“A Suhlik attack.”
“When was the last—” She bit back her words. She couldn’t argue his point. The Suhlik could and did randomly attack. It happened on Earth, so of course it could happen on Sangrin. “Okay, just swear Michael wouldn’t be able to use the gun.”
“On my honor, you son will never be able to shoot this weapon.” Then, “He might be able to use it as a club.”
“Wonderful. Don't give him that idea, okay?”
“Agreed.” He placed the pistol in the duffle and zipped it up. “If we do suffer in an incursion, my father has a complete, functional arsenal under the main house. Do not worry. We are well protected.”
“Wonderful,” she said. He nodded, missing the sarcasm. “Don't you dare say those words to Michael.”
That could lead to trouble. Maybe when he was older and more responsible, she would feel differently, but for now, she’d keep right on being an overprotective momma. He struggled against her overprotective instincts now. One day, she’d have to deal with the fact that her baby boy was growing up. That was tomorrow’s worry; today, the secret underground arsenal needed to stay secret.
Mene finished and carried only one bag.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. So many conflicting ideas raced through her head and her heart. She needed time to process, but time wasn’t an option.
“Yes. I do not require much in the way of material possessions.”
“No. That's not what I mean. I mean about the ninety-seven percent?”
“I am sure you are my mate.”
“The match isn’t very good.”
He stepped toward her, and the bag fell to the ground. He brushed the stray tendrils behind her ears before resting his hands on her shoulders. “The ninety-seven percent is acceptable. My mother was tested out of curiosity, and she is ninety-one percent. She had three healthy sons, as you can see. Ninety-seven is very safe.”
“But not legally enforceable.” She didn’t want to say the next words. She didn’t, but she needed to. “We don’t have to go through with this.”
Her alternatives weren’t great—deportation, jail or taking her chances to not have a legally enforceable match—but she didn’t like the idea of trapping Mene in a marriage he didn’t want.
“You need this,” he said. “Nothing has changed from last night.”
She liked him. She never thought she'd say that. He did not make the first impression or second impression, but he grew on her. She liked his seriousness. She liked that he did what he said and he meant what he said.
She liked how much her son loved him. She liked his family. She liked how thoroughly safe she felt when he stood next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Not smothering, just reassuring. She wasn't alone. She had him,
She liked him too much to coerce him. “But what if I’m depriving you of a better match? She can have your babies and won’t get sick.”
“There is no other female for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. My mother has paraded many eligible females before me. They might be interested in my position but this,” he waved to his scared face, “drives them away.”
“I don’t know why you're always so down on yourself. You’re not hideous. I like it.” She placed her fingers at the corner of his mouth. The scar tissue tugged at his lips, pulling it into a frown. She pushed up, forcing a smile until his fangs peeked out, giving him an alarming visage. Yeah, smiling wasn't really that much of an improvement, but he wasn't that bad. “I happen to like your face, and I like your scars. They’re badass.”
“A badass?” He flashed a genuine smile, flooded with warmth and humor.
Yeah, she liked him.
A low rumble emanated from his chest and went straight to her core. She liked her brutish -looking alien a lot.
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are my true mate. There is no other. I want no other. Even if you're unable to have a son of our own, the son you bring has already filled my heart. It is more than this unworthy male could ever hope for.” His hand stroked down her arms, cradling her to his chest. He nibbled on her ears, found her jaw and drifted down. "Know now that this is not false and I intend to mate you in every way.” He licked the cords of her neck for emphasis.
Yeah, there was no mistaking what he meant by mated in every sense. “We should go slow,” she said, halfheartedly. Her words were weak and had no meaning.
“So you say. I will change your mind,” he said.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“I will wait for your heart to agree with your body, but know that I am your true mate and I will have you in every way.”
“You agreed no sex.”
“I agreed to go slow.”
She somehow didn’t think he had the patience to go as slow as she needed. She believed the same about herself.
Well, sugar pops.
Chapter Eleven
Mene
His mate prepared the evening meal. His son did his school work. The aromas of the cooking meal almost outshone his mate's natural scent. Almost. Mene never thought he'd walk into such a domestic picture. He never expected how the sight would fill him with joy. Such domesticity wasn't for him, he had told himself for years. His position as Enforcer kept him far too busy. Yet here he was, a newly-minted family male.
"Can you help me with my homework?" Michael sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging on the chair.
"Sure, honey," Rosemary said, wiping her hands clean on a towel.
"Not you. Mene."
Mene paused in the doorway. "Are you sure?"
"There's a thing coming up. The, um, anwynhil. Nals said I could ask you if I wanted to fall in the mud, but I think he was joking."
Mene huffed. He never liked Nals, not since they were children. They were oil and water. Moreover, Nals always had a smug expression on his face that enticed Mene to punch him.
"What's the an win hill?" Rosemary asked.
"It's a race," Michael said excitedly. Everything made the youth excited, it seemed. "The course changes every year, so no one knows what to expect, not really, but we'll swim a bit in the river and climb over stuff. At the end, you get a tattoo." Michael flexed an arm. "I'm gonna get a hula girl here and make her dance."
"You will do no such thing," Rosemary said. She turned to Mene, "It sounds dangerous."
"Students of the Academy compete in the anwynhil every year. No one has perished in living memory." His mate worried too much.
His words were meant to assuage her fears but had the opposite effect. "What do you mean ‘living memory’? No." She shook her head. "Absolutely not. You're not doing this, Michael."
"Mom, all the other kids are doing it. I'll look like a baby."
"Oh, well then, why don't you jump off a bridge, so no one will think you're a baby?"
"Reven said they jumped off a bridge last year."
"Reven?" Mene asked.
"He's my friend." Michael wrote on his paper. Peering over a shoulder, Mene saw he worked on math problems. "So will you?"
"I said no," Rosemary said before he could answer.
"It is safe," Mene explained.
"Safe like when you took my baby out to hunt giant crabs? Your idea of safe does not jive with my idea. What is the point of this race anyway?"
At that moment Mene knew he had won the argument. His mate only questioned the validity of an activity when she was near defeat. "It teaches independent thinking, problem solving, teamwork, and practical skills such as reading a map."
"And jumping off of bridges."
"They don't do that every year, Mom." Michael rolled his eyes mightily.
"The entire school participates," Mene explained. "The students run a course through the countryside and the staff monitors. Every year, obstacles are added, but the core is a test of endurance and wits."
"Everyone does it?" She frowned. He could see that his mate did not want to draw unwanted attention to
her son by excluding him from an activity, but she worried.
"Beginners move together in a herd. They are never far from an instructor."
A timer dinged. "Dinner's ready. Go wash up and then set the table, please," she ordered. Michael shoved his homework into a satchel and dashed off.
"Jumping off a bridge? Are you honestly telling me that's safe?"
Mene gathered her in his arms. She went to him without protest. "The course changes every year, but the geography of the land surrounding the Academy remains the same. The race will often take them to a river. Some students will jump, to save time. It is not required."
"It's spring. Won't the water be cold and fast?"
"Cold, yes." The snowpack in the mountains had not yet melted.
"What happens if he fails?"
"Many students do not complete it their first attempt, but he will gain respect for attempting."
"And if he gets lost or hurt?"
"The route is monitored. He will never be far from help if he needed it." He knew Michael would not. Rosemary underestimated her son, but Mene saw his potential. Michael had the same fearless heart as his mother. He would be a great warrior, even if he was a soft-skinned Terran.
"Did you do this? When you were his age?"
"Yes. Nals had pushed me off the path and into the mud."
She smirked and tried to hide her amusement behind her hand. "And you'll help him prepare?"
"Of course. He will need to learn to read a map and a compass. We will train."
"So I can do it?" Michael bounced on his toes with excitement. "Reven said you'd never let me. He said my mom was afraid of her own shadow."
Rosemary pulled away, eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure if I approve of you hanging around this Reven kid."
"He's cool." Michael moved to set the table with plates and flatware.
"Sounds like he's got a mouth." Rosemary pulled a dish from the oven, the Terran scents of tomatoes and garlic wafting in the air.
"You'll be there for the anwynhil, right, Mene? Everyone's dads are going to be there."
He never thought his heart could be so full that it ached, but a Rovelli proved him wrong again. "I would not miss it for all the stars in the sky."
Rosemary
"Did you brush your teeth?"
"Yes."
"Use the bathroom and wash your hands?"
"Yes, Mom. I'm not a baby."
"Clearly, you're all grown up. Grab the book you want to read, and I'll meet you in your room."
Michael took off at a run, thumping up the stairs. The boy only had two speeds: asleep or fast-as-possible. Rosemary finished washing the last of the dishes. She might be a newlywed, but housework didn't take a holiday. Switching out laundry and sweeping the kitchen floor also needed to be done before she headed to bed.
Michael rushed back into the kitchen and skidded to a halt, clutching a well-worn book to his chest. "Can Mene read to me tonight?"
Her heart lurched with something she couldn't describe. She had been the only one to read to Michael since he was in his crib. Even when Aunt Hazel would babysit, Michael would ask Rosemary to wake him up for his bedtime story. He had never asked anyone else to read to him. She wasn't sure if this bubble of emotion in her chest was pride or fear of being obsolete.
Mene looked up the tablet he held and accepted the book from Michael. "If you wish. What is this book?"
"It's great! It's about shipwrecks and pirates and treasure."
Rosemary had purchased a set of illustrated classics for Michael as a lark, expecting him to look at the colorful pictures once and never bother with the story. Turns out, her son loved being read to at bedtime. Insisted on it. Stories with pirates and mutiny and sword fights was a bonus.
Mene's brow furrowed. "And you indulge in such violent stories before slumber?"
"Every night."
"It's a story about friendship," Rosemary added for clarification. She didn't need Mene to think she indoctrinated her son violent entertainment every night.
"When we finish with this book, we can read some fairy tales. It's full of witches that eat people. It's great!"
***
The first night sharing a bed with Mene was awkward. Second night, technically, but her first night stone-cold sober and aware enough of herself to be ill at ease. Rosemary wore more layers than comfort allowed, and she stayed at the edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor. Nothing less than a gentleman—gentle-male?—Mene stayed on his side. He made no moves to touch, cuddle or repeat the morning's activities.
Rosemary lay in the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, aware of his body and his heat.
Sleep found her eventually.
She woke in the center of the bed, limbs entangled with her new husband. Her hand was on his horn, again. The one on his head. Not the lower one.
Her other hand was firmly on his ass.
He smirked as she rolled away. "Find what you were looking for?"
"I can't be held accountable for what I do when I'm asleep," she said.
"You would not accept that argument from me." He stretched out on the bed, shirtless, wearing nothing but his tight briefs and a grin.
"Look, as charming as you are, I gotta get Michael ready for school." Rosemary ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back in a quick ponytail before shoving her feet into a pair of slippers. She knocked on Michael's door before opening it and turning on the light. "Rise and shine. Breakfast in ten minutes."
Plumbing rumbled upstairs as she made breakfast. Eggs and toast were on the menu that morning. Water boiled in the kettle for tea, and she just put the butter and jam on the table when Mene entered the room.
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking?" Her spatula poked at the edges of the egg. Nearly ready.
The enormous lilac male muscled his way between her and the stove. He snatched the spatula from her. "You have far too much skin exposed to be engaged in this activity."
Rosemary bent slightly to look down her form, finding seeing nothing wrong with the T-shirt and sleep shorts she wore every morning. In fact, she wore his shirt, which was long enough to be a dress. "What are you talking about?"
"This," he waved the spatula at her. "You have exposed too much skin. It is unsuitable."
"Unsuitable?" One day married and Mene was turning into a control freak. "This is my house. I'll wear what I want to wear. And, for the record, there is nothing wrong my clothes." She wore less in the heat of summer.
"Female," he grounded out.
"Alien," she retorted, genuine anger in her tone.
"Your skin is exposed to the hot oil in the pan. It is unsafe."
"Well, that seems reasonable," she said, voice still angered. "And those eggs are burning. I hope you like them extra crispy, because those are yours."
***
Mene thrust the well-worn book of fairy tales at her. "Explain."
"It’s a book," Rosemary answered, head tilted to one side.
"This book advocates cannibalism."
"No. Only witches do that to naughty children."
"In this story, the mother murders the son and feeds him to the father."
"That's not a very popular one." No one read The Juniper Tree.
He flipped through the pages and jabbed at an illustration. "In this story, a giant feasts on the blood and bones of an Englishman."
"But giants are monsters."
"And in this one, a wolf slays the mother's mother and tricks the daughter into feasting on her flesh, then consumes her."
"She strayed from the path in the woods. Bad things happen to girls who don't follow the rules." That lesson had been hammered down in many stories.
He huffed. "In this one, a female who is innocent and her only fault is being more beautiful than her stepmother is murdered and the stepmother consumes her heart. Explain how that is justified."
Rosemary took a moment to pinpoint that story. "Snow White?"
"Is Earth so dangerous that you must i
ndoctrinate your young to the perils of the world in story and parable?"
"Oh, it's not that bad. Don't you have bedtime stories? Myths? Wasn't that what the light festival was about?"
"The Mahdfel have ballads of glorious battle." He lifted his chin as he spoke.
Rosemary nodded. "See. That's violent."
"It is a celebration of tactics and honor, not..." He sputtered, searching for the correct words. "Glorification of cannibalism and wickedness."
She took the book from him and patted the bed. "Worried you're going to get nightmares?"
He folded his arms over his chest. "No. Do not be ridiculous."
"Big fearless warrior is upset at some witches getting shoved in ovens?"
"Do not mock me." His voice rumbled a warning, but Rosemary clapped her hands in delight.
"You are! Oh, that's precious."
“It is your teeth.”
“My what?”
“Terrans have flat, grass-eater teeth.” Mene grinned to demonstrate his own not flat, not grass-eating teeth. “You are not designed to tear into each other’s flesh, yet clearly your stories are thick with such tales.” He settled to his side, head on his arm, and pulled the blanket over him. "I once believed you were fearless. Now I see that Terran young are exposed to fear at an early age to desensitize you."
"If you get frightened, I'm right over here. I'll keep the witches and man-eating giants away." She switched off the lamp, and before she could think better of it, she placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Good night, sugar plum."
"It is not funny. You casually threaten to eat me. You refer to your son as honey bunny. I know that rabbits are consumed on your planet," he grumbled.
"It's weird, but it's folklore. No one eats their kids." Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Anymore."
***
"But why hasn't he asked about the tattoo?" Rosemary curled up on the sofa, leaning against a pillow on the armrest.
"For a super genius, he's not really bright," Hazel said, voice coming out of the speaker next to the sofa. "She should just tell him. Rip that bandage off and get it over."
Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2) Page 15
