by Anna Carven
If they didn’t do it, there probably would have been riots.
“Sounds like just another excuse you humans have made up to be lazy,” Kalan grumbles.
“Don’t you Kordolians celebrate anything?”
“Not really,” Rykal shrugs. “You’ve seen how bleak it is on Kythia. Maybe the Aikun do such things, but I wouldn’t know about that.” He taps the side of his head. “Part of this is missing, remember?”
How could I forget? Under Zharek’s monstrous Exogenesis project, all the First Division warriors had their minds wiped.
Only fragments of their past lives remain, but thank the stars Zharek’s a madman with a conscience. Turns out he downloaded all the lost memories onto datacubes and returned them to the warriors.
Tarak didn’t even want to look at his. He got me to do it for him. These Kordolians are as every bit as fierce and dangerous as they look, but they’re also a little bit messed up inside. With everything they’ve been through, I don’t know where they get their strength from.
Tarak especially. My sweet, indomitable husband, who knows me better than anyone else in this Universe. Stress-killer. Lover extraordinaire. Stubborn man.
The only one who can tell me what to do and get away with it.
Thanks to him, I almost feel normal again. My head is clearer than it’s been in a long, long time, and even though Aunt Flo is visiting, I don’t feel as crabby as I usually would.
How the hell did he know exactly what I needed?
My chest swells with affection. Stars, I love that man.
“The point is,” I say gently, “that for we humans, Christmas is a time to enjoy each other’s company, to show gratitude, to indulge a little bit. It’s a celebration of life.”
“Hm.” Rykal’s expression turns pensive. Kalan lets out a skeptical snort.
Clearly, they’re not buying into this Christmas thing.
That doesn’t surprise me.
I’m under no illusions that I’m going to suddenly turn these hard, cynical soldiers into warm, fuzzy human-like creatures. First and foremost, they’re Kordolian, and amongst Kordolians, they’re the elite of the elite, the most dangerous beings to ever set foot on this planet.
Killers. Protectors. Simultaneously blessed and cursed with monstrous abilities.
But no matter how terrifying they can be, they’re stuck with us now, and they’re going to have to learn our ways. Ami’s going to have her Christmas, and I’m determined to get Tarak a present too. After all, he buys me gifts all the time, showering me with rare and exotic things from all across the Nine Galaxies.
Why can’t I spoil him for once?
A sharp tug on my hand almost unbalances me as Ami drags me sharply to the right.
“Whoa.” Rykal sidesteps gracefully, one hand moving in front of him to catch me in case I stumble.
“Hi,” Ami says loudly, waving at the boy in the pram. The kid stares back at her, his eyes going wide, a curious expression on his cherubic face. He looks up at his daddy.
The man takes one look at us and mutters something to the boy, a panicked look flickering across his face. He does a sharp one-eighty with the pram, disappearing into the crowd with great haste.
“Hi!” Undeterred, Ami cheerfully waves at their departing backs. “Bye!”
A pang of sadness hits me. Ami will never know what it’s like to grow up as a normal human kid on earth. Making friends, schooling, even dating…
It’s all going to be a different experience from what I had growing up, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have a fun childhood. I’m determined to give her the best upbringing I possibly can. I want her to know the best of both cultures.
Kordolians can be cold, vicious, and arrogant, but for the right person, they can also be loyal, protective, and insanely devoted. That single-minded focus… when they turn it on you, you’d better be ready.
It can be a little bit overwhelming.
“Insolent,” Kalan growls. “Want me to go fetch the brat so he can greet her properly?”
“No!” I grab his arm, a panicked hiss escaping my lips. “Leave them alone, please. They’re just not used to Kordolians.” The last thing I’d want is for Kalan to reinforce people’s natural fear of Kordolians by actually acting like a Kordolian.
Stereotypes are bad.
Kalan glances down at Ami, whose voice has risen to a crescendo as she shouts “byebyebye!”
“I don’t understand your people, Abbey. We’re walking around with you and the kid, we’re obviously not hostile, and still they run away scared?”
I take one look at Kalan’s frowning face and sigh. I can see why the boy’s father freaked out. “People fear what they don’t understand, and you and Rykal aren’t exactly the most affable looking characters on the planet.”
“He might not give a toss,” Rykal nods in Kalan’s direction, “but I’m trying to blend in with the locals, Abbey, believe me.” He flashes me a dazzling grin that might be charming if not for the sharp fangs crowning his perfect white teeth.
Jeez, Rykal. You just don’t understand. There’s a certain vibe you guys give off, even when you’re not trying.
He has it. Kalan has it.
My husband has it in spades.
They’re just natural predators, and there’s no way then can hide it. Walking down this busy street, we attract a lot of stares—some fearful, some hostile, most curious, and some openly admiring—especially from other women… and a few men.
He’s right, though. Rykal has gone to some effort to blend in, choosing an Earth-inspired outfit that’s surprisingly fashionable in this part of the world. Fitted black jeans, linen button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark shades, deep brown leather boots. He’s practically ready to step right into a summer fashion catalog.
With his sensitive silver skin protected by Zharek’s special compound—a UV light-blocking sunscreen that’s far more effective than anything made by humans—he can reveal his bare arms without worrying about getting a blistering sunburn.
Kalan’s approach is more I-don’t-give-a-shit-how-Kordolian-I-look. He wears a black kashkan, the traditional Kordolian robe that reminds me of a Japanese kimono. The soft fabric accentuates his massive frame as it drapes over his shoulders, the deep vee at the chest revealing just a hint of his powerful form.
Big. Gruff. Downright intimidating. Unapologetically Kordolian. Can’t miss him in a crowd.
Of the two, Rykal definitely has the easier demeanor, but with his almost-white hair, pointed ears, and elegant, alien features, he’s going to draw stares, each and every time, whether he’s wearing Earth clothes or not.
Yep, we definitely stand out, but that’s kinda the point.
Do I feel self-conscious? Well, at the start I used to, but not anymore. These Kordolians have grown on me, and I feel proud to have them by my side.
Right from the beginning, Tarak scoffed at the idea of trying to hide his identity in public. “We are protecting this planet. Why should we hide our faces because humans seem to have trouble accepting our supremacy? They will get used to us. They always do.”
He’s never going to lose that arrogant, imperious streak, but I can’t fault him for that. It’s part of who he is, and I know how much he’s tried to temper his more vicious instincts since he’s met me.
“Come,” Ami blurts, pulling me again, this time in the opposite direction. “Mommy, come!”
I look up. The sound of horns reaches my ears. Beside me, Kalan curses. “What is that ungodly noise?”
A brass band is marching through the street. A real old-fashioned, authentic brass band. Yeah, in this day and age we’ve clung to such traditions. They’re playing Christmas carols. I recognize that tune so well. White Christmas.
In the midday heat, with the sun blazing down upon us, clear blue skies above, and people streaming all around, I listen to a song that provokes strange feelings in me.
My dad used to bring me here. This song, this old-timey music, th
e smell of sweet, freshly baked things wafting through the air, the anticipation of something new, just around the corner…
Renewal. That’s what Christmas is. Saying goodbye to the year gone past, with all its trials and joys and tribulations.
Looking forward to the future.
I miss dad. I wish he could have been here to see Ami grow up. I wish he could have met the force of nature that is my husband.
I miss the mother I never knew. There’s always a part of me that’s yearning for her, even when I have everything in this life that I could possibly desire.
Tears well in my eyes. I slow down, resisting Ami’s insistent tug on my hand. My emotions are all over the place again, just like they were last night.
Stupid period. Just when I think I’m feeling okay, the tiniest sad thought can make me cry.
As the brass band plays on, I catch a glimpse of the musicians in their red and white suits, their instruments gleaming in the bright sun as they make their way down the street.
Ami squeals with joy, and that sound alone is enough to wash away my sadness. Before I can react, her tiny hand slips out of mine, and she’s off, darting between people’s legs, heading toward the marching band.
“Ami!” I shout, a flutter of panic rising inside my chest. I lunge forward, but Rykal’s hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Relax,” he drawls as Kalan pushes past, becoming a black and silver blur. “You think we’re going to let Ami out of our sight?” He feigns a shudder. “I’m not suicidal, Abbey. I don’t want to suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of your mate.”
People part like the sea, and Kalan dances past those who are unable to get out of the way in time, moving with impossible speed and grace despite his size.
Nobody dares to protest.
“There you are, little monster.” Kalan leans down and scoops Ami up.
Instantly, she scrunches up her little face and screams, kicking her legs furiously. “Noooooo!”
I wince. The full power of an Ami tantrum is on display. Having been on the receiving end many times before, it’s kind of surreal to see Kalan bearing the brunt of Ami’s rage.
For a fraction of a second, the big guy actually looks distressed. “Quiet, you little monster!” Kalan growls, but although his tone is harsh, he’s awfully gentle with her.
Faced with an unfamiliar opponent, Ami escalates, her voice getting louder and louder.
Even big, intimidating Kalan isn’t spared her wrath.
Ami’s utterly fearless. There’s only one person in the entire Universe who she doesn’t pull this nonsense with.
Tarak.
One little word from him, and she quietens down in an instant.
But he’s not here right now, and I need to contain the situation. I’m already moving, pushing Rykal’s hand away, ignoring shocked stares from onlookers as I make my way towards Kalan and Ami.
In the background, the brass band continues to play, launching into an upbeat rendition of Silent Night.
“Uwaaaah!” Ami’s having none of it.
“Give me a break, kid,” Kalan groans, making eye contact with me. Was that a silent plea for help just now?
He wraps his big arms around Ami’s squirming body, trying to contain her without hurting her. Kalan’s so strong he could crush her in an instant if he wanted, but I know he would never, ever hurt her.
All the First Division warriors have a soft spot for their commander’s firstborn.
Undeterred, Ami sinks her teeth into Kalan’s bulging bicep, eliciting a hiss of pain and a torrent of choice Kordolian curse words. Having only recently become proficient in my husband’s native tongue, my ears go red. Stars, the man swears like a trooper. Kordolians have invented some of the most colorful and creative curses in the Universe.
Just as I’m about to reach them, an elderly woman rushes up to Kalan, reaching into her handbag. “Stop!” she shrieks.
She pulls out a small black device the size and shape of an old-fashioned pencil and stabs it into Kalan’s side, activating it.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Kalan’s cursing becomes louder and dirtier. Some of those expressions, jeez… now my cheeks are red too.
Oh crap, is that one of those personal portable safety rods? The ones that emit a certain type of high-frequency current that’s designed to target the body’s pain receptors?
I thought those things were illegal. I’ve heard they cause just about the worst kind of pain imaginable. Just a single shock is enough to knock a man unconscious.
But of course, Kalan’s no ordinary man. His only reaction to an excruciating dose of pain is to grunt slightly as he attempts to control Ami and get one hand free so he can swat the old woman away. “What the hell are you doing, crazy old hag? Get off me!”
“Rykal!” I cry, glancing over my shoulder. “A little help here?”
But Rykal isn’t moving. Actually, he’s doubled over, his shoulders shaking, one hand slapping his thigh.
Freaking hell, Rykal. Seriously?
He’s laughing.
He’s doubled over in hysterical laughter.
“I’m gonna kill you, pretty boy,” Kalan wheezes as the random old woman punishes him again and again with her personal safety rod. With her other hand, she starts whacking him with her handbag. Kalan grunts. “You tell nobody about this, you hear?”
Ami’s still kicking and screaming.
Rykal’s still cracking up.
The band plays on, segueing into a bouncy rendition of Jingle Bells.
“Help!” The old woman screams, her voice shrill and trembling. “Child abductor! Alien! Get away from her, you monster!” She delivers another jolt to Kalan, who growls.
Even though he towers over her, the woman shows no fear, staring up at him with murderous outrage—and possibly a hint of madness—in her blue eyes.
A small circle has formed around us. People are staring, but nobody dares intervene.
Kalan is showing remarkable restraint.
Just remarkable.
Bless his big old grumpy soul. I can’t let his torture go on any longer.
“Get off him, you lunatic,” I snap at the woman, grabbing her arm and yanking her backwards. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Haven’t you ever seen a toddler having a temper tantrum before?”
“Nothing wrong?” She turns to face me, her jaw trembling. Whether it’s from fear or rage, I can’t quite tell. “He’s trying to steal that child! They’re coming to take our children!”
Take our children? I’ve heard a lot of fake rumors about Kordolians from the various conspiracy outlets on Earth, but that’s a new one.
“Nonono,” Ami says, suddenly going still. She stares at the crazy old woman, her violet eyes going wide.
A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escapes Kalan’s lips. He mutters something under his breath.
“…her father’s child.”
Ha. You can say that again.
“No bad Kal,” Ami says to the woman. Her lower lip juts out in the most adorable little pout. “No bad Kal!”
My heart swells. Now she’s protecting Kalan? After that wild storm of a tantrum?
Her father’s child indeed.
“Wha…?” The strength drains from the old woman’s body as I drag her backwards, forcibly separating her from Kalan.
A shuddering gasp reaches my ears over the noise of the band.
My eyes widen as I glance over my shoulder.
Rykal. He’s freaking hysterical. I have never, ever seen a First Division warrior—let alone a Kordolian for that matter—laugh the way Rykal’s laughing right now.
Their laughter is bitter, cynical, laced with Kordolian darkness.
But this is pure mirth.
If I didn’t have my hands full with Ami and the crazy lady right now, my jaw would probably be on the floor.
Kalan is giving his fellow warrior the most chilling death-glare, but Rykal is completely oblivious to it. I get the feeling there will
be a vicious sparring session in the training chamber when we return to the homestead later this afternoon.
“Lady, I appreciate your good intentions, but there absolutely is no problem here.” I yank the personal safety shock rod—or whatever the hell it’s called—out of the woman’s grasp before she turns around and starts using it on me. “Look, I get it. Kordolians have a bad rep in this part of the Universe.” Hell, they have a bad rep everywhere. “That doesn’t mean all Kordolians are the same. You can’t go around believing everything you hear on the Networks. Try tuning into an alternative alien news channel now and then.” Nowadays, we get translated alien news streams from outside the planet. They offer a refreshingly different perspective on galactic affairs.
“He’s not her father,” she mutters, shooting Kalan a wary glance as she backs off a fraction. His face is thunderous. The woman’s fierce expression becomes muted as reality kicks in.
I bet she’s just realizing that her little shock-rod, the thing that can knock a grown man out with just one little buzz, has had no effect on Kalan whatsoever.
“No, he isn’t,” I say slowly, watching Ami as she snuggles against Kalan, patting his broad chest with her tiny hand. A sudden gust of warm wind tousles her wispy hair, giving her a slightly wild appearance. “He’s her uncle.”
Not by blood, but we call him uncle anyway. The First Division have forged their brotherhood in blood.
I can understand how Ami might be mistaken for human, though. When she was born, her skin was a perfect blend between mine and Tarak’s, but as she’s grown, the silver tone has faded, leaving her skin almost the same shade as mine, but with one major difference.
There’s a sheen to it, a dazzling luminescence that isn’t found in human skin. If one looks closely, the silver undertone shines through, especially when it catches the light at a certain angle.
At first glance, Ami looks almost human, but when you look closer…
“Wh-what is she?” The old busybody asks, her grey eyes narrowing. Part of me wishes Aunt Kenna were here right now. She would have dealt with this crazy old woman in the way that only Aunt Kenna can. I sigh. Secretly, I’m glad that Tarak’s got his people looking for her. She won’t like it, but in a way, he’s right. The world is a very different place these days. If Tarak’s taking care of it, then I know she’ll be safe.
