Warlord's Baby: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 5)

by Nancey Cummings

  “I am unsure, warlord’s female,” Kleve said. “The warlord called many to the arena.”

  “So you boys are having a secret meeting? Why aren’t you three there?”

  Braith, Kleve and Jolyon looked at each other, confusion on their faces. “We must remain with you,” Kleve finally said.

  Fair enough.

  Mercy turned her attention back to Daisy and the cup of decaf coffee. The flavor and the ritual of preparing a cup satisfied her craving but dang if she didn’t miss caffeine. Soon. “Tell me why my party sucked.”

  “Suck is a harsh word,” Daisy said diplomatically.

  “It sucked. I thought there were lots of parties at the moon base so why didn’t my party work?”

  She shrugged. “The social events were a human/Mahdfel hybrid. I think the rec department mashed up Earth and Mahdfel holidays.”

  “But it was a party, right? With music and dancing and no… horn butting.”

  “Yes, but the rec department is mostly human. The population of the moon base is half human, half Mahdfel. Here, we’re—”

  “Outnumbered.”

  “I was going to say under represented. You planning another party?”

  Mercy sipped the coffee, savoring the sweet and acrid taste. “When you arrived on the Judgment, what was your experience like?”

  “Hectic.” Daisy shook her head. “It’s all a blur, really.”

  “I want to do something for the new wives. An orientation. Right now we’re relying on the males to get them to medical and get their security clearances but there’s no good protocol.”

  “Does everything need a protocol?”

  Mercy remembered the anxiety and confusion she felt after teleporting across the universe to her new husband. “Yes. They should know they’re not alone here.”

  “Hmm. If you have the new brides go straight into an orientation process with another male, I think the newly mated men would lose their minds.”

  The need to protect a mate was hardwired into the Mahdfel. Separation from a mate had serious consequences, especially early in the relationship. At least that’s what every pacing, snarling male said once they learned of their match and impatiently waited for her arrival. Just knowing a match existed flipped a switch in their brain, turning them from easy-going into over-protective beast.

  “So have a woman do the orientation,” Dorothy said. “It doesn’t have to be immediate. Couldn’t you do it two or three days after arrival?”

  Sensible and reasonable. The female population grew daily. While she’d like to personally greet every new bride, she just wasn’t physically able. She’d search for a volunteer, someone with a warm smile and comforting manner. Mercy opened her mouth to say as much when a cramp rolled through her stomach, followed by a popping sensation and a release of pressure. Water gushed out from between her legs.

  She sat stunned; briefly mortified that she lost control of her bladder and peed everywhere. Then she realized that the volume was too much. Her water had broken.

  Finally.

  Mercy’s grabbed her mother’s wrist and scanned the room to see if her guards were nearby. They were close but not within earshot if she spoke softly.

  “What is it?” Dorothy asked.

  “I need everyone to stay calm,” she said in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper.

  “When you say things like that, it makes me not calm.”

  “Don’t shout and don’t get excited, but I need to go to medical.”

  Daisy immediately tapped out a message on her comm unit. “OK, Meridan knows we are on our way. Are you having contractions?”

  Mercy rubbed her belly, waiting. “I don’t know.”

  Dorothy helped her up from the chair. “We’re not going to panic. We’re going to walk calmly to medical.”

  Braith apparently heard every word. Dang that superior alien hearing. “Warlord’s female, you are in medical distress.”

  “I’m not in distress. I’m in labor.”

  “We will go to medical. Now.” Braith moved to lift her into his arms.

  She batted his hands away. “I can still walk.”

  “The distance is far and you are compromised.”

  “I’m not compromised.”

  “Is that the normal volume of fluid?” Jolyon asked, staring at the growing puddle on the floor. “That’s rather a lot.”

  “How do we cease the purge of fluid?” Kleve turned to Daisy, the only qualified medical practitioner in the room. “Tell us, female.”

  “I’m going to medical and no one is carrying me,” Mercy said, voice growing firm.

  “Unacceptable.” Braith and Kleve exchanged a look and moved at the same time, pinning her between their muscular frames. She was trapped. So not fair.

  “You’re making me upset,” she warned, trying to duck their arms. “And Paax won’t be happy when I tell him.” Yes, it was a dirty trick, threatening to tattle on her guys but it was the only trick she had.

  “The warlord will be more upset if we allowed you to injure yourself.”

  “Good point. Why don’t you go ask him how he feels?” Mercy pointed over Kleve’s shoulder. When the male turned, she ducked away, surprisingly nimble for a woman in labor.

  She made it exactly two steps before Braith scooped her up. She huffed in frustration. “Fine. If you have to carry me, make it snappy.”

  Chapter Five

  Paax

  Mediation grounded him. Before a great trial of his intellect or physical skill, Paax always took the time to find his center and breathe. In his youth, other warriors had scoffed at his methods. They preferred to work themselves into a frenzy.

  Frenzies were not precise. Paax was unfailingly precise. He had never failed a trial. When he decided to master something, he did. When challenged, he was triumphant. There was no alternative.

  Today would be no different.

  Every day started in the training arena, as it had since he’d begun his warrior’s training as a child. While he remained a scientist first, the other males forgot that he was also a warrior. He let them remain ill-informed. Their lazy observations only served to help him, and he enjoyed the look of shock in their eyes when they realized they had vastly underestimated him.

  Paax heard the rumors, the whispers saying he was unfit to be warlord, that Omas had been weak and only a lucky blow took the former warlord’s life. Any warrior could have done it. Any warrior could take the new warlord.

  Paax was neither deaf nor blind.

  Today the rumors and whispers stopped.

  He’d separate the gossiping males from his clan, the ones who only recognized brute strength as the most important virtue in a leader. He’d leave behind only those who valued intellect and physical prowess. He’d take on the entire clan if required to ensure the safety and wellbeing of his mate and children. There was no alternative.

  He’d start with that arrogant communications officer, Antu, who thought he deserved preferential treatment because his brother happened to be the warlord of another clan. Antu only valued brute strength. His brother, Antomas, was disappointedly the same. Raw physical strength might win the warlord’s command, but it could not hold onto it. Antomas would find out soon enough.

  Antu fancied himself worthy to lead the Judgment. Paax heard those rumors, too. Empty words, spouted by an empty-headed male. Soon he’d make it clear that there were consequences for empty words.

  Paax caught his reflection in the glossy surface of the wall paneling. Omas stared back at him.

  The changes had happened so slowly over the course of the last year that Paax had failed to notice. Their similarities lied more than just in their identical jaw and hair; it reflected in the hard glint in his eye.

  He was unsure how this made him feel. Connected to his twin as they shared the same burden of leading the clan? Resentful that Omas pushed this burden on him? Thankful that Omas brought a mate to Paax at long last?

  If he were still alive, they’d spar and purge the
bad feelings out, stopping only when their muscles ached and the vitriol between them vanished. Antu would have to do.

  Paax surveyed the arena. A good number of males arrived, curious. Other’s had the lean, anticipatory look of predators about them. They smelled blood in the water.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Paax strode into the center. He wasn’t one for a spectacle, preferring to get down to it. He took off his armor piece by piece, letting them fall to the sand floor. He wore only loose fitting trousers, no shirt and no shoes. The sand of the arena floor worked its way between his toes.

  “I won’t waste our time with a speech. You know why you are here. Those who believe they can best their warlord should do so now.”

  A male, lean and young, climbed over the retaining wall. He dropped to a crouch, eyes gleaming at Paax with ambition.

  Fool.

  Paax rushed in, slicing a tendon before he had a chance to stand. The youth rolled onto his back. To his credit he did not cry out. He swallowed his pain and that saved his life.

  The point of his sword pressed into the prone male’s throat. “Do you concede?”

  “Yes, warlord.”

  Paax eased back the sword, allowing the male to regain his footing and hobble away. The wound was not critical. He would heal.

  Another male approached, this one less dramatic and cock-sure in his approach. Paax recognized him as staff for navigation. A supporter of Antu, then, and possible saboteur.

  “You are weak, Paax Nawk,” the male said. “You sit and think and do nothing, like a weakling.”

  He mistook intelligence and planning for weakness. The Judgment was better off without a male like him.

  The male rushed forward, sword swinging wide overhead. Dumb and sloppy. Paax blocked with one hand and side stepped. As the male spun, Paax’s war hammer knocked his legs out from underneath him.

  “Do you concede?”

  “Never.” The male spat.

  Paax moved with brutal efficiency and ran his sword through the warrior's throat, pinning him to the sandy arena floor. Barely a moment passed before he felt the air move as Antu approached in a shameless, honor less move. He spun, blocking the blow aimed for his back.

  Antu moved swiftly, youth and righteous vigor on his side. They danced across the sand, exchanging blows. The energy imbued edges of their weapons humming and crackling with each clash.

  “You are old,” Antu said, forcing Paax back.

  The edge of the blade grazed his temple, drawing blood. The pain stung but he ignored it for the moment. He let the male gain the upper hand because the truth was that Paax was older. Racing around the arena wore him down. Antu had youth on his side and could run and jump and make all sorts of attention grabbing displays. It was all show and no substance.

  Antu was cocky and sloppy, his stance unbalanced and leaning too far forward.

  “Nothing to say?” With a grin he drove forward in a series of blows, each swing becoming grander and flashier. Paax kept his motions simple, expending just enough energy to block, moving just enough to avoid the blade, and retaining his balance. Even the fast flurry of Antu’s blows did not unsettle his footing. He moved when he chose to move.

  His sword had a shortened reach, allowing Antu in closer. The male lunged forward aggressively, blade piercing Paax’s shoulder. Armor would have stopped that.

  Paax wrapped his hand around the blade, the edge cutting into his palm. He yanked the blade out of his shoulder. Shocked, Antu’s grip on the hilt loosen. “How can you?”

  Paax yanked the blade away entirely. Antu stared down at his empty hands, shocked that his weapon vanished.

  “Do you know why I took off my armor?” Paax asked.

  Antu fell to his knees. Weaponless due to his own hubris, he was dead. If Paax had pity and spared his life, he was still the warrior who let go of his weapon. Another warrior would remove the blight of his shame at the first opportunity. A Mahdfel did not let go of his weapon, be it a sword or a rifle, in combat. Ever.

  “I did it so vainglorious idiots like yourself would believe they had the upper hand and be lazy. Lazy loses battles. Lazy costs lives.” He shouted the words to his wider audience of warriors. Paax pressed the blade to Antu’s throat. “Always ask why the enemy does what he does.” It was too late for Antu to learn battle tactics now.

  “Mercy,” Antu whispered.

  “Yes,” Paax agreed. “That is why we are here.” She was the motivation for everything.

  The energy imbued blade sliced through the male’s neck, head spinning clean off and landing in the sand.

  Chapter Six

  Mercy

  This was real life. Not a movie or a show, but real and really happening to her. She was in labor. She was about to be a mom.

  Muscles deep in her pelvis cramped, twisted and the pain radiated out to her lower back, seizing the muscles up tight. As the contraction eased, the pain dissipated the way it arrived. The pain distracted her and kept her from panicking. From the moment Braith darted down the corridors of the Judgment and into medical, Kleve and Jolyon tried to reach Paax over the comm. He wasn’t answering their calls.

  Why wasn’t he answering their calls?

  Braith placed her on a bed just as a contraction hit. Mercy squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the worst. The muscles in her pelvis cramped, not much worse than her regular menstrual cramp.

  That was it? She looked over, caught her mother’s concerned eyes, was about to say she didn’t know what the big deal was, when her insides twisted.

  The pain was blinding. Everything on the inside tried to punch itself way out of her. Mercy shouted and reached for Braith. He jerked back but she caught him by the horn, and squeezed. Squeezed so hard, until the tension inside her eased.

  Braith staggered to his knees. “Warlord’s female, please—”

  While distracted, Kalen jabbed her with a needle. She barely noticed. “For pain,” he said tersely.

  Mercy released Braith. “Where is Paax?” Her voice was thin, already tired. This kid better come quick. She didn’t know if she could endure hours of labor.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Dorothy took her hand. “You’re going to be fine, baby. You came flying out of me.”

  Mercy shuddered. Not helping. “Where is Paax?”

  Braith, Kleve and Jolyon shared a look. “We’re unable to reach him on comms,” Jolyon said, slowly.

  They were keeping something from her. Again. She was so sick of that behavior. What could be so bad that they couldn’t tell her? Was Paax off fighting Suhlik somewhere? Was the ship under attack? Or were they trying to spare her precious little woman feelings because she was a delicate little flower and they didn’t want her to worry.

  She was sick of it. All of it.

  Mercy waved Jolyon closer to the bed, plastering on her sweetest smile. The drugs were starting to work their way through her system so it wasn’t hard to fake. His eyes went wide but he cautiously approached.

  Her fist popped out and landed solidly at the base of his throat. Jolyon stumbled backward. Kleve and Dorothy held her by the shoulders, pinning her down. “You go find my husband and drag him back here! I don’t know what you think you’re not telling me, but you find Paax and find him now!”

  Jolyon rubbed his throat and nodded, eyes wide with shock.

  “Why are you just standing there? Go!” It took all her will not to leap out of the bed and thrash him. She wasn’t a violent person, normally, but today she was willing to make an exception.

  “If you’re not related to the mother or my direct staff, get out of my surgery!” Kalen stormed in, all sound and fury.

  “We have orders—”

  Kalen cut off Braith. “I don’t care. Get out. You can follow orders out of the room.”

  Braith huffed but didn’t argue, instead turning to leave the crowded room. Kleve followed without complaint.

  “Not as effective as your methods,” he said, “but it’ll suffice. How are you f
eeling?”

  “I’ve been better,” she said. “Whatever you gave me seems to be working.” She didn’t hurt and felt almost disconnected from her body, as if floating on a tether.

  The contraction came over her in a wave, the tether pulling taut and forcing her back down into her body. Gritting her teeth, Mercy clamped down on her mother’s hand until the pain passed. Eventually only a dull, burning sensation remained in her lower back and pressure on her pelvis. And bladder.

  “I need to pee,” she said in a whisper to her mother.

  “Don’t worry about that now.”

  She didn’t know when else she was supposed to worry about it.

  The nurse appeared with a cup of water and pressed it to her lips. “Drink. You need the fluid. The pressure on your bladder is from the baby. It’s not real.”

  “Feels real.”

  “Well, if you make a mess, I won’t tell,” she said with a wink.

  “I don’t care about a mess. I want my husband. Where is he?” Mercy turned to her mother, clutching her hand tightly.

  “The men are looking for him now.”

  Meaning no one knew. The warlord was missing and his son’s birth wasn’t going to wait.

  A machine beeped but it was almost pleasant, drifting into the background noise of the medical bay. There were so many machines. Meridan opened up the robe and the fabric fell away. She cleaned Mercy’s exposed belly with a swab before sticking on a white pad.

  “I’m cold,” Mercy said.

  “We’ll get you covered in a minute,” Meridan said. “We just need to hook you up to the monitor.”

  “Shouldn’t you be looking at my cervix or something?”

  “Oh, we’re very interested in your cervix but we want to monitor your blood pressure, too.” Meridan completed her task efficiently and covered Mercy in a light sheet, as promised.

  More machines beeped. This time the noise was far from reassuring.

  “Their heart rates are dropping,” Kalen said. He placed a scanner directly on Mercy’s stomach. He frowned.