The Lost Planet Series: Boxed Set: Books 1-5

by K. Webster

  “What’s wrong with her?” I demand, my voice harsh and violent.

  He begins hooking her up to some machines, a hopeful look on his face. His double fangs, while still not as prominent as the others since he filed his down some, show as he grins.

  “Why are you so rekking happy?” I’m seconds from climbing over the table and wiping the smile from his face.

  He picks up his wegloscan and waves it over her abdomen. A flutter of hope dances inside my rib cage. It always lights up red. Red is the color of death and hopeless futures. Like the landscape of The Graveyard. Like the skies that are radioactive with harmful toxins. But the wegloscan isn’t lighting up red.

  It’s green.

  Like bitter green-bunches that we survive on when meat is nonexistent.

  Like the color of the stones we collect from the underground wells that always sparkle with clean water coming from deep within the core of our planet, safe from the pathogens that plague everything else.

  Green is life.

  Green is a future.

  I splay my palm over her flat stomach and grin at her. “Aria…” Then, I turn to Avrell. “Is it true?”

  He’s nodding, his eyes wide. “She is successfully impregnated.”

  I let out a loud chuckle of delight and look down at my sweet, fertile alien mate. But she isn’t smiling. Her happiness has been swiped clean from her features and her brown eyes that always gleam with emotion are dead. Empty. Desolate.

  “Aria,” I mutter, worry causing my voice to become husky.

  She sits up and shakes her nog at me when I reach for her. “Don’t touch me.”

  A growl rumbles through me. I want to pull her into my arms and lick every part of her, worshipping her body like she is the sun. But then I remember her desires. This would further anger her and drive her away.

  “Aria,” I say again and hold up my palm, willing her to touch hers to mine. An apology. We’ll work through this. She and the other aliens will carry our young. Our future isn’t bleak anymore. It’s shiny and brilliant.

  She eyes my hand like I’m carrying The Rades. Her nostrils flared in disgust. Her lip curled up, baring her teeth at me. When I reach a little closer, she hisses like that of a young sabrevipe.

  “Avrell,” she instructs, her voice cold and hollow. “Show me to the navigation wing.”

  “The navigation wing has been closed for many revolutions,” I snarl, my anger overtaking me. I boarded it up myself, unable to see more memories of our past for fear of succumbing to the depressing madness.

  Color floods to her speckled cheeks and she points an accusatory finger my way. “It’s the farthest location from you.” Then she glowers at Calix. “And him. Send Hadrian with me if you’re worried about me being alone or if you want someone to watch over me.”

  “No,” I snap. I want to yank her into my arms, and yet, I refrain. Every fiber of my being begs for me to do so. But my mate is fragile and angry. I won’t undo everything we’ve worked so hard for. I won’t betray my mate’s trust, even when she is cross with me.

  She closes her eyes for a moment, more hot tears leaking out. I want to lick them all away. Whisper promises to her.

  “I’m moving out,” she says firmly. “I need space from you. From all of you.”

  “Aria,” I rumble out, my voice shaking. “You can’t leave.”

  Her eyebrow shoots up, a challenging glimmer in her eyes. “I can. I will. You are going to let me.”

  Calix still won’t look at me, his nog bowed in submission. Avrell remains still beside us. My hand fists and I drop it to my side, swallowing down the urge to stroke my claws through her soft hair.

  “We should talk about this,” I say, panic rising in my voice.

  She gives me a clipped nod. “We will, eventually. But right now, I can’t. I’m nauseated right now for many, many reasons. Avrell.” She reaches over and grabs his elbow for support. His eyes dart to mine in confusion. I nod my command for him to escort her.

  With a heavy, tearful sigh from my mate, they exit the lab.

  My heart goes with them.

  It’s been three solars since Aria left. I’d thought she needed to let the anger simmer a bit but instead, she disappeared on me. When I returned to our chambers, her clothing and jewelry and favorite blanket were gone. She’d taken her goldenroot sweets too. Since she doesn’t go far without those, I knew that she was serious at that point.

  Each solar, long after the lights turn out, I toss and turn, inhaling her lingering scent that clings to my bedsheets. I’m losing my mind. The early solars, after we were forced into the facility, are forefront in my mind. The loneliness. The despair. The utter desperation for someone to swoop in and save us all.

  No one came.

  We slowly, solar by solar, had to climb our way out of the mental madness and cling to a hope that one solar we’d again be a flourishing and thriving people. Little by little, we would make progress and do what we could.

  There was always an inkling of hope that drove us along.

  Now, I can’t seem to latch on to this hope.

  Desperate for something to take away the mental pain, I open the zuta-metal doors in the command center and let the UVs stream into the room. It takes strength but I refrain from unzipping my minnasuit and letting it scorch my flesh. But I don’t need that anymore…not since her. What I need to do is think. I need to plan and make things better. Which is why I’ve called a meeting.

  Everyone is here aside from Calix and Hadrian.

  “Where’s Calix?” I bark. I know where Hadrian is. He’s taken to looking after my mate in my absence. As much as the beast inside me thrashes and screams in protest, I know it is for the best. He also keeps me apprised of her health and overall well-being. I’m grateful for his assistance. She trusts him and he is no threat to her.

  Unlike me.

  I close my eyes and push that thought out of my nog.

  I would never threaten her. Her misinterpretation is just that…a misinterpretation. When she has cooled, she will see. I will make her see.

  “He’s on his way. Said he had to stop by the lab to check on something,” Sayer tells me, his eyes never leaving one of the old manuals that we’ve each read more times than I can count. His long black hair is twisted into the same sort of knot Aria wears sometimes on top of her nog. My heart clenches, knowing she taught him how to make the knot.

  “Commander,” Avrell says, his voice firm. “Close the zuta-metal doors.”

  I let out a groan but adhere to his command. The last thing I need is to be weakened by the UV rays. I need my mind sharp and my body strong. Once I’ve closed them, I stride over to the head of the table and take my seat. I glance around at the faction’s morts, my most trusted men—my only men. Avrell is on my right, a tablet in his hand. His normally clipped hair is slightly disheveled and he appears to be fatigued. He’s been working tirelessly each solar on the samples and the implantation attempts on the other aliens. I admire his devotion to the extension of our race.

  Beside Avrell, Galen picks dirt from under his claw using a magknife. I try not to cringe. His shaggy hair hangs in his slanted eyes and his black brows are furled together. I know he spends each solar dedicating every ounce of energy to the seedlings he attempts to grow in his lab. If it weren’t for his hard work, we’d have starved many revolutions ago.

  “What’s the status on the ship?” I ask, cracking the sub-bones in my neck. I’m tense. Completely.

  Theron, who’s been spinning all too quickly in his chair beside Galen, grabs the side of the table, his claws digging into the hard surface, and stops himself. “The ship has a name,” he says dryly. “Sayer and I flushed the fuel capacitor on Mayvina. After our last run, we burned through our fuel and it’s a rekking miracle we made it back home. Fumes, Commander. We made it back on fumes.”

  If I were one who prayed to the gods, I’d send up a thanks for allowing Aria to arrive in one piece.

  “It’s ready for anoth
er run?” I ask.

  Theron shakes his nog and tugs a strip of fabric from his pocket and bites on it while he collects his shoulder-length black hair. Talking through his teeth, he says, “Not ready. While we were flushing the fuel capacitor, Sayer found a tear in the outer seam of the engine box.” He ties the strip in his hair and shrugs. “That’s Oz’s specialty.” He turns and motions at Oz, who sits beside him.

  Oz smirks and pulls a greasy zuta-metal object from his pocket. “The tear in the outer seam was simple to fix. This?” He waves it in the air. “The deflection canister failed and who the rekk knows when. It’s a wonder how the aliens didn’t follow us right down to our planet and blow us all to The Eternals.

  Theron snorts. “Because Mayvina,” he enunciates, and gives me a pointed look, “purrs like a newborn sabrevipe and runs like an alpha rogstud.” He shoots me a smug grin. “They can’t ever keep up with the Mayvina. Even when my zuta-metal female is a bit ill and in need of repair. She never disappoints.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. “When will everything be operational on the Mayvina?”

  “Soon,” Theron assures me, his claws tapping on the table’s surface. “Soon, Commander.”

  The seat opposite me on the far end of the large table that seats ten is empty. Draven leans up against the wall behind his seat, his eyes black and narrowed slits. Whereas the other morts’ eyes only change when angry or extremely emotional, Draven’s remain that way always. He assures me he is calm and of fit mind, but I see the madness that still lives within him. I’m not sure it will ever go away.

  “What’s the status on the beasts in the area? Have the geostorms driven the sabrevipes away?” I ask Draven. I’d love for them to get the rekk out of dodge so the rogcows will roam back our way. They’re much finer eating.

  He pulls away from the wall, eyes the open doorway, and then relaxes slightly. The self-inflicted scars along his bare arms are a constant reminder of the times he tried to scrape away the sores from his body when he was nearly dying from The Rades. They must bother him from time to time because unlike the rest of us, who wear full minnasuits that cover our arms, he’s cut off the sleeves of all of his minnasuits. His black hair is clipped short and patchy in some places from the awkward regrowth after the disease. No one ever says anything about the scars or how The Rades ruined his body and mind.

  “Sabrevipes are plentiful,” he growls. “I did see some flying game just south a few mettalengths away from the facility.”

  I arch a brow at him. “From the tower?”

  His eyes dart to the doorway again, always making sure there is an escape route. “The tower, Commander,” he affirms, his voice unapologetic.

  I clench my jaw and refrain from chiding him about spending so much time in the tower. The winds are brutal up there and you have to be completely covered from nog to toe in protective layers and a full mask. It’s lonely, windy, and boring. I believe my lieutenant commander enjoys the openness. He suffers from the feeling of being trapped and the tower is yet another escape for him. Problem is, it’s unsafe and open to predators. A sabrevipe can’t climb that high but he’s brought back the carcasses of venomous armworms that are known for nesting at those heights. Teeth incredibly sharp and they move quickly. Unlucky for them, Draven moves quicker.

  “It’s unsafe to travel that far from the facility,” I remind him.

  His black slit eyes bore into me. “Of course.”

  I’m unnerved by the glint in his gaze. Draven is a wild one. Sometimes I fear he’ll simply disappear one solar. Just slip through the door and walk off into the great wide open.

  Jareth, who sits across from Theron on the other side of Draven’s empty chair, scribbles on a scrap of paper. His pale white hands are littered with tiny cuts and his short, pitch-black hair is sticking out in at least four different directions. He pushes the paper over to Sayer beside him, and Sayer nods, a smirk on his face. Sayer takes the paper and pushes it between the pages of his book and closes it.

  “I need Calix’s report,” I grumble. “Where the rekk is he?”

  Before anyone can answer, a loud, pained roar echoes from down the corridor.

  I rise to my feet just as Calix tears into the command center with the force of a brutal geostorm. His black eyes are slits and his ears are flattened against his skull. He bares his teeth, his double fangs glinting in the light, and breathes heavily. In this moment, he is crazed. I worry he’s contracted The Rades because the madness in his gaze matches that of Draven’s.

  “What is the matter?” I demand.

  “I’m going to tear his mortarekking nog off his shoulders!” he bellows as he sends a chair flying into the wall.

  By process of elimination, I say, “Hadrian?”

  Calix glowers at me as Avrell rises beside me. Draven is tense across the room. Protocol states that if someone has symptoms of The Rades, you incapacitate and quarantine immediately.

  He certainly doesn’t look like his usual self. Gone are the glasses that belonged to Phalix—the only thing Calix recovered from father’s decimated body. The stylus for his zenotablet that is always perched behind his ear is absent. His short, cropped hair is messy.

  “Calix,” Avrell says softly. “Let’s get you down to the lab so I can run some tests. You’re not at all acting like—”

  “They took her!” Calix roars, his sub-bones cracking and popping in his neck as he fully assumes his battle stance.

  “Who took who?” I demand.

  He hisses at me, his eyes wild with fury. “Hadrian and your mate. They took my lilapetal.”

  I blink at him in confusion and shoot Galen a troubled look. He’s growing lilabushes and they’re flowering at the moment. The pink, velvety flowers aren’t edible, we’ve discovered, but he’s found other uses for the petals that fall from the flowers. They’re fragrant, and Galen has been making “soaps”, as Aria calls it, with the petals.

  “I don’t understand,” Galen says, holding up his palms.

  “He’s having hallucinations,” Avrell grits out beside me. “I need him in the lab.”

  Calix shakes his nog and yanks at his hair. “No. No! You all rekking misunderstand.” He shoots me a look of utter desperation. “They took my alien.”

  “Your alien?” I challenge.

  He glowers at me. “When I touch her, her velvety skin turns pink. The alien’s flesh reacts to my touch. She is meant to be my mate!”

  “So, we’re just walking in and claiming the ones we want?” Theron asks, a slight bite to his voice. “Had I known that was an option, I’d have claimed one the moment we landed the Mayvina.”

  “Calix!” I bellow. “Focus and tell me what happened.” I shoot a hard glare Theron’s way. “Nobody will be claiming any of the aliens.”

  Theron lets out a huff but backs down.

  “I went to check on her. To lick away the tears that sometimes leak from her eyes. She likes when I straighten the unusual arm zuta-metal she wears.” His eyes turn into round, black orbs and his ears release from his nog as he thinks of her. “She likes it when I rake my fingers through her locks of hair. The wrinkles that often form between her brows disappear. I know that in cryosleep they are supposed to be unaware, but with me, she responds physically to my touch and nearness.”

  He’s infected all right.

  But not by The Rades.

  He’s infected by the beautiful aliens who sing to our lonely hearts. Once they’ve gotten inside you, there is no getting them out. I think of my brave Aria. Standing up to the commander of the faction. Her body was weak and yet she was every bit as fierce as Draven.

  And now, my mate has stolen one of the other aliens.

  The alien, Calix’s obsession, has been given a choice. Aria made that happen. Recklessly. She could put the alien at risk pulling her out of cryo without Avrell’s help. Worry niggles at me but I have to trust in my mate’s decision making.

  I close my eyes…because the news I’m about to deliver won’t sit well
with any of them.

  “Was the alien asleep or did my mate wake her?” I ask, needing to be sure.

  Calix’s black brows furrow together as he rambles out his explanation. “T-They woke her. Wrapped her in a blanket and walked her out of the cryochamber. I saw her between Aria and Hadrian as they took her to the navigation wing. I wanted to see what they were doing before I intervened, so I followed them to the wing. When I attempted to enter, Hadrian stood in the doorway and told me I was not to enter per Madam Commander’s command.” Calix’s eyes narrow in anger. “Madam Commander? Since when?”

  I rise to my full height and let the sub-bones in my neck crack loudly. My ears flatten against my skull as I growl. My battle stance is a fierce one, and the men under my command all lower their nogs in respect. Even desperate, lonely, sad Calix.

  I hate this for them but there must be order, and if we are to have some sort of happiness in the long run, I’ll need to establish some new rules until then.

  “She is their leader. Aria Aloisius,” I say, claiming her with my last name, “is Madam Commander of this faction and Alien Liaison. When it regards the aliens and their well-being, you seek council through myself or Madam Commander. This is the rule. A ceremony will soon make my words binding. Any mort disagree? I didn’t think so.”

  Calix opens his mouth but I stop him with a wave of my hand. “Trust in Aria. She is wise and knows what is best for the aliens. They have different customs and needs than our race. I will meet with her to discuss the future of the others but at this time, she is in command of the newly awoken alien. I’ll also advise her of the danger of waking them without Avrell’s assistance. Make haste, Avrell,” I tell him. “Please assist Aria and Hadrian with anything they should need.” He rises and nods, his face paler than usual, no doubt worrying over the newly awoken one. I drag my gaze from his that probably matches my own and regard the other morts. “The navigation wing will become the female sub-faction. Morts aren’t allowed to enter unless Madam Commander wills it.”