Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9)

by Nancey Cummings

  Havik huffed. “Stars forbid you imply that your son is irreplaceable.”

  “I did you a service. That Terran was weak. Her sons would not be strong enough to thrive.”

  “My sons,” Havik said quietly.

  “You will not pollute our clan with inferior genes. Bad enough that your mother was weak and died birthing you, but I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always soft and slow, like her. I did everything for you, Havik. I should have left you out in the desert when you were an infant, but instead, I found you a new mother. Silly female. I told her not to coddle you.”

  Havik reached for the blaster, his fingers gripping the handle tight. With his thumb, he ratcheted up the power to the maximum setting and the weapon hummed. His stepmother was not a perfect being, but she had been kind and caring to him as a child when his father had only ever been distant.

  He leveled the weapon at Kaos.

  The older male’s eyes sparked with amusement. “Will you pull the trigger? I wonder. I used to think you would be the warlord after me. Now can be your moment.”

  Such vile words. Kaos had only contempt and bitterness for his son. Why should Havik show the male any respect? This bitter old male stole his mate and dishonored him in the eyes of the clan. His only family—the ones who cared for him—had been the clan, and now they regarded him with disdain.

  He should end Kaos now. No one would mourn the male. Everyone would thank him if they knew what he did.

  Havik gnashed his teeth, growling in frustration.

  The blaster jerked to one side and fired, a bolt of light scorching the air and leaving a hole in the wall just over Kaos’ shoulder. The scent of burnt ozone filled the air.

  Kaos turned on his stool to admire the smoldering hole, then twisted back with a smirk on his face.

  Havik powered down the blaster and stuck it in the waistband of his trousers. “I did not spare you out of affection. You have never been a father to me, and I see you now for the traitorous warlord that you are. If I ended you, the clan would not follow me. They believe I have no honor.”

  Kaos titled his head to one side. He had never considered the warrior before him as a threat, that much was obvious from his disdain and cruel words, but now he perhaps saw an opponent for the first time. “You made it easy to believe.”

  “You lie. You twist words. One day you will be seen for the sand viper that you are, and someone will challenge you.”

  “But not you.”

  The temptation to take the clan from the older male enticed him. To show Kaos that he was wrong about his son, had always been wrong not to love him, tempted him with bittersweet promises. The satisfaction of standing over his old male’s body would be fleeting, Havik knew. Revenge never satisfied for long. It was a sugary, air-spun dream and dissolved the moment of consumption.

  “A warrior may gain the power of a warlord through violence, but he must be capable and cunning to hold onto that responsibility. A clan will not follow an unworthy male,” Havik said. He would remain unworthy until he found his mate and made amends.

  “Find a suitable mate. Make strong sons for the clan. Surely some female will have you,” Kaos said.

  “No,” Havik said. “I have always known you were never a father to me. Now it is clear that you were never my warlord, either. There is no place for me here. I will be gone by morning.”

  The knowing smirk vanished from Kaos’ face, replaced by fury. “If you leave, you can never return. Never! I will strike your name from the clan’s history and forbid anyone from ever mentioning you again!” Spit flew from his mouth as he shouted.

  Havik paused in the door and turned to face the older male. He wanted to warn him that one day Kaos would learn that he could not control the hearts of his clan and Havik would regret not seeing him learn that lesson, but there was little point. Kaos only ever listened to himself.

  “By morning’s light,” he said.

  “I cannot remain here,” Havik said, certain what steps he needed to take next for the first time in ages.

  “I’m coming with you,” Ren said.

  “No.”

  “Afraid I’ll ruin your self-loathing?”

  “This is not your battle,” Havik said.

  Ren placed a hand on Havik’s shoulder and held his gaze. “You are my brother. If not by blood, then in my heart. You failed your mate, as did I.”

  “You did not—”

  “Listen. I failed your mate. I saw how the warlord treated her with contempt and how the clan refused to accept her, but I did nothing. I could have made myself her friend. If she knew she had an ally, she would not have so readily believed the warlord’s lies.”

  Havik nodded, accepting his friend’s truth but knowing that the blame rested on his shoulders. He failed his mate. He had been selfish and did not notice her isolation or loneliness. His thoughtless actions cost him his honor.

  “I will regain my honor,” he said. “I will find my mate and beg for forgiveness. Reclaim her. Bring her home.” The scope of what he needed to accomplish unfurled before him.

  He had many miles to travel.

  “I’m leaving the clan,” Havik repeated, so Ren understood the implications.

  “Agreed. I cannot remain with the warlord. Not now.”

  “That means leaving your father.”

  Ren skimmed his hand along the surface of the water in the fountain. “A male must wander the sands on his own eventually. He will understand. There are other clans.”

  “We have to go to Earth. I cannot guarantee that we will return to Rolusdreus.”

  “I know the risks.”

  His heart swelled with affection for his friend. Ren owed him nothing but offered to leave his family, the clan, everything he knew, to assist Havik in correcting this injustice. “Thank you,” he said. “You’d give a thirsty male your last drop of water.”

  Ren flicked water from the fountain at him. “Yes, I am remarkable. All the warriors envy me. We need a plan.”

  “Leave at dawn. Steal a ship. Head to Earth.” Simple. Plan finalized.

  “That is a terrible plan.”

  “The lies my father spun, the way the clan looks at me since my return—I cannot stay.” Havik rubbed the back of his neck. He itched to leave immediately, but he could not walk to Earth. Their journey required resources and time to prepare, neither of which he had in abundance. “I do not want to use the warlord’s resources, but we need a ship.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What do you think?” Ren planted his hands on his hips and stood with pride in front of the dilapidated ship.

  The vessel, an Envoy model from a defunct manufacturer, had been popular a century ago. Small enough to enter the atmosphere and land almost anywhere, it was able to traverse long distances with minimal refueling. Able to be operated with a two-person crew, it could accommodate up to six passengers.

  “It’s more rust than ship,” Havik said.

  “It’s a classic!” Ren eagerly strode up the ramp.

  “It’s not space worthy.”

  “Not yet.” Ren tugged on the entry hatch, leaning in with his shoulder. Metal groaned. He kicked at the door, forcing it to open. A panel from further overhead dislodged and clattered to the ground. “I can fix that. Don’t look at that.”

  Inside, the ship smelled of dust and neglect. Lights flickered and hummed, giving some proof of life. Ren rattled off an impressive list of facts about the Envoy model. “It’s old but popular in its day, which means replacement parts are cheap and easy to find. There’s a new generation of this style, which means I can upgrade the systems because I know how you love your modern comforts.”

  Havik gave his friend a sharp look. He spent the last year sleeping on the ground or in a rover. Comfort was the least of his concerns. Ren seemed to understand this without a word and laughed, his tail swaying happily behind him.

  “It’s big enough for a Mahdfel—watch your head,” Ren warned as Havik bumped his head on a doorway. �
��I can fix that. Or you can learn to duck.”

  “You claimed this was large enough for a Mahdfel.”

  “Well, it’s spacious. Look at all this space.” Ren stretched out his arms and waggled his hands.

  “It lacks adequate clearance.” Havik stretched a hand in the air and easily touched the ceiling.

  “Perhaps the problem is you are too tall. Have you tried being shorter?” Ren frowned and pushed on Havik’s shoulders, as if trying to scrunch him down.

  “I doubt this rust bucket can even get off the ground,” Havik grumbled.

  “She will fly. The engine’s in decent shape, and she was never gutted for parts. All the important bits are there,” Ren said. He ran an appreciative hand along the wall, smearing a path through the dust. Havik realized his protests did not matter. Ren was completely enamored with the dilapidated vessel.

  “How much?”

  Ren quoted a ridiculous amount. “Don’t make that face. Ships are not cheap.”

  “This one should be.” Havik eased open the door to the helm. The instrument panel remained, thankfully, in one piece but had exposed wires and circuits. He lowered himself into the pilot’s seat, a cloud of dust enveloping him. The kumakre scrambled up into his lap, making for the back of the chair, and perching there like it was made for him.

  “That includes the cost of repairs. I have most of the necessary credits,” Ren said. He perched on the edge of the navigator’s chair. The instrument panel already sat at the perfect height for him, no adjustment needed.

  “If I provide the rest of the credits, we own it together,” Havik said.

  “Of course. Partners.”

  He ran a hand along the instrument panel, the ship’s computer slowly awakening with flashing lights and beeps. This ship would be the first thing truly his and not associated with his father in any way.

  He liked that idea, the freedom of it.

  “How long will the repairs take?”

  “I’ll need a day to inspect all the systems. Some parts may need to be special-ordered.”

  “If you had all you require?”

  “A week, give or take a day.”

  A week. That seemed impossible even for as talented an engineer as Ren.

  “How hard are you planning to work me?” Havik asked.

  “I have plenty of heavy things for you to carry. Don’t worry.”

  “I have skills.”

  “Shh.” Ren leaned forward, placing a finger over Havik’s lips. “You’re the pilot. I just need you to clean out the ship, buy all the supplies and fuel, carry all the heavy items, and fly.”

  “And it may fall apart when we leave the atmosphere,” Havik said.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re a terrible pilot.”

  “We’ll probably die in this heap,” Havik said, unable to suppress his grin.

  “Which would be no less than we deserve,” Ren said, returning the grin with one of his own.

  Thalia

  Cold rain soaked through her hoodie as Thalia hustled down the street, avoiding the streetlights. She could get enough cash to get herself somewhere. Gut instinct told her to get on the first bus out of town and not to care where it headed. She wouldn’t stay long, just long enough to get another ticket and keep on moving. If she chose randomly, Nicky wouldn’t be able to track her. Right?

  Unless he expected her to hop on the first available bus and he got a list of all the routes that night. It might be smarter to sit tight for a day and then leave.

  Doc’s old suggestion rattled around her head. She should volunteer to be matched to a Mahdfel alien. Nicky thought he was a big fish in a pond. Terrifying from Thalia’s little fish perspective.

  Maybe just get out of the pond.

  Boom. Problem solved. She would have a big scary alien to protect and cherish her. The TV dramas and romance novels made it seem so nice. She could do with a bit of cherishing.

  Nicky wouldn’t expect that. He mistrusted the aliens and stayed clear of them. He didn’t know about the romance books Thalia read about Mahdfel heroes or the shows she watched with hot alien actors. She kept all of that limited to the privacy of her room.

  Yes. Get a Mahdfel. Solid plan.

  Thalia cut through between narrow houses, the space just wide enough to wheel a trash can. Down the alley, she skirted puddles and found the spot. She pounded on the door, peeling paint crumbling under her fist. “Let me in. It’s freezing out here.”

  The door inched open. “Go away.”

  “Come on. I got stuff you like,” she cajoled.

  “Stuff you stole?”

  “Surplus. It’s good, too. Barely past the expiration date.” Probably. Thalia didn’t check the labels too carefully before she liberated the pills.

  The door opened wider. The glow from an old-fashioned flat panel TV framed a short woman with iron-gray hair. “Does Nicky know you’re stealing from him?”

  Thalia shrugged her shoulders. “He doesn’t pay me anything but room and board, so he’d be pretty dumb if he didn’t know.”

  “He’s too controlling. He gets what he deserves.” Joyce, a retired pharmacist and current dealer in medical and recreational pharmaceuticals, stepped to one side, allowing Thalia to squeeze by.

  Grateful for the warmth, Thalia stripped off her damp hoodie and draped it over a radiator. Her backpack rattled as it hit the floor. Joyce puttered about in the kitchen and brought out two cups of herbal tea. Thalia didn’t care for it, but she accepted the cup with a thin smile. Can’t be rude to your best buyer.

  “Drink your tea. You look frozen through. Now, let’s see what you brought me,” Joyce said, emptying the contents of the bag onto the table. Her arthritic hands picked over the bottles, and she slipped on her glasses and read the labels closely. Occasionally she opened the cap to peer inside. “Oh, this is too much, girlie. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Technically correct, which was the best kind of correct.

  “No. This isn’t your normal pocket money. This is your get-out-town stash.” Joyce peered at her over the rim of her glasses, her eyes a watery blue.

  Fuck. She couldn’t lie to an old lady. It was simply wrong.

  “Maybe?”

  “Two hundred.”

  Not enough. Not even close.

  “This is worth a grand, and you can sell it for five times that. Don’t insult me,” Thalia said.

  “Insult you? Don’t insult me by dragging trouble to my door. Nicky is going to be looking for you, and when he shows up, I don’t want him to catch me holding the goods.” Despite Joyce’s firm tone, she didn’t shove the bottles back into the bag, so that meant she intended to buy but wanted to make Thalia sweat first. “Is there something wrong with my tea?”

  Thalia took a swallow of the bitter tea without thinking. How anyone liked the stuff she would never know as green tea always tasted a bit metallic to her. “Nicky doesn’t know about the pills. I was careful. Five hundred.”

  “I’m an old woman living on a fixed income.”

  Thalia nearly snorted tea out her nose. “Don’t screw me on the price.”

  “If you want a better price, you’re free to try your luck with Dirty Donald.”

  So not happening and Joyce knew it.

  “Four hundred,” Thalia offered, the low price cutting into her wiggle margin. She’d have to make quick cash when she got to her destination, wherever that was. “You know it’s important. I wouldn’t haggle with you otherwise.”

  Joyce’s gaze softened. “You’re a sweet girl. Dumb. I wish you never got mixed up with that Nicky.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” Get mixed up with a bad man or starve. Those were the options.

  “Three-fifty and you can crash on my couch. Tomorrow night, you get on a bus and you never come back. Deal?”

  Thalia nodded. That sounded like such a good idea. Sleep had been elusive the last few days, what with the worrying for her life and planning her escape. “You know where I
’d like to go?”

  “Don’t tell me that.”

  She had never seen the ocean. Her entire life, she lived less than seventy miles from the ocean, and she had never been. Fuck, she never set foot outside her city. Tomorrow, she could be on a bus headed to the shore. That appealed to her so much. “I'll send you a postcard.”

  Thalia stood up from the table and grabbed the edge, her legs no longer able to support her weight and her head swimming. “What did…the tea…”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but Nicky is looking for you and I can’t afford to be on his bad side. Just go to sleep. It’ll be over when you wake up.”

  Thalia struggled to keep her eyes open, but every part of her body felt heavy and sluggish. Sleep seemed like such a good idea.

  She slipped under.

  Havik

  Ren’s week stretched into two, then three, and ultimately lasted for two months. They lived and slept in the ship, despite it being less than suitable for habitation. The water had an alarming rust color, despite replacing the filtration system. From his bunk, Havik could hear rodents scurrying the ventilation overhead. Also, from his bunk, Havik could hear the discordant chimes and bells Ren used for meditation. Still, better to get used to close quarters while he had the opportunity to go outside when Ren wore his patience thin.

  Not that being outside the ship offered much in the way of escape. They were still in the junkyard. The ship could barely lift off the ground, much less clear orbit, and they needed parts. Camping in the junkyard offered convenience if nothing else.

  Problems plagued the ship from stem to stern. Rodents that disturbed Havik’s sleep had made a nest deep in the ventilation shaft. The kumakre proved useful in eliminating the rodents, but Havik worried the young beast would grow too rapidly. Since kumakre slept buried in the sand, he constructed a sand enclosure in the cargo hold. The creature would not outgrow the habitat. The power grid proved unreliable and had to be replaced before a surge fried all the delicate computer components. And the ship’s onboard AI had grown…eccentric in its old age.