Vox: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 4)

by Nancey Cummings

  Vox: Warlord Brides

  Warriors of Sangrin

  Starr Huntress

  Nancey Cummings

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Also Available

  Copyright

  The Story So Far

  When aliens arrived on Earth, it happened with an invasion—just like the sci-fi movies taught us to expect.

  The vicious Suhlik meant to enslave Earth and rob her of her resources. Only the Mahdfel warriors were able to stand against them.

  Once the slaves of the Suhlik, the Mahdfel won their freedom. But as a lingering reminder of their oppression at the hands of the Suhlik they are unable to have female children.

  Now, in exchange for the protection of Earth, the hunky alien warriors demand only one price: Every childless, single and otherwise healthy woman on Earth is tested for genetic compatibility for marriage with a Mahdfel warrior. If the match is 98.5% or better, the bride is instantly teleported away to her new mate.

  No exceptions.

  Chapter One

  Carrie

  Time to get the Sunday night torture over with.

  Carrie waited while the ground vehicle automatically retracted the safety restraints. Tucker, her fiancé, sat in the pilot seat but the truth was the vehicles practically drove themselves. All a person had to do was enter a destination and the onboard navigation took care of everything. Of course, manual override was possible and a certain portion of the population insisted on “driving”. All traffic accidents were caused by human error now. Computers simply didn’t crash cars.

  “Carrie? Pudding? You’re lost in that head of yours again.”

  Tucker’s voice roused her to gather her bag and climb out of the vehicle. Slowly. Reluctantly. Still wanting to think of a good enough excuse to turn around and have Tucker take her back to her apartment.

  Every Sunday, Carrie’s mother insisted on a family dinner. In theory, that was great. The adult West kids came home, had a good meal, caught up on the family news and gossip and left with full bellies, fortified for another week of adulthood. In actuality, the family dinner was two hours of Eleanor nit-picking Carrie’s hair, clothes, posture, eating habits and career. Mostly her father ignored her while he discussed business with Justin and Tucker, which was fine by her.

  Her parents were traditional, very traditional, and had rigid ideas about gender roles. Girls simply did not work. It wasn’t done. Boys had careers and got to do all the fun stuff. Girls had to sit and wait at home, baking cakes or something. Carrie wasn't sure. She wasn’t the sit and wait type. Or the baking type. As long as she toed the family—and company—line, her parents largely ignored her, leaving her free to work and do all those unseemly, fantastic things.

  Tucker helped her out of the vehicle and smoothed down the back of her dress, not missing an opportunity to squeeze her butt.

  A shiver ran down her spine, more from irritation than any true desire. Her parents’ front door was not the spot to play grabby hands and Carrie said as much. “Knock it off.”

  Tucker Hunt was part of toeing the family and company line. He was the son of Josiah West’s late business partner and held a significant portion of stock in West and Hunt Enterprises. He was also her brother’s best friend and someone Carrie had known since she was a knee-high to a grasshopper. She knew Tucker, knew how his mind worked and she trusted him.

  So what if he wasn’t the world’s greatest lover? His weekly heaving above her left her… unsatisfied. Not that she had anything to compare his performance to. Tucker was her first boyfriend, first everything. She frowned at a realization that when they married, he’d be her one and only, and that left her with inexplicable frustration.

  “What are you thinking about, pudding pie?”

  “Hmm? Oh, what’d it be like to be married.” She refrained from mentioning how disappointing their sex life was, and would be in the future.

  Sex didn’t matter, not when they were compatible on so many levels. If she wanted an orgasm, she could do it herself.

  Tucker draped one arm over her. He really was classically good-looking with a strong jaw and the flawless hair you got from a really expensive barber. “I like to daydream about that, too.”

  “After five years, you’d think we’d just get it over with,” she said. Five years was the legal limit on engagements, at least if a fertile young woman wanted to be exempt from the Mahdfel bride program, jokingly called the Draft. It was the unspoken consequence that hung over the head of every young woman who was healthy, fertile, single and childless. Get hitched, get a baby or run the risk of being matched to an alien.

  It had been five years since Tucker put a ring on her finger. The engagement would be good only once more to exempt her from the Draft. This time next year she had to be married. Carrie wasn’t sure what frightened her more, the risk of being matched to an alien warrior or a lifetime of boring but acceptable marriage.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  ***

  “No, sweetheart, this is your plate.” Eleanor smacked Carrie’s hand away from the dish of homemade lasagna being passed around the table. She set down a pre-portioned serving of lasagna—tiny—and a generous heap of salad already topped with an oil and vinaigrette dressing. No doubt the lasagna was made with reduced fat cheese, no-carb noodles and tasted like the bottom of a shoe.

  “There’s five hundred calories on the entire plate,” Eleanor said with pride. Then, for good measure, she added, “You’re looking a little heavy lately.”

  Carrie tossed a longing look at the basket of fresh baked bread, still steaming, and the generous portion of real lasagna her brother scooped onto his plate.

  Fine. Whatever. She’d eat a real meal when she got home.

  Eleanor’s criticism of Carrie’s figure was so expected, she really should be able to ignore it by now, but inside she flinched. Eleanor, herself, was trim and petite, put together in designer threads and never had a blonde hair out of place. Carrie was… She was herself. She took after her father’s side of the family—tall, broad and with vivid red hair—and her clothes just couldn’t stay clean. Carrie had ruined many a silk blouse, much to her mother’s frustration, by “tinkering”. She’d get caught up in a project, forgot she was in her “fancy clothes” and wiped a hand on that expensive silk blouse. Still, Eleanor West persisted in dressing her daughter like a delicate debutant and Carrie continued to absentmindedly ruin clothing.

  A prodding at her knee made her look down. Reaching under the table, Justin held out a roll to her. With a conspiratorial smile, she hid the contraband roll in the fold of the napkin on her lap. Real food. Finally.

  Tucker glanced down. If he noticed the roll, he said nothing. Eleanor seemed to be the only one concerned that Carrie was thicker in the middle than most. Tucker liked her figure just fine. In fact, he had a healthy appreciation of her thick thighs and booty, but said he liked her big brain the best.

  “You have a birthday this week,” Josiah said, digging into his own generous helping of lasagna.

&n
bsp; Carrie paused, salad laden fork paused mid-flight. Her father was talking. To her. That was never good. Normally Josiah West ignored his day dreaming daughter and that was just fine. Not that he was cruel, he was just… a wee bit terrifying. Josiah Hunt, self-made billionaire, treated his children as employees. Carrie was use to that. Heck, she was an actual employee of West and Hunt Enterprises, and it was still frightening when the boss wanted to speak to her.

  “I do,” she said, finding her voice. She’d be twenty-five in three days.

  “And you’ve been in research and development for how long now?”

  “Carrie’s one of our best engineers,” Justin said.

  Josiah silenced him with a wave and focused his ice blue eyes on her.

  “Three years. Five, counting my internship.” Carrie had graduated high school early and raced through her undergrad degree. She finished her masters just as quick, putting in intern hours for course credit while taking a full class schedule. Coffee powered her through sleep deprivation but she graduated with a Masters in engineering at twenty-two. She’d been happily working in West and Hunt’s research and development since then.

  “Now that you’re twenty-five, your mother and I think it’s time you got serious.”

  Carrie bit her lower lip. Get serious? Graduating early and working with a double course load in school to get a Masters by twenty-two wasn’t serious? “I take my job seriously.”

  “Carrie’s our best engineer,” Justin said. “The stealth tech she’s been working on will knock your socks off.”

  “And how long has she been toying with that?” Josiah asked.

  Oh, hell. Toying. She did not toy. She built. She designed. Carrie recognized the direction that conversation was headed. She took a big bite of the roll, needing the fortitude only bread could give her.

  “A few months but she’s not toying—”

  “Eighteen months,” Josiah said, the flat of his palm landing heavily on the table. “Eighteen months. I’d have killed anyone else’s project by now but I’ve indulged you because you’re my little girl. I’m sorry but it’s time to grow up.”

  “But I’m close. I nearly have it figured out,” she said.

  “Starting on Monday, you’ll transfer to your new position in public relations.”

  Public relations. Carrie flinched. Not only would she be taken away from doing what she loved, what she was good at, she’d have to talk to people. Ugh.

  “I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” she said. A few times a year, Eleanor trotted Carrie out for photo ops and the press, which was bad enough. But as a full-time position?

  “I think you’ll be great,” Tucker said, patting her on the arm. “And the board agrees.”

  “You talked about me with the board?” Carrie thought her father ignored her but no, he had been orchestrating this move.

  “The board wants a new, fresh face for the company,” Josiah said. “I’ll still be at the helm, of course, but I can’t be at every press conference or sit through all the interview requests we receive.”

  And she could? Carrie swallowed her question, looking frantically from Tucker to Justin and to Eleanor, searching for support. Eleanor just nodded, a smug smile on her face. Justin looked stricken, pale, as his hand clenched his fork. This was a surprise to him, as well. Tucker, however, meet her eyes and nodded. “You’ll be a Hunt, soon, and that’s the kind of unity the board wants to show the investors. Right, Josiah?”

  Since when did Tucker go around calling her father by name? Last week he was all “Mr. West this” and “Yes, Mr. West.”

  “But PR is boring.” Hardly a challenge at all.

  “You’ll need the lighter work load. Once we’re married, we’ll need to start cranking out little West-Hunts.”

  “For the investors?” Sarcasm laced her voice. Tucker had zero enthusiasm when talking about children. Their children.

  He nodded, completely missing her sarcasm.

  Eleanor leaned in. She lifted Carrie’s red hair and pinched the soft skin of her upper arm. “We’ll have to do some work to get you camera ready. Stars above know you won’t be able to lose the weight with dieting. I’ll schedule surgery for one of those gastric sleeves. We’ll need to get those freckles removed. Dermabrasion, I think. And do something with this hair. It feels like straw. Might as well get those ears pinned back so you can wear your hair up.”

  Carrie swatted her mother’s hands away. She liked her freckles and there was nothing wrong with her ears. “What if I refuse?”

  Josiah fixed her with his icy stare. “I need you to pull your weight here.”

  Tucker snorted.

  That was the moment the fight left her. Carrie’s shoulders slumped, defeated. Her father made a fat joke and her fiancé laughed.

  Some family.

  Carrie slowly unclenched her fist. “No,” she said, voice small.

  The family ignored her, making plans in the Great Carrie Renovation, because everything about her was deficient, apparently. She looked toward her fiancé, who was happily discussing getting her a personal trainer and how to space out their babies. Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She had the money, the vision and now permission to completely rebuild her daughter into someone worthy of being a West.

  Only Justin seemed upset. He mouthed, “Don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

  All Carrie could think of was that she wanted out. Her family saw her as a thing. Not even a pretty face, just a womb. Good for only being fucked and they certainly were trying to fuck her tonight.

  “No.” Carrie stood up from the table. All eyes swiveled to her.

  “Sit down,” Eleanor said. “You’re making a scene.”

  Seemed like an appropriate time to make a scene to her. “I said no. I won’t do it.”

  “You’ll do your duty, little girl,” Josiah said, voice even and commanding.

  “Or what? You won’t fix me and turn me into another boring debutant?”

  “Carrie West, you are acting like a child.”

  Her hands trembled lightly under the weight of his gaze but she refused to back down. Josiah had always been more of a supervisor than a father to her and if she was going to be ordered about like an employee, then that meant she could to quit like an employee, too. “I think you’re right. It’s time for me to grow up,” she said. “I quit.”

  Carrie stormed out before she could change her mind. She needed to get out of the oppressive house, into the fresh night air and clear her head.

  Chairs scraped the floor and she heard Tucker promise to talk to her.

  She headed down the long driveway, as fast as her feet could take her.

  “Pudding! Pudding, where do you think you’re going?” Tucker jogged up beside her.

  “Away. Home. Anywhere but here.”

  “Were you planning on walking there?”

  Maybe. Carrie spun toward him, fists clenched. “Shouldn’t you be picking out baby names or something?”

  He gave her that lopsided grin, the one she used to think was so charming, and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you’re freaked out right now.”

  Carrie snorted. “But you shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been engaged for nearly five years. We have to get married this year or the exemption is invalid.”

  Healthy, childless and single women had to register for the Mahdfel draft. Engagements kept a woman from being matched to one of the alien warriors, but engagements had a time limit of five years. If you weren’t married after five years, tough luck. A lot of women her age were already married, or had kids just to stay on Earth. Her engagement to Tucker was convenient because he had ties to her family, it kept her on the planet and she liked him well enough.

  But “well enough” wasn’t really enough to be married, she knew. She wanted something more. Something Tucker couldn’t give her.

  “Maybe I don’t think we should be married,” she said.

  “Pudding, come back inside. Y
ou’re just upset and don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know what I’m saying.”

  His grip tightened on her arm and his smile vanished. “Do you? Because I don’t think you realize how the investors are going to react when they find out our merger fell through.”

  “Marriage! We’re not a merger, Tucker. And I don’t care about the money.”

  “You should, princess. You might dress like a hobo and not spend your fortune but without investors, your precious R&D funding gets cut. Your pet project goes away. And when R&D is cut, we fall behind the competition. The military stops ordering our planes, our ships, and our weapons. People lose jobs, Carrie. Real people will suffer because you can’t toe the line.”

  She couldn’t say she was surprised at this side of him. She’d seen it before at work and once at a party in college, but it had never been directed at her. This is how he fought. Some men used fists, Tucker used words. She knew how he wore down his opponent: guilt, threat and insult.

  “If you break off our engagement, you’ll have to go through testing for the Draft. You don’t want that, do you? If you think being married to me will be bad, imagine being shipped off to some hulking alien brute. They won’t respect you like I do. They won’t understand you. They’ll just fuck you full of their little bastard aliens because that’s all you’ll be to them: a baby making factory.”

  Carrie lifted her chin, ready for the insult.

  “And a make-over isn’t such a bad idea. I mean, you’re good looking enough but have you seen the other wives? You should try a little harder because you’re not that interesting, honestly. Lucky for you, I’m fond of you, pudding, but maybe show some enthusiasm?” His thumb brushed at her chin and for a moment he looked as if he might kiss her but he pulled away.

  “I thought you liked my big brain.”

  “Yeah, well I also wouldn’t mind if I could lift you without throwing my back out.”