Mylomon: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 3)

by Nancey Cummings

  The pilot Vox? New to the clan, the male would have no long standing grudge. Plus, he was a friend of Daisy.

  Yes. This was the correct male to seek out.

  The computer located the pilot. He was currently in a simulation, presumably to familiarize himself with the clan’s shuttles and fighters. Mylomon approved of his work ethic.

  The pilot removed his visor. Images of scantily clad, bouncing Terran females flickered across the inside screen before vanishing.

  Mylomon raised an eyebrow. “That does not appear to be work related.”

  “Bikini Beach Race 2525, sir,” Vox said, removing the simulation gear from his hands. “Helps keep my reflexes sharp.”

  “And the bouncing females?”

  “Motivation.”

  Displeasure rumbled in his chest but he could not reprimand the pilot. Simulation training to maintain reflexes was an approved activity. He just could not recall an instance of a crew member using Bikini Beach Race 2525. That particular simulation was not prohibited.

  An image of his mate clad in only the fabric scraps and bouncing in celebration crowded his thoughts…

  Yes. He would be very motivated.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Vox stood at attention.

  Insecurity gnawed at the edges Mylomon’s mind. Had Vox seen his Daisy bounce? He would squeeze the life out of the pilot’s beating heart if the answer displeased him.

  Peace. He needed information. Then he could end the pilot’s life if he so much as had a lascivious thought about Daisy.

  And still the male smiled at Mylomon like an empty headed fool. Well, pilots needed fast reflexes, not quick wit. Thinking slowed them down.

  “I seek your advice.”

  “Me, sir?” Confusion settled over the pilot’s face, brows knitted together. He had adopted Terran habits, it seemed.

  “You have spent much time with Terrans.”

  “Yes, sir. I liked them. They’re funny. And bouncy.”

  Another rumble. “I do not care if they are funny. I seek guidance about my mate.”

  “Ah.” Nervousness replaced confusion. The pilot had information he did not wish to share.

  “I will not ask you to break a confidence,” Mylomon said, taking a wild stab. Daisy considered the male a friend and would share grievances with him. The other male relaxed, confirming his suspicions. “My mate has requested a date night.”

  “Sir?”

  “I do not know what Daisy expects or would enjoy. Advise me.” Mylomon folded his arms over his chest, waiting.

  Vox stroked his chin. “Well… Daisy likes to spend time with the people she cares about. She’s probably not wanting much.”

  Mylomon snorted. He had already spent plenty of time in her company already. That did not please her. It pleased him, however. He could watch her all day, studying the waves of her dark blonde hair. Or mapping the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. “She specifically requested an activity,” he said.

  “Ah. In the past we have shared meals.”

  “We have already shared a meal.”

  “A special meal. Out, as Terrans say.”

  “We eat out at the mess hall, with the rest of the crew.” The pilot’s suggestions were terrible.

  “She enjoys sushi. It is a roll of rice grains and protein or vegetable in a dried seaweed wrapper.”

  “She eats seaweed?” He didn’t bother to hide his disgust.

  Vox shrugged. “The taste is mild but the texture is strange. Squishy.”

  “I will not consume squishy bland Terran food. Give me another example.”

  “I have not even told you about the uncooked tuna. Once I saw her eat an entire plate —”

  “Enough! Sharing a meal is not a viable option.”

  “She enjoys films.”

  “Films are a waste of time,” Mylomon grumbled.

  “Perhaps, but spending time with your mate is not. And a film is usually two Terran hours. You can sit at her side, holding her hand.” Mylomon gave a warning rumbled. “And there is popped corn. She enjoys consuming the exploded kernels coated in butter and salt. Once we went to a film screening in a biome. The film projected onto a screen and we sat on a blanket on the grass. Meridan brought chocolate chip cookies.” Vox patted his stomach in fond recollection. “Daisy enjoyed that evening very much. You should do the same.”

  Vox had his full attention. Mylomon took notes as the male gave a detailed report of the date night.

  Chapter Eight

  Daisy

  Daisy was on the hunt.

  An experienced hunter understood the value of good equipment. During the dark days of the invasion, the Vargas family had lived in the wilds of the Poconos Mountains. While her sister had preferred to gather berries and root vegetables, Daisy had hunted.

  Her father took her on hunting trips before the invasion. At first it was an excuse to spend time with her papa. Then it became taking pride in a skill. Too slight to tolerate the kick back from a rifle or shotgun, Daisy learned to hunt with a bow. Then it became a matter of survival. She brought in pheasant, grouse, quail, and chukar when she could find it. Once she bagged a wild turkey, but mostly through luck than any real skill. That morning her set-up was a joke and she didn’t wait patiently in a blind, instead stumbling through the brush. That turkey was slow and she was quick to draw her bow. It was a sloppy hit, striking the wing but the second arrow hit the bird in the head, a killing blow. Pride wanted her to leave the sloppy kill and let the scavengers take it but she couldn’t waste food because of pride. They’d already had too many hungry days.

  Daisy would not flub the set-up tonight.

  She selected the perfect little black dress. She bought it last year with no particular purpose other than it looked amazing on her and a girl needed a little black dress.

  This dress, in particular, had a pencil skirt which hugged her curves in just the right way. The front had a clever starburst cut out revealing a good amount of cleavage but not too much. The hem stopped just above the knee, which was the most flattering length for her legs and she paired it with simple, nude colored ballet flats. Her sister called the dress tasteless. Daisy called it perfect.

  She straightened her golden blonde hair and let it hang down her back. Make up was minimal but she found the perfect shade of red lipstick: not too dark, not too bright but a classic red.

  Properly equipped for the hunt, Daisy was ready to track down her man. Mylomon thought he could avoid his wife. She didn’t know what his deal was. He desired her. She knew that. She desired him. He knew that, right? If not, she planned to make it perfectly clear.

  Daisy refused to passively sit back and hope her marriage magically improved. She wasn't helpless. Her skills fed her family during the invasion. Her medical skills saved lives. She had the power to forge her marriage into a shape that made her happy.

  The first step was getting Mylomon on board.

  A warrior, Seeran, with a bright magenta complexion, escorted her to the ship’s orchard.

  Neat rows of fruit bearing trees filled the long, narrow room. Real growing grass carpeted the floor. An open irrigation system ran down the center, like a brook. The far wall was constructed of translucent, high strength material, like a window. One panel flickered white, like a movie screen.

  Then Daisy noticed the blanket and picnic hamper.

  “Thank you,” she said, carefully arranging herself on the blanket. The tight fitting dress restricted her movement. “How soon will Mylo arrive?”

  “He said he would be on his way when he sent me.”

  Good.

  Alone in the orchard, Daisy peeked into the hamper. There was a bowl of popcorn. Chocolate chip cookies. Two bottles of beer. Sandwiches. She recognized the menu. Mylo talked to Vox. What he lacked in creativity he compensated with thoughtfulness.

  Daisy ate a handful of popcorn and waited. And waited. The movie began to play. Excitement flared in her heart and she looked around for Mylomon but she was a
lone. She checked her comm unit for missed message. Nothing.

  The movie played, a twentieth century super-hero movie about a rich playboy in a suit of power armor. Probably not the most romantic choice, but romance didn’t seem to matter much as the moment. Every minute Mylomon didn’t show was another wound to her heart.

  She was trying, dang it. She wanted a happy marriage. She wanted to curl up next to her husband in bed at night, safe and secure. She wanted to smile when she saw his face first thing in the morning. She wanted kids, snotty noses, chaotic mornings, and sleepless nights with crying babies. The whole deal.

  He had to meet her halfway. She couldn’t do this on her own.

  And she was very much on her own.

  End credits rolled. The movie lasted just over two hours and no Mylomon.

  She got stood up.

  Daisy pushed herself off the ground in an ungraceful maneuver but she didn’t care. She was a bit beyond caring about appearances now. Her own husband stood her up. No message. No sending another warrior to let her know he was late or tied up. The rational side of her understood that he had responsibilities and some crisis came up that required his attention. No one else would do. The clan needed him and who was she to throw a temper tantrum because she didn’t get all the attention she craved?

  The rest of her was furious. He didn’t even send a text message. How busy could he be that he couldn’t say, “Computer, send a message to Daisy. Running late. Don’t eat all the popcorn without me.”

  He couldn’t even take ten seconds to send her a message. That’s how little she mattered to him.

  She couldn’t do this on her own.

  Screw him and his interesting face.

  She wouldn’t do this on her own.

  Divorce happened. They were rare with human-Mahdfel marriages but they happened. She still had that option. As long as he didn’t claim her, they didn’t have sex, she could file for divorce.

  Nausea churned her stomach. She didn’t like that idea. Hated it, actually. Not being with Mylomon felt wrong but she couldn’t stay with a man who had no respect for her. And standing her up on date night? His actions spoke louder than any words.

  She didn’t want to be divorced. She wanted to be married. To Mylomon, surprisingly.

  Maybe she could stay with Meridan and Kalen for a few days, until she cooled down. Their quarters probably had empty rooms to spare. The thought of being around the happy couple during work and off hours gave her pause. Could she take that much sweetness?

  Maybe she could move into an empty suit of rooms. The Judgment was huge. There had to be room to spare. If she asked the warlord’s wife, Mercy, she’d get a sympathetic ear. Daisy had only known Mercy for a week and she understood that Mercy and Mylo did not get along.

  Imagine that, Mylomon not getting along with a woman.

  Disgusted with him and her own dashed expectations, Daisy returned to their quarters. She didn’t know what she would say to him. Nothing nice. If he didn’t slink home until the morning she might be calm enough to discuss the situation.

  If he stumbled in sooner… She wasn’t sure what she’d do. Cry. Yell. Hide away in the bedroom.

  Mylomon

  While serving as the warlord’s assassin, the clan ignored him. He lurked in the background and avoided close scrutiny. His time was his own, to spend as he pleased.

  The new warlord, Paax, elevated Mylomon’s position to his second-in-command. Paax informed him it was punishment for Mylomon’s part in the mutiny against the old warlord. Omas had been cruel, which a proper Mahdfel warrior would endure with stoicism. What was cruelty in the grand scheme of things? The Suhlik were worse and the Mahdfel would persevere. An experimental rejuvenation treatment had twisted the warlord and left him insane. When the warlord lost his own mate, he prohibited the warriors from being matched. The clan’s vitality and strength diminished. They needed a new warlord. Was it Mylomon’s fault that Paax refused to confront the monster he created in Omas? No, but it was Mylomon who engineered events to bring down the insane warlord.

  And Paax had a long memory. There was no chore too menial for his second. No job too tedious. Tasks better delegated to others were given to Mylomon, and he performed each without a grumble. Astro-Nav needed a consultation? Mylomon was there with the information the navigators needed. Unusual readings from Engineering? Send Mylomon. The task list was endless.

  In all fairness, his abilities were well suited to address the issue in Engineering. What would normally be a complex task of disassembling a panel and crawling through an access tube was a simple matter of him phasing through a wall and following the engineer’s instructions.

  The clan’s curiosity about his mate compounded his irritation. Their constant questions about Terran females slowed down his efficiency in completing his assignments, and thus returning to his mate. It was as if they had never seen a Terran woman before.

  He knew the real reason. It was hope.

  If an aberration such as Mylomon could find his match, then it was only a matter of time before they were matched to their mates.

  He did not want to be the clan’s beacon of hope. He wanted to have a date night with his mate.

  The warlord was less than impressed with Mylomon’s observation. Paax paced the length of his ready room, his one remaining horn glinting in the light. The other, sacrificed when he challenged Omas, grew back slowly.

  “It seems we both dislike having responsibilities thrust upon us,” Paax said.

  Mylomon did not regret the part he played in Paax’s challenge and defeat of the previous warlord. “I would do nothing different.”

  The warlord nodded and called up a holographic map. Mylomon did not recognize the planet but the features were familiar. “The clan requires us to assume many roles. Some we relish. Some are a burden. Others a chance to triumph against overwhelming odds. It is the challenge of being a warrior. The females we care about will see beneath these facades to our true selves.”

  If Daisy saw his true self, she would recoil in disgust. Underneath all the posturing of honor and rank and duty, Mylomon was monster.

  Paax studied Mylomon, brow knitted as if he knew his did not bridge the divide between them. “The clan has need of your unique skills.”

  “Here?” Mylomon leaned forward to study the map.

  “We’ve located a signal here,” Paax said, pointing to a glowing green location. “But there is a second signal. I need you to pursue it.” A second green point flared on the holographic planet’s surface. “It will take you away from your mate for some time.”

  “You don’t ask for much, do you? As I recall, when you were matched, you were not separated from your female.”

  “No,” Paax said, an amused gleam in his eyes. “Someone blew up my house, stabbed my mate and forced me to challenge the warlord.”

  “Still, I would do nothing different.”

  The warlord dismissed the map. “Go. Spend your remaining time with your mate. When you return, we will decide what duties can be delegated to others.”

  Finished at last, Mylomon raced to the orchard. He was late. Very late. He rehearsed how to explain himself. By the time he arrived, his mate had left.

  The blanket and food basket sat abandoned on the grass. The window panel set up as a screen glowed with light. The film was over. He had failed his mate. All the tasks he had that day and he failed the most important one.

  He did not believe there was anything he could say to beg her forgiveness but he would try.

  When he arrived at their quarters, Daisy rose from the sofa and went into the sleeping room. Momentarily he was distracted by a rich, heady aroma coming from a pile of boxes on the table.

  The door locked behind her.

  “Open the door, female.”

  “No.” The voice was muffled but firm.

  “Do not make me come in there.”

  “Oh sure,” she said through the closed barrier, “this door you can break down.” Breaking down the
door was nearly impossible but he could easily phase through it, not that he wanted his mate to see his abnormality.

  “I intend to share a meal with you, female,” he growled.

  The door opened. Daisy stood in what he recognized as her fighting stance with hands on her hips and her feet firmly planted. “My name is Daisy. Not female.”

  This was the moment to apologize. To confess that he lost track of time as he learned to balance his duties and his new responsibilities to his mate. There would be no honor lost in acknowledging the truth. She worked long hours in medical and would work without complaint in the midst of a crisis. She would recognize him as a valuable member of his clan. Indispensable. She would understand.

  He found himself unable to express those thoughts. Instead, his attention turned to the green box on the table. Unable to resist the alluring scent, he opened the box.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Chapter Nine

  Daisy

  Daisy found Mylomon standing over the cardboard box when she opened the bedroom door.

  “Your Earthly possessions have arrived,” he said.

  She flinched at the turn of phrase. The Relocation Committee shipped her junk. “That’s not what that phrase means but I get your meaning. I’ll unpack all this junk tomorrow.” In the days following her match, when Meridan was still floating in the tank, Daisy had sorted through her stuff. Amazed at how many clothes she’d accumulated, she recycled much but set aside her favorites.

  Then she recognized the box. It was not a plain cardboard box but a deep green plastic box with a small clasp to secure the contents. There were some personal items she didn’t want the Relocation Committee to see, so she packed them herself.

  Now Mylomon held the box, giving the flimsy lock a curious look. “This one smells… intriguing.”