War Bride (Battle Born Book 7)

by Cyndi Friberg

  Her one and only weapon against him was her wits. She had to keep him talking, help him see beyond his obsession. If he saw her as a person, not just a sexual object, perhaps she could… What? Talk him out of seducing her? Not only was the possibility hopeless, thanks to her visions, she knew he’d succeed in the end.

  She set the tray near the door and went to the corner workstation. The computer greeted her in Bilarrian, so she quickly navigated through the menus to determine what “limited access” meant. She found the library database, but the vast majority of books were in Rodyte. There weren’t any books in Bilarrian. No surprise there. However, she found a small selection of Ontarian titles and she was also literate in that language.

  Several hours passed as she alternated between brooding and reading. The subtle swish of the door warned her that she had a visitor. She didn’t bother turning around. She knew who it was, could sense Kryton’s commanding presence without seeing his face.

  “Is this your new strategy?” A hint of amusement threaded through his voice. “Pretend I don’t exist?”

  With obvious reluctance, she stood then turned around. Kryton was wearing his uniform jacket for the first time since she’d awakened. She was no expert on the Rodyte military, but the garment certainly looked official and intimidating. “Will you leave if I do?”

  “Am I really that intolerable?” He stalked toward her, his movements slow and controlled.

  “You wouldn’t be intolerable if you’d behave.” The closer he drew the harder her heart pounded.

  “If you truly wanted me to behave, you wouldn’t respond to my misbehavior.” He stood close enough to touch her now, yet his hands remained at his sides. “I thought about you all day.”

  “And I’ve spent all day thinking of ways to escape you.”

  He laughed softly then motioned toward the dining area. “Did you come up with a viable plan?”

  “Telling you the details isn’t part of the plan.” She followed him across the room and slipped onto the chair he pulled out.

  He seated himself across from her then rested his forearms on the table. “Do you like the cabin?”

  She shrugged. “One cage is much the same as another. I’m still unable to leave.”

  “Where would you go if I released you? Back to your empty life?”

  His attempted insult was so absurd it made her smile. “Are you honestly implying that I’m better off as your captive?”

  As usual, her refusal to cower before him made him scowl. “I’m offering you much more than captivity. You just refuse to consider it.”

  “If I surrender, allow you to use me, you’ll shower me with gifts and meaningless luxuries. But you’ll still take away my child. Nothing you can offer would be worth that tragedy.”

  Before he could reply, someone knocked on the door. Kryton called out a Rodyte greeting without taking his eyes off her. A small parade of young men followed, each bearing a covered dish. They arranged everything on the table. The last man set empty plates and flatware in front of Kryton and then Skyla. The visitors left without making eye contact with her or uttering one word.

  “Is everyone on your ship that friendly or are they just afraid of you?”

  “They sense the frustration in me and want no part of it. I suppose one could call that fear.” Kryton scooted his chair back then stood. “What would you like to drink?”

  “It makes no difference to me.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. Angering him only encouraged him to touch her, to demonstrate his dominance. Keeping him talking was a much better strategy. “I’d enjoy a glass of blood wine. If it’s available.”

  His head dipped, acknowledging her request. Then he moved to the food dispenser and ordered a bottle of blood wine. After the kiosk printed the bottle and two glasses, he carried everything back to the table. “The dress suits you, brings out the color of your eyes.”

  She took the glass of wine he proffered before responding to the compliment. “I appreciate the dresses, but I can’t help wondering why a Rodyte warship has female garments on board.”

  He returned to his seat and poured himself a glass of wine. “I doubt the truth is as entertaining as the explanations you concocted.”

  “Tell me the truth and we’ll compare.” His gaze searched hers for a moment and she realized her friendly tone came precariously close to flirting.

  “The dresses, along with a wide selection of other valuables, were aboard a ship we were sent to salvage. The crew had abandoned the ship long before we arrived. We never so much as saw them.” He uncovered one of the dishes and motioned for her plate. “How did you explain it?”

  She handed him her plate with a quick smile. “The simplest answer was that the dresses belonged to someone’s lover or a pleasure giver. But the quality is exceptional.”

  “Pleasure givers are only allowed on long-range missions. I tend to stay pretty close to home.”

  She nodded, trying to relax despite the awareness that pulsed between them whenever he was near. “It was also evident that the dresses are new, so that explanation didn’t make sense.”

  “What was your next conclusion?” He set her plate down, his attention focused entirely on her.

  “That Tonn had used the ship’s main production kiosk to print the dresses.” Her mouth dried out as his intense stare lingered on her face. She took a quick sip of wine before adding, “Again the quality was too fine. Besides, why would a military ship catalogue the patterns for female garments?”

  “Your logic has been flawless so far. Do you have a final conclusion?”

  “I wondered if you were a pirate. Of course, pirates don’t generally bother with uniforms.”

  He filled her plate with small portions from several of the dishes before handing it back to her. “I’m not a pirate.”

  “I know. Tonn told me you’re a general.” Anger sparked within his eyes, confirming her suspicions, so she quickly amended, “He didn’t actually say the word, so please don’t punish him. It was a minor slip and I wasn’t sure until you reacted just now.” Kryton said nothing as she picked up her fork and studied her plate. Nothing looked familiar, but at least he wasn’t sticking to the eat-from-my-hand and drink-from-my-lips stipulations. She’d heard that Rodyte food was spicy, so she took a tiny bite of everything before deciding what to eat. “How long have you served in the military?”

  “My entire adult life.” He wasn’t paying much attention to his food as he shoveled it into his mouth. Apparently, she was much more interesting than the contents of his plate. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m curious about you,” she admitted softly. “Is that allowed?”

  He set down his fork and took a drink of wine. His expression was inscrutable, as usual. She didn’t think he’d answer, then he asked, “What do you want to know?”

  His indulgence wouldn’t last long. She needed to make her questions count. “Do you have a morautu?” It was a foolish question. Even if he had a chosen mate stashed away somewhere, why would he tell her?

  He quickly took another drink, but not before she saw speculation gleaming in his eyes. “How would I form a mating bond with you if my morautu were still alive?”

  So at one time, he had been bonded with his chosen mate. A layer of his protection peeled back and she sensed the pain deep inside him. She was tempted to ask what had happened, but the answer couldn’t be pleasant if the female was no longer alive. “Do you have children?”

  As suddenly as his indulgent mood appeared, it vanished. “Eat. You’re too damn skinny.”

  She nearly laughed at the claim. She was anything but skinny. Her round hips and fleshy thighs made many fashionable styles impossible for her to wear. Still, compared to him, she was tiny. She took a long drink of wine before she said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

/>   She knew an excuse when she heard one. She had upset him. “Neither of us is eating much. Will all this food go to waste?”

  He shook his head. “Nearly everything on a spaceship is recycled. Nothing goes to waste.”

  That made her feel a little better, but she still had so many questions. Perhaps he’d answer if the question was less personal. “Have Rodytes figured out a way to circumvent the mating bond?”

  His eyes widened and he pushed his plate aside. Clearly, she’d surprised him. “What led you to such a wild conclusion?”

  Unraveling mysteries had always appealed to her and this question had been rattling around in her head since long before her abduction. Her prophetic dreams had warned her that she would become a war bride, so she tried to learn as much as possible about the situation. “You planned to capture me, selected me from a list of females. I presume they were all genetically compatible with you.” He didn’t confirm or argue with her statement, so she continued. “Such is not always the case. I know of many war brides who were not personally targeted. They were captured during battle or were simply the victim of circumstance.”

  After a silent pause, he pointed out, “Those are statements not questions.”

  She’d started this by asking a specific question. He was the one who had evaded the answer. If he wanted specific questions, she’d give them to him. “How are war brides impregnated if they’re not genetically compatible with their captors?”

  He stood and covered the dishes then refilled their wineglasses. “It’s better, safer, for both male and female if they’re genetically compatible. But we now have a compound that makes the mating bond unnecessary. The scientist who created the compound is working hard to make the procedure safer. Right now it’s extremely dangerous for both male and female.”

  “Then why do they do it? Why endanger two lives when the outcome is so unpredictable?”

  “You’d have to be Rodyte to understand.”

  “You’re Rodyte.” She stood as well, but moved to the opposite end of the table, creating a barrier between them. “Explain it to me.”

  His eyes narrowed and he snatched his wineglass off the table. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No. I’m trying to understand you, trying to find something resembling common ground.”

  Slowly, he raised his glass and took a sip. His gaze never left her and his free hand clenched into a tight fist. Clearly he was conflicted, but she couldn’t determine the specific factors clashing inside his mind. With one quick scan she could find out. She’d have access to his emotions as well as his thoughts. But she’d taken a vow when her abilities manifested, promised not to read anyone’s mind without their permission.

  Did vows apply to the enemy?

  Before she could decide one way or the other, he began to speak. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it all before. How can Rodytes miss what we’ve never known?”

  “It is a confusing contradiction.” She picked up her glass and followed as he meandered into the living area.

  “Have you ever known someone who was born on a space station yet longed for a ‘home’ they’d never experienced?” He sat on the couch, leaving plenty of room for her to join him.

  Knowing how quickly things turned physical between them, she sat facing him in an armchair instead. “A space station is not the same as a planet. I’m not sure I see the correlation.”

  “All right. Why do so many people who were adopted search for their biological parents? Even those with idyllic childhoods often long for something they’ve never known. They can’t explain it, but the need is real and powerful.”

  She understood what he was saying and yet she’d never experienced anything similar. “Is your life so unfulfilling that only magic will satisfy you?” She hadn’t meant to mock him, but sarcasm was her go-to weapon whenever she felt vulnerable.

  His gaze narrowed again and his nostrils flared. “Without magic, my life is incomplete. The need is instinctual.”

  Rodymia had been founded by Bilarrians who were unable to manipulate magic. Life on Bilarri revolved around paranormal abilities, so the original outcasts felt disenfranchised and ignored. Claiming a planet of their own and developing technologies that mimicked Bilarrian abilities pacified the disgruntled exiles for a time. But centuries passed and the Rodytes grew restless and resentful.

  “How many generations has your family been without magic?” The question would likely annoy him, but that seemed unavoidable. They were debating the issues that had driven their planets to war.

  “It’s been four generations since anyone in my family could manipulate magic.” He drained the remainder of his wine then set the glass aside. “I’m sure you see that as a justification for abandoning the fight. I, on the other hand, can’t help wondering how different our lives would have been if we’d been allowed to remain on Bilarri. We might have—”

  “What are you talking about? Your ancestors weren’t forced to leave Bilarri. They chose to find another planet rather than abiding by our laws.”

  He sneered. “What utter nonsense. My ancestors were exiled, driven from their homes and forced to depart with whatever they could carry on their backs.”

  She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Your ancestors were Bilarrian. Why would they have been kicked off their own planet?”

  “Because they were ‘tainting’ the bloodlines, spreading their weakness like a cancer.” Bitterness snapped through every syllable. Even though he’d been taught inaccuracies and half-truths, he obviously believed every word.

  “I think we need to agree to disagree,” she suggested in a calm, clear voice. “Your view of history differs greatly from mine.”

  “No doubt. Unfortunately, history shaped this war and this war gave birth to the war bride concept. If you ever hope to understand me, you must understand the reasons I keep fighting.”

  He had a point. If she analyzed his decisions from a Bilarrian perspective, his actions would seem irrational. “For the sake of argument, let’s suppose that your people were ejected by force. How does that justify the rest?”

  “Let’s use my family as an example.” When she didn’t object, he continued. “On Bilarri my family had wealth and enviable positions. Despite our inability to manipulate magic, it was likely my ancestors would have been able to attract mates with magical abilities. Within a generation or two, it’s also likely that the ‘weakness’ in my bloodline would have been corrected.”

  If what he said was true, she could see why he’d be bitter. But Bilarrian history told a very different tale. Rather than argue with him, she simply waited for him to continue his story.

  “But that’s not what happened. On Rodymia, we were surrounded by other bloodlines that had lost the ability to manipulate magic. Instead of rebuilding our bloodline, we had no choice but to reinforce the weaknesses and abandon any hope of ever feeling magic flow through us again.”

  “I understand what you’ve told me,” she said carefully. “How did these events lead to the capture of war brides?”

  “We were desperate and enraged that Bilarrians could be so cruel.”

  “So you took out your frustration on helpless females?”

  His scoff was harsh and hollow. “There is no such thing as a helpless Bilarrian, male or female.”

  Gods, how she wished that were true. She had abilities many considered extraordinary, yet each skill was passive. None would help defend her against this brute.

  A long, silent pause stretched between them. She was scrambling for something to say when he asked, “Did that answer your questions? Do you understand me now?” Apparently, uninterested in her answer, he turned his head and stared off into the distance.

  The sarcasm in his tone angered her enough to silence her inner warnings. He was the enemy, determined to bend her to his will. Why shouldn’t she use every tool at her disposal? She poured energy into her empathic receptors and carefully slipped into his mind. Rather than mining for specific thoughts,
she scanned his emotions, curious to see what lay beyond his emotionless mask.

  Anger and frustration blazed into her mind, momentarily robbing her of breath. How was it even possible to suppress such intensity? She inhaled slowly, filtering out the strongest emotions so she could study the seething combination underneath. Guilt, sorrow, and loneliness twisted around each other in an ever-changing mixture of misery. He was in pain, had been in pain for years, perhaps decades.

  The last thing she wanted was to feel sorry for this man, so she eased out of his mind. A name echoed through his memory, momentarily halting her withdrawal. Arton. Woven through the name was a poignant blend of feelings. Frustration, regret, and an aching sort of helplessness. Whoever Arton was, Kryton cared about him or her deeply.

  “Who is Arton?” The question slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

  His head snapped back around and their gazes collided. “Where did you hear that name?”

  She started to blame it on Tonn, but she’d already incriminated him once and he’d been nothing but kind to her. Using Kryton’s favorite strategy, she simply ignored the question.

  He stood and walked toward her, his blue phitons glowing. “Did Tonn speak that name?”

  “No.” She couldn’t allow an innocent to take the blame for her. “I…”

  His hands closed around her upper arms and he drew her to her feet. “You read my mind.” She didn’t deny it. “There was no mention of this in my research. What else can you do?”

  “We’re enemies.” She looked into his eyes, refusing to cower even though inside she was shaking. “Why would I tell you anything?”

  “Because we’ll resume our battle of wills if you don’t.”

  He’d already guessed that she could scan. Offering him the details of that ability might keep him from pressuring her to reveal her other, more interesting, abilities. “I’m better at discerning emotions than specific thoughts. We call the ability scanning.” Actually, scanning was a general term for a multitude of skills. Some Bilarrians could ‘scan’ objects as well as people.