by Celia Kyle
“The bay-bee will be part Morean. You have seen the changes to her skin. Her young has already changed her coloring to match Zyriq’s perfectly,” Pach tried once more and Baila prayed the warrior could get through to the healer. Because the alternative… The alternative could get violent—bloody.
Not something she wanted to experience.
Yet, the healer didn’t back down. “A human trick. She knows her life will be easy as the bonded to the first son of Morea. This cannot happen.”
“It already has, Adhoe. You cannot go against the stars.”
But it was too late. Adhoe wouldn’t listen to reason. He wouldn’t accept that what was done was done. Instead the healer glared at them, his entire form vibrating with the desperate need for violence. He’d fallen too far into the midnight abyss of hate.
Baila’s heart raced, thumping so hard it threatened to burst from her chest. Blood whooshed through her veins, the heavy thud audible in her veins. A cool sweat slipped over her, covering her skin in the frigid moisture. Anger joined her fear, fury over being persecuted after everything she’d suffered since becoming pregnant. Now this male wanted to take away her future? No. She mentally shook her head. She’d worked too hard to make it this far.
A deep growl rolled from Adhoe, the healer glaring at her with a deep hatred that sent a shudder down her spine. It made her ache for Zyriq, for the protection of his arms. But he wasn’t there and the healer took advantage of his absence.
Adhoe leapt at Baila, arms extended and one hand clutching the dangerous hypospray. He bared his teeth, crazed eyes latched onto her while he closed the distance between them. But Pach was there, placing his body between hers and her attacker. He intercepted the crazed Morean before he could reach her and inject her with whatever concoction he’d mixed.
Baila shrieked and crawled away, shoving her bulk further up the bed and away from the struggling males. She curled around her stomach, protecting her precious treasure while remaining frozen in place.
Pach struggled and grunted, fist flying to strike Adhoe’s nose and then gut. He struck the healer, pounding into the male while the healer continued to stare right at her—a single-minded intensity. The males wrestled, Pach still gripping one wrist while he beat Adhoe with the other. Yet it didn’t seem like Adhoe felt a single blow.
“The first son deserves better. I will make sure he does,” Adhoe hissed and she had no doubt that if Pach released him, Baila would be dead.
Pach glanced over his shoulder. “Fetch Zyriq! Comm him!”
Her protector’s bellow pierced the veil of fear surrounding her, delving beyond the layer of panic to urge her into motion. She rolled over to the other side of the medical platform and darted to the wall, slamming her hand on panel after panel.
“Warking’s Blade.” Pound. Poke. Prod. “I need Zyriq. Comm him.” Punch. Slap. “Blade! Zyriq!”
She didn’t care that each word came out as a high-pitched shriek. Or that her voice wobbled due to her rising panic. She only cared about getting her bonded here, now.
A deep groan snatched her attention and she darted a glance to the fighting males. Adhoe twisted and ducked in Pach’s grasp, straining against the younger male’s hold. And those eyes, those rage-filled, hateful eyes, pinned her to the wall. Not for more than the barest second, but it was enough to send a new surging wave of panic through her. Enough to spur her into motion once more. Terror wouldn’t hold her captive. It wouldn’t keep her from trying to save herself.
She abandoned the wall and her hunt for the comm unit, instead searching for anything she could use to aid Pach. Her gaze darted around the space, hunting for… there. She spied a shining bar, buttons and lights lining each end. She didn’t know what the hell it was or what it was used for, but a club was a club.
Baila snatched it, clutching the rod tightly as she skirted the edge of the room, carefully easing behind Adhoe. Taking a deep breath, she raised her impromptu weapon and whacked the healer as hard as she could. A low thud reached her ears while a harsh tremor jolted up her arms, rattling her from inside out. She gritted her teeth against the jarring sensations and waited for the healer to fall into a boneless heap.
Except, he didn’t. She hadn’t hit him hard enough. Or his head was hella hard. Regardless, Adhoe was still on his feet. He turned and snarled, baring his teeth like a rabid dog. He reached for her, his movements a purple blur as he stretched for her weapon.
One he could use on her—on her baby.
Adhoe’s fingertips brushed the cold metal bar and Baila snatched it just out of his reach. She cocked her hand back and this time, tossed the rod across the room. He wasn’t going to use it against her, her baby, or Pach.
With the healer distracted, Pach fought for the upper hand once again, twisting Adhoe’s arm until an audible crack echoed off the walls immediately followed by a bellowing scream. Her protector kicked the side of Adhoe’s knee, the healer crying out once again as he tumbled to the ground.
A new sound joined the healer’s sobs—a familiar whoosh followed by the heavy thud of several sets of booted feet as the room filled with additional Morean males.
And in the middle… Zyriq. It was her turn to cry. Her turn to be overwhelmed with emotion and lose herself in a tsunami of relief. She slumped against a nearby bed, using the hard surface to keep her upright. Every hint of fear-infused tension fled, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
“Baila,” Zyriq rasped her name, moving toward her while the rest of his warriors encircled Pach and Adhoe.
Warm hands grasped her, thick arms surrounded her, and the scent that was purely Zyriq infused her lungs. His presence soothed the residual terror, calming her with a soft murmur and chaste brush of his lips across her temple.
“I am here. I shall never leave you again.” He hugged her tighter, his hard body aligned with hers. Her big bad warrior trembled, a nearly imperceptible shudder. “Never.”
Baila swallowed hard and leaned into him, taking comfort in his firm presence. She—they—were safe in the circle of his arms.
Safe.
“Nooo…” Adhoe wailed and Baila looked to the still struggling healer. Despite the injured knee and broken arm, Adhoe continued. He yanked and pulled against the warriors holding him captive. “First Son! You must see!”
Zyriq pulled away, his movements slow and gentle as he extricated himself. He jerked his head toward her. “Pach, stand with Baila.”
Pach, battered and bruised, immediately moved to her side, his body positioned between her and danger once more.
Zyriq strode to Adhoe, stopping just before the wounded male. “Kneel.”
“First Son—”
“Kneel and take your punishment as a warrior or continue to fight. No matter your choice, your fate is decided.” Zyriq’s fury rolled off of him in tumultuous waves, soaking the air with his unending anger. “I hoped you would be one to accept my bonded—the changes she shall bring, but it is obvious you cannot be trusted. You have injured House Rukzahl through word and deed. You will suffer the consequences now.”
No one moved. No one made a sound. Baila held her breath, leaning around Pach to watch events unfold. Adhoe knelt as Zyriq demanded, his weight on one knee, the other bent at an odd angle. The healer hugged his broken arm to his side and she watched as dark bruises formed on the male’s face.
Adhoe had fought hard to get to her—to hurt her—and now he would endure his punishment.
“You are wrong, First Son.” Still Adhoe argued, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
“A stars blessed bonding—young—is never wrong. You lost sight of that truth, Adhoe.” Zyriq’s tone remained grim and dark. He reached behind him, lifting his shirt and pulling a blade from the sheath resting against his lower back. She spied a brief shine, a flash of light, and then it was out of sight once again. “May the stars welcome you and cleanse your soul.”
Then silence.
No, not silence. A quick inhale. A low whisper of tearing
cloth. A soft grunt. A long wheeze. A quiet thump.
“Pach?” she whispered. “What…”
Zyriq issued more orders, his voice so low she couldn’t hear a word. Then everyone in medical filed out—everyone but Baila and Zyriq. There was nothing left in the room save them and a puddle of blood in the middle of the floor. Adhoe’s blood. Her stomach churned and eyes burned, tears slowly blurring her vision until they overflowed her lashes and slunk down her cheeks.
“He’s dead.” It was a question and yet it wasn’t. She knew Adhoe was gone and wasn’t sure how to feel about his death.
“Yes.” Zyriq faced her, a handful of feet separating them, but it might as well have been mountains.
“You…”
“No.” He shook his head. “Adhoe found what little remained of his honor and ended his own life. I presented him with my blade. He had a choice to flee to the stars by my hand or his own. He acknowledged he was wrong by accepting the task of ending his own life.”
Baila swallowed hard, throat tight. “Oh.”
Zyriq moved closer, his steps hesitant. Almost as if he expected her to bolt and run in fear of him. Fear Zyriq? Him? Never.
“Do not mistake me, Baila. Had he not taken the task upon himself, I would have ended his life for threatening you and our young. Gladly and without reservation.”
There was still empty space between them, a handful of inches seeming like miles, and it was too much for her to bear. She closed what distance remained, not hesitating to reach out for Zyriq. Not hesitating to align their bodies. Not hesitating to wrap her arms around him and silently vow to never let go.
Baila pressed one palm to his chest, resting it over his heart. His pulse thrummed against her hand, the rapid pace holding steady. That was Zyriq—steady, unbending, determined, unwavering in his beliefs, honorable.
And loving.
She stared into his eyes, matching his intense stare, and revealed the words that filled her soul. “I love you.”
Chapter 11
Zyriq was not sure how it happened, but he was now jealous of Pach. The male who reminded him of a young one than a trained warrior was now a rival for Baila’s smiles.
If Zyriq was not so honorable, he would simply toss Pach from the ship and pretend he was unaware of the male’s location. But he was honorable. Damn the stars.
Pach held Baila’s arm as he led her around the observation deck, his grip gentle and pace slow due to his bonded’s large stomach.
And there went another of her smiles directed at Pach. Perhaps Zyriq could simply cut out the male’s tongue. Then he could not speak and make Baila laugh. That seemed an excellent plan.
Zyriq stepped away from the doors, moving deeper into the spacious deck and snaring his bonded’s attention. In that moment, that split-second that he watched Baila’s smile widen and eyes sparkle, he realized he had no reason to be jealous. His bonded might smile at others, but the pure joy on her features was only for him. Her laughter with Pach was a pale comparison to the laughter he heard now.
“Zyriq, did you really run around the palace naked and relieve yourself in the plants because that’s how your ancestors lived?” Baila’s eyes twinkled, happiness etched into every inch of her body. As if the pain of yesterday was a distant memory.
Then his mind processed her words. He turned his attention to Pach and narrowed his eyes, glaring at the young warrior. Perhaps he was not a good companion for Baila after all.
“You are too young to have been alive during my early years. Who spoke of the events to you?” Though Zyriq had a very good idea.
Pach coughed and tugged on the neck of his uniform while he stepped away from Baila. “Uh…”
“Pach?” Zyriq drawled his cousin’s name.
“Your dam considers me her favorite.”
“Pach?” He hardened his voice.
“It would sadden her if you should injure me. Or my brothers.”
“Who?”
Pach shuffled backward, glancing behind him every so often to gauge the distance between him and the exit. “It is truly your sire’s fault. If he employed more steadfast guards then—”
“Pach,” Zyriq snarled and the warrior bolted.
“I believe I am needed on the—” Pach’s last word was cut off by the deck’s doors sliding shut.
Zyriq strode forward, intent on hunting the warrior and beating an answer out of him. Except a small soft hand stroked his arm, fingers playing over his heated skin.
“Leave him alone,” Baila murmured and he heard the smile in her voice before he saw it on her face. He turned to his bonded, reveling in her happiness. This was what he ached to see every day of their lives.
“I only wish to know who carried stories.”
“Uh-huh,” she snorted, lips flashing him a teasing grin. “And I’m sure you were going to ask politely, too.”
Zyriq straightened his uniform. “Of course.”
She eased into his embrace, ducking beneath his arm and snuggling close. “The Morean definition of polite or Earth’s?”
He grunted. He did not like Earth’s definition and yet he knew Baila was not fond of Morea’s version. He remained silent. He could not get into trouble if he did not speak.
She tipped her head back, chin resting on his chest while he stared down at her. So sweet, so beautiful, so his. “I like hearing those stories, though. It makes you…” She frowned and rubbed his thumb between her eyebrows, brushing away the wrinkles. “It makes you real.”
Now Zyriq frowned. “I have never been not real.”
Baila pulled his hand from her face and twined their fingers. “I know that. I just meant…” She huffed. “You seem so perfect. So strong and put together. As if the world wouldn’t dare to go against you. You want something done and it’s done. What Pach shared told me that at some point, you weren’t perfect. You made messes, played tricks, went to bed without dessert, and filled the palace with alien sheep because your parents wouldn’t let you have a pet.”
Zyriq snorted. He recalled that event and he couldn’t hold back his grin. “I was not alone. My younger brothers helped.”
Though he had refused to implicate them in the task. Zyriq was the only one caught so he was the only one to suffer.
“Pach’s stories helped me realize that for all of our differences, we’re still the same.”
Zyriq could appreciate Baila’s words, but he could not stop himself from shaking his head. “No, yabi. You are better—more—than I could ever hope to be. You are the perfection I hope to achieve someday. Your strength steals the breath from my lungs.” His hands went to the roundness of her belly. “You have carried our young and stood strong against the one who would have taken you both from me. You fought to live alone on Ark Station Zeta, pregnant with an alien young while working to support yourself.”
He gathered a few strands of her hair and tucked them behind her ear. “There are ways for a female to remove young from her body and yet you did not. You did not make your life easier by ending the life of our young.”
“I couldn’t.” Baila’s hand came to rest on top of his. “I’m carrying a part of you. There was no way I could let that go.”
Zyriq breathed deeply, drawing in his bonded’s natural scent, the sweetness that clung to her skin. “We are both fighters, protectors, in our way. Life is not perfect. It is not pretty and empty of pain. It simply is. There is laughter and there are tears, yabi. I only hope there is more laughter and joy echoing in the halls of the palace than cries of sadness.”
Mischief danced in her eyes. “Unless our kid decides to move in a few hundred alien sheep.”
He snorted. “My sire outlawed those ‘sheep’ from the city. There are none to be found near any longer.”
“A kid with you as his father and me for a mother will always find a way.”
He was not sure if she was teasing or spoke the truth. And he was afraid to ask. “We will hire additional young-minders. He will have a minder with him every momen
t. No, two minders.” Though two each for Zyriq and his brothers had not been enough… “Perhaps four minders.”
Baila giggled, the laughter high-pitched and clear as it rang through the room. “You don’t think that’s overkill?”
“Pach does not know all of the troubles I stirred with my brothers when we were younger and we each had two minders. If our young one is anything like me, he will require more than two. No question.” Zyriq was torn between pride that his young would get into so many things he shouldn’t and anxiety over having to manage such young one.
“You keep saying ‘he.’” Baila rubbed her stomach. “Is there a test that was run that identified the baby’s sex?”
“I…” Zyriq stared at his bonded’s rounded belly. “It is simply tradition. The first young of the Warking has always been a male. The first young of the first son has always been male.”
“Always?”
He nodded. He had not ever heard of a deviation from that tradition.
“But the first son hasn’t ever bonded with a human woman either. A human woman who comes from a family that only gives birth to girls.” She waggled her eyebrows. “How do you think the planet would take having a Warqueen instead of a Warking?”
It would be… disastrous, an uproar, unending arguments and much, much snarling. He would make sure his blades were sharp.
“I do not care how the planet—or the people—would react to such a thing. I only know my own response.”
Baila licked her lips, pink tongue darting out, and he ached to chase hers with his own. “What’s that?”
Zyriq spoke from the heart, the depth of his feelings imbuing every word. “Joy. Joy because I will have my bonded and my young. There is nothing else that could ever matter more than the two of you.”
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