A smile cracked across Nals’ face. "You get uglier every year."
"Your sense of humor has not improved."
Nals nudged Mene on the shoulder, and the tension between them vanished.
"That was a joke?" Rosemary asked, heart still fluttering with panic.
"As I said, it has not improved," Mene said.
Right. A bad joke.
Ha freaking ha.
Aliens.
"Nals will be your mentor," Charin said to Michael. "He takes many of our new transfer students."
"Pick one. Show me what you can do." Nals gestured to the weapons rack on the wall.
"Michael can't—" Rosemary started to say. Her little boy could not play with a weapon. That was ridiculous.
Yet somehow her little man walked to the rack of weapons with confidence. He picked up an ax without hesitation.
Her heart stopped. It just stopped. "Michael, honey, be careful."
"Relax, Mom." His tone was just a bit too mature for her tastes. He knew what he was doing. "The edge is dull. It's fine."
Nals set up a target and waited for Michael. The boy tested the ax and swung his arms with practiced ease. Finally ready, he nodded to the older man. Michael walked back from the target, measuring his steps. He turned, flung his arm up, and the ax sailed straight, the dull edge sinking into the target.
Michael spun toward her, eyes alight. "Did you see that, Mom?"
"Good job, honey," she managed to say, heart lodged firmly in her throat. "Where did you learn how to do that?"
"Mene taught me." Michael yanked the ax out and returned it to the rack.
"Did he now?"
"Yeah, when you went back to Earth."
"Can I try another?" Michael asked Nals. The older man nodded.
Rosemary grabbed Mene by the wrist. "Can I speak to you outside?"
His eyes drifted down to where they touched. "You can speak to me here."
"Outside. Now." She didn't wait for him to answer.
Outside, the crisp air slapped against her heated face. She wanted to stay calm. This was her boss' son, she reminded herself. Don't say anything you can't take back. Don't say anything that will get you fired.
Easier said than done.
Mene joined her. "I do not know why we have to converse out here. Whatever you wished to say could be conveyed inside. It is too cold for you."
"What the fuck were you thinking?" She started the tab for the Swear Jar as she was about to make a hefty deposit.
His brows furrowed. "I'm thinking it is cold and Terrans are not equipped to—"
"Cut the bullshit. I mean about teaching my son how to throw a fucking ax."
"He asked. I saw no harm."
"No harm? He's seven!"
"I was younger when I began training."
"This isn’t about you." Rosemary pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath. "I'm only going to say this once, so please listen. You are not Michael's parent. You do not get to make decisions for him."
"He enjoyed himself."
"He could have been hurt!"
"Yet he was not." He ground out the words like he had a right to be upset. It was not his child playing with axes behind his back.
Then again, he clearly didn't have a problem with children playing with sharp objects. He'd probably let Michael run with scissors, too.
He was Mahdfel. What else did she expect? He had probably been born with an ax in either hand.
“Mene—” The words dried up in her mouth from the intensity of his glare. His nostrils flared and he reached for her but pulled back, hands clenched into fists. He was really pissed.
Or really turned on.
Rosemary didn’t know where that idea came from. She didn’t care if Mene was the kind of guy who got turned on from an argument. She wasn’t that kind of woman. He could work himself up until his dick was hard enough to break stone. Not her problem, but she was sure Miss Charin would be happy to help him out.
Rosemary poked him in the chest with her index finger. “No more throwing axes. No more throwing weapons, period. I’m the adult. I make the decisions about my son. Understood?”
“I hear your words.”
Good enough.
He knocked her finger to the side and stepped into her personal space. A growl emanated from his chest. Rosemary's eyes went wide and her traitorous vagina responded to the growl, aching with a deep need to be stretched and filled by him.
So sexy.
She should run. Right? A predator was growling at her, clearly pissed. Or was Mene the type of predator that liked the chase?
He fixed her in place with his gaze. She couldn't run if she wanted to.
"Look, I shouldn't have said all that." Her voice wavered, torn between fear and desire. She didn't understand herself or the way her body just melted from his gaze alone.
She might combust if he actually touched her.
"You are protecting your son," he said. "And that is an admirable quality. Michael is not helpless, and I will never let him come to harm."
"Are you trying to tell me I baby him too much? He's just—"
"A child?"
"Yes." Seven. He was seven years old. Until last year, he still slept with a nightlight and a teddy bear. He was her little boy, and the only person she could count on to keep him safe was herself.
Mene now stood close enough that she felt the heat of his body. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes.
His thumb brushed against her lower lip. Instinctively, her lips parted and her tongue darted out to touch him. His skin had a pleasing taste of salt. The growl intensified and her core clenched in response.
"He is the son of the fiercest female I know. He can only be a great warrior with such a mother."
He leaned in, eyes locked on her lips. He paused, searched her face for permission, and placed a small kiss at the corner of her mouth.
He smelled good. Really, really good. Spice, musk, and soap. Her brain short -circuited as it processed his lips on her, his scent overwhelming her, and how close his body was to hers but not actually touching.
Rosemary gasped. Her fingers immediately went to her lips.
He nodded and went back inside, leaving her in the courtyard with her racing heart.
Damn him. She did not need this complication.
Chapter Seven
Rosemary
One Month Later
She tried to ignore the familiar figure that walked by the window and concentrated on scrubbing the skillet. Egg never wanted to come off. The non-stick coating on the pan left a lot to be desired.
"Mom! Mom." The front door slammed, and Michael ran into the kitchen. Mene's familiar form followed at a reasonable pace. "Can I go fishing with Uncle Mene?"
Rosemary rinsed the skillet off and placed it on the rack before answering. No one asked Michael to call Mene "uncle." The kid glommed onto that all on his own. "Can you?"
Michael sighed with his entire body. "May I?"
In the months since moving to Sangrin, Rosemary mastered enough of the language to grocery shop without using the camera function on her phone to translate the packaging. She only needed to buy a canister of salt when she wanted sugar once for her to learn her lesson. In theory, she could order Earth food from the replicator, but she preferred fresh. Food made from reconstructed matter in a machine didn’t seem real to her. Plus, it tasted bland.
Michael joined a school sports team. The game resembled soccer in that the team kicked a ball and chased it up and down a field. Michael wasn't the only human on the team, but he had to wear a helmet. The Sangrin teammates had horns, and headbutts were a legal move.
Mene visited his parents frequently. He never came specifically to visit her or Michael, but he always found time for them. For Michael. Rosemary was certain Mene didn't come to visit her. He barely spoke to her. He certainly never spoke about how his fingers brushed her lips that day at the school, when she was so angry at him she could have s
pit nails.
He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip and smiled wistfully. He didn't kiss her. He didn't pull her into an embrace. He stepped back before they could finish the moment and that was exactly the problem. Rosemary was stuck forever in that moment. Until they could finish whatever started between them, she couldn't leave.
"What does Mene have to say about this?" she asked.
Mene sat at the kitchen table, completely at ease. Rosemary tried not to notice how right he looked there. She doubly tried not to wonder what he'd look like at her table in the morning light.
Rosemary mentally scolded herself. This was getting her nowhere. She wasn't an infatuated girl with zero experience. If she wanted something, she needed to take it.
And that something sat at her kitchen table.
"We hunt for cranc," Mene said.
"Sounds dangerous."
"It is a crustacean. They are plentiful at the river. They live in the mud."
"And you're hunting them why?"
"They taste good. The meat in the claws is especially tender."
The descriptions reminded her very much of crawdads or crabs. "Are they dangerous?"
He shrugged one massive shoulder.
Right. Dangerous was relative to a Mahdfel super soldier. "Is it dangerous for Michael?"
"He will get muddy."
Rosemary chewed her bottom lip and made a production of thinking. "How muddy are we talking?"
"Mo-o-om."
"What about the claws?"
"They pinch," Mene answered.
"Hmm. Pinch. Not sever." Michael tugged on her hand, eyes huge. "That sounds all right, just don't fall in the river. The water has to be cold." Spring had barely arrived.
"Thanks, Mom!" Michael gave her a quick hug before running out the door, slamming the door in his wake.
Mene
"Aim for gaps in the head plates!"
Mene tossed Michael onto the back of the cranc, and the youth scrambled to the top effortlessly. The young male had agility and balance.
Michael slid, hands scrambling for a hold.
"Squeeze with your knees."
Michael did so and stopped the slide immediately. The cranc spun in a slow circle. Its claws reached up and snapped but could not reach Michael in the middle of its back. "Now what?"
"Use the club." Rosemary had been upset when Michael used an edged weapon, even a dulled one. This time, he and Michael hunted with clubs. The youth could not hope to kill or incapacitate the beast, but the blow would stun it long enough for Mene to slip in between the pinchers and bury a blade in the breastplate.
The youth had an infectious enthusiasm. Mene enjoyed the time he spent with Michael. Visiting his parents had always been tedious. As the only son on the planet, the task fell to him. Seeran and Lorran had avoided their mother’s schemes at matchmaking for years while Mene endured her meddling. Too often, he listened to his mother list the virtues of females he had no intention of meeting and often those same females were invited to evening meals. Too often they reared back in fright or disgust when they saw his disfigured face. Any inclination he might have had to court them vanished with their reactions. Since Rosemary and Michael moved into the cottage, such guests stopped arriving. His mother hoped he would court Rosemary. He knew this.
Rosemary had never once pulled away from him in fear or disgust. Anger, yes. Many times. He enjoyed the spark in her green-brown eyes too much to not rile her. She did not understand what his position was in his clan or how he served the Council. She did not know that other Mahdfel feared the Enforcer and held themselves apart from him. She did not know that his scars were not won in honorable battle against the Suhlik but were inflicted from other Mahdfel warriors, the ones he had been tasked to terminate.
She did not look on his scars and find him lacking.
"Mene! Stop being slow." The young warrior bashed the cranc with his club.
The great beast lumbered, one side dipping. If he did not act soon, Michael would fall from its back into the river and mud.
Mene stepped into range of the beast's enormous claws. If he were unlucky or sloppy enough to get caught, the claws could crush bones. The pincers were not sharp enough to pierce his thick skin, but the strength in those pincers was enough to damage him. If it caught Michael, the damage would be enormous.
Stunned by the blow, the cranc responded slower than it might to Mene's presence. He went right to the breast of the creature and sank to one knee. Only the plating on the underbelly was soft enough to pierce, and only one place would pierce the heart. Up close, the cranc stank of mud and fetid water. River creatures, the cranc built nests on the muddy banks and sat in pools of stagnant water. The rising tide brought fish into their nests. Properly constructed, a cranc only had to leave its warren to mate. They were filthy, lazy creatures, really.
The beast reared back, and Michael shouted in alarm. The club dropped to the mud.
Wasting no opportunity, Mene plunged his blade upwards, into the belly of the beast. It thrashed and screamed as its life poured out. More than life. Bile. Bile poured out, coating Mene in a burning, nauseating layer. He missed the heart and got the stomach.
He stabbed again, this time hitting his mark.
The cranc shuddered once before collapsing, knocking him to his back.
Caught under the weight of the beast, Mene slapped the mud and laughed.
"Mene?"
"All is well," he answered.
"Do I need to get someone?"
"Because of this small inconvenience? Never." Mene lifted the cranc enough to roll to his belly. He'd rather cut off a hand than allow assistance in this matter.
"Doesn't look small to me."
At that moment, Michael sounded like his mother. A sense of possessive pride flared in him. "This is a young hatchling. I've carried back many cranc twice this size," Mene said.
He wiggled free and climbed to his feet. Mud covered his entire front and a good portion of his back. The fetid stench of the mud covered the rancid bile, which soaked into his tunic and somehow managed to work its way down into his boots. He'd never be able to get the stench out of his boots. Shame. He liked them. Actually, burning all his clothes sounded like the best plan. Cranc bile was particularly corrosive.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked. The youth, himself, was covered in mud. It was caked into the back of his head, sticking together in haphazard clumps.
Mene laughed and slapped the youth on his shoulder. "We will eat well tonight and sleep the solid sleep of warriors."
A grin spread across the child's face, white teeth against dark brown mud.
Mene quickly dressed the creature so the flesh would not sour on the journey back to Rosemary's cottage. Using a rope, Mene bound the claws and then fashioned a harness around the body of the cranc. He hoisted the beast up and slipped his arms into the harness. With the weight largely on his shoulders and back, he would be able to carry it up the hill.
"Let's head home," he said, before amending, "I mean, your mother’s house."
Michael slung the club over his shoulder, undisturbed by Mene's slip of the tongue.
With each step, his boots squished. He focused his attention on the promise of rain in the sky, rather than the squelch of cold bile between his toes.
Yes, those boots were going onto a bonfire. He'd set a giant pot to boil the cranc on the same fire and eat the sweet flesh with satisfaction.
"Your mother will be upset," Mene said.
"Are you going to kiss her again?"
Mene nearly tripped over his feet. "What do you mean?"
Michael shrugged. "You kissed her when she got mad at you at the school."
"You saw that, did you?"
"I guess."
Meaning he saw it. Everyone saw it.
Mene didn't mind. He rather liked the idea of everyone knowing he kissed Rosemary. He enjoyed the kiss, modest as it had been, and he believed that she enjoyed it, too. "Would you mind, if I kissed your mother?"
Michael shrugged. "I dunno. I guess not, just don't do it when I'm eating. Yuck." He stuck his tongue out to demonstrate the idea held poor taste.
"I will think upon it." He did not need to think upon it. He knew. He desired nothing more than to kiss her again, this time with conviction. The last one had been impulsive. He stood close enough to her that his senses sang with awareness of her, and she stared up at him, fearless and furious. So, like any good hunter, he took the opening.
He had swooped in and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. To his surprise, her body leaned into his. She did not snarl or push away in disgust. As he stepped away, she touched her lips and her eyes danced.
In the days that followed, he wanted to pursue the subject with her, but nerves prevented him. The days stretched into weeks. Now his eyes tracked her movements, but he could not think of how to approach her. If she thought of him or their kiss, he could not tell. She ignored him when he was present and directed her conversation to anyone in the room but him. Too much time had passed.
The rain arrived just as he and Michael reached the cottage. Cold, the drops rolled down his head and dripped off the end of his nose. The youth dashed for the back door. "Shoes," Mene said.
"Oh. Right." Michael kicked off his shoes and ran inside. "Mom. Mom!"
Mene lowered the cranc to the ground. Preparing the beast for the evening meal would involve cracking open thick plates and spilling innards. It would not be tidy work. He'd dress the cranc, butcher it into manageable portions for cooking, and then dunk himself in a tank of cleaning fluid. Buckets, perhaps. He could strip in the yard and pour a bucket of water over himself.
"What is that?" Rosemary stood in the door, hand covering her mouth.
"It is a cranc," Mene said. He did tell her what they hunted. "It is a delicacy. The flesh will melt in your mouth."
Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2) Page 9
