Defying the General (Primarian Mates Book 4)

by Maddie Taylor

  One of the two suns had peeked over the horizon when she arrived at what would one day be the first city hall on Terra Nova. As she stood on the concrete front steps, she tried to calculate the time it would take her to paint every floor and ceiling of its overall 250,000 square footage. A month, a year, a decade...her boss might not like the last one, but she had nothing but time. Without plans for a future, her only focus was getting through another sad, lonely day. With another sigh to accompany her dismal thoughts, she started up the steps to get to work.

  THREE DAYS BY SPACE flight away in Primaria...

  Setting his hand on the control screen, Trask waited for his identity to be confirmed and the particle barrier to dissipate allowing access to his residence before stalking inside. A few feet inside, he came to a stop, the wave of emptiness and silence hitting him like a smack in the face. Coming home after an extended mission usually filled him with a sense of peace, but this time it was different. The heavy sadness and underlying anger stayed with him, which no matter where he was or what he was doing, lingered like a pervasive bitterness in his soul. Here, in a place that had always been a haven of comfort, he’d hoped to escape the pain and resentment. Standing in the entryway, in a stream of light shining in from the third-floor skylight, memories assaulted him.

  They were of Lana, of course. He could see her skipping down the stairs, her smile of greeting more brilliant than the twin Primarian suns, her soft, slightly husky voice calling his name, and feel the touch of her hand which fell lightly on his chest as she leaned in. She needed him for balance as she rose on tiptoe, and angled her face up to his, lips parted slightly in anticipation of his kiss. Standing in this very spot reminded him of how the light made her fair hair glimmer as if made from pure gold. It also triggered a memory of her kneeling at his feet while she took him in her mouth and gave him incredible pleasure.

  “Faex!” he roared into his empty house.

  He’d deliberately stayed away hoping to avoid the pain he felt right now. But more than a year had passed, and the same raw turmoil roiled in his gut as if she’d left him yesterday.

  When he felt like this, he needed a physical outlet. It was either that or explode. He’d left a trail of shattered glass and vid screens in his wake, and fist-sized holes in walls. Realizing it was unseemly to continue in this vein, not to mention expensive, he’d turned to sparring. But after breaking one warrior's nose, and dislocating another’s shoulder, his choice of partners had nearly dried up. Ram and Lothar were the only two who dared enter the ring with him anymore. Despite his volatile state, Ram could still best him, but sparring with him wasn’t nearly as gratifying since his friend had resolved the discord with his mate, and after the birth of his child. For some reason, he found it unsatisfactory to punch a smiling man in the face. Lothar, his second-in-command, was usually on assignment elsewhere and the opportunity didn’t arise very often.

  It was time he got a grip on his emotions, especially since loneliness seemed to be his new fate. He’d have to learn how to deal with it without destroying property and maiming his men. With a long-drawn-out sigh, Trask waved at the interior panel. A hum and a crackle told him the barrier had activated without having to check. Good thing. He pitied the uninvited visitor who invaded his privacy in his current mood.

  “Trask.” The soft feminine voice had his head snapping toward the stairs. A beautiful woman, tall and slender, with long midnight hair glinting blue in the sunbeams shining down through the skylights. At another time, Adria’s enthusiastic greeting would have pleased him. But as he watched her hurry toward him, watering can in hand, she wasn’t the woman he longed to find when he came home. He yearned for his mate, not his sister.

  “Brother, it has been far too long,” she cried as she wrapped him in an effusive hug.

  Automatically, his arms encircled her, and he held her close, taking small comfort in her warm welcome at least.

  She broke away, asking expectantly, “Where is Lana?” She looked at the door; then her gaze darted around. “Has she gone to the kitchen? I’ve missed her surprisingly good human food.” As if certain she’d find her there, she twisted and started down the main hall to the back of the house.

  He’d been gone all this time, but surely, she knew. Trask caught her arm and stopped her. “Adria, what is this? You know she isn’t here.”

  She spun back so quickly her waist-length hair swirled around her body. “Not here? Is she visiting one of her friends? Of course, you’ve been away for so long.”

  He looked at her, dumbfounded. “Little star, surely you understand she isn’t on Primaria, and doesn’t plan to be.”

  “What do you mean she isn’t here?” Her brows slammed together. “You can’t just leave your mate wherever you please.”

  His emotions already on edge, he needed to end this. “I didn’t leave her. She left me.”

  “I know she did. But you went after her, Trask.” Her voice steadily rose until she was practically shouting. “You were supposed to bring her home!”

  “It’s not like I didn’t try, Adri,” he muttered with impatience while stalking past her.

  Her footfalls sounded softly in the hall as she scurried after him.

  “I can’t deal with this now.” Crossing to the counter, he opened the chiller, his eyes searching for... Yes! Maker be praised, he hadn’t drunk the last of it. He snagged the tall neck of a green bottle and slammed the door with a less than satisfying rattle. Next, he waved his hand over the implement cache. Once the recessed drawer popped out, he searched through the jumble for an opener.

  “What are you looking for?” Adria asked.

  “Something to open this damn bottle so I can have a drink.” Not finding what he was looking for, he grabbed a knife, prepared to gouge out the stopper. Before he took the first stab, Adria’s slender fingers on his wrist halted him.

  “Sit. I’ll do this while you tell me what happened.”

  He readily relinquished both, stormed across the room, and flopped down into his chair at the head of the table—now, a table for one. Immediately he was assailed with memories of Lana sharing a meal with him, and afterward, perched on his lap, her soft, curves snuggled against him, practically purring in contentment, while she spoon-fed him bites of dessert. A custard-like confection in a cookie crust with a syrupy fruit topping of sweet berries. She'd claimed the cheesecake was her favorite “to die for” recipe from Earth. At the time, he had agreed, especially while sharing sticky sweet kisses with her between bites. What had once been a fond recollection now sat like bitter gall on his tongue.

  He leaned forward, fingers stabbing into his hair, elbows on his knees as for the millionth time, he tried to figure out what went wrong.

  His sister’s touch on his shoulder didn’t stir him so she eased one of his hands away and touched a glass filled with vilo to his palm. He tossed it back, all of it, in one long chug.

  She sank to her knees beside his chair and gazed up at him with worried eyes. “You are in torment, Trask. Tell me what happened.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “I know you followed her to Earth. Then, there was some business about a kidnapping attempt by the Denastrians, but you saved Ram’s mate and child, along with Lana.”

  “Yes, but I was unable to convince her to return with me afterward.”

  “A heroic rescue didn’t change her mind?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Her nails dug into his knee as she asked, sounding as perplexed as him, “Why would she do this? She loved you. I know she did.”

  Trask leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the pain building behind his forehead. “She claimed she was trying to make the best of a bad situation.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Which was me, evidently. When given a chance to be rid of me, and go home, she took it.”

  Adria sat back on her heels while shaking her head. “Something is wrong. I spent time with her. She was kind, sweet-natured, and I thought, hopelessly in love with you. Her
eyes sparkled with tears. “This makes no sense. Her eyes were like yours. She transformed. You were bonded mates!”

  “That didn’t last, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They changed back. The only outward sign she had once been mine, faded along with her supposed love for me.”

  Her jaw dropped open and several moments passed before she whispered, “I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

  “Neither did I.”

  They lapsed into a troubled silence.

  “So, you’ve given up,” Adri stated at length. “That isn’t like you. My brother is strong, decisive, the Supreme General of the Primarian Army never backs down from a fight. Talk some sense into her, spank it into her if you must.”

  His eyes cut to hers. “There is something else.”

  “What more can there be?”

  “Her illness. She believes I was the cause, sickening when I was around her and rallying when I was not. She claimed the week I was gone retrieving the escaped humans she got better.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth in shock.

  “Yes, I felt the same way. You were here with her, is it true?”

  Tears welled in his sister’s eyes, which was answer enough.

  “You saw how the illness affected her. She lost weight, grew terribly pale, she couldn’t keep anything on her stomach when I was around—and her headaches were debilitating.” And he’d been helpless to do anything to help her. “It was as though she was slipping from my grasp even then.”

  “It sounds like separation sickness.”

  “When we are together?” he countered.

  Her brows gathered again. “Take her to Jarlan. He can find a solution, surely.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve looked at this from every angle? But the foremost obstacle remains; she doesn’t want to be with me. Perhaps that is the reason she becomes ill when she is.” Using words very much like Lana's, something that had haunted him for months, he murmured aloud, “How can we, or anyone, build a future on such a foundation?”

  “I was so happy when you found her.” Adria’s sorrow shone through her tears. This explained her earlier reaction—the denial—and the budding anxiety in her eyes, and, and yes, disappointment. She said she’d missed Lana; his sister had come to care about her, too.

  As his only sibling, and having had a hand in raising her, he and Adria were close. She had their father's eyes, as he did. The only thing either of them inherited from their mother was the dimple in their right cheek, and his was most often concealed by his beard. When he looked at Adria now, seeing his beloved father in her, and his mother when she smiled, he was reminded of how much he had lost in his thirty-four years. And he wondered, after losing his parents, several uncles, and most of all Lana, why he should risk getting attached ever again. It hurt too damn much.

  “Little star, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be attending to your studies instead of seeing to me?”

  “I’ll always want to see to you, Trask. With you gone so long, I missed you. Being here helped. I have stopped by every week while you’ve been away to see to Lana’s plants.” Together, they looked at the fuchsia leafed four-foot-high dwarf tree in the pot in the corner. “I suppose I shouldn’t have bothered; they will be a painful reminder.”

  “Or a warning, not to lose my heart again.”

  “Oh, Trask, no. Your true mate, who obviously wasn't a heartless fair-haired shrew from beyond this galaxy, is still out there somewhere.”

  With a sad smile he was quick to point out her change of heart. “I thought you said she was kind and sweet-natured.”

  She snorted. “Apparently, I am an atrocious judge of character.”

  He put his hand to her cheek. “Apparently, it runs in the family. Nonetheless, after Lana, and the agony of losing her, I don’t want another. True mate or not. I have a job to do, which fulfills me and occupies a great amount of time. I'll leave repopulating Primaria to warriors with better luck than I.”

  She rose to her feet, took his empty glass, crossed to the chiller, and refilled it. She took a healthy gulp for herself and topped it off again, before bringing it back to him.

  “There’s more in the cellar. I’ll go bring up a few bottles to chill.”

  “What would I do without you, little star?”

  “Stay sober and ruminate over the heartless bitch? Not if I have any say in the matter.”

  As she stormed away in a huff, he chuckled at his fiercely protective sister. Then realized it was the first time in months he’d laughed or cracked a smile. It faded, as he raised his glass and drained it. Drowning his sorrows in vilo didn’t help, only masked the pain, but maybe, he could sleep without Lana invading his dreams for once.

  Chapter Eleven

  TERRA NOVA COLONY, present day...

  From the fourth rung of the ladder, Lana slapped her dripping brush into a corner seam. The splat preceded a wet, gloppy sound as she spread the paint with long up and down strokes. Institutional off-white—what a snooze. If she had a credit for every mind-numbingly dull wall or ceiling she’d painted in the past few months, she’d be a wealthy woman. But she’d still be bored out of her mind.

  “Nearly four hundred years since the invention of drywall,” she muttered under her breath, “and no one has figured out a better way to get paint on walls?”

  “They have, Hartman. It’s called a sprayer. Why aren’t you using the one I brought you?”

  She looked over her shoulder to see her boss, Beckett Kincaid, a jaw-droppingly handsome Texan, all six feet eight inches of him, standing with his massive arms crossed over his broad chest. If not for his ice-blue eyes and the glints of gold in his medium-brown, close-cropped hair, he could easily be mistaken for one of their Primarian hosts.

  “The sprayer makes a mess, and it clogs every five minutes, which takes more time than brushing it on. Besides, I didn’t have enough drop cloths to cover the floor. Whose bright idea was it to lay the tile before I painted, anyway?”

  “I have more installers than painters, which puts them way ahead of you. At the same time, you’re in high demand, kept gainfully employed, and getting a shit-ton of overtime, so quit griping.”

  “Yeah,” she drawled sarcastically. “I can spend it all on a new wardrobe at the mall that just opened or on a spa day.” She raised a hand to scrutinize her nails. “A mani-pedi is long overdue. Oh, wait!” she exclaimed suddenly, bouncing on the ladder rung a tiny little bit for show. “I can get a bikini wax for the cruise I plan to take next week with all the double-time credits you've paid me.”

  “Smart-ass,” he replied part irritated grumble, part chuckle.

  She shot him a half-smile, the most she’d been capable of in longer than she could remember. Then, as the melancholy fell over her again, she went back to her task.

  Beck had the best chance of getting a full smile out of her, and if he tried, perhaps a short laugh. He had a great sense of humor, and despite being her boss, he’d become a friend. They had lunch together from time to time, went to the bar after work at least once a week. Yeah, they didn’t have a mall or a day spa, not even a barbershop to get her hair trimmed which was now past her bra strap, yet, one of the first buildings to go up in this predominantly male world-in-progress was a bar. The Watering Hole was actually called a pub, but the rustic beer and whiskey joint, with its digital jukebox and two pool tables, the only amenities to speak of, wasn't up to such high standards. Not that Lana minded. Clubbing wasn’t her thing, she wasn’t the live-at-the-mall type, and she hadn’t ever had a mani-pedi in her life; all required money. Something, ironically, she had now but had no desire or place to spend it.

  Sadly, her life had become as bland as the boring paint she currently spread on the wall. Other than her occasional outings with Beck, she worked, went back to her standard issue, cookie-cutter apartment, and climbed into bed—alone. Her wardrobe consisted primarily of sneakers, jeans, and T-shirts, and 99.9 percent of the time, she wore c
overalls on top of them. Lana suspected her nonexistent social life was what prompted her boss to invite her to tag along the first time. After declining more than once, he finally insisted. A pitcher of beer, loaded nachos, and two games of pool later, it became a weekly thing.

  The best part of an evening with Beck was that it was laid back with no romantic notions whatsoever on either side. Yeah, he was smoking hot, but as her employer, he was off-limits, which suited her fine. Like her, he’d been through a painful breakup and wasn’t interested in getting entangled in another. They were friends, nothing more. At times, he got on her nerves with his bossy, overprotective brother act, but deep down, she didn’t hate it, never having a brother of her own, or any family to speak of for that matter.

  Coming up on her toes, she strained to reach the uppermost corner of the fifteen-foot-high ceiling, a stretch despite the extension handle on her brush. Once finished, this would be a conference room in the new colony’s city hall. In consideration of their extraordinarily tall Primarian partners in this endeavor, the ceilings were much taller than standard height. She'd passed a warrior the other day who was every bit of eight feet tall. Above average, sure, but the eight-foot ceilings in a typical building would make most Primarian's—even the females—feel hemmed-in.

  “Be careful,” he warned suddenly.

  She’d been lost in thought and forgotten he was there. Glancing over her shoulder, she glared at him. Startling her like that was more dangerous than anything she could have been doing. “Go away, Beck. I’ve painted at least one hundred rooms—”

  “More like fifty,” he cut in sharply. “You should at least be using a scaffold instead of a ladder.”

  She ignored that, adding, “I’m injury free compared to a bunch of your manly construction dudes, and don’t need someone looking over my shoulder. It makes me nervous.”

  Waving him off was a tactical error, however, because rather than the one with the brush, she used the hand holding onto the ladder. Ordinarily, she could multitask, but she was still on her toes and off-balance. Or, it could have been the sudden buzzing in her ears. Either way, the room tilted on end, and she swayed—not good while up on the fourth of six rungs—and tipped backward.