The Nanny and the Alien Warrior

by Honey Phillips, Bex McLynn

  All righty then.

  Trying to ignore the oddly comforting touch, she smiled at him. “Can you tell me more about the ship?”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Are there any other passengers on board?”

  “I do not think so. The ship is designed to carry cargo rather than people. But it is not uncommon for this type of ship to have few small cabins that the captain can rent out in order to pick up some extra credits.”

  “You said a cargo ship. What is he transporting?”

  “I did not ask.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I suspect it is not entirely legal.”

  “Is that why you chose it? Because I’m not exactly legal either, am I?”

  “I chose it because there would be no official record of our journey. I had not considered your status.” He looked away from her, then added slowly, “Your world—does it have space flight?”

  “Kind of. We’ve been to our moon, and some ships have reached other planets in our system. Why?”

  “It is illegal to visit pre-spaceflight worlds.”

  “You said it was illegal to own slaves too,” she said dryly. “But that didn’t stop it from happening.”

  “The Patrol is trying to bring a halt to both activities. If… if we encounter them, they will offer to return you to your world.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as memories flashed through her mind. A room full of eager students. Her comfortable apartment. Her books. But then Tavi looked up at her, her little face anxious.

  “You wouldn’t leave me, Mama, would you?”

  Her throat ached as she shook her head. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. I would miss you too much.”

  “Good.” Tavi nodded and returned to her drawing.

  “Actually, they would wipe your memory,” Craxan said softly, once Tavi was engrossed in her efforts once more.

  Forget the little girl? “That would be even worse.”

  “I understand.” He smiled at her, his eyes warm, and she believed him. Something flowed between them, a connection that should be impossible in such a short time. She found herself squeezing his tail, seeking comfort in that connection, and his eyes closed. When he opened them, his smile looked a little strained, but his voice was calm.

  “Was there anything else you wanted to know about the ship?”

  Oddly disappointed at the neutral question, she considered the matter. “If there aren’t any other passengers, what about the crew? What size crew does it have?”

  “I am not positive, but usually a ship of this size will have a crew of five or six—the captain and a navigator, a cargo master, an engineer and a mechanic, possibly a medic. Or a cook.”

  “A cook?” She smiled a little ruefully. “I used to enjoy cooking.”

  “Did you cook while you were with Lord K’herr?”

  She shook her head. “Are you kidding? His head chef did not take kindly to the idea of any interference.”

  “He yelled at us when Mama tried to teach me,” Tavi said sadly.

  And went to Lord K’herr and complained. She had been told in no uncertain terms to stay out of the kitchens, and keep Sultavi out of them as well. But it gave her an idea.

  “I wonder if I could get a job cooking.”

  “A job as a cook?” He looked so appalled she bristled.

  “Why not? I may not be familiar with all the ingredients, but I can learn.” Her irritation faded, replaced by anxiety. “That is, I can learn if I can find someone to teach me. Or maybe I could start out as an apprentice. But I have to find some way to support the two of us.”

  “That is not necessary. I will—” He came to an abrupt halt, then looked away. “Is that what Opinnas told you to do?”

  “Well, no. He said he had family who would take care of us. But I don’t want to be dependent on someone else, and a degree in medieval Earth history is not exactly a salable skill.”

  “You were a scholar?” A fleeting expression of sorrow crossed his face. “I had thought to be at one time.”

  “Really?” Her eyes traveled over that big, muscular body as she remembered the ease with which he had taken care of the guards. He seemed much too… physical for scholarly pursuits. But then again, he would probably have female students fighting over his classes, she thought crossly, then gave herself a mental shake. How ridiculous to feel jealous of imaginary females.

  “What happened?”

  The sorrowful expression returned, but before he could answer her, Tavi held up the drawing she had been working on so diligently.

  “Look,” she demanded. “I drew us.”

  An oversized Craxan stood next to a very round Joanna with a tiny Tavi nestled between them, while an impossibly long tail wrapped around them all. Neat but slightly lopsided letters spelled out the words, my family.

  Chapter Seven

  Craxan lifted his startled gaze from Sultavi’s drawing to see Joanna looking at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Her hand clasped his tail so tightly that he couldn’t have pulled away even if he had wanted her to release him. And he didn’t. He wanted this, all of this—this female, this child, this family—so much that the ache in his chest felt like a physical wound.

  But he couldn’t have it, and his courage failed him.

  “Please excuse me,” he said, reluctantly tugging his tail away from the sweet warmth of Joanna’s grip. She let him go, but her fingers caressed him as he slid free, creating shivers of pleasure despite his mental turmoil. “I need to make some… arrangements.”

  “But you’ll be back?” Sultavi asked anxiously, while Joanna silently watched him.

  “Yes, of course.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, he leaned against the wall of the corridor, berating himself. Arrangements? A stupid excuse and far too close to a lie for his demanding conscience. But the longing that had risen inside him at the crude drawing had almost overwhelmed him.

  He wanted to claim them as his own, in reality and not just as part of the job. But he had lost a family twice, and he didn’t think he was strong enough to go through it again. The emptiness he had felt after Vanha’s death had been deadly enough.

  And even if he had been willing to take the chance, he had nothing to offer them. He’d never had a permanent home, his savings had been completely depleted in his pursuit of vengeance, and he was no longer young. His warrior skills still had value, but not on a peaceful planet like Trevelor. While he could send credits to them once he found work—and he had every intention of doing so—he would not be able to stay with them. He would not be there to make sure they were safe and well fed and happy.

  Perhaps he could find another profession—although at his age and with his limited background, it seemed unlikely. As he turned over the possibilities, he remembered Joanna’s suggestion that she find work as a cook. He instinctively resisted the idea that he could not provide for her, but it was a sensible suggestion and seemed important to her. Perhaps he should visit the ship’s galley and see if the cook could help her learn.

  As he made his way in the direction Yengik had indicated earlier, a delicious smell teased his sensitive scent receptors. The smell of roasting meat filled the corridor and he followed it to a door at the far end. He pushed it open, then ducked as a knife came flying at his head.

  “I said no!” an angry voice roared.

  Had he been one second slower, the knife would have penetrated his shoulder. He growled and snatched it out of the wall, then turned to look for the thrower. The only other occupant of the kitchen was a tiny, ancient Kissat, her fur white with age but her bright blue eyes glaring at him fiercely.

  “Get out.” Her hand reached for another knife.

  “I wish to talk to you.”

  “I don’t wish to talk to you. The last time was only a warning.”

  “I believe you, but this is important.”

  He flipped the knife in his hand, then tossed it. It landed upright in the exact center of the wooden
cutting board in front of her. She looked down at the quivering handle, then back at him, then cackled loudly.

  “Not bad. But now I have both knives.”

  He rested his hand on the hilt of the knife at his belt, and her smile broadened.

  “I’m almost tempted to take you on, but lunch won’t cook itself.” She turned back to stir a large pot simmering over an old-fashioned burner, and he noticed for the first time that the kitchen contained a surprising array of cooking devices for a ship of this size.

  “You must be Rissta.” Merios’s earlier amusement made sense now.

  “Yeah. And you’re the dumb Cire who got roped into one of my grandson’s schemes.”

  “Grandson? Merios is your grandson?”

  The swaggering captain and the ancient cook were related? Then again, perhaps it was not so far-fetched after all, he thought, as he remembered the knife throw.

  “Yes. And now that I’ve shared our genealogy, get the hell out of my kitchen. I’ve got work to do.”

  “That is why I am here.” He hesitated, not quite sure that he wanted Joanna anywhere near this fierce little female.

  “Well, spit it out.”

  “My mate—” how easily the word came to his tongue “—enjoys cooking but she has not had much chance recently. I thought perhaps, if you were willing, she could provide you with some assistance.”

  “You did, did you? What kind of a male tries to put his mate to work?”

  The question stung his pride. She was correct. He should be the one to provide for Joanna and Sultavi. He almost turned and walked out, but he reminded himself that this mattered to Joanna.

  “One who wants to make his mate happy. This is important to her.”

  Rissta scowled at him, then lifted a shoulder. “I reckon I could talk to her. She’s probably worthless—”

  “She is not,” he growled.

  “—in the kitchen, but bring her along.” Fierce blue eyes peered at him. “In time for the mid-shift meal. I want to watch her eat my food.”

  “We did not arrange to purchase meals.”

  She snorted. “Don’t worry about it. My grandson was just being his usual annoying self. He knows that no one goes hungry when I’m cooking.”

  He bowed. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to impress me with those fancy-ass Cire manners,” she sniffed, and waved her spoon at him. “Now get out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fighting the urge to return to the cabin immediately, he went to the exercise room instead, determined to bring himself under control. An hour later, he was dripping with sweat and his body ached, but as soon as he opened the door to the cabin and the two females smiled up at him, a wave of longing almost took him to his knees.

  “I must shower,” he said desperately and stumbled into the small facility. He set the cleansing liquid to icy cold and took a few deep calming breaths, but Joanna’s scent lingered here, and his body responded. He achieved nothing but a cold, aching cock. And a wet uniform.

  He started to strip it off, then remembered that his clothing was in the outer cabin. With a sigh, he cracked open the door panel. “Could you hand me my pack, please?”

  “What pack?” Joanna asked.

  The intriguing pink washed over her cheeks as she surveyed his naked chest, and her scent increased. His body pleased her? Making sure to stay out of Sultavi’s line of sight, he opened the door a little more, enough that she could see his wet pants clinging to the thick ridge of his shaft. Her plump little lips parted, and he remembered how delightful they had felt against his cheek.

  His cock stiffened even more, the broad head threatening to push up past the waistband of his pants, and her eyes widened. He had the sudden impulse to pull it free, to show her how much she affected him, but then he heard the rustle of paper and he yanked the waistband higher, ignoring the painful constriction.

  Fuck. He was supposed to be bringing himself under control, not succumbing to temptation.

  “My pack,” he repeated, his voice hoarse.

  The rosy glow covered her entire face now as she hastily snatched her gaze away. “Where is it?”

  “The second compartment above the table on the left.”

  She nodded and moved out of sight, returning a second later with the worn black pack. “Here.”

  As she thrust it at him, their fingers touched and it was all he could do not to pull her against him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered, but she didn’t move away.

  “I, umm, need to dress.”

  “Then your tail had better release me.”

  He looked down to find his tail lodged securely around the tantalizing softness of her waist. At least he hadn’t pulled her closer the way he had considered. With a sigh, he forced his tail to let go. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped back.

  When he emerged in a dry uniform, she was looking at another of Sultavi’s drawings, but her cheeks were still pink.

  “I talked to the cook,” he said. “She might be willing to let you assist her.”

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I am not sure you will consider it so wonderful after you meet her.”

  “Why? What’s she like?”

  “I think I will let you decide for yourself. She has invited us to join her for the mid-shift meal.”

  “Does that mean I can have juice?” Sultavi asked hopefully.

  He laughed. “You will have to ask her.”

  They both stood, and he folded away the table. After a brief hesitation, he handed Joanna her cloak. He hadn’t seen any other males but Yengik and the captain—and he hoped they would not encounter them—but he would feel better if she was covered.

  She silently wrapped it around her shoulders, then startled him by reaching out and touching his arm. Her pale fingers looked tiny against the muscles of his forearm, but they looked so right.

  “Thank you for arranging this, Craxan.”

  “It seemed important to you.”

  “It is.” She squeezed his arm, then let him go. He wanted to demand that she put her hand back in its rightful place, but she had already turned to the child.

  “Are you ready, Tavi?”

  “Yes!”

  He paused at the door long enough to add Joanna’s retinal scan to the lock, then led them out into the corridor. Sultavi took off running, her purple locks glinting in the artificial light.

  “Yengik said it was this way,” she called.

  Joanna laughed. “I think she’s excited. But you said she was safe, right?”

  “I believe so.” But better to be sure. “Wait at the end of the corridor, Tavi.”

  The little girl obeyed, spinning in circles and giggling as she waited for him, for them. His chest started to ache again, but he no longer wanted to push it away. For right now, they were his and he would soak in every minute, no matter how painful it would be in the end.

  When they reached the galley, he knocked, not about to take the chance of a knife flying towards one of his females.

  “Come,” Rissta ordered brusquely.

  Sultavi’s eyes widened as they stepped into the galley and saw the old female with her knife waiting for them. A tiny hand crept into his, and he curled his tail around her shoulders.

  “Rissta, this is my mate, Joanna, and my daughter, Sultavi.” How right the words sounded.

  “So you think you can assist me, human?”

  He flashed Rissta a startled look. How had she known that Joanna was human? But her eyes were on Joanna and not on him.

  “I hope so. I used to cook a lot.”

  “Professionally?”

  “No. For my friends and my students.”

  He could hear the slight strain in Joanna’s voice, and he put a comforting hand on her back. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea…

  “Do you have juice?” Sultavi asked.

  The intense stare switched
to his daughter, and he thought the old female’s face softened.

  “I might. Have you been a good girl?”

  “Very good. Right, Papa?”

  “Yes, princess.”

  Rissta sniffed. “Shame. Sometimes you need to be bad. But I reckon I can find you something.”

  Nerves forgotten, the girl bounced happily over to the table. Joanna gave him a confused look and followed.

  “Well, take off that cloak, human. You’re not going to get cold if you’re working.”

  “My name is Joanna.” There was an edge to his female’s voice as she slipped off the cloak and revealed her outfit.

  “White?” Rissta snorted. “Not very practical in a kitchen.”

  “It’s all I have,” Joanna said, lifting her chin. Her quiet dignity impressed him, even as he berated himself for not having thought to provide her with additional clothing. Even if this was only temporary, he should be doing a better job of caring for his females.

  “Hmph.” The sharp blue eyes surveyed his female. “You couldn’t wear anything of mine, but there’s some fabric in the stores. You could make something.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t really know how to sew.”

  “I do,” he volunteered, and all three females looked at him with the same shocked expression. “I cannot make anything elaborate, but I should be able to make a simple gown.”

  “Me too, Papa,” Sultavi begged. “I miss my pretty clothes.”

  Rissta looked at the little girl, then back at him, but to his vast relief, she didn’t pursue the subject.

  “Go see Anaeus,” she ordered. “He’s the cargo master. Tell him I said to let you choose some fabric.”

  He hesitated, and Rissta waved her hand impatiently. “Go on now. These two are safe with me.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  Rissta gave him a disgusted look, then deliberately placed her hand on one of her knives. “No harm will come to them.”

  “We’re fine,” Joanna assured him, and even Sultavi nodded.

  Oddly disgruntled that he was no longer needed, he left the galley and headed for the store room.