Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2)

by Nancey Cummings

  "But he promised to be there." The hope and yearning in his voice broke her heart. "He said he'd be right there waiting for me at the finish line."

  "I'll be there with a big, proud grin on my face." She planted a kiss on the top of his sweet smelling head. "What shampoo is that? You smell good enough to eat." She wiggled her fingers on his stomach and side.

  "Mo-o-om," he wailed, squirming. "Stop it! I'm too old to tickle."

  He giggled, nonetheless.

  Mene

  For the third time that day, Mene reached for his communicator to send his mate a message. As he dared not speak to her yet, text seemed the better option. He typed her name and his fingers hovered over the screen, unsure how to proceed. Apologize? He may have spoken in anger, but she kept much from him. His mate did not trust him, and that pained him.

  No, he corrected himself. He failed to instill trust in his mate. She did not know she could rely on him to help ease the burden of her worries. That was his failing, and that upset him the most, more than Rosemary's secrets.

  He should explain himself, but everything inside of him was too complicated to condense down to a text message. For the first time, he had someone who needed him. Not his muscle or his skills. Him.

  His mate warned him that it would be complicated. He did not believe her. Again, he failed.

  Every day that he delayed contacting his mate, the harder it would be to return and apologize. At this point, he needed to complete his mission and lay the spoils at his mate's feet. Maybe then she would forgive his stubborn ass. His grumpy purple tuchus, as she said.

  That night, he left with only a vague plan. He returned to his quarters at the base and grabbed the necessary supplies. He understood the situation and the problem that needed to be resolved. The mission required much travel but would otherwise be easily completed, if he had the patience to let his target wander into his trap.

  Finding Vince was surprisingly easy, considering he had only a first name and a face to go on. He had stalked his prey with less. Mene traced the communications Vince sent to an account, giving him specific details of the male and a location.

  Mene studied the male's routine. Nothing about the male impressed him. He drank, credits flowed through his fingers like water, and yet he did little to earn those credits. He terrorized the many females in his life. Mene could see clearly that Rosemary was but one of many targets that Vince shook down for credits.

  He did not know what his Rosemary had seen in this male. His physique was not particularly impressive. Perhaps in his youth, before alcohol and a lack of exercise caught up with him, he had been attractive. Mene was pleased to see that Michael took after his mother and shared little resemblance with the male who helped to create him.

  As the male kept a regular routine, Mene had little difficulty arranging events to get the male alone. Mene was not on Earth on Council business or even business for his clan. His mission was personal. He disabled the male's vehicle while it was parked in a dark and lonely location. Honestly, it was as if Vince wanted to be cornered by Mene. Invited him.

  The hour grew late. The shops and bars closed.

  Now Mene waited for the male to drunkenly stumble to his vehicle. He had made many mistakes with his mate, but he could rectify one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rosemary

  Bad days should look like bad days. Rain needed to piss down. A miserable chill and malignant fog needed to settle over the landscape, obfuscating joy and hope. That's when bad news should arrive on your doorstep, hat in hand, and completely expected.

  Sunny bright days with fluffy white clouds just made it so much worse when the bad things happened.

  Michael bounced from foot to foot in a poor imitation of stretching.

  "You're doing it wrong." Reven demonstrated the proper technique with a serious expression on his face. A head taller than Michael, the Mahdfel boy was skinny as a pole. His horns, still developing, grew out of a mop of unruly dark curls. "This is how you focus your energy."

  Michael imitated Reven's movements.

  Despite the brightness, the air held a sharp bite of spring chill. "It rained yesterday," Rosemary said.

  "I know, Mom. The river will be swollen and swift. Stay away." They had studied the notes Mene left, pouring over the absent man's advice and notes about the terrain. "And it'll be muddy."

  "My father says that we might believe we can save time by cutting across a field, but the mud will slow us down," Reven said.

  "Mene said the same." Michael stretched with his hands over his head, but he scanned the crowd, searching for Mene. He tried to be casual about it, but Rosemary noticed how his head constantly swiveled, seeking him. "You'll tell Mene I'm wearing red when he gets here, so he can see me."

  "Sure, honey," Rosemary said, reluctant to break her little boy's heart. He was so darn hopeful. He was that kid in every Christmas movie ever who expected a miracle because he believed so darn hard. She dreaded his disappointment at the end of the race, when the one face he searched for would be missing.

  "When I finish, I'm getting a tattoo," Reven said. "It'll go here." He touched his shoulder.

  "I'm getting a hula girl here, and I'll make her dance." Michael flexed a bicep.

  "I don't think so, mister."

  "Mene said I could."

  "I doubt it." Mene very well might have, unaware that Michael had already mastered the art of playing two parents off each other. It hurt in her gut to think of Mene like that. He was a parent to Michael, for better or worse. Too bad they hadn't heard from him in over two weeks. "You're too little."

  "I'm not a baby."

  "I can see that," Rosemary said, ruffling her son's dark blond hair. "But it'll stretch all out of shape if you get it now."

  "So I can get it later?" His eyes gleamed, overjoyed to have caught his mother in a loophole.

  A whistled sounded. The race, the anwynhil, would start soon.

  "Stay together," Rosemary said, giving each boy an embrace before they dashed away. Reven ran to his parents—a Sangrin woman and a large, shaggy white-furred male—before both he and Michael headed to the starting area, already thick with students.

  She watched her baby boy disappear into the crowd of students. He wasn't the only human competing in the race that day, but that did not calm her worry. So much could go wrong. The bridge could be slick with spray from the river, and he could fall in. He could hit his head and drown. A giant mud crab could grab him and pull him under. He could be bitten by a freaky insect and have an allergic reaction before a medic could arrive.

  So much could go wrong, and all she could do was sit and try to resist chewing her nails down to the quick.

  Michael wasn't afraid, though. Excitement poured off of him. He had a friend to keep the pace with him, so if the worst happened, someone could go for help.

  Monitors flickered to life, displaying scenes from the course. Parents milled around the finish area, already in a celebratory mood. No one seemed overly concerned or worried.

  Perhaps she did baby Michael. Why shouldn't she? He was her baby boy, her honey bunny. Still, he was growing up. Nearly eight, he'd be a teenager before she knew it. Then what? He needed to be independent and have enough life skills to be an adult. Worrying about him and trying to prevent every bump and bruise wasn't doing him any favors.

  He was going to be hurt when the race finished. He'd search the crowd and find the person wanted, missing. When those unrealistically high expectations came crashing down, he'd learn that adults broke promises.

  She hated Mene for making a promise he couldn't keep.

  She hated herself, too, for putting Michael in this situation.

  She wrapped the wool sweater tighter around herself and worried. So sue her. She'd always worry about her baby boy. He could be a grown man with a family of his own, and she'd still worry. More, probably.

  Michael made decent time. He stayed with Reven and pack of boys their own age. They lagged far behind the more
advanced students, but they made respectable progress with only a few setbacks. The path marked on the map took them across a field of grazing animals. Michael and Reven skirted around, staying to the tree line and avoiding both startled animals and huge puddles of mud. The thick bramble underbrush in the trees slowed them down, however, but they didn't fall far behind the rest of the pack.

  As he crossed checkpoint after checkpoint, Rosemary's chest swelled with pride. That was her boy.

  The students began to return, sweaty and covered in mud. Parents and faculty greeted them with drinks and towels. One by one, as new boys arrived, the crowd thinned, heading back to the school. Eventually, the younger students made their appearance, covered from head to feet in mud and grinning madly.

  Reven staggered to his parents. "Did you see? It was fantastic!" Rosemary scanned the returning students with anticipation. Michael would be back any second. However, none of the filth-covered boys was hers.

  "Where's Michael?" she asked, interrupting Reven's dramatic retelling of his adventure.

  "Oh, he fell."

  "Where? How far back?" Her heart pounded. Instinct told her to start running now, shouting his name, and rescue her baby. The afternoon grew late and the light would be gone too soon.

  "He found his dad. They're back there." Reven pointed toward the finish line, completely unconcerned for his friend.

  Puzzled, Rosemary wrapped the sweater around herself tighter and headed toward the finish line to wait.

  And wait.

  The crowd thinned. Students headed toward bleachers. Continuing to wait was a fool's bet. She needed to find a staff member. Her son was still out, possibly injured and possibly with a mystery man. If it had been Mene, Reven would have said, she reasoned, so it had to be a stranger. Vince wouldn't be able to get off-planet, and even if he did, he did not have the skill or patience to orchestrate a kidnapping right under her nose. He might hire someone, though. His family had the money.

  Sugar pops, he might do just that. The logistics would be a nightmare, to take a child right under the nose of a hundred Mahdfel warriors—

  No. She needed to calm down. Michael had a tracker on his uniform. He wasn't lost.

  Rosemary found Nals. Not her favorite person, but he would do. "I need your help," she said.

  "Ready to throw off that mate of yours, I see." He grinned, confident and completely full of himself.

  Rosemary didn't have time for his nonsense. "Michael isn't back yet."

  Nals looked toward the sun and scratched at the base of his horn. "There is time. Several youths have yet to return. Do not be concerned."

  "He fell. Reven said he fell." Her voice wobbled. Dang it. She needed to keep it together. Now was not the time to break down with worry. Later. Once Michael was safely home and tucked into bed, she'd collapse into a ball of anxiety.

  Nals nodded and brought out a tablet, which projected a holographic map of the area. A red dot pulsed and moved at a steady pace. "He is moving, so he must not be badly injured. He will be at the finish line in approximately three minutes. Wait for him there and bring him to the medical tent if he requires medical attention."

  Rosemary endured the longest three minutes of her life. Worst-case scenarios kept playing in her mind. Drawn by the scent of human blood, wild animals descended on Michael and dragged him off. If the male Reven mentioned had malicious intent, he could be taking Michael off-planet now—

  No. Nals showed her the map. The tracker clearly indicated that Michael moved toward the finish line. Whatever was going on out there, he was moving in the right direction. She just wished her heart agreed with what she understood logically.

  A figure crested the hill, familiar, and Michael rode his shoulders. The lower half of Mene's tunic was missing, as if ripped off.

  "Michael?" she called, rushing to the finish line.

  "Mom! Did you see me fall?" He was covered in a thick layer of mud and gunk. A scrap of torn fabric made a crude bandage around his right arm, caked in dried blood and mud. He didn't act as if it pained him. A fair amount of mud covered Mene's midsection, exactly where one might be hugged by a particularly filthy seven-year-old.

  "It happened. My Golau wish came true," Michael said excitedly. She stood in front of her boys, arms crossed. Mene had an appropriately chagrin expression, but Michael beamed. "I got my dad."

  "That's what you wished for?" she asked.

  "More than anything, but I also want a brother. Or a puppy."

  The blood drained from Rosemary. “One thing at a time. What happened to your arm?”

  He held up his elbow, displaying a bloody gash with pride. "I fell on a rock."

  "Oh, honey. You need to get that cleaned."

  "It doesn't hurt. Do you think it'll leave a scar?"

  She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the first aid tent. She motioned for Mene to follow. "We're family. This is part of it. Come on."

  The staff medic set Michael on a stool and proceeded to clean the gash. It was long and shallow, requiring no treatment other than keeping it clean.

  While the medic worked, Mene pulled Rosemary to the side. "It is too cold for your attire."

  Rosemary smiled at his familiar complaint. "You're lucky I don't hold a grudge."

  Mene stood before her, in a rumpled, well-traveled uniform. His hair had grown enough to be disheveled. He had circles under his eyes and looked about five minutes away from total exhaustion.

  "You look terrible," she said with a gasp.

  "And you remain a delight," he said, a grin breaking over his face. White fang flashed over his lilac complexion. Just like that, her chest ached with the sensation that her heart just wasn't big enough for all the emotions she needed to feel that instant.

  She rubbed her chest to soothe the ache.

  "What is it? What pains you?"

  She couldn't say. She was so happy she hurt. Rather than explain, a laugh slipped out and her eyes watered. The emotion was too much to bear. Aware of all the eyes on her, her laughter gained a hysterical edge.

  Mene drew away from the crowd until they had a bit of privacy.

  He sat on the muddy ground and put her on his lap. "You'll get your pants soaking wet," she protested.

  "I do not care. Explain your tears. Tell me how to fix them."

  She buried her face into his chest, breathing him in. Even tired and clearly travel-worn, he smelled good and clean. His arms surrounded her, wrapping her in his warmth. Her anger had vanished by the morning after their fight. She’d never been able to hold onto a grudge, even a justified grudge. She was ready to forgive him and move on but just not yet. "I was so mad at you."

  "I was a cranc's bottom," he admitted.

  "We're a family, Mene, for better or worse," she said. "You can't just take off like that."

  "I was a cranc's bottom, but I did have a mission."

  "No word? We didn't know if you were alive or dead. Or coming back."

  He nodded. "Reach into my pocket."

  "Mene, if you're trying to make a joke, you know I love you, but you're not very good at jokes."

  A grin broke across his face, transforming him. For a moment, Rosemary caught a glimpse of how he appeared before he sacrificed his body for his duty. "You love me."

  "Obviously," she said. "That's why we're going to move forward. We can't take back the words we said, but we can move on."

  "Because you love me."

  "Mene."

  "That is acceptable." He nodded at his words. "Because I love you, too, my little prefed. I chose you. Now, my pocket. I have a surprise."

  Rosemary bit her lip to keep from making a joke about surprises in his pockets. She reached inside his tunic to the inner pocket and pulled up a sheaf of folded papers. It was printed in English. "What is this?"

  "Read. It is my gift to you."

  She smoothed the pages, but she couldn't believe it. She read the first page several times. "But…"

  "Yes."

  "How did you?" />
  "Persuasion." Another feral grin.

  "You didn't hurt him?"

  "Nothing lasting. The issue is resolved."

  She read the papers one more time. Vince signed away his parental rights to Michael, fully and completely. No more custody claims. No more threats. No more blackmail.

  She could go back home.

  She stumbled over the idea. Earth wasn't home anymore. Sometime over the last few months, Sangrin became her home. Mene became home. He fixed her problem, because that's what he did. Now there was nothing to keep her on Sangrin. Right?

  "Do you want me to leave?"

  "No," he placed a kiss on her forehead. "I want you to stay, but I want it to be your choice."

  "So I can go?"

  "If you must." His eyes gleamed as he spoke. He wanted her to stay. That was obvious.

  "But you want me to stay?"

  "I chose you, Rosemary Rovelli. Then. Now. Every time. I want you to stay because you make my days better. You give me purpose. You believe I am a good man."

  "You are." He was. He really was.

  "And I want to be that good man for you, but I am a selfish male. I want you, and I will only accept you without coercion or bargains or pretense. I want you to be mine forever."

  "Forever?"

  "Forever. For better or worse."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rosemary

  "You want to see my scar?" Michael pushed up his sleeve and proudly displayed his wound. A long and shallow gash trailed down his elbow to his forearm. Covered in a green, antiseptic gel, the cut was protected against germs. Applied wet, the gel dried to form a tight seal over the wound. It would flake off as the skin healed.

  The gash, however, was not what caught her attention.

  "What is that?" Rosemary grabbed Michael's arm and twisted to get a better look in the light.

  Crude Sangrin letters had been drawn onto his arm. Specifically, the part of his upper arm covered by his shirtsleeves. It looked like a word, but her translator chip didn't recognize it.