Apparently, fruit puree was not an acceptable substitute.
"Laundry. Dusting. I want to call Hazel. You know, exciting weekend stuff,” she said.
Nothing that could not be delayed.
"Come with us," he repeated.
She pushed back a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "It's like horseback riding? Nothing crazy?"
"Yes. There is a stable not far from here. It will be a pleasant afternoon activity."
"No jumping through rings of fire or over pits of crocodiles?"
"Is Earth so dangerous that you must ask these things?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, but the rings of fire are for advanced riders. Michael and I are beginners, so go easy, alright?"
Rosemary
She wanted to be more spontaneous. Honestly. Being a single parent meant she only had herself to rely on to get stuff done. She had all the responsibility. She had to be the one to get up every day and go to work, pay the bills, put food on the table and do the dishes, clean laundry and keep the house in some reasonable order. She had to be the one to keep her child healthy, make sure he got all the vitamins and vegetables he needed, stayed fit, didn't spend all his time playing video games, did his homework and brushed his teeth. No one else did all that. She had to be reliable and dependable. Spontaneous just didn't fit into her schedule.
But she wasn't a single parent anymore, technically. Mene poured attention into Michael's eager hands. For the first time, she didn't have to hound Michael to go into the backyard and kick the ball around. He was already there with Mene. He ate all his vegetables now, to grow up big and strong, and didn't complain about washing his hands or brushing his teeth before bed. Mene had it handled.
It was nice. Better than nice. She had a partner who helped, which meant the laundry was only a small pile, not a mountain, and she could afford to be spontaneous and have a bit of fun.
Fylle, it turned out, were giant ants. Well, large segmented animals with six legs, antennae and a bulbous butt that looked like an ant. If ants were six feet tall and pink. They had an ax-shaped head with large, multi-faceted eyes. No mandibles, thank the stars.
"That's your common domestic animal?"
"They are very gentle." Mene held out a hand for the fylle to sniff, its multifaceted eyes oddly black and empty-looking.
Rosemary shivered.
Mene saddled the creatures with a saddle over the mid-segment. He helped Michael into the seat and gave a quick rundown of commands. Satisfied that Michael could go and stop at will, he mounted the other fylle. He leaned down and extended a hand.
"Where's mine?"
"We ride together."
Rosemary narrowed her eyes. "You didn't mention we'd have to share. That's false advertising, bub."
Mene shifted in the saddle, back straight and radiating confidence. "I can safely oversee one novice rider. I cannot risk having my attention split between two."
"Then let Michael ride with you."
A grin split across his face, dangerous and just a little seductive. "He needs to develop his skill and will not do so if he is riding on my fylle."
The way he said that, riding on his— The wires in her brain short-circuited with a rush of heat. "Um, okay. Let's go for a ride."
Sugar. Did she say that and did he wink?
Double sugar.
With one of her feet in a stirrup, Mene pulled her up and over. He sat her down right in front of himself, snug and secure. He formed a solid wall behind her and wrapped one hand around her waist. The other lazily held the reins. She wiggled in place, trying to ignore the dig of something very hard into her backside. "Are you comfortable?" he asked.
"You're poking me," she whispered.
"Then stop wiggling about."
She refused to blush. His hard-on was not her fault. It wasn't like she was completely unaffected, either. "Then maybe we should get another horse."
"No, I am content." He cued the horse into an easy walk. Michael followed.
"Is he going to be fine?" she asked, eyeing the many-legged fylle.
"That one is gentle and older. Very patient with beginners."
"And this one?"
A laugh rumbled in him. "I suggest you hold on, my prefed."
Fantastic. Now Mene developed a sense of humor.
They rode an easy path down to the river. Birds sang an unfamiliar melody of spring. The breeze held a slight chill, but Mene's solid warmth kept her comfortable. She tried not to think about his thick legs on either side of her or the easy familiarity of his hand resting on her waist. Tension positively crackled between them. The sway of the fylle brought other rhythms to mind.
"I researched horseradish," he said, voice low and meant only for her. His breath puffed against the sensitive shell of her ear. "What part of the horse is it harvested from?" He shifted in the saddle, and there was no mistaking the solid lump pressing into her.
Sugar. She wasn't the only one thinking of other rhythms.
"It's, um, a root vegetable. Not actually from an animal."
"Are you certain? I read that it was potent." He ground against her.
"Are you teasing me?"
"Tempting you," he said with a chuckle.
He was. Stars help her, he really was.
"I find myself fascinated by all things Terran lately," he continued.
She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. She should ignore him. It was hard... Fudge. Bad choice of words. It was difficult to ignore him when he pressed against her and whispered in her ear with that sexy voice, but they agreed to keep it simple.
Correction. She said no sex. He agreed to wait, but he didn't say how long.
"I guess you're done waiting," she replied, keeping her voice quiet. Michael rode ahead, exclaiming and pointing at everything, oblivious to the adults.
"A hunter is patient."
"Yeah, bringing up horseradishes is super subtle, hunter. I totally didn't see that snare you left there."
"No, that was the crass overture to distract you from noticing that only a few layers of fabric separated our bodies." His hand snaked under her shirt and his warm palm pressed against the bare skin on her stomach.
Damn.
Um, dang. She totally meant dang.
"You are sneaky when you want to be, Meanie."
He hummed a response, tightening his grip on her waist and pulling her firm against him. She didn't mind at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosemary
Mene set the book down on the nightstand. "I have reached a conclusion."
"Is this something I wanna know?" Rosemary worked the lotion into her arms and shoulders. Fresh out of the shower, her damp hair hung down her back.
"I will read these stories to our future sons."
"Don't go bouncing babies on your knee yet, sugar plum. We aren't exactly making babies over here." She regretted those words immediately because they implied she was ready for some baby-making. They had shared a bed for a week without as much as brushing hands. Now she was acutely aware of sitting on the bed in nothing more than a tank top—his, which was enormous on her—and sleep shorts.
With a heated look, Mene took the lotion from her. He brushed her damp hair to one side and warmed the lotion in his hands before applying it to her neck and shoulders. He placed a light kiss on the nape of her neck. She shivered at the touch. "I admire the warrior ethos of the Terran folklore. You battle giants and monsters, bring justice to the wicked, and reward those with honor."
"Those are just old tales."
"No." He pushed up the hem of the tank top and applied lotion to between her shoulder blades. "You fill your children with tales of valor and good triumphing over evil and send them off to sleep with such thoughts. And the heroes do not win by strength alone. They must be clever and turn their opponents’ strengths against them."
"That's what you got out of that? Maybe some stories but a lot are about being obedient and following the rules." He worked his thumbs into the tau
t muscles at her neck and shoulder, and she nearly melted into a puddle right then and there. The warmth of his hands eased tension she hadn't realized she carried.
"Fed on such tales, our sons will be formidable warriors," he said.
"Hmm. That's nice," she said absently. His voice had such a deep, pleasing quality; it could lull her to sleep. He continued to murmur, but she stopped paying attention, focused on how the heat of his hands made her spine dissolve.
Cold metal against her skin jarred her into alertness.
"What's this?" Her hands went to the necklace and pendant now around her neck.
"A gift. It’s tradition,” Mene said.
“You’ve been saying that a lot, recently.” And using it to justify everything. She took the necklace off to better inspect it. A delicate gold chain held a simple pendant that caught the light, and the blue stone glowed with an internal fire. “It’s lovely. Gorgeous, really. Nicer than anything I’ve ever owned, but I can’t accept this.”
She held out the pendant, urging him to take it back. Their screwed-up relationship was not at the jewelry-giving stage.
His large hand curled around hers and closed her palm. “It is for you.”
“I can’t.”
She could see the moment his emotions shut down. The light in his eyes dimmed, and the perpetual frown at his mouth was real, not just a side effect of scarring.
He stroked the curve of her cheek before taking the pendant and putting it back around her neck.
"Traditions are curious things," he said. "My son will not look like me. He will be Terran in appearance."
"But he'll be Mahdfel," she said. She knew that bit of trivia. Outward, their hypothetical kid would be human-looking but under-the-hood, so to speak, would be a genetically engineered super soldier.
"It is only random chance I look like my father, but he does not look like his father. I am born to serve this planet, but I am not of it. The Mahdfel remain separate, always, despite our generations." She found herself nodding as he spoke. "Our name is not our own. We were taken from our home planet long out of memory, and our names stripped away. We were changed into tools, into thralls, for the Suhlik and in many ways, we remain their thralls." He paused, fingers stroking her bite mark. "We are born to fight. Even in our liberation, we fight the Suhlik. They define our existence."
She never thought of it that way. He had as little choice in his fate as she did. Less. Rosemary chose to marry Mene and remain on Sangrin. Mene would always be a Mahdfel.
"These traditions are all we have to connect the generations." He placed a gentle kiss on the claiming mark. "What do I give our son except a legacy of blood and slavery?"
She climbed to her knees on the bed and turned to face him. "Thank you for explaining that to me. It's beautiful. I'm touched."
He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. "A male presents the pendant to his mate when she has given him a child."
She almost protested that she hadn't given him a child, but said, "Michael."
"Other males in the clan may present you with a bead or charm to be strung on the chain. It is for luck."
"Mine or theirs?"
"Both. We are greedy creatures, after all." His eyes flashed as he spoke. "It pleases me to see you wear my token."
She stroked the pendant, admiring it in the light. "Thank you."
"Which is why I am sorry to leave you."
Mene
"You are going to leave me?" Rosemary jumped from the bed. She grabbed the nearest item, a hairbrush, and clutched it like a weapon. "All that talk about tradition and being your true mate, and you're leaving!" She threw the brush, which he dodged easily. "I don't know why I thought you were different, but I guess all men are the same. And I liked you. Michael fudging worships the ground you walk on. How could you do that to him?" She threw her pillow, missing him a wide margin. "So why are you leaving, huh? Upset I won't put out? Well now I'm glad I didn't, you... you... you giant purple devil!"
"Are you well?"
"Are you being serious right now? Do I sound like I'm well?"
"You sound distressed."
"Because I'm fudging distressed! What do you mean you're leaving me?"
"On a mission, female! I'm leaving on a mission."
"Oh." The fight left her body, and she slumped to the bed. "Why'd you have to be so dang dramatic about it? And why'd you let me act like a fool?"
"I like the way you bounce when you're upset," he said truthfully.
She raised an eyebrow.
He gestured with his hands to demonstrate the bouncing.
"Lorran's right. You shouldn't talk so much," she said, voice flat.
"Speaking is doing me no favors this evening."
She rolled her eyes and gave a tired laugh as she fell backward onto the bed. "You were doing pretty good until you put your foot in it."
"My foot—"
"It's an idiom. Just roll with it." She flipped to her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. Her feet kicked lazily in the air as she studied him. "I got pretty upset at the idea of you leaving, huh?"
"I registered the distress in your manner."
"Hmm. I guess that means I like my alien husband."
"Your alien husband likes you." He prowled across the mattress until they were nose to nose. With a growl, he took her lips and made them his own. She responded, opening for him; her tongue tangling with his. He wrapped a hand around the pendant and tugged. She moaned ever so softly. His mate liked that. He filed away the bit of information for later.
"Why are you leaving?" she asked, pulling away. "I thought it was supposed to be our honeymoon."
Desire thrummed in his body. Did his mate want her husband to satisfy her desires tonight? He nipped at her jaw.
"Won't it look suspicious if you leave now?"
Of course. He moved away and sat at the edge of the bed. "I am the Council's Enforcer. I move at their will to deliver their will."
"So the boss told you to go?"
He shrugged a shoulder. He knew his mate did not have a good understanding of his position in his clan or with the Council. Loath to explain it to her, it was necessary at this time. "My mission is time-sensitive. There is an issue with a warlord, and it must be resolved."
"A warlord?" Alarm crept into her voice. "Aren't those the guys in charge?"
"Of a clan, yes."
"And the Council oversees the warlords?"
"Yes and no." He sighed. Explaining the structure of the Mahdfel military and political system was not how he planned to spend his last night with his mate. "A warrior gains rank through his deeds and accomplishments. The warlord chooses his officers best suited for the task. If another warrior feels they are better suited for the position, they can challenge."
"Can that happen to you? Someone can challenge you for your job?"
"In theory. It has never happened." No one wanted to be the Enforcer. It was a lonely position, on the fringe of the Clan and Council, always watching. "If a warrior feels they would make a better warlord, they issue a challenge. The victor is the warlord."
"Something tells me they don't play poker in a challenge."
"It is battle." Often to the death. "The very strong may become warlord, if only for a brief time. The very clever may become warlord and maintain their position for longer. Those who influence the warlord without issuing a challenge must also be monitored."
"The power behind the throne."
"That is the idea, but Mahdfel do not have thrones. A warlord is only the leader of a clan. There is no central figure, yet the clans work together." He meshed his fingers to demonstrate.
"Like a swarm."
He nodded. That was a very good analogy. "If one warlord acts against the interest of the swarm, he endangers the whole. The situation must be resolved."
"By executing him?"
"It must be resolved." Execution only happened rarely. Mene prided himself on finding other solutions.
"And that's what you do? Resolve problems?"
"I enforce the Council's will."
Her eyes drifted to his scars. She had never once flinched at them, but she never understood what they meant. "Those aren't from a Suhlik, are they?"
"No."
"Who?"
"Does it matter?" A fellow Mahdfel scarred him, marking him for all to see. He did not carry on with the Mahdfel's one true purpose. He turned against his brothers and removed the problematic ones, plucking them like diseased fruit from the vine lest they spoil the harvest. "It was necessary."
She crawled across the bed and kneeled before him. She cupped his face in her hands and examined his scars carefully, tracing them with a finger. "Is your mission dangerous?"
"I will always return to you." Breathing or delivered in a box, he would return to his mate.
"Can you tell me?"
He shouldn't. She would worry about what she could not control. However, looking into her green-brown eyes, he knew she would worry if she had no information. "A young warlord was foolish and struck a bargain with the Suhlik."
She hissed in disgust. "That's low.”
"Indeed." Beyond low. The warlord's actions were a complete betrayal of everything they believed in. "The Council hesitates to... resolve this problem, but I have my orders."
The Sangrin, non-Mahdfel members were reluctant to remove a young, charismatic warlord. They were soft and too far removed from the devastation the Suhlik brought to this planet. They tolerated the viper in their midst. Indeed, they clutched the viper to their chest. Because the young warlord was charismatic, that was exactly the reason he had to be removed, to prevent his filthy ideas from spreading and infecting other clans.
Mene took his orders directly from Oran and no one else. The young warlord would be removed by any means necessary. Ideally, Mene could maneuver another warlord to strike the actual blow. "It is a complex situation. I do not know how long I will be gone." Weeks, easily.
Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2) Page 17
