Star Mates (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Beth D. Carter

  Emmarie was blinded by a good-looking rebel, but once she got past the sexual blinders then he knew she would be just as eager to get back home as he. He couldn’t let her forget where they came from or how he saved her from her cryo-chamber.

  He wouldn’t let her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emmarie stayed busy by helping Leona in the saloon as well as practicing with Harpo, much to the delight of the afternoon lunch crowd. Leona turned out to be funny and kind, looking at almost everything with a sense of humor, the sole exception being the mention of Pikon Brant. Emmarie had seen a lot of couples on their wedding day, and in her opinion Leona was very much in love with her erstwhile boyfriend.

  “Go talk to Lisa,” she encouraged.

  Leona bit her lower lip. “What if I was wrong and yelled at him for nothing?”

  “So you’d rather lose him over your pride? I don’t think you’d like seeing him courting another girl.”

  “Hm,” she replied. “You make a valid point. I’ll go after lunch.”

  “Go now,” Emmarie urged. “I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She smiled as she watched Leona take a deep breath and leave, knowing that her anger with Pike would be over in a few minutes. She may not know why Pike had been over to Lusty Lisa’s, but she’d bet anything it wasn’t for sex.

  As the lunch rush thinned out, she managed to walk over to Harpo and ask if he knew other musicians and he replied he did, but he couldn’t promise they would want to perform on stage. But that night he brought in two more musicians, Bishop on guitar and Pansy on a type of homemade violin. They blended well and Emmarie liked that the instruments added depth to music.

  As she sat on the stage, looking over the sheet music, a loud bang had her head snapping up. Leona had walked in, back from her trip to Lusty Lisa, with tears in her eyes. Emmarie bit her lip and hesitated for only a fraction before following after her friend.

  Leona had gone into the back room, the same one that she had taken them when she and Logan had first arrived. Emmarie knocked softly on the door before opening it. Leona glanced at her as she wiped her nose.

  “Are you all right?” she asked her.

  Leona nodded. “This is a good cry.”

  “Oh. Okay. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Wanna talk?”

  “Later?”

  “Sure,” Emmarie said and closed the door behind her as she left to rejoin Harpo, Bishop, and Pansy.

  “Is she still fighting with Pike?” Harpo asked.

  “No, not this time,” Emmarie told them.

  “Then it’s got to be the meeting coming up,” Pansy replied.

  Emmarie swung her gaze to the long, dark-haired girl. “What meeting?”

  “We just got word the Durian delegates are coming,” she said. “To talk, once again, about declaring humans as citizens.”

  Emmarie blinked. “What’s our classification now?”

  “To everyone but the Durians, we’re slaves,” Bishop explained. “To the Durians we’re confusing.”

  “And if we get citizenship?” she asked.

  Bishop shrugged. “Then to own a human would be against the Peace Treaty Law. We wouldn’t have to be hiding out, flinching every time we see a ship in the air.”

  “If the Durian’s are sympathetic to our plight—”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” Harpo broke in, shaking his head. “They may feel sorry for us, but to declare us as citizens means they will have to back us in Tribunal Court, financially support us, defend us whenever we needed defending, and so forth and so forth.”

  “In other words, become our parents,” Emmarie finished.

  All three nodded.

  “But without them,” she continued, “the Merloni, the Kexians, and the Unarians won’t stop hunting us.”

  “You got it.”

  “But the human spirit is so strong,” Emmarie mused.

  “You must have had a decent master then,” Pansy replied. “Mine liked giving me to his friends.”

  Bishop nodded, as if he understood.

  Pansy pained an ugly picture, one that she, herself, would have had to live through had it not been for a mishap with an asteroid and, of course, Pell Raiden.

  Since no new influx of people had come in the past thirty years, no one knew how the Earth had changed, how the rise in terrorism had changed the safety and security once thought impenetrable. They had missed how the world had responded to September 11th, particularly the United States. There were several nationalities in Sparta, but they didn’t call themselves one race. The communities stayed separated, practically divided. And for a bunch of humans trying to win freedom and independence, it was an attitude that confused her.

  “We should rally the people, get them to fully understand the benefits of being part of a revolution,” Emmarie said.

  They all laughed.

  “Revolution?” Patsy questioned. “What revolution? Do you mean this semisecure city filled with well-meaning but utterly hopeless rebel leaders?”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” Bishop said.

  “We could do it,” Emmarie insisted.

  “How?”

  Emmarie thought for a moment. “I don’t know. But there has to be some way to get a message across.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emmarie could see the negotiations falling apart and it filled her with a raw sense of helplessness.

  For several days after the talk with Pansy and Bishop lingered in her mind and she’d spent the time observing the Spartan people, trying to understand a way to reach them.

  Now, Emmarie watched Willoughbee lead the Durian delegates to the table directly in front of the stage. They were scary-looking aliens, taller than an average human and very muscular. In fact, they bulged out of their uniform leotards, leaving little to the imagination. Their skin and hair had a reddish tint to it, almost the color of burnt peanuts.

  There were a few other humans she’d never met, who were trying to look dignified but failing as the gamut of worry and defeat lay heavy on their brow. She was surprised to see Logan thrown into the mix. Bringing up the rear was Raiden and a Durian dressed in army-green fatigues. He had a scar over his left eyebrow, which made him look slightly menacing.

  She stayed on course with the arranged playlist, watching the group out of the corner of her eye. Tension ran high in the whole room and though everyone cheered after each song, it didn’t have the usual lighthearted enthusiasm. And to make matters worse, the frustrated expressions on Willoughbee’s and Raiden’s faces reported the poor progress they seemed to be making with the Durians.

  Emmarie had a feeling the delegates were just about to walk away and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to convince the Durians that their help was needed.

  All she could do was sing. An idea suddenly formed in her head, the equivalent of a light bulb going off.

  After the first set, she and the musicians took a break and she headed over to the table. Her gaze, at first, stayed glued to the aliens, unable to help herself. She wanted to pinch her arm just to make sure she wasn’t in a dream.

  A few of the humans rose, as did Raiden, but the Durian delegates stayed seated.

  “Hello,” she greeted, making eye contact with everyone, even with the red Durian eyes. “My name is Emmarie Tice. I came over to see if anyone has a request they’d like for me to sing.”

  “I doubt you know any of our music,” the scar-faced Durian said condescendingly.

  “You’re right,” she replied, unfazed. She smiled at him. “But perhaps if you tell me the type of tempo I can sing something you’d appreciate.”

  “We have an eclectic taste in music,” answered another Durian, the one who sat by Willoughbee. “What you are singing is perfectly fine with us.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I wanted to make sure everyone is at ease this evening.”

  Scarface snorted.

  Emmarie caught
his gaze. “Actually, I have a song I think you might like. Excuse me while I go set it up.”

  She smiled and turned to leave, inspiration coursing through her blood and causing her heart to race. She hurried up to Harpo and gestured for Bishop and Pansy to come over.

  “I think we need to do the new song,” she said to them.

  Bishop’s eye widened. “We aren’t ready.”

  “We’re losing them,” she told him. “And how many more times are the Durians likely to come back?”

  None of them answered her but she could see the answer on their faces.

  “That’s what I thought,” Emmarie said. “We need to do the song.”

  Bishop took a deep breath. “Okay. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  A few minutes later, they were set, and Bishop pulled out his makeshift drum, beginning the melody with his drumsticks. Pansy adjusted her strings and added to the rhythm. It was nothing like the original song, of course. Emmarie didn’t have access to a synthesizer, a keyboard or an electric guitar, but it wasn’t really the music that made this song important.

  It was the message.

  The words carried one directive and one proclamation, a rebellion to all who underestimated the smaller man. She had read once that the song had been written when the police had forcibly broken up a peaceful protest and the words were powerful. The beat roared through her as she repeated the chorus, this time urging the crowd to sing it back to her. She played with the words, letting them ring through the bar as she managed to get every person either clapping or singing along.

  She was pretty sure these people had never heard such a song before, one so brazenly open about revolt. Most of the people who sat in the saloon were young, and even those a little older came from a time right after the Vietnam War. The Eighties had dealt with flinging off wars, saying good-bye to the nuclear threat and tackling issues like poverty, suicide, and extreme love. Grunge and September 11th never happened for any of the people here, so the seeds of fighting back and taking pride in one’s nation hadn’t been planted yet except as an abstract concept in history books.

  She glanced over and saw Raiden smiling at her, pride gleaming from his dark eyes. At the same time, she spotted the thunderous expression on Logan’s face, the hue in his cheeks rising to splotchy patches.

  And when the song was done, the whole place erupted with thunderous applause. She managed to sneak a peek over to the delegates’ table. Willoughbee stared at her with her mouth hanging open but Raiden’s brilliant smile said it all. He stood up and clapped with everyone else.

  Harpo began playing the usual tunes and Emmarie made her way through the crowd, toward the delegate table, smiling at everyone who patted her on the back. When she arrived, she stared pointedly at Scarface.

  “Well, did you like it?”

  He unfolded his long frame the chair next to Raiden and stood up to address her. “I had no idea humans had such conviction,” he replied softly. He held out his hand to her, Emmarie took it and he kissed the inside of her wrist.

  “My ancestors fought fiercely for their independence,” she told him. “And the people of Sparta just need to be reminded that freedom is the most basic human right.”

  He didn’t say anything more. He bowed to her and a collective gasp could be heard throughout the room. Emmarie glanced over and saw Willoughbee’s astonished expression.

  “Well spoken, Emmarie Tice,” Scarface murmured. “Willoughbee, we’ll be back in the morning to talk some more.”

  The other delegates rose at his words, leading Emmarie to realize he must be the one in power. Scarface gave her one last look and then turned to leave the saloon, the other Durians following. The room was silent for a moment following their departure.

  “What did you think you were doing, Emmarie?” Logan demanded. “Plagiarizing a song to incite a revolt?”

  “I did not plagiarize!” she stated, trying to keep her voice down since many ears were listening. “I never said I wrote that damn song. It was just a cover, Logan. Besides, the people of Sparta need to be reminded of their own strength, that humans can overcome any fear by believing in themselves.”

  “We need to keep our focus on trying to get home.”

  “And that would be how, Logan?”

  Logan opened his mouth to retort, but shut it with a frustrated look on his face when Willoughbee set a hand on his arm.

  “My dear,” she said to Emmarie. “No Durian has ever bowed to a human. I do believe you’ve just single-handedly saved our negotiations.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emmarie found herself monopolized between Willoughbee, Raiden, and the two other people that sat on the Spartan council. They all seemed overjoyed by the positive remarks Scarface made to them. It seemed almost surreal that one song could convince a battle-scarred warrior to believe in a cause when long, suffering hours of negotiations did not.

  Though others may shake their head in disbelief, Emmarie knew the power of music. It had saved her when her parents had died, when she’d had to go to court and present herself as an adult, and it had brought her a level of security desperately needed. With music she had been able to stand on her own two feet and perhaps that’s why she’d been brought here. Maybe fate had stepped in so she could help this growing community of humans that had been cut off from their own planet. Sometimes, all that was needed was a single voice that brought clarity.

  As the night wore on, she found herself constantly glancing toward Raiden, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her. The pull between them grew and thickened. She could almost feel the strengthened bond that pulsed with energy. Her body tingled to life. Her heart raced. Her breathing grew thin and labored. Her blood heated.

  She hadn’t ever felt like this toward anyone. She’d never wanted to share herself with a man before, but she knew that Raiden was that man. As clichéd as it sounded, he was…the one.

  Her body yearned for him. Her heart pounded for him. This was more than passion, more than desire. What she felt was raw, almost desperate. And she was more than ready to act on it. She’d saved herself for that special man who not only made her emotions sing but caused a fiery throb deep in her pussy to make her juices run.

  Toward closing time, the patrons began to trickle out of the saloon. Harpo, Bishop, and Pansy put away their instruments and went home. Willoughbee and the council excused themselves, one man weaving, a little tipsy from too much of Leona’s homemade brew. Leona, who had been oddly quiet through the whole evening, left as soon as the last guest had gone, leaving Emmarie alone with Raiden. Once again they sat in the darkened saloon staring at each other.

  “You were amazing,” he told her.

  “I was nervous,” she confessed. “I’ve never been nervous before. I think it was the fact that they were so obviously alien.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but to me they’re just Durians. I grew up with knowing about them.”

  “What was it like? To grow up here, I mean.”

  He thought for a moment before answering. “I couldn’t compare it to how you grew up, of course, but I can say I never grew up thinking things were different. My parents were involved in the rebellion my whole life, so for me, fighting has been who I am.”

  “And you don’t have someone?”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “You know…a woman?”

  “Do you think I would kiss you if I had someone?” he demanded.

  “I know nothing of this culture.”

  “I assume the same feelings apply about fidelity, no matter which galaxy we’re in,” he said. “The women who come to Sparta are too damaged emotionally, and sometimes physically, to even contemplate having a mate. And then I’ve been too busy keeping up with supply and demand. I usually go out on mission runs every other day.”

  “But you’ve been here for over a week.”

  “Because I wanted to be near you,” he told her softly, capturing her hand with his. Their fingers entwined and Emm
arie thought her heart would beat out of her chest. “I know you wanted to take things slow but I’ve never had these feelings before, Emmarie. I’ve gone over thirty years without meeting someone so strong and tough but at the same time soft and delicate. I have a feeling I could study you for years and only touch the surface of who you really are.”

  “I’m not so much of an enigma,” she said. “Unlike you, I’m not a warrior, a fierce pilot, a protector, or a hero.”

  “Hardly a hero,” he scoffed.

  “You’re my hero. You saved me.”

  Then all words ceased as he leaned over and captured her lips and she knew, this time, she would go with him wherever he wanted to take her. Somehow, in this wild land so far from home, she’d found the one person who filled her soul.

  At first he brushed her lips with his, a fleeting touch meant to sooth and calm. Only in seconds the spark of their mouths touching flared into a live wire. He groaned low in his throat and pulled back to lean his forehead against hers.

  “Would you go home with me?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

  “If you come with me now, I won’t let you go,” he warned.

  “Yes,” she agreed again. There wasn’t any hesitation in her heart.

  “And you won’t let me go,” he finished.

  She nodded, unable to say anything more.

  Raiden stood and pulled her up in front of him. He gave her a brief kiss on the mouth before taking her hand and leading her into the night. They walked without words as they left the saloon behind. She hadn’t a clue where they were going, because her attention was focused on his face. She hugged his arm, hardly believing they were together, that soon she would belong to him totally, body and soul. In her mind, she was positive she and Pell would walk through life side by side.