by J. J. Lore
She and the Alphans had left the shop and plunged into the crowded street, following the flow of people heading for a large, imposing building faced with black stone. As they entered the great hall, Avanelle comforted herself with the thought that at least Mateen and Bynton were in the same building, even if she couldn’t see them. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she waited. This ceremony clearly mattered to Bynton and Mateen, and all the people surrounding her, but she’d rather be in their house, getting to know her surroundings and adjusting to her new home.
The deep peal of a gong sounded, and the already quiet room went completely silent, no more shuffling or whispers. All heads turned toward a slightly raised section of the hall, lined with dull red stones. An imposing Alphan clad in bright white armor took his place in the center, facing the crowd who circled around an open area. Avanelle found herself led towards the man, his golden skin contrasting with his pale attire. A scar bisected his cheek, and the look he gave her was impassive. Flutters of nerves filled her and she wanted to resist being so close to him, but she was soon at his side, standing on the red stones. Multitudes of golden eyes turned their way.
“Comrades and companions. We are here to welcome this human woman as a citizen of Alpha. Who brought her forth as potential bondmate?” he boomed out, and she flinched.
The crowd stirred and parted, and she saw them, Mateen and Bynton, striding into that cleared space in front of her, stopping a few meters away and standing at attention. They were magnificent, clad in leather covered with glittering studs, their long dark hair pulled back tight to reveal their horns. Both sent hot glances at her before they acknowledged the man in white.
“We do.” Mateen and Bynton spoke as one, their deep growls making her belly flutter.
“Do you accept the call of Mateen and Bynton of Albin to bond?” Now the man in white stared at her, and she forced herself to meet his intent stare.
“I do.”
The officiant’s gaze softened for just a second, and then he turned from her and scanned the crowd. “Do any challenge this joining?”
Dead silence, broken after a second by a roaring bellow. The crowd shifted again, some stumbling to make way for the forceful arrival of three tall Alphans, clad as Bynton and Mateen in sturdy leathers. Her men had whirled to face the newcomers, their backs rigid as their arms curled up as if to clutch at weapons. The other Alphans had identical expressions of ferocity, scowling at Mateen and Bynton before turning their attention to her and the man next to her.
“We issue challenge to these Albin. This woman will be ours.” The one in the middle shouted, and Bynton leapt at him, held back by Mateen’s quick grasp around his shoulders. The audience around them murmured and shifted.
“Warriors of the Madoc house!” The man in white called out. “As is your right, you may battle. Whoever submits must renounce claims. Warriors of Albin, choose your weapons.”
Avanelle’s head whirled. She’d thought this was a simple ceremony, trappings to finalize the transformation she’d already undergone, but seeing the set expressions on Mateen’s and Bynton’s faces as they turned and approached her filled her with fear. This was going to be a real fight, with terrible stakes indeed.
They crowded close to her but didn’t touch even though she craved reassurance. “Be brave, Avanelle Rein,” Mateen said as he pulled off his tunic and laid it at her feet.
“We will defeat these whelps and have a delicious victory feast.” Bynton had stripped down to a small breechclout as had Mateen, and both men were rubbing their skin with oil provided by one of the Alphans who’d accompanied her to the hall. Two others held an assortment of bladed weapons, their sharp edges catching the light. Any one of them looked capable of cutting off an arm or leg with only a slight swing. Her vision swam as she contemplated the idea that they might be hurt in defense of her, then at the realization if Mateen and Bynton were grievously injured, she’d be handed off to these Madoc warriors. No. She glanced at the interlopers to find they’d also disrobed and were also shiny with oil, ranging themselves along the far end of the clear section of floor.
“Spike axes, I think.” Bynton gestured at a vicious looking tool, one end fitted with a curved double blade, the other covered with a hard knob. Mateen nodded and took his own, and then both men allowed their companions to fasten segmented metal armor to their arms, a leather strap across the upper back holding them in place. That was all. They were going to face three raging warriors with nothing more than an ax and the minimal protection of sleeves of armor.
A little cry of fear escaped her lips, and she clutched her hands together rather than to reach out and pull them back. This couldn’t be happening now, not when they’d travelled so far, discovered that singing awareness of each other. To have it all ripped away now was agony.
Bynton heard her and stepped close, lowering his head and capturing her gaze. His eyes glowed with excitement. “Your beauty and the pleasures we’ve shared give us the advantage, Avanelle. We will not lose you. Be confident in us.”
“But there’s three of them and only two of you.”
“No matter. It would take twenty of these feeble Madocs to have an advantage over any Albin warrior.” Bynton’s dismissal of the odds failed to comfort her.
Mateen approached and stood close to her other side. “They will not win.”
Unable to find any words of support, Avanelle simply nodded her head. They deserved as much courage from her as she could muster. Bynton stroked a finger down her cheek, and she blinked back tears. People around them muttered, and the man in white spoke up.
“Bynton, no contact until the bond is made. You understand that.”
One of the Madocs roared out agreement. “She’s not yours, infant! You’ll lose that hand for your impertinence.”
Bynton whirled away from her, all his coiled muscles tensing. Mateen gave him a warning glance, and he steadied. Both men strode away from her to face the three waiting fighters. Such beautiful bodies that might soon be butchered. Avanelle felt a nudge at her side and looked away from the tense confrontation to see the sweet woman who’d helped her with the clothing just an hour before. Her hand pressed against Avanelle’s back, and she nearly swooned at the support.
“A challenge hasn’t happened in years, but Madoc warriors have held a grudge against Albins for a long time. None of these Madocs have risen high enough to earn a chance to visit Earth and probably never will. They must see this as the perfect opportunity to exact revenge and gain a mate. Steal away an Albin woman in front of all assembled here. Bynton and Mateen are more than capable. Have faith in them. Your bond is strong already and will see them through any trial ahead.”
“I don’t understand how,” Avanelle whispered back, worried she’d distract her men or be disciplined by the white robed leader now stepping forward, one arm raised to gather the attention of the crowd.
“The connection you’ve made with them. When Alphans find a mate, have sex, they grow stronger. That’s why warriors want us. Why their loyalty is so unshakable.”
Shock at what she’d just heard made Avanelle turn away from the imminent battle again. The other woman nodded solemnly. “You feel it, too. It’s like your nerves are more sensitive. Stronger, faster reaction times. Your bond is very deep already. All of us could feel it as we waited for you outside the comfort room at the terminal.”
Avanelle jerked her head back to Mateen and Bynton as the officiant spoke up. “All who are gathered today will witness and know. This is a proper challenge, and no blood feud may result from its outcome. Begin!”
His sudden shout was met with bellows from the warriors assembled. She could discern both Bynton’s and Mateen’s from the sudden din and her heart swelled with a furious love. If this woman was right, and all the intimacy they’d shared would give them an advantage, she intended to project as much of her passion their way as she could even from her place far from them on the red stones.
The three Madocs scatter
ed wide and rushed in with a roar. Two fell upon Mateen with wide swings of their axes while Bynton leaped at the remaining warrior. Her heart rose to her throat as she watched blades swing and saw the men twist and duck, their muscles bunching and flexing under the sheen of oily skin. Metal clashed against metal, and many in the crowd made approving sounds and moved forward for a better view. Avanelle wished she could close her eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening, but she would be a witness to her men’s bravery, no matter how her stomach churned with worry.
With a loud cry, one of the Madocs swinging at Mateen brought his axe round in a wide arc, and with a quick jerk, Mateen somehow rushed closer and drew his shoulder under the other man. With a punch up from the blades of his axe, Mateen punctured the other man’s abdomen, ripping open two gashes in the ridged muscles of his opponent. Red blood coursed down golden skin, and the wounded fighter howled out in rage or pain. Continuing his momentum, Mateen swung behind the injured man as he lurched into a protective crouch and brought the knobbed end of his axe down at the base of the other man’s neck. There was a terrible popping crunch, and the gutted man fell limp on the stones. Without a moment’s pause, the other Madoc, who’d been held at bay by the wild swings of his companion, fell upon Mateen, their axes striking against each other’s like swords. It was savage to watch, and Avanelle’s gorge rose when Mateen slipped on the pool of blood spreading from his fallen opponent. He scrambled to his feet, and the remaining Madoc halted his advance, clearly resetting his plan of approach.
Bynton and the other Madoc had locked into some sort of shoving match, the sharp blades of their axes perilously close to their faces. Both were panting as rivulets of perspiration ran down their faces. The Madoc snarled and kicked at Bynton’s legs, connecting with one shin hard enough to break his balance and send him sprawling to his knees, the attacker pressing with a short swing of his axe. It connected with the armor covering Bynton’s left elbow with a clang, the force of the blow driving Bynton to the floor.
Avanelle couldn’t hold back her cry of fear, and she took a step towards the fight, wishing she had some sort of spear or rock to throw at the Madoc grinning in triumph as he raised his axe overhead for a terrible blow. But Bynton wasn’t finished. With a quick movement he spun and drove his feet directly into the knees of the other Alphan. The other man lurched and fell forward, bringing his plated elbows to driving points just as he landed on Bynton’s bare chest. There was a tremendous groan from both men as they sprawled and grappled with each other on the ground.
Avanelle’s heart was racing, and she couldn’t draw breath, almost as if she, too, had received blows, was fighting for her life out there on the dark stones.
“Steady. Your bond draws you in to their struggle. Your calm will help them.” The woman’s low voice steadied Avanelle, and she willed her body to stillness, ordered her mind to concentrate. Raised voices from the people surrounding her couldn’t distract her now, no matter what point of combat they were praising.
Mateen was pressing the attack against his Madoc; somehow the other man had been wounded on his chest, and blood poured down his torso. He was stumbling back, circling the edges of the crowd all while keeping his eyes on Mateen as he advanced. With a whirling spin, Mateen closed the distance between them, throwing out his leg in a rapid kick that knocked the sluggish Madoc off his feet. The other man’s axe clattered on the stones as he dropped it, and Mateen kicked it away. His face was set in hard lines as he advanced on his attacker; no apparent rage, no bared teeth, just intense concentration on the task at hand. The other man scrambled, but slipped on the stone. Perhaps oil or sweat from their bodies marred the surface, but he couldn’t gain his footing in time to avoid the huge blow Mateen delivered. He’d raised his armored arms in a protective gesture, and as Mateen’s axe crashed down, the edge caught in the gap between two of the bronzy plates. Mateen set his foot on the fallen man’s heaving chest and tugged at the handle of his axe in an effort to free it as the crowd roared approval. The Madoc’s arm swung wildly as Mateen pulled, while his other arm beat ineffectively at Mateen’s legs.
There was a loud cry from several in the audience, and Avanelle sought out Bynton and gasped at the sight. The man who’d landed on top of him was sprawled motionless, but Bynton was struggling to rise from his knees, swaying as he tried to rise and help his bondmate. With a moan of anguish, Avanelle rushed toward him, only to be restrained by the strong grip of the man in white. He held her arm tight and shook his head once, eyes narrowed at her in a way that promised punishment if she disobeyed. Past caring, desperate for Bynton and Mateen, Avanelle burst out a wordless shout and pulled against him with all her strength. It didn’t move him, but she continued to struggle. Standing on the sidelines while they suffered was no longer an option.
Mateen pulled his axe free and hefted it at his side.
“Submit!” he shouted down at the last conscious Madoc, who still flailed at him from the pavement. “Your bondmates are gone.”
The Madoc roared out and rolled to his side, then his feet. Instead of attacking Mateen as she’d feared, the battered man instead stumbled toward the Madoc who’d been cut open, touching his shoulder and muttering in his ear. On shaky legs, the Alphan knelt at the fallen man’s side and let out sharp cry, then rose and stumbled to the final Madoc. He knelt again and awkwardly lifted him in his arms, the dented armor restricting his movements.
Avanelle supposed she should appreciate the pathos of the scene, feel a smidge of sympathy for the incredible loss this man had just suffered, but she didn’t. Cold satisfaction filled her as she realized the battle was over and her men had triumphed. She turned to stare at the man in white.
“Let me go!” Her shout seemed to matter this time, for he released her arm. She scrambled toward her men, first to Bynton as he balanced on his hands and knees, chest heaving, his head hanging low. His skin was hot as she ran her hands over him, and his muscles trembled. He sat back on his haunches and swung his head her way, his features marred by rapidly swelling bruises on his jaw and above his eye. He blinked then flung his arms around her in a powerful hug. She smelled his sweat, his blood, felt his heart hammering, and a wave of joyful relief filled her.
“You are ours,” he muttered, and she nodded against his shoulder, not caring that the armor scratched her cheek. “Mateen fought well.”
“Of course he did, as well as you.” Avanelle drew back and caught his mouth with hers, completely unconcerned if this was improper behavior. In her opinion, claiming was complete. Bynton eased his mouth against hers, and she belatedly remembered the bruise. There was a rush of air and heat, and Mateen was kneeling next to them, embracing them both with his heavy arms as he panted. She turned her mouth to his, pressing kisses to his lips, jaw, and neck.
“Your injuries?”
“Not severe. Broken ribs, loose teeth,” Bynton said, then threw his arm around his bondmate for a quick embrace. With a sigh, Mateen rose, pulling up both Bynton and her, his arms supporting them both.
“We defeated the Madoc challenge. We offer ourselves to Avanelle Rein unimpeded,” Bynton shouted at the crowd, his voice wheezing.
“I accept them. I claim them.” Avanelle spoke up quickly, determined to avoid another challenge, or any delay in her destiny.
There were raised voices in the crowd, a few huffs of what might have been Alphan laughter. The man in white walked closer and stared down at her.
“She’s defiant. Are you sure you want her?”
“We are.” Both Bynton and Mateen managed to speak in between labored breaths.
“Then go attend to your injuries before your feast. You have my blessing.” He raised one huge hand over them, then walked back to the red stone dais.
Avanelle wasn’t sure where to go, but the sudden arrival of the Alphans she’d met before gave her a sense of security. She didn’t let go of either Bynton or Mateen as they were led through the crowd, her steps uneasy as her legs began to quake. Delayed stress perhaps, but
she wouldn’t stumble. Mateen would want to sweep her up if she did, and she wouldn’t add to his burden. Keeping Bynton upright was enough of a job for both of them. They passed through a wide doorway and turned into another room where there were thinly padded cots and some containers of bandages and what appeared to be medical supplies.
“Attend to your bondmates, Avanelle.” One of the big Alphan men gestured at the beds, and she maneuvered both Mateen and Bynton onto the waiting surfaces. “You’ve earned each other this day.”
Epilogue
Avanelle of the Albin looked up from her herb garden when she heard the shriek of rage. Little Abet was after her older brother again, this time with a large stick. Her firstborn, Thom, ran on long, golden legs just ahead of his howling sister, teasing her with his easy laughter and staying just out of reach of her impromptu weapon as he dodged among the trees of their orchard.
“Thom, take that stick from her before she hurts someone,” she called out, rolling to her knees in the soft soil surrounding her treasured plants. Mateen and Bynton had collected seeds and starts for her on their various expeditions, and she loved the variety and spice the exotic plants brought to their home. Rising slowly to her feet, allowing herself plenty of time to balance in between movements, she finally stood, her heavy belly jutting out from her body as their latest child kicked her hard from within. She was more than ready to deliver, anxious to hold the newest Albin in her arms, watch Mateen and Bynton swell with pride and love as they shared in its care.
A prickle of awareness filled her, and she looked up at the gate just before her men opened it and rushed into the garden, home from their day at the barracks, ready for the attention of their children and her love. Mateen swept up Abet, and she squealed as he tossed her up, her mane of thick, black hair shining in the sun. Bynton grabbed Thom and tucked him under his arm like a package as he strode to her, his golden eyes alight with contentment.
