Hollow Space
By
Belladonna Bordeaux
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Hollow Space
Copyright© 2012 Belladonna Bordeaux
ISBN: 978-1-60088-770-3
Cover Artist: Rebecca Sterling
Editor: Devin Govaere
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
www.cobblestone-press.com
Chapter One
Look before you leap.
10.5 years after the Last Great War
Jada, crowned princess of Dareaux’s Northern Territory, stepped silently through the airlock connecting the League of Sentient Beings’ shuttlecraft to the massive Nebula Class Navorain War Galley. She nodded to the extremely tall warrior who met her and her party.
Please don’t think. Please don’t think.
Her head clanged from her quick trip through Prometheus Station and had left a foul taste in her mouth.
Forcing her arms to remain at her sides, quelling the urge to rub the ache from her temples, she blew out a breath. Please don’t think.
The persistent buzzing of thoughts twittered in her head, raking long twinges of pain down her spine. A soft sigh passed her lips.
Her gaze moved over the rather bland-colored reception area until her gaze once more settled on the warrior standing at attention near the door. Please. Please. Let my mission be a success and do not allow the thoughts of others to interfere with the negotiations.
It is unlikely, she mused.
Her telepathy had picked up not just the garbled jumble of thoughts rolling from the different species but a myriad of emotions too. All the noise in her head combined with the bombarding effect of the feelings to make her a frazzled mess.
It didn’t help that she was already on edge because she’d been ordered to attend this Congressional Session. Though her education would say she was more than capable of negotiating everything from a charter to a trade agreement, and she had, on several occasions, proven her worth to the High Kings of Dareaux, she wasn’t as sure about her upcoming meeting.
This time was different. Very, very different.
Well, part of it is different. She blew out a harsh breath, wafting the veil shrouding her face. The ramification of failing in her mission was a whole other bucket of trouble.
She was to renew Dareaux’s pledge to not take advantage of any sexually immature race. Normally, her father handled this simple task via interstellar communication. Unfortunately, a new faction was flexing its muscle and calling for sweeping changes to the charter that had brought Dareaux beneath the mantle of the League’s protection and had made her homeworld a member of the Community of Modernized Planets.
The New Chastity Party. Some of the other members of the League believed this new party, based on a platform that had been conceived of two centuries before, was improved, giving kinds like hers more opportunity.
Truthfully—it was much more stringent than the original concept.
Bile rose in her throat, but she managed to swallow it.
Pasting a serene expression to her shrouded face, she tried to think of her “happy” place. A place where Dareauxsians lived in peace and harmony with the other sentient beings sprinkled across the modernized universe.
An involuntary shiver shook through her when she considered the group who were bent on destroying her people’s way of life. For all their sanctimonious rhetoric, the New Chastity Party might just be Dareaux’s undoing.
They’d not deny any other species food or a breathable environment, but they would deny us the way we produce our food source. They'd never say to another kind, you cannot heat your house at night or be allowed to produce power for your technology.
Granted, the New Chastity Party didn’t know why Dareaux’s people engaged in intimate contact daily. She doubted it mattered to the morally self-righteous faction, even if she did explain that her species needed intimate contact to survive. No. They were set on instilling their ideology that “sharing” should only occur after double occupancy or, in more infantile races, the ceremony of marriage made it official.
They talked ceremonies and single donors and such. Much of their high-browed arguments went directly over her head. She’d never heard of such things.
The weight of her duty bore down on her shoulders. How am I supposed to negotiate with a parsec high, twenty-meter thick stone wall?
Amanassa, her bodyguard and personal advisor, cleared his throat. It was his not-too-subtle signal for her to get her proverbial feet beneath her and prepare herself for their few days aboard the Nebula Class starcruiser.
“We need this alliance, Your Highness.”
His words clanged in her already tormented head. "I’m aware of the consequences we face if we do not rally our friends and make new ones as well, Amanassa." A soft spattering of sand fell from the overhead vents to drip on her veil.
“Your Highness.” A deep resonant bass broke through her thoughts. “Welcome aboard the Vor Marran. I’m Supreme Commander Michaelerus Fis Marran.”
Another drizzle of sand pattered down on her. “Thank you, Supreme Commander.” Grateful that he kept his mind blank, she narrowed her eyes at him. The nagging headache eased as she honed her empathy on the man she’d have to negotiate an alliance with.
Fine specimen, she decided, taking in the chiseled planes of his face. Her gaze flowed down to his broad shoulders. Her breath hitched in her chest. No farther. A sudden and unbidden desire to rest her head against his solid frame socked her.
Enough. This will not save your people from the Chastity Party. Concentrating the empathetic powers all Dareauxsian females possessed, she sucked in a shallow gasp.
She tilted her head to the side. A sadness flowed from the handsome Navorain. Mourning? She delved deeper. He’s in mourning. The next emotion she picked up on was a deep-seated longing. Digging a bit deeper, she sensed a hollowness in his being. It was the place where happiness used to exist.
Amanassa cleared his throat, bringing her back to the here and now.
“We’ll be underway in a few minutes.” Michaelerus Fis Marran scowled. “Leanderus will show you to your quarters.”
Quelling the urge to brush the frown marring his brow away, Jada placed her hands together, palm-to-palm. The wide cuffs of her sleeves gaped and sand slid over her skin.
Supreme Commander Fis Marran followed her example and bowed slightly before straightening.
She took a tiny step forward. A force pushed her to get closer to the man. A throb took hold in her crotch, and her nipples turned to hard buds. This man intrigues me.
“Because you have a soft heart.”
"True." Not when it came to her profession, but there was something about the warrior that touched her like no other man’s emotions had before. She wouldn’t profess it was love at first sight, but it was more a need to be with him. If she didn’t know better, which she didn’t, she’d say he was her life mate. Her desire was the first clue. The instinct to soothe him was the second indicator he might be her dedicated donor.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Holding up her hand to stop Amanassa’s continued telepathy, she shook her head. “My thanks, Supreme Commander,” she repeated when he continued to stare at her. She could get lost in his stunning silver gaze.
He held his hand out to her. “Will you join
me for supper tonight in my quarters?”
Already informed of the Navorain custom of handholding, she placed her gloved fingers on his palm. “That would be lovely. I look forward to it.” Stunned when he laid a kiss to the back of it, she clamped her lips shut rather than let loose the breathy sigh growing in her throat.
“Until tonight then.” A seductive note edged his words. He turned and strode away.
She watched his retreat. Drinking in the fine figure he cut in his long tunic and legs stretching his skin-tight pants taut, she was pleased with the offer of a private conference and terrified at the prospect of being alone with him.
“I will accompany you on this dinner date,” Amanassa drawled dryly.
“That’s not necessary,” Jada responded as she followed a hate-filled young warrior down the corridor.
“You’ll have to feed before you meet with him. We cannot risk your hunger destroying our chances of an alliance, Majesty.”
Immediately offended, Jada nearly spun around to give him a piece of her mind. She didn’t. She was a royal and held to the highest standards of etiquette and decorum. Reprimanding her bodyguard in front of an alien species wouldn’t help her or her mission at all. Are you insulting my training?
“No, Princess, I’m pointing out the fact you already lust for the warrior. We should be cautious err you give him a reason to reject our appeal for peace between his kind and ours. Err, he inform the Chastity Party of things best left unsaid.”
Amanassa was right. She just hated to admit it. I will step carefully around him. Only problem with “stepping carefully” around the warrior who sent her passion into deep space was she had to have him and soon.
She was about to knowingly break the law and take advantage of a sexually immature race.
* * * * *
“Why?” Michaelerus asked the empty confines of his quarters. “Why her?” Sitting on the couch in his antechamber, he raked his fingers through his hair.
For ten and a half stellar years, he’d asked the questions over and over. Why his wife? Why that day when the Vor Marran was so close to Navora? Why had the Andromedains attacked the planet that should have been worthless to them?
Why?
Why?
Why?
The sand spit down on him. “I know. I shouldn’t pine for a woman long dead,” he responded. Even the empathetic grit from the Navorain’s original homeworld of Lazarus Seven could not assuage his guilt. He was tied in a knot of his own making.
Stuck in a place where there was no going forward because he couldn’t let go of the past.
“Farden frig.” He slapped his hand down on the cushion. What he really wanted to do was smash his fist through the closest hard object and keep on hitting it until he felt something beside the guilt that was eating him alive. I should have saved you instead of...
He checked himself in mid-thought.
Leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling. “Computer, hologram Fis Marran 1A1.”
Breathing deeply, he exhaled slowly.
“What’s wrong, Michaelerus?” Shaunna’s question came from the corner where the holographic image of his dead wife was programmed to appear. “Another hard day with the Interstellar Space Council or have the Seven Kings ordered you on yet another patrol of deep space?”
Detesting the tinny tone that came from her lips, the computer unable to attain the right lyrical modulation of her voice, he huffed. Shifting his position, he propped his forearms on his thighs. His fingers wove together as he contemplated what had happened in the corridor.
There was no denying the music he’d heard, or the undeniable desire overwhelming his body when the sand slid down the princess’s sleeves.
“Tell me, my love. It can’t be that bad.” Shaunna walked to where he sat and laid her hand on his shoulder. “We can survive another tour of duty.” A little giggle escaped her, but it lacked humor. The chuckle was sour, condescending, and critical. “Isn’t that what attracted me to you? I married the youngest Navorain warrior ever to earn the title Supreme Commander. The Great Michaelerus Fis Marran.”
He held up a hand before the hologram went down the long list of accolades and accomplishments stored in the ship’s main database. He gritted his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. “I have found my next mate,” he muttered, unable to look at the hologram designed to punish him for his sin of not saving his mate.
“Oh.” She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned.
He gave the computer credit. The simple “oh” made him feel as disgusting as a slug’s slimy trail. The facsimile’s physical reaction to his announcement just nailed home the point he had failed in his duty. “What am I to do?”
The computer programming faltered for a moment as if it were searching for an appropriate insult to direct at him. What could it say? It didn’t have the ability to actually lie to him. It also couldn’t bend the Rules of the Navorain War Council to inflict more damage to his already tortured soul.
It merely put out in plain words where he’d gone wrong and kept his guilt in place.
He faced a very simple reality. The sand had mated him to the princess. That wasn’t open to debate. There was no chance in the universe that he could break the ties that bound them together. According to the War Council, he had to make her happy—protect her to his dying breath. There was no “or else.” There was only the joining of two people. At times, the sand joined another partner who needed to be trained how to treat a mate.
Another partner. “Leanderus?”
“Your brother is very intelligent,” Shaunna chimed.
“Half-brother.” Michaelerus surged to his feet. “Computer, end program.” He strode to the floor-to-ceiling iridium windows. Recalling the reason why his half-brother was on the Vor Marran, Michaelerus gritted his teeth.
Less than six stellar months ago, Leanderus had been a junior officer on the Vor Cand, a War Galley captained by his best friend, Joseferus Fis Cand.
What happened during his brief stay on the War Galley was reminiscent of an Andorian tragedy, complete with hate-filled words and detestation that could have led to the rejection of sacred law.
Joseferus had found his mate, a space pirate who trafficked antiquities. It wouldn’t matter to Leanderus if she were a queen from the richest planet in modernized space.
Leanderus was one of the few warriors remaining who picked apart other races, especially their females. They believed in creating a true-blooded race.
It was an impossible feat to accomplish. There weren’t enough Navorain females left to create a sustainable race. It was a fact everybody save a few had already come to grips with.
We can’t be too picky, Michaelerus mused solemnly. Leanderus would have to learn that truth sooner rather than later.
Even so, to deny the sand was a whole other kettle of trouble. Though being a second mate, if he were Princess Jada’s other husband, eventually the power of the sand would lessen until he was able to find the other half of his soul.
What if I am her first husband? Can I deny the sands of Lazarus Seven? In the past, to go against the nanocytes’ rules had led to many health problems amongst the warriors and, in a handful of cases, death.
Granted, there had been times he’d wished the specter of nothingness had visited him. He’d willed Oblivion to take him far—very far—away from the emotional pain he lived with on a daily basis.
Still, he’d had a duty to perform. One he couldn’t avoid or reject. Not even when he was at his lowest.
Sand gently trickled down on him. An image of a woman he was yet to lay eyes on popped into his head. He was kissing her, sinking his cock into her, her fingers clinging to him as he brought her to an orgasm.
Every muscle in his body stiffened with anticipation of seeing her at supper. His cock ached for release.
By the Great Fathers.
The sand was pushing him toward her.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—deny its will.
Chapter Two
Don’t look for trouble where there is none.
“How is it that so little is known about Dareaux?” Leanderus asked from his place opposite Michaelerus.
Jada smiled. She set down her fork on the barely touched fare on her plate and made a great show of wiping the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. “We aren’t at all secretive. It is more a case of what need do we have to leave our planet? Dareaux is rich in natural resources. The air is clean. The water pure.”
Michaelerus sat back in his chair and listened to the exchange. So far Leanderus had shown no signs of being mated to Jada. Crossing his arms over his chest, he did admit, albeit silently, that he was growing weary of Leanderus’s suspicious nature and his incessant questions.
Still, he’d let his half-brother dominate the conversation, preferring to enjoy the sound of the princess’s lyrical voice mixing with the music hanging in the air. A bit stunned he was the sole mate, Michaelerus wondered how Jada would react to his touch, how she’d taste. Would she scream his name as he pounded her into Oblivion? Would she moan prettily or rake her nails down his back while she begged him to give it to her harder.
“Then why is it that you require League ships to escape your planet if it is practically a Nirvana?”
Michaelerus cocked an eyebrow. The Dareauxsians’ use of other species’ ships was a question that had burned a long and hot path through the League of Sentient Beings and the Community of Modernized Planets. Personally, he didn’t care one way or the other. Princess Jada’s kind wasn’t the first species that had decided not to build their own star-worthy crafts.
“Our planet’s primary resource is D-crystals, and the technology we’ve built for its use. We sell much of this to other species.” She took a tiny sip of her water. “Rather than have ships clogging the stratosphere of Dareaux, we merely ask for transport to trade conferences and such. It’s much easier not only on the traders this way but also the inhabitants of my planet. We appreciate the tourist industry; we just don’t want Dareaux to become an interstellar hotspot for family holidays.”
Hollow Space Page 1
