion?”

  “This weapon I commissioned the day you fought Ka’Okkari with that axe. And I have always known.” He leans in close and kisses my ear, then speaks directly against my cheek. “Now I want you to take this weapon and I want you to gut him with it.” His lips leave fire every place they brush against me.

  When Kinan pulls back, I search the expanse of his gaze while soft flakes flutter between us. There is nothing in the universe left but the two of us as he gives me this gift and issues both a permission and a warning. With his command, I understand clearly what’s about to happen. This won’t be a fight to first blood. This is a fight to last blood.

  My fingers find the grips of my helos grabar and whirl it upright. Its weight is perfectly distributed, and perfect for me. “Hexa, my Okkari.”

  “Show him no quarter. Give him no ground. Do not forget that I am the reason the Bo’Raku before him was exiled. This was his sire. Between his lust for you and his hatred of me, he will show you no mercy.”

  “Hexa, my Okkari.”

  “He will attempt to humiliate you. Control your anger, bottle your pride, find his weakness, and when he laughs, remember the truth. That he is nothing.”

  “Hexa, Kinan.”

  He meets my gaze. “I will be watching.”

  “I’ll make you proud.”

  “You do every day,” he says, “Now bring me his plates. All of them.”

  We walk together into the arena, but only Kinan walks out of it. I remain planted near Miari and Svera, the other humans behind them, Kinan just a little further. Jaxal stands near him and is watching me now with a fiery look. His chin thrusts down and his jaw clenches. It’s in his reaction alone that I know Bo’Raku has entered the arena with me. Breathe.

  I turn forward to see Bo’Raku select what they call a throwing hammer from the chest of weapons provided to him. It’s an effective weapon if you know how to wield it well, and even more effective when your opponent has no shield to defend against it. It looks like a chain, about half a foot around, and ends in a giant bolt the size of three fists. It’s not anywhere near as effective for a battle like this where only a blooding is required, which just confirms what Kinan has told me. Bo’Raku has nothing to lose. He isn’t going to just cut me with that thing. He’s going to try to bludgeon me to death with it.

  The arena clears so that it’s just us. The red face I thought I’d memorized looks so much different. So…normal. He grins at me and his ridges flash a homicidal purple and black. The same colors that they were during the Hunt. I should be more afraid by them, but I’m not. That was another male, another me, another history. This one I write myself.

  “The tribunal is until first blood. Should Pe’ixal succeed, the Va’Rakukanna will be required to spend fifteen solars in Qath’s endless ocean before resuming her post here as Xhea. The outcome of this trial, while it has no bearing on the tsanui or on Pe’ixal’s trial, may determine whether Pe’ixal is shown leniency during his tsanui. My Rakukanna and I expect an honorable trial.”

  “Honorable…” I can see his lips mouth the word from where I stand, as if it’s a joke. I can understand why he’d think that. Nothing honorable is going to take place here, on my part or his.

  “Accepted,” I say.

  “Accepted,” Bo’Raku echoes and I’m chilled once again by the sound of his voice. Though he may look different and I may feel different, that voice is just the same as the laughter that chimes in my thoughts.

  He takes a step. I suck in a breath and hold it in my lungs. Comets. Fuck! It’s starting. It’s really happening. I’m really here. With the cold falling around me and skating beneath my feet, I take sure steps across it until I’m close enough to reach him with one end of my grabar. The pointy end. That also means that he’s more than close enough to reach me.

  He lifts his hammer and I’m prepared for the first swing, but not the second. It comes too quickly. I didn’t anticipate he’d be able to recover from its momentum that fast, but he did and I’m left scrambling. I dart right, flipping onto my shoulder and rolling out of the path of the chain. It grazes the outside of my okami but not hard enough to penetrate it.

  He howls, “You thought this was a game, human?” His laughter echoes through my bones and it hurts. It hurts more than it should.

  I hold my staff with both hands, backing away from him as he comes towards me, chest exposed, taunting me, humiliating me, showing me just what I’m worth — nothing. No. I wait for him to attack, needing more time to assess his fighting style, his speed, agility and strength.

  He swings his hammer low, trying to disrupt my center of gravity, but I use the blunter end of my grabar to propel his chain up and over my head. I don’t try to stop it’s advance. That would be the fastest way for him to take my weapon away from me and I’m not that stupid or arrogant. Though I used to be. Back when he knew me. But he doesn’t know who I am anymore. He doesn’t know that when I leave this battlefield today, it will be with every plate covering his ugly red body.

  His grin doesn’t fade as he attacks a few more times, trying to probe my own defenses and find his way in. I know what he wants. I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want to beat me as he would any other opponent. He wants to make me bleed just like he did the first time. He wants Kinan to watch.

  His hammer swings and misses when I deflect the stroke and the moment it sails over my head, coming close enough to graze the braids that are cornrowed so neatly by Kuana against my scalp, I charge. As silent and small as I am, he seems staggered for a moment with what to do with me. It leaves his chest exposed and I whip my spear up with my left hand, striking my mark and tearing a hole in his hide covering and exposing his plates. I shave the first layer off of them and as I whirl past him, I strike again, this time performing the same act against the plate high on his right thigh, only this time, it’s with the grabar end.

  While the plate prevents me from drawing blood from his flesh, a huge chunk of the thing comes off cleanly, like slicing into a red fruit with a deadly sharp knife. We only ever had one knife sharp enough to slice a red fruit on the colony and growing up, I cut myself on it a hundred times. His plate lands on the ground with a thunk, heavy like a massive, overgrown toenail.

  That’s when I hear it.
The soft clapping of human hands. I know they are human because Voraxians don’t clap. A voice chants my name, I’m not sure whose and I don’t dare look.

  “Fuck him up, Kiki!” Jaxal’s that time, there’s no mistaking it.

  Pe’ixal grins at me, like he’s won some prize off me. “Kiki,” he sneers.

  “Hexa, I am Kiki.” I grin at him and level my grabar, distributing its weight evenly between my hands. I am sure. I am me. “Pe’ixal,” I sneer.

  His smile wavers and I know I’ve struck something within him. Something deep. And that’s when I remember every word and piece of advice Kinan ever gave me. He was giving me the answer all along. The hate I’ve carried was one Bo’Raku gave me, but that hate was never mine. It was his. And now I must return it. In kind.

  “How does it feel, Pe’ixal? Knowing that you’re about to be killed by a human you once raped?”

  He winces at the word, as all Voraxians do. It is dishonorable to rape in their culture. A dishonor he never saw, because he never viewed humans as equals. “This is a fight to first blood. And you are Va’Raku’s mate. You’re too xoking honorable for that.”

  “If that’s what you think, your brain’s as small as your cock is.”

  I run at him and he pivots to the side, letting me pass as I expected he would. He comes at me, trying to tag me in the back, but I swivel, skating over the ice like Ka’Okkari taught me to. I drop to one knee as I switch back around and when I do, I tear open his other pant leg and this time, when I sweep the grabar up, I take plate and skin with it.

  A thin line of copper, sweet-smelling blood pours freely down his leg and the roaring chant of my name breaks through my concentration. I smile and stand, watching the surprise and horror that crosses his ridges in shades of white and red and pink.

  I say, “Or maybe I should just let you live out your days in the tundra, where only the hevarr beasts of Nobu will know you were once Bo’Raku. Meanwhile, the rest of Voraxia will call you only by your true name. Pe’ixal,” I shout the word like a curse and feel it linger like a stain.